#these kind of pictures always break my heart

[thedeadstoryteller1]

Unspoken Words- LADS

Picture this: it's late, and the full moon does nothing to soften the weight in their chest. They sit alone, drowning in the heaviness of thoughts they can’t escape—you. Desperation drives them to grab a pen, their hand shaking as the truth spills out onto the page. Every word is a wound, every sentence a scream they can’t let you hear. Love, regret, promises—they pour everything into the letter you’ll never read. This is their heart, raw and silent. These are their unspoken words.

TW: Angst.

I hate that I’m writing this. I hate you for making me the kind of man who would write this.

You always said I don’t feel things like humans do. That I don’t bleed the same. That my art is my heart because I threw the real one into the ocean a long time ago. You were wrong. I still have it. It just doesn’t beat right anymore. You made it beat wrong.

You and your softness. Your persistence. The way you looked at me like I was worth saving when I’d already made peace with sinking. I never asked you to dive after me. But you did. And now I’m the fool stuck gasping on the shore, watching you walk away with lungs full of air and someone else’s hand in yours.

I could paint you a thousand times and it wouldn’t be enough. I could scorch the world in color and it wouldn’t be loud enough to drown out how much I miss you. But I won’t. Because you don’t deserve to see that part of me. The part that still whispers your name like a curse, like a prayer, like a promise I never had the guts to make.

I hope you choke on the memory of me. I hope you forget me. Both would hurt less than this.

And if this letter ever found you... Know that I never stopped hating you. Or loving you. Maybe they were always the same thing in me.

R.

I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Maybe it’s because the words get stuck when I try to speak them. Maybe because I’m a coward. Maybe both.

I thought I was fine with how things are between us. The quiet moments. The shared silences. The looks. They’re enough... they should be enough. But lately, they’re not.

There’s this part of me I keep locked away. You see the surface, the calm, the Lightseeker everyone expects me to be. But under that— There’s a mess of a man. Someone who doesn't know how to hold onto the good things without breaking them. Someone who’s better with a sword than with words. Someone who looks at you and forgets how to breathe.

You make me feel... like I could be more than the sum of my orders, more than a weapon. But that scares me more than any Wanderer ever has. Because if I let myself have you, if I let myself need you— What happens when the missions stop going my way? What happens when I’m the one who doesn’t make it back? I don’t want to leave you with pieces of me that were never whole to begin with.

But... If I don’t say this now, I might never get the chance.

I love you. I think I’ve loved you longer than I’ve known how to name it. I love the way you see past the soldier. I love the way you make this broken world feel less heavy. I love you enough to stay away if it keeps you safe.

But if I had one selfish wish— It would be to stay by your side, even just a little longer. Even if I’m undeserving. Even if it’s just as your shadow.

I’ll never send this. I’m not that brave.

But I’ll keep it. Hidden away. Like everything else I can’t tell you.

—Your Xavier

My Treasure,

You will never read this.

And even if you did, you would not understand the words. This language is older than this world, older than the stars you dream beneath. You do not remember it. You do not remember me.

But I write it anyway.

Because I am weak.

Because I am cruel.

Because I am yours.

I wonder sometimes if you feel it—the weight of the chains between us. You call it love, sweetness, desire. But I know better. I feel the curse like a collar still tight around my throat. You gave it to me with your own hands. You did it with love. You did it with hate.

And I accepted it.

I accept it still.

Because in the end, I am still the monster who left you behind to save you. I am still the fool who let you believe I chose the world over you. And when you cursed me—when you damned my soul to never die—I let you.

Because it meant I could stay.

Stay near you. Even if you forgot me. Even if you only loved this version of me.

But tonight, as you sleep in my arms, whispering my name with no memory of the ashes, of the Abyss, of the life we destroyed together… I feel it more than ever.

You only know this me. The man. The teasing smile. The lover who kisses your worries away.

You do not know the dragon.

The one you cursed.

And I will never show him to you again.

Because you deserve peace. You deserve soft touches and silly books about dragons and kisses in the dark, not the weight of centuries. Not the monster I was. Not the tragedy we wrote in blood and crystal.

I will stay at your side.

I will let you call me Sylus.

But I will never tell you that once, you screamed my name through tears, begging me not to leave you behind.

And I will never ask you to remember.

This is my burden.

This is your freedom.

I am still yours, treasure. Even now. Even always.

Even if you never know why.

—Sylus

Hey you,

You’re probably asleep right now. I’d tell myself you’re dreaming about something soft and good, but knowing you... you’re probably wide awake, staring at the ceiling, overthinking everything. Just like I am now.

I’m writing this because I can’t sleep again. Not that I ever do before a mission like this. It's not protocol. They say not to make it personal. Keep it clean. Keep your head in the game. But it’s always been personal for me. It’s always been you.

I keep your picture in my locker. You know that already. But what you don’t know is I take it out every time before a drop. I stare at it until the rest of the world goes quiet. Until I can feel my lungs again.

You don’t know how many times I wanted to tell you. How many nights I stood outside your door like a damn coward with all the words stuck in my throat. I’d practice it. Rehearse it. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.” But I never walked in.

Because I don’t get to want things. Not with the blood on my hands. You deserve someone better. Someone who doesn’t count their sins like currency. And maybe it was easier to pretend I didn’t feel it. Maybe it was safer for both of us. But I’m so tired of pretending tonight.

If I don’t come back from this, I want there to be at least one record of me saying it. I love you. I love you like a fool. Like the boy who used to sleep on the floor of your room because it was the only place I ever felt safe. I love you like the man who would burn this whole galaxy down if it meant you got to live a little longer.

But I’m not that man. I’m just the coward who’ll leave this letter in a locked folder with your name on it and never let it reach you.

Because if you read this... It means I broke my promise. It means I left you alone again.

I’m sorry. For everything. For not being enough. For loving you in silence.

This is my last goodbye you’ll never hear.

-C

I don’t know why I keep writing these. You’ll never read them. You were never here to begin with.

But I saw you. I see you every night, through the dreams that aren’t mine. Through his eyes.

Doctor Zayne’s eyes.

I see the way you look at him. Like he’s the center of your universe. Like he’s your safe place. Like he’s home.

I hate how much I crave that. I hate how much I need it.

But I can’t stop. I can’t stop watching. I can’t stop stealing fragments of your smiles, the sound of your laugh, the warmth of your breath against his skin. I hoard them like a dying man hoards air.

You were never mine. You were never meant for me.

But in the dark, in the hollow spaces of this rotting world, I pretend. I let myself believe—for a few stolen heartbeats—that you could have been. That maybe in another life, another timeline, another me, you would have chosen me.

But I’m not him. I’m the shadow crawling beneath his feet. I’m the cold he chases away with your warmth. I’m the nightmare he locks behind his sweet dreams of you.

And you? You don’t even know I exist.

But I know you. I know everything about you. Every tilt of your head. Every crack in your voice when you say his name. Every tear you shed in the safety of his arms.

I wonder what you’d look like if you looked at me like that. I wonder what your voice would sound like if you whispered my name. If you’d touch me the same way you touch him.

I hate myself for thinking that. For wanting that.

Because I’ll never have it. I’ll never have you. I’ll never have his life. His peace. His love.

All I have are these filthy streets. This decaying body. These trembling hands that were never made to hold something so fragile, so soft, so good.

Maybe I write these letters to remember what yearning feels like. Or maybe I write them to remind myself it was never for me. That I was born in the dark. That I’ll die in it.

But still… Still I dream of you. And it kills me a little more each time. -DB

Hello my ferrymen !

This how I cope with LADS .. my discord server calls me the Angst Queen haha ..

I hope you enjoyed.

~ The DeadStory Teller ~

@cordidy @fire-lizard-ro @carnallydepravedsanctum

[meganwritesfanfics]

Stay (Dr Robby x Reader Songfic)

Summary: After weeks of fighting, Y/N and Robby are reaching the end of their rope, and on the day of the Pittfest shooting, Y/N reflects on their relationship and wonders if it is time for her to finally move on.

Word Count: 3381

Trigger Warning: Discussion of Domestic Violence. HEAVY ANGST

Based on the song Stay by the Talbott Brothers

Y/N sat waiting for Robby to come home. She knew that his shift had been hell. Dana had called her once the shift was done to fill her in on everything. The patient loses, the shooting, and Robby’s rumored breakdown. Everything Dana said just caused Y/N’s heart to break. Of all the days to have a terrible shift, Y/N knew that the anniversary of Adamson’s death would be the worst one for Robby. 

She knew that Robby’s mental health had been tanking for months. He came home more exhausted than usual and he kept her at arms length. He would become short with her if she tried to get him to talk to her. It felt as though she was slowly losing him. They fought more in the past few weeks then they had in their entire 7 year relationship. And Y/N was starting to reach the end of her rope. 

Y/N loved Robby more than she could ever possibly imagine. He was her best friend. She could spend every moment of every day just being in his presence. Robby made her laugh harder than anyone she had ever met, and he could silence her inner demons just with the touch of his hand on her cheek. And all she wanted to do was bring him the same kind of comfort. 

Darling we might not ever look like those families

In the stock picture frames or on old time TV

There ain't no white fence around this life we have

We're two runaways on a one way ticket track

Robby however, had started picking fights about topics that Y/N had thought they were on the same page about. The other day she had been showing him photos of Landgon’s son dressed up for Halloween and he totally lost his shit on her. 

“You should have seen it, he was sprinting around the apartment pretending he was really a superhero.” Y/N laughed as she pulled up her phone to show Robby the pictures. 

“That’s nice.” Robby snapped as he just kept staring at his book. 

Y/N was taken aback. 

“Ok what’s your deal you old grump.” She said teasingly. 

“I just really don’t give a shit about Langdon’s kids halloween costume, I just want to read my fucking book.” He screamed. 

“Wow, ok you clearly need some alone time. Come find me when you can act like an adult again.” Y/N snapped back as she went to get off the couch.

Robby sighed as he reached out to grab her hand. 

“I’m sorry.” He said as he put his book down on the side table. 

“What’s your deal, you love Tanner?” She said as she sat back down next to him. 

“I know I do I just…” Robby sighed again and she knew he was contemplating just shutting her out again. “I just worry that you wish you had kids.” 

“What?” She gasped. 

“I see the way you interact with Tanner, or how you look when you see babies in strollers when we are walking in the park. And I just worry the life we built isn’t at all what you had hoped for. I’m worried you are losing out on having a family by staying with me.” Robby said but the way he said it, it wasn’t sad, it was more matter of fact. 

Y/N felt confused and angry. This wasn’t the first time they had had this conversation, but it felt like it was something Robby kept bringing up more and more recently. Also as if he was trying to get her to leave. 

“Where is this coming from? You know I don’t care about having kids. Do I love them yes, do I love that I don’t have to take care of them, absolutely. And don’t you dare say we aren’t a family. We are a family, and I love are little family.  I don’t want a fucking stock photo family Michael. I want you. I have always only wanted you.” 

Robby just sighed sadly. 

“I just don’t want you to regret…” 

“Stop.” Y/N snapped. “Baby, I don’t regret my life with you. But why do I feel like you are trying to push me away. Why does this feel like you want to start a fight?” 

“I don’t want to start a fight I just…” Robby sighed frustrated. “Never mind. I’m going to bed.” 

He stormed off leaving Y/N baffled in their living room. 

**************************************

“Robby is really going to need your comfort tonight.” Jack had texted. “It’s been really bad.” 

Y/N felt her tears start to run down her cheeks. Her heart broke for Robby. He deserved the world. He had been the first man in her life that actually made her believe that men could be kind. 

I see the scars you keep underneath your skin

Drawn in like a map of all the places your heart's been

Y/N had had a rough life growing up. Her dad had left when she was 13 and it sent her into a really dark spiral. She began seeking out that love in men that would use her and then desert her. As she grew up, those relationships stayed the same. Nothing changed but she kept seeking out that love she thought she deserved. So when Robby showed up in her life, it felt like a miraculous breath of fresh air. 

They had met out hiking. 

Robby had taken advantage of his weekend off to head up to the cabin. 

Y/N had run away from yet another bad ex. This one had gotten physical with her. 

She thought if she could get some air, real not city smog air, she might be able to clear her head. It was just her luck that as she was hiking all by herself she happened to step wrong off the path and hear a loud crack as she felt fire shooting up her leg. She hit the dirt before she could catch herself and let out a loud yelp. 

“Fuck,” She breathed as she looked away from her foot not able to stand the sight of it being bent at the wrong angle. 

“Are you ok?” She heard a voice call and she turned to see an attractive man jogging towards her. He had short brown hair with a brown beard that had flecks of grey in it. He was wearing a black t-shirt and some dark brown cargo pants. He had a grungy blue jacket on. 

Y/N could feel her face turning a bright shade red as she felt so embarrassed. The trail she was on was flat, it wasn’t like she fell down the side of a mountain. 

“Uh, yeah i am fine.” Y/N lied. 

“Yeah, no you are not ok, that ankle is definitely broken.” The man said as he leaned over looking at her ankle. 

“What are you a doctor?” She laughed sarcastically. 

“Actually, yes I am.” He smiled. “I’m Doctor Michael Robinavitch. My friends call me Robby.” 

Y/N blushed again. “Oh.” 

“Do you have your phone on you? I left mine in my cabin.” Robby asked her. 

“Shit, no I left mine at my…” She thought about it and she realized she had fully left her phone back at Matt’s place. Matt was Y/N’s abusive ex. 

“That’s ok, my car is just right around the corner, I can drive you to the hospital.” Robby said as he reached out to help her up. “Don’t put any pressure on your foot.” 

She hesitated for a moment before she grabbed onto his hands and let him pull her to her feet. 

“What kind of doctor are you?” Y/N asked trying to make small talk as he helped her limp towards his car. 

“I work in emergency medicine.” He said. 

“Oh well it's just my lucky day then, a hot ER doctor stumbled upon me in my hour of need.” She joked and she watched as it was Robby’s turn to blush. 

“Did you come out here with anyone? Or were you out here by yourself?” Robby quickly changed the subject

“By myself, needed to get away somewhere I could clear my head.” Y/N sighed and she was surprised that Robby hadn’t brought up her black eye. “What about you? 

“Uh by myself, for similar reasons I guess.” 

They had almost reached the car when it started pouring. 

“Shit,” Robby said. “Can I just carry you?” He said and Y/N looked at him eyes wide. 

“What?” 

“It will be easier especially now that it’s raining.” He said.

“Uh, yeah sure.” She said and instantly Robby scooped her up and go them to his car. 

Quickly he loaded her into the car before hopping in himself. The rain had gotten even worse and visibility was horrible. 

“I don’t think it would be a good idea to drive the 30 minutes to the hospital in this weather. My cabin is only a few minutes away. I can splint your foot and make sure you have ice and ibuprofen.” 

“Damn, you don’t have any of the harder drugs.” Y/N teased. 

Robby chuckled. 

“I’ll go to your cabin but only if you promise that you aren’t a serial killer.” Y/N continued. 

“I promise I’m not, though I’m sure if I was I still would promise you I wasn’t.” He laughed as he started down the road to his cabin. 

That was just the beginning of the relationship between Y/N and Robby. They spent the whole night talking. What she loved was that he didn’t ask her about the black eye. She could see him clock it throughout all of their discussions but he never asked. And she knew he knew. But he didn’t need to ask, he just talked about her, about her life, her likes dislikes, everything about her. 

The next morning when he drove her to the hospital, he asked her out for coffee. 

*****************************************************

Y/N stared at the door waiting for Robby to come through, she couldn’t sit any longer and was pacing around the apartment. Her eyes darted back to their bedroom where her suitcase sat open and waiting to be filled. The night before Y/N had a massive fight. And had ended in a way that left Y/N teetering on the edge of whether to leave or stay. 

The man I am ain’t nothing but holes in a tattered soul 

Threads of grace hemmed with faith 

They’re strongest stitches sewn 

It had started with Y/N coming home from errands finding Robby packing his backpack for the next day. 

“What are you doing?” She asked as she dropped the groceries on the counter. 

“Getting ready for work tomorrow.” He said not even bothering to look up at her. 

“Robby you don’t work tomorrow, today was your last day for the weekend.” She laughed thinking that his old man brian was catching up with him. 

“No, I picked up a shift for tomorrow. I’m going in to help out.” He sighed as he walked over and started helping her put the groceries in the fridge. 

“Michael.” Y/N snapped. “You never work on the anniversary, what are you doing?” 

“They need help. I’m going to help.” He repeated doing his best to not make eye contact with her. 

Y/N sighed her heart breaking. She was at her breaking point with Robby. 

“I can’t keep doing this Michael.” She sighed her eyes filling with tears. 

“What are you talking about?” He asked as he started towards the living room. 

“Will you fucking look at me!” She screamed and Robby whipped around eyes full of anger. 

“Jesus, Y/N I don’t want to do this.” He snapped. 

“What talk, that’s all I want to do is talk. We haven’t talked in ages.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, we talk every day.”  

“No we don’t, we don’t have meaningful conversations like we used to. You won’t let me in. I know you are struggling. I know that work is starting to take a massive toll on you. I know you just keep thinking about Adamson and blaming yourself. And I have tried to get you to talk to me or talk to someone, but you won’t listen. I feel like you have just been going through the motions of our relationship. And I’m tired Michael. I’m tired of talking at you and hoping you are listening.” 

Robby sighed. “I don’t want to talk because we have nothing to talk about Y/N. All you want to do is nag me about talking about my feelings and I’m tired of it. If I had anything I needed to talk to you about I would. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you I’m fine. But I’m fucking fine.” 

“If you really think that Michael than I think you are lying to yourself. You have changed, you snap at everyone, you are more exhausted than I have ever seen you. And the Michael I know wouldn’t stand there watching me cry and not do anything.” 

“Well maybe I’m not the Michael you know anymore.” He snapped and Y/N sobbed. “If you want to leave then do it, but I can’t keep having this conversation Y/N.” He said as he gathered up his jacket. “I’m going on a walk.” 

The door slammed behind him and Y/N broke down sobbing as she collapsed to the floor. 

By the time Robby got back, Y/N was already in bed pretending to sleep. He came in silently and as he climbed into bed with her, he gave her a soft kiss on the forehead before turning his back towards her and falling asleep. 

When she woke up in the morning, he was already gone for work. And that was the moment when she thought it might be time for her to go. 

She spent the whole packing and unpacking her suitcase. She had just unpacked it again when she got the call from Dana filling her in. 

****************************************************

Her heart stopped when she could hear keys in the lock as the door slowly opened and she saw Robby walk in, he was wearing his hoodie from the beer festival they went to together. It was ratty and faded, but it was one of his favorite hoodies, he wore it all the time but especially on days when he wasn’t feel great. It not only reminded him of happier times with Y/N but it was also one of the last things him and Adamson did together. 

The minute he made eye contact with her he pulled out his airpods and dropped his backpack by the door. 

“You’re here.” He sighed tears filling up his eyes. “I was afraid that…” He started his voice cracking. 

Y/N didn’t say anything as she rushed to his arms pulling him into her embrace. She felt his shoulders sag as he held onto her tightly lifting her so she was standing on her tip-toes. 

“Dana told me what happened. I’m so sorry baby.” She whispered and she could feel him crying into her shoulder. 

They stayed like this for a long time Robby holding onto her tightly afraid that if he let her go he would lose her. But after a while he pulled away and wiped the tears from his face. He took in Y/N’s tear stained face as well as he took a step back.

“Would you like to go on a walk with me?” Robby asked. 

“Uh, yeah.” Y/N replied but the pit in her stomach grew to the size of a boulder. Was this the end, was this when Robby was going to finally break up with her. 

And if I’m not the man you bargained for 

And the bright red love you bought me for is gone. 

They walked in silence into the park. Both kept trying to start the conversation but neither knew exactly where to start. 

At first Y/N thought they were just wondering, but soon she realized that Robby was leading them back to her favorite spot in the park. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Robby finally spoke breaking the silence as he turned to Y/N. “I have been horrible lately.” 

“Things have been rough I know I…” Y/N started. 

“No, Y/N let me say this.” Robby said as he grabbed her hands. “I have been struggling, if I am being honest I have been struggling since Adamson died. But I have just kept pushing down all of my feelings. Trying to pretend I was ok. But Y/N I’m not ok.” He said his voice cracking. 

Will you lie here under star drowned skies 

And look me in the eyes when I say 

These are our hard times 

“I constant feel like I’m failing everyone. But most importantly I feel like I am failing you.” 

“Michael…” 

“No I am or I have continuously failed you in our relationship. Ever since Adamson died I have been a husk of who I once was. I felt like I failed him and I kept trying to correct my failure, in every patient after him but it just made the losses so much worse. And I just kept pushing myself harder and harder to be better and to not be affected by so much. I thought it made me a better doctor and a better partner if I just pretended I was fine. But you knew, you knew I was ok, and you tried so hard to get me to open up. But I felt like if I opened up and I let myself feel all the pain I was feeling, I wouldn’t survive it. And I knew that was fair to you. I knew that I was shutting you out and pushing you away, and I could see how badly  I was hurting you. But I thought that maybe if I pushed you away, it would be better for you.” Michael sobbed as he tried to hid his face from Y/N. 

“Hey,” Y/N said as she reached up and placed her hand on his cheek turning him so he was looking at her. 

“And I know after everything I put you through I don’t deserve to ask that you forgive me. Hell I thought after our fight last night you would have left me. You probably should have left me.” He quickly grabbed her hands. “But I want you to know, today I broke. Today it was the final straw and I couldn’t hold it back anymore. After losing Leah, I fully broke down. I couldn’t breath, I couldn’t think straight. Hell I prayed. But it made me realize that I can’t keep pushing down these emotions, I can’t keep pretending to be ok. Jack gave me the number for his therapist, I’m going to reach out.” 

Y/N could feel her own tears streaming down her face as she watched Robby finally let her in. 

“And I’m not going to hide things from you anymore. I’m not going to try and push you away. I love you so much. And I know I have taken you for granted. And I am so sorry. I’m so sorry I’ve not been the partner you deserve. But I can’t imagine my life without you. I was terrified I was going to come home tonight and find you gone. Things are going to be different I promise. And I know I have no right to ask you this, but I am begging you, I would get down on my knees but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to get my up.” He cracked a smile. “Please stay. Let me make it up to you. Let me show you how much I love you.” 

Y/N quickly pulled Michael into her arms, holding onto him tightly as she sobbed. 

“Where else am I going to go?” She whispered and he pulled her in for a long kiss as the two held each other crying. But they were not longer tears of sadness, instead they were tears of joy, so happy that they had found their way back to one another. 

Say You’ll Stay 

[16wolke11]

The Echo of Us - Lando Norris

A/N This was requested by @miss-mastermind. Okay, I struggled so much with this and I am not even sure if I am happy with the outcome. Soo, if you really are unhappy with it, text me and we figure it out (:

WORDS: 691

INSPIRATION: us. - Gracie Abrams

Being in a relationship and slipping out of it again is normal, but it can still tear someone apart. Feeling the aching in my heart where once was just adoration and love needs time to adjust to and on some days, it feels like I never will get better. Days when I spot him on social media, when news broadcasters say his name or when I just can’t avoid being reminded of him. That damn cafe we used to visit, the sole mention of cinnamon rolls, the smell of his perfume.

It has been months, I should be over Lando by now, but still my heart aches when I think about him, while my mind just wishes to turn back time.

The worst day comes when Lando presents his new girlfriend. Looking picture perfect, no visible mistakes and everybody seems to love her. I watch her through the videos and pictures on social media. How she plays her little show with the camera, what wouldn't be so bad if there wasn’t one small detail. Lando’s eyes are always on her, like he loves to show her off. Nothing like it was when we were a thing.

When our relationship ended, I knew there was going to be damage and in the end, I was the one being crumbled into ruins. Our relationship, which once felt like it was woven by fate just for us, drifted into the never-ending question: What the hell was I doing?

Life seemed to be unbearable back then, days not livable anymore, but I had to move on. Trying to figure out my life being alone again, no set future anymore, but just dusty clouds of uncertainty. Not knowing when I will start a family, get married or even just move in with anyone again. With Lando, those things were kind of set, now they are in a future I can’t picture right now.

Sometimes I ask myself if Lando misses us. Misses how well we worked together. Misses the time we spend together. Misses the future we wanted to have for us. I wonder if wishes things went differently. Wonder if he would like to fix things if we had the chance. Wonder if he regrets the secret he made out of us.

The relationship felt like something old from the beginning. Something sturdy that isn’t something to be broken easily. Just like one of those old bookshelves that hold all those wonderful stories and last for more than just a short time. Our souls bled into each other, sealing us together and everyone thought that we were perfect for each other. But then everything changed and what seemed like fate burned into ashes by flames.

Being broken after the relationship made people feel like they had to cheer me up. Tell me I should give it a few weeks, a few months to get better. Someone told me that after the same amount of time I spend with Lando has passed, ten months, I will be past it. I wasn't.

Still thinking about that one particular night which burned itself into my memories, making my heart ache even more. The night Lando and I talked about the future, what we have planned, and he told me so many false things during it. Lando made them sound like the prettiest sonnets written by talented poets, lulling me in, but I couldn’t see behind those words. They were empty, they were lies, they were the things that broke me in the end.

Lando was the one breaking my heart, making me suffer and still I can’t be a hundred percent mad at him. It was easy between us, simple, but in the end, we aren’t a thing anymore. Still, in my head, Lando plus me is us.

I shouldn’t think about him, about his future, which should have been ours. I should focus on myself, on healing, moving on and stop looking back on the things we had. But in the end, I can’t stop myself from thinking about that picture-perfect future we had in mind.

And just sometimes, I still ask myself: Does Lando miss us?

[whateverisbeautiful]

Your questions are interesting!

4) My headcanon is that brave man story originated with Michonne and it's how she told Judith what happened with Rick. Maybe Rosita, Siddiq and Aaron were there for Michonne. I can't see Maggie and Carol being there too long because of their own communities/families. 5) I think maybe finding out she was pregnant made her sad but also happy to still have a reminder of him with their child. She probably told Judith she was going to be a big sister. I can picture Rosita holding her hand during the birth as well.

6) I think they had a memorial and I can see Michonne being okay with it because she seemed to want to just have answers or closure of some kind for herself and for Judith and RJ. It also seems like she told them that he died so they wouldn't wonder like she did.

Love these replies! I definitely can see Michonne telling Judith about Rick not coming home through telling the Brave Man story. 🥲 I always envision that toddler Judith became extra clingy to Michonne in the weeks after Rick was gone, and it breaks Michonne’s heart knowing part of why Judith never wants Michonne out of her sight is because, even at her young age, she’s come to understand that people can be here one day and gone the next.

Rosita, Siddiq, & Aaron are good answers. Siddiq & Rosita were top of mind for me as well, both being there for Michonne in the early weeks of Rick’s disappearance and the birth of RJ. I could even see that being how Rosita and Siddiq started to develop a closer relationship between them, since they could have started being around each other more while they were there for Michonne.

I think Michonne learning she was pregnant was extremely bittersweet, but ultimately a comfort for her. She’s someone who finds so many sentimental ways to remain close to those she’s lost, like wearing Rick’s ring and clothes. So to learn she’d have the greatest reflection of Rick in the baby they both wanted together would give her some true solace amid everything. Even tho I know she’d also wish every day that Rick could be with her during this new chapter. I can picture Judith being excited to learn that her baby sibling was on the way. 🥰

For #6, I feel like Michonne would be up for them throwing a gathering that celebrates and honors Rick and the immense impact he had. I could just see Michonne also avoiding using terminology that concretely suggested Rick was dead when she spoke at the memorial. Like she’d commemorate who he is, not who he was in the past tense. But you’re right, the Brave Man story Judith told did include Rick going to heaven, so it does seem she told them Rick died, probably to try and free them from the constant what-ifs, like you said. That was such a tough situation for Michonne, longing for closure and living in this limbo of needing to accept her husband was indefinitely gone while also deep down feeling him alive out there. 🥺

[pixiefelixie]

a series of phone calls with increasing time zones, proving that not even distance can break true love

idol!seungmin x reader, 5k words, fluff, long-distance au (seungmin on tour), angst, one argument, suggestive themes but not graphic!! (implied masturbation, sexual intercourse)

you both knew tour was going to be a challenge. the time zones, the silence between texts, being apart for too long. the kind of distance that makes you wonder if it’s still as warm on the other side.

but real love sticks. real love dials in the middle of the night with a sleepy voice and a hotel duvet pulled up to his chin. seungmin is in australia. one hour ahead of you.

“hey, baby” seungmin whispers, the sound barely above the static. “you still awake?”

you roll onto your back, staring at your ceiling like it might answer for you. “yeah.”

“did you cry?” he asks gently. not mocking. just—curious, like he’s asking about the weather.

“a little,” you admit, voice barely holding. “why are you so hard to sleep without?”

he exhales, soft and slow. “i don’t know,” he says, “maybe i cursed you.”

“maybe,” you whisper back.

there’s silence for a while. not awkward. just full.

then, “han jisung is asleep like two feet away, and if he hears me say sappy shit he’s gonna roast me into another dimension.”

you smile a little.

“but,” seungmin adds, quieter now, “i miss you too. like. a lot.”

you close your eyes. “don’t whisper like that. it makes it worse.”

“oh? does it?” his voice dips lower, playful. “what, like this?”

“seungmin.”

“i can picture your face right now” he says with a light chuckle.

you groan into your pillow. “i hate you.”

“no you don’t.”

“no,” you sigh. “i don’t.”

“i’ll call you again tomorrow night,” he murmurs, yawn crawling into his voice. “maybe i’ll read you the hotel shampoo ingredients like poetry.”

“that’s so romantic.”

"i know. i’m basically shakespeare,” he whispers, smug and sleepy.

you let out a soft laugh. “then what’s your sonnet about tonight, romeo?”

“hm.” there's a pause. you hear the rustle of sheets as he shifts, the soft creak of the bed frame. “ode to the cotton bed sheets that smell like lavender.”

you snort. “beautiful. truly moving.”

“i try,” he hums. “for you.”

your throat tightens at that. it’s so quiet on the other end, and you can almost picture him—eyes half-lidded, phone pressed to his cheek, hair messy from the long day, the glow of the hallway light slipping through the crack under the hotel door.

“you should sleep,” you murmur.

“you should stop sounding like you’re about to cry again,” he says.

you blink fast. “sorry.”

“don’t be,” he says. “i miss you too. more than i wanna say out loud because jisung has ears like a bat.”

“tell him i said hi.”

“i will. in the morning. right now, i’m all yours.”

you smile into your pillow. “even if you’re like... thousands of miles away?”

“distance isn’t real,” he says, like it’s obvious. “you’re in my phone, in my head, and in my stupid heart.”

you murmur, fingers curling in the sheets. "i love you."

you can hear him smile. not the smug kind. the quiet one—the one he saves for you.

"i know," he whispers. "i know, baby. i love you too."

your eyes sting again.

“i wanna hear you say goodnight, before i go,” he says softly. “like i’m still right there.”

you tuck your face into your pillow, pretending he is.

you whisper, “goodnight, seungmin.”

he exhales, long and slow. “again.”

“goodnight, minnie.”

“one more time,” he murmurs, voice already halfway to sleep.

you grin, heart squeezing. “goodnight, love.”

“mmm,” he hums, already slipping under. “that one’s my favorite.”

the call doesn’t end. he never hangs up first. not when he’s on tour. not when you’re the only quiet thing that feels like home.

seungmin was always your plumber. doing it alone felt harder than it should’ve.

"okay, okay—stop. stop touching it. you're gonna break it."

"i have to touch it, kim seungmin.” you huff in frustration.

“not when you’re doing it like that.”

“how would you know? you’re in a limousine.”

on the other end of the call, there’s a soft rustling of leather seats, then a distant snort of laughter—probably changbin. then hyunjin’s unmistakable voice, teasing in the background.

you roll your eyes and crouch down by the sink again. “just walk me through it.”

you hear him sigh dramatically. “you're gonna need both of your hands. you’re holding the flashlight with your mouth, right?”

“yeah.” you say, slightly muffled

“cute,” he says, like it’s automatic.

you smile.

“okay, now reach in with your left hand—gently—and find the little hex socket.”

“the what?”

“the six-sided bolt, babe.”

you find it. “got it.”

“good. now take the wrench— the L-shaped one. the baby wrench.”

you laugh around the flashlight. “you mean the allen key?”

“i said what i said.”

you fit it into place, and it clicks. "what now?"

“turn it slowly. coax it back to life.”

“you’re stupid.”

“you’re smiling.”

he’s right. you are.

the background laughter comes again, through your phone. you take the flashlight out of your mouth and furrow your eyebrows, now glaring at the phone.

seungmin huffs. “ignore them. they’re just mad no one calls them to fix things with love and precision.”

you grin and go back to work. “why love?”

“you think i’d be guiding you through garbage disposal in a limousine if i wasn’t in love with you?”

you pause. heart full. “i love you too, minnie.”

“i know,” he murmurs. “now finish the job, so you can text me a picture when it works and i can brag to those idiots about how you’re the best mechanic alive.”

“deal,” you grin.

"and hey?"

"yeah?"

“don’t go getting too good at this independent thing without me, alright? you’ll end up not needing me anymore.”

you roll your eyes fondly. “bye, seungmin.”

“bye, love.”

your phone buzzes unexpectedly—no text, no facetime request, just a straight-up call. that never happens unless something’s wrong.

“hello?”

there’s a beat. then a shaky inhale on the other end of the line. not panicked, but definitely not seungmin’s usual snarky hello either.

