#wait was it? maybe i liked something and forgot

[moonlightdreamzz]

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN YOURS, AND HIS

chapter one — what we don’t talk about ☆ chapter two — half-truths and jungle juice ☆ chapter three — fuck!

chapter summary. a hoodie. a highway. a surprise you never saw coming. everything about today feels like a memory you've been waiting to live—until familiar faces show up.

pairing. jungwon x reader x sunghoon.

genre. college!au, angst, fluff, slow burn, smut.

themes. love triangle, messy relationships and decisions, love or lust?

authors note. sorry for the wait my babies...hope it was worth it. please give me full fledged reviews in the comments. it helps me a lot. shit is about to get crazyyyyy.

you wake up with your heart already racing.

your mouth is dry. your eyes burn. your whole body feels too warm, like your skin hasn’t caught up with the air yet. and for a second—for a split, beautiful second—you don’t remember anything.

just light filtering through the curtain. a blanket draped over your thigh. the faint smell of weed, sweat, and everything else that happened to you last night.

but then it comes back.

not all at once. not like a slap. more like a slow pour—warm at first. then scalding.

his hands.

his mouth.

his voice—“you feel everything, don’t you?”

sunghoon.

you squeeze your eyes shut. God. what did you do? you weren’t blacked out. you weren’t reckless. you were just drunk. and soft. and tired of being the girl who waits around for something that might not even be real.

that’s the part that makes your chest hurt the most. because the truth is—you didn’t think about jungwon at all last night. not once. not when sunghoon kissed you. not when he touched you like you were already his. not even when he asked if you were sure.

and that’s what’s eating you alive now.

you sit up, slow. your dress is bunched around your waist, your lashes halfway off, your head pounding in that slow, angry rhythm that always shows up the morning after.

your throat is dry. your hands are shaking.

you don’t know what to feel first—guilt? or shame? or confusion? or this strange, stupid ache in your chest that sounds like: but does he even want you?

jungwon.

his name hits you like something heavy.

like a weight you forgot you were carrying. like a person you loved in secret for so long, you forgot you were allowed to say it out loud.

you remember the almost-kisses. the nights you laid in his bed waiting for him to make the first move. the way his arms would wrap around you like a question.

the way he’d stop every time things got too close. too warm. too real.

and the way you told yourself that’s enough.

you told yourself his silence was softness. his distance was care.

but it wasn’t just that.

it was the way he always moved the charger to your side of the bed. the way he made sure the room was cold because you liked the blanket heavy.

the way he rubbed your back when you were sick. the way he remembered the way you liked your eggs. the way he’d watch your face instead of the screen when you were laughing at something dumb.

the way he held you like it meant something—even if he never said what.

and that’s what made it worse.

because sunghoon kissed you without fear. but jungwon holds you like he already has you.

but last night… sunghoon didn’t hesitate.

he didn’t second-guess the way your hand found his neck. he didn’t pull away when you leaned in. he didn’t stop to make space between your knees and his hips and your breath and his mouth and your body and his name.

he didn’t stop.

and maybe that’s why you let it happen.

because you were tired. because it felt good. because for once, someone didn’t make you beg for the thing you didn’t know how to ask for.

but now you’re here. alone. sober. skin buzzing like your nerves haven’t caught up yet.

you drag your hands over your face.

do i even owe him anything?

you think it, then hate yourself for thinking it.

you want to cry. or throw up. or crawl under the covers and pretend the last twelve hours didn’t happen.

because you feel like you cheated. like you broke something that wasn’t even real.

but it was. it was.

it’s not just friendship. not with jungwon. not with the way you touched. not with the way you slept wrapped in each other’s limbs like the world outside didn’t exist. not with the way your lips had almost met—how his breath had hit your cheek and his hand had tightened just once on your thigh before he’d backed away like he was scared of his own pulse.

and he never said why.

your legs move before your brain does. out the door. down the hall. through the faded music and soft snoring and tangled blankets on the living room floor.

the clock says 1:03 p.m. most people are still asleep. some aren’t. you don’t care.

you knock.

soft. hesitant.

no answer.

you open the door anyway.

the curtains are drawn. the light hits the wall in that soft, familiar way. and jungwon’s still in bed. fully dressed. half-curled around a pillow that doesn’t belong to him.

his eyes are closed. but his face is tight. his jaw clenched. his brow creased like whatever dream he’s in—it’s not good. you step inside. quiet. like always.

he doesn’t know what you did.

you tell yourself that.

he doesn’t know.

he’s just tired. he’s just sleeping in. he’s just—

his eyes open.

you freeze, and everything goes still. you don’t know what you’re expecting—maybe for him to sit up. maybe for him to ask you what the hell you’re doing.

but he doesn’t. he just looks at you. quiet. still. like he’s taking inventory of every inch of you and trying not to let it show.

your throat tightens. you don’t speak. you just walk over. slow. unsure.

the room is quiet except for the sound of the ceiling fan and the creak of the mattress as you sit on the edge of the bed. your legs are cold. your skin’s still sticky from the night before. you haven’t even showered. you just wanted… this. something soft. something familiar.

you don’t crawl under the blanket. not this time. you just lay down. next to him. he doesn’t say anything for a long time. you lay there. on top of the covers. not touching. barely breathing.

and then—

“you didn’t come back last night.”

his voice is soft. unreadable.

you stare at the ceiling. “i know.”

another pause.

he shifts slightly. his tone doesn’t change.

“did you sleep in your room?”

you blink. your heart stutters.

“i…” you clear your throat. “i was drunk. i didn’t really sleep.”

he hums. not a laugh. not a reaction. just… something.

you risk a glance. his eyes are still fixed on the ceiling, but you can tell—he’s thinking. hard.

“didn’t even say goodnight,” he murmurs.

you look away again. your chest twists.

“you noticed?”

his jaw ticks. “i notice everything.”

the silence hangs.

and then—he glances at you. finally.

“was it fun?”

your breath catches. you don’t answer. he doesn’t push. just turns back toward the ceiling, like it’s easier to look at than you.

you open your mouth. close it.

your throat is burning. your stomach is flipping inside out.

you don’t want to say it.

you can’t say it.

so you pick the only thing that feels safer than the truth.

“nothing happened,” you say.

the words taste like blood in your mouth.

jungwon doesn’t move.

for a second—for one stupid, fragile second—you think maybe he believes you.

but then he blinks slow, like he’s swallowing something sharp.

“nothing?” he says, voice low.

you shake your head. your palms are sweating. you want to cry.

“we didn’t…” you clear your throat. “i didn’t sleep with him.”

he turns his head. looks at you. really looks. and somehow that hurts worse than if he’d called you a liar to your face.

you can’t tell if he believes you. maybe he just wants to. maybe he needs to. you should stop there. you should shut up.

but the guilt is eating you alive. the need to explain yourself—to justify something that doesn’t have an excuse—rises up hot in your chest.

so you say it.

you break your own heart before he can.

“but i don’t know what we’re doing anymore, jungwon,” you whisper, voice cracking. “i don’t know what i’m waiting for.”

his whole body goes still.

the words hang there, heavy and choking, like smoke in the room.

you press your palms into the mattress. dig your nails into the blanket. you’re shaking and you don’t even realize it.

“i—” you try again, but your voice wobbles. “i’m tired.”

you meet his eyes.

“i’m tired of being the only one who’s sure.”

and there it is.

the crack that splits everything open.

you wish he’d say something. fight for you. deny it. pull you back. but he just looks at you. jaw tight. eyes glassy.

and says nothing.

and somehow, that says everything.

he just looks at you—really looks at you—and it’s like everything he’s been trying to bury is clawing its way out at once.

his mouth moves before his brain can stop it.

“i waited for you last night.”

your heart stutters. your throat goes tight.

he leans back against the headboard, palms flat against the sheets, like he needs something solid to hold onto. his voice cracks—just a little—as he keeps going.

“i stayed up all night,” he says, like he’s confessing a sin. “i didn’t even move. i just… sat here. waiting. waiting for the knock. waiting for you to do what you always do.”

you feel yourself sinking into the mattress, smaller and smaller with every word.

“i kept telling myself you were just drunk. that you’d show up eventually.”

he laughs—sharp and hollow and nothing like him. “but you didn’t.”

you open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

he drags a hand through his hair, jaw clenched so tight you’re scared it might break.

“and then,” he says, voice dropping low, “i heard you.”

your stomach flips.

“giggling in the hallway. laughing with him like—like it was easy. like it was nothing.”

he blinks hard, like he’s trying to chase the image away.

“i heard you. and i realized…”

he swallows.

“i realized it was my fault.”

you shake your head, tears burning your eyes, but he doesn’t let you interrupt.

“i should’ve told you a long time ago,” he says, his voice breaking for real now. “i should’ve told you when you first started crawling into my bed. when you first started wearing my hoodies and looking at me like i hung the damn stars.”

he lets out a breath that sounds like it hurts.

“i thought i was protecting you. i thought if i didn’t say it, i couldn’t ruin it. that i couldn’t ruin us.”

his hands ball into fists in the blankets.

“but all i did was make you think you were unwanted. and you’re not. you never were.”

your vision is blurry. your chest hurts. everything in you is pulling toward him and breaking at the same time.

he looks at you then—really looks—and it’s all there.

the wreckage. the regret. the love.

“i’m in love with you,” he says, like it’s the only thing that matters anymore. “i’ve been in love with you.”

he breathes out, shoulders shaking.

“and it shouldn’t have taken another guy showing up and not hesitating to make me say it.”

the room is so quiet you can hear both your hearts beating.

you’re crying for real now. silent. broken open.

he reaches for you—slow, scared—like he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he touches you wrong.

and you let him.

you fall into his arms like it’s the only place you’re supposed to be. you curl into him, clutch his hoodie, bury your face in his chest. and he holds you like he’s scared to let go.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair. “i’m so sorry.”

you shake your head. you don’t even know what you’re saying no to—his apology, his pain, the fact that you didn’t wait long enough, the fact that he waited too long.

you just know you don’t want to lose him.

not yet.

not ever.

after a while, when the tears slow and your breathing evens out, he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“can i take you out today?” he murmurs. “just us. no parties. no noise. just… you and me.”

you nod against his chest.

you don’t trust yourself to say anything.

you don’t need to.

the car ride is quiet at first.

not awkward quiet. just... heavy. like the air hasn't caught up with what happened yet.

you fiddle with the zipper of your hoodie, thumb tracing the teeth back and forth. jungwon taps the steering wheel with two fingers, staring straight ahead like the road might disappear if he blinks too slow.

outside, the world is too bright. too loud. everything feels a little sharp.

you pull your sleeves over your hands. press your forehead against the window for a second, trying to cool down the inside of your head.

"you cold?" jungwon asks, voice soft but immediate.

you shake your head.

he nods like he believes you, but you know he doesn't.

you sneak a glance at him.

he's wearing the hoodie you like—the one that's too big on him, the one you always end up stealing halfway through movie nights. his hair’s messy from the hood. there's a small scar under his jaw you’ve never noticed before. you stare at it too long.

"i was gonna take you to that café you liked last semester," he says, voice careful. "the one with the swings instead of chairs."

you blink.

you forgot he remembered that.

you forgot how much he always remembers.

"but it closed down," he says, glancing at you quick, then back at the road. "so… plan B."

you hum, low in your throat. noncommittal.

he presses a little harder on the gas.

"we'll figure it out," he says. "i just wanted to get you out of the house."

you swallow thickly.

"thank you," you say, voice small.

he glances at you again.

and for the first time since you got in the car, he smiles.

it's not a full one. it's not the one that lights up his whole face and makes his eyes scrunch and his dimples cut deep.

but it's real.

and it does something awful and beautiful to your chest.

he switches the music on low.

something soft, something slow. you don't know the song, but it sounds like it was made for moments like this — moments too fragile for silence, too heavy for words.

you close your eyes for a second.

breathe.

pretend you’re just two kids in a car again.

pretend the world hasn’t shifted underneath you.

pretend last night never happened.

you glance out the window again. the highway starts to curve and narrow. you see the blue-and-yellow billboard before anything else.

your heart stutters.

no way.

you sit up straighter, eyes narrowing as more signs come into view—familiar landmarks, road names, the snack stand you once swore had the best fries in the world.

your stomach flips.

he doesn’t say anything. just smirks.

you whip your head toward him. “are we going to dreamwheel?”

he shrugs like it’s no big deal, like he didn’t just plan the one date you always dreamed about but never got to take him on.

“i mean,” he says, flicking the turn signal, “you’ve only been begging me to come since sophomore year.”

“i didn’t beg.”

“you pouted.”

“i expressed interest.”

“repeatedly.”

you’re already grinning. you can’t help it.

the closer you get, the more it hits you. the skyline. the blazing red rollercoaster loop in the distance. the corny welcome sign.

you went with jake once, a long time ago. but jungwon had the flu and missed it. you talked about it ever since. every time you passed the highway exit. every time someone mentioned cotton candy or arcade games or churros shaped like hearts.

the gate attendant leans out and says, “$30 for parking.”

you automatically reach for your phone. “okay, i’ll send you fifteen—”

“don’t you dare.”

you freeze.

he glances over. “put the phone down.”

“wha—jungwon, it’s thirty dollars.”

“i know.”

“i’m not a broke b—”

“i know that too.”

you try not to smile. “you’re gonna make me get soft.”

he just raises a brow. “you already are.”

he parks. before you can open the door, his voice cuts through the silence.

“don’t touch that.”

you blink.

he’s already out of the car, walking around, and opening the passenger side like it’s second nature. you slide out, stunned.

“what is going on with you today?” you ask, squinting up at him.

he shrugs, locking the car. and then he does it—reaches for your hand. no hesitation. just laces your fingers with his like he’s been doing it every day of his life.

and you let him. because what else are you supposed to do?

this is all you’ve ever wanted.

“this place looks even cheesier than i remember you describing,” he says, walking beside you past the front gates.

you laugh. “that’s the point. it’s a tacky paradise.”

“you love tacky paradises.”

“don’t judge me. you’re literally smiling.”

“i’m smiling because you’re smiling.”

you glance over.

he’s not looking at the park. he’s looking at you. and your chest tightens in that way you hate—the way that makes you feel like you don’t deserve this.

because last night, you didn’t come home. and he waited anyway.

you swallow hard.

but then he’s dragging you toward the first ride. it’s nothing huge—just the spinning teacups. dumb. simple. loud.

you let yourself enjoy it.

the screams. the music. the sound of jungwon laughing across from you as you spin the wheel too hard and almost fall sideways.

you’re a mess. dizzy. smiling too wide. out of breath. you don’t even realize you’re holding his hand again until you’re halfway across the park.

lunch is a paper tray of tteokbokki and fries. he wipes sauce from your cheek with a napkin like it’s nothing.

you say, “where has this version of you been?”

he pauses mid-chew.

then swallows, looking away for a second before he says, “hiding. i guess.”

you don’t press. you don’t have to.

the next ride is a water coaster. you get soaked. he gives you his hoodie to wear over your wet shirt and doesn’t say anything when your fingers brush his stomach while taking it off him.

you pretend not to notice. he lets you.

by the time you get near the ferris wheel, you’re buzzing from sugar and secondhand affection.

the sun is starting to dip, casting orange across everything—like the whole park is stuck in golden hour. you almost forget how heavy your chest has felt all day. almost.

jungwon’s hoodie still hangs off your shoulders. your hair is damp from the water ride. your fingers are sticky from churros and powdered sugar and holding his hand like you’ve been doing it forever.

the line curves around the corner. the wheel creaks above you, slowly spinning, each cart dipping into the sky.

you’re about to lean into him again when—

“yo, what the f—?”

you whip around.

jake.

standing three feet away. sunglasses pushed into his curls. holding a jumbo soda. flanked by two girls.

and sunghoon.

sunghoon is behind him. laughing at something one of the girls said. a hand on the railing. his other one swinging casually at his side like it’s not the same hand that was gripping your waist twelve hours ago.

your blood runs cold.

jake blinks. “what the hell are y’all doing here?”

jungwon’s body goes still next to you. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

jake laughs, like the moment isn’t loaded. “i thought y’all were on house arrest after last night. didn’t even know you were up yet.”

then he glances between you and jungwon.

sees the hoodie.

the hand-holding.

“wait.” his voice drops a little. “are y’all...?”

sunghoon turns at that. looks up.

and everything goes quiet.

your eyes meet. his mouth parts just slightly. he wasn’t expecting to see you.

not like this.

not wearing jungwon’s clothes. not smiling like the world isn’t still spinning from last night.

the girl next to him tugs on his arm, confused. you step back.

jungwon feels it. his jaw flexes, but he doesn’t let go of your hand.

he looks at jake. “we’re on a date.”

simple. straight. like it’s always been true.

jake raises both brows. “damn. my bad.” then he grins, recovering. “guess it’s a double date now, huh?”

you want to disappear. but you don’t. you just smile. barely. and pray your legs don’t give out.

sunghoon doesn’t say anything.

he just looks at you.

like he’s trying to figure out what the hell he missed. what changed. when it changed.

his gaze flickers—jungwon’s hand in yours. the way your body’s angled toward him. the hoodie. the smile you’re pretending isn’t shaking.

you feel it. all of it. the weight of last night crashing into the mess of today.

“you okay?” jungwon asks, low.

you nod. barely.

but then—jake claps his hands.

“bet,” he says. “let’s race to the next ride. loser buys funnel cake.”

before you can react, everyone starts moving.

sunghoon walks past you. he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t touch you. doesn’t even look too long.

just enough for your breath to catch.

and then he’s gone. walking ahead with the girl still trailing beside him, laughing at something he didn’t even say.

you’re still frozen when jungwon gently pulls you forward, like he’s choosing not to say what he saw in your face.

the group scatters, arguing about which ride is next. jake’s already halfway up the path. the girls trail behind. you and jungwon follow, a little slower.

you’re trying to focus. on the date. on him. on this version of your life where everything feels easy and soft and golden.

but your heart is thudding again. and your mind keeps spinning.

you tell jungwon you’re going to the bathroom. simple. no drama. no lingering looks. just a casual excuse to breathe.

you barely make it two steps past the bathroom when you hear him.

"so you're just gonna ignore me now?"

you stop.

close your eyes.

fuck.

you turn slowly, heart already thudding.

sunghoon’s standing there. arms crossed. jaw tight. no smile. no charm. just tension.

"what are you doing?" you ask, already exhausted.

he shrugs. "same thing you are. pretending."

you roll your eyes. "go back to your little group."

"why?" he tilts his head. "so you can play house with him a little longer?"

your stomach twists.

"don’t do this," you mutter.

"don’t do what? remind you what happened last night?"

you try to push past him, but he steps in front of you.

"don’t act brand new," he says, voice lower now. "you didn’t have this attitude when i had you bent over begging for more."

your breath catches. you stare at him.

"fuck you," you say quietly.

he laughs—cold, sharp, like you didn’t just stab him first.

"already did."

you look away, throat tight.

he leans in, too close. "you’re gonna tell me none of it meant anything?"

you hesitate. only for a second. but it’s enough.

he sees it.

"right," he says. "thought so."

you grit your teeth. "you knew about me and jungwon."

his smirk fades.

"you always knew," you continue. "you just didn’t care. you saw an opening and you took it."

"and you let me."

"i never said i didn’t. but don’t stand here acting like you thought this was something more."

"it wasn’t nothing."

"maybe not," you say, voice flat. "but i’m still choosing him."

his face twitches.

you don’t even hear the footsteps behind you. don’t realize someone’s listening until the hallway drops into silence.

jungwon.

standing there.

frozen.

his face unreadable. but his eyes—his eyes burn straight through you.

you feel your heart seize. he heard everything.

sunghoon scoffs behind you, like this is all too much. "man, whatever. this is a joke."

he turns like he’s about to walk—

"nah."

jungwon’s voice cuts the air like a blade. he steps forward. calm. cold.

"you cool?"

sunghoon spins. "are you?"

you try to step in, but jungwon’s eyes never leave his.

"she told you to back off. she’s here with me. you don’t get to keep pushing."

"she was with me last night," sunghoon snaps. "so what do you wanna do? let me know."

jungwon flinches. just barely.

but it’s enough to make your stomach drop.

"stop it," you say. "both of you—"

"no," jungwon says, eyes still locked. "if you respected her at all, you’d walk away."

"don’t act like you’re some fucking hero," sunghoon growls. “you waited too long. i didn’t. you just watched her walk away.”

jungwon doesn’t blink.

sunghoon tilts his head, eyes burning. “you know what your problem is? you were scared. too pussy to say how you felt. too pussy to make a move. and now a guy like me came around and got your girl.”

you flinch.

jungwon’s fist curls—but he’s still too still. too quiet.

sunghoon shrugs like it’s nothing. like he didn’t just drop a bomb. “don’t be mad at me for seeing her. for acting. for not hesitating.”

he nods at you, just once. and for a moment, it almost feels like a soft truth.

“she’s not a maybe. she’s not some game. and if you really gave a fuck, you wouldn’t have waited until someone else touched her to wake up.”

and that’s when jungwon speaks.

low.

measured.

but deadly.

“i’m a pussy?” he repeats, voice calm in that terrifying kind of way. “nah. you are.”

sunghoon’s brows twitch.

jungwon steps forward. not fast. not angry. just sure.

“because i had a choice,” he says. “i could’ve made her mine months ago. but i didn’t want to fuck this up. not like you just did.”

sunghoon scoffs, but jungwon’s not done.

“you want a medal for not hesitating?” he spits. “for seeing a drunk girl who’s been in love with someone else and still going for it?”

sunghoon opens his mouth, but—

“you fucked her, and the very next day, you showed up with another bitch on your arm.”

your breath catches.

jungwon doesn’t look at you. he doesn’t even flinch.

“don’t talk to me about being a man. if you actually liked her—if you respected her at all—you wouldn’t have touched her like that. you would've waited. you would've meant it. ” jungwon takes a deep breath before shooting his final blow. "and yeah, you two had a good time last night, but when she woke up, who did she want? you, or me?"

sunghoon stares.

jaw tight. eyes burning. but he doesn’t speak.

because there’s nothing to say.

you’re the one who’s shaking now. because every word feels like it landed in your chest.

and still—

you can’t take any of it back.

taglist❤️

@jvngw0nlvr @iamjusttryingtoreadapost @woibeb @xoseraphiina @tunafishyfishylike @onlyticket-home @k1ttyjwon @taehyunsfavmoa @doveblackboat @umanjofantasma

[rynwrites4fun]

Eyes On Me (3) | Jack Abbot x Popstar ! Reader

Jack Abbot x f! Popstar ! Reader

Summary: You and Jack reunite face to face for the first time since everything that happened a year ago. The air between you is thick with tension—memories, emotions, and all the things that were never said. Neither of you knows exactly what you’re stepping into, but the pull is undeniable.

Word Count: 5344

Warnings: Age Gap (mid 20’s/late 40’s or early 50’s,) Mentions of mental health struggles, panic attack

Author's Note: The story of Jack and Popstar ! reader continues!!! I realized I made this fic so dramatic very quickly lol. Like so unrealistic but what the hell. I’m all for the drama. this may not be a good fic but at least it’s entertaining (I hope so). If I forgot to tag you let me know??? I think I got everyone. Again sorry for typos and whatnot. Also I started writing a fic for Michael Robinavitch called Across The Hall. So keep a look out for that here soon! - ryn

“Look who’s here!” Michael’s voice rang out, playful but with a hint of something else, something uncertain. He looked between you and Jack, his gaze shifting quickly from one to the other, like he wasn’t sure who the comment was really meant for. Maybe it was for you. Maybe it was for Jack. Maybe it was for both of you.

“Jack—”

“What are you doing here?” He cuts you off, his voice sharp with disbelief. His eyes search for yours, intense and searching. You can tell he’s shocked to see you, but the confusion in his gaze only makes you wonder if he’s angry, too. You assume he’s thinking the worst because the last time you saw him, you were at your absolute lowest—everything had fallen apart, and you were barely holding it together.

“I’m okay,” you say quickly, trying to reassure him, though it feels like a lie. Jack is taking you in, his eyes sweeping over you, as if trying to piece together the story you’re not telling.

“Are you? Really?” His voice softens, but there’s an edge of concern in it. He’s asking about more than just the physical injury. He can see it in your eyes—the puffiness, the remnants of tears you haven’t fully wiped away. He’s worried.

“Yes,” you answer, though it’s not exactly what he wants to hear. You’re okay mentally, or at least you’re trying to be. Physically, though, you’re a mess. You don’t say it, but the truth is there—your heart feels like it’s been through a storm, and the ankle injury is just the last of it.

His eyes flicker down to your ankle, briefly, before returning to your face, sharp and searching.

Michael chimes in, “Well, she fell, hurt her ankle—”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Jack responds, his voice flat, though his eyes never leave you. There’s still a mix of confusion in his gaze, but it’s deeper now—something else is written there, something you can’t quite place. It’s like he’s trying to figure out how to feel, what to think, but every emotion seems tangled together, making it harder for him to make sense of it.

“Okay…” Michael trails off, his eyes flicking again between you and Jack, feeling the thick tension hanging in the air.

“I’m just gonna go… make sure they get you set up for the X-ray, so, uh, I’ll just…” He stands from the swivel chair, hesitates for a moment, but with the weight of the silence pressing down on him, he quickly excuses himself. He slips out of the room, the door clicking softly behind him, leaving you and Jack alone.

The moment the door shuts, the quiet between you two feels heavier, the kind of silence that carries a thousand unsaid words. Neither of you moves, as if the air itself is holding you both in place, waiting for the other to speak.

Jack’s voice slices through the stillness.

“What are you doing here?” he asks again, but harder this time—less confused, more raw disbelief.

You force a weak laugh, trying to lift the thick tension. “Geez, what, no ‘hi’?” You shift uncomfortably on the exam bed, the paper beneath you crinkling loud in the silence.

“‘Hi.’ Yeah. Sure. Hi.” He laughs once, hollow and stunned. “I just—I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. Not like this…Why are you in Pittsburgh?”

The question hangs heavy between you, and for a moment, you almost wish you hadn’t come. The weight of it presses down on you as you sit on the cold exam bed, feeling exposed in ways you never planned on. You take a breath, trying to steady yourself, but the words slip out before you can stop them.

“I dropped an EP,” you say quietly, your eyes avoiding him as you focus on the sterile white walls of the room, the buzz of fluorescent lights above. It feels like you’ve just confessed something huge, but also something small, like it should be obvious.

“Right… Tethered”

Your eyes widen. Oh god, he listened to it, you thought. And that meant he probably heard that song—the one you wrote about him that night. You open your mouth, instinctively ready to explain, but you don’t have to. He’s staring down at your ankle again instead.

“I was… uh… running,” you say, forcing a shrug. “Apparently, dodging paparazzi counts as cardio now. Who knew?”

You try to joke, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know it won’t land.

He doesn’t laugh. Not even a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

His jaw tightens. His eyes—those steady, unrelenting eyes—lock onto yours, full of the same intensity you remember from that night. It’s not anger. It’s not even disappointment. It’s deeper than that. It’s knowing. And it cuts through whatever act you’re trying to hold onto.

“I got away… but I tripped,” you admit, your voice quieter now.

His voice is careful, measured. “Your team brought you in?”

You hesitate. “No. I, um… I took an Uber.”

He blinks. “You… what? Where was your team?”

“I was alone,” you admit, shrinking a little. “They don’t know-”

He says your name—low, steady, and full of something like disbelief. And maybe something else, too. Worry.

You exhale. “I know. I know how it sounds—”

“You shouldn’t have done that. You didn’t think to call anyone?”

There’s no anger in his voice. Just quiet frustration. Concern wrapped in steel.

“I panicked— the first thing I thought was getting to the hospital—”

His jaw works as if he’s holding back a dozen things he wants to say. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, the storm behind it barely contained.

He doesn’t speak right away. Because he’s imagining it.

You. Alone. No security. Swarmed by cameras and strangers with no boundaries. You had to run—run—just to escape them. You fell. You hit the ground. The way you must’ve picked yourself up, dazed, shaking, and still didn’t call anyone. And instead of calling your team you just got into the back of a stranger's car and made your way here by yourself.

His blood runs hot at the thought.

You’d been back in his life for less than ten minutes, and already he’s back there—the same magnetizing feeling he had towards you flooding him full force, just like it had the night you collapsed.

But now? He’s not just worried.

He’s unraveling.

He steps back from the bed suddenly, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes like he’s trying to hold himself together. His breath shudders out.

“Jack?” you say, voice soft.

He doesn’t answer.

Because it’s too much. He’s exhausted. Two back-to-back shifts. The long hours. no sleep, barely a second to breathe. The stress. The nights he tried not to think about you. And then you—you—walk in. After a year. Seeing you again. Like this. Hurt. Pale. Fragile.

His hands start to tremble. He flexes them, trying to shake it off, but his chest is tightening, and his breaths are getting shorter, quicker.

He looks away from you, jaw clenched, blinking fast.

You sit up straighter, alarmed. “Jack?”

You watch his shoulders rise and fall faster than before, his hand pressed against his thigh like he’s anchoring himself to the moment. His eyes are fixed on the floor, unfocused.

“Jack,” you repeat, softer now, almost a whisper. “Are you—are you okay?”

He nods, but it’s a lie. You see it.

He lifts a hand. “I’m fine,” he mutters. “Just—just give me a sec.”

But he’s not fine. Not even close.

He takes a step back, then another. “I�� I need to go.”

“Wait, what? Jack—”

But he’s already turning, already moving. The words catch in his throat like smoke.

He pushes open the door to your room and steps into the hall without looking back.

“Jack?” Michael spots him from the nurses’ station. “Where are you going? You’ve got—”

“I need a minute,” he mutters, not slowing down.

He walks fast, cutting through the ward like it’s closing in on him. The fluorescent lights, the voices, the antiseptic air—it’s too much. His brain is buzzing. His skin feels too tight.

He doesn’t stop until he hits the stairwell. And then he’s climbing—two steps at a time—until he bursts through the rooftop door and into the daylight.

The sun hits him hard. Bright. Blinding.

The city hums below—cars, horns, life. But up here, it’s quieter. Empty. His lungs finally expand, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

He walks to the edge, gripping the railing, head bowed. The heat of the afternoon presses against his back, but the chill running through him doesn’t ease.

—

Jack was standing on the far side of the rooftop railing, close to the ledge—but not dangerously so. Just far enough to signal he needed space. He leaned back against the metal bar, eyes locked on the city stretched out before him, the midday breeze tugging gently at his scrubs. He’s been in here for a while.

Michael found him there—silent, still—his silhouette sharp against the sun.

He didn’t speak right away. Just walked over and leaned beside him, arms folded casually on the railing.

“We did an X-ray,” Michael said after a beat. “Ankle’s fine. Just a sprain. Called her team? They’re on their a way.

Jack gave a small nod—barely perceptible.

“But,” Michael added, voice softer now, “she’s worried about you.”

Jack’s jaw tightened. His fingers curled around the metal.

“I shouldn’t have left like that,” he muttered. “I just… couldn’t stay in that room. I don’t know.”

Michael nodded like he understood—because he did.

Michael let the silence stretch a little longer, letting the wind speak for them. Then, without looking over, he asked gently,

“You okay?”

Jack didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the skyline, his expression unreadable.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “It’s like—everything hits at once.

Jack exhaled slowly, trying to ease the tightness in his chest. “She shows up after a year,” he said, voice low and frayed. “Out of nowhere. Then she’s hurt… and just a few weeks ago, she drops this song—about me—that I can’t stop hearing, can’t stop thinking about.”

Michael let out a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “So we’re skipping emotional whiplash and going straight for the deluxe package.”

Jack gave the faintest huff of a laugh, but it faded quickly. He rolled his neck, like the tension was anchored in his bones.

Michael glanced over. “I doubt she planned to show up like that. But Jack… she was wearing your hoodie.”

Jack blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Michael nodded. “The one you gave her when she was discharged. Same one. She’s still wearing it.”

Jack looked down, his mind spinning, replaying the memory in real time. He hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t even realized.

Michael shrugged, his voice calm but pointed. “That doesn’t exactly scream casual to me. You don’t hold on to something like that unless it meant something. And that song—she wouldn’t have written it, wouldn’t have put it out there, if that night didn’t matter to her too.”

Jack stayed quiet, his jaw clenched, eyes still on the skyline.

Michael nudged his arm. “You don’t have to know what it all means right now. It’s okay to feel something when the girl you’ve clearly been carrying around for a year walks back into your life—hurt, no less.”

Jack swallowed hard. “It hasn’t just been a year,” he said. “It’s been every day. I kept that night tucked away—safe in my head, like a memory I wasn’t ready to look at too closely. Half-formed, but mine. And then she drops ‘Eyes on Me’… and suddenly it’s not just mine anymore. It’s out there. Public. Real. It freaked me out. I felt exposed—like everyone could see what I’d been trying to keep buried. It freaked me out, Robby. That’s why I’ve been throwing myself into work. Trying to outrun it. But I couldn’t. I never stopped thinking about her.”

Michael stayed quiet, letting the weight of it settle.

“I thought I imagined it,” Jack said after a pause. “That night. The way she looked at me. The connection. I figured it was adrenaline, or bad timing… or just me wanting something that wasn’t real.” He exhaled, voice low. “I thought what I felt was one-sided. That she’d forget. That it was just one night for her—a blur. A distant memory.”

Michael didn’t hesitate. “It was real.”

Jack didn’t argue.

Michael continued, voice gentler now, “Yeah, she’s young. In the spotlight. Maybe you think she’s out of reach. And yeah, the whole patient-doctor thing? Not exactly textbook. But beyond all that? She’s a woman. And you—you saw her. Not the image, not the celebrity. Her.”

Something in Jack’s shoulders loosened, like something inside him finally gave way.

“She matters to you,” Michael said simply. “That’s all the clarity you need right now.”

He exhaled, then bumped Jack’s arm lightly—brotherly. “So what now? You gonna keep hiding out up here while the girl who wrote a ballad about you sits downstairs wondering if she broke you?”

That earned a faint smile from Jack. His eyes were still tired—but clearer now.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to her.”

“You don’t have to say the right thing,” Michael said. “Just say something, be honest. Be you.”

Jack nodded slowly, pushing off the railing and dragging a hand through his hair.

“All right,” he murmured. “Let’s go.”

Michael didn’t say anything else. He just followed—quietly proud—as Jack moved toward the stairwell door.

—-

They descended the stairs in silence, the clang of their footsteps echoing in the narrow stairwell. Jack’s heart pounded louder with each step, nerves twisting tighter the closer they got to the ER floor.

As they stepped into the hallway, the sterile hospital light felt harsher somehow, more immediate.

Jack’s jaw tight, and walked toward it. His pace slowed at door, hand hovering just for a second before he pushed it aside.

You were sitting up now, ankle wrapped, a clipboard resting on your lap—probably discharge forms. Your hoodie—his hoodie—hung loose around her shoulders. You looked up the moment he stepped in.

Their eyes met. “Hey,” Jack said, voice rougher than he meant.

You smiled softly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hey.”

He stepped closer. “How’s the ankle?”

You glanced down. “Apparently just a sprain. My team’s on their way.”

“Are you okay?” You asked, your eyes searching his—wide with concern, not for yourself, but for him.

Jack hesitated, caught off guard by the question. No one ever asked him that—not like this. Not with eyes that actually wanted the truth.

He swallowed hard. “I am now,” he said quietly.

“I shouldn't have left like that.”

You tilted her head, patient but guarded. “Why did you?”

Jack shifted on his feet, throat tight as he struggled to find the right words. He couldn’t quite meet your gaze, his eyes fixed on the floor as his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “I… I got overwhelmed. Seeing you again—you—it hit me all at once.” He paused, his breath shaky. “And then everything that happened before—the work, the hours, the doubles. I was already running on empty…”

“I kept it safe,” Jack said after a long pause, his voice rough, cracking at the edges. “That night. You.”

“But it left so much unsaid,” he continued, his voice quieter now, careful, as though afraid speaking too much might shatter the fragile thing between them. “I didn’t know what it meant. I didn’t know what we meant.” He let out a shaky breath. “I still don’t.”

His gaze dropped to his hands, flexing restlessly as if trying to work the confusion out of them.

He swallowed hard, then, after a beat, his eyes flickered back to hers—wide open, unguarded.

“I didn’t share it with anyone,” he said, his voice low, almost like a confession. “I won’t talk about it. Not in detail.” He shook his head slightly. “I didn’t want to. It was mine—to figure out. To… to hold onto. To think about.”

A pause hung between them, thick with unspoken words. Then, his voice softer, almost a whisper: “I guess what I’m trying to say is… I don’t know. But there’s something about you—a pull I can’t explain. It’s like I’m drawn to you, and I don’t know why. I just can’t seem to shake it. I feel absolutely crazy for saying that.”

“Maybe we’re both crazy then,” yoy said, your voice quiet but steady, meeting his gaze with a depth that mirrored his own. “But I feel it too. That pull.”

You shifted slightly, as if the weight of your words carried more than just the acknowledgment of what was happening between you two. “And maybe that’s enough for now,” you added softly. “Maybe we don’t need to have all the answers yet.”

Your eyes softened, the moment between them stretching in the silence, filled with the shared understanding that this pull—this connection—was undeniable. “We just have to see where it takes us.”

Jack’s chest tightened at the sincerity in your voice, the way you seemed to offer not just words, but a quiet promise, a space where the unknown wasn’t something to fear. His heart pounded, but this time it felt different—like something inside him was finally starting to settle, even as everything else remained uncertain.

He took a slow breath, letting your words sink in before speaking, his tone softer than before. “Yeah, I guess… maybe we do.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Instead, it felt like the beginning of something—an unspoken agreement to let the pull lead them, wherever it might go.

—

The two of you sat talking for a while, the conversation stretching easily as the minutes passed. You’d already been discharged, but neither of you moved. The exam room, usually sterile and impersonal, felt strangely intimate now—like a quiet bubble where the outside world couldn’t quite reach.

Jack had completely forgotten he was supposed to be working. His chart lay untouched on the counter behind him, and the hum of hospital noise beyond the door faded into the background. For now, it was just you and him.

You told him that after that night—the night you collapsed on stage—you’d gotten help. That you’d used the resources he gave you. There was a moment of silence when you said it, not heavy, but full. Honest.

Jack’s expression softened, something like relief flashing in his eyes. “I’m glad,” he said quietly. “Really glad. I worried, you know? I didn’t know if you’d take any of it seriously… but I hoped.”

You gave a small smile, nodding. “It took a while. But I did. Therapy, rest, real boundaries… it’s not perfect, but I’m working on it.”

Jack leaned back slightly, pride clear on his face. “You should be proud too. That takes guts. More than most people realize.”

Your eyes met his. “Thanks for planting the seed.”

He smiled, slow and genuine. “All I did was hand you a lifeline. You’re the one who grabbed it.”

Jack’s eyes softened, a slight grin tugging at his lips as he noticed your flushed face.

“Nice hoodie, by the way,” he said, his voice teasing, but there was a warmth behind it.

You blinked, caught off guard by the change in tone. Your face flushed even deeper, and you quickly stumbled over your words. “I can explain—”

He waved you off with a playful smirk. “There’s no need to. I wasn’t gonna ask for it back. It’s yours.” His voice was light, the teasing laced with something genuine, almost as if it was a small offering to bring you both back to a lighter space.