“minnie?” you answer, sitting up straighter. “everything okay?”

he exhales again, this time more controlled, like he’s trying to reset himself mid-breath. “yeah, sorry, i just—sorry, this is gonna sound really dumb.”

“are you okay?” you ask again, softer this time.

“yeah. yeah, i just—” he pauses, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “we were walking into this venue, right? and i wasn’t thinking, just messing around with jeongin, and suddenly…”

he trails off.

“suddenly?” you prompt.

“i caught this scent. like perfume. i don’t know who it was, just someone walking by, but it—” he lets out a shaky breath. “it smelled so much like you.”

your heart clenches. “me?”

“yeah,” he says, voice low, almost like he’s embarrassed. “and i just—god, i didn't know i could recognize it so easily, y’know? i never paid attention to that stuff before. but it hit me so fast. like my brain was like, oh, she’s here, and i looked around like an idiot.”

you’re quiet, lips curling into something helpless and warm. “you’re so cute.”

“shut up,” he mutters, and it sounds half-defensive, half-melting. “i was just—i don’t know, kind of spiraling.”

“i should’ve given you the bottle before you left,” you murmur. “you could’ve sprayed it on your pillow or something. maybe your hoodie. made it easier.”

“okay well, actually,” he says, suddenly brisk. “i’m in a fragrance store right now.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “what?”

“i literally walked away from the guys and came in here. i don’t even know what i’m doing.”

you’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. “so you called me to ask what perfume i use?”

“maybe,” he says quietly. “maybe i just wanted to hear your voice while i looked for you in a bottle.”

you bury your face in your hand. “seungmin.”

“don’t make it a thing,” he grumbles, but his voice is soft again. “just tell me what it is. i wanna spray it on my wrist or my hoodie or something, and maybe then i won’t look around every time i smell it.”

you tell him, and he repeats it back softly, twice—like he’s memorizing it.

“okay,” he says, “i found it.”

you smile into the phone. “go on then, give it a try. you gotta confirm it’s really me.”

there’s a little silence. the soft pop of the sample nozzle. then—

he gets quiet.

too quiet.

you wait, lips parted, holding your breath like the silence might break if you exhale too hard.

“minnie?” you say gently.

on the other end of the line, there’s a small rustle—like he’s pulling the test strip closer—and then a faint breath, nearly soundless.

“...yeah,” he says, but it’s barely there. hushed. careful.

“is it the right one?” you ask, smiling even though you can’t see him.

another pause.

“it feels like you’re right here.”

you chest tightens.

another rustle—probably him turning away from the counter, footsteps echoing as he walks deeper into the store.

“i need to hang up.”

you blink. “wait, what? why—”

“just—thank you,” he says, quickly, like it hurts. “seriously. thank you.”

“min—”

but the line clicks before you can finish.

your phone rings just as you're brushing your teeth, screen lighting up with minnie calling. it’s early—too early for your brain to do much thinking—but your heart wakes up faster than the rest of you.

you swipe the call and press it to your ear, foam still in your mouth.

“hi, seungmin,” you mumble around your toothbrush, voice muffled and lazy.

he doesn't answer right away. just… breathes.

low. slow. deliberate.

you pause mid-brush. “...minnie?”

“baby,” he says, and something about his voice makes your hand freeze midair. deeper than usual. lower. like he’s under the covers, talking into the pillow.

“what time is it over there?”

“past midnight.”

“shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

a quiet chuckle. “couldn’t. been thinking about you.”

your cheeks warm instantly as you flicked the light switch and made your way to your bedroom.

“earlier today, your scent,” he adds, voice dragging a little now, like he’s letting each word settle before moving on. “you really messed me up with that.”

you sit down on the edge of your bed, heart pounding. “what are you doing?”

he inhales, slow—like he’s giving you a hint without actually saying anything.

“mm… i'm in bed,” he says, voice velvety. “lights are off. window’s open a little.”

you smile, because he’s playing. “and?”

he’s silent for a beat. then—softly, “jisung’s not here.” his designated hotel roommate.

you lean back into your pillow, a little breath catching in your throat. “where is he?”

“went to see chan. they’re doing a livestream in his room.” a pause. “won’t be back for a while.”

you don’t say anything—can’t, really—but the line’s quiet in that loaded kind of way. your breath hitches just enough.

he hears it.

“you gonna keep pretending you don’t know what i’m doing?” he says, voice dipping into something firmer, smoother. “or are you gonna be good and ask me what i want you to do?”

your legs press together on instinct, pulse suddenly very loud in your ears.

“we haven’t had a call like this yet,” you whisper, your voice barely holding steady.

“i know, baby. for now just stay with me.”

distance could do terrible things to people who loved each other. it stretched silence into assumptions, turned waiting into resentment, made every little misstep feel like betrayal.

and tonight, it was doing its worst.

“i just don’t get why you didn’t say anything,” you snap, hands gripping the steering wheel. “you waited until now to bring this up?”

“because i knew you’d react like this,” seungmin fires back, voice tight, like he’s trying not to be overheard.

“like what? like i have a problem with you being honest?”

“no,” he says, “like you twist it into something about you. like you always do.”

“wow.” you pause. blink. “you’re backstage, aren’t you?”

“yes.”

“then why the hell did you call me now if you don’t even have time to talk about this properly?”

“because it’s been eating me alive and i didn’t want to go on stage feeling like this, okay?” his voice wavers. not loud. just frayed.

you exhale, eyes stinging. “i’m not your emotional dumping ground.”

you suck in a shaky breath, throat tight.

“and you could’ve talked about this without raising your voice at me,” you say, quieter now.

there’s silence on the line.

you hear him shift, maybe press his palm over the phone. muffled voices in the background—staff calling him.

“anyway,” you continue, forcing the tremble out of your voice. “i don’t want to bring you down before your show.”

he’s still silent.

“i’m sorry, seungmin. i really am.” your voice softens further. “i love you. are we good?”

a beat. then—

“yeah. we’re good.”

your heart clenches.

you wait.

just for a second.

just long enough to hope he says it back.

but he doesn’t.

the line goes dead.

you sit there, phone still pressed to your ear, staring at nothing.

it’s been hours. half a day, maybe more.

you haven’t heard from him since.

you’re at your desk, legs curled under your chair, coffee cold, unread emails glowing in tabs you haven’t touched.

your phone buzzes.

seungmin: just got back. wanna call?

you stare at the message, thumb hovering.

you: it’s past midnight over there.

a few seconds later:

seungmin: it’s alright. are you busy?

you glance around your office—empty, quiet, dim with the afternoon light pooling through the blinds. the answer’s obvious.

you: no.

the typing bubble appears. disappears. Then your screen lights up.

incoming call: seungmin

your heart skips.

you hesitate just a moment but you answer anyway.

“hey,” he says softly, voice scratchy, tired. like he’s been sitting in silence just waiting to hear you.

you don’t say anything right away.

he waits.

“you should be asleep,” you murmur.

he chuckles faintly. “couldn’t. been thinking about you.”

you exhale, shoulders dropping just a little. “me too.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

you rest your chin on your hand, eyes tracing the little scratches on your desk, voice still quiet. “how was the concert?”

he breathes out a small laugh. “we did well. it was great.”

“were you tired during the dance sets?” you ask gently, genuinely. “you didn’t sound winded, but i know you’ve been pushing your knee too hard.”

there’s a pause.

he says, voice low with something like awe. “yeah, it was sore. but i iced it after. chan made me”

you laugh.

then, soft again, he says, “i’m sorry.”

you close your eyes. “me too.”

and it’s not everything, not the whole conversation. but it’s enough for now.

“I love you,” you whisper, trying again.

you can hear him smiling, even through the static.

“i love you too,” he says. “so much.”

you smile back, cheeks warm and aching in the best way.

but then—softly, almost before you mean to say it.

“i don’t wanna get used to this.”

there’s a pause. the kind that makes your throat tighten.

“used to what?” he asks gently.

you swallow. “being apart from you.”

he breathes in through his nose. slowly. “you think that’s happening?”

you shrug, even though he can’t see you. “some days it’s easier. and i hate that. like… am i supposed to be okay with not hearing your voice until midnight? with seeing you through screens more than in person?”

he doesn’t answer right away. just listens.

so you go on, voice smaller now. “are we starting to miss each other less?”

and then he says it, soft but sure.

“no.”

“i’m scared i’m gonna,” you admit, a little too quietly.

he exhales. “you won’t.”

“how do you know?”

“because i’m still here,” he says. “and every time you call, every time you say my name, it still feels like the first time. i’m never gonna be something you forget how to want.”

you blink fast, throat thick.

“even if it gets easier,” he adds, “it doesn’t mean it means less. it just means we’re learning how to carry it better.”

you nod, tears prickling—but this time, they feel okay.

safe.

like love you can live inside of.

“you’re still the first thing i think about,” you whisper.

“good,” he murmurs. “same.”

you pick up and immediately the screen is sideways, showing a very blurry Jisung laughing so hard he’s bent over the hotel bed.

"hellooooo," jisung yells directly into the phone.

you blink. "uh… hi?"

the screen rights itself. seungmin appears—barefaced, hair messy, eyes way too shiny to be sober. he’s lying on his stomach, chin squished into a pillow, voice soft and dangerously sweet.

“hi, baby,” he says, all low and slurred and dangerous.

“oh no,” you whisper. “how drunk are you two?”

“not drunk,” he insists.

“he’s drunk,” jisung confirms helpfully, popping into frame again and waving.

“shut up,” seungmin mumbles, blindly swatting at him.

you snort. “what’s happening over there?”

“he has something to tell you,” jisung says smugly.

seungmin groans, burying half his face in the blanket. “jisung…”

“tell her what you told me,” jisung insists.

“han jisung, shut your entire mouth.”

“too late. he said—” jisung gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “‘if she were here right now I’d let her ruin my life.’”

a beat of silence.

then seungmin smacks him off camera with a pillow.

seungmin flips back into frame, completely disheveled and pouty. “seriously, come over sweetpea.”

“i’m in a different country.”

“weak excuse,” he grumbles, already rolling over onto his side like the call’s exhausting him.

jisung peeks in again, holding up a half-eaten macaron. “if you were here, we’d give you one of these.”

you laugh, full and warm, cheeks sore from smiling.

“save some for me then,” you say, voice soft but playful.

seungmin doesn’t hear it—he’s already buried back into the pillow, mumbling something incoherent about what the bed smells like.

but jisung hears it.

he freezes, mid-bite, eyes snapping to the screen.

you meet his gaze.

he widens his eyes, mouthing: really?

you bite back a smile and give the tiniest, most deliberate nod.

his entire face lights up, but then he clamps his mouth shut, physically slaps a hand over it, and glances at Seungmin, who’s currently face down and humming the mario kart theme into the blanket.

“oh my god,” Jisung mouths again, silently losing it.

you put a finger to your lips, shhh.

he nods rapidly, then mimes zipping his lips and throwing the key.

seungmin groans. “why is it so quiet now? what—are you guys passing notes like it’s high school?”

“no,” jisung says, biting into his macaron and struggling not to beam. “just studying. real academic vibes over here.”

seungmin rolls over again, squinting. “weirdos.”

you just smile.

“see you soon,” you whisper, quiet enough that only jisung catches it.

and he grins like he’s holding the world’s best secret. because he is.

the screen lights up with a familiar facetime ring.

you answer, already smiling. “hi.”

his face appears—dim lighting, hoodie up, hair messy like he’s been running his hands through it all night. he’s lying on his side in bed, camera slightly tilted. there’s a stillness to him tonight. the kind that feels heavier than silence.

“hey,” he says, voice low. a little tired. a little distant.

you tuck your legs underneath you on the couch. “how long’s it been now?”

he doesn’t even pause to think. “five months.”

you nod. “we’re halfway.”

“only halfway.”

your breath catches at that. you weren’t expecting him to say it like that—like it’s a sentence.

you sigh, fingers tightening around your phone. “yeah.”

for a moment, neither of you say anything.

“i know you’re tired,” you say gently.

“i’m fine,” he replies, but there’s no weight behind it. like he’s used to pretending. “it just… feels really far tonight.”

you nod slowly, throat tight. “i know. it feels far for me too.”

he looks at you for a second longer—eyes a little glassy, lips parted like he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it.

but he does.

“i miss you, sweetheart.”

your breath catches in your chest.

he rarely calls you that. only when he means it. when he’s feeling something he doesn’t know how to explain in full sentences.

you swallow hard. “soon.”

he nods, slow. “yeah. soon.”

he has no idea just how soon.

no idea that your suitcase is already packed. that your flight lands tomorrow morning. that the hotel front desk already has your name and a keycard.

and as he murmurs, “i wish i could hold your hand right now,”

you smile.

“you will,” you say softly.

you keep replaying it in your head—seungmin’s face when he saw you in the crowd. that second of shock, then the dumbest grin as he stumbled over a lyric and tried to play it off like he meant to do that. you’d almost cried. almost.

and now it’s past midnight, the concert hours behind you, and you know he’s taken his time wiping off the sweat and glitter of it all, probably still tangled in post-show chaos and crew goodbyes.

which is why, when you hear the knock at your hotel room door, your heart does that annoying fluttery thing. you don’t even hesitate—you’re off the bed in seconds, bare feet padding across the floor, and you already know who it is before you check the peephole.

you open the door.

and there he is.

hair slightly damp, hoodie pulled low over his forehead, backpack slung over one shoulder. tired eyes—but shining. always shining when they’re on you.

most of his face is hidden in the shadows of the hood, just the curve of his cheekbone catching the hallway light. you can’t really see him, not fully. but you’d know that silhouette anywhere.

you don’t even get a word out. he drops his bag, wraps his arms around you, and pulls you into him like you’re the only thing holding him up. you let out a small squeal, laughing, your arms looping around his neck just as he lifts you straight off the ground.

“seungmin—!” you giggle as he spins you in a circle, your feet kicking in the air.

“i missed you,” he breathes into your shoulder before setting you down slowly. “i missed you so bad.”

once your feet touch the carpet, you're grabbing the front of his hoodie and tugging him inside. the door swings shut behind him with a soft click, and before he can blink, you’re kissing him.

he melts immediately, like he’s been waiting all night for this because he has. his hands slide back around your waist, pulling you in tighter and you giggle into it—completely overwhelmed and completely in love.

he stumbles forward a little, still kissing you, until your back hits the wall with a muted thud. you gasp softly into his mouth, grinning now as he presses into you, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, dazed.

“what…” he breathes, his lips brushing yours, “…what are you doing here?”

you blink at him, still catching your breath, still grinning. “i wanted to come surprise you.”

he just stares at you for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re real. then he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “you’re a crazy, crazy girl, you know right?”

“you think i’d let you go out of the country for ten months and not visit you?” you say, voice light, teasing, warm. “you really thought i could go that long without seeing your dumb face?”

he doesn’t answer. just lets out this soft, wrecked little sound—half-laugh, half-sigh—as he wraps his arms around you again, tighter this time. he buries his face into your hoodie, right against your collarbone, his breath warm through the fabric. you hug him back instantly, arms wrapping under his and holding him close. he clings. like he’s cold and you’re the only source of warmth he’ll ever need.

“come on,” you murmur, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head gently. “let me see you, now.”

he shakes his head against you, just the tiniest movement. doesn’t loosen his grip. doesn’t lift his head.

“seungmin,” you whisper again, a little firmer, leaning back slightly so you can reach up and tug his hood down.

the fabric falls away. his hair’s tousled, still a little damp from a shower or maybe the rain outside, and his face is hidden—tilted down, eyes trained on the floor. he still hasn’t looked at you properly.

all he does is lift his hand up to his face. wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. you catch the tremble in his fingers.

a sniffle.

“oh, minnie…” you whisper, your heart cracking wide open.

despite the way he towers over you, his shoulders are hunched, his head bowed low like he’s trying to disappear into himself.

you coo softly, barely a sound.

that does it.

he lets out this weak, shaky sigh like he’s been holding it in since the moment he saw you at the concert, maybe longer—and your chest seizes with it. he turns his face just slightly, burying it into your shoulder again, arms wrapping tight around your waist like he's scared you'll vanish if he lets go.

your hands are already moving—one smoothing over his back, the other stroking his hair—your body swaying with his as he starts to let out shaky, quiet gasps.

he sniffles again, shoulders still trembling, but when he finally speaks, it’s muffled into your hoodie. “the members were betting on me. on whether or not i’d cry when i saw you.”

you let out a little laugh and reach up to cup his cheeks, gently swiping away the fresh tears still clinging to his lashes. “and who said you wouldn’t cry?”

he hesitates. “me.”

you laugh again—soft and a little breathless—as your thumbs brush gently under his eyes. “of course you did,” you murmur, fingers sliding up to smooth through his damp hair.

he lets out a weak chuckle, eyes fluttering closed at your touch. he leans into your hand for a second before straightening up a bit, pulling his shoulders back like he’s trying to regain a sliver of composure.

even now, red-eyed and sniffling, there’s still something solid about him. the way he holds you, the way he stands just a bit in front of you like he’d shield you from the world if it even looked at you wrong.

seungmin's lips part, like he wants to say something but the words won’t come. instead, he just stares at you, eyes darting across your face like he’s trying to take in every inch of you he’s missed. like he’s scared you’ll be gone if he blinks too long.

“you have no idea how much i needed this,” he whispers.

you step closer, hands finding his again. “that's why i'm here.”

he shakes his head, fingers tightening around yours. “no, like—” he exhales hard, eyes shining as he glances down at your joined hands. “you don’t get it. every night, i’d come back and just... lie on the hotel bed and pretend you were next to me. i missed everything. your voice, your stupid little yawns, the way you poke me when i zone out.”

you let out a laugh, watery and soft. “i do not poke you.”

“you do,” he insists, eyes wide like it’s the most important fact in the world. “you go like this—” he imitates a dramatic jab to your side, making you laugh and swat his arm. he chuckles, bright and breathless, and then quiets.

your heart flutters and you don’t even try to hide how it shows on your face. you tug his hand and backpedal toward the bed, flopping onto it with a gentle bounce. propped up on your elbows, you tilt your head at him. “c’mere.”

seungmin shrugs off his backpack, then tugs his hoodie off by the back—grabbing it near the collar and pulling it over in one smooth, practiced motion. he holds it in front of him for a second, then slips out of the sleeves with the opposite hand.

his t-shirt clings in places and hangs loose in others, fabric soft and worn and framing the lean lines of his torso in a way that’s criminally distracting. your eyes fall on the way it shifts with every movement—subtle dips of collarbone, the slight curve of his waist.

your fingers curl slightly in the blanket beneath you as he steps closer, and your breath hitches without permission. god, you missed him. not just his face or his voice, but all of him—how he moves, how he fills the space around you like no one else can.

seungmin crawls onto the bed, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. the mattress dips under his weight and the second he's close enough, your hands reach up instinctively—fingertips grazing his forearm, his side, like you’re checking if he’s really here.

he smells like his body wash, clean and warm with something a little woodsy. familiar. comforting. so him.

then he leans in, arms bracketing either side of your body, and your whole world narrows to just the space between you, until finally—finally—his lips brush against yours.

it’s soft. barely even a kiss at first, more like the ghost of one, like he’s still afraid he’ll break the moment if he moves too fast. but you kiss him back, and then he presses in more fully, and it’s everything. warm and slow and full of all the things you’ve both been trying not to say out loud.

he kisses you again, and again, each one a little deeper than the last—like he’s making up for every single day you were apart. one hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb sweeping tender over your cheek.

“i love you so much,” he whispers, like it’s a confession. like it still stuns him just how badly he felt it.

you nod, blinking back the sudden sting behind your eyes. “i love you too.”

he exhales shakily, and then he kisses you once more—slow, full of longing—and you swear you feel the world right itself a little, just because he’s here.

he pulls away, just slightly, and rests his forehead against yours. your noses bump, and he closes his eyes, smiling so softly it barely lifts the corners of his mouth. “i was scared you’d forget about me.”

you shake your head, hand settling over his heart. “you’re impossible to forget. trust me, i tried.”

“i know,” he breathes. “me too. it was unbearable sometimes.”

you tilt your chin up and kiss the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, slow and lingering. his skin is warm under your lips, and you feel him exhale shakily, his body softening against yours like your touch is the thing holding him together.

his hands wander a little now, like he can’t help it—tracing slow lines along your back, the dip of your waist, smoothing down your arm and back up again. his hand slips beneath the shirt under your hoodie, smoothing over bare skin, and your breath catches.

you let him pull the layers of fabric over your head. let him take his time. he kisses down your neck, your chest, soft and focused, every press of his lips asking, are you sure?

and every answer you give is yes.

you wake up slowly, warm and hazy, the kind of rest that only comes after feeling completely safe. the curtains are still drawn, soft light peeking through just enough to glow against the sheets.

and then you feel it—his hand, resting on your waist. his thumb tracing little circles on your skin, like he never stopped touching you even in his sleep.

you blink your eyes open.

he’s already awake, head propped on one arm, looking at you with the calmest expression you’ve ever seen on him. the kind that makes your heart ache just a little because you know how much he doesn’t show easily.

“you’re staring,” you murmur, voice rough from sleep.

“you’re pretty when you’re confused and squinty,” he says, lips curving just barely.

you smile, still half-asleep, but it turns real fast when he leans in and kisses you—soft and unhurried, his fingers brushing your cheek like he’s still making sure you’re real.

“good morning,” you whisper.

“technically almost noon,” he teases. “but yeah. it’s good now.”

he pulls back, just enough to give you room as you sit up, blanket tugged up to cover your chest. your fingers instinctively rake through your tangled hair, and he watches you with a little too much amusement.

then he shifts, reaching over the side of the bed to dig through his bag.

“i have something for you,” he says casually.

and then he turns back around—with a box of macarons in his hand.

you gasp, grinning instantly. “you didn’t.”

he takes one out, leans in with the smuggest little grin, and holds it to your lips.

“if you were here,” he says, softly now, “you’d be eating one of these. and you are. so.”

you roll your eyes, but open your mouth anyway, taking a bite—and he watches you like he just won the lottery.

“sweet enough?” he murmurs.

you swallow, cheeks warm. “almost.”

he leans in again, brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“now?” he asks.

“perfect,” you whisper.

and he smiles like he never wants to be anywhere else ever again.

[slttygeto]

HUSBAND SUGURU! + PREGNANCY ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

tags: fem! reader, husband suguru!, nsfw, suguru is very hesitant about being a dad, but isnt forced into this :), reader is very motherly, dirty talk and talk about getting off the pill and being bred.

word count: 2,1k

Husband Suguru! whom before you even got married, sat you down and mentioned to you how starting a family wasn’t something he was looking forward to. you know of his past, of the trauma he’s been through. he fully expects you to break up with him when he tells you that, knows how much you want to have a baby of your own, but you don’t. instead, you cradle him in your arms and tell him that you love him and appreciate what you have right now, not what you don’t even see in the picture.

Husband Suguru! who swears he hasn’t changed his mind about babies, about starting a family in general even three years into the marriage. but when he sees you with your friend’s baby, the glow on your face, the motherly instinct—how you gently place your hand on the baby’s head, rock her back and forth and coo at her softly while her mother gets her food ready, his heart feels as though it is about to explode.

“There there baby girl,” your voice is barely above a whisper, and when the baby cries, your lip juts out and you pull the infant towards your chest in an attempt at soothing her. your eyes find his where he is sitting on the couch, and the lighthearted chuckle you give him pulls a nervous one out of his body. you are now convinced that your husband would never ever change his mind based on the horror painting his features as he turns to your friend’s husband to strike a conversation. but in reality, the topic of their conversation is all too surprising.

“Has it been difficult? You know, managing a career and taking care of the baby,”

“Oh yeah very,” the other man admits but Suguru doesn’t detect a single hint of regret in his voice. “but yknow, look at that,” he point his glass of water in the direction of his wife and you holding the baby. “seeing my wife with our baby, our creation—seeing her act all motherly like that? Totally worth it.”

Husband Suguru! who starts to consider the idea of getting you pregnant. he hopes for the rational part of his brain to win over, rather than the horny, disgustingly perverted one. but when you walk out of the shower in a crop top, his mind drifts elsewhere—and suddenly, the image of your belly swollen with his kids floods his mind and he has to put a pillow on his crotch to hide the very evident bulge in his pants.

Husband Suguru! who once he calms down and takes care of his raging boner, texts Satoru in a hurry, asking if they could meet up tomorrow morning. your husband tells you of his plans and you hum sleepily, telling him how catching up with his best friend seems like a good idea. Suguru drops the bomb on his best friend the moment they sit down and the ivory haired’s jaw almost meets the floor.

“You mean you wanna be a dad?”

“I’m not…too sure,” Suguru looks conflicted, he is holding his head in his hands. he knows very well that this is a topic that should be discussed with you, since you were the other person of interest in the situation. but he would hate to give you false hope, he’s seen the way your eyes light up at the mention of a baby, at one of your friends or colleagues being pregnant, how there’s a disappointed look on your face that you try so hard to conceal when Suguru gives you a face in response of a pregnancy announcement. but you are so patient, so accepting, you’ve never once forced him into anything. and truth be told, he wanted to see what kind of mother you would be to your baby—and then toddler, and then teenager and adult—you’d have a life together with a new person who would adapt either your personality or his, with a face of the love of his life. your baby could have your eyes and nose, he’s always pointed them out—even before you started dating.

“Dude, do you or do you not want to have a baby?”

“I don’t know man, it’s hard to think of.”

“Because you are thinking too hard about it,” Satoru says nonchalantly and it irks Suguru a little.

“I am not thinking too hard about it—this is a new responsibility, what if I am not fit to be a dad? I could be a failure for all we know—what if I pussy out of it and—“

“I would kill you.” Satoru warns the man and Suguru doesn’t try to hide how he stiffens up. “I am not joking, I would find you and bring you back to her as a sack of bones,”

“I wouldn’t betray her like that…”

“You’re too focused on the aspect of being a bad dad rather than a good one—yknow, you really think that she’d marry someone she doesn’t see fit as the future father of her children?” Satoru has a point. you did mention to him once (when Suguru was nowhere to be seen at a party you all attended) how falling in love with him was the best thing that’s ever happened to you, but the one thing that would top it is if he became a father to your children. Satoru, knowing his best friend’s stance on the topic, reminded you of how terrified the man was of the idea and all you did was give him a reassuring, understanding wave of your hands.

“I know, but I just know he’d love them hard and make them feel as safe as he makes me feel.”

Husband Suguru! who doesn’t really try to bring up the topic of ‘trying for a baby’. he cringes at the thought, feels as though it makes the process less romantic and intimate and more of a robotic task. as he is stripping you of your clothes, he is silent and lets his eyes wander over your figure. you are extremely shy tonight, unable to meet his eyes as his rough, calloused hands brush over the skin of your boobs before bending down to be at eye level with them. he brings the flesh inside his mouth and sucks—and blood rushes down to his groin at the thought of them being filled with milk, heavy and swollen, more sensitive than usual. his teeth graze the skin at an attempt to catch your attention and your thighs squeeze as you meet his eyes.

“Sugu…” your smaller hands rest on his face as he pulls away from your boobs to plant a heated kiss to your lips, effectively pushing you back on the bed. your back gently hits the mattress, and your chest is heaving in anticipation, unsure of what his next move would be.

“Baby,” he finally speaks up, nose brushing against your stomach as he brings his lips to the skin. “how about you drop the pill tomorrow?” he knows how much of a horrible job he is doing at this, but he feels you move, supporting yourself on your elbows.

“w-why would I do that?” your eyebrows are furrowed in confusion, and Suguru wishes to brush his thumb over the tense skin of your forehead.

Suguru is shameless as he kisses further south, planting his kiss above the tuft of your pubic hair before pushing your panties to the side. He parts the lips and gives your clit a kiss before moving to your inner thighs.

“why not? It’s doing horrible things to your body—“ he brushes his nose over your clit as he speaks. “beside, we need you off the pill if we want a baby, don’t you think?” when you don’t react to his words, Suguru looks up only to find you staring down at him with parted lips and eyes glossed over with tears.

“…are you sure?” you ask softly, and your husband swears he could never say no to you if you asked like that all the time.

“very,”

Husband Suguru! who fucks you with a new purpose. each drive of his hips fueling the other to go harder, deeper, to keep pushing his cum inside you and plant his seed deep within. your cunt does a great job at showing Suguru how ecstatic and excited you are with his sudden change of heart. you keep squeezing around him, barely able to keep your sounds in—he fucks you so deeply that the sound of skin to skin is louder than your moans and his groans. when he puts you on all fours, the cum starts to drip out of you but he pushes it back in with two thick fingers, lips pressed to your ass cheek.

“want more?”

“mmm! please,” you whine when he aligns his tips with your folds and fixes your arch with a hand on the small of your back. the gasp that escapes your lips when he fucks into you hard makes Suguru chuckle and he rubs your sides, soothing you.

“no need to beg for it,” he leans down and presses a kiss to your nape. “I’d gladly fill you up.”

Husband Suguru! who stiffens up when you show him the positive pregnancy test. up until this point, he is in control of his emotions—he lets you cry in his arms about how scary all of this was, despite you saying you’ve always wanted a baby. he is supportive, understanding of the heightened emotions that you are experiencing—when he sees your tears turn into happy ones, only half of him is able to relax. clearly, he is nervous but he doesn’t wanna show it. not right now.

The first ultrasound during your pregnancy was nerve racking—your hand squeezed your husband’s as you stared at the screen showing what appeared to be your unborn baby. Very tiny, but still there.

“Okay mom and dad,” the doctor presses the ultrasound transducer a bit lower on your stomach, a small smile on his face. “I got some news for you.”

“Good?” your anxious voice has Suguru rubbing his thumb on the back on your hand.

“It depends, how long have you been trying for this baby?” You couldn’t exactly disclose of your very active sex life, but you do give the doctor hints that it was definitely wanted.

“Well, look over here—“ he points to the screen with his gloved finger, ushering Suguru to come closer. “Look over here dad, what do you see?”

Suguru swallows hard as he stares at the screen in confusion, unsure of what to say. “..a baby?”

“Babies. Congratulations, you’re pregnant with twins.”

Your husband whips his head towards you fast, and you cover your mouth in shock. This wasn’t planned—twins? And for a first time? You didn’t know if the tears streaming down your face were of excitement or fear that maybe you weren’t ready for this.

But Suguru still comforts you, holds you in his arms—tells you that maybe finding out the gender won’t make all of this sound scary anymore. He knew you never really had a preference for gender—you were a natural mom.

However, finding out the gender was an emotional experience for the same man who never thought he would become a father.

Husband Suguru! who tells Satoru to buy the gender reveal cake for you two. he doesn’t want to throw a party, and neither do you. finding out within the privacy of your own home seemed like the best option—you didn’t want to reveal that you were pregnant to any family members—at least not yet.

“Are you ready?” You hold your own glass as you wait for your husband to stand next to you. Your bump wasn’t that evident yet, but signs of pregnancy were starting to show on your body and it brought this warm feeling to Suguru’s body.

“Yeah, hold my hand.” You chuckle slightly at his request but comply either way. Each of you holds their own glass above the cake before looking away as you push it down—you hold your breath, Suguru rests his forehead on your shoulder as he mumbles something about not being able to look at the cake. But you muster up the courage and lift your glass, eyes wide and lips parted in shock.

“Sugu—“ you don’t need to tell him to look, he was already staring at the glass with teary eyes. The pink frosting wasn’t something he was expecting to see—he knew he was going to be happy with either but two little girls? His own baby girls—the thought of being a girl dad brings tears to his eyes and you’re quickly pulling him towards you.

“Oh baby,” you hold back your own tears as you comfort your emotional husband, his arms wrapped around your middle. You hear little sniffles and a hand rubs your back before feeling a pair of lips pressed to your forehead.

“Gonna be the prettiest mom to the prettiest girls. Ever.”   

note: my posts are all self indulgent at this point… enjoy :D

2023: all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[shy9-29]

Crawling Back To You ☆ 이희승

“exes to lovers,” - enha campus series

✮ You both swore it was over—again—but somehow, it’s always one of you at the other’s door, breathless and breaking. It’s toxic, it’s inevitable, and no matter how far you run, you both end up crawling back to each other. ✉️ wc. 11.3k - 이희승 x f reader

🏷️ @kristynaaah @firstclassjaylee @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @sheseung @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @sunghoon-cam @luvksnn @aaaaarmiiiiin @blckorchidd @marimariiisblog @pinknjm @starniras @dearestdreamies @bloomiize @doririsstuff @isagistar @rairaiblog @steddie-steddie @melodiessvy @starboy-library @deluluscenarios

Everyone at Seoul University knew your name—and not because you were loud or flashy. No, it was because you were his.

You and Heeseung were the couple people talked about in whispers behind lecture halls and in dorm stairwells. The kind of pair that made others stare, wondering how something so picture-perfect could exist outside of a drama.

He was the golden boy—top of his class in business, vocals that melted through the walls of the music building, and a face that made professors and students alike do a double-take. And then there was you. Quiet but sharp-tongued, fiercely independent, the one person who never swooned at his charm.

Maybe that’s why he chased you so hard.

It started with harmless teasing during your shared elective. Heeseung always had something to say, and you always had something sharper to throw back. People thought you hated each other. The truth was—you couldn’t stop looking at each other.

By the end of the semester, you were inseparable. Studying under cherry blossom trees, eating late-night tteokbokki by the Han River, sneaking into the music room just to hear him sing something only you got to hear.

“You’re it for me,” he whispered one night, arms around your waist, your head on his chest. “You know that, right?”

You did. You knew it.

But what no one saw—what even you ignored—was the fire underneath it all. The way love started to sound like accusations. The way you started counting the hours he took to reply. The way he noticed every guy who looked at you. The way you started to like when he got jealous.