The simple words settled between you are more like a gift than a joke. You looked at him, the hoodie suddenly heavier on your shoulders in the best way.

“I didn’t mean to keep it,” you murmured, fingers brushing the hem.

He shrugged. “Maybe you were supposed to.”

Your fingers curled around the cuff of the sleeve. “I wore it more than I meant to,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “At first it was just… convenient. But then it started to feel like—like something I didn’t want to let go of.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, his smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So you’ve been walking around wrapped in me this whole time, huh?”

You shot him a look, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

He chuckled, voice dipping a little lower. “If I’d known that’s all it took to stay on your mind, I might’ve left more than just the hoodie.”

“Oh my god stop” I giggled as you leaned back on the exam bed. Back to the teasing that crept in.

Jack laughed, the sound rich and warm as he stepped a little closer, clearly enjoying himself now. “What? I’m just saying—missed opportunities.”

You shook your head, still smiling, trying to hide your grin behind your hand. “You are so full of yourself.”

He stood hands in his pockets, his eyes dancing. “Maybe. But you’re the one wearing my clothes, so what does that say about you?” He raised an eyebrow.

You shot him a look, but it was useless. He already knew he had you flustered.

Jack tilted his head, smiling. “Didn’t think you’d keep it… but I kinda like that you did.”

You sat up a little, your fingers absentmindedly brushing the sleeve. “Yeah… me too.”

Jack watched you trace the edge of the sleeve, his smile fading into something quieter. “Crazy how a hoodie can mean more than it should.”

You looked up, something gentle in your expression. “It wasn’t just the hoodie.”

He nodded, gaze steady now. “I know.”

Then, the corner of his mouth tugged upward again. “Still… kinda flattering knowing I’ve been hanging off your shoulders all this time.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you hugged your arms around yourself. “Don’t make it weird.”

Jack leaned in just a little, his voice dropping to a playful yet intimate tone. “You know, the last time you wore my hoodie, you promised me a private show. And I haven’t forgotten about that.”

You blinked, caught off guard for a second, before shaking your head with a laugh. “Oh my god, you’re really going to bring that up?”

He chuckled, taking a step closer. “Hey, I’m just saying, you’ve got my hoodie and a VIP experience with my name written on it—to a private show. Seems like a fair trade to me.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Well, my ankle’s jacked, so you wouldn’t be getting the full experience.”

Jack’s grin widened, and he took another step closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Hey, I’m not picky. I’ll take whatever I can get,” he said, his voice lowering just a touch, warm and teasing. “A private show, even with a limited experience, sounds pretty good to me.”

You rolled your eyes.

Jack grinned, the sincerity of the moment giving way to something lighter, more familiar. “What? I’m just trying to collect on a long-overdue promise.”

You gave him a playful glare. “You’re impossible.”

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his smirk unapologetic. “And yet, here you are—still talking to me. Wearing my hoodie. Laughing at my jokes.”

You shook your head, a grin tugging at your lips. “You’re lucky I’m injured, or I’d walk right out of here.”

Jack chuckled, eyes twinkling. “Nah, you’d limp dramatically out of here and still look annoyingly cute doing it.”

You groaned, “Someone will wheel me out before he gets any worse.”

Jack playful shrugs. “Too late. I’m already imagining the encore to that private show—hospital edition.”

You threw a pillow at him. “Jack!”

He caught it midair, laughing. “Kidding. Mostly.”

The door burst open and Mac rushed in, eyes wide and frantic. “There you are!” he exclaimed, his gaze bouncing from you to Jack and back again. “Jesus, I’ve been looking everywhere. Are you okay? What happened? Are they releasing you?”

You sat up straighter on the exam bed, caught between amusement and guilt. “I’m fine, Mac. I’ve been discharged. Just… catching up.”

Mac looked at Jack suspiciously, as if assessing whether he needed to physically remove him from the room. “Catching up?”

Jack raised his hands in mock surrender, still holding the pillow you’d thrown. “Strictly professional. Mostly.”

You shot him a look that clearly said not helping.

Mac stepped closer to you, his voice low but laced with frustration and concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? Running from paparazzi in the middle of the day? That’s not a minor hiccup—it’s reckless. What were you thinking, going out alone? Not telling anyone? Not calling us when you got hurt?”

You met his eyes, guilt tightening in your chest. “I know,” you said softly. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I just… needed air. I thought I could handle it.”

Jack watched quietly from the side, his arms crossed now, expression unreadable.

Mac exhaled hard, shaking his head. “You scared the hell out of us. We didn’t know where you were. Do you understand how bad this could’ve gone?”

You nodded. “I do. I’m sorry.”

His expression softened slightly, though the worry in his eyes didn’t fade. “You’re not just my client. You’re my responsibility. And you scared the crap out of me.”

“I know,” you repeated. “But I’m okay. I got checked out, I talked to Jack, and… I’ll rest. I’ll lay low for a while. I promise.”

Jack chimed in, his voice quieter now, more grounded. “She’s good, Mac. Vitals look fine. Just needs rest.”

Mac gave a curt nod, still looking tense but starting to breathe again. “Alright. Let’s get you out of here You’ve got an entire team on edge and before someone leaks that you’re in the ER….again”

You stood carefully, your ankle still sore, but manageable. You looked back at Jack, eyes lingering.

Mac guided you gently down the hallway, his hand hovering near your back like he was ready to steady you if needed. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you neared the ambulance bay. Waiting just beyond the automatic doors, a black SUV idled there, engine humming, windows tinted like armor.

But you weren’t focused on the car. You paused, your steps slowing, then stopping altogether.

Jack had followed at a distance, but now he lingered just inside the ward, not quite ready to cross that final threshold. His gaze met yours—steady, warm, unreadable, like he was memorizing every inch of you in the harsh hospital lighting.

You turned to face him fully, ignoring the tug of Mac’s urgency behind you. For a long second, neither of you said a word.

You turned to Mac, placing a hand gently on his arm. “Mac, give me a minute, please?”

He glanced at you, clearly hesitant, but nodded after a moment. “You sure?”

“I’ll be fine. Just… need to talk to him.” You gave him a reassuring look.

Mac lingered at the entrance of the ambulance bay, casting a long look between you and Jack. His brow furrowed—not just with concern, but as if he was seeing something unspoken settle between you two. Whatever it was, he didn’t quite like it, but he didn’t challenge it either, but he trusted you.

His posture remained rigid, but his eyes softened slightly when they met yours.

“You’ve got five minutes,” Mac said gruffly, his tone edged with protectiveness.

Mac gave one last glance between you two, then turned, heading through the automatic door of the ambulance bay to the SUV. He stood by the SUV, still keeping a careful eye on you from a distance.

Jack shifted on his feet, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and something softer, like he was waiting for you to say something, to give him direction.

“Well… thanks again… for everything,” you said, your voice soft, nearly swallowed by the quiet chaos behind the ER doors.

Jack took a small step forward, the corners of his mouth lifting. “We’ve really gotta stop meeting like this… you know… not making hospitals our thing.”

You laughed under your breath. “I agree. Not exactly the vibe I was going for.”

He glanced down, then back up at you, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Maybe we could… I don’t know, get coffee…dinner…? Or literally anything that doesn’t involve a hospital gown or a sprained ankle?”

You tilted your head, amused. “Was that your smooth way of asking me out?”

He smirked, eyes twinkling. “I don’t know—was it working?”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “I think it might be.”

Jack’s grin widened, the nerves melting away as he stepped a little closer, his tone light but hopeful. “Good. Because, in all seriousness, I’d really like to see you again—outside of all this”

You tilted your head, considering him for a moment, your tone teasing. “You think you can handle a date without the medical supplies?”

Jack laughed softly, the playfulness in his eyes never fading. “I think I can manage. I’m up for the challenge.”

“Alright”

Before he could say anything else, you reached forward, slipping the pen from the chest pocket of his scrubs with a confidence that made him freeze for half a second. You grabbed the notepad tucked beside it, flipped to a blank page, and scribbled your number down.

Jack watched you, clearly trying—and failing—not to smile like an idiot.

Jack took the note from you, his fingers brushing yours, and stared at it like it was written in gold. He let out a short breath of a laugh, shaking his head. “You really just hijacked my pen and wrote your number like it was nothing.”

You gave him a sly smile. “Used to signing autographs and whatnot—you know, being a pop star and all. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Well, I feel honored. Most people have to stand in line for hours to get one of these.”

You shrugged playfully. “Autographs, sure. My number, though? That’s reserved for special cases.”

Jack’s grin grew, and for a second, he just stood there, holding the paper in his hand like it was something precious.

Before he could say anything, you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, just like the last time. The soft touch lingered for a second longer than expected, a spark of something between you both.

“Bye,” you whispered, your voice low and warm.

He stood there, frozen for a moment, as you walked away, your presence still echoing in the space. Jack finally blinked, his fingers brushing the spot on his cheek where your lips had been, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

A low chuckle came from behind him. “And so the story continues. I don’t know… this feels very reminiscent of last year. I’ve seen this film before. I’m getting serious déjà vu,” he teased.

Jack turned to see Michael standing there with a raised brow and a smug grin, arms folded across his chest like he’d been waiting all day to deliver that line.

Jack rolled his eyes, trying—and failing—not to smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

Michael stepped closer, his grin widening. “So… what happens next?”

Jack gave a half-shrug, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know. We’re just gonna figure it out as we go.”

Michael chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “That’s either really brave or really stupid. But hey, I respect it.”

Jack glanced back toward the automatic door she’d just walked through, his smile fading into something quieter, more thoughtful.

“I think…” he started, then paused, letting the words settle before saying them out loud. “I think some things are worth figuring out.”

Michael arched a brow but didn’t push. Jack didn’t offer anything else.

He just turned back to the hallway, voice low. “One step at a time.”

Then he walked off, leaving Michael shaking his head with a grin, and the story—whatever it was—still unfolding.

tag @cannonindeez @lemonlime09 @blueblizzardreview @samanthadegaro

[ava-starrs-girlfriend]

Corner Store Sock Aisle Angel

Bob/Reader, post Thunderbolts* movie ending.

Summary: You met the cutest guy in New York City at a corner store while running an errand. And while he wouldn't call himself an angel, would you? Beauty in the eye of the beholder and all that?

Warnings: none, just a TON of fluff. Spoilers for the movie's ending!!!! Do not read if you haven't watched! No Y/N usage or pronouns for reader.

Word count: 3.5k ish

Author's note: i watched Thunderbolts* in IMAX on Thursday with Rachie and left the theater incredibly compelled to write a fic where i got to kiss Bob. Now have this!

Thunderbolts* movie spoilers under the read more!!!

A week in New York City for work was only half ideal. Half, because you'd have to work, but half because when you werent working, you could explore one of the biggest and most iconic cities in the world.

You hit a couple museums, and then decided you wanted ramen in your hotel on the second night instead of eatting out. The day had been long and exhausting, with your co-workers and people you were meeting being demanding in the most classic office-job ways possible.

It paid well, and you had a nice hotel room, but really, you just wanted to cozy up for the night with something familiar and watch a movie.

But first, you needed ramen.

Of course, you could stop at an actual ramen place, get real noodles and a more authentic experience, but tonight, instant noodles was the desire. Plus, you wanted some candy, and maybe some new socks since you somehow forgot to pack some.

To the corner store it was! Or maybe it was called a bodega?

You pulled out your phone as you waited to cross the street and texted your friend.

"Wtf is a bodega" followed by "isnt it just... a corner store...???"

Your friend responded "how should i know? Im not from NYC!"

You laughed and crossed the street.

It didnt take you long to find a store that looked familiarly safe enough to venture in to. Plus, there were a couple other people in the store.

You walked in and found the instant noodles you were looking for.

Now just Sour Patch Kids candies and socks.

How the hell did you forget socks?

You sighed and turned a corner, nearly running right in to someone.

"Oh! Sorry!"

"Its no problem," he said.

He was *so* cute. And tall. And looked like a dork. He was in a sweashirt and jeans, with worn black converse. Oh, so cute.

"You looking for something?"

"Do- do they have socks here?"

"Yeah!" He said, smiling again, and gestured over to another aisle. "Over there."

"Thanks. I forgot to pack some," you said, passing him. You groaned and squeezed your eyes shut. That was dumb. All you needed to say was thanks.

"You from out of town?"

"Yeah," you turned back to face him, holding the noodle package awkwardly in your hand. "Here for work."

"Ah, not vacation."

"Not quite."

"Bummer. It's a great week for weather, you should try and get to a park or something at least!" His eyes lit up with an idea. "Maybe lunch, or something? Fresh air?"

You laughed. "Not sure how fresh the air of New York would be, but yeah, that sounds nice."

"Cool. Well, um. Good luck!" He said, and gave you two thumbs up.

Who the hell is this guy. Two thumbs up?? What a dork.

It was adorable.

You gave him a wave and nod, before saying thanks as you turned away, hoping he didnt see you blush, or heard you giggle.

You got over to the sock aisle safely and found a set of pairs that would just have to work.

Finally, you made your way to the candy aisle and saw there were more than one kind of Sour Patch Kids available. What kind of monster gives that many options of basic sour candies?

"Lots of options," a familiar voice said to your left.

You lookes up. The cute guy again.

"Pff. Yeah. For real," you sighed and looked at the options again. "Already a long day and now... more choices."

"These are my favorite," he said, reaching forward and picking up a package of gummy peach rings. He held it toward you. "If, yanno. You didnt want to choose."

"Definitely. Those would work great with my-" you checked the noodles in your hand. "Kung pao chicken instant noodles."

You laughed a little together as he handed you the package.

"Cool," he said. It was kind of pathetic. But also really cute. He offered you his favorite candies so you didnt have to decide. Absolutely adorable.

"Well, thats all I was looking for tonight," you said, looking up at him. "Thank you, corner store angel."

He laughed. "Oh, no, not an angel. Just a guy."

"Just a guy, huh?"

He shrugged, and shyly didnt look you in the eye. "Yeah."

"Alright, just a guy," you said, and, on a whim, handed him one of your business cards. "Text me, maybe. If youre not a serial killer, or anything."

"God, no," he laughed, and looked at the card as he took it in his hand. He smiled and then looked at you. "I like your name."

"Thanks," you said.

Just a moment later, you were walking back to your hotel, feeling like you were floating on a cloud.

You'd met the cutest guy New York City could have possible offered, and randomly gave him your business card.

Not something you usually do.

But how could you not?

~*~

The thought of his cute face and kind laugh diatracted you through the next few days on your work trip. But just as much as it distracted you, it softened the blow of the blunt demands and requests from your team and the business you were hosted by. You felt productive, even if your friend requested Corner Store Angel Boy requests every half hour.

Of course you'd told them. They gushed and were so excited, happy to soak up every little detail that you could remember about the stranger.

But you hadnt asked him what his name was. And you'd forgotten to get his number!

So you were just relying on hoping that he would actually text you. Before you left.

It was kind of hopeless, but at least you hadnt forgotten his face yet, and it kept you looking ahead instead of at the ground as you walked through the city.

On the fifth day, you got a text.

"How are those socks working out for you?"

You couldnt help but smile and swallow a squeal of excitement.

"You good?" One of your co-workers asked.

"Yep," you nodded, and quickly started typing back.

"They're doing the job!" And then "peach rings were the best choice."

"Nice! :D"

Of course.

"Work ok?"

"Would rather be at a park tbh"

There was a moment of watching the little three dots appear and then disappear, then reappear.

Finally, another message.

"There's plenty of parks by good dinner places."

Was- was he actually asking you out?

"Nothing too fancy?"

"Maybe just some pizza?"

You couldnt help the thought that flashed through your mind- *anything with you sounds amazing.* But you didnt type that.

"Send me the time and address"

He sent both a minute later and you could not believe your luck.

You immediately changed over to the chat you had with your friend and told them about the date.

After they sent you a voice note screaming, they made you promise to share your location.

~*~

You had a little time before meeting with the cute guy, so you got back to the hotel to freshen up a little.

Of course, you'd already been in work clothes when you met him, so he'd seen you when you looked pretty good, but at the end of the day.

At least now you could change into something a little more comfortable, and freshen up or touch up your hair. Anything to make you feel less anxious.

You got to the pizza place a little after the suggested time, but he was there, waiting.

You couldnt help but snap a picture before he looked up from his phone.

His face broke out into the biggest grin when he saw you coming. He waved at you, too.

"Hi!" You said, waving and smiling back.

"Hi!" He answered. "How's- how's your week been?"

"Its actually been ok!" You said. "Kept thinking about this reallg cute guy i met, hoping he'd text me." You looked at him, and couldnt help but laugh when he looked uncertain. "You, dude. Im talking about you."

"Oh, duh," he laughed. "Wasnt sure."

"Its not every day i meet corner store angels."

He laughed again, then the smile fell from his lips. "Oh, shit, i never told you my name!"

You laughed again, your hand landing on his forearm. "No, dude."

"Ive known your name and had your number! Im so sorry!"

"You know what'll make it up to me?"

"What?"

"Your name," you said.

"It's Bob."

"Bob?"

"Yeah. Yep," he nodded. "Mhm."

"Cute," you remarked, and looked toward the pizza place. "Well, Bob? Shall we get some slices?"

"Sure!" He agreed and followed behind you into the pizza place.

It still amazed you how the pizza could afford to be just a couple dollars and taste so good. Or maybe you were just hungry. Either way, well worth it, especially to watch Bob get pizza grease down his chin.

He was incredibly cute. Not that you hadnt not thought that before. It was just impossible for you to not think that. And he had the sweetest laugh, and nicest smile.

Maybe he was just new, and it was nice to start learning things about someone.

After finishing the pizza, you asked him about the park he was thinking of showing you.

He opened the door for you and held it as you left the pizza place, and only stared a little as you hooked your arm in his.

You realized as you walked to the park that maybe you shouldnt just walk arm-in-arm with a man you barely knew, at night.

But you also figured that if your friend saw your phone's location in one place for too long that she'd definitely call the cops. FBI, even. National Guard.

The stroll through the park was blessedly uneventful. Bob asked you questions about yourself, happy to listen and hear your stories. He asked clarifying questions and follow ups, and made you laugh with his reactions.

He didnt seem to want to talk about himself too much, but you werent going to press it- a guy who asked questions and was engaged in conversation? Crazy. You weren't going to change that if you could help it.

He also seemed like such a nice, genuine guy. He was sweet, and laughed at your bad jokes.

Part of your brain wanted to process the part that maybe he was still a serial killer, or at least an asshole, but when he smiled at you, you really couldnt see it.

Before you knew it, the time had flown. You checked the time on your phone and it was almost nine p.m.

"Oh, shit! Later than i thought it was," you remarked.

You were sitting with Bob on a park bench, watching the last of the Summer sunset.

"Do you need to go?" He asked.

"Yeah... one more day of work tomorrow, then heading out on Saturday."

"When?"

"The afternoon."

"Bummer."

You looked at him, leaning your arm on the back of the bench and head against your hand.

"I mean, well, i'd really like to see you again, before you go," he said. "Go home."

"Are you busy tomorrow?"

"I figured you'd be?"

"I was working today, Bob," you said. "But I was able to come meet up with you. You're worth that to me, at least right now. And i'd like to see you again, too."

He glanced at your lips before licking his and sighing, looking across the park's path. Then he looked at you again. "Do you think... we could meet up tomorrow?"

"Unless my boss drops a ton of work on me? Yeah, Bob, I'd love to!" You smiled. Your face was going to hurt tomorrow from how much you'd been smiling.

"Really?"

"Yeah, dude," you laughed, and caught him looking at your lips again. You hummed. "You look like you might want to kiss me."

He blushed and looked down at his hands in his lap.

"You can ask, you know," you offered. "Knowing me, I'd probably say yes."

"Ive, uh, just..." he mumbled something you couldnt hear, even though you were sitting right next to him.

"Didn't hear that," you leaned closer.

"I've just never, uh... ive never kissed anyone."

That broke your heart a little. Had no one given him a chance?

Was he a little slow? Yeah, maybe? But you barely knew him, and you couldnt help but like him. Besides, in this world, who isnt a little slow sometimes? He hadnt chosen to talk about any of his own passions, like he'd asked you. There's something that lights his fire, and you were going to find out what that was.

"That's ok," you said, gently. "It's been a long time for me."

"Really?" He scoffed- not in an assumption you were trying to be nice, but just in pure disbelief. "But you're... you."

You hummed and nodded. "Exactly what I thought about you."

He looked at your lips again.

"I'll warn you, my first kiss was not like the movies make it out to be," you said. "No pressure. And if you dont want to-"

"I do want to!"

"Then by all means, Bob, whenever you might be ready."

He couldnt stop looking between your eyes and your lips, and he moved closer to you on the bench.

You met him halfway, reaching over to put your hand over his.

He quickly took your hand in both of his, like he needed the grounding, and then he closed his eyes and leaned in.

You kissed him, just expecting a cute little peck.

But then you felt his warm hand on your cheek and he grew confident, like all he needed was a chance.

You hummed against him, smiling against his lips as he took your top lip between his.

"Woah, Bob," you said, your heart racing as he moved his face a centimeter away from yours. "That was kind of a movie kiss."

"Was it ok?"

"It was great!"

"Can i have another?"

"Well, sure," you agreed, and he enthusiastically kissed you again, his lips soft and touch gentle but curious.

After the second kiss, he looked bubbly.

You couldnt help but mess with his hair a little with your free hand. "Thank you."

"For- oh. Youre welcome. And thanks."

"My pleasure."

He smiled nervously, then glanced at his watch. "Oh, you- you needed to go, right?"

"Yeah."

"Ok. Well, I'll text you? Or should we walk to the train?"

"You can walk with me," you said, and stood up from the bench. You held out a hand, and he took it, standing with you.

~*~

You texted all day with him, and still managed to get the extra work your boss assigned to you that morning done.

Your friend didnt know about the kiss yet. They would have called every five seconds if they did.

But you had enough time to meet Bob for dinner again, this time at a sit down place, but still not too fancy.

He even paid.

He had a job? He hadnt seemed employed.

Bob opened up a little more at dinner, and you were happy to take your turn listening to him.

He avoided talking about a lot of things, but seemed to have a few interesting stories from his past.

You tried not to push anything, however much curiosity you felt. You didnt want to break the bubble that was forming around the two of you, hoping the dreamlike feelings of safety and luck and reality wouldnt burst and come raining down.

It seemed natural at this point to link your arm in his, and he didnt seem as startled about it as he had the night before.

You also secretly loved how solid he felt. As much as sometimes you were curious how his mind worked, he wouldnt blow over with a breeze. When you werent paying attention and stepped out onto the street too early, you were surprised to feel the strength he used to quickly pull you back against him as a car honked and passed by.

He was someone special. You hoped he would be someone significant to you.

After dinner and walking a little aimlessly around Manhattan, he said, "do you want to come over?"

For a guy who'd never kissed anyone before last night, that was awfully bold.

"For what?" You decided to ask.

"Oh, um, just to show you. Also, there's a bowling alley in- in the building."

"You remember that?" You had mentioned bowling when you were younger, and enjoying it even if you were bad at it.

"Yeah!"

"You know what? Sure, lets go bowling."

A few moments later, you could not believe where he stopped.

You looked up, feeling tiny in the building's reflections and it's iconic history. "This- this is the Avengers tower."

"Yeah. Cool, huh!"

"You- do you live here? I didnt know they have condos."

He squinted up at the building. "They have condos? Thats cool."

"Bob, where do you live?"

"Here."

"Like, where?"

"Oh! At the top!" He said, then looked concerned. "Are you ok with heights?"

"Th- the top? Thats where the Avengers live."

"Oooooh." He nodded, pointing at you as if he understood your confusion. "Yeah! Im one of them. Sorta?"

"You- youre an Avenger?" Your confusion quadrupled.

"Sorta! Im kinda their roommate."

You looked at him in disbelief. Then you smiled. "On a scale of one to ten, ten being the best, how good of roommates are they?"

He chuckled, then shrugged. "Well, they almost never do their dishes. But, hey, they save the world sometimes, so, thats cool! And we play video games. I beat Bucky all the time. Beats being high on meth, heh."

You laughed with him, head sort of spinning as you reached up and brushed hair out of his face. "That's good. That you're- You dont get high on meth anymore?"

"Oh, no. Nope! Ive been reading a lot."

"Like what?"

"I finally finished Pride and Prejudice. Ava really wants to watch Bridgerton and said i should read Jane Austen's books."

"Pride and Prejudice, huh," you smiled.

"Yeah! It was really good, have you read that?"

"I think so," you lowered your hand and entwined your fingers with Bob's. "You gonna take a girl inside? It's getting windy."

"Oh! Yeah, sure, of course," he nodded and opened the door for you, letting you go first.

He lead you to the elevator, waving at the security, who smiled and waved back at him.

"Who's this, Bob?" One asked. His nametag reads Bob, too.

"Oh this is a friend!" He said, and explained who you are and where you met.

"That sounds like a meet-cute," the older, Security Guard Bob smiled and nodded. "Nice to meet you, honey."

"Nice to meet you too," you responded, smiling back at him.

"Go on up, kids," Security Bob said, and opened a gate for you to go to a special elevator.

As soon as the doors of the elevator closed, you turn to Bob.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Of course," he nodded.

"May i kiss you again?"

He smiled. "Yeah," and he leans close to kiss you as you cupped his cheek and moved in against him.

Your friend was *never* gonna believe this.

[dakusan]

CRIMSON PACT

vampire!bang chan x reader | “you gave him your blood. he took your soul with it.”

🔞synopsis: You signed the contract. Gave your blood. Agreed to his terms. He promised protection, pleasure, and power. What he didn’t tell you? The contract never ends. You weren’t just a blood doll. You were chosen. And Bang Chan doesn’t share what’s his—not your body, not your blood, not your soul.

💌a/n: i blacked out. this is what happens when you play Cabernet and then think “what if bang chan was a vampire who tied me up, drank my blood, and fucked me until i forgot my name?”

🩸 he’s not your dom, he’s your religion. 🩸 you didn’t sign a contract—you surrendered. 🩸 yes, you came when he fed. no, you’re not okay.

those who know me know i can’t run into smut directly, so yes—there’s a bit of background first :3 consider it the slow poison before the bite. this one’s for the bloodlust girlies. the silk tie sluts. the “bite me harder, please��� crowd. p.s. hope you brought holy water. p.s.s. rate, scream, moan in the tags. i’ll be watching.

⚠️ warnings: NSFW (18+) — bloodplay, biting kink, body worship, orgasm control, bondage (silk restraints), overstimulation, edging, marking, possessiveness, creampie, vampire feeding-as-foreplay, rough sex, filthy talk, praise + light degradation, dom!chan energy, sensory overload, manipulation kink, claiming/mating themes, emotionally manipulative tenderness™, aftercare that hits too hard, consent framed as control, he bites you and you come. you said “i can handle it.” he said “prove it.”

🎶now playing: "Red Lights" — Bang Chan & Hyunjin

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🩸 background

CAST

Vampire!Bang Chan Ancient, but looks late 20s. Charismatic. Seductive. Deeply calculating. Keeps up the façade of elegance, control, and civility—but beneath it lies an animalistic hunger. Treats his blood dolls like precious, exclusive possessions. You? His last. The only one he’s ever signed a lifetime contract with. He feeds slow. He fucks slower. But when he snaps? There’s no going back.

Reader (Blood Doll!You) You signed the contract voluntarily—but not just for the money. Maybe you were running from something. Maybe you were drawn to the dark. You’re inexperienced with vampires. This is your first arrangement. You said it was a business deal. He knew better. Your body begged the first time he bit you.

🩸what is a blood doll?

A blood doll is a human who willingly offers their blood—and sometimes their body—to a vampire, bound by a formal contract. In return, they’re protected, housed, and cared for financially, emotionally, physically.

It’s supposed to be a mutual exchange. But when the vampire is Bang Chan… it becomes obsession. Control. A covenant.

The elevator doors opened with a hush, spilling dim light across polished black marble. You stepped out, heels clicking softly like the tick of a countdown.

The penthouse was silent. Not empty—waiting.

Everything gleamed: obsidian floors, dark glass walls streaked with rain, gold accents warm against shadows. The air was scented faintly with something ancient—wine, cedar, and blood just barely gone dry. It didn’t smell unpleasant. It smelled like a memory you weren’t sure was yours.

He stood at the far end of the room, one hand resting on the back of a high-backed chair, the other cradling a glass of something red and viscous. He wasn’t dressed like a monster. He wore tailored black trousers, a silk shirt undone just enough to tease the curve of his collarbone, and no shoes. Just him—barefoot in his own cathedral.

Bang Chan looked up at you, and the world seemed to still for a breath.

"You’re punctual." His voice came low, warm, and polished with civility. But the cadence was too slow, too careful—like someone used to commanding rooms with silence, not volume. "Good."

You nodded, throat tight. “You said midnight.”

"I did." His mouth curled, sharp and soft at once. “And here you are. Come. Sit.”

The table was long and dark, minimalist, with a single folder placed at the center like a relic. When you lowered yourself into the chair opposite him, your legs barely brushed the underside before you crossed them tightly, trying not to look tense. But you were. Your skin buzzed with it. Not fear. Not exactly. Something older, hungrier.

“I assume you read the terms,” he said, setting his glass down with a soft clink.

You nodded again. “Twice.”

“Mmm. Still”—he reached forward, flipping open the folder with elegant fingers—“I like to go over the finer details… in person.”

The contract looked deceptively simple: black ink, pristine paper, heavy with embossed lettering and a dark red wax seal. Legal, binding. Intimate. You scanned it again, though you could recite most of it by now.

Clause 3: The Vampire shall provide financial, medical, and physical support to the Doll at all times during the bond. Clause 7: Feeding shall occur with full verbal consent. In absence of consent, no feeding is permitted. Clause 9: Sexual contact is optional. However, if initiated by either party, it must be fulfilled within safe and agreed-upon parameters. Withdrawal is permitted, but rare. Clause 11: A Doll who offers themselves for long-term service is to be protected as a permanent asset.

You paused at Clause 9.

“...Sexual contact is optional,” you said aloud, almost skeptical.

Chan’s eyes didn’t move from yours. “Technically.”

You raised a brow.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “That clause was added after a rather… messy disagreement in Vienna. Some dolls think they can offer blood without intimacy. Some vampires agree. I don’t.”

You swallowed. “You mean you won’t feed unless—”

“No.” A beat. “I mean I’ve never wanted to separate them. Blood is pleasure. Pain is trust. Sex is… currency.” He tilted his head. “What are you willing to give to be kept?”

The silence draped over your shoulders like velvet. His words should’ve chilled you. But they didn’t. Instead, your skin prickled. Your thighs pressed a little tighter. You hated that he noticed.

“Let me see your wrist.”

You hesitated.

His eyes didn’t waver. There was no impatience in them—just certainty. Hunger, tucked behind a glassy calm.

You extended your arm, pulse fluttering like a ribbon in the wind.

Chan took your wrist with a gentleness that was worse than roughness. Reverent. He held it between both hands, thumb brushing the vein just beneath the skin. You swore you could feel his fingers in places he hadn’t touched yet.

“Hmm,” he said quietly. His voice dropped, low and rasped. “You’re trembling already.”

You hated that he was right. Hated that your heart had started pounding the moment you stepped into his domain. And he could hear it—you knew he could hear it.

“It’s not fear,” you said, too quickly.

“Oh, I know,” he whispered. “It’s anticipation.”

He released you, slow as syrup.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Chan reached for a fountain pen—black with a silver serpent wrapped around the barrel—and set it beside the parchment. “Go ahead,” he said, voice rich like candle smoke. “If you’re ready to surrender. If you’re ready to be mine.”

Your fingers wrapped around the pen. You wrote your name in long, fluid strokes—first name, middle, last, like signing your soul away required formality. The ink glided, but just as you lifted the tip from the page, it snagged—slightly. A prickle. Then warmth.

You hissed softly, looking down.

A drop of your blood rolled down your finger and splattered right at the base of your signature. Small. Bright. Stark red against the cream paper.

Chan’s chair creaked as he stood.

He leaned over the table, one hand braced beside the contract, the other reaching out—but not to you. Just the paper. His fingertip grazed the blood, collecting the crimson bead, then lifted it slowly to his lips.

He tasted it.

And closed his eyes.

“…You bleed beautifully,” he said, almost reverent.

When his gaze returned to yours, it was darker. Deeper. “No turning back now,” he murmured.

The signature was barely dry when Chan’s voice sliced through the quiet. “Come,” he said, stepping away from the table and beckoning you with a single finger. “We’ll begin tonight.”

You blinked. “Tonight?”

He turned his head slightly, a half-smile curving his lips. “Why wait? Your blood’s already calling to me. I can hear it… humming under your skin.”

You stood, slowly. Legs steady, voice not so much. “I thought the first feeding was scheduled—”

“I changed the schedule.” His eyes dropped to your neck. “You’ll find I do that often.”

He didn’t lead you to a sterile feeding room or a clinical space with straps and silver tools. No, he brought you to what looked like a bedroom. If vampires even slept. The space was soft with shadows—curtains drawn, the faint glow of amber sconces casting flickers across the walls. A plush velvet chaise rested near the window, flanked by shelves full of antique books and empty crystal decanters.

He gestured to the chaise. “Sit.”

You obeyed.

Chan knelt in front of you—not rushed, not showy. Just deliberate. Like a priest at a private altar. His hands, still cool from the glass he’d held earlier, gently took your knees and parted them enough for him to slot between. It was chaste. For now.

“I’ll be gentle,” he said, brushing hair back from your neck with the backs of his fingers. “Unless you want it rough.”

Your breath hitched. He smiled.

“I thought so.”

He studied your throat like it was scripture. The pad of his thumb pressed lightly under your jaw—tilting your head, exposing the fragile, thumping line beneath your skin. His gaze sharpened.

“Heartbeat’s racing again,” he whispered. “Such a pretty tempo.”

You tried to speak, but your voice had vanished somewhere behind your teeth.

“Relax,” he murmured, “I won’t take too much. Just enough to make us… connected.”

You felt his lips first. They brushed against your pulse in a whisper-soft kiss, reverent and maddening. Then—the scrape of fangs.

Not sharp. Not yet. Just a threat.

“I need you to say it,” he said, voice vibrating against your skin. “Consent. Give it to me.”

You swallowed hard. “I consent.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“I… I want you to feed from me, Chan.”

His eyes fluttered closed. The sound of his name on your tongue did something to him. When they opened again, they weren’t just dark. They were hungry.

And then—he bit you.

It wasn’t a stab. It was an invasion dressed as intimacy. The pressure sank in slowly, coaxing your skin apart, followed by a bloom of sharp heat. Your body arched without permission. A sound slipped from your throat—too soft to be a cry, too desperate to be a sigh.

Chan groaned against your neck.

You felt his mouth moving—drinking—his tongue sweeping across the punctures with devastating control. His hands gripped your thighs now, not rough but anchoring, grounding you while your body dissolved. Your pulse thundered in your ears, but your head felt light, floaty, distant.

Heat pooled low in your belly.

Your hips shifted without thinking.

That’s when he pulled back.

Blood glossed his lips—your blood. He licked them slowly, as if savouring the last drop of a rare vintage. His tongue dragged across his bottom lip, chasing the taste.

“…Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re sweeter than I expected.”

You were still panting. His thumb wiped a smear of blood from your neck with gentle precision. He pressed a kiss to the spot, sealing it closed with a trace of heat.

“You’ll start to feel… different,” he said, rising to his feet and towering over you now. “Feeding changes you. Makes you… sensitive. Addicted, some say.”

You looked up at him, dazed. “To you?”

He smiled. But it wasn’t comforting.

“No,” he murmured. “To this. To being wanted like this.”

He leaned down, eyes burning into yours. His voice dropped to a hush.

“And soon, you’ll want me too.”

You didn’t notice it at first.

The ache.

It started as a dull flutter under your ribs—barely there, easy to ignore. But as the days passed without Chan’s fangs in your skin, it grew sharper, more insistent. Like hunger, but not for food. Like arousal, but with no release. You woke up one morning with your sheets twisted between your legs, skin damp with sweat, heart hammering.

You hadn’t seen him in four days.

He said he had business. Said he wouldn’t be far. But the bond was forged now. His absence echoed through your body like a missing rhythm. A phantom touch that never landed. Your body knew he hadn’t fed.

And it wanted him to.

You tried to act normal. You showered. You ate. You answered emails. But nothing settled. You were restless. Your skin felt too tight. Your limbs, too heavy.

And then… the gifts started.

The first was a book. Left on your pillow. An old hardcover—The Picture of Dorian Gray. You flipped it open and froze. The margins were full of notes. Your notes. From university. From a copy you hadn’t seen in years.

You didn’t tell him about those annotations. He must’ve tracked it down somehow. Bought it back. The idea that he’d searched for something that touched your mind, not just your body—

You clutched it to your chest and pretended it didn’t mean anything.

The next day, it was a necklace. Silver, fine, weightless. A small black garnet hanging from the center. You found it on your nightstand with no note, but you knew. You put it on without thinking. The gem sat perfectly over your collarbone—right where his mouth usually went.

After that came the clothes. Silk robes. Cashmere sweaters. A pair of shoes that fit like they were molded for you.

He didn’t speak of them. Just watched you wear them with a look that was too satisfied, too sure.

You started sleeping in his bed without realizing when it began.

At first it was just because you couldn’t sleep. The scent of him on his pillows helped. The air in his room felt thicker, safer, like the shadows themselves bent around you to listen to your breathing.

You told yourself it was convenience. Proximity.

Then, one night, you woke with the feeling of being watched.

Your eyes fluttered open.

He was there.

Sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room, legs crossed, one hand resting under his jaw. His shirt was unbuttoned. Bare feet on the rug. No sound. Just him, and you, and the silence between.

"How long have you been there?" you whispered.

He smiled faintly, fangs just barely visible. “Long enough.”

Your breath caught.

“You moaned my name,” he said softly. “In your sleep.”

Your cheeks burned. “That doesn’t mean—”

“It means you’re mine,” he said.

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a declaration.

It was a fact.

The next feeding was different.

You didn’t wait for him to ask. You came to him.

You didn’t knock. Just opened his door, eyes wide, pupils blown, breath already trembling.

He didn’t say a word—just reached for you, pulled you into his lap, and buried his face in your throat.

This time, you felt everything.

His bite burned and bloomed, molten and euphoric. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your hips rolled instinctively in his lap. He didn’t stop you. He guided you. Hands on your waist, mouth on your neck, whispering filth between gulps.

"You're shaking." "Need it," you gasped. "I know. You were made for this. For me."

By the time he finished, you were panting and soaked between the legs, thighs twitching, vision fuzzy. He held you through the aftershocks, licking the wound closed with obscene tenderness.

"You’ll crave it more now," he murmured. “Soon, you won’t be able to come unless I’m inside you… or feeding.”

You should have told him to stop. That it wasn’t true. That you had control.

But the worst part was—you wanted it to be true.

The gala was held in a forgotten cathedral—repurposed and gilded in fresh vice. Glass chandeliers hung like dripping fangs. Shadows wore tuxedos and corseted gowns, wine swirled in crystal like blood, and the air vibrated with the undercurrent of hunger.

This was not your world.

Not really.

And yet—you were here. A blood doll, yes, but one under his protection. Marked, fed from, cared for. No one could touch you without risking war.