And before anyone else could notice the cracks, you were already learning how to smile through the breaks.

The first real fight happened on a Thursday.

You’d forgotten about some lame mixer your mutual friend had invited you both to, and when you bailed last minute to cram for an econ exam, he didn’t take it well.

“You always have an excuse,” he snapped, arms crossed, his voice low but tight with frustration. “Do you even want to be with me, or is this just something you do when it’s convenient?”

You blinked, stunned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Heeseung ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small study room you’d claimed. “It means I’m always making time for you. Always showing up. And you? You don’t even try.”

You stood up, heat rising to your cheeks. “I’m not going to blow off my future for a night of watching you flirt with girls who laugh too hard at your jokes.”

The words hit their mark. His jaw clenched. “So that’s what this is? You don’t trust me now?”

You crossed your arms. “Should I?”

That night ended with slammed doors, unread texts, and a cold walk back to your dorm. But the next day? He was waiting by your class building with your favorite coffee and a half-hearted apology wrapped in a crooked smile. You took it. You always did.

Because no matter how bad it got, something about being with him felt impossible to let go of.

But fights like that kept happening—growing sharper, louder. You broke up once over a dumb Instagram comment. Got back together the next week after one too many drinks and a shared cab home. Then broke up again when he saw you talking to some guy from your lit class.

“You love the attention,” he said, venom laced behind the coolness in his tone.

“And you love being right,” you spat back.

Still, somehow, by sunrise, you’d be curled up in his bed again. Your clothes on the floor. His breath warm against your neck. His name a ghost on your lips.

It was toxic. It was exhausting. It was everything.

And you weren’t ready to let it go.

Neither was he.

Sunoo stormed into the café just off campus, eyes wide and expression dramatic as ever, practically vibrating with the need to spill. Jake, his girlfriend, and Sunghoon were already seated near the window, mid-conversation when Sunoo dropped his bag onto the chair beside Jake and huffed loud enough for the whole place to turn.

Jake raised a brow. “Let me guess. They fought again?”

Sunoo gave him a look. “Fought? Jake, it was like watching a K-drama unfold in real time—but with worse lighting and way more swearing.”

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, arms folded, expression unreadable. “What happened now?”

Sunoo clutched his chest like the memory physically pained him. “Okay, so apparently Heeseung didn’t text Y/N back for like, five hours, even though she knows he saw her story, right? And she was already annoyed because she saw him walking around campus with that girl from his marketing group—what’s her name, Soojin? The one with the weird lip gloss?”

Jake’s girlfriend made a face. “Ew, her?”

“Exactly,” Sunoo said, pointing dramatically. “So Y/N confronts him outside the library, and he acts all confused, like ‘Why are you always accusing me?’ And she’s like, ‘Because you never take responsibility!’ and boom, they’re yelling in front of the vending machines like it’s their personal stage.”

Jake sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “How long did it last this time?”

“Long enough for me to finish my bubble tea and start a new playlist.”

Sunghoon glanced out the window, deadpan. “And they’re back together already?”

Sunoo rolled his eyes. “Give it twenty-four hours. Heeseung’s probably already typing a three-paragraph apology with a sad playlist link attached.”

Jake chuckled under his breath. “You’d think they’d get tired of the drama.”

Sunoo picked up Jake’s drink and took a sip without asking. “They won’t. You know why? Because they don’t know how to quit each other. And honestly? I’m sick of being the audience to their off-brand Romeo and Juliet sequel.”

Jake’s girlfriend grinned. “You say that now, but you’ll be the first one texting Y/N for updates.”

Sunoo didn’t even deny it. “Obviously. Someone’s gotta document this mess.”

What’s even crazier? Heeseung literally caught you making out with Jay in the janitor’s room—and somehow, you were back together in less than seventy-two hours.

You don’t even remember why it happened. Maybe it was the tequila. Maybe it was the way Jay looked at you like he actually wanted to listen instead of win. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the way Heeseung had ignored you for two days straight after yet another stupid fight over a party you didn’t even want to go to.

You’d kissed Jay out of spite. Or desperation. Or both. It didn’t even last five minutes.

But then the door creaked open.

And there he was.

Heeseung, standing in the doorway like something out of a nightmare. His expression wasn’t anger at first—it was disbelief. Like he couldn’t even register what he was seeing. Then came the fury, slow and sharp, rising behind his eyes like a storm.

Jay had the decency to back off, muttering something about not knowing you were still together. Heeseung didn’t say a word. Not one. He just stared at you—like he didn’t know who you were anymore. Like maybe you didn’t, either.

You thought that was it. The end.

But it wasn’t.

Because three days later, he showed up at your door at 1:12 a.m., hoodie over his head, eyes red-rimmed, and voice barely a whisper.

“I hate that I still love you.”

And instead of slamming the door in his face like you swore you would… you let him in.

Because that’s what you two do.

You hurt each other. You leave.

And then you always—always—come back.

And then, of course, you made out.

It started slow—like neither of you were sure if this was a good idea or just another bad habit dressed up like comfort. His hands hovered over your waist like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you anymore, and you just stood there, heart thudding too loud for the silence.

But then he said your name. Soft. Shaky. Like it hurt to say.

That was all it took.

You grabbed the front of his hoodie and pulled him in, mouths crashing like everything you’d been holding back—anger, guilt, loneliness—was begging for a way out. His lips were warm, familiar, desperate. The way he kissed you was almost apologetic, like he was trying to undo everything with his mouth.

You let him. You kissed him like you hated him for making you feel this way. Like you needed him more than you wanted to admit.

And when you finally pulled back, breathless and wrecked, his forehead pressed against yours, he whispered, “I don’t want anyone else.”

And you hated that you still believed him.

You didn’t sleep that night—not really.

You laid tangled in his arms on your tiny dorm bed, the sheets kicked halfway to the floor, your thoughts louder than the silence between you. Heeseung had fallen asleep with his face buried in your neck, one arm slung over your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

And maybe you would’ve, if you didn’t feel so tired of running.

The next morning, you woke up before him. The light from the window spilled across his face, softening all the sharp edges that came out during fights. For a second, you just stared—at his long lashes, his parted lips, the way his fingers twitched every few seconds like he was dreaming.

It would’ve been so easy to believe that nothing had happened. That Jay hadn’t happened. That all the fights and the screaming and the nights you cried yourself to sleep didn’t exist.

But the bruises under your ribs weren’t from fists—they were from words. From love turned weapon. From trying so hard to be enough for someone who was always halfway out the door.

Still… you didn’t move.

Because when Heeseung opened his eyes and looked at you like you were the only thing that ever made sense, it was enough to make you stay a little longer.

Even if you knew the next storm was already on its way.

You don’t even remember how it started—only how loud it got.

It was after midterms, late evening, the campus buzzing with people blowing off steam. You were supposed to meet him outside the library, but he was thirty minutes late and reeked of beer when he finally showed up.

“I said I’d be here,” he muttered when you confronted him. “What, you don’t trust me to show up now?”

You stared at him, arms folded, heat rising in your throat. “I don’t trust you. Not when you spend more time at parties than actually being present.”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair like you were the one being difficult. “Right. Because you’re perfect. Always playing the victim. You ever think maybe you’re the problem?”

That hit harder than you expected.

You laughed—bitter, sharp. “You caught me making out with someone else and still took me back. Don’t talk to me about problems like you’re not the biggest one I’ve ever had.”

His jaw tightened. “You never even apologized.”

“Because you never stopped hurting me,” you snapped. “Every time I looked at you, I felt like I was begging to be chosen.”

He didn’t say anything for a second. Just stared at you with this cold, unreadable expression. Then he shook his head, stepped back like you’d burned him.

“You know what? I’m done. For real this time.”

You didn’t stop him.

Not when he turned around.

Not when he walked away.

Not when you realized he meant it.

And for the first time, you didn’t chase after him.

You just stood there, heart pounding, hands shaking, unsure if you’d ever see him again.

And maybe—maybe this time was really the end.

The days after felt unreal.

Campus kept moving—students cramming for finals, couples holding hands under trees you used to sit beneath, laughter echoing through courtyards like nothing had changed. But everything had.

Heeseung was gone.

Not physically. You still saw him sometimes, across the quad or in the distance at the convenience store. But it was different now. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t even flinch when your eyes met. Just kept walking like you were a stranger he used to know.

The silence was suffocating. Not just from him, but from everyone else too. Your friends stopped asking about him. Even Sunoo didn’t say much anymore—just gave you quiet looks that said I know you’re still hurting, but I won’t make you talk about it.

And maybe that was the worst part. The quiet.

Because you were used to chaos with him—used to yelling, slamming doors, passionate apologies, messy kisses and promises you both knew would be broken. You weren’t used to nothing.

You told yourself it was for the best. That you needed to breathe without him taking up all the air.

But at night, when the world slowed down and there was nothing left to distract you, you wondered if he still thought about you. If he still played the songs he used to sing for you. If he ever regretted walking away.

You didn’t cry. Not really. Maybe once—quiet and quick into your pillow, just enough to let it out before shoving it all back down.

Because this time, it didn’t feel like a break.

It felt like goodbye.

It was two months. Two months of space. Two months of silence. Two months of trying to forget the taste of each other’s names.

You kept expecting him to show up again. Maybe outside your dorm. Maybe in the practice room where he used to pull you into his lap between takes. Maybe drunk at 2 a.m. with slurred apologies and soft I miss yous.

But he didn’t.

And it wasn’t until you finally worked up the nerve to see him—really see him—that you realized why.

You found him outside the campus café, leaning against the wall, sipping on iced coffee like this was just another day. And maybe for him, it was. But for you? Your heart hadn’t beaten this fast in weeks.

“Heeseung.”

He looked up. His eyes softened for a split second, then settled into something unreadable. Calm. Controlled. Different.

You stepped closer. “Can we talk?”

He nodded, motioning for you to sit with him on the bench nearby. It was awkward at first—quiet. The air thick with everything unsaid.

“I’ve been thinking,” you finally said, fingers nervously picking at the seam of your jacket. “About us. About everything.”

Heeseung nodded slowly, gaze fixed on the pavement. “Me too.”

You turned to him, hopeful. “Maybe… maybe we just needed time, right? To figure ourselves out. Maybe we can try again. For real this time.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you—really looked at you—with that same sad tenderness that used to follow every fight.

“I love you,” he said, voice low. “You know that, right?”

Your throat tightened. “Then why—?”

“Because we’re not good for each other,” he interrupted gently. “We bring out the worst in each other. And I can’t keep doing this cycle where I love you and hurt you at the same time.”

You blinked, stunned. “But… we’ve been through so much.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I know it has to stop. I can’t keep being someone who makes you doubt yourself. And I don’t want you to keep being someone who breaks just to hold me together.”

Tears welled up, but you didn’t let them fall. Not this time.

“So that’s it?” you whispered. “You’re just walking away?”

Heeseung shook his head. “No. I’m letting go. So that one day… maybe we’ll find our way back when we’re better people. Not because we need each other. But because we choose each other.”

You didn’t know what to say. You just sat there, stunned, as he stood up and gave you one last look—the kind that said I still love you, even if I can’t stay.

Then he walked away.

And this time…

You let him.

The glow from the fairy lights strung across your ceiling cast a warm haze over the room. You were laying belly-down on your bed, face half-buried in your pillow, while Yeon sat cross-legged beside you, painting her nails some muted sage green. A tub of melting ice cream sat between you, half-forgotten.

“I just don’t get it,” you mumbled, voice muffled. “He said he loved me. Like, what was the point of that speech if he was just gonna disappear off the face of the earth?”

Yeon raised a brow without looking up. “Girl, he literally said it was because you two were toxic for each other.”

You rolled onto your side, scowling. “Yeah, but he could’ve at least tried again. After all this time, nothing? No message, no check-in, not even a story view. It’s like I never existed.”

Yeon let out a sigh, blowing on her nails. “Do you even think he’s over you?”

You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She finally looked at you, eyes sharp, tone flat. “You think he just flipped a switch and stopped caring? Come on. You guys were obsessed with each other. You still are.”

You groaned, flopping onto your back. “Then why isn’t he doing anything about it?”

Yeon shrugged. “Maybe he’s trying to prove a point. Maybe he’s hurting too. Maybe he thinks you’re the one who should come crawling back this time.”

You stared at the ceiling, biting your lip.

Then Yeon sat up straighter, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Or… hear me out… you could make him care.”

You turned your head slowly. “Yeon.”

She raised her hands innocently. “Not like anything dramatic. Just… see someone else. Post a cute pic. Let him know you’re moving on. If he reacts, there’s your answer. If he doesn’t… maybe it’s time to actually move on.”

You hated that the idea made your stomach flip. Hated that a part of you wanted him to care enough to spiral. To break. To fight for you.

You also hated that Yeon was probably right.

“Heeseung’s not the only one who can play games,” she added, reaching for her phone. “Now. Who’s single, hot, and dumb enough to fake date you for a week?”

And just like that, something in your chest—spite, maybe—snapped into place.

“Fine,” you said, sitting up. “Let’s see if golden boy really let me go.”

Jay was just the right guy to do it.

Handsome, charming, dangerously calm under pressure—and most importantly? Lee Heeseung’s best friend. Or, well… former best friend, maybe. The line had blurred ever since that night in the janitor’s room.

You weren’t exactly close, but you knew Jay. He was the type of guy everyone liked but no one could really read. And when you texted him out of nowhere with a simple, “Can we talk?”, he responded quicker than expected.

You met up behind the arts building, tucked away where no one really bothered to go. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, like he already knew what you were going to ask.

“No,” he said before you could even finish the sentence.

“Jay—”

“I’m not getting involved in whatever mess you and Heeseung have going on again,” he cut in, eyes sharp. “It’s not my thing.”

You took a step closer, lowering your voice. “Please. I just need him to feel something. Anything.”

He exhaled hard, glancing away like he was trying to stay detached. “And what happens when he finds out it’s fake? Or worse, what if he doesn’t react at all?”

“Then I’ll know,” you said, quieter now. “I just… I need to know if he’s really done.”

Jay didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at you for a long moment, like he was trying to figure out what kind of mess he was about to walk into. Again.

Then he sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered under his breath, “This is a bad idea.”

You smiled—just a little. “So that’s a yes?”

Jay shook his head, but there was the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “You owe me for this.”

And just like that, the plan was in motion.

A fake relationship. A test. A game.

All to see if the boy you still loved would finally come crawling back—

Or watch you walk away.

It started small.

Just a simple story.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing that screamed revenge.

Just a quiet photo of you and Jay’s hands—intertwined, resting on the café table between two half-empty iced americanos.

No faces. No captions. Just the tag.

@jaypark.

You hesitated before posting it, thumb hovering over the “Your Story” button for a second too long. But then you tapped it. Sent it out into the world like bait.

And waited.

Within minutes, the views started stacking. Yeon replied with a row of screaming emojis. Sunoo sent you the skull. And then, like clockwork, his name appeared at the bottom of the viewers list.

Lee Heeseung.

No message. No reaction. Just a silent little view. But that was enough.

He saw it.

He saw you—your hand in someone else’s.

His best friend’s.

Your heart beat just a little faster. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was victory. Maybe it was that part of you that still wondered if he’d come running.

And across campus, not even an hour later, Heeseung was already plotting his move.

Because if you wanted a war, he’d give you one.

And this time, he wouldn’t be the one left watching.

Heeseung didn’t sleep much that night.

The image of your hand in Jay’s—Jay’s—looped through his mind like a broken record. He couldn’t tell if he was more furious or just sick. Like something was lodged deep in his chest and no amount of pacing or punching his pillow would get it out.

By morning, he wasn’t even mad. Just numb. Tired. But there was still something buzzing under his skin, and he knew exactly where to take it.

He found Jay in the gym locker room after class, slipping his duffel onto the bench like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t just posted up with you on Instagram like it was no big deal.

Heeseung walked up behind him, quiet but sharp, voice low and flat. “You serious?”

Jay turned, eyebrows lifting slightly. “About what?”

Heeseung scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. You and Y/N.”

Jay paused—just a beat too long—and that was all Heeseung needed.

“So it’s real,” Heeseung muttered, stepping forward. “You’re actually dating her now?”

Jay looked at him. Steady. Cool. Just like you asked him to be.

“…Yeah.”

Heeseung clenched his jaw. “Right after everything. You think that’s not messed up?”

Jay shrugged once, slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going or drop the act. “Things change, Heeseung.”

And somewhere in that moment—somewhere in Jay’s calm delivery and blank stare—Heeseung believed it.

You moved on.

With him.

And you didn’t even flinch.

Heeseung didn’t say anything else. Just let out a bitter laugh and shook his head before walking off, fists tight at his sides.

Jay sat down once he was gone, letting out a slow breath as he stared at the locker in front of him.

He texted you two minutes later:

he thinks it’s real. you sure about this?

And all you replied was:

yeah. keep going.

Because if he wanted to believe you’d moved on,

You’d make sure he felt every second of it.

Sunoo wasn’t snooping.

Okay—maybe a little.

He’d just been passing through the locker room looking for his water bottle (which he definitely left on the bench last night, thank you very much) when he caught a glimpse of Jay hunched over his phone.

Nothing suspicious. Until he saw the name at the top of the screen.

Y/N.

And then he saw the text:

“he thinks it’s real. you sure about this?”

Sunoo’s entire body froze. He ducked out of sight just as Jay hit send, his heart thumping with secondhand guilt.

So it’s fake.

She’s faking it. She’s really faking it.

He waited until Jay left, then took off in a straight sprint across campus. He found Heeseung behind the rec center, leaning against the fence with his hoodie pulled low over his face and that same blank stare he’d been wearing since the Instagram story dropped.

Sunoo didn’t even catch his breath.

“Heeseung.”

Heeseung looked up, annoyed. “What now?”

“She’s not really with Jay.”

Silence.

“What?”

Sunoo took a step closer. “I saw Jay texting her. He said you think it’s real and asked if they should keep going. Y/N told him yes. It’s all for show.”

Heeseung just stared at him, lips parting slightly. “You’re sure?”

“I read it, Heeseung. She’s trying to mess with your head. And you’re letting her.”

Heeseung didn’t say anything for a moment. He just looked down, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on every terrible thought in his head.

“She really went that far?” he muttered. “Dragged Jay into it?”

Sunoo nodded. “And you’re gonna let her win?”

A beat of silence. Then—

“No,” Heeseung said, standing up straighter. “I’m not.”

And just like that, the idea clicked.

If she wanted to play pretend, he’d give her something to choke on.

The very next day, Y/N’s feed lit up with his story this time.

Heeseung, smirking at the camera, with a girl beside him—leaning into his shoulder, her fingers brushing his.

Your ex-best friend.

Ina.

Tagged. Smiling. And just sweet enough to sting.

You almost dropped your phone.

Because if this was a game— He’d just made his next move.

You didn’t even knock before you barged into Yeon’s dorm, practically throwing open the door like a hurricane. Your phone was still in your hand, and the red notification bubble next to Instagram made your heart race in ways you didn’t want to admit.

“Y/N—what the hell?” Yeon jumped up from the couch, startled, and then her eyes caught the expression on your face—the tension in your shoulders. The way your jaw clenched.

Without saying a word, you shoved your phone in her face. “Look.”

Yeon blinked, frowning at first, then slowly scrolled through the story that had just gone up. Heeseung, arms draped casually around a girl who definitely wasn’t you, smiling like nothing had happened between the two of you. It only took a second for her to piece it all together—Heeseung’s signature smirk, his usual cocky posture, and the way he was looking down at her as if she belonged there.

Yeon froze, eyes wide.

“What the hell?” she whispered. “Is he serious?”

You exhaled sharply, slumping into the nearest chair. “Apparently. He’s really doing this.”

Yeon scrolled back to the top of the post, trying to find something—anything—that would prove it wasn’t real. But the more she looked, the more it felt like it was. Ina. The same Ina who’d been your best friend just months ago, the same one who knew exactly what buttons to push to get under your skin.

“Wait,” Yeon said, voice sinking low. “You really think he’s doing this to get back at you?”

You looked away, blinking back the sharp sting of embarrassment. “He’s trying to make me jealous. It’s the same thing he’s done every time. But this time, he’s not even pretending to care. He’s moved on—for real—and he’s showing it.”

You stood up suddenly, pacing the small space. “I can’t believe he would post this. Just like that.”

The door clicked open just then, and you froze, expecting it to be Sunoo, or maybe someone else coming to check on you. Instead, it was Jay.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” he asked, walking in with that casual, easy smile he usually wore.

Without saying anything, you just shoved your phone at him again, and this time, he didn’t hesitate to look at it. The silence between you two stretched long as his gaze scanned over Heeseung’s post. Then his brows furrowed, and he rubbed the back of his neck, visibly unsettled.

“That’s… that’s your ex-best friend.” Jay shook his head like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “What’s he even trying to do?”

You watched his face closely, waiting for some kind of reaction, something that would show you if maybe he had a plan too. Maybe he could fix this. But instead, Jay’s face grew darker, and he let out a small laugh—almost nervously.

“Wait,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Sunoo… he was looking over my shoulder yesterday when I texted you.”

You paused. “What do you mean?”

Jay groaned, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated now. “I didn’t think about it, but now it makes sense. He must’ve seen what I was texting you, and then told Heeseung. The timing is too weird, Y/N. He must’ve told him to post that.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought. “You think Sunoo told Heeseung to do this?”

Jay nodded, a frown pulling at his lips. “Yeah. He’s been getting weirdly involved in this. He’s been watching us both too closely.” He paused, gaze drifting away like he was trying to piece things together in his head. “And now Heeseung is doing this. This is… this is his way of pushing us both into a corner. I can feel it.”

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. This wasn’t just a post. It wasn’t just about Heeseung and his attempt to make you jealous. This was a game—a game that everyone had already been sucked into, whether they liked it or not.

“You think he’s manipulating all of us?” you whispered, barely able to comprehend how deep this had gone.

Jay gave you a look—half amused, half exasperated. “You know Heeseung. He’s not gonna sit back and let someone mess with him. He always plays dirty. This was probably his idea all along.”

Your mind raced. This was all too much. Too tangled. And the worst part? You felt like you were losing control of something that used to be yours.

You stared at the phone in your hand, the weight of Heeseung’s smirk on the screen staring back at you, daring you to react. You wanted to lash out, to post something in return, to prove that you could move on too. But the truth was, you felt like you were already too deep into a game neither of you should have ever started.

But you couldn’t stop now.

“I guess,” you said, voice colder than you meant it to be, “we’ll just see how far he’s willing to go.”

You were mad.

No—mad mad.

Heeseung thought he was slick? Using Ina of all people?

Fine. Two could play this game. And you were about to flip the entire board.

You had just gotten your nails done earlier that day—clean white French tips with tiny pink bows delicately painted on each ring finger. Cute. Sweet. Deadly.

And it just so happened to be Valentine’s Day.

The most petty, perfect, painfully strategic day of the year.

You texted Jay:

come over. wear black. don’t ask why.

He didn’t question it. By now, he knew better.

An hour later, you were leaning over him in the soft pink glow of your dorm, red lipstick in your hand, and vengeance in your veins. You tilted his face toward yours, studying him like a blank canvas.

“Hold still,” you whispered, then planted a soft, slow kiss on his cheek.

Then another.

Then one near his jaw.

And one by his temple.

Six lipstick marks—perfectly placed.

Jay just sat there, relaxed, one brow slightly raised. “This is for him, huh?”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t have to.

You straddled his lap, hands gently cupping his cheeks. Your fresh nails—those glossy white tips and innocent pink bows—rested right under his eyes, framing his face with just the right amount of threat disguised as sweetness.

Snap.

One picture.

No caption.

Just @jaypark.

Posted to your story.

You stared at it once, twice. Smirked.

This wasn’t a game anymore.

It was war.

And you had just set the next fire.

Heeseung saw it within minutes.

He wasn’t even on his phone—Jungwon was. The two of them were mid-conversation in the common room, some half-hearted banter about classes and who was buying dinner, when Jungwon suddenly froze, eyes locked on his screen like he’d just witnessed something unholy.

“Dude…” he said slowly, cautiously. “You might wanna see this.”

Heeseung reached over without thinking, grabbed the phone, and there it was.

Your story.

His chest tightened immediately.

Jay.

His best friend—or what was left of that friendship—smiling, relaxed, and covered in your kiss marks like a walking Valentine’s card. Your hands—those cute little nails with the pink bows—framing his face so gently it looked like a scene from a damn K-drama.

Tag: @jaypark.

No caption.

Didn’t need one.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

Heeseung leaned back against the couch slowly, staring at the screen like it might change if he blinked hard enough. But it didn’t. It stayed burned in his vision, red and soft and sweet in the most infuriating way.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

Heeseung let out a cold laugh—short, humorless. “She really went there.”

“You gonna ignore it?”

Heeseung didn’t answer right away. He stood up, hands in his pockets, jaw tense. “She wants a reaction,” he muttered. “She wants me to do something.”

Jungwon tilted his head. “So… are you going to?”

Heeseung paused in the doorway, eyes flicking back toward the screen one last time. He could still see the imprint of your lips on Jay’s skin, your nails against his jaw, like a photo burned into film.

“She wants war?” he muttered under his breath.

“Fine.”

And just like that, he pulled out his phone.

Because if this was how you wanted to play—

He was done holding back.

Heeseung’s fingers were already flying across his screen.

u still down to help? he texted her.

Ina replied in less than a minute.

always. what’s the move?

I need a story. Your place. You post it first. Tag me. Make it obvious.

obvious like…? she replied, with a winking emoji.

He smirked.

red lips. hands on me. I’ll handle the rest.

Within thirty minutes, he was at her apartment. The lights were low, her place smelled like overpriced perfume, and she was already waiting in a cropped sweater and glossed lips that matched your exact shade of red.

She moved fast—placed a kiss at the corner of his jaw, just below his ear, then added a second one right under his cheekbone. Two bold red prints. Then she sat sideways across his lap, her long nails trailing down the side of his neck, and pulled out her phone.

“Smile,” she whispered, grinning.

Click.

The photo was even worse—better—than yours.

More skin.

More closeness.

More everything.

She posted it right away. No caption. Just a tag.

@lee.heedeung

Within ten seconds, his notification lit up.

He tapped it, viewed the story once, and then hit “Add to Story” like it was muscle memory.

You’d started this round, but he was going to finish it.

And when his story refreshed—Ina draped over him like she was exactly where she belonged, her kiss stains darker, bolder, more deliberate—he didn’t even hesitate to add the final touch:

“She’s not the only one who moved on.”

Just words.

But he knew you’d see it.

He wanted you to.

You couldn’t think straight anymore. The war was on, and it felt like everything—every move, every word—was just pushing you deeper into a place you didn’t recognize. But you were determined. You were done playing games with Heeseung. You wanted to make sure Jay knew you weren’t trying to replace anything. This wasn’t a rebound. It couldn’t be.

You couldn’t let him see you fall apart again. You just couldn’t.

So you showed up at Jay’s dorm, heart racing, fingers trembling as you knocked on his door.

When he opened it, you didn’t hesitate. You barely even processed the look of surprise in his eyes before your lips were on his. It was desperate. It was reckless. Your hands were already pulling him closer, feeling the weight of the day’s chaos pressing against your chest. His lips tasted like mint, like the cold air outside, and for a second—just a second—it felt real. It felt like something could finally be simple.

But when you reached for his shirt, tugging it off over his head, he froze. His hands gripped your wrists, pulling them gently away from his chest, and pushed you back just enough to meet your eyes.

“Wait—wait,” he said, his voice tight, his breath shaky but controlled. “I don’t want to be your rebound, Y/N.”

You blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Jay shook his head, stepping back just a little. “I’m not like that. You don’t need to use me to get back at Heeseung.”

His words felt like ice water, but you weren’t ready to let go yet. You grabbed his arm, pulling him back toward you, and for the first time, you felt yourself getting lost in the desperation. You didn’t want to feel like this anymore.

“I’m not trying to get back at him,” you whispered, voice pleading. “I swear, Jay. I don’t want him. I want you.” You paused, searching his face for any sign that he believed you. “Please… I need this. I need you right now.”

Jay looked down at you, his expression torn. “Y/N, think about it. You’re not in the right place right now. You’re hurting, and this is just… this is just—”

“I’m not,” you cut him off, grabbing his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. “I’m not trying to replace anything. I swear.”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes softening just a little. “Then what do you want? What are we doing here, Y/N?”

You took a shaky breath, your voice softer now. “I want to be with you. Not because of Heeseung. Not because of anyone else. Just because I… I want this with you. Please.”

Jay didn’t answer right away, his eyes drifting down to your hands still on his chest. He looked conflicted, like he was weighing your words against something inside himself.

“You’re sure?” he asked quietly, as if he needed reassurance more than you did.

You nodded, eyes locked on his. “I’m sure.”

But even as the words left your lips, you could see the hesitation in his eyes, the doubt still lingering in the way he held you—like he wasn’t sure if he should trust you or himself. You could feel the weight of everything that had happened, everything you were running from. And for a second, you thought he might pull away again.

But he didn’t.

He stayed.

“I just don’t want you to regret this,” he said, his voice a little softer now, but the distance in his gaze still clear.

You swallowed hard, fighting the emotions that rushed up. “I won’t.”

And for the first time in a long time, you were trying to believe that.

You could feel it, deep down. The gnawing ache in your chest. You told Jay you weren’t trying to use him, that you weren’t replacing anyone, that you wanted this—wanted him—but the truth was, you weren’t over Heeseung. Not by a long shot.

And you knew Jay could probably feel it too, even if you didn’t say it out loud. You could see it in his eyes as he pulled away slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders like he wasn’t sure whether to hold you or let you go.

“Y/N,” Jay whispered, voice steady but soft, like he was giving you space to breathe. “Are you sure about this? You say you’re not using me, but I don’t want to be a… a distraction while you’re still caught up with someone else.”

His words hit you harder than you expected. Caught up with someone else. You wanted to shake your head and tell him that he was wrong, that Heeseung was nothing but a memory now. But the truth was staring you right in the face, and you couldn’t lie to him—or to yourself.

You stepped back, taking in a shaky breath, trying to fight the rising tide of emotions in your chest. You had pushed yourself so hard to move on, to fight back against Heeseung’s hold on you, but deep down, it wasn’t working. You could tell yourself you were done with him. You could kiss Jay. You could hold his hand and pretend like you were over it. But you weren’t.

“I… I don’t know,” you finally admitted, voice small, almost fragile. “I’m not really over him, Jay.”

The words felt like poison on your tongue, but there was a strange relief in saying them aloud. You couldn’t keep pretending. Not to him. Not to yourself.

Jay’s face softened, but there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes—something that cut deeper than you expected. He took a step back, hands still resting at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do next.

“You need time, Y/N,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “And I’m not gonna be the guy who waits around while you’re still stuck on someone else. You deserve more than that.”

The finality in his voice made your stomach twist. You wanted to argue, to beg him to stay, but you knew it wouldn’t be fair. Jay deserved someone who could give him their whole heart.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling the tears you’d been holding back threaten to spill.

Jay nodded, giving you a sad, understanding smile. “You don’t have to apologize. But you need to figure things out—before you drag anyone else into your mess.”

And just like that, the moment was over. He stepped away from you, and you were left standing there, feeling more lost than ever. Because no matter how much you wanted to move on, the truth was clear.

You weren’t over Heeseung.

And you didn’t know if you ever would be.

You stormed back into your dorm, slamming the door behind you with a force that rattled the walls. Your mind was a whirlwind of frustration and guilt. Jay had been right. You weren’t over Heeseung. No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, you just couldn’t shake the hold he still had on you.

You flopped onto your bed, grabbing your phone without thinking. Your fingers scrolled through your feed like it was a reflex, your heart pounding in your chest.

Then, it happened.

You saw it.

Heeseung’s story.

The notification flashed, and your breath hitched. You had been trying to avoid him, trying to move on, but there he was, like a goddamn magnet pulling your attention. You tapped it without a second thought.

And then you saw it.

Heeseung. Smiling.

But it wasn’t just a simple smile. No, this time he was holding hands with Ina, and she was pressed so close to him you could see the way they were looking at each other—soft, intimate, like they belonged in each other’s space.

The red lipstick marks weren’t just on his cheek anymore. Now, it looked like she had kissed the side of his neck, and he was almost wearing it like a badge. Proud, like he was showing the world that he was finally moving on. Finally free.

You stared at the story, unable to tear your eyes away. You wanted to swipe up and type something—anything—that would prove you weren’t bothered, that you didn’t care. But deep down, it stung. It stung in a way you couldn’t describe.

Was this still a game to him? Or did Heeseung move on.

And you were left sitting in your dorm, with the weight of everything crashing down on you.

You forced yourself to swipe past his story, ignoring the way your chest tightened, but it didn’t help. It never did.

What was worse?

You realized you were still checking his story as if you were waiting for a sign that he cared.

For the next few hours, Heeseung’s stories kept coming.

One after the other.

It was almost like a countdown, each post more intimate than the last. Him and Ina laughing in a cafe. Him and Ina walking side by side in the park. Her hand resting on his chest, his arm draped around her waist. Each photo, each story, carefully curated—designed to show you what you could’ve had, what you didn’t have anymore.

But here’s the thing: Heeseung expected you to do the same.

He was waiting for you to upload something—anything—with Jay, to prove to him that you weren’t bothered. To make a statement, to show that you were moving on too.

He thought you’d retaliate, maybe post a cute picture of you and Jay in the same way. Maybe make it obvious—show him you didn’t care, that you were fine.

But there was silence.

Your phone was quiet. No stories. No tagged photos. Nothing.