But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t look.

And you… you let them.

The vampire in question wasn’t particularly handsome, not like Chan. But he was bold. He offered you his hand during a waltz, and you took it. He leaned close when you laughed. You let his eyes linger on your neck—on the healed bite that still ached from last week. You didn’t move away.

You didn’t stop him.

And Chan saw everything.

From the gallery above, he stood like a statue—expression unreadable, drink untouched, fangs pressing into his tongue to keep the growl down. He watched you flirt with another predator, watched the flick of your lashes, the curve of your mouth, the bare skin of your throat on display.

He said nothing.

But his eyes never left you.

You expected him to confront you after. Maybe a whispered threat in the car, a sharp warning through clenched teeth.

Instead… silence.

Not a single word on the drive home.

Not one glance as you entered the penthouse.

You were halfway down the hall when you heard it.

The click of the door locking.

You turned.

Chan stood behind you, still and deliberate. He took off his jacket slowly, folded it, and laid it across the nearest chair. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms—veins taut, muscles coiled like he’d been holding himself back for too long.

You opened your mouth, but he spoke first.

Low. Lethal.

“Tell me,” he said, voice like black velvet soaked in wine. “Was he worth it?”

You blinked. “What—”

“You think you can offer this blood to someone else?”

The room dropped ten degrees.

You backed up a step, heart tripping. “It was nothing. Just—just dancing.”

He moved closer. Slow, stalking. “You let him look at you.”

“I didn’t—”

“You let him imagine tasting you. Touching you. Filling you.” His eyes gleamed now—obsidian, deadly. “And you didn’t stop him.”

Your back hit the wall.

Chan leaned in, bracing his palm beside your head. His breath ghosted over your cheek.

“You wanted to see what I’d do.” His other hand slid to your throat—not squeezing, just resting. Claiming. “You wanted to test me.”

Your breath hitched. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“You’re mine,” he growled, voice rumbling from deep in his chest. “I feed from you. I fuck you. I care for you. No one else touches what’s mine.”

He leaned in closer—lips brushing your ear.

“Now… get on your knees.”

Your knees hit the floor with a soft thud, silk pooling around you like an offering.

Chan stood above you—barely restrained, chest rising with quiet fury, his jaw tight. He looked down at you like a king surveying his most treasured possession, soiled by another’s gaze.

“Open your mouth,” he said, voice low and lethal.

You obeyed—lips parting, tongue already peeking out slightly like a plea. He hummed, pleased, and reached down to cup your jaw. His thumb traced your lower lip once. Then again—pressing harder until you had no choice but to let it past your lips.

“Suck,” he ordered.

You did.

He watched you, unmoving, as your mouth worked over his thumb, soft and obedient. Your tongue swirled, your lips hollowed, and when he pulled it out, it left your chin glistening.

“Good,” he muttered. “You know how to behave when you’re on your knees.”

He undid his belt with one hand, the metallic sound of the buckle snapping through the air like the start of a ritual. You swallowed hard. Your thighs squeezed together instinctively—already soaked, already wanting.

His cock was hard. Thick. Veins prominent. You barely had a second to breathe before he grabbed the back of your head and fed it to you.

Slow at first—his tip dragging over your tongue, a groan rumbling from deep in his chest as your lips closed around him.

“You take me well,” he breathed. “But you’re not gonna get it easy tonight.”

His hand tightened in your hair.

Then—he started thrusting.

Not shallow. Not gentle. He fucked your mouth like it was his right—like it was the punishment and the reward. Your throat burned, your eyes watered, but you took it. You moaned around him, the vibration making him curse above you.

“Look at you,” he growled, glancing down. “Choking so pretty on my cock.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks. Drool pooled at the corners of your mouth. He didn't stop. Didn’t slow. His hips moved with brutal rhythm, driving deeper every time until your throat gave in, welcoming the violation.

“You think anyone else could do this to you?” he snarled. “Think he could use you like this? Own you like I do?”

You whimpered around him, lashes fluttering. You tried to answer—but you couldn’t speak. You could only take.

And he loved that.

Finally—he pulled out. You gasped, coughing, spit trailing down your chin.

He grabbed you by the jaw and forced you to look up. His eyes glowed now—hungry. Ferocious.

“Say it.”

You blinked, dazed. “Wh-what?”

His thumb smeared your spit across your cheek.

“Who do you belong to?”

You swallowed.

“You. I’m yours, Chan.”

He exhaled like that was the first thing that soothed him all night.

“Good girl,” he rasped, eyes trailing over your flushed, ruined face. “Now get on the bed.”

You stumbled to the bed, still breathless, throat wrecked and wet. Your legs trembled—not from fear, but from the sheer force of want pooling between them, slick and desperate.

Chan stood back, watching.

Commanding.

You crawled onto the mattress, knees sinking into the soft black sheets. You didn’t even make it all the way before his voice stopped you.

“Don’t lie down,” he said darkly. “I want to see it.”

You froze on all fours.

He prowled toward you—slow, deliberate. A predator savoring every second of the hunt.

His fingers caught the strap of your dress. “This,” he murmured, dragging the silk down your back, “wasn’t for him, was it?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

The dress slid from your body like water.

And when it pooled at your knees, revealing what you wore beneath—it wasn’t silence that followed.

It was a growl.

Black lace. Barely there. Garters. Sheer cups that lifted your breasts just enough to tease. A tiny diamond charm hanging between your ribs. Skin flushed. Bite marks healing.

Chan let out a sharp breath, almost like it hurt to look at you.

“You look…” he stepped closer, eyes dragging down every inch of your spine, “fuckin’ divine.”

You felt him kneel behind you. Fingers hooked into the lace at your hips and ripped. The sound tore through the room, and your body jolted, arousal dripping from your core onto the sheets.

Then—fabric tightened around your wrists.

Your head snapped back. “Wh—”

“My tie,” he whispered, knotting it expertly behind your back. “You wanted to be played with. Now you don’t get to touch. Or beg. Or finish… unless I say so.”

He spread your thighs apart with both hands. Sat back on his heels to admire the way you glistened.

“You’re already dripping,” he muttered. “Pathetic. You want to be used.”

You whimpered. “Yes—please—”

He pressed his thumb against your entrance. Collected the wetness. Smirked.

“Then you’ll wait.”

He brought his thumb to his mouth and licked it clean, slow and deliberate, groaning softly like he’d just tasted something indecent.

Then he looked up at you from behind—eyes black with hunger, lips parted just slightly.

“So sweet.”

Without warning, his hands clamped around your thighs, dragging you down so your knees slipped wide, your back arched deeper, your ass and cunt perfectly exposed. He didn’t give you a second to breathe.

He dove in.

His mouth landed on your soaked pussy like it was salvation—tongue flattening against your slit, licking from your entrance to your clit in one long, filthy stroke. You choked on your own breath, body lurching forward, but your tied wrists left you helpless to do anything but take it.

“Fuck,” he groaned against you, voice muffled by the obscene wet sounds between your legs. “You taste even better when you’re desperate.”

He buried his face in deeper, tongue pushing inside you now, slow and thick, swirling with maddening precision. His nose pressed to your ass, his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. He moaned into you—guttural, low, possessive.

Every time he pulled back to suck on your clit, he made sure it was loud—sloppy and wet and absolutely wrecking. You could feel his fangs graze close to your skin but never break it, teasing you with the threat of another bite you weren’t allowed to beg for.

Your thighs trembled.

Your breath hitched.

Your entire body was on the verge.

“Chan—” you whimpered, voice high, ruined. “Please, I—please—”

He pulled back just enough to speak, lips glistening, chin slick with your arousal.

“Please?” he repeated mockingly. “Didn’t I say you don’t get to beg?”

You whimpered again, hips twitching back toward him instinctively.

He spat on your pussy—warm and obscene—then licked it up without hesitation, sucking your clit between his lips with a deep groan that vibrated through your spine.

“Look at you,” he muttered, tongue flicking wickedly. “Already about to come and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You moaned, eyes rolling back.

“Feel it?” he growled against your cunt, licking long and slow. “That edge? Right there?”

You nodded frantically, tears starting to sting the corners of your eyes.

“Good. Now stay right there.”

Then he stopped.

You screamed—a strangled, broken sob of frustration.

Chan chuckled darkly and rose to his feet behind you. You could feel the heat of his cock against the back of your thigh, hard and heavy.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he murmured, running the head along your dripping folds. “You’ll get to come.”

A pause.

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear.

“But not until I feed.”

He leaned over you slowly—caging your body with his, forearm braced beside your head, the other gripping his cock as he dragged it through your soaked folds again and again. Not entering. Just teasing.

The head nudged your entrance. Slipped up to your clit. Down again. Wet noises filled the space between your ragged breaths.

"Feel that?" he rasped, grinding against your slit, hips rocking just enough to make you ache. "How badly you want me? How wet you got just from my tongue?"

You gasped, squirming under him, wrists still bound behind your back with his silk tie.

"Please," you whimpered.

“Not yet.”

His mouth dipped lower—pressed to the curve of your shoulder, tongue tracing the skin like a map he already knew by heart. He kissed it once. Then again, slower.

And then—fangs.

You tensed, body electric, just as he whispered:

"Mine."

He sank his teeth in.

Deep.

You cried out—part pain, part unbearable pleasure—as heat burst through your entire body. His cock thrust into you at the same time—slow, thick, stretching you open inch by inch as he drank from your shoulder. The rhythm matched—the draw of your blood, the press of his hips—every thrust perfectly timed with every pull from your vein.

It was too much. Too intimate. Too raw.

You keened, back arching, legs trembling.

"You feel that?" he groaned against your skin, licking the blood that trickled from the bite. "This is what you need. My cock. My bite. Nothing else will ever satisfy you again."

He began moving in earnest—fucking you deep and steady, the slap of his hips echoing through the room as your slick coated his cock with every thrust.

He licked your bite clean.

Sealed it with a kiss.

Then his hand curled around your throat and pulled you back against his chest, fucking you from behind with filthy precision. His cock hit so deep, dragging against every sensitive spot that had already been teased raw.

"Look at you,” he growled in your ear. “Taking me so well. Making such a mess.”

You sobbed, drool slipping down your chin, tears lining your lashes.

"Chan—can't—gonna come—"

“No,” he said darkly, slowing just to the edge of cruel. “Not yet.”

He angled his hips.

Hit that spot again.

And again.

His fingers pinched your clit. Once.

You screamed.

"Now," he breathed. "Now you can come."

And your body obeyed. You shattered around him—tight, pulsing, crying out his name as your orgasm crashed through you, white-hot and endless. But Chan’s grip tightened around your waist—and he kept going.

Thrusting. Hard. Unrelenting.

Your cunt, still pulsing, still wet and raw, clung to him as he fucked into you like he was chasing something deeper than pleasure—possession. You cried out, your tied wrists flexing behind you.

“Chan—ah—please—!”

He growled behind you, low and dangerous. “That wasn’t enough.”

His pace slammed into you now—each thrust brutal and perfect, his cock dragging against every spot that made your spine melt. The sound of skin slapping skin, your wetness, your sobs—it filled the room like music.

You were incoherent. Wrecked. But your body still begged for more.

He leaned over you again, chest pressed to your back, and this time—this time—his lips went to your neck. The untouched side. The one he hadn’t bitten yet.

“Gonna take more,” he whispered, voice fraying. “Need to feel you.”

And then he bit.

Sharp. Deep. Devouring.

You screamed, the pleasure so sharp it cut straight through your nerves. His cock slammed into you as he fed, synced perfectly with every draw of your blood—each thrust harder than the last, deeper, until you were delirious from it all.

You felt yourself unravel again—another orgasm building too fast.

Your thighs shook, overstimulated. Your moans cracked into sobs.

“Such a good girl,” he growled against your throat, voice thick with your taste. “Bleeding so fucking sweet for me. Coming so tight around my cock.”

You sobbed his name, broken and blissed-out, body on fire.

And he snapped his hips again—deep, grinding into your soaked cunt until you felt the thick stretch of him press so high inside, you swore he touched your soul.

You shattered.

Again.

This time, harder. Your orgasm tore through you, so violent your vision went white. Your body spasmed around him, pussy clenching so hard he groaned, fangs still buried in your skin.

And still… he didn’t stop.

He growled low, deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against your skin as his hips slammed into yours, cock thrusting through every pulse of your orgasm, every tight squeeze of your overstimulated cunt. You were shaking—wrecked—but he chased his high like a man possessed.

“Fuck—just like that,” he snarled, mouth full of your blood, voice shredded and animal. “Fucking perfect—so tight, so fucking good—”

Your walls were spasming around him, dripping down your thighs, your pussy fluttering like it was begging for him to fill you.

And Chan—he gave in.

With a final, brutal thrust, he pushed deep—as deep as he could go—his cock pressed against your cervix as his body shuddered against yours. His fangs slid free from your neck, blood smeared down your skin, and he roared your name as he came.

Thick.

Hot.

Endless.

Spilling into you in long, staggering pulses, flooding you with his cum. It filled every clench of your pussy, every slick, swollen fold, leaking around the base of his cock even as he stayed buried inside, grinding in slow, final strokes to make sure it stayed in you.

You gasped, boneless, melting into the sheets beneath him.

He didn’t move. Not for a long moment.

Just held you—cock still buried, cum dripping, his breath ragged against your neck.

“…Mine,” he whispered again, quieter this time. Like a prayer.

Then he kissed the bite mark gently.

Twice.

One for the pain. One for the promise.

You weren’t sure when the tremors stopped. Or if they ever really did.

All you knew was this: you were limp, boneless, your body melted into the sheets with Chan still buried deep inside you—his cock softening slowly, his cum thick and warm where it leaked from your spent cunt.

Your skin was covered in blood, sweat, his mouth, his hands. The bite on your shoulder throbbed. The one on your neck pulsed. And your wrists—still tied behind your back with his silk tie—twitched weakly as you tried to move.

You whimpered.

Immediately—immediately—he responded.

Chan’s breath caught. He pulled out of you carefully, slowly, like withdrawing from something fragile. His hands—no longer demanding—were tender now. Reverent.

“Shh…” he whispered, voice low and raw. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You felt the weight of his body shift, then his fingers—trembling slightly—began to undo the knot binding your wrists.

“You did so good for me,” he murmured, loosening the fabric. “So fucking perfect.”

The silk slipped free. Your arms fell forward limply, and he caught them in his hands, pressing kisses to your wrists where the skin had reddened.

“I didn’t mean to hold you that tight,” he whispered.

You could barely answer, barely move. But your breath hitched at his voice, at the gentleness of it, and that was enough.

Chan leaned forward, turning you slowly onto your side, then carefully—like lifting something too delicate to breathe on—gathered you into his arms. He sat against the headboard with you in his lap, pressed chest to chest, one arm wrapped securely around your waist while the other cradled your head to his shoulder.

His scent surrounded you again—cedar, wine, and the faintest trace of blood.

“You’re okay,” he whispered again. “I’ve got you.”

His hand slid through your hair, combing it back, and he pressed a long, warm kiss to your forehead.

Sometime later, you felt yourself being lifted again. Carried.

Chan’s arms under your back and knees.

The lights dimmed automatically as he crossed the room into the bathroom. He tapped the marble edge of the tub with his foot, and the bath began to fill—perfect temperature, gentle steam curling into the air like a cocoon.

He set you down carefully on the edge.

You didn’t resist when he peeled off what was left of your lingerie, brushing your skin softly where it stuck with dried sweat or blood. He climbed in behind you, drawing you into the water between his legs, your back to his chest. Warmth surrounded you. So did he.

He reached for a soft cloth and dipped it in the water.

“Let me take care of you.”

He began with your neck.

He cleaned the bite marks with feather-light precision, dabbing away the blood without pressing too hard. Then your shoulders. Your thighs. The inside of your knees. His fingers brushed your folds just once, so gently it made you shiver—but not from arousal. From how safe it felt.

He kissed the back of your shoulder.

“Next time,” he murmured, “you don’t flirt with anyone else.”

You let out a breathless laugh, eyes fluttering closed.

“Noted.”

He chuckled against your skin, arms tightening around you. “I meant every word. You belong to me.”

You turned your head, eyes meeting his. “And you belong to me?”

His gaze softened—but the hunger never left.

“Always.”

He kissed you then—slow, deep, claiming in a new way. Not as the monster who fed from you. But as the one who would never let you go.

The next evening, you found the contract, the same contract you had signed. Folded neatly on the black marble desk in his study, next to a glass of untouched wine and a blood-red fountain pen.

You hadn’t seen it since the night you signed it. Since you bled on the page and gave him everything.

Curious, you reached for it.

You flipped through each clause slowly—Clause 3, Clause 7, Clause 9... and then your eyes landed on one you hadn’t noticed before.

Clause 13: This bond is eternal. Should both parties fulfill the covenant, termination is not permitted.

Your breath caught.

“Covenant?”

You turned—heart thudding—just as Chan appeared behind you, silent and barefoot.

He didn’t look surprised. Not even guilty.

Just satisfied.

“I was wondering when you’d find that,” he murmured, stepping close. “You skipped the fine print.”

Your lips parted. “You said it was a contract—”

He cut you off with a smirk, eyes gleaming dark.

“I lied.”

He reached for your waist, pulled you flush against him. His mouth brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered:

“You didn’t sign a contract, sweetheart.”

His hands slid down your back.

“You signed a covenant.”

Your heart stuttered. “What does that mean?”

His lips found your neck. The spot he hadn’t bitten yet tonight. The one that ached for it now.

“It means you were never going to leave me,” he whispered. “Not after the first feeding. Not after I marked you. Not after I filled you.”

He kissed your pulse once, slow.

“It means you’re not just my blood doll.”

He kissed lower.

“You’re my chosen.”

Lower.

“My mate.”

Then—fangs.

He sank them in slow. Gentle. Not like before. This time… it was intimate. Sacred. Your breath caught as your body melted against his, cunt already throbbing, slick already dripping and making a mess of your panties from the sheer gravity of his presence.

And then—you felt it.

His hand slipped between your legs, beneath the panties, two fingers sliding through your soaked folds like he already knew exactly what you needed. And of course he did.

He fed.

You arched.

And just as he groaned from the taste of you—you came. Shaking, gasping, crying out his name as he held you, bit you, fed from you like you were his first and final meal.

Your body clamped around nothing, but it didn’t matter.

You weren’t cumming for friction.

You were cumming for him.

Because now, it wasn’t just about being claimed.

It was about being kept.

When he pulled back, blood on his lips, eyes wild and reverent, he whispered against your skin:

“You’re mine.”

Then kissed the wound one last time.

“Forever.”

[cheralith]

— red curtains.

mikage reo, nagi seishiro — there is something sinister about your interview process. (wc: 1.0k)

cw : gn!reader, no pronouns used, cannibalism!au, implied cannibalism, slight blood, not really a lot of romance here lol just suspense a/n : reonagi backstory finally woooo who cheered

an-all consuming desire masterlist

Four have entered, none have come out.

At least that's from what you've been observing. In the wake of the hall in which you wait in where five total interviewees once remained, there are three people—you and two security guards standing in front of two doors leading to the office of where you'll do your interview. The double doors are tall and heavy, just as intimidating as the atmosphere you've attempted to grow accustomed to for the past few minutes—to no avail have your attemps worked.

It's strange—all of this. From the application page, to the mysterious number that called you to an interview, to the sudden relocation of where the interview will be held... and now this. Something is just off about this entire supposed secretary job for one of the most powerful companies in the country, but you can't place your finger on it, only going by a gut-feeling of impending doom rooting from somewhere you don't know. Maybe this was a part of the process—to see if you can withstand the daunt of Mikage Corp.