He checked again. And again. Still nothing.

He frowned. He refreshed your profile, then your stories. It was the same as it had been hours ago. Nothing.

What the hell?

Heeseung was confused. He had expected you to fire back—he had expected this whole thing to be like the rest of your relationship: a series of petty back-and-forths that always led you both back into each other’s arms.

But this time, there was no response. No tag. No post. No picture of you with Jay.

Why wasn’t she reacting?

His mind was buzzing. Was it a game? Was she waiting for him to respond first? Was she trying to play it cool?

He couldn’t understand it.

The silence was louder than anything.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Heeseung wasn’t sure what you were thinking. And that scared him more than anything.

It was past 2 AM when Heeseung heard the knock.

At first, he thought he imagined it. The sound was soft, hesitant, like whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure if they even wanted to be there. He lay still for a second, blinking at the ceiling, unsure if he should even get up—until it came again, this time louder. More frantic.

He rolled out of bed, threw on a hoodie, and padded to the door with a tired sigh. The hallway was dark, quiet. Everyone else in the dorms was either asleep or gone for the weekend.

But when he opened the door—his heart sank.

You were standing there, mascara smudged under your eyes, hair messily pulled to the side, a half-empty bottle of soju dangling from your hand. Your lips were red, like you’d been biting them too hard. And your eyes… they were glassy. Teary.

You looked broken.

“Y/N—” he started, stepping forward instinctively.

But you shoved him—hard.

Or at least, you tried. You punched at his chest with your tiny, shaky fists, but it wasn’t forceful. It was clumsy, uneven, and as soon as your hands hit him, your strength gave out.

“You—You asshole,” you slurred, fists still pressing weakly against his chest. “You don’t get to be over me—like that. Like it was nothing.”

Heeseung didn’t move. He let you hit him. Let you press against him like you were trying to beat the heartbreak out of your own body.

“Why didn’t you come back?” you cried, voice cracking. “You always come back.”

His hands hovered for a second—unsure if he should hold you or not—but then you collapsed. Right into him. Your knees buckled, your bottle clattered to the ground, and your face crumpled against his chest as the sobs started coming, hard and fast.

“I hate you,” you whispered, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his hoodie. “I hate you so much, Heeseung.”

He finally wrapped his arms around you, slowly, gently, like you were made of glass.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know, baby.”

The moment the word slipped out—baby—you just shattered.

You pulled back, looking up at him, your face streaked with tears. “Don’t—Don’t call me that,” you whispered, though your hands were still clinging to him. “You don’t get to call me that if you don’t want me anymore.”

Heeseung swallowed hard, eyes scanning your face, jaw tight. “You think I don’t want you?”

You nodded, quickly, like you were afraid he’d deny it. “You’re with her now. Ina. And you smiled in those pictures like—like I didn’t even matter.”

“You do matter,” he said instantly, voice firmer this time. “You always mattered. I just—” He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “I thought I was doing the right thing. For both of us.”

You stared at him for a long time, lip trembling. “Then why does it hurt so much?”

Heeseung’s chest twisted. He’d seen you angry, jealous, wild. But this—this version of you—crushed him. You were soft and raw and honest in a way that stripped all his defenses.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “I thought letting go would fix us. I thought giving us space would help us come back better.”

You sniffled, wiping your nose against your sleeve like a child. “Then why does it feel like I’m dying?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because if he did, he’d tell you the truth—that every night he saw your stories, every time he thought about you and Jay, it felt like a blade twisting in his chest. That no matter how many kisses Ina planted on his neck, none of them felt like yours.

Heeseung looked down at you again. You were staring up at him with so much sadness in your eyes, and it physically hurt.

“Do you still love me?” you asked, voice just a whisper.

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

You blinked, like you didn’t expect that answer.

“I love you,” he repeated, holding your face now. “I never stopped. But yn, we’re… we’re so fucked up. We keep tearing each other apart.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I know.”

You leaned in again, forehead pressed against his chest, breathing ragged and broken. He kissed the top of your head gently, just once.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“So am I.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You just stood there—his arms around you, your body limp against him, your tears soaking into his hoodie.

Maybe it didn’t fix anything.

Maybe it didn’t change what came next.

But for that moment, it was just the two of you. No stories. No games. No pretending.

Just two broken people—still in love, still hurting—clinging to whatever was left.

Heeseung didn’t let go. Not right away.

You stayed like that—collapsed against him, your sobs slowing to soft, hiccupy breaths, his arms wound tight around your waist like if he let go, you’d vanish entirely.

“Come inside,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, one hand sliding to the back of your head as he pulled you in a little closer. “You’re freezing.”

You nodded weakly against his chest, your legs still wobbly, and he hooked an arm under yours, guiding you carefully inside. The dorm was dim, a faint orange glow spilling from his desk lamp, soft music humming low from a speaker that had been playing long after he forgot to turn it off.

He shut the door behind you and helped you sit on the edge of his bed. You looked around like the room felt unfamiliar—like it wasn’t the same one you used to sneak into at 3AM or sleep in when your dorm felt too suffocating.

You watched him move—quietly, naturally. He brought you a water bottle, then a hoodie you used to steal all the time, dropping it gently onto your lap before crouching in front of you.

“Drink,” he said softly.

You obeyed without a word, sipping just enough to wash the taste of liquor off your lips. Your hands shook slightly, and he noticed, his eyes flickering to your fingers before slowly moving up to your face.

Heeseung exhaled like the weight of everything that had happened tonight was finally settling in. “You shouldn’t have come here like this.”

You looked at him, eyes still puffy and red. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

He nodded slowly, like he understood more than he let on. “You always come here when you don’t.”

You laughed under your breath, but it was hollow. “And you always let me crawl back to you.”

Silence.

Heeseung rested his forearms on his knees, fingers laced, eyes locked with yours. “Why tonight, Y/N?”

You looked down at your lap, the hoodie untouched, your hands knotted in your skirt.

“I kept waiting,” you whispered. “For you to come back. For this to be just another fight we’d crawl back from. I thought if I held out long enough, you’d text, or call, or show up at my door again like you always do.”

You glanced up at him. “But you didn’t.”

Heeseung’s jaw flexed. He stayed quiet.

“And I know I messed everything up,” you went on, voice gaining a little more strength. “I dragged Jay into it, I made it worse, I was petty and bitter and angry. But I was hurt, Heeseung. I didn’t know how else to make you feel what I was feeling.”

“I was feeling it,” he said, voice low. “Every fucking second.”

Your throat tightened, and you blinked fast, but the tears still came. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

Heeseung stood up slowly and sat beside you instead, his shoulder brushing yours. He leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

“Because I didn’t want to love you halfway again,” he said. “We kept breaking each other. I thought… if we took time apart, maybe we’d figure our shit out. Maybe we’d finally get it right.”

“And did you?” you asked, eyes burning into him.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he turned his head, looking at you—really looking.

Your eyeliner was smudged, your lipstick faded, your cheeks still flushed from the crying and alcohol. But to him, you were still you. The same girl who used to fall asleep mid-conversation in his bed. The same girl who used to wear his shirts like they were hers. The same girl who knew how to ruin him and love him in the same breath.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice softer than before. “All I know is that seeing you tonight, standing at my door like that—I’ve never felt more like I still belong to you.”

The silence wrapped around you again, this time a little warmer, a little heavier.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, the alcohol finally wearing off and leaving behind nothing but exhaustion and a dull ache in your chest.

“I’m scared we’re never gonna get it right,” you murmured.

Heeseung turned his head, pressed his lips into your hair. “Me too, yn.”

You didn’t say anything else. You didn’t have to.

Because even if everything between you was a mess—even if you were toxic and chaotic and completely wrong for each other—right now, you were here.

And for tonight, that was enough.

The morning came too quickly.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, only the way Heeseung’s heartbeat felt under your cheek as you curled up beside him on the bed. You must’ve passed out mid-sentence, tears drying on your skin, the room spinning just enough to blur the shame, the ache, the regret.

When you opened your eyes, you were still in his hoodie. His room was quiet except for the hum of the heater, and sunlight slipped through the blinds in pale, thin lines. You didn’t dare move—not yet.

Heeseung was already awake. You could tell from the way his breathing had changed, slower, more deliberate. He was lying beside you, one arm resting behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

You swallowed hard. “You didn’t kick me out.”

He turned his head toward you, his expression unreadable. “Did you think I would?”

You hesitated. “Maybe.”

He didn’t respond to that—just watched you. His eyes flicked to your lips, your cheeks, your fingers tangled in the fabric of his hoodie. His gaze softened for a moment, like he was trying to memorize the way you looked in this exact second.

You sat up slowly, head pounding, throat dry.

“I should go,” you said, not meeting his eyes.

Heeseung sat up too, but he didn’t stop you. Didn’t say stay. And that silence said more than if he had.

You moved to the door, grabbing your phone off his desk. Notifications flooded the screen—messages from Yeon, Jay, a missed call from Sunoo. The real world was already waiting for you, and you weren’t ready.

You turned the doorknob, then paused. “Heeseung.”

He looked up.

You bit your lip. “Last night… was that a mistake?”

He looked like he wanted to say yes. Like maybe the mature thing—the right thing—was to draw the line here and now. End it before the cycle started all over again.

But instead, he just said, “I don’t know.”

You gave him a small nod, like that answer was enough. Like it had to be.

Then you left.

And the thing that gutted you most wasn’t that he didn’t stop you.

It was that you didn’t expect him to.

You didn’t go back to your dorm right away.

Your head was still spinning—half from the hangover, half from everything that had happened the night before. The streets were cold, quiet, students still asleep or buried in weekend study sessions. You walked aimlessly through campus, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, trying to breathe through the fog sitting heavy in your chest.

You replayed the night like a scene on loop—your fists on Heeseung’s chest, the broken way you sobbed into him, the way he held you like you were fragile and still his. How he called you baby without even thinking about it.

And how in the morning, he let you leave.

By the time you got to Yeon’s dorm, your fingers were numb and your heart felt heavier than ever.

She opened the door in an oversized tee and one sock, blinking in confusion. “Y/N?”

You stepped inside without a word, letting the door swing closed behind you. Yeon just stared for a moment, then crossed her arms and said, “Okay. What happened?”

You collapsed onto her bed face-first, groaning into the blanket.

“Was it Jay again?” she asked carefully.

You shook your head.

“Then… Heeseung?”

You let out a broken sound that could’ve been a laugh or a cry. “I slept over.”

Yeon’s eyes widened. “You what?”

“I was drunk,” you mumbled into the blanket. “Showed up at his dorm. Cried like an idiot. Told him everything. Begged him to love me back, basically.”

“Oh my god.” She sat down beside you. “Okay, and?”

“He held me. Let me stay. Called me baby.”

Yeon raised a brow. “And then?”

You turned your head, eyes glassy again. “And then he let me go.”

She didn’t say anything for a second. Just reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Y/N…”

“It hurts,” you whispered. “I thought—when I woke up, I thought maybe this time it meant something. That we could start over. But he just let me leave.”

Yeon looked at you like she didn’t know whether to hug you or shake you. “Because he’s trying, Y/N. He’s trying to be better. For you. For himself. And you’re out here getting drunk and showing up at his door like it’s still the same toxic game.”

You blinked at her, stunned.

“I’m not saying he’s innocent,” she added quickly. “He’s just as bad. You guys were fire and gasoline. But this? What you did last night? You weren’t trying to fix anything. You were trying to set it on fire again just to see if he’d still run through it for you.”

That one stung. Because she wasn’t wrong.

You curled deeper into the blanket, the ache in your chest flaring again. “So what now?”

Yeon sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Now? You stop playing games. You take a real break. Not the kind where you post bait on Instagram and wait for him to bite. A real one. Because if there’s even a chance you two have something worth saving, you need to come back to each other as different people.”

You stayed quiet.

Then, softly, you asked, “Do you think he still loves me?”

Yeon didn’t even hesitate. “God, yes. But I think he’s scared loving you will destroy him again.”

You shut your eyes. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel angry. Just… empty. Because if you were being honest with yourself?

You were scared of the same thing.

You weren’t good at listening. Especially when it came to Heeseung.

Yeon had begged you to take it seriously this time. To actually give yourself space, to heal, to breathe without him in your orbit. She told you to block his number for a while, to stop checking his Instagram stories, to quit looking for his face in every hallway like he was some phantom that couldn’t let you move on.

You nodded. You agreed. You told her you were going to try.

But you didn’t mean it.

Because it was impossible to “take a break” from someone who lived under your skin. Who you still dreamed about even when you hated him. Who you still saw in every goddamn song, every place on campus that still echoed with the ghosts of the two of you.

So three nights later, you were standing outside his apartment again.

This time, it wasn’t out of drunken impulse or heartbreak-fueled rage. It was worse.

It was loneliness.

It was craving.

It was addiction.

You hadn’t texted him. You didn’t warn him. You stood in front of the door, heart slamming against your ribs, hands shoved into the sleeves of your sweatshirt. You stared at the door like it owed you something.

You almost walked away. Twice.

But then it opened.

Heeseung was standing there in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt, barefoot, hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed. The expression on his face flickered from confusion to disbelief to… that familiar ache you always saw in his eyes when he looked at you.

You swallowed hard.

“I—I know I’m not supposed to be here,” you said, voice small. “But I needed to see you.”

He didn’t say anything. He just stepped aside, and that alone said everything.

You walked in slowly, like you were walking back into a dream you didn’t want to wake up from. The apartment was dim again, warm, smelling faintly of laundry detergent and the faint citrus cologne you knew he wore too much of.

He closed the door behind you, leaned against it, and crossed his arms. “Y/N…”

“I know,” you said, holding up a hand. “Don’t say it. Yeon already gave me the whole speech.”

“So why are you here?”

You turned to look at him, eyes heavy, lips parted. “Because I’m not over you.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened. He didn’t move.

“And I don’t think you’re over me either,” you said. “You don’t get to look at me like that—like that—and pretend we’re done.”

He was silent for a long beat.

Then, “That’s not fair.”

“I don’t care.”

You stepped closer, just one step, but it felt like ten.

“I know we’re a mess,” you continued. “I know we’re both too much and not enough and every time we try again it ends in fire—but Heeseung, I don’t know how to not come back to you. I don’t know how to let you go.”

His eyes searched yours. Slowly, carefully. And God, the way he looked at you—like you were the same secret he’d never stopped keeping—hurt more than anything.

“Y/N…” he said softly, but he didn’t finish.

You took another step, now close enough to feel the heat of him. “You said it yourself—we belong to each other. No matter how bad we break, no matter who we try to replace each other with. It always comes back to us.”

Heeseung reached up, ran a hand down his face. He looked exhausted. Like he was carrying the weight of every fight, every kiss, every night you spent in his bed just to disappear in the morning.

“I can’t do this again,” he murmured. “I can’t keep letting you back in just to lose you again.”

Your voice cracked. “Then don’t lose me.”

You closed the last bit of space between you and pressed your hands against his chest.

“Let me be selfish just this once,” you whispered. “Let me come back to you.”

He stared down at you, torn, his hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know whether to touch you or throw up a wall.

“I don’t care how many times we fall apart,” you said, voice trembling. “I’ll always come crawling back to you.”

enhypen campus series | writing jays trope next. Let me know if you would like to be tagged.

[missarchive]

american jesus ☆

spencer reid

part one part two part three part four

summary; What starts as a seemingly innocent exchange quickly escalates into a game of trust, control, and desire. Spencer offers you more than just financial stability; he gives you attention, adoration, and a connection so intimate it leaves you breathless. From whispered words over the phone to moments of vulnerability, he knows exactly how to unravel you, guiding you to discover sides of yourself you never knew existed.

But with every dollar he deposits into your account and every command that leaves his lips, the boundaries between professionalism and pleasure blur. As you dive deeper into this intoxicating arrangement, you can’t help but wonder: are you just another outlet for his control, or has this brilliant man fallen for you just as deeply as you’ve begun to fall for him?

cw; +18 minors dni, masturbation (f), hints at masturbation (m), nudes, spencer calls reader "little girl" once, phone sex, sugar baby/daddy dynamics, inexperienced reader, pleasure dom spencer, fingering, dirty talk

an; this is the first part in my new series! as always, feedback is greatly appreciated. P.s. this is written with jesus reid in mind <3 xoxo

The idea had been absurd from the beginning—a drunken suggestion tossed out during a late-night study break, your friend’s cheeks flushed from the cheap wine you’d both been sipping.

“You should totally do it,” she’d said, her voice a mix of mischief and daring as she scrolled through her phone. “It’s not like you have to… do anything. Just talk. Flirt a little. Get someone to pay for your coffee—or your rent. What’s the harm?”

You’d laughed it off then, brushing aside her suggestion with a half-hearted joke about the kind of people who used those sites. But now, with your landlord’s polite but insistent emails piling up, along with the crushing weight of tuition bills and credit card debt, her words didn’t seem so laughable.

Desperation, you’d learned, had a way of reshaping your boundaries.

So, against every instinct that told you to slam the laptop shut and find another way, you clicked the link she’d jokingly sent that night.

The homepage was a garish blend of pink and gold, its polished glamour doing little to mask the transactional nature of it all. The tagline—"Where connections are made"—was a cruel euphemism for what this really was: a marketplace. A place where companionship, or at least the illusion of it, had a price tag.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time before you finally typed in a username: laceandliterature.

The flood of messages came almost instantly.

@ hungandrich; Hey, beautiful 😘

@ olderseekingyounger; I can show you the world 🌍💎

@ MrNaughty4U; $5k a week to be my princess. No strings attached 💵

It was overwhelming, a cascade of propositions ranging from saccharine to predatory. Some were masked in politeness, others made no effort to conceal their intentions. Your stomach churned as you skimmed through them, the realisation sinking in that you were just another product on a shelf.

And then, just as you were about to close the browser and pretend this had never happened, a new message pinged.

It was short, direct—refreshingly so:

[new chat from: @ thefourthdoctor]

@ thefourthdoctor; Intriguing profile. Shall we talk?

No emojis, no extravagant promises. Just a simple, confident statement.

You hesitated, your heart racing as you clicked on the profile. The picture was blurry, as if taken in haste, but it revealed enough: dark, wavy hair that framed sharp, intelligent eyes behind a pair of glasses. His bio was sparse but intriguing, mentioning books, travel, and a keen interest in "meaningful conversations."

Something about it—about him—felt different. Not just the lack of overtly transactional language, but the quiet assurance in his words.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

This was a bad idea. You knew it was a bad idea. But against your better judgment, you typed out a response.

@ laceandliterature; I suppose that depends on what you want to talk about.

The reply came almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting.

@ thefourthdoctor; Anything but the obvious.

The words were simple, but the subtext was unmistakable: he wasn’t here for what everyone else seemed to want. Or maybe he was just better at hiding it. No sleazy innuendos. No dick pics. No hollow promises of private jets or weekend getaways. Not even the tired clichés of "Hey, gorgeous" or “What’s your body count?”—just a question.

It was startling in its simplicity, almost disarming. And for that exact reason, it made you pause. The absence of the usual vulgarity felt almost like a trick, a trap designed to lure you into a false sense of security. You had learned the hard way to be cautious online. Yet, despite yourself, you couldn’t help but be intrigued.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you glanced at his username again.

A click brought up his profile, your curiosity outweighing your skepticism. The photo was blurry, clearly taken without much thought to lighting or angles. It wasn’t like the polished, professional headshots some of the other profiles sported. Still, you could make out the basics: slightly messy, long curly dark hair, intelligent eyes framed by glasses, and an awkward sort of handsomeness that felt... real.

The bio was brief—almost frustratingly so.

"Bibliophile. Traveler. Interested in meaningful conversations and unconventional connections."

It lacked the arrogance and ostentation of the others you’d scrolled past, the ones who listed their wealth or their penchant for “petite brunettes.” Instead, it was vague, yet oddly specific in its sincerity.

Your chest tightened, a strange mix of apprehension and curiosity tugging at you. Was this calculated, or was it simply honest? And why did it feel more dangerous than the others?

Still, you typed.

Your heartbeat quickened as you debated your next move. The smart thing would be to leave it at that, maybe even block him. After all, you weren’t here for emotional entanglements. This was supposed to be transactional—a simple trade: your time and charm for their money and attention. A means to an end.

Yet, against your better judgment, you stayed.

@ laceandliterature; The obvious is easier to avoid than you think, but meaningful conversations? That’s a tall order here.

There was a long pause, long enough that you started to wonder if you’d misjudged him. But then, the reply came:

@ thefourthdoctor; It depends on who you’re talking to.

You stared at the screen, the simplicity of his words sending a ripple of unease through you. There was no bravado, no performance. He was direct, confident, and—most dangerously—intriguing.

The seconds stretched into minutes as you debated what to say next. This was different from the other messages. He wasn’t dangling wealth in front of you like a shiny object or trying to buy your interest with empty promises.

And yet, the very absence of those things made you wonder what he wanted. Because he wanted something—everyone on this site did. That was the nature of it.

@ laceandliterature; Okay. What do you want to talk about?

His reply was immediate, as if he’d been waiting for you to ask:

@ thefourthdoctor; Tell me what brought you here.

The question hit like a dart, sharp and precise. Your stomach tightened as you read it again, the blunt honesty of it stripping away the thin veil you’d been hiding behind. No one had asked that before—not like this.

Most of the messages you’d received had operated on unspoken rules: you pretend this is normal, and they pretend they’re just being generous. But this man wasn’t pretending. He was asking you to be real in a space built on pretense.

And for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you felt compelled to answer.

Your fingers trembled slightly over the keyboard. What could you even say? The truth? That you were drowning under the weight of your bills, your student loans, your own stubborn pride? That desperation had led you here, to a website where relationships had price tags and intimacy was commodified?

But what stopped you wasn’t the shame of your situation—it was him. The way he asked, as if the answer mattered. As if you mattered.

The tension in your chest twisted tighter as you typed.

@ laceandliterature; The same thing that brings everyone here, I suppose. Necessity.

You hit send before you could overthink it, before you could soften the edges of the truth. The reply came quickly.

@ thefourthdoctor; Necessity takes many forms. Which is yours?

You stared at the screen, his words pulling something loose inside you. This wasn’t idle curiosity. He was pushing you, peeling back the layers you hadn’t even realized you were wearing. And damn it, you wanted to push back.

@ laceandliterature; Does it matter?

You wrote, the edge in your tone slipping into the words.

The pause before his reply was longer this time, long enough to make you wonder if you’d misstepped. But then it came, and it was nothing you expected.

@ thefourthdoctor; It matters if you want it to.

The simplicity of his words sent a jolt through you, more potent than any overture of wealth or charm could have been. There was no condescension, no judgment. Just quiet, unnerving confidence.

You leaned back in your chair, running a hand through your hair. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. These conversations were supposed to be easy—shallow exchanges where you could slip into a version of yourself that didn’t feel the weight of real life pressing down on her. But with him, there was no slipping into anything.

He wasn’t letting you.

@ laceandliterature; What about you?

You typed, throwing the question back at him, daring him to offer you the same vulnerability he was asking of you. 

@ laceandliterature; Why are you here?

His reply was immediate, almost as if he’d been expecting the question.

@ thefourthdoctor; Curiosity.

You frowned at the screen, the single word both frustrating and enticing. It was vague but deliberate, leaving just enough room for interpretation to keep you hooked.

@ laceandliterature; Curiosity about what? 

The next message sent a shiver through you:

@ thefourthdoctor; You.

Your breath caught. One word, and yet it felt like he’d reached through the screen, pulling you closer, tethering you to him in a way that was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

You hesitated, the heat rising in your cheeks as you considered how to respond. This wasn’t the typical transactional banter you’d anticipated when you signed up. He wasn’t offering money or promises of luxury. He wasn’t trying to seduce you with extravagance. Instead, he was drawing you in with something far more dangerous: attention.

And the worst part? You wanted it.

@ laceandliterature; Careful. That kind of curiosity can be expensive.

This time, the pause felt deliberate, a beat of silence meant to let your words settle. When his reply came, it was sharp, confident, and devastatingly effective.

@ thefourthdoctor; I don’t mind paying for what I value. Isn’t that what this is about, anyway?

Your breath hitched, the implications of his words hitting you like a shockwave. This wasn’t flirtation—it was a proposition. But not the kind you’d grown to expect on this site. He wasn’t offering to buy your time or affection outright; he was telling you that he saw something in you worth pursuing.

And that made him infinitely more dangerous.

Your heart raced as you stared at the screen, torn between the instinct to pull back and the magnetic pull of his presence. This wasn’t just about money anymore. This was about control, power, the careful dance of who would give and who would take.

You sat frozen, his last message glowing on the screen like an unspoken dare.

"I don’t mind paying for what I value."

The words reverberated through you, sharp and calculated, leaving no room for misinterpretation. This wasn’t a line meant to charm or impress. It was a statement of intent—a declaration of control.

And it was working.

Your chest tightened as you typed, your fingers moving before your brain caught up.

@ laceandliterature; Value is subjective.

The moment you hit send, you regretted it. It felt flippant, like you were trying to undermine the weight of his words. But maybe that was exactly what you needed to do—to wrest back some semblance of control in this conversation that was starting to feel far too intimate.

The reply came after a pause that felt excruciatingly long:

@ thefourthdoctor; It is. But I’m a man who knows how to discern.

Your throat tightened, the confidence in his words striking a chord deep within you. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was setting the rules. And despite yourself, you found it maddeningly enticing.

@ laceandliterature; Discernment is rare here. 

You replied, leaning into the dynamic, testing the boundaries of this strange connection.

His next message came faster this time, as if he’d been waiting for you to lean in:

@ thefourthdoctor; So is honesty. Tell me, how rare are you?

Your breath hitched, your cheeks flushing as you stared at the question. It wasn’t what you expected—not here, not from someone you’d never met. And yet, it was the kind of question you couldn’t dismiss with a coy quip or vague answer.

@ laceandliterature; Enough to know my worth. 

You typed, surprising even yourself with the boldness of your response.

His reply came swiftly.

@ thefourthdoctor; Good. Then you’ll understand why I won’t insult you with empty offers. Tell me what you want.

Your pulse quickened. There it was—the shift you’d been waiting for, the moment the conversation turned from hypothetical to concrete. But this was different from the others. He wasn’t throwing numbers at you, wasn’t dangling luxury in front of you like bait. He was putting the power in your hands, asking you to decide the terms.

It was intoxicating. And terrifying.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind. What did you want? Money was the obvious answer—wasn’t it? That was why you were here in the first place. But now, with him, it didn’t feel so simple.

@ laceandliterature; That depends… What are you offering?

The pause before his response was agonizing, each second stretching longer than the last. And then it came:

@ thefourthdoctor; Time. Money. Attention. Answers, if you’re brave enough to ask the right questions.

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy cloak. He wasn’t offering material things, at least not yet. He was offering something far more valuable—and far more dangerous.

You swallowed hard, your palms damp as you considered your next move. He’d shifted the power dynamic yet again, pulling you deeper into a game you weren’t entirely sure you knew how to play.

@ laceandliterature; And what do you want in return?

The question leaving you more vulnerable than you cared to admit.

His response was immediate, his words a quiet, commanding echo in your mind:

@ thefourthdoctor; Exactly what you’re willing to give me.

The simplicity of his answer hit you harder than any declaration of wealth or desire could have. It wasn’t just about money or power or control—it was about you. Your choices, your limits, your willingness to engage in this careful, intoxicating dance.

And that realisation sent a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, you stared at the screen, your pulse thrumming in your ears. You could walk away now. Close the laptop, block his profile, and pretend this never happened. But the truth was, you didn’t want to.

Because for the first time since you’d joined this site, you felt seen. Not as an object, not as a commodity, but as a person.

His words clung to you, each syllable daring you to define what you were prepared to offer. He was turning the mirror back on you, forcing you to confront not just the situation but yourself.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t playing by the rules you expected, and that made him unpredictable. Dangerous. But it also made him irresistible.

@ laceandliterature; That’s a clever way of saying nothing. Ambiguity suits you.

The reply came quickly, almost as if he’d anticipated your deflection.

@ thefourthdoctor; Clarity can be earned, if you’re willing to play the game.

Your breath hitched. There it was again—that quiet, assured confidence that pulled you in despite every warning bell ringing in your head. He wasn’t offering platitudes or empty promises. He was offering a challenge, one that was as maddening as it was magnetic.

@ laceandliterature; And what game is that? 

The pause before his answer felt deliberate, a calculated silence that only heightened your anticipation. When his message finally appeared, it sent a shiver through you:

@ laceandliterature; The one we’re already playing. You just haven’t realised it yet.

Your pulse quickened, your palms damp as you stared at the screen. He was toying with you, but not in the way you’d experienced before. This wasn’t about cheap thrills or transparent power plays. This was about control—subtle, seductive, and entirely in his hands.

@ laceandliterature; I don’t recall agreeing to any rules. 

The sharpness of your words masking the unease curling in your chest.

His reply was swift, the confidence in his words cutting through the haze of your thoughts:

@ thefourthdoctor; You didn’t have to. You agreed the moment you responded.

The audacity of his statement left you momentarily breathless. He was right, of course, and that infuriated you. But it also thrilled you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

@ laceandliterature; You’re awfully sure of yourself

You shot back, your fingers trembling as you hit send. The response came almost immediately.

@ thefourthdoctor; Confidence is the privilege of knowing what you want. Do you?

Your chest tightened, his words striking a nerve you hadn’t expected. What did you want? It was supposed to be simple—a means to an end, a way to solve your financial problems without complicating your life. But now, with him, it felt far from simple.

You hesitated, your mind racing. This wasn’t like the other conversations you’d had on this site. He wasn’t just offering money or gifts; he was offering an exchange of a different kind. One that blurred the lines between power and vulnerability, control and surrender.

@ laceandliterature; I think you already know the answer.

@ thefourthdoctor; Good. Then we’re getting somewhere.

You exhaled sharply, the tension in your chest both exhilarating and suffocating. He had you cornered, and he knew it. But the worst part? You didn’t want to leave.

@ laceandliterature; And where exactly is that? 

The question both a challenge and a plea. His response sent a chill down your spine.

@ thefourthdoctor; Where we figure out if you’re ready to trust me.

The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and inescapable. Trust. It was a loaded word, especially here, in a space where every interaction felt transactional. But with him, it didn’t feel like a demand—it felt like an invitation.

You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling as you typed your response:

@ laceandliterature; Trust is earned, Doctor. How do you plan on earning mine?

The pause before his reply was excruciating, every second stretching longer than the last. And then, finally, his message appeared. 

@ thefourthdoctor; Patience. Honesty. And just enough mystery to keep you coming back.

Your breath caught, the sheer confidence of his words leaving you momentarily speechless. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was rewriting the rules, pulling you deeper into his orbit with every word.

And despite the warning bells ringing in your head, you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more.

@ laceandliterature; Then I suppose we’ll see how well you play. 

@ thefourthdoctor; We already are.

The message lingered on the screen, a challenge and a promise all at once. And as you stared at it, your heart racing and your mind spinning, one thing became clear:

Here’s the continuation, intensifying the emotional and psychological stakes, as well as the power dynamics:

You could feel it in the way your heart raced, in the way your mind struggled to pull together coherent thoughts. It was maddening. Dangerous. And yet, some part of you craved the thrill of it.

@ laceandliterature; What makes you so sure of that?

@ thefourthdoctor; Because you’re still here.

Your lips parted in a soft exhale, the truth in his words sending a shiver down your spine. He was right—you were still here, still engaged, still drawn to him in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

@ laceandliterature; Maybe I’m just curious.

His response was immediate, his confidence unshaken.

@ thefourthdoctor; Curiosity is the first step to surrender. And you’re closer than you think.

Your pulse quickened, his words striking a nerve you hadn’t realized was exposed. Surrender. The word hung there, heavy and intoxicating, pulling you deeper into his web.

@ laceandliterature; Surrender isn’t in my vocabulary. 

The sharpness of your reply more for your benefit than his.

@ thefourthdoctor; That’s because no one’s ever taught you how to do it properly.

The breath left your lungs in a quiet rush, your body betraying you with a thrill that raced down your spine. He wasn’t just confident—he was audacious, pushing boundaries you didn’t even know you had.

@ laceandliterature; And you think you’re the one to teach me?

@ thefourthdoctor; I know I am.

Your throat tightened, his certainty pulling you further into the undertow. There was no pretence with him, no fumbling for the right words to impress or seduce. He spoke with a quiet authority that was impossible to ignore—and even harder to resist.

@ laceandliterature; You’re awfully sure of yourself, Doctor.

You wrote, the name a deliberate choice, a way to remind yourself that he was still just a man on the other side of a screen.

But his next message stripped away any illusion of simplicity.

@ thefourthdoctor; Confidence is earned. You’ll see.

The promise in his words sent your mind reeling, the tension in your chest building with every passing second. He wasn’t offering wealth or gifts or superficial praise. He was offering himself—his attention, his intellect, his dominance—and it was unlike anything you’d ever encountered.

You leaned back in your chair, running a hand through your hair as you tried to steady your breathing. This wasn’t just a game anymore. It was a collision of wills, a power struggle where the stakes felt dangerously personal.

@ laceandliterature; And if I decide to stop playing? 

His reply came slower this time, each word calculated, precise.

@ thefourthdoctor; Then I’ll let you go. But we both know you won’t.

Your breath caught, the quiet confidence in his message leaving you stunned. He wasn’t trying to trap you—he was daring you to walk away. And that made him even more dangerous.

@ laceandliterature; You seem very sure of my choices

@ thefourthdoctor; I’m sure of your curiosity. And that’s enough.