Because unless there happens to be another exit from inside the office, you find it strange how the tall woman—Ba-ya, if you can recall—just simply invites another person in without letting the previous exit. This eeriness about the way she curls her finger towards the next possible contender feels like she's reeling them like bait, almost.

The door opens again. You sit straight up. Ba-ya pokes her head out, scans the area, then lands on you, her smile widening in a way the pit in your stomach deepen.

"Next."

Her stare almost seems to puppeteer you, because you get up without any sudden resistance with your papers in hand and walk towards and through the large brown doors. You can only pass a dry swallow as you pass through the barrier.

The office is a little dark, lit by a couple of overhead lights with some lamps here and there. The window that views the skyline of the city veils it from view from a transluscent grey curtain, dimming the area and making you squint to properly see your surroundings.

There is also no other doors in sight aside from the ones you came in.

This is not a place of invitation but rather intimidation.

"Reo-sama," Ba-ya says, gesturing towards you and says your name as an introduction. "Your last interviewee."

And there, sitting behind the desk seated politely in the middle of the room, is the head of Mikage Corporation himself—Mikage Reo himself.

He's dressed in a crisp black button-up, a silvery watch on his wrist as he rests his chin between folded hands. There's this supple smile on his face when you look at him, artificially sweet. He sits behind his desk so still, as though he was just in waiting.

"Hi there," he greets and motioning to the two chairs in front of his dark oak desk. "Take a seat."

You nod stiffly, going to situate yourself down on the cold leather that you dare not let your back touch. He shakes your hand, his palm feeling colder than the leather you sit on, making a chill go down your spine almost.

Something is most definitely off.

"Give me one moment," Reo says, shuffling some files about to search for something on his desk. "Just... trying to find your file, hm..."

You stay quiet with thin lips, apprehensive to offer your replica of your resume you've submitted beforehand. The courage gathers in you after a few moments of Reo humming and pursing his lips, but the moment you're about to say something, Reo lifts his head up.

"Nagi!" he calls over to a corner of the room suddenly, one that's darker than most, despite the office itself being darkened already. "I think you forgot to collect the fifth file! Can you check if it's over there somewhere?!"

Someone sounds out something in the dark corner of the room that you see when you creak your head towards it is some sort of “entrance” to somewhere with thick red velvet curtains in replace of doors. You see them move a bit, before a tall, white-headed man dressed atypically in only jeans and a black hoodie reveals himself from behind it, carrying a manila folder.

And amidst the ivory paleness of his skin—is a streak of something red near his mouth.

It’s small but regardless, it just adds to the strangeness of everything. For whatever reason, you don’t feel like you should pry at it.

"Is it this?" 'Nagi' asks lethargically as he walks closer, waving the folder about.

"Yes, yes," Reo remarks contently, taking it from his grasp and almost admiring the strange man that stands out between you, Reo, and Ba-ya with the casuality of his attire. He tilts his head, squinting, before brushing a finger near the corner of his mouth.

Nagi blinks slowly at him, before deciphering what Reo is implying.

"Oh..." he murmurs, taking his hoodie sleeve and wiping away at the red streak near his lips, it vanishing from view. "... is it gone?"

Reo nods with a grin and turns toward you, straightening your file on his table. "All good. You can go back to eating lunch now."

Nagi hums again, taking one look at you in a curious, sleepy manner, before he stalks back behind the red curtain.

You could've sworn you saw something wavering in his eyes... but then again, this is a dark office, after all. Your mind could've been playing tricks on you.

"Sorry, don't mind him," Reo gives a soft chuckle, one that you think is genuinely amused. "He's my... assistant, you could say."

There's a film of falsity and hesitation when Reo says that, but you figure you're in no position to be questioning him, especially with where you are right now. So you just tightly smile and stay quiet.

Reo scans your resume for a bit, eyes glistening with something bright as his smile continues to grow as he continues to read your rather impressive work history. If this were any given normal scenario, one where your nerves weren't constantly on edge, you'd mimick his grin and thinking that you're leaning towards an approval of sorts—but there's something almost eerily eager about the way the head of the mysterious Mikage Corp stretches his smile.

He lifts his head up towards you, almost eagerly so. You fight to fidget under his stare.

"Well then," Reo says, "shall we get started?"

[ablobwhowrites]

A kingdom celebration.

(for the first iteration of ruler y/n cookie is here. And hopefully I cook with this idea as this is just dumb little things I did.)

The sun shines brightly in the sky as birds chirped in the trees and flew high in the skies. Gingerbrave decided to go on a walk to get a better view of the kingdom and its buildings but was confused by seeing the civilian cookies of y/n's kingdom began to set up decorations as many where in their homes cooking as ginger brave was very confused as well as the cookies that gingerbrave brought into the y/n’s kingdom. Little cookies running around playing games as the adults helped with decorations and some taking out tables. “What on earthbread is going on?” Gingerbrave said as he saw colorful decorations strung on houses, street lamps as well as trees and even the castle but soon as beautiful as everything was and the smells coming from houses as people cooked in their houses, gingerbrave saw y/n walking out of the castle as they were being escorted by one of the guard cookies. “Hey y/n! Y/n!” Gingerbrave shouted as he ran to y/n with them looking to where they heard their name and saw Gingerbrave stop once he got to y/n.

“Oh Gingerbrave, lovely day isn’t it?” Y/n said as they looked to the decorations being hung up as well as their cookie citizens set up for the festive day. “I wanted to ask you. What’s going on with all the cookies? Is it some kind of holiday?” Gingerbrave asked as y/n remembered that gingerbrave and his friends were still new to their kingdom. “Oh yes, I forgot to tell you. It’s more of what my citizens set up every year or so, but it’s an anniversary of the kingdom a my citizens do like making a big deal about this celebration. But clover has me on a very strict schedule for events like this but I do try to lend a hand for my citizens, even just a little." Y/n said as they smiled and gingerbrave looked as cookies carried out big pots and trays of food to the tables, y/n's guard who has been escorting them had leaded a bit down to y/n's side. "My monarch, the bakery is still waiting for you. We mustn't keep them waiting." The knight said as they got back to standing up fully as y/n gasped, "Oh my, I nearly forgot I needed to go there! I need to make my dish for the celebration, I'll see you at the celebration tonight!" Y/n said as they rushed a bit to get to the bakery in the kingdom and y/n's guard cookie looked at gingerbrave. "It's best to have your food ready for tonight or do you not have any for the celebration?" The cookie guard loomed over gingerbrave who laughed uncomfortably "yeah! I do, I should probably tell the others to get ready as well!" Exclaimed as he ran away to find strawberry, wizard or just any of the other cookies as the guard cookie went over to y/n.

"YOU TELL US NOW!?" Chili pepper cookie shouted as gingerbrave looked at the ground awkwardly as he tried to remember when y/n told him about this celebration but nothing "w-well! We can just make something real quick! I'm sure it's not hard to make a dish." Gingerbrave said with confidence in his voice. "Excuse me, coming through!" A cookie said as the small group saw two cookies carry a very large pot that was full of maybe soup but who knows and gingerbrave felt a bit weary. "How many cookies are attending this thing?" Wizard cookie shocked as who even has the big of a pot just laying around and what could even be inside of it. The small team of gingerbrave split up to tell the other cookies who didn't know about the celebration. Y/n and their guard held two big baskets with a cloths over the baked goods so they would stay good until the celebration as they walked out, y/n saw the new cookies that gingerbrave had brought to the kingdom rushing around some desperately getting ingredients for things and y/n got a bit worried at the sudden rushing around of the new cookies.

The sun soon was going down as day light faded but gingerbrave and his friends still were trying to decide what to make for the celebration and quick. "What about a soup? It's easy to make and you can't really mess it up." Wizard cookie suggested "No! No! No! No! It should be something great! Like a roasted jelly!" Custard Cookie III shouted with glee. "No that would take to long, it takes about 2 hours for it to roast." Wizard cookie shot down Custard cookie's III idea, "maybe something small like candy? It could work and some candy is easy to make in a short time." Strawberry cookie suggested and wizard cookie thought about it. "How about just coming empty handed? I mean we are still new and I don't think they'll be mad at us for not knowing." Chili pepper cookie knew that what ever food or dessert is suggested won't have enough time to finish. "No, it's rude to show up empty handed and especially after what y/n has done for us, it's the absolute least we can do." Wizard cookie argued as chili pepper cookie rolled her eyes "okay but how were we supposed to know if no one told us. That can be a excuse." Chili pepper argued back as a back and forth argument happened with wizard and chili pepper. Gingerbrave was thinking hard, 'what would be fast to make yet the tastiest to make?' Gingerbrave thought.

Y/n set the baskets on the tables as the sun finally set, the lanterns that where hung up flicked on with cookies finally settling down in their chairs with even the new cookies joining in with the newly added seats. A cookie guard helped y/n up on a chair to stand tall as all the cookies quieted down and looked to y/n who cleared their throat a bit. "My citizens! And new cookies. We are here to celebrate the anniversary of this kingdom and I wish to say how grateful I am to you all for helping this kingdom grow to the small village to this now grand kingdom full with old and new faces. Now let us all dig in and enjoy this celebratio-".

"WAIT! WE GOT OURS!" Gingerbrave shouted as the small group of friends rushed to the table gingerbrave panted as he held up the medium try of food to y/n. The tray of food looked questionable as it was somehow bubbling as if it was just taken out of the oven or whatever it was cooking in. It seemed like a roasted jelly with some kind of seasoning and some kind of sprinkles with other and what looks like maple syrup somehow. Y/n like a bit concerned about how they managed to make something like a jelly roast look like a dessert somehow. "My monarch you don't need to try their dish." A cookie guard said as y/n looked at the small group who worked hard on this dish then to their guard who was silently telling them not to eat or even take a bite out of that dish. "Well, I'm very proud of you for making this dish. You've obviously worked hard on it how about you set it with the others." Y/n said with a kind smile as gingerbrave, wizard, Custard III, strawberry and chili pepper cookie felt happy that y/n was proud and went to go set their dish on the table somewhere. "I don't think what they made was edible." Clover whispered to y/n as they got down. "Yeah, please make sure they don't eat it. I don't want them to get sick." Y/n whispered back as y/n didn't want anyone to get sick but also didn't want to discourage the gingerbraves group so they had one of the guard taken the dish after the celebration and luckily no one touched it but gingerbrave and his group were to occupied that y/n was proud of them for making a dish all by themselves.

(Anyways that it for this fic. But if you like it please don't be shy and request any ideas for stories or y/n's you have. But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[matts-girlfriend]

It’s You I Welcome Death With- Chris Sturniolo

TattooArtist!Chris and MakeupArtist!Reader

chapter 11

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

warning this series will contain, substance abuse, angst, arguing,tension,swearing, mentions of absent family, blood, abuse (not from chris). smut, oral, this is a warning for all chapters

The hotel room was cold when you woke up.

Your hand reached out instinctively, brushing the space beside you—empty. His side of the bed felt ghosted with heat, but he was gone. No good morning. No soft kiss to your temple. Just… gone.

Your heart sank, that old familiar ache crawling back in like it had been waiting for the exact second your eyes opened. You sat up slowly, rubbing at your face. The clock read 9:03 a.m., but it felt like time was frozen. The room was still.

You slipped out of bed, the oversized t-shirt hanging low on your thighs as your bare feet hit the carpet. The quiet in the room was deceptive. It made you think maybe he’d just gone to grab coffee or something dumb and soft like that. You stepped outside, You were midway through the hotel hallway.

When you heard voices, Very familiar voices. You peaked your head out to listen to the conversation.

“You’re gonna fuck this up again, just like you always do,” Nick snapped, voice low and tight with frustration. “Don’t lead her on if you’re not gonna be serious.”

Chris scoffed, bitter and biting. “Serious?, We just fucked. That’s it. I don’t want her.”

You didn’t even realize you’d stopped breathing. The words hit like a car crash—loud, sudden, devastating. Your stomach turned, nausea crawling up your throat like bile.

Your footsteps gave you away.

Chris turned first. His eyes locked with yours and everything inside you shattered. He looked pale, like the words had just left his mouth and he couldn’t believe it either.

“Y/N—fuck, wait—” he was already moving, chasing after her.

But you were already gone, bolting up the stairs like your chest was caving in, like the walls were closing around you. You felt the sob choke its way out before you even hit the room.

Fuck.

Your hands shook as you yanked your bag from the floor, shoving your stuff inside like you couldn’t get out fast enough. You didn’t care what you forgot. You just needed to leave. Now.

“Please just let me explain—” Chris was suddenly in the doorway, breathless, eyes wild like he couldn’t believe what just happened. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t mean it. I swear to God—”

“You didn’t mean it?” you snapped, your voice raw and broken, your eyes stinging. “You said it like you’ve been waiting to..”

“Nick was pressing me, I just—I panicked. I said the one thing I knew would shut him up. I didn’t mean it.”

His jaw clenched. “It was stupid. I was angry, I didn’t mean it—”

“You said it,” you cut him off, zipping your bag with one sharp tug. “You said it. You made me feel like it meant something. Like we meant something. And you’re downstairs telling your brother it was just sex? That you don’t want me?”

Chris stepped forward, desperate. “I was scared—okay? I freaked out, and I said the most fucked up thing I could. But I didn’t mean it. You gotta believe me.”

You laughed, bitter and hollow. “Believe you? God, I should’ve known better. I should’ve never let someone like you in.”

He flinched.

You threw your bag over your shoulder, the rage mixing with heartbreak until you couldn’t tell them apart anymore. “You act like you’re so tough and untouchable, but everyone fucking knows you’re just a bitch letting your mommy issues dictate how you treat every girl that gets too close.”

That did it.

His expression changed, something dark flashing behind his eyes as he snapped, “Yeah? Well maybe if your dad stuck around, you wouldn’t be on every guy looking for someone to fucking stay.”

The silence that followed was deathly.

You stared at him, your heart in pieces, your whole chest caving in.

His face dropped the second the words left his mouth. “Fuck. No, I—Y/N, I didn’t mean that. I swear—”

Your hand cracked across his face before you even thought about it.

He caught your wrist too late, tried to hold it gently like that could undo what he said. “Please—please, I’m sorry—”

You yanked your hand back like he burned you. “Don’t. Don’t touch me.”

He stood there, wrecked, not even trying to wipe the tear from the corner of his eye. You could see it in his eyes—regret, panic, self-loathing. But it didn’t matter.

Because you were done.

You walked out without looking back, the tears finally spilling over as you slammed the door behind you. Your legs carried you down the stairs, out the house, and into the street where the cold morning air slapped your skin like a second betrayal. The taxi was waiting at the curb like the universe had been watching and decided to cut you a break.

You got in.

Chris didn’t chase you.

Not this time.

And maybe that hurt most of all.

a/n: uhhh whats going on..

taglist: @courta13 @m4gz-png @lezleeferguson-120

@h3arts4nat @izzylovesmatt @sturnioliolo @hsemeria @sturniqloo

@venusbabysblog @chrisslut04 @crazy4weeed @chriscokewhore @chrisswaffles @urfavvvnyasee @sturnzluv @freshluvr @mattthemunchh @poolover123 @pleasantdelusionbear @carpentersturns @emosexyvirgin @emillionaireee @shamelessmilkshakefest @xoxochrissgf @sturniolodollx @joyfulheartwhispers @cutseylady @oopsiedaisydeer @steph1106

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[hye5nly]

MONTRÉAL

西村力 x f!reader

synopsis in the quiet of a rainy night in Montreal, two lovers find themselves at a crossroads. Surrounded by the echoes of what they once were, they must confront the emotional distance that has grown between them. Set against the melancholic backdrop of a city filled with memories, their evening becomes a quiet battle between holding on and letting go— where love, silence, and truth collide.

genre angst, slice of life

warning smoking

The rain had started again— soft, steady, and indifferent, blurring the glow of Montréal’s streetlamps into gold smudges against the wet pavement. The hotel window trembled under the weight of the wind, and inside, the silence between Riki and you had grown loud enough to feel like a third person in the room.

He sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, cigarette untouched between his fingers. He didn’t smoke anymore. Not really. But the ritual made him feel grounded, like the heat and the ash might tether him to something real. Something he was about to lose.

You stood by the window in his hoodie, the sleeves too long for your wrists. Your hair was tied up like you used to when you both would fall asleep tangled in each other. Your skin warm, promises whispered like secrets. You hadn’t said anything in fifteen minutes, maybe more. Your silence had grown careful, like you were afraid that speaking would break whatever was left.

“This place used to mean something,” Riki said, not looking at you.

A pause. Then, softly, “It did.”

He glanced up, eyes dull, voice low. “To me, it still does.”

You turned, slowly, your expression unreadable. “Then why do we only come back here when everything’s already broken?”

He didn’t have an answer. Or maybe he did, but it hurt too much to say out loud.

Because it was the only place where you ever stayed, even when you should’ve left.

Because here, the rest of the world blurred— the cameras, the noise, the weight of who they were outside that room. Here, they could pretend, just for a little longer, that love hadn’t unraveled thread by thread between quiet arguments and tired apologies.

“I’m tired, Riki,” you said, stepping closer. “Of waiting for you to meet me halfway.”

“I’ve tried,” he whispered.

“No,” you expressed, gently. “You’ve tried to keep me close enough not to lose me. But never close enough to really see me.”

He blinked hard, jaw clenched. “I don’t know how to be... better. I wasn’t raised with the kind of love you needed.”

“I never needed you to be perfect. I needed you to show up. Not just when things fell apart. Not just when you’re scared of being alone.”

The words hit like bruises. Not sharp, but deep. He stared at the floor, willing himself not to fall apart.

You stepped forward and sat beside him on the bed. For a moment, it was quiet. Then you reached for his hand. Held it. Warm, steady, final.

“I loved you,” you said, voice steady and soft. “So much I forgot how to love myself.”

“I still love you,” he whispered, the words rough in his throat.

But you just smiled. Soft, sad, beautiful. The kind of smile people give before letting go.

“You love the version of me you remember,” you whispered back. “Not the one standing in front of you now.”

Outside, the rain kept falling.

Inside, you stood up. Picked up your bag and walked to the door.

He didn’t move.

The speaker crackled softly on the dresser, the song he’d played for you a hundred times now barely audible.

“Je t’aime encore... je t’aime encore...”

You looked back one last time, your eyes holding everything he could never say out loud.

Then you left.

The door closed behind you with the quiet finality of a goodbye that had taken years to finish.

Riki sat in the silence, the cigarette now cold between his fingers, and whispered into the emptiness you’d left behind:

“I still love you, too.”

XO x enha m.list

copyright © hye5nly 2025 all rights reserved

[pinkbowsxo]

Maybe a rubbish idea, but like a one shot where Thanos and reader take one of those chocolate tab thingies that turn you on and they go to a friend's dinner party and they don't realise how strong these chocolates work and they struggle to make it through the dinner party 🤭

Dinner and Desire

Choi Su-bong x F!Reader

Masterlist

warnings: swearing, alcohol, smut, unprotected sex, public sex, blowjob, clothed touching and orgasms

a/n: i loved this idea so much and i loved writing it so much, thank you anon!!

Thanos and you have been dating for a few months. You even live together, it all happened very quickly. You are going to dinner at a mutual friend of yours tonight and he doesn't really want to come, but he has to.

You were sitting on the couch reading a book and waiting for him to come home. You heard the front door open and immediately turned around. You were happy to see him. “Hey.”

“Hey, baby.” He walked over to you and leaned over to kiss your forehead before throwing his bag on the floor. “I'm tired.”

“Come sit down for a moment before you get ready.” He nodded and sat down next to you on the couch, his head on your shoulder. “I don’t want to go,” he mumbled tiredly. “I hate these kinds of parties.”

“You don't want your pretty girlfriend to go alone, do you?” You looked at him. He scoffed and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “No.” He kissed the side of your head. You chuckle. “How was it today at the studio?”