You stared at the screen, your heart pounding, your mind spinning. He was right—you were curious. About him, about this, about where it could lead. And that curiosity was already pulling you deeper, binding you to him in a way that felt both thrilling and terrifying.

And as you sat there, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, one thought echoed in your mind:

You weren’t just playing his game anymore.

You were losing.

His words were a masterstroke, the kind of deliberate confidence that didn’t demand submission but invited it, coaxed it out of you with unsettling precision. He wasn’t forcing you into anything. He didn’t have to.

You were leaning in all on your own.

@ laceandliterature; Curiosity is dangerous. 

The words meant as both a warning and a defense. You weren’t sure if you were telling him or reminding yourself.

His reply came almost instantly, as if he’d anticipated your hesitation.

@ thefourthdoctor; It can be, in the wrong hands. But I think you know by now—I don’t intend to hurt you.

Your chest tightened, the unexpected gentleness in his response catching you off guard. It wasn’t a dismissal of your fears; it was an acknowledgment, a reassurance that felt disarmingly genuine.

@ laceandliterature; What do you intend to do, then? 

The pause before his reply was deliberate, stretching just long enough to heighten the tension without breaking it.

@ thefourthdoctor; Challenge you. Teach you. Protect you, if you let me.

Your breath hitched, his words striking a chord deep within you. The power in his offer wasn’t in its force but in its certainty, its quiet promise of control without cruelty, dominance without destruction.

@ laceandliterature; That’s a tall order.

@ thefourthdoctor; I’ve never been afraid of a challenge.

The simplicity of his answer left you momentarily stunned. He wasn’t boasting, wasn’t trying to impress you. He was stating a fact, one that resonated with an authority you couldn’t ignore.

@ laceandliterature; And what do you get out of this?

@ thefourthdoctor; The pleasure of watching you grow. The satisfaction of knowing you’re safe. And maybe, if you’re willing, a connection worth more than either of us expected.

Your chest tightened, his words threading through the cracks in your defences with startling ease. He wasn’t just offering a transaction; he was offering something far deeper, something that terrified and intrigued you in equal measure.

@ laceandliterature; You make it sound so simple.

@ thefourthdoctor; It can be, if you trust me. But I won’t rush you. This is your choice.

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling over you. He wasn’t demanding anything from you, wasn’t using manipulation or coercion. He was giving you the space to decide, to choose whether to step into the unknown or retreat to the safety of your walls.

@ laceandliterature; What if I don’t know how to trust someone like you?

@ thefourthdoctor; Then I’ll show you how, baby. Step by step. But only if you’re willing.

The kindness in his words was a stark contrast to the intensity of his presence, a reminder that his control wasn’t about overpowering you—it was about guiding you, supporting you, meeting you where you were and pulling you gently forward.

@ laceandliterature; And if I’m not?

@ thefourthdoctor; Then I’ll let you go. But I don’t think you want me to.

The truth in his words hit you like a jolt, your heart racing as you stared at the screen. He was right—you didn’t want to let him go. You didn’t want to retreat into the safety of solitude, not when he was offering something so intoxicatingly rare.

@ laceandliterature; You’re very sure of yourself

@ thefourthdoctor; I’m sure of you. And I’m willing to wait until you are too.

The words lingered on the screen, a challenge and a reassurance all at once. He wasn’t just pulling you into his world—he was offering to walk beside you, to guide you through the uncharted territory of trust and surrender.

And as you stared at his message, your pulse thrumming in your ears, one thing became abundantly clear. You wanted to see where this could lead.

Your fingers trembled as you typed your reply.

@ laceandliterature; I don’t know where this is going.

His response came swiftly, his dominance tempered by kindness:

@ thefourthdoctor; Then let me be the one to show you. One step at a time.

When the evening settled and the quiet of your room enveloped you, you found yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone. His last message still lingered there:

"Then let me be the one to show you. One step at a time."

Trust. The word had seemed so monumental when he’d said it, and now it felt even heavier in the quiet intimacy of your room.

Your eyes wandered to the package on your desk, the one that had arrived just days ago. The lingerie you’d bought with the money he’d sent—not something you’d ever imagined doing, much less showing anyone. But his insistence had stayed with you.

"This is for you," he’d written. "Because you deserve to feel special."

You’d laughed at the time, unsure how to process the sincerity in his words. But now, with the soft lace spread out in front of you, you felt the weight of his kindness.

On impulse, you slipped it on, the delicate fabric hugging your body in a way that felt both indulgent and empowering. It wasn’t something you’d ever have bought for yourself, but now, wearing it, you understood the quiet confidence it offered.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, your cheeks flushing as you adjusted the straps. The blush-colored lace was intricate and feminine, the perfect balance of modesty and allure. You hesitated, biting your lip as your phone buzzed in your hand.

Finally, you snapped a photo—nothing overly revealing, just the curve of your body hinted at in the soft light, the lace framing your figure. It felt daring, intimate, and, most of all, you felt like his.

With a shaky breath, you typed a caption for the image. 

@ laceandliterature; Thank you. I thought you should see where your funds are going.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, your heart racing as the message left your screen.

@ thefourthdoctor; You’re so beautiful, my little angel.

Your breath caught at the simplicity of his words. There was no embellishment, no flourish—just a quiet, sincere acknowledgment that made your chest tighten.

Another message followed, slower this time, as if he’d chosen each word carefully.

@ thefourthdoctor; Thank you for trusting me with this. How does it make you feel?

His question sent a ripple of warmth through you. He wasn’t just admiring you; he cared about how you felt, ensuring that this moment wasn’t just for him.

@ laceandliterature; It feels… different. In a good way.

The dots danced on the screen before his next message appeared.

@ thefourthdoctor; Good. That’s exactly how it should feel. You deserve to feel confident and cared for.

You smiled despite yourself, the warmth of his words cutting through the lingering nerves. He had a way of making you feel seen, like every action, every choice you made mattered to him.

@ laceandliterature; I wasn’t sure about sending it, I’ve never done anything like that before.

You admitted, your honesty surprising even you.

@ thefourthdoctor; You don’t need to worry. You’re safe with me. Always.

The reassurance in his words settled something deep inside you. He wasn’t just saying it—he meant it, every word carrying the weight of his sincerity.

Before you could respond, your phone vibrated in your hand, his name lighting up the screen. You hadn't expected him to call so soon, but the smile that spread across your face at the sight of his name felt entirely natural.

Your throat pinched, the air suddenly feeling all too warm. Neither of you had ever initiated a call before, what would he sound like? Deciding to push your nerves to the side, you answer the call.

"I was thinking you might not pick up for a moment there," his voice was low and smooth, a hint of amusement dancing through his words. "I hope you know this isn’t just about the photo. It’s about you. What you need, what you want. If you’re ever unsure, tell me. I’ll always listen."

"I guess I just couldn’t help myself," you teased, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks at the memory of how vulnerable you'd felt.

"Yeah? Am I living up to the expectation?" he murmured, and you could hear the laughter in his voice. It wasn’t a mocking sort of amusement, just a quiet acknowledgment that you both knew where this conversation was heading. And that, he hoped, neither one of you would shy away from it.

You laughed, a softness you'd never known you were capable of settling into your chest. There had been something so unexpectedly freeing about the experience—about wearing it made you flush with warmth.

“You could say that…”

“What were you hoping for, when you sent me that photo?”

The thought sent an immediate ache through your body, the suggestion of his touch, of the things he might do to you, sending a wave of desire through you. Your mind raced with images of “him” above you, of his hands pinning your wrists to the bed as he thrust into you. The thought was enough to make you flush, the ache of need between your legs becoming almost unbearable.

"Nothing.” You couldn’t even pretend to feign nonchalance when his words had been so unflinchingly honest, when the promise of what lay ahead was so tantalisingly clear.

"I’ll make it easier for you, then. What are you thinking about right now?" he said bluntly, his words sending a rush of heat through your entire body. There was nothing ambiguous or hesitant about his command; he wanted this, and he expected you to do it. "Tell me what you want, angel. I can give you that."

You twist the fabric hem of the lingerie around your fingers nervously, chewing at the dry skin on the edge of your lips. “I- I don’t know how to do this.” 

He chuckles softly, voice still full of kindness. “Then you don’t have to do anything, let me do all the work, baby.”

You’re quiet for a moment, pondering your options. Before nodding to yourself, deciding you’d have to let go of your nerves for the time being if you wanted this to continue.

“Okay.” You whisper, almost inaudibly. He wouldn’t have been able to hear it if he’d not been paying such close attention.

You took a deep breath, feeling a surge of boldness. "I... I've always had this fantasy of being guided by a man... someone who knows what he wants and can show me new pleasures. I’ve never had that chance before… I was hoping maybe that could be you."

"Oh, angel, you have no idea how much I want to fulfil those desires," He purred. "I can be your guide, your teacher, and your lover all in one."

His words sent a jolt of electricity through your body, and you felt your core tighten with anticipation. "I... I think I'd like that very much."

"I want you to relax and get comfortable for me, can you do that, baby?. Dim the lights, light a candle, whatever you need to do."

Obeying his instructions, you lit a scented candle, filling the room with a soft, flickering glow and a hint of vanilla. You kicked off your shoes and slid under the covers, your heart pounding in your chest.

"That's it, sweet girl," He whispered. "Now, I want you to imagine my hands on your body, caressing your skin, exploring every inch of you. Feel my touch, soft and gentle, as I trace your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts."

As you listened, you closed your eyes, visualising his strong, masculine hands on your body. You imagined his fingers brushing against your sensitive nipples, causing them to harden in response. Soft whimpers escaping your lips as you reach up to cup your breasts, mimicking his touch.

"That's right, angel," he encouraged. "Touch yourself for me. Feel how soft you are, how sweet.”

Your fingers obeyed, teasing your nipples, rolling and tugging at the sensitive peaks. You arched your back, pressing your breasts into your palms, and let out a soft cry of pleasure.

"Do you like that, little girl?" He asked, his voice thick with desire. "I wish you could see what you do to me."

"Yes, Doctor," you breathed, your voice heavy with arousal. “It feels so good."

"Now, slide your hand down your stomach, past your navel, and into the heat between your thighs," he instructed, his voice a seductive command. "Feel how wet you are for me, how your body responds to my words."

Your hand trembled as you obeyed, slipping beneath the covers and finding your way to your core. Your fingers brushed against your wet folds, and you gasped at the sensation.

"Oh, god, baby. You're so wet, aren’t you? I can hear it," He growled. "Rub your fingers along your pussy, coat them with your sweetness.”

You did as he said, moaning as your fingers slipped into your tight cunt. You were so wet, so ready, and the sensation of filling yourself sent waves of pleasure through your body. Taking the phone down your body, you hold it in front of your dripping pussy. Your microphone picking up on the sounds as your fingers slip through your folds.

"What a noisy fucking pussy, that's it, that's my girl," he encouraged. "Fuck yourself with your fingers, slowly at first, imagine it's my cock inside you, claiming your tight little cunt."

Your fingers moved in and out, your pace increasing as your pleasure spiralled. You imagined Spencer's thick, hard length filling you, his powerful body driving into yours.

"Yeah, fuck yourself for me," he urged. "Let go, angel girl. Come for me, and let me hear your sweet cries."

Your fingers worked frantically, your body on the brink of ecstasy. His words, his deep, commanding voice, pushed you over the edge. With a cry of release, you climaxed, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you.

"Oh, my sweet girl," he whispered, whispering soft praise over the phone, his voice filled with satisfaction. "That sounded like a lot, hm? You still with me, beautiful?."

"I know that wasn’t easy for you, but it was beautiful to hear." His voice was soft, filled with sincerity. 

You lay there, breathless and sated, your body still humming with pleasure. "Y-yeah, m still here. Thank you."

"You did so good, such a well behaved girl. Check your phone for me, baby. Look what you did to me."

You froze for a moment, your mind struggling to process exactly what you were looking at. And then it registered—the smooth skin of his stomach, the slight curve of his hip. A moment later, you saw it; his cock, flushed pink tip, half-hard and resting against his stomach. A small pool of cum rested near his belly button.. You flushed all over at the thought, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the photo. There was something so undeniably intimate about the image; something that spoke to the fact that he'd been pleasuring himself while thinking of you.

With a final, breathless goodbye, you end the call. Your heart is still racing, your body tingling with the lingering aftershocks of pleasure. His voice still echoes in your ears, warm and commanding, and the weight of his presence seems to fill the room even though he's no longer on the line. You lean back against the soft cushions on your bed, eyes fluttering closed, letting the soft glow of the lamp wash over you.

You let out a slow exhale, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with the buzz still pulsing beneath your skin. There’s something thrilling, intoxicating about the way he’s able to draw you out, make you vulnerable and yet so sure of yourself all at once. But the moment feels almost too surreal, too indulgent, and you try to calm your racing thoughts when a ping breaks through the haze of your afterglow.

You glance down at your phone, blinking at the notification that has just popped up.

$500 has been deposited into your account.

-for my pretty girl

Your breath catches in your throat as your fingers instinctively swipe open the message. You freeze, your eyes scanning the details with a quickness that betrays your curiosity.

"Doctor Reid," it reads, alongside the substantial amount.

For a moment, time seems to stop, your gaze fixed on the screen as your pulse quickens once more. The money sits there, cool and impersonal, yet its presence is anything but. It’s a gesture—one that feels undeniably generous, but also loaded with unspoken meaning. This isn’t just a transaction. This is him, and everything that came with the promise of his control, his attention, his care.

You’ve known that he was willing to give, but this—this feels different. The amount is so much more than what you’d expected. What did he mean by it? What does he expect now?

You glance at the digits one more time, the weight of his name anchoring the moment. It feels strange to see it. So he was a doctor. 

A tight knot forms in your chest, mixing nerves with something else—something like desire, maybe even gratitude. You bite your lip, unsure how to feel. It was just a phone call, just a moment of shared vulnerability between you. Yet the fact that he’s followed through with this kind of gesture makes everything feel so much more real, so much more complicated.

With a heavy sigh, you set your phone down and run your fingers through your hair, your mind racing as you try to reconcile the thrill of the moment with the heavy responsibility that now feels like it’s creeping in.

At least now you had his name, Doctor Reid.

next part

[geminiwritten]

photos ; tyler owens

fandom: twisters

pairing: tyler x reader

summary: you’re in a perpetually bad mood because you're in love with tyler and he's clueless, but what happens when you 'accidentally' send him some scandalous photos?

notes: two in one week?! that's crazy! but also i decided to write for someone other than bradley bradshaw (tg:m) because my love for him is all consuming... it still is, but i really hope y'all enjoy this little fic! it was so fun to write, and please, give me all the feedback!

warnings: swearing, very horny without being smut but STILL ONLY 18+ PLEASE, drinking, taking and sending of naughty pictures, use of tinder, text / message screenshots, italics, references to the movie 13 Going on 30, some pet names (e.g. babygirl, baby, darlin'), use of the word 'bimbo' but it is regretted, and this is actually pretty wordy but it kind of had to be?

word count: 7251

Lily flops into the lawn chair beside yours. Her dreadlocks are half up and she isn’t wearing the same clothes that you’d seen her in half an hour ago. She must have just showered.

She offers you the packet of gummy bears in her hand as she settles back into the chair. “So, who are we trying to set on fire?”

You turn to face her, dragging your eyes away from said person you’re metaphorically trying to set on fire. “Who do you think?”

She giggles, the packet in her hand rustling as you take a handful of gummy bears. “He’s so clueless.”

“He’s so stupid,” you mutter, before shoving the candy into your mouth.

Tyler Owens, famous Tornado Wrangler and your best friend since you transferred to his high school in sophomore year. You’re not sure why he took a liking to you when you showed up on your first day with untied laces and a torn backpack. You’d been running late and got your backpack caught on a particularly spikey tree branch as you bolted from your parents’ car toward the school’s front steps. You’ve always assumed he felt bad for you, so he offered you his friendship. But to this day, he maintains that wasn’t the case, despite not giving you any other explanation as to why he would have wanted to befriend the weird new kid.

“I wonder what it’s like to have everyone fall all over you all the time,” Lily says, her eyes watching Tyler with curiosity as opposed to your scorching attempt to telepathically light his hat on fire. Or maybe just the leg of his pants. Nothing too crazy, you don’t want him to get hurt. You just want him to stop talking to that gorgeous woman.

You blow a long, tired breath out through your nose. “I wonder what it’s like go after what you want.”

“Sweetheart, how many times do I have to tell you.” Boone appears from behind you, stepping in front of your lawn chair and blocking your view of Tyler. “I’m right here. If you want me, take me.”

You roll your eyes, a small smirk ghosting over your lips. “Oh, Boone. You see right through me. I want you. I need you. Take me right here in this chair.”

Lily giggles at your sarcasm while Boone blinks slowly, trying to process what he just heard. When a full-blown grin splits across your face and laughter bubbles from your lips, he sighs. “You’re such a tease, woman. Don’t play with my heart like that.”

Before you can respond, Tyler steps up beside Boone and claps a hand on his shoulder. “Boone, you sweet idiot, you can’t tell a siren not to sing.”

Your smile is quickly replaced by a scowl. “Siren?”

Tyler nods, turning the full force of his gorgeous grin on you. “Yeah. The beautiful kind with the sweet voices that lure sailors-”

“To their death.” You push to stand and cross your arms. “They’re also not beautiful, they’re half bird. And they eat the sailors. So, you know what? Sounds like they've got men figured out.”

You turn and stomp up the stairs to the second floor of the motel you’re currently staying at. You know you seem a little childish, but you can’t help it. How many years are you going to have to watch Tyler with those fucking buckle bunnies before you break? Granted, there aren’t so many actual buckle bunnies since he quit bull riding, but they’re all the same to you. Drop dead gorgeous women hanging on for a piece of the man you’ve been in love with since junior year.

After a hot shower and a couple of overpriced minibar drinks – three little bottles of various alcohols – you fall onto the motel bed. This place is nicer than most of the other establishments you've stayed at, and the deadbolts on the door are giving you a sense of security you rarely have. Half the time you end up in Tyler’s room because you don’t feel safe behind the flimsy doors of dodgy motels, but you’ve resisted the past few weeks.

You’re just about at your breaking point where Tyler Owens is concerned, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep up this best friend bullshit.

Your phone dings and draws your attention away from the Friday night movie playing on the small TV screen. You know who it is before you even see the notifications.

Your thumbs hover over your phone screen, poised to type but paralysed because you can’t decide what to say. Tyler is too nice and too fucking oblivious. You’re still too irritated to be nice back to him, so you sigh and smack your phone face down on the bedside table. You grab the remote and turn the volume of the TV down before curling on your side to watch the movie.

As the movie draws to an end and your heavy eyelids start to droop, a cold wave of realisation washes over you. The credits start to roll and you sit up straight, suddenly wide awake. Your eyes dart toward your phone, still sitting on the bedside table, and the bud of an idea begins to bloom at the forefront of your brain.

You tip your head and wonder aloud, “Is that a stupid idea?”

Mark Ruffalo was in love with his best friend – Jennifer Garner – but she didn’t see him that way until it was too late. Maybe you need to force Tyler’s hand? Make him see you that way. You’ve known each other since you were both awkward, hormonally challenged teenagers. You can’t really blame him for not seeing past your horrendous struggle with puberty.

You jump off the bed and strip out of your shirt and sweats, only briefly acknowledging the fact that the shirt actually belongs to Tyler. You open your duffel bag and dig right down to the bottom to retrieve the one set of nice lingerie that you own. You’re not sure you’ve ever actually worn it out, you’ve only ever used it for the exact thing that you’re about to do now.

After changing into the pretty lace set and double-checking the curtains are drawn, you grab your phone and stand in front of the full-length mirror fixed to the motel room’s wall. You’re no Victoria’s Secret model, but you do know how to pose to make yourself look fucking good.

You twist and move in front of the mirror, taking pictures and analysing them before taking some more. You move the lamp and switch the ceiling lights on and off for different shadows and effects on your body. You take off half the set and try the front facing camera for some more risqué poses and teasing photos. By the time you finally decide you should go to bed, you’re actually sweating.

You prop your phone face up on the small bathroom vanity as you brush your teeth and swipe through the photos. You giggle softly to yourself, wondering where you possibly picked up the audacity to think that sending Tyler some sexy photos was a good idea. Looking at them now, your stomach curls anxiously at the idea of sending these images to your best friend – you blame the minibar. Yeah, they’re fucking hot photos, but it’s also an incredibly risky thing to do. There’s a good chance he’s already thought of you in that way and just decided that he’s not interested. What if he saw the pictures and was actually disgusted? It would ruin your friendship and the whole crew's dynamic. You’d have to pack your shit and leave.

Your second thoughts and anxiety still don’t stop you from favouriting the best photos as you crawl back into bed. You can still use those pictures if you ever decide to get over Tyler by getting under someone else. You put your phone on charge and snuggle into a nest of pillows, letting your heavy eyelids fall shut. Maybe tomorrow night you can get drunk and flirt with someone hot and available, and then you can show them your sexy photos.

The next day starts like any other. Dexter and Dani use the motel’s communal barbecue to cook a greasy breakfast while Tyler gets coffees for everyone, and then it’s time to work. There isn’t a lot of promise in today’s blue sky, so you spend half the day at the motel before going for a five-minute drive to the nearest diner for lunch. You insist on riding in the RV instead of Tyler’s truck, but you regret it immediately after seeing his confused hurt-puppy face.

“So, where are we going out tonight?” Boone asks before popping a fry into his mouth.

Tyler shrugs, his green eyes darting up from his burger to look at you across the table. “Any bar around here that looks good.”

“There’s a decent place just around the corner from the motel,” Dexter says. “I’ve been there once before, I think. A year or two ago.”

“There’ll be a tonne of chasers there tonight,” Dani pipes up. “Truckloads of ‘em were pulling into the motel all day, and after such an uneventful Saturday, they’ll be wanting to blow off some steam.”

Tyler nods once. “Good. I need to blow off some steam too.”

You keep your head tipped downward so no one can see you roll your eyes. Yeah, you’re still a little mad at him even though he has no idea why. You know it’s stupid, but you can’t help it. Every time you see his ridiculously gorgeous face, your anger flares. Or is that just pent-up horniness? Maybe if you get laid, you might stop being so mad all the time.

Boone chuckles and nudges Tyler’s side. “Need a blow, do ya, T?”

Warmth flushes across your chest and creeps up your neck. Images of Tyler standing over you flash through your mind, his jeans down around his ankles and his thick length hitting the back of your throat.

Tyler chuckles, but it’s a little wooden. Strained. “You have no idea.”

“Gross,” Lily states, before pretending to gag.

Boone grins. “We’ll find you a lady tonight. Don’t worry.”

Dexter scoffs. “Like he needs help with the ladies.”

You swallow down the green-eyed monster trying to claw up your throat and finally look up from your plate of fries. “Is everyone done? Can we go back now?”

Although you avoid looking at him, Tyler is watching you curiously. His brows are pinched and his lips turned down ever-so-slightly. He knows you, and he definitely knows something is up. If you don’t fix your attitude soon, you’re going to have to explain a lot more than you’d like.

“I was actually going to go to the pharmacy in town,” Dexter says. “I need to pick up a few things.”

“Me too,” Dani adds.

Lily raises one hand in the air. “I’ll tag along too, if that’s okay.”

Tyler pulls his keys out of his back pocket and hands them to Boone. “Then Boone can drive the truck into town and I’ll take the RV.”

You frown. “And me?”

Tyler grins. That breath-taking, panty-melting type of grin. “With me. You said you wanted to go back.”

You roll your lips and nod slowly. Yep, you just played right into his hand.

The group stack their empty plates and gather their things before shuffling out of the diner. You’re the first out the door, dropping your sunglasses from the top of your head to your nose and gazing up at the blue sky. The buttery sun soothes your skin, and you suddenly realise that you can’t remember the last time you went to the beach. You might need to take a break from chasing soon. Who knows, maybe Tyler will kick you off the crew because of your childish attitude. Then you can go to the beach and enjoy sunny weather for once.

“Ready?” The man himself appears beside you, tossing the keys into the air before catching them again.

You don’t reply, you just nod and start walking toward the RV. The others call their goodbyes across the small, gravel parking lot, and you give them a lazy wave as you pull yourself up into the passenger’s seat of the RV’s cabin.

“You wanna drive?” Tyler asks, his southern drawl in full force as he stands in the open door of the driver’s side.

You’re already in the passenger seat, pulling your seatbelt across your body. “You know I hate driving this thing, Ty.”

He chuckles and hoists himself up before pulling the door shut and jamming the keys into the ignition. He takes a moment to adjust all the peripherals before turning the key and easing the big vehicle through the parking lot.

“So,” he says as he turns out of the lot and onto the road. “Want to talk about it?”

You keep your gaze fixed out the windscreen. “Talk about what?”

“Your mood.”

You keep your voice light as you reply. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He rolls his eyes and presses harder on the gas, urging the RV to pick up speed toward your motel. The drive isn’t long, you just have to keep your attitude under control for four more minutes.

“Look,” he starts again, his hands gripping the wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “I’m not going to pretend that I know what’s wrong. All I do know is that something is wrong and has been for a while. You know I like giving you your space. We’re all so on top of each other when we’re out on the road, it’s important to remember that we all need a break sometimes. But whenever you want to talk, I’m here. You know that. I’m always here.”

You can’t help it. Your lips move before you can even think about the words that they’re saying. “Except when you’ve got a better offer.”

His head snaps toward you. “What was that?”

Heat blooms in your cheeks and your heart races anxiously as you see the turn for the motel up ahead. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Is this all because of me?” His head swivels as he tries to read your face while also watching the road. “Did I do something to upset you?”

“No,” you lie. “It’s not always about you.” Fuck. You’re on a roll today.

Thick silence fills the air of the cabin, and you can’t let yourself look at Tyler because you know you just hurt him. He’s not a bad guy. In fact, he’s one of the best guys you know. But he’s oblivious to the way you feel, has been for years, and you can’t help it if your frustration is manifesting in an ugly way.

The RV rocks as it climbs the driveway into the motel. He parks in the same spot as before and you practically fall out the door the second the vehicle is stopped. You don’t look back as you climb the stairs toward your motel room. You slam the door and flop onto the bed, too frustrated to cry and too full of self-pity to think about apologising to Tyler.

You spend the rest of the day in your room. At six o’clock you get a message from Lily asking if you’re still coming out with them, to which you reply with a thumbs up. You’re not mad at Lily, but she at least knows why you’re in a foul mood. However misdirected your anger might be.

You shower and change into that lacey lingerie set from the photos, deciding that tonight it’s going to get its debut outing. You slide into a pair of jeans and your nicest top before adding a touch of makeup to your face and walking out the door. When you’re on the road, you don’t really have a whole lot of nice clothes for going out, but you do feel a little pleased when you see your pretty reflection in the motel windows on your way along the balcony.

“Why don’t you wear those jeans more often?” Boone asks from the bottom of the stairs as you descend.

“Because then you’d be too distracted all the time.”

He grins and offers you his hand for the last few steps. “I’m always distracted by your beauty.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “God, Boone. You’re such a flirt.”

He chuckles and guides you to the bottom of the stairs before letting go of your hand and walking off toward where Dexter is packing up some of the equipment he’d been tinkering with this afternoon. Eventually, everyone meets in the parking lot and the group decide to walk, because the bar is only around the corner.

It’s already pretty busy by the time you get there, but you manage to find a tall bar table that seats all of you while Tyler goes off to get the first round of drinks. Your friends quickly dive into a discussion about what the next week could bring and where you plan to go from here, but your eyes are glued to Tyler.

He’s leaning forward against the bar, a huge grin split across his face as a very gorgeous bartender takes his order. She has a smirk on her lips that says she gets what she wants, and by the way she’s looking at Tyler, you don’t have to guess that he is what she wants tonight.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and scroll to the last page of apps you’ve ignored for almost a year now. Dating apps. You’re not a fan of them, but if anything, they’ve helped you get laid. You open one and enter your log in details before adjusting your location and starting to quickly swipe through a few profiles. You know it’s dumb, and you’re feeling more along the lines of pathetic than horny right now, but you need something to think about that isn’t Tyler fucking Owens.

“Turns out I’ve been here before,” Tyler says as he drops the tray of drinks onto the table. “The bartender said she remembers me.”

Of course she does.

Boone wags his eyebrows suggestively. “The hot bartender?”

Tyler chuckles, but he doesn’t turn to ogle at the bar like the rest of the group. “I guess she could be considered attractive.”

“You guess?” Dani slams her drink back down on the table. “Come on, T. Your standards can’t be that high.”

He shrugs one shoulder and takes a long draw from his beer. “What can I say?”

Before you have the chance to roll your eyes, your phone vibrates in your hand. You lean back and unlock the screen, angling it so that neither Lily nor Boone can see from either side of you. Two messages from a guy name Owen. Of course. It couldn’t be a Jack or a Sam. No, the universe just loves making fun of you too much.

Well, that was easy.

You slide your phone into your back pocket before picking up your drink and draining half of it. You can feel Tyler’s eyes on you, but you ignore him. You keep your gaze fixed on Dexter as he tells an animated story about the last time he was at this bar.

The next time you pull your phone out, you have a few more messages from Owen. He tells you that he’s working late at the local liquor store but can meet up later, which you happily agree to – it seems stupid to pretend that you’re in this for anything other than sex. He then asks for your number, because the store he works at has shitty reception, so you give it to him and wait for his first text to set him up as a new contact. Who knows, maybe the next time you’re in town you could hit him up.

The night wears on and you continue sinking drinks to keep yourself happily buzzed. There are more chasers here just as Dani had predicted, and your group ends up scattered throughout the bar catching up with old friends. You manage to avoid Tyler for most of the night, but it isn’t easy. He watches you like a hawk, analysing every little move you make and practically breathing down your neck every time you slide your phone out of your pocket.

You tap Lily on the shoulder. “I’m going to the bathroom and then getting another drink. You want?”

She shakes her head and waves a hand. “I’m good, thanks.”

You nod once and turn toward where you think the toilets might be. You pass Dexter, who is chatting with a group of chasers you don’t recognise, and then Dani and Boone, who are giving a dramatic retelling of the last close call you all had.

You find the bathrooms and slip inside. You lock yourself in the first stall, shimmy your jeans down, and sit. Then you pull your phone out to reply to Owen. He’s polite, not too creepy, and seems to have no issue being honest. He’s telling you that he’s excited to meet up, because it’s been a long week and he really needs to get laid. You find yourself smiling at your phone as you reply, telling him that you’re feeling the exact same way.

As you wash your hands and gaze at your reflection in the mirror, you start to realise that maybe you’re a little more buzzed than you thought. Not that it’s a problem, because a little liquid courage always helps you out when it comes to one-night-stands, but you might need to start watching what you say. Alcohol can be a very dangerous catalyst for honesty.

When you step out of the bathroom, it feels even more crowded than before. You almost have to shoulder your way to the bar. Once you find a spot, you lean your forearms against the wood and squint to see what draughts they have on tap.

The gorgeous bartender that served Tyler earlier steps toward you. “Hey hon, what can I get ya?”

You try to wear a polite smile as you tell her your drink, but you can’t help feeling that it just looks twisted. She nods and starts pouring. You fish into your jeans’ pockets for cash before dropping it on the bar as she hands you your fresh schooner. The first sip is crisp and delicious, but quickly ruined by what you see across the room.

Nestled in the corner by the front of the bar is Tyler and some blonde bombshell who looks like she just walked out of a rodeo-themed photoshoot for Victoria’s Secret. They’re leaning on one of the tall tables, practically toe to toe, and she’s licking her lips as she watches him tell whatever stupid story he’s telling.

You storm back over to Lily with a scowl, but she’s too invested in her conversation to notice your renewed foul mood. You sit up on the barstool and take another generous sip of beer, letting the bubbly drink cool you from the inside out. Tyler is a grown-ass man. He can do what he wants, make his own decisions, and fuck whatever he pleases. You need to get over it.

After a couple of deep breaths, you’re feeling more sad than angry. But that won’t do either. You need to feel something positive, even if it is only fleeting. So you pull your phone out, lean away from the group of people chatting with Lily, and pull up your photos. Yep, those photos.

Your heart thuds heavily in your chest, your pulse ringing in your ears. This shouldn’t be so nerve-wracking, but it’s been so long since you’ve done something like this. It’s been so long since the last time you tried to get over Tyler Owens.

You choose three of your favourite photos. One is in the mirror, simple and saucy, showcasing the full ensemble. The second one is of you kneeling in front of the mirror, closer than the last and angled so that every curve looks a little extra enticing. The third photo is with the front-facing camera, the phone angled down to get your body instead of your face. You’ve taken off the top part of the set and you’re barely covering your nipples with one arm.

You’re not a vain or particularly conceited person, but you know these photos are good.

You squint and focus on your phone as you select the three photos and tap the ‘share’ symbol in the corner of your dim screen. It’s a little fuzzy through your beer goggles, but you don’t want to turn the brightness up right now, so you persevere. The share options fill the bottom half of the screen, and you carefully tap on the text messages app logo. A ‘New Message’ pops up, the little cursor blinking on the ‘To:’ line. You type carefully, O-W-E-N, and pick the contact that pops up. Then you hit that little send button.

The next few seconds pass in slow motion.

You look up from your phone and your eyes find Tyler across the bar. He’s smiling at the blonde, but then something else summons his attention. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and lifts it up to his face. His grin vanishes and his cheeks flush bright red at the same time that your stomach plummets. It falls so fast and so hard, you’re almost sure it’s fallen right out of your ass.

Your eyes go wide, and you can feel your heart beating in your throat as it tries to crawl up. Or is that all the beer you’ve drank tonight? You feel sick. You need to get out of here. Fuck. You need to unsend that fucking text.

“Are you okay?” Lily’s voice is distant even though she’s right in front of you, a hand on your shoulder.

“I, uh-” You slip off the barstool. “Gotta go. Feel sick.”

One glance across the bar has your stomach doing another gymnastics routine, flipping and spinning wildly, trying to expel every drop of alcohol you’ve consumed in the past few hours. Tyler isn’t with the blonde anymore, he’s weaving his way through the throngs of people toward you.

Luckily, you’re closer to the door than he is. You squeeze through a group of chasers who you kind of recognise, but you don’t give yourself time to get a proper look. You duck out the door and start walking down the street. You don’t want to run, you’re not sure your wobbly legs can manage it right now, and you don’t want to draw attention.

The motel is just around the corner. If you get there in time, you can lock yourself in your room before Tyler catches you. Then you can pack your shit and run. Like really run. Because fuck, there is no coming back from this.

You hear your name called out behind you, but you easily recognise his voice, so you don’t turn around. You keep walking, your footsteps heavy and your breath coming and going in ragged gasps. You open your phone as you round the corner, bringing up your text thread with Tyler that makes your head spin. You sent him those photos. Fuck. He must think you’re insane.

Your eyes narrow on the contact name ‘Owens’ with a little tornado emoji beside it. The universe is definitely laughing at you right now. You hold down on the photo message and look for the ‘unsend’ button. But there isn’t one. There’s a ‘delete’ button, but you know that will only delete it from your side of the chat. He’s got these photos now. There’s no going back.

He calls your name again as you turn into the motel. It’s not far now, you might actually make it.

You book it across the parking lot and start up the stairs to the second-floor rooms. Your fingers fumble for the key in your pocket as you approach your door. Your pulse is hammering in your ears. You don’t dare to look back because you know he’s close. You can feel it.

The key slides into the lock and you practically fall into the room. You spin on your heel and try to slam the door shut. It gets most of the way until a booted foot slides across the threshold. The door stills, five inches of light from the outside slicing through the dark motel room. All you can hear is your heavy breathing and the panting from the man holding the door ajar.

You close your eyes and steel your nerves. Maybe it’s time you quit chasing.

You take a deep breath and open the door again. “Yes, Tyler?”

He looks downright feral. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are wild, his hair is mussed, and you’re pretty sure his hands are vibrating in fists by his sides.

“What”– his voice is so deep, it’s almost a growl –“the fuck was that?”

You tip your head, feigning innocent curiosity. “Was what?”

His eyes darken and he licks his lips. Like a predator sizing up its prey. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

“But I thought that was your favourite game.” You take a step back from the door. “Isn’t that why you’re always hanging out with those buckle bunny bimbos?”

You feel sick as the words leave your lips. You hate being a bitch and you hate that being frustrated and upset makes you one, but you can’t help it. If Tyler is going to have a go at you for accidentally sending him some photos, then you’re going to have a go back. Sure, your oldest and most important childhood friendship is about to blow up. But tit for tat is still important, right?

His eyes narrow and he pushes the door all the way open to step inside. “What are you talking about?”

You decide, for the first time tonight, to think before you speak. So you take your time. You turn and walk toward the bed before flopping down at the foot of it and bending over to unlace your boots.

“It was an accident.” You get one shoe off. “I didn’t mean to send those photos to you.” You get the other shoe off. “So, I’m sorry if your blonde friend saw them and freaked out. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

He pushes the door to swing shut behind his towering frame. “Ruin my night?”

You stand up, because he’s too intimidating right now for you to be sitting down.

“Wait.” His brows pinch and he glances at the floor before looking back at you with something fiery behind his eyes. “You accidentally sent them to me?”

You nod.

“Who the fuck were you trying to send them to?”

The venom in his voice startles you, and you rear back a little. “How is that any of your business?”

He steps closer. “It isn’t, but you’re going to tell me.”

You scoff. “Is that so?”

He takes a deep, rattly breath. You can see the muscles in his jaw ticking under the pressure of how hard he’s clenching. He’s so close that you can smell him. That intoxicating mix of fresh earth and cedarwood. He smells exactly like the dense air before a storm.

You startle again when he grips your chin, forcing you to stay still as he leans in even closer. “Babygirl,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning over your skin. “You cannot send me photos like that and then tell me they were meant for another man.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your eyes bouncing between his. They’re hardly green anymore, they’re black. His pupils are so blown, you can only just see a thin ring of colour around them.

“You think you’ve ruined my night?” he asks.

You try to nod, but his grip on your chin doesn’t let you.

“I’m gonna need you to use your words, darlin’.”

His southern drawl sends a shock of electricity right to your core. You can feel the ache building behind your hipbones, pulsing and growing and making you squeeze your thighs together.

“Yes.”

He chuckles, but it’s deep and dark and full of something other than amusement. “The only thing you’ve ruined is my fucking patience.”

You don’t know what to say. Your brain might as well be melting out of your ears as you stare at the hungry face of the man you’ve loved for God knows how long. All you can do is blink at him, wondering when you’ll wake up from this dream.

“Who were you trying to send them to?” he asks again.

“Owen,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper.

He raises his brows. “Who the fuck is Owen?”

“Tinder.”

He lets go of your chin and rises back to his full height. “You were on fucking Tinder?”

Without his face so close and his paralysing touch, you feel a little more in control of yourself. You let your anger simmer and soak through your body, reminding yourself why you took those photos in the first place.

“Why do you care if I’m on Tinder?” you snap. “And why the fuck do you care who I send those photos to?”

“I care because no man on this planet deserves to see those fucking photos,” he growls. “No one is good enough to see you like that.”

You cross your arms and scowl up at him. “That doesn’t even make any sense, Tyler. What the fuck do you want from me? Do you want me to join a nunnery?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but you’re not done.

“You can’t just blow up at me about a couple of stupid photos and because I’m on Tinder. Who gives a fuck? I’m an adult woman who can fuck whoever she wants, and you’re a grown-ass man who doesn’t get a fucking say in it! Why don’t you just go back to screwing every woman in Oklahoma and leave me and my personal life alone?”

You’ve never seen Tyler this angry. He looks like one of those huffing bulls he used to ride. His chest is heaving, his knuckles are white, and his expression is angrier than any storm cloud you’ve ever seen – which is saying something.

“Is that really what you think of me?” His voice is surprisingly calm compared to his demeanour.

You nod once, keeping your expression as flat as possible.

He cocks his head, his eyes challenging. “Really? After all the years we’ve known each other, you think that I’m just some man-whore who’s making his way through the state?”

You don’t reply. What the fuck are you supposed to say to that? Of course you don’t think of him as a man-whore, but you can’t exactly tell him what you do think of him. You’re not even sure why you’re fighting right now. Shouldn’t you just be embarrassed and apologising? Wasn’t the original plan to pack your shit and get out of here? You should be packing a bag and high tailing it out of this stupid little town.

“When did you take those photos?” he asks suddenly, looking past you.

You glance over your shoulder to follow his gaze, finding the incriminating mirror. You sigh. “Last night.”

“Who did you take them for last night?” His voice is strained, as if he doesn’t really want to ask the question but he has to know.

You look back at him, studying his furious expression and fiery eyes. You’ve never seen Tyler so worked up. He looks like he’s in the boxing ring waiting for another blow, waiting for you to punch him again so he can unleash another torrent of misplaced rage.

Maybe it’s time to surprise him. Hit him where he’s least expecting it.

“You.”

His scowl vanishes and his eyes grow wide. His mouth pops open, like he’s going to reply but there’s no connection between his brain and his voice box. He’s paralysed.

You gnaw on your bottom lip, watching him anxiously. His eyes are scanning your features, looking for something – maybe he’s hoping your joking? He opens his mouth a couple of times, but he still can’t find any words. You let out a soft sigh and decide that you’re already knee deep, you might as well dive in.

“It’s stupid, but yeah, I took them with the intention of sending them to you.” You let your eyes trace the collar of his flannel shirt, unable to meet his gaze. “Then I realised it was a dumb idea, and I didn’t. But then I was messaging this guy tonight and when I went to send them to Owen, I hit your contact name… Owensss.” You emphasise the ‘s’ and swirl your finger, as if mimicking a little tornado.

When you finally look back up at his face, he doesn’t look disgusted or offended. He looks confused.

“Why were you going to send them to me?”

You groan and drop back onto the bed, hiding your face in your hands. “Really, Ty? Do I have to fucking spell it out for you?”

You split your hands and peak up at him, but his expression hasn’t changed.

“Fine.” You huff and stand up again, ignoring the way it makes your head spin. “Tyler fucking Owens, I’m in love with you. I have been since junior year of high school when you asked me to prom instead of any of those other girls who were falling all over you. I’ve been in love with you through every stupid boyfriend I’ve had and every dumb life decision you’ve made, and I was so sick of seeing you with other women that I thought sending you some embarrassing fucking photos would make you change your mind. But I know now that if you felt any special way about me, you would’ve told me by now. So please, just let me pack my shit and get out of here.”

“Get out of here?” he echoes. “Baby, the only place you’re getting is in my fucking bed.”

Before you can even process his words, he swoops forward and crashes his lips against yours. Your hands fly up to his shoulders, steadying yourself as he kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before. Your head spins and your knees wobble, but his arms wrap around your waist to hold you up.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, giving and taking as he pleases and making you moan against his mouth. His stubble scratches your chin and your cheeks, and your mind immediately imagines it rasping against your inner thighs. You want to squeeze your legs together, but he shoves his thigh between then, bending his knee so that you’re practically riding his leg as his lips assault yours.

You can’t stop yourself from grinding down, desperate for any kind of friction to ease the ache between your legs. When your lips part in a whimper, Tyler’s tongue slips past them, and he tips your head back. His mouth devours every little moan and sigh as you continue to ride his thigh. His hands grip your hips, hard enough to bruise, and they guide you up and down. You can feel his belt buckle digging into your lower belly, and you can feel his hard length beside it.

“Ty,” you whisper, your lungs aching for air. “Please.”

“Please what, darlin’?”

You almost whine as he drags you slowly up his thigh. “Fuck me.”

He chuckles, his breath hitting your damp and puffy lips. He stops forcing you to move and relaxes his leg, setting you back on your own unsteady feet. “You want me to fuck you?”

You nod, suddenly feeling shy with him looking at you so intensely after that.

“Okay, but I’ve got a few ground rules.”

Your chest deflates as you let out a long breath. Here it goes. He’s going to tell you that this is a one-time thing, that it can’t be weird in the morning, and that you can’t tell anyone else about it. You feel a little stupid for believing that he would kiss you for any other reason than the fact that he’s horny. You ruined his shot with that blonde bombshell and then sent him those photos, of course he’s horny. It doesn’t matter that you just laid yourself fucking bare. He probably wasn’t even listening to all that. You told him you’re in love with him and he told you to get into his bed. He either didn’t hear you or doesn’t give a shit.

“Hey.” He grips your chin again and forces you to look up at him, at those smouldering eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.”

You blink twice, unsure what to say.

“Rule number one-”

“Ty-”

He kisses you again, but it’s only quick. “No, let me finish. You had that whole speech before, so it’s my turn.”

You can’t nod because he’s still holding your chin, so you roll lips and wait.

“Good.” He lets go of your chin and puts a hand on each of your shoulders. “Rule number one is that no other person can ever see those fucking photos, you got it?”

You nod, and then he pushes you gently so that you’re sitting on the bed.

“Rule number two, you’re going to send me every single one of those photos that you took.”

Your brows pinch together, and he wedges a leg between your knees to push them apart.

“Rule number three, you’re mine now. Only mine.” He steps in between your legs and cups your head in both hands. “No more Tinder, no more bullshit. I’m the only one that gets to look at you and touch you, and I’m sure and shit the only one who gets to love you. You got that?”

Your mouth parts and he runs his thumb over your swollen bottom lip. “You love me?”

He grins. That breath-taking, panty-melting type of grin. “Since the first day you ran into class late. Your hair was all windswept and your cheeks were all red. You looked like you’d just fallen from fucking heaven.”

You can’t help the very unladylike snort of laughter that comes out of you. “Tyler, that is the lamest thing you’ve ever said.”

“But it worked. You’re smiling for the first time in who knows how long.”

He leans down and presses his lips against yours again, but this time it’s gentle. He urges forward and you slowly pull yourself further up the bed, being careful not to let your lips leave his. He crawls on top of you, placing a knee on either side of your thighs where you now lay beneath him.

“I think I’m going to have a hard time not smiling now,” you murmur against his mouth.

He pulls back and hits you with the full force of that gorgeous smirk as he holds himself over you on all fours. “You’re gonna have a hard time not screaming my name in a minute.”

You mirror him with your own cocky grin and press your palm against his hard length, restrained in his jeans. “You sure about that.”

He eyelids flutter shut and his lips pop open, a soft sigh escaping them. When he looks back down at you with dark, hungry eyes, you can feel your own arousal soaking through your panties.

“Oh, I’m sure.”

END.

[lolitalovess]

thinking best friend loser vi jerking off to ur underwear when she misses you.. and other hcs ♡

｡･ﾟ･♡･ﾟ･｡ loser bsf vi who knows she's being creepy, but it's not like it's her fault! you accidentally forgot some of your clothes when you left her house earlier and she just loves the smell of you. the nice thing to do was to fold your clothes neatly for when you came back to get them the next day, and to keep your undies safe in her nightstand draw where she can keep them close.

loser bsf vi who's held onto this pair of underwear for atleast a month, switching between stuffing her cunt while wearing said underwear or holding them to her face to smell them when she hasn't seen you for awhile and misses the way you smell. wishes she could do both at the same time, maybe she'll have to borrow some more!

loser bsf vi who is an absolute nerd to the core and she will make you play her favourite games on her ps4. skyrim, gow and the sims 3. no questions asked she will be turning all the lights off, closing the blinds and turning the volume up all the way.

loser bsf vi who internally panics when she's got her vibrator on her clit when you call her because you see the little green active dot on her insta. her eyes were infact previously boring into the bright screen of her phone that displayed a picture of you on your story, and she's trying so, so hard to cover her moans and whimpers with heavy breaths and answers to your questions asking if she's okay, and what the sound of buzzing you can faintly hear in the background is.

loser bsf vi who has dreams about kissing and undressing you slowly, about feeling the soft skin of your thighs with her hands after she's separated them with sweet words. she always wakes up wet if she has a dream about you, and, as ashamed and frustrated she is, she always alternates to shoving her little shorts aside and playing with her clit like a toy first thing in the morning. a little frown always plays her lips when she checks the time and realises she has to get ready for class or else she'll be late.

loser bsf vi who tries to come up with any excuse she can when you point out the dried spots of cum on her sheets when you come over, telling you that her cat pissed on the mattress instead.

loser bsf vi who thinks about having you sit on her lap with her back pressed to your chest, holding your hips and making you grind your ass on the bulge of her strap whenever you walk in front of her and she's staring at your ass.

loser bsf vi who always shows up with something for you when she comes to your house. you mention you're tired the morning of and she's buying you a monster and those little heart shaped chocolates. if you're into collecting teddies or not, she will be buying you a new type of jellycat for every occasion. always shrugs your sweet words off, saying it's nothing and it's what a good best (girl)friend should do!

i know i said i'm on break from writing but i was going through my drafts and this was basically already done so i just touched it up a lil 😈 kind of running out of ideas (if you couldn't tell) and getting sick of writing about loser vi lowkey but i know how dearly she's loved so i'll always try my hardest 🙏 sorry to the ones who saw that ifykyk

taglist: @korn-dawg @h0neymiel @thatprettypage @blackdykegirlblogger @mars4hellokitty @marieeeluvsyou @absfemme @arahiraaai @fallinqstxrs @pariiissssssss @dean-what @certifiedwomenkisser @prettyyyy-girl @earlgreyteatearstains @zombieeepup @fathericravedeath @xoxo-sincerely-me @beatingsweet

[reignpage]

The Other Woman

Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3

The doctors and psychologists said it’d be great for your husband’s well-being to be with friends and family. And for the most part, that’s proven true. 

Insisting on welcoming Satoru back properly, his students organised a party and invited anyone who had a remote connection with their teacher. Even Nanami had taken time off from work to be here and had given a polite pat on his shoulder and a genuine greeting. 

That brought a huge smile to the white-haired man who pounced on the poor guy without remorse, giggling about how he knew he ‘always liked him really’. It felt great to watch him be surrounded by and showered with so much love and support, the kind he deserves; you could tell it was bringing life back to him. After all, it must have been painful for him to have been cooped up in the house trying to reconcile his new reality with the one he remembers. 

You keep reminding yourself of that. 

Satoru needs this. 

He needs normalcy. The normal he remembers, the normal he went to sleep thinking about and not the one he had suddenly woken up to, years passing him by. 

Everyone knows this. He knows this. Just as you do. 

So why is every person in the party sneaking you pitying and concerned glances?

Sure, no one could possibly think this is easy for you, to be the stranger that Satoru still gets surprised to see in the morning. The one he hesitates to say goodnight to, unsure of the boundaries, the etiquette, the right thing to do. He sometimes forgets to text you if he’s going out, shocked and annoyed, you’re sure, to see the many missed calls and messages from you. And you know he studies the picture frames all over your house like a textbook that would give him all the answer he needs.

All he gets, you’re willing to bet, is the realisation that you’re both the tether he needs to keep grounded, that guides him through the sea of memories he cannot touch, and the leash that binds him to a role he doesn’t remember signing up for. 

Are they looking at you with worry because of the inevitable toll this sudden shift has taken on your mental health or because your husband is talking to his ex-girlfriend the way he used to talk to you?

It can’t be the latter, right?

Because there’s nothing to be worried about. 

Satoru is simply catching up, trying to stitch up the crater-sized hole in his memory with a familiar face. There’s no reason for your hand to shake as you sip your drink or for your eyes to keep darting back over to them, sat alone at a table like they’re the only people in here. 

He’s laughing, throwing his head back and making that obnoxious cackle you love to hear. Loved. Because this one isn’t for you. It’s for her. The woman he shouldn’t be near, the woman he shouldn’t even think about, shouldn’t let touch his arm. 

You’re the wife. 

You’ve got the ring to prove it. 

He’s wearing it. Just not on the hand attached to the arm strung over the back of her chair like he’s protecting her from the rest of the world. Hell, maybe he is. Maybe his infinity is on and covering her. But you don’t have it in you to throw something at them to find out. Either result would be just as humiliating as the other. 

There’s nothing to be done. 

You can’t interrupt. 

Because Satoru needs to know what he said goodbye to all those years ago to know what he says ‘hey, pretty lady’ and ‘good morning, gorgeous’ to now. Or used to say. Now, you’re lucky if he even looks at you without shuffling his feet. 

Eventually, the night draws to its natural end. 

People bid their farewells twice, once to him and her, and then to you. Each time breaks your heart even more until you feel it crumble inside, little shards falling to pieces he won’t pick up. She stands before you, a small, shy smile, like she knows what she’s done. And says it’s ‘lovely to meet you’, and of course you can’t say it back. 

Not when you had been introduced by your name, ‘my beautiful wife’ going nowhere near the tip of his tongue as if those words had never been uttered by your husband. And not when she had been introduced in a hastily withdrawn, stuttered freudian slip of hell. 

“This is my girlfr— Sorry, I mean, my friend. From high school. Yeah, high school.”

Satoru blushes, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he waves goodbye to her. And you can tell he finds the act lacklustre, an uninspired, unnatural way to say goodbye to the woman you woke up to and slept beside. 

“Did you have a good time?”

He nods, a soft smile playing on his lip as he casts his gaze across the room, sweeping by the empty hall like he can still see every single person that came. “It was nice to see everyone and catch up.”

You’re thankful he doesn’t ask if you enjoyed the evening because you can’t lie to him but you also can’t tell the truth, can’t burden him anymore with the reminder that he doesn’t fill the shoes of your husband, that he continues to stumble with every step, dragging you down with him. 

So, instead, you fill the silence with a question that is so harmless, so normal it slips out before you can even think to anticipate the devastating crack that goes through your very soul. 

“Ready to go home?”

Satoru nods.

But he’s looking at a seat in the back. 

A seat that’s probably still warm. A seat you could never fill because you aren’t the woman he thought, hoped, he would marry. 

You’re just the woman he did. 

[y3sterdaysproblem]

let me love you - matthew sturniolo

summary: your boyfriend sucks, and matt may or may not be in love with you.

warnings: pure smut, cheating, oral f!receiving, fingering, hickeys, unprotected sex.

a/n: thanks for enjoying my ghostface au! this is kind of a slow burn it’s like 1.5k words before they get freaky. yall wanted best friend matt so here you go 😇 ALSO I started writing this prior to everyone talking about no nut november sooooo …. lmk if u want smut from me still or maybe some fluff or angst cuz I am a sluuuttt for angst

wc: 6.2k

-

“No!” You cry out, throwing your body backwards on the white couch you sat on, dramatically slamming the PS5 controller down next to you in defeat. “You guys teamed up on me and cheated! No fair.”

Laughter filled your ears around you, your friends and boyfriend finding your reaction hilarious.

You were at your best friend Matt’s house, along with his two brothers, your boyfriend, and a couple of other friends from high school. Nick had wanted to invite your guys’ old friend group over as it had been a while since you had all seen each other together, and so far you guys were having a blast. You’d ordered a pizza, watched a cringey movie that came out while you guys were in high school, and now were playing Mario Kart, which was never really your strong suit.

“Nobody ganged up on you, kid. You just suck,” Chris laughed from his spot next to you, bringing his phone up to take a picture of the big pout on your face.

“I hate this game,” you tell him, standing up from your spot between him and your boyfriend, getting up to go refill your red solo cup with soda. As you walk to the kitchen, you hear footsteps behind you, and you’ve been friends with everyone here long enough to know who’s creeping up behind you, so you turn around, pout still plastered on your face.

Matt laughs as soon as he makes eye contact with you, unable to hold it in. “Cmon, don’t be a sore loser,” he starts.

Your jaw drops at his comment in disbelief before you pick it up and giggle, dropping the facade. “I’m not being a sore loser,” you assure him with another laugh. “I’m thirsty and was also kind of wondering if there was any pizza left.”

Matt smiles at your change of attitude, happy you’re not actually upset with the outcome of the game, even though he would never mind trying to cheer you up. “I knew you’d want more, actually,” he moves around the table to open the fridge door. “Seemed like everyone was going crazy on the pizza so I grabbed a couple slices and put them aside for you.”

Your heart swells a bit as you walk around to join Matt by the fridge, smiling wide as he pulled out a tupperware container with a couple pieces of your favorite pizza. “Aww,” you drawl. “You know me so well, Matt. Thank you!” You take the container from him and set it on the counter before turning around and wrapping your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

He hugs you back with his arms around your waist for a moment before pulling away, patting your sides as he does so. “Of course, just heat it up real quick. I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” he smiles at you, turning and walking away.

You smile to yourself as you pop the tupperware into the microwave, listening to the hum of the machine while you twiddle your fingers and wait for it to heat up. As it beeps, you feel a presence sneak up behind you, hands wrapping around your waist.

You spin around with a small grin, looking up at your boyfriend looming over you. “Hi,” you say sweetly.

“Hey,” he responds, kissing your forehead. “More pizza?” His eyebrows furrow as he looks down at you.

“Yeah,” you respond, breaking free from his grasp to grab your pizza out of the microwave. “Matt put a few slices aside for me because I always eat more later.” You take a bite out of one of the slices, humming in satisfaction, looking up at your boyfriend with a small smile.

He looks down at you with a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, watching you eat. “Didn’t you have like four pieces earlier?” He questions, raising his eyebrows slightly.

You pause chewing for a moment, furrowing your eyebrows as you look at him. “Huh?” You say, slightly garbled by the food in your mouth. You take a moment and chew what’s in your mouth, swallowing thickly before setting down your bowl, placing both hands on your hips. “Are you questioning how much I’m eating or am I hearing things?”

He crosses his arms as the smile drops off of his face. “That’s not what I mean,” he starts. “I’m just… saying you had a few pieces earlier and you just heated up like four more pieces, that’s all.”

You guys have been friends for almost ten years now, however your relationship was relatively fresh, only about seven months in, and in those ten years that you’ve known each other, you’ve never been known to eat salads or small portions. You’ve always had a faster metabolism, and a more active life, so you weren’t particularly worried about indulging in a few extra pieces of pizza during a night with some of your closest friends.

You tilt your head and narrow your eyes, arms coming up to cross over your chest. “Is this something you’d be comfortable saying in front of all of our friends?”

He scoffs and shakes his head, turning to walk away. “Don’t make this something it’s not, babe. Just a question,” he says, heading back towards the couch where the rest of your friends are.

You’re still standing there with your arms crossed, watching him sit down next to Chris, picking up a controller while he laughs about something somebody said, completely switching up his attitude like he wasn’t just trying to patrol what you were eating and how much of it.

At that moment, Matt comes back, drying his hands on his grey sweatpants, making them a bit darker on the outsides of his thighs. “How’s the pizza?” He asks with a smile, before he notices your demeanor and the pizza resting on the counter instead of in your hands. “Everything okay?”

You turn your attention to your friend, looking at him with a confused expression while you try to decipher the interaction that just happened between you and your boyfriend. “Yeah,” you say, but it isn’t a confident answer, and you sound almost confused. “Come on, let’s go sit back down,” you tell him, grabbing your bowl of reheated pizza before starting to walk back to the couch, flopping down on it aggressively, making sure everyone knew you were back.

Matt follows happily, sitting down next to you. You turn and smile at him before slinging one of your legs over his, his hand habitually landing on your knee as you did so. You two had always been the closest in the friend group, but it was always platonic, as much as some of the people in the friend group wanted you guys to end up together.

Nick came and sat on your other side, smiling at the bowl in your hand, pointing at it happily. “Secret stash?” He asked.

You nod enthusiastically, swallowing the food that was in your mouth. “Matt saved me some because he knows how much I love to eat again a few hours later.” Your tone was slightly bratty, eyes flicking over to your boyfriend who stared at you and Matt. He was clearly mad at how close the two of you were sitting, and the hand placed gently on your knee.

Nick nodded. “Oh yeah, I think we all know how much you love leftovers. I wish I could eat as much as you and still look that good,” he teased. You laughed, knowing Nick had no idea the interaction that transpired in the kitchen a few minutes ago, and his timing was just coincidentally perfect.

The night played on as usual, games continuing to play on the tv, loud chatter filling the room as you all caught up on each others’ lives, talking about how adult life takes so much time to live and leaves so little for socializing.

Soon, people started leaving, and eventually it was just the triplets, your boyfriend and yourself, all sitting on the couch as the conversation started to die out, everyone starting to become tired.

Your boyfriend stands from the couch, stretching his arms above his head, shirt riding up slightly. “I think I’m gonna head out, I’m really tired,” he says. “You want a ride home, babe?” He looks down at you where you now laid on your side, head resting on a pillow by the arm of the couch.

You look up and shoot him a quick smile, shaking your head. “I’m gonna pass out here for the night, thanks though.” You tell him. It was typical for you to stay over at the triplets’ house when you got the chance. You’ve known them the longest and grown the closest with them out of the friend group.

“Oh, you can sleep in my room!” Chris smiles at you, reaching over to grab your ankle, shaking it lightly. “I’m gonna sleep in Nick’s room.”

You sit up and laugh at Chris, nodding your head lightly. “Okay, thanks, Chris. You’re the best.”

You and Chris had an almost sibling like relationship from the start, teasing and goofing off being an essential part of your bond. They were also a little bit younger, so he was like the little brother you never had.

Your boyfriend nods and walks over to you, leaning down to kiss you quickly before straightening back out, heading towards the door. “Bye guys, thanks for hosting,” he says towards the boys before leaving, door shutting behind him.

You let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding, looking around at the three boys around you, all comfortably sitting on the couch on their phones. You smile to yourself a bit before pushing yourself up off of the couch, causing them to look up at you.

“I’m gonna go to sleep,” you say. “Thanks for letting me sleep in your bed, Chris.”

Chris smiles up at you and nods. “Goodnight,” he says.

“Night,” you respond, starting your walk through the kitchen to get to the stairs.

Matt gets up and trails behind you, and you don’t even question it, only turning around to look at him when you’ve made it to Chris’ room. “Here to tuck me in?” You tease.

Matt laughs and shrugs, walking to sit on the edge of the bed, looking up at you as you raid the drawers to find a large t-shirt to change into for the night. “I mean I can tuck you in if you want, but I just wanted to make sure you were okay after earlier. I’m not really sure what happened but you weren’t right after that.”

You pull out an old, worn out red sox shirt and walk over to the bed, sitting down in the middle of it. You let out a sigh and stare down at your hands. “I’m okay, it’s just… you know how I was eating those last few pieces of pizza?”

Matt scoots closer to you and turns to face you, nodding his head as he did so. “Did he say something to you?” He asked curiously, head tilting a bit.

You take a deep breath and nod, letting the air out slowly and quietly while you think of what to say. “He just made a comment about how much I was eating and it kind of rubbed me the wrong way. Said I already ate a good amount earlier so I shouldn’t eat any more.”

Matt pulled his head back with a disgusted look on his face. “That’s weird. It’s no different from how you usually eat.” He said.

You just shrugged your shoulders and leaned back against the headboard. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I was so confused when he said it, it was just so out of left field. It’s not like I’ve gained weight since we’ve been together or anything either. I don’t know, Matt, he’s been weird lately. I’m not even sure if we should be together, but if we break up it’s going to make things weird between everybody and… I just don’t know.” You run your hands over your face and groan loudly, smacking your hands back down on your legs when you’re done.

Matt looks at you for a moment, trying to figure out what to say that might make things better, but his curiosity gets the better of him and he finds himself trying to dig deeper. “How is he being weird?” He inquires, sitting still in his spot in the middle of the bed.

You shake your head and look up at Matt, pursing your lips as you think. “He just… he’s not very physical with me, he barely takes me on dates and when he does, I have to ask him to take me out, his texts are so dry it hurts, and… not to be too tmi but… I’m just not very,” you blush and look down at your lap before finishing your sentence. “Satisfied.” Your voice fades off into almost a whisper.

Matt’s eyebrows raise, shocked that you confided in him about your sex life. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but normally he didn’t know the guys you were complaining about and you could joke about it more freely. “Like… you’re not finishing?” He asks, not sure how far you’d be willing to take this conversation.

You cover your face, embarrassed, but ultimately you make eye contact through your fingers and shake your head, silently answering the question. “I do things for him every time, but I feel like he’s just using me to get off and my pleasure isn’t important. He’s never even eaten me out, just like fingered me before sex but you can tell he’s just doing it because he thinks he should, not because he actually wants to, and I’ve been with guys who enjoy that kind of stuff so I know it’s not a universal thought that getting your girlfriend off is a chore. But he doesn’t even get me off! He just like… plays around down there and then fucks me for like two minutes!”

Matt laughs at your tone, nodding his head in agreement. “Two minutes is… crazy,” he cackles.

You laugh back at him, the mood lifted. “You’re telling me. I feel like I can literally count the seconds without losing track in the time it takes him to finish.”

Matt’s head falls back in laughter, but when he comes back to look at you, he raises an eyebrow at you. “He’s seriously never eaten you out?” He asks, shocked at the earlier statement.

“No,” you shake your head, lips falling in a tight line. “Crazy, right?”

He nods, taking a breath in like he was going to speak, but stopping himself before words could come out. He thought for a moment, not wanting to say anything to make the situation awkward. “I feel like I always eat a girl out and get her off at least once before we actually, y’know. Fuck.”

It’s been way too long, you think to yourself. Way too long since you’ve actually been pleasured by a man that left you satisfied and even craving more. With your boyfriend now it just felt like you should be having sex, but you never craved it.

“I wish that was the case but… it’s mostly just me blowing him and not getting anything in return, or we just have sex without any sort of foreplay,” you tell him. Your eyes bore into his and you swallow thickly. It’s not like you’ve never thought about what sex with Matt would be like. You guys have talked about your sexual encounters before, but mostly as a joke, in ways that didn’t make you guys want each other, at least that’s what you thought. But now, talking about how awful your sex life was and how attentive Matt was in bed, it made you feel even more deprived.

Unbeknownst to you, Matt had thought about sex with you more than he’d like to admit, but would never bring it up due to fear of rejection. He’s had a crush on you for a while now, but the thoughts of getting you naked and in his bed and consumed him recently. He was so turned on by even the smallest thing; the clothes you wore, your hair in a bun paired with your glasses, the smell of your perfume, everything made him want you even more. He felt like this conversation might be the only time he could make a move and actually have it make sense, but he didn’t know how to bring it up.

“You deserve better than that,” he starts nervously, right hand playing with the ring on his left pinky. “Have you talked to him about it?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Yeah right. Doesn’t do anything. He says he doesn’t do that. Says it’s boring and he hates the taste. Like suck it up.”

Matt keeps eye contact with you, taking a deep breath before the words that will change your relationship no matter the outcome slip past his lips.

“I love it,” he says. “I love eating girls out, having them squirm underneath me, pull my hair… it might be my favorite part of sex.”

Your throat goes dry as Matt talks, the eye contact getting almost too intense for you. The air in the room has shifted, and it’s hard to ignore. You swallow thickly, looking down to his lips before flitting back up to his eyes.

“Listen, I.. I don’t want to make this awkward or make you uncomfortable and,” he scoots closer on the bed, reaching a hand up to trail over your thigh. “I know we’ve been friends for a really long time and this would change things forever, but I can’t even tell you how bad I want to make you feel good.”

You suck in a breath, goosebumps arising on your leg where his hand rested, thumb gently swiping back and forth. “Matt…” you look at him with raised eyebrows.