“It was fine. Just the usual drama.” He rolled his eyes. You turn to him, a hand cupping his cheek. “I promise tonight will be okay, okay?”

He leaned in, closing his eyes for a moment, then opened them to look at you. “I know, baby. It’s just… these things are always so damn boring.” He sighed and kissed your palm softly. “But if you want to go, I’ll go.” You smile at him before leaning in to give him a kiss.

He smiled softly against your lips, deepening the kiss for a moment before pulling away slightly. “You always know how to calm my ass down.” He chuckled softly and nuzzled your nose. “Let me take a quick shower before we get ready.”

He got up from the couch and walked over to his bag, rummaged through it for a moment and pulled out a box of chocolates. He turned back to you with a grin. "I almost forgot, I got you something." He held the box out to you.

“Ah, you bought me some chocolate?” you said with a big smile. He nodded, his grin widening as he watched your smile. “Yeah, but it’s not just any chocolate.” He paused, his eyes locked on yours. “Open it,” he said softly, curious about your reaction. “It’s supposed to do something funny to you.”

You chuckled. “What?” You were confused. He laughed as he watched you look confused. He took the box from your hands and opened it, revealing the special chocolates inside. He picked one up and read the description on the bottom of the wrapper out loud. "These chocolates are full of aphrodisiacs." He chuckled. “Yeah, I have no idea what that means.”

He grinned playfully and moved closer to you. “It means they make you… horny.” He whispered the last word with a mischievous grin. “Do you want to try one and see what happens?” He held the chocolate tantalizingly close to your lips. “Yeah, no, I don't think so. We have a dinner soon.”

He pouted slightly, as if disappointed. "Come on, one chocolate won't hurt. It'll wear off before dinner," he insisted, waving the chocolates in front of your face. "Please?" He batted his eyelashes jokingly.

You didn't really believe this would work, so you thought, fuck it. "Okay." You opened your mouth.

He smiled triumphantly as you opened your mouth. He gently placed the chocolate on your tongue and watched as you closed your mouth and began to chew. “See, not so bad,” he said, not taking his eyes off you. You had no idea that the effects would soon be noticeable.

You then took a chocolate out of the box and placed it against his lips. "If I have to, then so do you." He chuckled and opened his mouth to take the chocolate. “Fair enough,” he said, chewing it slowly. He watched you intently, waiting for any sign of the aphrodisiac. Swallowing, he playfully raised an eyebrow. He ate one more because he's an idiot and thinks he can just do this.

He went to take a shower and noticed his heart beating faster than normal. The effects were clearly noticeable. After a quick wash, he stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He walked to the mirror to shave, but kept sneaking glances at your reflection as you got ready.

You felt a strange sensation in your body, but it wasn't that bad for you yet. When he finished shaving, he noticed his cock starting to harden slightly. He cursed under his breath, realizing the aphrodisiac was working. He dried himself off quickly and pulled on a pair of boxers and pants before heading back to the bedroom. He also grabbed a shirt.

You walked to the bedroom in your cute dress and heels. His eyes widened slightly when he saw you. The sight of you in that dress and heels didn’t help him much. He swallowed hard and tried to keep his composure. “You look… really nice,” he said, his voice a little huskier than usual.

“Thank you, so do you.” you said with a smile. “We have to go soon, are you coming?” He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the growing bulge in his pants. He pulled on a simple shirt and said, "Yeah, I'm coming." He followed you out of the bedroom and tried to focus on anything but his growing arousal.

"I haven't felt much of the chocolate yet, have you?" He shook his head quickly, not wanting to admit the truth. As you walked ahead of him, he noticed how the dress was tight around your curves. He had to adjust it discreetly, his face had turned slightly red. "No, not really," he lied through his teeth.

You walked to the car as he drove to the two of you for dinner. During the drive, he struggled to keep his hands on the wheel instead of touching you. The aphrodisiac was making his thoughts increasingly inappropriate. He pulled up to the dinner location, grateful for the distraction as he opened your car door for you. “Shall we?”

“Yes sir.” You went inside and greeted your friends. As they mingled with their friends, Thanos found it increasingly difficult to focus on the conversation. His eyes kept drifting back to you, his gaze lingering on your curves. He excused himself to get a drink, hoping the alcohol would lessen the effects of the chocolate.

He felt strange, very strange, but he knew that if he left now, he would be very disappointed. He drank his drink quickly, feeling the alcohol burning his throat. He tried to make conversation, laughing at jokes he didn’t find funny and nodding along to stories he wasn’t listening to. His pants were uncomfortably tight and he was starting to sweat.

You sat down at the table and started to enjoy your appetizer. You were starting to feel strange now. You suddenly felt warm. The room was suddenly too noisy, the lights too bright. You crossed your legs and tried to ignore the throbbing between your legs. You saw Thanos laughing at something someone said, his face slightly red. You realized he was feeling it too. The chocolate was definitely working.

You turned to look at him. “You okay?” He met your gaze, his eyes dark with desire and a little fear of losing control. His jaw was tense and he nodded slightly. “Yeah… it’s just really hot in here, huh?” His voice was lower than usual, huskier. “The booze must have gotten to me too.”

"Yeah, I don't think it's the alcohol." The chocolate was making him incredibly excited, and every movement, every sound was driving him crazy. He shifted in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position. Maybe not. He was hard, so painfully hard. He couldn't get up, because everyone would see that he was as hard as a rock. He immediately regretted bringing those chocolates, let alone two. You were okay, I mean of course not, but at least you could walk away without a huge bulge in your pants.

He shifted uncomfortably again, trying to subtly shift under the table. The situation was becoming increasingly difficult to handle. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his raging hormones. He knew he had to stay calm, for you and for everyone else at dinner. You grabbed his hand under the table, meaning it as comfort, but it was actually the exact opposite. The moment your fingers touched his, an electric shock shot through him. He nearly gasped, but managed to hold back. Your touch was pure torture now that he was so aroused. He could feel sweat forming on his forehead as he desperately tried to maintain control. "You shouldn't..."

You let go of his hand and continued eating as usual, pretending everything was fine. He followed suit, trying to act normal despite the intense discomfort. He picked up his fork and stabbed his food, taking small bites and chewing slowly to avoid drawing attention to himself. His mind raced, trying to think of something other than the throbbing pain in his pants.

Then he thought maybe it would be over if he was freed. He whispered to you, asking if you could touch him. He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can you… touch me under the table? Just squeeze or something. I need some relief.” He knew it was risky, but the need was overwhelming.

You went with your hand over his clothed hard cock. His entire body tensed at your touch, a soft noise catching in his throat that quickly turned into a coughing fit. Every muscle in his legs tensed as you squeezed gently through his pants. God, it felt good... too good. "Fuck..." he whispered softly, hoping no one else heard him. He spread his legs slightly under the table, giving you better access. He was shaking now, trying to sit still and act normal as you held his aching cock in your hand through his pants. He was so close to losing it, his vision was starting to blur. "Just a little longer..."

Without warning, his orgasm hit him like a freight train. He bit his lip hard to keep from crying out as his body convulsed silently in his seat. His pants grew wet and warm as he came hard into them, the relief so intense it was almost painful. "Do you feel better?" you asked him. He looked at you, his breathing still coming in ragged gasps, his face red and his eyes glazed over. He nodded slowly, trying to act nonchalant despite the immense relief that washed over him. "Yes... Yes, I do," he said, trying to act normal despite the damp patch on his pants.

As the minutes passed, the dampness in his pants began to cool, but it only served to remind him of his release and make him hard again. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to adjust himself discreetly as he grew hard again, trapped beneath his damp pants. You were so turned on too, as you pressed your legs together so hard, hoping to come. He watched you squirm in your seat, your legs pressed tightly together. It only fueled his excitement, seeing the effect he was having on you. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch you, to make you feel as good as you had made him feel.

He couldn’t hold back any longer and slowly slid his hand under the table and between your legs. He pressed his fingers against your underwear covered clit, feeling the warmth and wetness through the fabric. He began to gently circle his fingers, knowing the pressure on your sensitive nub would drive you crazy. You made a small noise as you came and everyone looked at you. “Sorry, I suddenly got painful cramps.” You tried to laugh it off.

Thanos froze, his fingers still pressed against your now soaked underwear. He nodded sympathetically and tried to keep a straight face. The dinner dragged on, each course taking an eternity. Thanos was caught between his own raging hormones and the need to maintain his composure. He stole glances at you, took in your flushed cheeks, and fidgeted in your seat—clear signs that you were as affected as he was.

Finally, the last course was cleared away and dessert was served. Thanos watched as you carefully lifted a spoonful of chocolate mousse to your lips. His mind immediately went haywire - he imagined those same lips wrapped around something else. "Mmm, this is delicious,"

He subtly slid under the tablecloth and rubbed his cock harder and harder through his pants. The dessert was delicious, but what he needed most right now was relief. He could feel his orgasm building quickly – just a few more thrusts… He let out a soft, almost inaudible groan as he came, his body tensing slightly before relaxing. He quickly slid back under his chair, trying to hide the evidence of what had just happened. His cock was finally less stiff and he could breathe a sigh of relief.

As dessert was done you two quickly excused yourself. You said you both had a early morning tomorrow and you had some cramps now too so you had to go. You said goodbye to your friend before quickly getting out of here.

He mumbled a quick goodbye to their friend, not even looking him in the eye as he hurried you outside. Once you were outside, he grabbed your arm and pulled you closer, hissing, “You really sell those cramps.” You chuckled. “I hate you for making me eat those chocolates.” He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “I regret it too, believe me. I didn’t think they’d hit us like this.” He looked at you with a mixture of frustration and longing, his gaze lingering on your lips. “We need to get out of here.”

You both got in the car. On the way you passed a playground, it was taking too long to get home and the car is just uncomfortable. "Wait, pull over."

“It’s late, I don’t think anyone will be there.” He followed your gaze to the playground and understood what you meant. The car was indeed uncomfortable, and the temptation of the empty playground was hard to resist. He unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the door, and stepped out into the cool night air. “Let’s go then.”

Making your way over to the playground you climbed onto the play frame, making it less visible what you two were about to do. He simply sat down and unbuckled his belt. You pulled his cock out of his wet boxers, already covered in cum from the previous times he had come in his boxers, as you immediately leaned forward to take him into your mouth. He groaned loudly as you took him into your mouth, his hands gripping the rim of the play frame tightly. The wet sound of you sucking him filled the air, mixing with his heavy breathing. His wet, messy cock was evidence of how many times he had come tonight. "Fuck,"

You stopped sucking his cock. “Do you have a condom?” He quickly grabbed his jacket. He cursed under his breath, realizing he’d left his wallet at home and hadn’t grabbed a condom. He looked down at his wet, messy boxers and his semi-hard cock, then back at you. “No condom.” His voice was hoarse.

"Shit." You looked at him, thinking about what to do next. He watched as you bit your lower lip in thought, his mind racing. No condom meant no protection, no barrier. He felt his cock twitch again, hardening slightly as the dangerous thoughts entered his mind. He watched as you spread your legs slightly on the couch, subconsciously giving him a perfect view. "Maybe it's really risky, but I don't give a shit right now," you said as you climbed on top of him, pulling your dress up and your panties to the side as you started to position yourself.

He let out a strangled groan, his hands automatically gripping your thighs as you began to bounce on his cock. The feeling was incredible, even better than you’d ever felt with the condom. He thrust deep into you, skin on skin. You leaned forward and kissed him, your tongues intertwined. He rubbed your clit as you quickly came. It brought him dangerously close too. Then he told you to come, because he was just going to stroke his cock and cum on your face.

With a groan he lifted you off of him, his cock popping out with a wet sound. He began stroking himself quickly, the friction of his hand on his bare, wet cock feeling incredible. He aimed his cock at your face, his breathing getting heavier as he got closer to the edge. With a final groan he came hard all over your face, his hot, sticky cum coating your cheeks, nose, and lips. He continued to jerk himself off, squeezing every last drop onto your face. You looked up at him, your face completely covered in his cum, looking absolutely beautiful.

You took the cum off your face with your fingers as you licked it clean. He watched in awe as you licked his cum off your fingers and cleaned your face thoroughly. He was completely spent, his cock softening again. He couldn't believe how dirty and hot you looked now, covered in his cum and licking it up like it was the best thing you had ever tasted. "Worst dinner ever."

He laughed softly and hoarsely, still catching his breath. "The worst," he agreed, not taking his eyes off you.

But definitely the most memorable.

[baigepueckers]

Caitlin Clark X Reader

Out of Frame Part 3

The morning creeps in soft and gray. Rain patters against Caitlin’s apartment window like it’s trying to lull her back to sleep, but it’s too late for that. She’s already up, already sitting on the edge of her bed with her phone in her hands staring at a blank screen and pretending she isn’t waiting for your name to light it up.

It doesn’t.

She scrolls through your old messages instead. Most are work related…shoot schedules, post approvals, quick jokes about captions or emoji choices…but there are a few that linger. Ones where you sent her photos just because the lighting hit her right. A few where she made you laugh so hard you forgot to hit send on the final edit. One where you told her she looked calm. She had stared at that one for a few minutes.

Calm.

She doesn’t feel calm now.

Practice is still hours away, but she heads in early…hoping muscle memory will drown the static in her head. The gym lights are dimmed when she gets there, the air still cool and untouched. She dribbles alone for a while, letting the sound echo, until it becomes rhythm instead of noise.

She almost misses you.

You’re sitting cross legged on the floor near the sideline, camera in your lap, scrolling through preview frames. You’re wearing that oversized crewneck you always throw on when you’re editing…navy blue, sleeves baggy on your arms, thumb absently toying the drawstring as you hum under your breath.

She freezes mid dribble.

You haven’t seen her yet. And for a second, she’s tempted to leave. Pretend she wasn’t here first. Pretend she didn’t spend last night writing and deleting a confession she still doesn’t have the guts to say aloud.

But then your name slips from her mouth.

You glance up immediately, that warm look spreading across your face before your eyes fully focus on her.

“Didn’t think anyone else would be here yet” you say, your voice still rough from the early hour. “You okay?”

Her pulse stutters.

She drops her shoulders and nods. “Yeah. Just needed to shoot. Clear my head.”

You pat the floor beside you like it’s reserved. “Stay a bit. You’ve got time.”

She doesn’t even hesitate.

The ball rolls to a stop near your feet. You pick it up, spinning it idly between your palms like you’ve done it a thousand times. Your fingers brush the seams with a kind of familiarity that makes her chest ache.

“I’ve been going through some B roll,” you murmur. “I think I caught one of your assists from yesterday in a perfect tracking shot.”

“You didn’t even look at me yesterday” Caitlin says before she can stop herself.

The words come out softer than she intended…half hurt, half sarcastic, fully vulnerable.

You blink.

“I…what?”

She tries to shrug, but it lands wrong…stiff and too casual. “You were busy with the new guy. I didn’t think you saw.”

You frown, setting the ball down carefully.

“Caitlin…”

She doesn’t let you say anything else. The words inside her are too close to the surface now, pulsing with every beat of her heart.

“I hate that he made you laugh.”

Silence.

It drops between you like a pin in an empty room.

You straighten, eyes searching hers. “What?”

“I saw you two. You were laughing. Smiling. Standing close.”

Your brows draw together, confusion laced with something else. “He was asking about shutter speed.”

“You touched his wrist.”

“I was adjusting the lens….”

“You’ve never done that for me,” she says quietly.

Your mouth opens, then closes. She watches you cycle through thoughts you’re not sure how to voice.

She knows she’s not making sense. Or maybe she’s making too much sense. Either way, she can’t stop.

“I just….” she runs a hand through her hair, voice cracking. “I know it’s dumb. I know we’re just… this. But I liked thinking maybe it was more. Even if you didn’t know it.”

She finally looks at you. And it nearly guts her.

Because you don’t look mad. You don’t even look confused anymore. You look gentle. Guarded, but soft.

“Caitlin” you say again, slower this time. “Why would it matter if I laughed at him?”

Her breath catches.

She wants to tell you everything…that you’re all she thinks about, that your smile is the only thing keeping her anchored most days. That she’s rewritten every interaction with you a hundred different ways in her head just to see how they might end.

Instead, she says, “Because I want to be the one who makes you laugh like that.”

You go quiet.

She sees your throat bob as you swallow, something unreadable flashing in your eyes.

And for a second, she thinks maybe she’s ruined everything.

Then.

“I didn’t laugh at him” you murmur.

Her brows pull together.

“Not really,” you continue. “I was being polite. I thought you were ignoring me. You didn’t even say hi at shootaround.”

Caitlin looks away, shame flooding her chest. “I couldn’t. I was… I didn’t trust myself to sound normal.”

You shift closer. Just barely. Your knees touch.

“I always notice you,” you say softly. “Even when I shouldn’t.”

She lifts her gaze again.

Your smile is small. Real.

“Maybe we’re both terrible at saying things,” you add.

Something tight in her chest loosens, just enough for air.

She laughs, breathless. “We should probably work on that.”

You bump her knee. “Probably.”

Neither of you moves. The silence between you now is warmer, not thick with tension, but pulsing with something else.

Promise.

Still unspoken. Still fragile.

But real.

[nepenthic-delirium]

Sunday is an attentive lover. 

Soft and sweet, like sugary molasses. He’s gentle, kind, a gift from the aeon’s themselves. He knows your likes and dislikes, the way you like your morning coffee or your afternoon tea. He knows everything about you; the way your lips curve into a toothy grin, or the curve of your eye as he lies down next to you as the first rays of dawn illuminate your skin. 

So it’s no surprise that when you wake up, it’s Sunday who boyishly grins as he mutters, “Happy birthday, my dear.” 

You blink owlishly at him, eyes still clouded with sleep. You yawn, stretching your arms out as you nonchalantly mumble, “I kinda forgot about that, to be honest.” 

Sunday frowns, the tips of his lips quirking downwards. “You can’t be serious. You forgot your own birthday?” He tsks, and you give him a lazy smile. 

“Oh please. Birthdays aren’t that important. Okay, wait scratch that. I do like being the center of attention. I was just busy these past few days.” 

Sunday clicks his tongue again. “I told you, overworking yourself is never the solution.” You yawn again, and he sighs, voice soft as he hums, “Your hair is a mess.” 

“Brush it for me?” 

“You're old enough to do it yourself.” 

You bat your eyelashes. “Please?” You drag the word out with a slight lilt, and you can tell he’s already giving by the way he looks away with a bright flush on his cheeks–his wings doing a horrible job in covering them. “You're always so gentle when you do it. Whenever I do it I swear half my hair just comes off.”

Sunday mutters something under his breath as he practically snatches the hairbrush from your bed stand.  He grabs a strand of hair, his hands delicate as he starts gently brushing your hair with the reverence of a preacher. 

“So, Mr,” You grin, already feeling Sunday rolling his eyes. 

“I’m not that old.” He grumbles. 

“What do you have in mind for my birthday?” 

Sunday idly brushes your hair, silent for a moment before starting, “I was thinking of a picnic.” 

“Outside? With all the bugs and dirt? Last time I checked, you almost had a little meltdown when a bug landed on you.” You tease. 

“It was one time, and it was a disgusting fly–!”

“A picnic sounds lovely dear. Have you been planning this whole day out since, what, the past few weeks?” 

He detangles the brush from your hair, placing it on your bed stand as he glances at his work. 

“Maybe.” 

You can practically feel the blush on his cheeks radiating off his skin. “And then what, after our picnic?” 

He leans in, a grin plastered on his face. You can feel the curves of his lip brush the shell of your ear, and you involuntarily shiver. 

“That, my love, is a surprise. Something for you to find out.” 

Huh. You playfully push him away, a challenging smile forming on your face. “I never thought of you as one for surprises.” 

Sunday shrugs. “Your influence is rubbing off on me.” 