“I know, I know you’re with him,” he interrupts. “But I could make you feel so good. Please.”

Begging was your weakness, the desperate look in his eyes having you more hot and bothered than it should’ve. You were in a relationship for fuck’s sake, this was wrong on more levels than one.

Matt’s hand reaches out to push a strand of hair behind your ear before he rests his palm on your cheek, getting up on his knees to tower over you, looking down at you from his elevated position. He leans down, left hand resting behind you on the headboard, locking you both into place. His face is right in front of yours now, both of your lips merely inches away.

“Please,” he breaths out quietly.

You stare up into his eyes for a second.

Two…

Three…

“Fuck it,” you whisper, reaching up to grab the back of his head and pull him down the last few inches, slamming your lips together.

His tongue slides past your lips almost immediately, meeting yours fervently, his hand that rested on your cheek sliding down to rest on your waist, gripping gently like he was afraid you’d slip from his fingers.

Your hand slides up to thread through his hair, keeping pressure on the back of his head to keep him close. You moaned against his lips, both of you kissing more aggressively than you typically would due to the tension that’s been growing between the two of you for years, finally snapping.

“I need you so bad,” he mutters against your lips, sliding down to kiss your neck, tongue sliding against your skin as he left kisses down your collarbone. “Take your clothes off, please, I need to see you.”

You sit up from the headboard and oblige, pulling your shirt over your head, leaving you in just your sweat shorts and bra. He follows suit and takes his shirt off, throwing it to the ground before sliding down the bed so he can grab your ankles, yanking you down the bed roughly so you were laid flat on the mattress instead of sitting up.

You let a small squeal leave your lips, followed by a giggle. This is exactly what you needed, to be manhandled by a man that wanted nothing more but to please you, and you couldn’t be more excited for the night ahead of you.

Matt crawls back up the bed, looking at you like you’re his prey and he’s about to devour you. “You look so good,” he says quietly, voice deeper than usual. He’s hovering above you again just staring down at your face and admiring, like he can’t believe he’s finally getting what he’s waited so long for.

Your hands reach up to touch his shoulders, dragging your fingers up and down his arms that are braced on either side of you, holding his body up. You admire him for a few minutes yourself, just staring up at him as he looks at you, the silence not awkward at all, instead it’s comforting, and he feels like home.

Finally, he breaks the eye contact as he leans down to kiss you again and your arms come up to wrap around his neck. “Matt,” you mumble, his lips pressed firmly against yours. He hums in response, placing a final small kiss on your lips as he pulls away to hear what you have to say.

You’re nervous as you speak, but push the feelings aside as to come off more confident than you actually are.

“I need you,” you whisper, staring straight up into his bright blue eyes. “Please.”

Matt’s still for a moment before he leans his weight on his left hand, sliding his right one underneath your back that arches for him to have easier access, skillfully undoing the clasp on your bra. As soon as it’s undone, you use your own hands to peel the bra off of your arms, leaving you completely topless in front of him, nipples hardening at the cold rush of air on your chest.

He starts his descent down the bed, letting his lips trail down your body, over your collarbone, through the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, finally reaching your hipbones where he started to suck a mark into as he tucked his fingers in the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down along with your underwear, your naked body fully on display for Matt for the first time ever, but in the back of your mind, you hope it isn’t the last.

He pulls his lips away from the purple mark he sucked into your skin, admiring his work. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to mark you up, to claim you.” Matt looks up at your face to see you already staring down at him. “Need to taste you so bad.”

You nod your head lightly, giving him permission to finally do what he wanted, and what you needed so badly.

His head dips down to kiss your hip again, lips moving over your thighs, his hands pushing them farther apart to give him access to what he needed the most. His eyes stare down at your core, something that would usually make you insecure, but right now only made you feel even hornier, the thought of him soaking in the way that you looked down there turning you on more than anything so far. “Pretty?” You ask him bashfully.

Matt licks his lips in response, taking in a breath to calm himself. “Fucking perfect.” He drops his head and drags his tongue from your hole up to your clit, grabbing the wetness that dripped out of you and spreading it up, wrapping his lips around the nub that needed attention more than it ever has in your life.

You gasp and drop your head down to the pillow, hands instantly tangling in the sheets to ground yourself somehow. “Fuck, Matt,” you cry, arching your back off of the bed.

He uses his hands to keep your legs spread apart as he devours your pussy, the wet sounds coming from his mouth meeting your heat filling the room. You’re grinding up into his mouth and he lets you, wanting to allow you to do whatever felt the best to you, but you halt your motions when he pulls away and lets go of your left thigh, dragging his fingers up your leg until they meet your entrance, slipping two fingers into you, your pussy enthusiastically accepting them.

He brings his mouth to the inside of your thigh as he starts to finger you slowly, thumb rubbing against your clit as he does so, sucking another hickey into your soft skin. You’re a moaning mess as he plays with you, finally feeling something other than disappointment in bed for the first time in a long time.

After he’s satisfied with the mark he’s left on your skin, he moves his thumb away from your clit and trails back up to wrap his lips around it, sucking softly and letting his tongue run over the nub, fingers still working inside of you. The combination of both had you reeling, damn near seeing stars. Not only has it been forever since you’ve been eaten out, but it’s been even longer since you’ve been eaten out well.

“Matthew,” you breathe, exhaling loudly. You were trying to stay quieter, but you were quickly losing your inhibitions. The way he used his tongue on you, sucking on your clit alongside the fingers working their way inside you was making you dizzy, your stomach coiling in a familiar way. “Matt, please don’t stop,” you beg, reaching up to slide your fingers through his hair.

He listens, curling his fingers inside of you as his tongue traced shapes on your clit, the taste of you alone making him so hard it hurt.

You cried out and arched your back against the bed, fingers gripping the overgrown hair that adorned Matt’s head, moans growing louder than you were able to control. “Fuck!” You whined, thighs shaking as they tried to close around Matt, but he pulled his fingers out of you and used both hands to press your knees apart, keeping you exposed to him as he ate you through your orgasm, making you cry out even more, not used to the overstimulation.

He finally pulls away, kissing his way back up your torso until he’s hovering above your face, smiling down at you. “You okay?” He asks sweetly, using his left hand that isn’t covered in your arousal to brush your sweaty hair out of your face.

You pant as you look up at him, desperately trying to catch your breath. All you can do at the moment is nod, eyebrows furrowing together as you stare at him, almost innocently, and the look in your eyes makes his dick twitch in his pants.

He smirks down at you and reaches back down with his right hand, dragging his fingers over your clit again, making your legs twitch and try to close, a small whimper leaving your lips. “Sensitive,” you whine, but you still can’t help the moan that leaves your lips when he dips his fingers back inside you, pumping them slowly.

Your eyes flutter closed as your head rests in the pillow, back arching as you push your hips down to meet his fingers.

The mix of the pleasure and the immorality of the situation is ripping you apart, like an angel and a devil on your shoulder, but the devil was winning tonight and you weren’t even worried about the consequences.

“So good,” you whisper, finally able to respond. “But this is so wrong, Matt.”

He nods, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “I know,” he says quietly against your skin. “Do you want me to stop?” He slides his fingers out of you and starts making circles on your clit, slowly but surely bringing you back towards the edge of an orgasm, but the tone of his voice makes you completely confident that he would stop if you told him to, that he’d cover you up and leave you here to sleep, never to bring up this incident again. Your best friend was way too sweet to you for your own good; unfortunately for him, and especially for your boyfriend, you weren’t quite as good of a person.

“No point in stopping now, not when you got me wanting you so bad,” you tell him, a smirk falling onto your lips. “I need you to fuck me.”

Matt’s breath hitches in his throat at your filthy words, unable to even process the fact that he’s in bed with you right now, let alone the way you’re speaking. He would’ve been completely happy just getting you off and making you feel good, so getting to fuck you really just felt like a bonus for him. “Anything for my favorite girl.”

Matt stands up off the bed and slips his sweats and boxers off, stepping out of them before taking a step back towards the bed, blushing at the expression on your face.

“Holy shit, Matt, I would’ve fucked you a long time ago if I knew you were packing straight heat,” you laugh, gawking at the size of his dick. Your boyfriend was nothing in comparison. You don’t think you’d ever be able to go back after this.

“Shut up,” Matt chuckles, climbing back onto the bed and fitting himself between your spread legs, sitting up on his knees and pulling your hips up to meet his, ass resting on the tops of his thighs. “You sure you want this?” He clarifies, making sure a final time. You guys have already crossed so many lines, but this seemed like the final one, the point of no return. But you’re happy where you’re at, and you let him know by nodding at him, confirming that you’re ready to say fuck it to the boundaries set by the standard rules of friendship.

Matt shakes his head and leans over your body, face hovering above yours. “I want to hear you say it,” he whispers, eyes boring into your own.

You smile and reach your hand up to cup his cheek, tilting your chin up slightly. “I’m ready,” you tell him sweetly. “Fuck me, please.”

He’s nervous, and you could tell, but he pushes it aside as he sits back up and grabs the base of his dick, using his hand to line up the tip with your entrance, slowly sliding himself in until he’s buried to the hilt, a small moan leaving both of your mouths. “Shit, Matt,” you whine, reaching out to grab any part of him, something to ground you in this situation. He sees your efforts and leans over you once more, the angle of him just sitting inside you brushing up against all the right places.

Your hand reaches out and grabs his bicep, eyes fluttering open to look at his face above you, his expression slightly distant as he focused on the reality that has been the subject of every wet dream for at least the last five years. “You okay?” You ask him, and he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“I should be asking you that,” he states. “I’m fine, just can’t believe I’m finally getting to do this. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

You smile and wiggle your hips, pushing down into him. “Show me how long you’ve been waiting for this.”

Matt doesn’t hesitate when he hears those words, and he pulls his hips back just to snap back into you roughly, making you moan and throw your head back, your neck exposed for Matt to do whatever he wanted.

He keeps up a rough pace on you, grunts leaving his mouth every so often. “You feel so good,” he says lowly, leaning down to bury his head in your neck as he fucks into you relentlessly. His lips trail over your skin, until you feel his mouth open, a light suction on your neck sending you reeling.

You know he’s marking you up in places that are going to be visible now, and there’s no turning back from this, there’s no way you’ll be able to hide it without being obvious, but you just can’t find it in you to care.

“Fuck, Matt, you’re fucking me so good, don’t stop,” you cry out, hands reaching around his back, nails digging into his skin.

He listens, like the good boy he is, keeping up his pace on you. He sits up, though, your ass still planted on his thighs as he rocks his hips into you, his arms wrapping around your legs and holding you in place. “I’m not gonna last long like this, I’m so sorry,” he apologizes. He’s far too turned on to last as long as he normally does, too worked up and so enthusiastic about finally getting to fuck you after all these years.

“That’s okay, I’m so close,” you tell him, reaching down to start rubbing circles on your clit to push you farther towards the edge, wanting to finish with Matt, but he pushes your hand away, replacing it with his own, rubbing a quick back and forth motion on your clit in time with his thrusts. “I’ll take care of you,” he tells you, looking into your eyes. “I got you.”

Those words alone had you arching your back off the bed, gripping the sheets next to you as you came for the second time that night, legs shaking as you cried out, muttering out his name mixed in with obscenities. “Matt,” you whimper, breathing heavily as you came down.

He was still thrusting into you, slower and gentler now, but enough to still have you riled up despite the orgasm that just shook your body. “You’re doing so well for me,” he praised, sliding his slick covered hand over your thigh, rubbing the skin lovingly. “I’m so close, baby, where do you want me?”

“Anywhere you want,” you tell him, shaking your head. “I’m all yours.”

The words send him over the edge, his thrusts getting sloppy as he finished inside of you, shooting his load deep into your pussy. “Fuck,” he moans, hips coming to a halt fully inside of you as he collects his breath.

You guys are both silent for a moment before you make eye contact and start giggling, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as you did so, his shoulders shaking slightly. “Oh my god,” he speaks first, looking down as he pulls out of you, his seed spilling out slowly. He acts without thinking and reaches down, using his fingers to scoop it up and push it back inside of you, making you gasp.

“Matt,” you warn, and he snaps his head back up to look at you. “Sorry,” he says, a blush starting to cover his cheeks. “Just don’t wanna waste any.”

He pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the sheets, grimacing slightly. “Definitely going to have to wash these tomorrow, but that’s a tomorrow issue.”

You smile and reach towards him, grabbing his arm to pull him back down to you, sliding your hand up his arm and towards his cheek before pulling him into a soft kiss. He kisses you back happily, his clean hand resting on your waist.

As you both kiss, he moves to lay next to you and slides his hand down your hip until it rests on your leg, pulling it over him so you guys are cuddling face to face.

Matt pulls away from the kiss and smiles over at you. “I guess this would be a bad time to tell you I’ve had feelings for you for a really long time?” He raises his eyebrows as he speaks, pressing his lips in a thin, awkward smile when he’s done.

You laugh and shake your head, brushing a long strand of hair out of his eyes. “I think it’s perfect timing.”

He smiles wide and leans in to kiss you once more, holding your body close to his own.

-

You guys must���ve ended up under the blankets at some point during the night, and thank god for that, because it couldn’t have been later than 9am when you hear the sound of the bedroom door opening and the song Pony by Ginuwine blaring through a speaker, ripping you out of a deep sleep.

Your eyes tear open and you stare at where the noise is coming from, feeling the hand wrapped around your waist tightening before you both sit up and stare at the door, seeing Chris in the doorway jokingly dancing and grinding as he held the speaker up in his hand, looking at both of you on the bed.

You can’t help but throw your head back in laughter, the sight of him breaking into the room like this making you crack up. “Chris!” You yell between giggles, making sure you’re holding up the blanket to cover your chest.

Nick comes up and stands behind Chris, shaking his head. “I told him not to,” he states, clearly unamused with his brother’s antics.

Chris giggles and turns the music down, staring at the two of you in bed, one of you laughing and one of you glaring back at him. “Hey, I’m happy you guys finally fucked, just really wish it wasn’t in my bed.”

Matt narrows his eyes and reaches underneath him, grabbing the pillow he was previously laying on and flinging it at his younger sibling. “Chris, get the fuck out!”

-

a/n: …..

u likeee??? I definitely like this one a little less than the last one but it was still fun to write 🤭 please leave feedback and send requests on what to do next

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[darkbluekies]

Stupid people

Yandere!mafia!oc x reader

Summary: a number sends Silas a picture of darling that sends him into rage

Warnings: murder, mentions of NSFW, Silas lashes out towards darling, guilt, slight indication of a character asking if it was consensual (it was — the deed, not the pictures), pictures taken without permission, punching and kicking between legs

Word count: 2.7k

A/N: to clarify, the photos are taken AFTER the deed, not during!

There's only two people Silas likes enough to let them be in his office for more than asking a question — you and SIC.

“Stupid people are my favorite kind of people”, SIC says from the couch, eyes glued onto his phone. “Some idiot here tried to jump from a roof.”

“If only our enemies did that so that i didn't have to go kill them”, Silas smirks.

“Since when were we that lucky?”

A notification on his own phone caught his attention. Silas picks it up and unlocks it, seeing that the notification is from an unsaved number. He clenches his jaw. Photos. It takes a second for him to realize what — who — is in these two photos. He can recognise that back among millions. He sees that back every night, always holding it close to his chest.

“Motherfucker!” he shouts and rises from his chair in a swift.

“What?” SIC asks quickly, looking up from his screen.

Silas slams his phone down on the floor. It shatters and explodes in every direction. SIC jumps up from the couch.

“Woah, what’s going on?” he asks quickly. 

Silas can't reply. His heart is hammering in his throat. If he tries to speak, it'll jump out. His entire body is shaking. He's been mad before, but nothing compares to what he feels when you are involved.

“Silas?” SIC asks. “Sit down.”

He presses Silas down in the chair again.

“What happened?” he asks. “Give me a real fucking answer this time.”

“Some disgusting little bitch sent me photos of Y/N”,  he spits out, growing angrier by every word. “Naked, in a bed. I think you can figure out the rest yourself.”

SIC blinks. “Shit. Who?”

Silas gestures manically towards the broken phone. “I didn't write the number down before I fucking smashed it!”

“Alright. I'll take out the sim card and put it in my phone. I can find out.”

“Don't look at the photos, got that? I'm not joking. I will beat you up if I find out that you've looked at the photos.”

“Don't worry, boss, I won't.”

Silas sighs in frustration. He storms out of his office, up the stairs and throws up the door to your shared bedroom. You're nowhere to be found.

“Y/N!” he shouts angrily.

You come out of the bathroom, looking bewildered. A fear grows on your face when you realize how mad he is.

“What's wrong?” you ask quickly.

“Who the fuck have taken pics of you while having sex?!” he shouts. “Who is the low creature that has pictures of you?!”

Your eyes widen.

“What?” you ask. “Silas-”

He moves closer and you can't describe his demeanor in any other way than threatening. You stumble backwards, finally reaching the wall. Even when he's mad, he'd never do things to make you scared of him, never show you the side he shows his men and enemies. But this time, he doesn't seem to care about holding back. You get to see what everyone else sees.

“Whoever the little fucker is, I will shove that camera of his so far up his ass it'll puncture a lung, do you understand that?” Silas spits, face mere centimeters from your face. 

“Silas, I-”, you stutter.

Silas grabs the perfume standing on the shelf beside you and sends it flying across The room, breaking against the wall. You watch on in complete horror. Not even in the basement is he this violent, not around you.

Behind him, you see SIC run into the room, stopping in the doorway. He watches on with wide eyes.

“Who is it?” he spits before raising his voice. “Give me the name of the worthless little creature! I'll kill him!”

“Silas, I don't know!” you shout loudly in order to be heard over his own shouting. Tears blurry your vision as silence fills the room. “I d-don't know, I swear! I have no knowledge of a-any pictures taken of me. Please don’t be mad at me, I don’t know anything, I s-swear …”

You have wrapped your arms around yourself. You look so incredibly small. And helpless. He feels as if someone has punched him right in the stomach. He can't bring himself to shout at you. The fire in his eyes seems to blow out, leaving his eyes as dark as they should. He breathes heavily, feeling empty and painfully aware of everything around him — every little sound, movement. He finally realizes what's going on.

“Fuck”, he breathes out in a whisper and pulls you into his arms, into a tight embrace. “I'm so sorry.”

You sob into his shoulder, voice getting muffled in his white shirt. Silas hugs you as if his life depends on it.

“Baby, I didn't mean to shout at you”, he whispers. “I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at that disgusting filth. Not you, do you understand?”

He pulls you back and covers your face in apologetic kisses, caressing your cheeks and wiping your tears.

“Are you okay?” he asks, grabbing your face and forcing you to look him in the eyes.

You nod slightly and sniffle. Still shaking, but not mortified. 

“What pictures?” you ask with an unsteady voice.

Silas looks at SIC.

“Did you get the number?” he asks.

“No, I didn't have time to move over the sim card before I heard the glass shattering.”

Silas clears his throat. His ears turn red.

“Go retrieve the number and then come back”, he says.

SIC nods and walks out. Silas turns to you. He cups your cheeks and kisses your lips carefully.

“Sorry”, he says again.

“It’s … okay”, you mumble.

It doesn't seem to register for him. He has a guilty look in his black eyes.

“Silas … what pictures?” you ask again, dreading the answer yet needing to know.

“There’s nothing to worry about, I shouldn’t have told you. I will take care of it, okay?”

“You got so upset about it … something must be wrong. Have someone taken pics of me while I’ve … had sex?”

Silas can’t tell you. He knows how distraught you’ll be. 

“No, not while you had … after you were done … I don’t know”, he says. “I could have misunderstood the pictures. I broke my phone right after seeing them.” He notices how you give him an unsure gaze as he mentions his phone. “I get worked up quickly.”

You sniffle. Silas wipes your tears again and hugs you even tighter, resting his cheek on the top of your head. He feels like a complete fool, how could he slip up like that? He would never shout at you, never make you feel threatened. For fuck sake, you’re supposed to seek shelter and comfort in him!

“Are you sure that you’re okay?” Silas asks. 

“Mhm”, you mumble. “Just shaking.”

“I can tell.” His embrace tightens. “Let’s sit down, alright?”

He moves you to the bed and sits down with you beside him. 

“What have you done today?” he asks and wraps his arm around your shoulders. 

“I’ve been watching some shows”, you reply. 

“Which one?”

“Some cartoon … I don’t remember the name.”

“Do you think I’d like it?”

You give him a small smile and shake your head. “No, it’s too cheesy for you.”

Silas smiles. “What type of fucking stereotype is that? Show me and I’ll decide for myself.”

You reach for the tablet and show him a few minutes of the cartoon. He leans onto you, wrapping himself around you like a boa constrictor. 

The door opens and SIC returns with his phone in his hand. 

“Got it”, he says and walks over to the bed. “Y/N, take a look and-”

Silas slaps his hand away. 

“Are you fucking out of your mind?” he scolds him. “You’re not showing them those!”

SIC holds his phone out of Silas’s reach. 

“I am”, SIC replies.

Silas stands up. The animalistic, lredatory light is back in his eyes. You don’t doubt that he would punch him. 

“I am going to show these pictures to Y/N to confirm that they remember the sex happening”, SIC explains sharply. “Because if they don’t, we might have a worse crime on our hands.”

Silas doesn’t reply. He seems to think, and seems to consider whether he should punch the man or not. He nods in defeat. SIC gives you the phone and you take a mortified look at the two pictures. 

“Do you recognise where you are in these two pictures?” SIC asks. “Do you know when this was? Do you have memories of it?”

You look at the pictures, fearing that you’re not going to recognise the location or remember what happened … or who you were with.

“I know when and where this is”, you say. “It was five years ago. I remember it.”

“You're sure you remember it?” SIC asks.

“Yes … but I didn't know that he took pics …” 

“Okay, the fucker is dead”, Silas decides.

“What was his name?” SIC asks.

“‘Eric’ something”, you say. “I met him at a party. He was nice, or so i thought, and-”

Silas runs a hand through his black hair and sighs.

“I guess that he wasn't that nice”, you mumble.

“Pricks like that are never nice. They're just polite enough to lure people to get what they want. Who knows how many innocent people's photos he has on his hard drive?”

“Silas, can you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“If you manage to find him-”

“Not if; when.”

“When you manage to find him, give him an extra punch from me, will you?”

Silas smiles. “I'll give him tenfolds.”

Finding him is easier than the poor fellow had anticipated. Silas pities him. He's either too stupid to know who he is or has a death wish. He can't decide which one is worse.

“God, you're even uglier than i imagined”, Silas scoffs as he sees the man for the first time.

He's held up by two of his men, body pounded with punches beyond recognizable, but they've left his face untouched. That's for Silas to ruin.

“You're even uglier than your mess of a body”, he says, grabbing the man's face, tuning it carelessly. “We haven't even touched this yet. What did you gain from this? Not a lot, I see. I mean, you're here, in my basement, about to be killed. Can't say that I understand your intentions.”

“Did you like the pictures?” Eric asks, voice drowning in painful moans.

“‘Did i like the pictures?’” Silas repeats, appalled by the man's lack of remorse. “I don't need your pitiful pictures. I get the full act from whatever angle I want.”

It shouldn't make him cocky, but bragging about it always fills him with pride.

“Give me his phone”, he orders.

One of his men digs up the phone from Eric's pocket. He forces him to unlock it.

“Do you take these types of pictures often?” Silas asks, eyes narrowing as he scrolls past hundreds of women sleeping in beds. “What even are these?”

“I take a picture of the woman after our session, after she's fallen asleep”, Eric replies, “as a trophy.”

“As a-”, he cuts himself off. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Silas hits him with all his might. Eric's head shoots backwards, his neck acting like a jojo to get it back. Blood runs down from his nose.

“Delete all the pictures”, he tells SIC and gives him the phone. “From the phone, any cloud, any other hard-drive. These pictures will never be seen by anyone ever again.”

“Yes, boss”, SIC replies and takes the phone.

He disappears up the stairs. Silas turns to Eric.

“How did you get my number?” he asks. “And, when you got it, didn't you check to see who it belonged to? You're pretty stupid.”

“I just know that the number belonged to Y/N’s new boyfriend”, Eric replies.

“Husband.”

It shouldn't fill him with such pride at a moment like this, yet it does. 

“You're going to die now anyway, so it doesn't matter if I tell you my name”, Silas says. 

One of his men gives him a knife with a long shiny blade.

“Boss”, SIC says from the top of the stairs. “Y/N’s here.”

Silas hurries to give the knife back and gestures for him to hide it. 

“I’ll come upstairs”, he says. 

Before he has time to move, you've bursted past SIC. He tries to grab at you, but you're already half down the stairs.

“You absolute worthless piece of shit”, you spit.

Silas raises his eyebrows. 

Oh?

You run right over to Eric and slap him. Silas stands stunned. It takes him a few moments to gather himself and stop looking like a fool. He turns to the stairs where SIC stands, holding his hand over his face, laughing silently. He folds and has to hold onto the wall.

“How could you take such pictures?” you ask him. “What gave you the right?”

Silas grabs your shoulder to pull you away from him, but you shake him off.

“It's not like I took pics while we had sex”, Eric says, voice sounding even more painful.

Silas smirks. He can already tell that'll happen by the way your eyes widen. And he won't stop it. Won't even try to. You hit the man again and kick him between the legs. He tries to curl up, but is being held up by Silas’s men. 

“Okay, okay”, Silas says and grabs your shoulders, pulling you backwards. “Enough of that. SIC, take Y/N to the bedroom and make sure they stay there.”

SIC grabs you out of his arms. Silas grabs the knife once more. 

“What should we start with?” he asks, spinning the knife. “Your hands? Arms? Legs? Decide, coward.”

SIC forces you upstairs before he has the time to cut off any body parts.

“Let me go!” you mutter. 

“Just stay quiet until we get up to the bedroom”, SIC says. “Nice shot you got, by the way. I know it caught Silas by surprise. That’s hard to do, you know.”

“He deserves more.”

“And Silas will give him that, don’t you worry. That is not your job. You got two punches and one kick in, that’s enough.”

WHen you try to run back downstairs, he picks you up over his shoulder and continues upstairs. 

“Don’t give me more trouble”, he sighs. 

SIC walks into the bedroom and places you down on the floor before barricading the door with his body to make sure you’re not making a run for it. 

“The pictures are gone”, SIC says. “All of them — of you and of other people.”

“How many were there?”

“Hundreds. All taken when they had fallen asleep afterwards. He kept them like trophies.”

The door opens before he’s done with his sentence. Silas walks in, finally looking pleased. 

“Dona already?” SIC asks. 

“I got impatient”, he mutters and closes the door. “Little thing, are you okay?”

You nod. Silas hugs you, kissing the top of your head. He still feels awful about shouting at you. He squeezes you even tighter. 

“Thank you”, you say quietly. “You helped not only me but also a lot of other people. That’s a good thing.”

His heart clenches. He has apologized a million times and you have forgiven him … but he can’t seem to forgive himself. It all happened so quickly, yet it lingers in him. 

“Of course”, he says. “Scumbags need to be taken care of the right way. I kind of pitied the man. He must have been extremely stupid to let me know about him. Good that he was stupid though.”

Thinking about him makes him furious once more, but he reminds himself that it’s over. He has gotten his punishment … and Silas has saved people. Innocent people should never be punished for crimes they didn’t commit.

No one will ever see any those pictures again. No one will have to deal with that man ever again. 

[gotta-winwin]

OT13 Reaction -- the aha moment

or...how they realize they're in love with you

seungcheol doesn't get that aha moment, falling in love isn't something that happens within seconds for him. it's like he's slowly drifting into love, not even realizing you've become the focal point of his entire existence. when it finally hits him, it's a quiet, simple moment. he's watching you make him breakfast in the morning, admiring you quietly from the kitchen counter. he zones out for a moment, blinking suddenly and realizing damn. that's my woman. and he knows he's ruined for life.

it's kind of silly, how jeonghan realizes he's in love with you. he's just returned home from a busy day at work, entering the house to find it empty. searching the place top to bottom, he's about to call you when - BOO - you jump out from one of the closets and scares the soul out of him. he's clutching his chest, watching as you collapse onto the ground in a fit of giggles. he can't help but laugh along, realizing through the chaos that he's found his soulmate, and he'd be damned not to admit he's in love with you.

joshua's a simple man by nature. he's easily happy in life, only needing his members, his job, his lifestyle, and of course, you. it doesn't take long into your relationship before he realizes he's in love, as the two of you take a stroll along the Han River after a long day. he's watching the setting sun reflect against your figure, taking his phone out to snap a few pictures. it's when he notices his camera roll is full of pictures of you does he think well, that's it. i'm in love.

upon meeting his family, jun notices how much work you've put into it. you're doing your best to speak his town's dialect, communicating with his parents in a language that made them most comfortable. his heart swells when he sees you amidst his childhood home, trading stories and eating with the people who raised him. it's when he notes that you look so perfect here that he realizes you just fit. he's in love.

as if everything else is with soonyoung, his aha moment is full of fireworks and pizzazz. having just finished the most record breaking performance of his life, he finds himself with one thought only: i want to go home. usually, it's because he's tired. but now, ever since you stumbled into his life, he finds himself wanting, needing, to go home so he can hold you and recite everything that happened today. he's practically thrumming with energy to rush home, and everyone around him sees what is so painfully obvious. he's so in love.

wonwoo's always credited himself to be a loner. not a lot of people can fit with his quiet personality, so when you offer the idea of "parallel play" he's a little confused. his heart warms when you explain that you don't mind doing separate things as long as you're in the same area, understanding that he needs more time to himself than others might. it's when you tell him you love him enough to compromise does he think im so in love with this girl right now.

woozi's used to writing songs dedicated to his fans and members. he sits down for another writing session, brainstorming ideas and the thought of you pops into his mind. he shrugs, thinking it might be nice to mix it up a bit, sitting down to write something about you. it's when he reads his own words back does he realize he's irrevocably screwed and so in love with you. thought about settling down, buying her a house and saying screw the music. yeah, he's in love.

having always been a realist, minghao doesn't necessary believe in true love, or love at first sight. he understands there's going to be someone out there for him, but he's skeptical that that someone is going to be perfect. all his beliefs go out the window the moment he sees you - it's like you're surrounded by a golden glow - and he realizes maybe love at first sight can be real.

seokmin loves and gives as easy as breathing. he's always been a generous guy, and it's when you sit him down and kindly remind him to leave some for himself does he stare at you and realize ok i've found the one. you've become that steadiness in his life that used to be just his members, and you love and give to him like it's as simple as breathing too.

having always been the resident cook, mingyu's eyeing your food creation like it's some kind of poison or drug. he had insisted you didn't need to cook for him, he's always been the cook and doesn't mind it, but you were stubborn and he relented. it's when the first bite blows him away does he realize he kinda misses having someone cook for him too. if you're this good at cooking i might just have to marry you, he says, ignoring how you blush, going back for another bite.

seungkwan's always been the entertainer. he doesn't mind it, he enjoys the fact it's his job to make everyone laugh. but when times get tough and he's in no mood to be the entertainer, you're right there to support him. it's when he gets home to you after a particularly rough day and you welcome him in with open arms, murmuring how he's done well and doesn't need to do more. it's when he realizes he can just be seungkwan - not seungkwan the entertainer, but just seungkwan - and he loves you for that.

vernon never really thought about finding the one. he always just assumed that they would find him. and that's exactly what happens, when you bump into each other at the movie theatre - both there alone just cause. it's when you're enthusiastically going band for band with vernon about movies that he's forced with the realization that shit. maybe i have found the one.

chan's always known he was in love with you. he doesn't like to admit it cause he thinks it makes him sound sappy, but he truly never questioned his love for you. it was a simple thing in his mind - this person makes me so fucking happy - i must be in love. and how could it not be simple for him? he's staring at you quipping about some joke to his friends and he's thinking i love you. he's watching you just wake up from a nap and he's thinking i love you. he sees a text from you on his phone mid-dance practice. i love you. he's always been in love with you because he loves everything to do with you.

[vrystalius]

I know i just requested with weird nicknames for squid game characters.

But I want to see their reaction to your wallpaper being them or being another person. Literally obsessed with what you write its so cute. Take my heart ❤️

Squid Game men’s reaction for putting them as your phone’s wallpaper.

They randomly check your phone one day and find a picture of themselves staring back. How will they react? What kind of wallpaper do they have?

Pairing: Recruiter, Thanos, Nam-gyu x gn!reader

Summary: You putting them as your phone wallpaper, them putting you as their phone wallpaper

Genre: Fluff, maybe a little angst in Nam-gyu’s part (mention of drug use)

Words: 800 per character

Note: I wrote this during my medicine and head concussion induced haze, forgive me for any inconsistencies or mistakes 😭🙏 Also, the middle pictures are a suggestion as what said wallpaper could be.

Gong Yoo // The Recruiter // Salesman

— Choosing you as your wallpaper. —

Mostly surprise and confusion spread swirled in his mind the first time he stared back at himself in the form of your phone wallpaper. He never thought you’d screenshot this picture let alone use it as your wallpaper because c’mon— let’s be honest, you could’ve chosen any other picture of him and yet you decided on this.

It’s weird. Gong Yoo feels a little watched as he tries to find the food delivery app on your phone while having his own eyes stare back at him.

Although he had grown more and more fond of it every time he opened your phone anew. He sees how you grin a little when turning on your screen, how you sometimes giggle when you stare at it for too long. Sometimes you show it off to him and complain about he barely ever wears any skincare masks anymore.

“So you can have a new wallpaper? I don’t think so. My skin is fine for now, thank you darling.”

To be really honest, he finds it incredibly endearing that you chose him as your wallpaper, especially a picture like this. He thinks of himself as a sophisticated, charming, handsome salesman that lures desperate people into a death game and messes with homeless people in his free time, but you seemingly just see him as your soulmate, the love of your life, your husband.

— Choosing you as his wallpaper. —

Two months into the relationship and after a couple of dates, Gong Yoo already set you as his phone wallpaper. It was nice to have a reminder looking back at him to text you, check in on you, give you a call or even come by for dinner. A reminder that he has a special someone to care and love for.

He switches his wallpaper up every few weeks or months, wanting to keep it updated to your appearance. His chosen pictures are mostly intimate ones, snaps he takes while you are being unaware of how cute, attractive or adorable you look.

Pictures like when you are asleep on the couch in his arms after watching a movie, you after waking up and sleepily brushing your teeth in the mirror, you showing your back to him while waiting for the microwave to finish heating up the cheap convenience food, maybe even you stuffing your face with ice cream after a long day.

Whatever picture he may choose (much to your dismay), it always makes him smile to himself no matter the situation. Even if another homeless person asks him for spare change or those two random mobsters tried to jump him in an alleyway and now he was forced to “get rid of them”, a quick glance on his phone and seeing a cute picture of you immediately forces a smile to break out on his face.

The sight of their kidnapper smiling at his phone so lovingly while they were tied up and playing rock-paper-scissors for their lives probably made the two men shit their pants more than feeling the barrel of a revolver being pressed against the side of their head.

Thanos // Su-bong // Player 230

— Choosing him as your wallpaper. —

At first, Thanos reeeaaaallly disliked the picture you chose as your wallpaper. It was just a random reaction picture he send you one day about something he doesn’t even remember, and you went ahead and chose this as your phone wallpaper? Seriously?! Can’t you choose something more handsome, flattering?

He even offered to pose properly for you so you have a better pic to use, but after Thanos obviously started mewing and tried his absolute best to look as attractive as possible (which he already is but shhh), your boyfriend got extremely offended when you started laughing at his posing.

Your boyfriend gave up after a few attempts of secretly changing your wallpaper and seeing you pout every time he did, changing it right back to the one before.

If you really like it that much, fine. Just don’t let anyone see that you have that as your phone wallpaper, or else his rapper persona will never be able to recover from being exposed like that.

You don’t even understand why he is being so dramatic about your wallpaper anyway.

“I look hella ugly there, c’mon baby! Work with me here!! Here, lemme pose for you real quick so you can change that thing.”

Although it does flashbang you in the middle of the night when you turn on your phone, the brightness of the picture vaporising your eyes in an instant. It’s not the most pleasant thing to look at first thing in the morning but you still think he looks kinda cute in the pic.

— Choosing you as his wallpaper. —

He was careful to choose the prettiest picture of you he can find and the proceed to show it off to everyone he meets. Thanos even showed you off to Nam-gyu multiple times, forgetting that he already showed his friend the same picture four times now. Nam-gyu is already totally looking forward to next week when Thanos shows you off again.

Your boyfriend grins like a child whenever he glances at his phone for too long, falling in love with your picture all over again.

He changes his wallpaper every week so he always has something cute to look at after performing at another underground club or while doing whatever, sometimes getting distracted from searching for a certain app and instead ending up scrolling through either your social media account or his photo library to search for more pics of you.

Whenever you catch Thanos grin at his phone again, your first instinct is to glance over his shoulder to check what exactly he is looking at, but he immediately closes his phone when you do. At first you thought he might be looking at some random girl’s profile or whatever, but when you open it up and find yourself staring back, you’re kind of surprised to be honest.

Although, he always denies that he really cares about his wallpaper. Your boyfriend is totally choosing it at random and totally does not match his lock screen with his homescreen and mostly chooses pictures of you two together, you kissing his cheek or him holding you. Not at all!

Nam-gyu // Player 124

— Choosing you as your wallpaper. —

You choose a rather cute picture as your wallpaper. You took it during one of your first dates where you dragged him to a festival that was being held near your home, dragging Nam-gyu there against his will. Back then he had shorter hair, wore his glasses more frequently. Back then he was a little shy believe it or not, at least when it came to romance.

He used more before he met you, being around alcohol and drugs at all times due to his occupation. It kind of came with his job and the circle of friends he was around, so before meeting you, there was barely any day he wasn’t high or having a hangover from some random drug.

Nam-gyu never noticed you had this picture as your phone wallpaper until he accidentally grabbed your phone, thinking it was his. Seeing this picture in particular gave him a brief jumpscare.

You took this picture after he managed to scrap out the star shape out of the sugar cookie he bought from a random stand during the festival. His hair was shorter back then and he wore his glasses more frequently, the mask a reminder of how times were 5 years ago. He struggled staying clean during that time and always felt like shit wich is why he didn’t want to go to the festival in the first place.

He didn’t even know you took this picture of him despite him fully looking at the camera. A small smile spread on his face at the thought of you really choosing a picture like this as your phone wallpaper.

Quickly putting your phone down, Nam-gyu quickly played off his reaction as he hard you come into the room.

“I’m smiling about nothing, shaddup. Go back to wherever you came from.”

With a dismissive hand wave, he tried to shoo you away. His attempts were futile as you instead pull him into a clingy hug, instead demanding cuddles instead. Who was he to deny your wish?

— Choosing you as his wallpaper. —

Nam-gyu likes taking 0.5x zoom pictures of you from above and choosing them as his phone wallpaper, pushing you away as you try to protest and stop him from putting them as his wallpaper because seriously, he can literally choose any other pic!

You can hear quiet, evil “hehe”s from the corner of the room whenever you two are together and he turns on his phone, briefly turning it around so you can see what he was giggling so stupidly at, only for him to giggle harder at the sight of your unamused face.

Even if he mainly chooses those pictures as his phone wallpaper to annoy you, he likes having a stupid picture of you always available to him.

Some shitty guy searching for a fight at the club? Quick glance at your face at a 0.5x zoom makes him crack a smile right after. Thanos called him Nam-su, Gyu-nam or literally anything else but his name again? Turning his phone on lightens his mood immediately.

Sure, a flattering or cute picture of you would have the same effect on him, but this is much funnier in his opinion.

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

HAPPY LATE VALETINES DAYYYYYYY!!!! Since tumblr limits your tags to 30 tags per post I always have trouble tagging all of the Squid Game men, so I decided to split this one prompt into two posts. If this gets enough attention / love, I’ll post a part 2 with Dae-ho, Gi-hun and In-ho! Also, thank you for requesting, I needed a break from writing my smut draft 😭

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33

[reveriebae]

Unveiled temptation

pairing(s) : Song Mingi x reader

word count : 5731

summary : You swore you’d never meet an online friend in person—until Mingi. One secret visit to his performance, one photo sent without a word, and now he’s found you. And tonight, he’s going to ruin you.

genre : smut

warning(s) : dominance, obsession, mild possessiveness, public teasing, and explicit language. Expect manhandling, desperate pacing, and overwhelming pleasure. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N : this fic is my favorite one this far. I hope you guys like it🥺🫶

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut 🪐

You had always been careful. Always drawn lines you refused to cross.

The internet was a playground, a place to connect, but it was never supposed to be real. You had rules—clear, solid ones that kept you safe. No meeting people you knew online. No getting too attached. No blurring the lines between fantasy and reality.

And yet…

Mingi.

It started with a simple follow. Then the occasional like on your posts. Then came the conversations—long, winding ones that stretched across midnight and bled into early mornings. His words were addictive, pulling you in deeper than you should’ve allowed. He was confident, but never pushy. Smooth, but not rehearsed. He made you laugh, made your stomach flutter with the way he spoke so easily, so casually, yet always with just enough bite to make you wonder if there was more behind his words.

And there was.

You knew it when he sent you a video of him playing guitar late one night.

"I play here every Saturday," he had texted once, sending you a picture of a dimly lit stage. "You should come watch me sometime."

Your answer had been immediate. "I don’t meet people from online."

His reply had come just as fast. "One day, you will."

It sent a shiver down your spine, the kind that came not from fear, but from the way your pulse picked up at the thought.

And now, here you were.

Breaking your own rule.

The bar was warm, filled with the hum of conversation and the deep strum of a bass vibrating through the air. Dim lights bathed the wooden floors in a soft glow, casting long shadows against the walls. The scent of alcohol and faint traces of cigarette smoke lingered, mixing with something earthy and familiar—something that smelled like leather and musk.

Your eyes flickered to the stage.

And there he was.

Mingi.

You had seen him in photos, watched his videos, but nothing compared to seeing him in person. He was taller than you had imagined, broader. The loose fit of his black tee did nothing to hide the way it stretched over his shoulders, his sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the veins trailing down his forearms.

But it was his presence that stole your breath.

He wasn’t just playing. He was feeling the music. Fingers dancing over the guitar strings with practiced ease, head tilted slightly as if he were lost in the rhythm. His lips parted, brows furrowing slightly in concentration, his body moving with every note. He wasn’t just good—he was mesmerizing.

Your grip tightened on your phone.

You shouldn’t.

You really shouldn’t.

But you did.

Lifting the device, you snapped a picture of him mid-performance.

His fingers curled around the neck of the guitar, his head tilted back slightly, a sheen of sweat on his jawline catching the light. He looked unreal.

Your heart pounded as you typed out the message.

"You look good up there, rockstar."

You hit send before you could overthink it.

And then, you waited.

The song ended. The bar erupted into cheers and applause. You watched as Mingi pulled out his phone, his sharp gaze dropping to the screen. His thumb hovered over the message.

Then, his head lifted.

And he looked directly at you.

Your stomach dropped.

You knew the moment he recognized you.

His eyes darkened, his lips pressing into a firm line as he shoved his phone into his pocket without replying.

And then he moved.

Fast.

Your breath hitched as he pushed through the crowd, weaving between bodies with laser focus. People tried to stop him, patting his shoulder, talking to him, but he ignored them all.

You panicked.

Your heart hammered as you scrambled to stand, but it was too late.

Mingi was in front of you.

Tall. Intimidating. Gorgeous.

He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you. Long and hard. As if he were seeing right through you, as if every conversation, every teasing text, every moment you had shared online had been leading to this very second.

“You just had to break your own rule, huh?”

His voice was deeper in person. It sent a shiver down your spine, something dangerous curling in your stomach.

“I—”

“Come with me.”

It wasn’t a request.

Before you could process what was happening, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, warm and firm. He didn’t give you a chance to argue, guiding you through the bar with a grip that wasn’t rough, but commanding.

You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve protested.

But you didn’t.

Because deep down, you had wanted this.

The drive to his apartment was silent, tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. Mingi’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw clenched. You stole glances at him, at the way his fingers tapped against the leather, at the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed hard.

He was holding back.

And you weren’t sure if you wanted him to.

When he finally pulled into the parking lot, neither of you moved. The air inside the car was heavy, thick with anticipation.

Then, Mingi exhaled slowly and turned to you.

“You’re really here.” His voice was quieter now, almost disbelieving. His eyes dragged over your features, slow and deliberate, memorizing you in person.

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, something in him snapped.

In an instant, he was on you.

His lips crashed against yours—hot, demanding, desperate.

You barely had time to gasp before he was kissing you deeper, tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that made your head spin. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you onto his lap, and you melted against him, fingers tangling in his hair.

“You have no idea,” he growled against your lips, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

His fingers dug into your skin, possessive, needy.

You whimpered.

And then, he devoured you whole.

The heat of his body seeped into yours, his large hands gripping your waist as you straddled him in the dimly lit car. His lips moved against yours with raw hunger, as if he had been holding back for far too long. Every brush of his tongue, every nip of his teeth sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

Mingi was possessive.

Not just in the way he kissed you, but in the way he touched you—like he was claiming you.

His hands roamed over your thighs, gripping the flesh beneath your dress, kneading, teasing. His breath was hot against your mouth when he pulled back, his gaze dark and unreadable.

“I should take you inside,” he muttered, his voice rough, strained.

You nodded, swallowing hard, but didn’t move.

Neither did he.

You could feel the hard press of his length beneath you, the way his fingers flexed against your hips, holding himself back.

“Mingi…” you breathed, your hands still fisted in his shirt.

He exhaled sharply, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “If you say my name like that again, I might just take you right here.”

Your breath hitched.

The idea of him not waiting, of him losing control right here in the car, sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

But then he groaned, tilting his head back against the seat. “No. Not like this. Not in a damn car.”

Before you could say anything, he tightened his grip on your waist, lifting you effortlessly off his lap. Your legs wobbled when your feet hit the ground, but he was already out of the car, grabbing your wrist again.

The walk to his apartment was a blur.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as he led you down the hallway, his long strides quick and purposeful. He was tense—like he was forcing himself to keep a leash on his desire.

And the moment the door shut behind you, that leash snapped.

You barely had time to take in the dimly lit apartment before you were pinned against the wall.

Mingi’s hands were on you in an instant—gripping your hips, your waist, sliding up to your throat. His chest pressed against yours, his breath heavy, ragged.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmured, voice dangerously low, “how long I’ve wanted to get my hands on you?”

Your breath came out in a shaky gasp. “Then do it.”

His pupils dilated. His lips parted.

And then, he did.

His mouth was on yours again, but this time, it was different.

Slower. Deeper.

He wasn’t rushing anymore. He was savoring.

The kiss was a drug, intoxicating and thorough. His tongue teased, exploring you with a patience that made you ache. He pulled away just enough to nip at your lower lip, smirking when you whimpered.

“You taste just as sweet as I imagined,” he muttered, voice husky.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and he let out a low groan.

“You like teasing me?” he mused, pressing his thigh between your legs, applying just enough pressure to make you shudder.

You bit your lip, trying not to moan, but he noticed.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, amusement laced in his tone. “You need me to ruin you, don’t you?”

Your body burned at his words, the sheer dominance in his voice making you tremble.

Mingi leaned in, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Then let me.”

And that was all the warning you got before he lifted you into his arms and carried you to his bedroom.

Mingi’s bedroom was dimly lit, the warm glow of a single bedside lamp casting long shadows across the space. The moment he set you down, you barely had time to register your surroundings before he was on you again.

His hands found your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you feel small under his touch. His lips hovered over yours, teasing—so close, yet refusing to give in completely.

You whimpered, tilting your head up, trying to close the distance.

He smirked.

"That desperate already?" His voice was a low drawl, dripping with amusement.

Your cheeks burned, but you refused to back down. "You're the one who dragged me here."

Mingi hummed, tilting his head slightly. His silver chain glinted under the low light, drawing your attention to the sharp cut of his collarbone. You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to reach out and run your fingers along it.

But he saw where your eyes landed.

And he used it against you.

His fingers reached up, wrapping around the cool metal of his necklace, tugging it slightly as he let out a thoughtful hum. "You like this?" he mused, rolling the chain between his fingers before letting it dangle loose again.

Your throat went dry. "I—"

He didn’t let you answer.

Instead, he leaned in until his lips brushed against your ear. His breath was warm, teasing. "Say it," he murmured. "Say you like it, baby."

Your pulse pounded. You hated how easily he could unravel you with just a few words.

"... I like it," you admitted softly.

Mingi chuckled, the deep sound vibrating against your skin. "Yeah? You like my silver chain?"

His hand suddenly grabbed yours, guiding it up until your fingers wrapped around it. The cool metal pressed against your palm, stark against the warmth of his skin.

"Then hold onto it," he whispered. "While I ruin you."

Your breath hitched.

Before you could process what was happening, his lips crashed into yours again—but this time, it was hungry. Deep. Possessive.

You gasped against his mouth, and he took advantage of it, his tongue slipping past your lips, claiming you without hesitation. The kiss was messy, all heat and need, his hands roaming down your back before gripping your ass, pulling you flush against him.

The bulge in his jeans pressed into your core, making you whimper.

He growled, nipping at your bottom lip. "So fucking soft," he muttered, dragging his hands up your body. His thumbs brushed over your hardened nipples through the fabric of your dress, and you shuddered.

Mingi smirked against your mouth. "That sensitive, baby?"

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a whine, but he caught your chin between his fingers. His eyes darkened.

"Don't you dare hold back on me."

Your heart stuttered.

Mingi was playing with you. Teasing you, drawing it out just to watch you fall apart. And it was working.

His hand moved to the straps of your dress, slowly sliding one down your shoulder. Then the other.

The fabric pooled at your waist, exposing your bare chest to the cool air.

Mingi inhaled sharply, his gaze devouring you.

"Fuck," he muttered, almost to himself. "You're even prettier than I imagined."

His fingers trailed down, ghosting over your nipple—but not touching. Not yet. Just enough to make you squirm.

You whined softly, arching into him, and that was exactly what he wanted.

His lips curled into a smirk.

"Needy little thing," he murmured. "I should make you beg for it, shouldn’t I?"

Your eyes widened. "Mingi—"

His thumb finally brushed over your nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

You gasped.

He chuckled darkly. "I’ll take my time, baby. Don’t worry."

His mouth lowered, lips hovering just above your skin. You could feel his breath, so close, but he still didn’t touch.

The anticipation was torture.

"Mingi, please—"

His teeth grazed your nipple, just barely, and your whole body jolted.

He groaned. "Shit. You're so fucking sensitive."

Your fingers tightened around his silver chain, and he felt it.

His head snapped up, eyes burning into yours.

"You like that, huh?" His voice was darker now, rougher.

Your breath came out shaky. "Y-Yeah."

Mingi exhaled sharply, his restraint hanging by a thread. "Then let me see how much you can take."

And with that, his mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking hard.

A strangled moan left your lips, your back arching as heat shot straight to your core.

Mingi growled against your skin, his hands gripping your thighs, pressing you down onto his lap where his cock was already hard against you.

Your fingers pulled on his chain, making the silver dig into his throat.

Mingi groaned.

"Oh, baby," he rasped. "You keep doing that, and I’m not gonna last long."

But that was a lie.

Because Mingi wasn’t anywhere close to being finished with you.

Mingi's grip on your thighs tightened as he continued to devour your skin, his mouth moving from your nipple to the soft expanse of your chest. He was taking his time, teasing you, making sure you felt every brush of his lips, every graze of his teeth.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not for him. Not for you.

The way your fingers clenched around his silver chain sent a shudder down his spine, a deep groan escaping his lips. He loved it—loved the way you pulled at it, the way you held onto him like you needed him to keep you steady.

“You like playing with my chain, baby?” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

You nodded, your breath shaky. “Yeah…”

Mingi smirked, his eyes burning into yours. “Then keep holding onto it. I wanna feel you pull when you can’t take it anymore.”

Before you could process his words, his teeth sank into the soft skin of your breast, just enough to make you gasp.

The sting melted into pleasure as he soothed the bite with his tongue, lapping over the mark he’d just left.

Your body arched into him, desperate for more, but he wasn’t done teasing you yet.

His hands trailed down, gripping your thighs before suddenly flipping you onto your stomach.

You barely had time to react before he was behind you, pressing you into the mattress. His chest was hot against your back, his breath fanning over the shell of your ear.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his hands sliding down your sides. “So eager… so fucking desperate for me.”

Your cheeks burned at his words, but you couldn’t deny it.

You needed him.

Mingi knew it too.

His fingers trailed lower, just barely brushing over the damp fabric between your legs. You jolted, a choked whimper slipping past your lips.

He chuckled darkly. “You’re already soaked, baby?”

You bit your lip, trying not to beg, but Mingi wasn’t having it.

His free hand wrapped around his chain, pulling it taut against your throat as he leaned in close. “Use your words, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

Your fingers tightened around the cool metal, your body trembling beneath him.

“Mingi… please.”

His grip on the chain loosened just enough to let you breathe, but his fingers slipped beneath your underwear, dragging over your soaked folds.

He groaned. “Fuck. You’re dripping for me.”

A broken moan escaped you as he slid one long finger inside, slowly, teasing you, curling just enough to make your stomach tighten.

Your grip on his necklace tightened.

Mingi smirked.

“Oh, baby,” he purred, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “We’re just getting started.”

Mingi’s breath was hot against your skin as his fingers moved achingly slow between your legs, dragging through your wetness just to tease you. His touch was barely there, like he wanted to see you squirm before he gave you what you wanted.

And you were squirming.

Your hips rocked against his hand, silently begging for more, but he only chuckled.

“So desperate, baby.” His voice was deep, smug. “I barely touched you, and you’re already this wet?”

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t deny it. You couldn’t.

Because he was right.

The way he was controlling you, the way he was dragging this out, made your body pulse with need.

He brought his lips to your ear, his silver chain brushing against your skin as he whispered, “You like being teased, don’t you?”

You whimpered. “Mingi, please—”

His fingers pushed in deeper, curling inside you just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “So fucking tight.”

You gasped, your grip on his necklace tightening, making the cool metal press into his throat.

Mingi felt it.

And it made him lose control.

His other hand yanked your hips up, pressing your ass against his clothed cock. You could feel how hard he was—throbbing against you, barely held back by the fabric of his jeans.

“Feel that, baby?” He grinded against you, his breath shaky. “That’s what you do to me.”

Your body shuddered at the sensation. The thick length of him pressing against your soaked heat was torture, but he still wasn’t giving you what you needed.

And he knew it.

Mingi chuckled darkly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as his fingers continued to fuck you slowly. “You’re so cute when you beg.”

His lips trailed down your spine, his pace never changing, just keeping you on the edge, making you ache for more.

Then, suddenly—his fingers were gone.

A desperate whimper slipped past your lips as you turned your head, ready to protest, but the words died on your tongue when you felt his hands on his belt.

The sound of metal clinking filled the room.

Mingi smirked. “You’re gonna take all of me, right, baby?”

Your heart stopped.

Then raced.

You swallowed hard, nodding.

Mingi chuckled, reaching for his silver chain again, rolling it between his fingers before grabbing your wrist and wrapping it around your palm.

"Hold onto it," he murmured. "And don't let go until I'm done with you."

And then—

He pushed in.

The stretch was intense—a delicious, burning sensation that had your lips parting in a silent gasp. Mingi groaned low in his throat, feeling how tight you were around him as he buried himself inside you, inch by inch.

"Shit," he muttered, his fingers gripping your hips with a bruising force. "You feel that, baby?"

Your nails dug into his silver chain, the cool metal pressed against your burning skin as you gasped, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him.

"Mingi—"

He pulled out just enough before slamming back in, making you cry out.

He grinned.

"That's it," he murmured, rolling his hips deeper, making sure you felt every inch. "Let me hear you."

His pace was slow, almost torturous, dragging out every sensation, every pulse of pleasure until you were whimpering beneath him. He loved it—loved how your body clenched around him, loved how you held onto his chain like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned, his fingers trailing up your spine. "Taking me so well, baby."

You tried to move your hips, desperate for more, but his hands held you down.

"Uh-uh," he clicked his tongue, amusement lacing his voice. "You don’t get to rush this."

He leaned down, his body pressing against yours, his silver chain cool against your heated skin. His lips brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"I'm gonna fuck you slow," he whispered, thrusting deep. "Until you're begging for me to ruin you."

Your breath hitched.

Mingi chuckled darkly. "And baby?"

His pace suddenly snapped.

"You will beg."

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as he fucked you harder, the slow tease replaced with deep, merciless thrusts that had you gasping for air.

Your fingers clenched around his chain tightly, the metal digging into his throat, making his groans deeper, rougher.

"Fuck," he growled, his hips snapping forward. "You love this, don’t you?"

You couldn’t even speak—all you could do was moan, your body completely at his mercy.

Mingi grabbed your chin, turning your head so his lips brushed against yours. "Say it," he demanded, his eyes dark with lust. "Tell me you love it."

Your voice was shaky, breathless. "I—I love it."

Mingi groaned, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss as he drove into you harder, his silver chain dangling between you, cool against your sweat-slicked skin.

"You better," he muttered against your lips. "Because I'm not stopping until you’re ruined."

Mingi’s hand was still gripping your chin, forcing you to look back at him as he thrust deep inside you, each stroke hitting the spot that had your toes curling. His silver chain dangled in front of your lips, glinting under the dim lights of his apartment, teasing you like he knew how much it turned you on.

“You keep pulling on it,” he murmured, voice dark, teasing. “You like my chain that much, baby?”

You whimpered, unable to form a proper response with the way he was fucking you senseless.

Mingi’s grip tightened. “Open your mouth.”

Your lips parted without hesitation, your breath shaky.

A slow smirk spread across his face. He took the chain between his fingers and dragged the cool metal across your tongue, making you taste the mix of sweat and heat from where it had been pressed against his skin.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his thrusts never faltering. “Suck on it.”

Your eyes rolled back as you closed your lips around the chain, the taste of metal and him flooding your senses while he slammed into you from behind.

Mingi groaned, his head falling back. “Fuck, you’re so filthy for me.”

His hand slid lower, wrapping around your throat, tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. His grip wasn’t harsh, just enough to make you feel lightheaded—drunk off him, off the way he was completely owning you.

“You like being used like this?” he rasped, his pace merciless. “Being my little toy to fuck however I want?”

The way your body clenched around him told him everything he needed to know.

Mingi growled. “God, you’re so fucking dirty.”

One of his hands slid down, slipping between your legs, rubbing you in tight circles that had your entire body trembling.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” he taunted, his voice dripping with pure sin. “Gonna cum while sucking on my chain like a filthy little thing?”

Your whimpers turned into cries, the mix of his cock, his hand, his chain pushing you right to the edge.

Mingi felt it.

“Fuck—do it,” he groaned, his hand tightening around your throat. “Cum for me, baby. Make a mess all over my cock.”

And with one final snap of his hips—

You shattered.

Your entire body convulsed, your vision going white as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Mingi cursed, feeling you clench so tight around him, and before he could even pull out, he was right behind you, spilling inside you with a deep, guttural groan.

For a moment, all you could hear was heavy breathing, the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Mingi leaned over you, pressing a slow, possessive kiss to your shoulder before whispering,

“Next time, baby… you’re gonna swallow something else.”

Mingi barely gave you time to recover. Your body was still trembling, your breath uneven, your skin slick with sweat—but he wasn’t done with you. Not even close.

He pulled out slowly, watching with dark, hooded eyes as his cum dripped out of you, coating your thighs.

His tongue clicked. “Look at that,” he murmured, dragging his fingers through the mess he made. “You’re leaking all over yourself, baby.��

You whimpered, your body over-sensitive, but Mingi didn’t care.

He brought his fingers to your lips.

“Clean it up.”

Your breath hitched as you stared at him, dazed, but when his brows lifted in expectation, you obeyed—your lips parting, your tongue flicking out to lick his fingers clean.

Mingi groaned, his cock already hard again.

"Fuck, you’re so filthy," he muttered, his silver chain swinging as he grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"You want more?" he taunted, pressing his cock against your entrance, rubbing it against your aching heat. "You think you can handle another round?"

You nodded quickly, desperate.

But Mingi wasn’t convinced.

“Beg for it.”

Your breath shuddered.

"Mingi… please," you whimpered, shifting your hips to try and push against him. "I need it. I need you."

His smirk was ruthless.

"That’s my girl," he murmured, and before you could brace yourself—

He slammed into you.

A sharp cry left your lips as he bottomed out in one thrust, stretching you all over again, but this time—there was no slow build-up.

No teasing.

Just pure, raw, animalistic fucking.

Mingi's hands gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet his thrusts as he fucked into you with no restraint. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, the headboard banging against the wall with each brutal stroke.

His silver chain dangled over your face, brushing against your parted lips.

"You take me so fucking well," he gritted out, watching how your body shuddered beneath him. "You're just made for me, aren’t you?"

Your moans were incoherent, your body pushed past its limits, but you didn’t care.

You wanted more.

Mingi’s hand snaked around your throat, forcing you to arch your back as he pounded into you harder, his cock hitting deep, bruising places that had you screaming.

"You wanna be ruined, baby?" he growled. "Then take it. Take every fucking inch."

Tears pricked your eyes, the pleasure too much, too overwhelming, and yet—you still wanted more.

"God, you’re squeezing me so fucking tight," Mingi groaned, his voice strained. "Gonna cum again, huh?"

His fingers slid down to your swollen clit, rubbing you relentlessly.

"Cum for me," he ordered. "Scream my fucking name when you do."

Your vision blurred, your body seizing up as you came violently, your entire form shaking beneath him.

Mingi followed right after, groaning deep in his throat as he filled you up again, making sure you felt every hot drop.

And just when you thought he was finally done—

He smirked.

"Hope you’re not tired yet, baby," he murmured. "Because I’m still not finished with you."

Mingi barely gave you time to breathe. Your body was still twitching, completely spent from the last orgasm, but he wasn’t finished.

Not until you were soaked.

Not until you were dripping down your thighs.

"You’re shaking, baby," he teased, dragging his fingers down your spine as you collapsed against the mattress, your legs weak, your body wrecked.

But that didn’t stop him.

He grabbed you by the hips and flipped you onto your back, his silver chain dangling over your face as he leaned in close.

"You got one more for me?" he murmured, voice deep, low, dripping with sinful promise.

Your eyes fluttered open, dazed, lips trembling. "Mingi—"

He smirked, his fingers trailing lower, parting your thighs as he spread you wide open for him.

"Yeah," he murmured, watching you, eyes filled with pure lust. "You do."

And then—

His mouth was on you.

A loud, shattered moan tore from your lips as Mingi's tongue flicked over your swollen clit, the sensation sending a violent shudder through your body.

But he didn’t stop there.

No, he was hungry.

Desperate.

His tongue was relentless, licking, sucking, his lips wrapping around your clit as two thick fingers slid into your dripping entrance.

"Fuck—Mingi!" you gasped, your hands fisting the sheets, your legs trembling as he pumped his fingers into you, stretching you open all over again.

His pace was brutal—each thrust of his fingers curling against that sweet, devastating spot deep inside you.

You screamed.

Mingi groaned against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your core. His silver chain brushed against your inner thigh, cool against your burning hot skin, adding to the overwhelming sensation.

"You gonna cum again?" he murmured, his voice filthy, his fingers slamming into you even harder. "Gonna make a mess for me, baby?"

Your entire body locked up, the pressure building so intensely that you could barely breathe.

Mingi chuckled darkly, sensing it.

He pulled away for just a second, his fingers still moving ruthlessly as his eyes locked onto yours.

"Cum for me," he demanded, his voice like pure sin. "Fucking soak my fingers."

And then—

You snapped.

Your back arched off the bed, a broken scream ripping from your throat as hot liquid gushed from your body, completely drenching his hand, his wrist, the sheets below you.

Mingi groaned, watching it happen, watching the way you squirted uncontrollably, your body convulsing beneath him.

"Fuck, baby," he rasped, his fingers still working you, dragging out every last drop until you were begging for mercy.

But he just grinned.

"You’re so fucking dirty," he murmured, bringing his soaked fingers to his lips, licking them clean. "And I love it."

Your entire body shuddered, completely wrecked, but Mingi wasn’t done.

He climbed over you, his cock achingly hard again, pressing against your soaked, sensitive heat.

"You think you can handle one more?" he murmured, his silver chain dangling over your lips, his eyes dark, hungry.

Your breath was still shaky, but you nodded.

Mingi smirked.

"Good."

Your body was wrecked. Your thighs trembled, your breath came in ragged pants, and the sheets beneath you were completely soaked from what Mingi had done to you.

But he wasn’t done.

Not yet.

Not until you were crying for him.

Mingi sat back, his silver chain glistening with sweat as he ran his tongue across his lips, watching you struggle to catch your breath. His cock was hard and throbbing, still slick from your release, and the way his eyes darkened sent a shiver through your already-sensitive body.

"You did so well for me, baby," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, the kind of voice that made you drip even when you were spent.

"But," he continued, gripping his cock and dragging the thick tip through your soaked folds, teasing you until you whimpered, "I’m not done until I’ve ruined you completely."

And before you could even brace yourself—

Mingi slammed into you.

Your scream echoed through the room as he bottomed out in one brutal thrust, stretching you all over again. Your walls were already achingly sensitive, but Mingi didn't care.

He wanted more.

His hands gripped your thighs, pushing your legs back until your knees nearly touched your chest, folding you in half as he fucked you deep.

"Look at you," he groaned, his silver chain dangling over your face, brushing against your lips. "So fucking wet for me. You love being used like this, don’t you?"

Your answer was a broken whimper, your body already on fire.

Mingi’s grip tightened, his pace brutal, unforgiving, his cock hitting spots so deep it made your vision blur.

"You’re gonna take every inch," he growled, his voice pure dominance. "Gonna cum on my cock one more time before I fill you up, baby."

Your mind shattered.

Mingi’s hands slid down, one wrapping around your throat while the other slipped between your legs, his fingers rubbing tight, ruthless circles on your swollen clit.

"Come on, baby," he taunted, his silver chain brushing against your skin as he pounded into you. "I want to feel you lose control. I want you to scream my name."

You were so close.

Your body tensed, your breath caught—

Mingi smirked.

"Cum for me, baby. Soak my cock."

And then—

You snapped.

Your body convulsed, pleasure exploding through you as your orgasm hit you with a force so strong you screamed his name, your walls clenching, trembling, your entire body writhing beneath him.

Mingi groaned loudly, feeling you squeeze around him, and before he could hold back, his grip on your hips tightened and he spilled deep inside you, filling you up with hot, thick cum.

His thrusts slowed, his breaths ragged, his silver chain swinging as he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours.

"Fuck," he panted, his voice wrecked, his lips brushing against yours. "That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen."

Your entire body shuddered, overwhelmed, wrecked, but completely satisfied.

Mingi smirked, pressing a slow, filthy kiss to your lips before whispering,

"Hope you weren’t planning to walk tomorrow, baby. Because you’re not leaving this bed."