You giggle. “I can’t wait to see what you have in store for me.” 

His golden eyes are like pools of honey, his mirth matching yours as he brushes a stray strand of hair away from your face, tucking it into the crevice of your ear. “Me neither.” 

@ NEPENTHIC-DELIRIUM. do not plagiarize, claim my work as your own, translate or share my posts on any platform outside of tumblr.

birthday gift for the birthday girl @aellesuje <3

[hannahbarberra162]

A Negative Outcome, Part 5

MDNI | on Ao3

The other parts

TW: dissociation - but later comfort. Reader (mostly) gets the crash out she deserves.

You closed the door to your old room as your wet hair dripped down your neck. The room looked nearly the same as before except some of the furniture had been replaced with used cast offs from other crew members. You felt like there was a menacing aura in the room that made you shiver - or maybe that was just your imagination. 

You slowly went over to the new dresser in the corner of the room to put on some clean clothes, not caring what you grabbed out of the drawers. None of the clothes were really yours anyway, they were either borrowed from smaller crew members or given to you by some of the nurses. All of the clothes you’d come in were gone by now, worn too many times to be usable any longer. There was a comb on top and you took it to brush out your still wet hair.

Looking around the room, it was almost like you were walking in a dream. You knew it was your room, it was all the assorted belongings you’d see before but as you grasped the shirt in your hands, your mind started to blank out. It was hard to place the feeling - everything was real but none of it could touch you or maybe you couldn’t touch it in return? A fog settled within you making you only distantly aware of your room or your body or…anything, really. 

You were gone, sunk further into yourself as your body moved on its own, doing what it wanted. Sitting down on a small rug that someone had brought into the room, you laid on your back and looked at the ceiling of the room. Maybe there’d be blood there too. You weren’t really looking as you stared at the ceiling, no longer tired, and just were there.

It almost felt like when you’d been depressed in the past but this was a little better. Instead of depletion, sadness or futility you were floating in your own mind as your body moved around. You laid on the ground and watched yourself stare off into space. After what felt like a few moments later there was a knock at the door. You didn’t mind but you didn’t answer either, you couldn’t disturb the nothing. It was like you were trapped in the nothing and couldn’t diverge from it.

“Hey, Sugar, you in there?” a voice said from behind the door. “It’s been a few hours and I couldn’t find you, I thought we were gonna have fun tonight for your day off.” The voice was Thatch, you knew that, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to answer. It wasn’t pleasant floating away from yourself but you also didn’t have to deal with anything, including Thatch. “I’m coming in, alright Sweets?” You rolled your head to the side but kept looking up as you heard the key turned in the lock.

“Hey, how ya doi - oh Sugar ,” Thatch said sympathetically as he crouched down near you. He tried to make eye contact with you but you didn’t bother to move or change position. “I’m gonna borrow this, OK? We’ll brush your hair out later,” Thatch said as he gently pried the comb from your hand. “Is that ok?” he asked, turning your head to face him. The you on the surface answered for you while the rest of you remained below the fog.

“OK, sounds good,” you replied. It was weird listening to yourself respond so serenly. Whoever was above the fog was good at sounding like they were ok, you thought.

“Are you…you alright? Why didn’t you come back to my room? I was waiting for you,” Thatch said, now sitting on the floor next to you. He looked up at the ceiling to determine if you were looking at anything, but quickly looked back down at your face.

“I forgot,” you said, not remembering what happened before you were in your room. Maybe you missed something? Or did he ask you something else? The person above the fog couldn’t remember anything, neither could you.

“Marco told me what those guys said. I’m sorry you heard that,” Thatch said, watching your face. 

“Mmh,” you hummed, already forgetting what Thatch said. This was getting to be a lot, you couldn’t keep anything he said in your head while the fog was taking up so much space. Thatch was quiet for a few moments before he spoke again. 

“Can I put you in my lap?”

“Sure.” You should let the other you take control more often, you thought, she knew exactly what to say and do and you didn’t have to do anything. You made no efforts to move and Thatch had no difficulty in positioning your limp body to sit in his lap. It was a different vantage point than the floor but you could still look up at the ceiling.

“Holy fu- you’re freezing. C’mere,” he said, reaching over to your bed and pulling the blanket off. Thatch wrapped it around the two of you but mostly your body. 

“Does that feel better?” he asked. You didn’t reply, it didn’t really feel any different than before. Thatch wrapped his arms around you over the blanket, pulling you against his chest. 

“I have a question for ya. Can you name 5 things that you can see?”

“Hm?” you asked with a tilt of your head, like a dog. What was he asking you to do?

“Any five things that you can see, name ‘em,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down your arms.

“Um…” you had to take a moment to process the request but eventually came back to it. “Bed, dresser, plant.”

“Two more Sugar. You see a bed, dresser, that plant, what else?”

“Um…sunglasses and a book.” Thatch gave you a squeeze and kissed the top of your head.

“Great job. Can you tell me four things you can touch?” You rolled your head back, this was a lot. You didn’t want to name anything or tell anything, just wanted to stay quiet and let the fog take over. 

“Please? Do it for me,” Thatch urged, squeezing the tops of your arms.

“Blanket, you, floor, and… clothes,” you said, feeling the waistband of your pants digging into your stomach. Now that you thought about it, the shirt you were wearing was still wet around the collar from your hair. Thatch’s warm chest was behind you while your bare feet were on the cold wood floor.

“Wonderful, almost there. How about three things you can hear?” 

“Mmh, the sea, the night birds, and…” you trailed off as your mind started wandering again, but Thatch rubbed his goatee in your neck to whipster in your ears.

“What other sound can you hear?” You listened in and heard a bunch of sad voices, singing together.

“Crew.” Thatch kissed your shoulder, the warm press of his lips felt pleasant against your skin.

“Can you smell two different things?”

You were quiet for a few moments as you felt a wave of lethargy hit you. “Mint from you and laundry from me,” you said quietly. It was like you were slowly being brought back to yourself, the strings between the detached reality and real life being pulled back together to make one whole once more.

“I’d ask you if you can taste anything, but I -”

“Blood,” you replied as your tongue rooted around your mouth. You’d bitten a hole in your cheek and the injury left a bright coppery taste on your tongue. It was something you’d done a lot as a child when you were nervous but you’d kicked the habit years before, or so you thought. 

“Ah, fuck. Don’t tell Marco,” he said with a teasing lilt to his voice. You froze as you heard the name, your breathing picking up rapidly.

“Shh, no, no. I was just joking. You’re alright, Sugar,” Thatch said as he snuggled deeper into your shoulder. He had been right - you were freezing and your feet were still like blocks of ice. You pulled them into sit cross legged, the soles of your feet touching his bare legs where his pants didn’t cover.

“Hey! Warn me next time,” he said with a pout though he made no effort to move away from you. He didn’t make you do or say anything else but the fog was lifting and you were back in your own body. You slumped against him, suddenly exhausted even though all you had been doing was laying down. He rocked you a little with the ship as it sailed through the water, the sounds of a dirge-like song filling your ears.

“Why’re they singing?” you asked, the unfamiliar mournful song giving you the chills.

“Mm, it’s a little complicated. There’s a lot of…mixed emotions on the crew right now. Even though Teach deserved the ending he got, it’s hard to watch the Captain uh, finish something. He was family for a long time,” Thatch said, avoiding words about death. You didn’t reply but listened to the sad tune winding through the night. Thatch lapsed into silence as you gradually warmed in his lap. 

“Glad you’re back, sweets,” Thatch said quietly. “I’d ask you not to do that again but I don’t think it’s something you can promise.” You leaned your head back against him, seeking more comfort than merely his body heat. Thatch made no moves to do anything as you laid in his arms listening to the chorus above you. 

“Do you wanna leave this room? I had a little surprise planned for you,” Thatch asked, kissing your temple. Inwardly you groaned, you really weren’t in the mood to do anything right now, but he’d put effort into it so you’d white knuckle your way through it. Marco had probably asked him to cheer you up, you thought, and you didn’t want anything bad to get back to the Commander.

“Yeah, we can go,” you said softly, preparing to stand up. You squealed as he stood up with you still in his arms still wrapped in the blanket, afraid that he was going to drop you.

“P-put me down!” you squeaked, wrapping your arms around his neck for support.

“Nah, I like carrying you around. Er, that is if you don’t mind too much?” Thatch asked, giving you a raised brow. You shook your head as Thatch left your old room and carried you down the long hallways back to his own. Crew members were giving you strange looks but you pretended to busy yourself in looking down at the comforter wrapped around you. Since the conversation earlier that night, you knew what they thought of you, the words still perfectly clear in your mind.

Bringing you back to his room, you saw that a three course meal had been brought in, complete with wine and dessert. You closed your eyes and dropped your head, sucking in a deep breath. Picking yourself back up you gave him as big of a smile as you could. You even squinted to try and smile with your eyes in case he was watching closely.

“That looks incredible, I can’t wait,” you tried to say brightly. The food really did look good but the thought of eating had your stomach already hurting. Thatch returned your smile with a soft look as his thumb stroked your cheek.

“I’m no doctor but I’m guessing you’re not hungry,” he said as he walked to place you on the bed. “I’ve seen that look in your eyes before - I don’t want you to choke down the food to appease me. Let’s just relax for now, yeah?” Thatch set you on the bed in your blanket and crossed over to the bookshelf you were looking at hours before. “I think you said you like this one, right?” he asked, plucking the volume of poetry off the shelf.

“Yeah, but, you don’t have to do all this,” you said, looking from him to the table. You weren’t a chef but you guessed that all of the food prep took time and effort, not to mention taking food from the ship’s stores. There was grilled meat and some kind of noodle as well as fresh fruit - those things were precious on a seafaring ship. “You shouldn’t have wasted the ingredients on me,” you said with a raise of your shoulder, aiming for nonchalance. Thatch began protesting but you cut him off with a wave of your hand. “I appreciate it, I really do. Not even just this, everything you’ve done for me. Like arguing with Marco and making him apologize or whatever. But you don’t have to put yourself out. It’s ok, I know what everyone thinks about me.” Thatch gave you a pitying look as he turned to face you.

“What you heard isn’t what everyone thinks about you.”

“I mean are they wrong?” you asked, looking up at him from within your blanket nest on the bed.

“Yes. They are,” he said seriously, coming to sit next to you on the bed, the book still in his hands. “Most of us are grateful to you, thankful that you’re here. Even though you don’t want to be with us, you’ve helped more than you know,” he said, scooting towards the wall to use it as a backrest. “Marco’s uptight and a dick sometimes but he’s thankful too. We all are,” he said, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. You scooted back, leaving your makeshift nest now that you were warm.

“They’ve been dealt with-”

“Yeah, Marco said he had a conversation with them,” you replied bitterly, remembering the many times you’d been on the receiving end of a “conversation” with Marco. It was less a back and forth and more you waiting for Marco to stop lecturing you like an errant child.

“Mmm, that’s one way to put it. They’re in the infirmary right now, but they’ll be better soon enough,” Thatch said with a small smile. Maybe it was because you’d been around an Emperor’s crew for a while, but you found you were happy they’d received some corporal punishment. They weren’t going to get killed over something so minor as upsetting you but maybe they’d be more careful next time when airing their thoughts. 

“Is Marco gonna heal them?” you asked, curling up on his lap. It felt like all you’d done lately was relax on Thatch but you were content to pass your time that way if he let you.

“Nope. Gonna suffer for a little longer.” You gave a small satisfied grin, which Thatch returned.

“First smile outta you in a while, Sweets,” he said, pinching your cheek. You snapped at his hand playfully with your teeth, not intending to bite. Even though you were still drained, it almost felt normal to be spending your time with Thatch like this. There wasn’t any time spent in the phlebotomy room hanging over your head, you could actually relax for once - at least for a while before reality set in again.

You changed positions so that your back was against his torso, the two of you now facing the same direction. “I can’t believe Marco beat them up, seems a little out of character for him,” you mused, leaning your head back against Thatch’s chest.

“He didn’t. I did,” he said, looking down at you. You stiffened a little in surprise, rearing back to take in his face.

“Wh- why? Like, it’s not that serious -” you shifted in his lap to look up at his face. You couldn’t believe someone like him had gone out of his way for someone like you. Sure, most of the crew probably didn’t think of you as Marco’s pet but Thatch didn’t need to set the record straight himself. 

“It is to me. And I’ll do it again if I hear anything else. And it’s not just that I’m thankful for what you do, I -” Thatch hesitated. “Do you remember asking me if we had met somewhere else, would we still be friends?” Your heart hammered in your chest as you shifted to face him and nodded. “Well, like I said, I think we’d be friends and maybe more. I haven’t said anyth- it’s not that -I just - sigh this isn’t the right time. You’re struggling and depressed and I-”

You didn’t let the Commander continue speaking but instead pulled him down to kiss him gently on the lips. His eyes opened wide in surprise but allowed you to drag him closer as you wound your arms around his neck and pressed your lips to his again. He made a sound low in his throat as he closed his eyes, kissing you tenderly as one of his large hands wound around you to cradle your head. 

Pulling away, he put his forehead against your own and took in a few deep breaths. You traced his facial scar with the tips of your fingers with half lidded eyes and waited for him to speak.

“You mean more to me than just the bl- the services you provide. Do you remember when you asked if we could ever be anything else? If we’d met differently?” You hummed and nodded, a frown spreading through your features. If Thatch rejected you right now, there’d really be nothing left for you on the ship and you were throwing yourself overboard. Not literally. Probably.

“I’ve been thinking about that ever since you said it. I know this isn’t the life you’d chosen for yourself but I’m glad - well, I’m not glad you’re here, but I am glad that it’s you and that I get to-” you reached up and ran your hand through his hair now that it wasn’t slicked back in its signature style.

“I am too,” you said quietly, tracing his lips with a fingertip. He kissed you again and laid you down on the bed, covering your body with his own. You widened your legs for him to settle between them. Thatch leaned over you on his forearms to prevent squishing you with his massive body.

“Are you sure you’re up to anything? We can stop-” he asked, his worry lines reappearing on his face. As appreciative that you were that he was being careful with you, you really wanted to make this happen. You placed your hands on either side of his jaw and gave him a serious look.

“You said that I could have anything I wanted.”

“I didn’t say that, I said-”

“Well, I want you,” you said as the cheesy line made your own face flush from embarrassment. Thankfully Thatch laughed at your corniness and kissed your jaw.

“How can I deny such a sweet request?” he asked, rolling you to your side to press his body into yours. “It’s our day off, we should enjoy it.”

taglist: @mfreedomstuff @starsandshht

[sanshinely]

LOVE HANGOVER | ATEEZ CHOI SAN

LOVE HANGOVER

ateez choi san x fem!reader

trope » established relationship fic, non-idol fic (this fic is also inspired by love hangover, your love & toxic till the end!)

genre » fluff, romance, angst, toxic-but-tender relationship, bittersweet, slight smut.

word count;  4,670 words estimated reading time » ~15–20 minutes (normal reading speed)

warnings » toxic dynamics, emotional manipulation, alcohol mention, codependency themes, suggestive content, explicit language, hurt/comfort elements, heartbreak

7 years.

It’s not just a number. It’s every birthday you celebrate together. Every Sunday morning in the same bed. Every night you cooked because he came home late.

It’s also every second you spend waiting. Every fight that ended with silence. Every promise that was pushed to someday.

Choi San isn’t just a name. He is a man for you, who is always there for you. Yet he is much older than you, but he’s a constant. A presence that wrapped around you like the softest shadow—always there, even when the world fell apart. He’s the man who held your hand through your loudest silence and loved you in a way that made pain feel almost poetic.

He’s older, wiser, and always seemed like he had life figured out.

But maybe that’s why you trusted him too much.

Maybe that’s why it hurts more now.

You and San met a few years ago, back when you were just neighbors in that old, cracked apartment building in Hongdae. San was a new neighbor at that time, you thought he’s just a random guy but in fact he’s living next to your door. You saw him for the first time when he was sitting on the stairs eating ramen straight from the pot, hoodie pulled over his head, headphones in. He barely looked up at you, just gave a little nod. But after that, somehow you always ran into him—at the convenience store downstairs, waiting for deliveries, out on the roof when you couldn't sleep. 

You started to talk and get to know him more. He’s definitely your type and the kind of man that you’re finding all these time. One late night, he knocked on your door because he forgot his charger. The next morning, you woke up tangled in sheets that smelled like him. 17 January of 2023, where your relationship with San has begun, as a couple. That’s just how it started. Not some big dramatic love story.

 Just little moments stacked on top of each other until you couldn’t remember what life felt like before him. And somehow, that turned into something real. San wasn’t always perfect—he was messy, moody, and sometimes way too quiet when you needed him to say something. But he was loyal. He remembered how you took your coffee. He always came back, even after a fight. And before you even realized it, seven whole years had passed. Even when you started to wonder... if love was really enough.

San was 25 back then, and you’re only 19. Now it has been 7 years passed. San has turned into a grown man at the age of 32. You just turned 25, at the same age of the year of your relationship and San has started. You’ve waited all day, but there’s no San. He was busy with his job, of being a photographer. Your day was almost dry, but he finally came home that night.

11PM -

He walked in quietly, as if the silence in the room might crack beneath his footsteps. His camera still hung from his shoulder, his coat damp from the drizzle outside. He looked around like he wasn’t sure what to say first. You were on the couch, curled under the throw blanket, the glow from the television reflecting off your tired eyes.

“I’m home,” he said softly, almost like a question. You didn’t look up right away. The air was thick, heavier than it had been in the morning. On the coffee table sat the cake you bought for yourself—half-melted now, its candles untouched. He followed your gaze, then exhaled through his nose, the guilt already spreading across his face.

“You’re late,” you said, voice steady, but flat. San swallowed hard. “I know. The shoot ran longer than I thought.” His words dropped one by one, careful, but too late. 

“You didn’t text.”

“I didn’t want to make promises I couldn’t keep.” San tried to defend himself. That hurt more than you expected. He hadn’t promised anything in a long time—not birthdays, not plans, not forever. Just moments. And moments were always slipping through his fingers. You sat up slowly, wrapping your arms around your knees.

“It’s my birthday, San.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at you, eyes flickering with all the things he couldn’t undo. “I didn’t forget,” he whispered. “No,” you said, looking down. “You just didn’t show up.

“I know, my love. And I'm really sorry for that,” he whispered, stepping closer until his arms wrapped around you from behind. His chin rested gently on your shoulder, breath warm against your skin. You didn’t lean into him right away. You stayed still—arms crossed, body stiff. The anger wasn’t loud. It was soft, tired, and blooming from years of quiet disappointment. But even then, even in the silence, you didn’t pull away.

You still loved him. That was the worst part.

He pressed a kiss to your neck, slow and familiar, his hands sliding gently down your arms. You felt his heart beating against your back. His touch didn’t ask for forgiveness—it begged for closeness. For comfort. For a pause in the distance that had been growing between you.

And for a moment, you gave in.

You turned to face him, lips brushing his in that messy way two people do when they don’t know how to fix things but still want to feel something. The kiss deepened, breath caught between teeth, fingers curling into fabric. There was heat, hunger—like muscle memory. Like instinct.

But it didn’t last. You pulled away first.

Your chest rose and fell, eyes glossy but firm. “San… I’m not in the mood,” you murmured, barely above a whisper. He looked at you—not frustrated, not offended. Just quiet. Just sad.

“It’s okay,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Let’s just stay like this.” 

So you did.

You laid down together, limbs tangled beneath the blanket. His arms wrapped tightly around you, your face tucked into the space between his neck and shoulder. You felt his lips press softly against your hair.

No more kisses. No more words. Just two people clinging to the warmth of something that felt like love, even if it wasn’t whole anymore.

The room was dim, the only light coming from the hallway outside their half-closed door. His fingers slowly traced shapes on your back under the blanket, like he was trying to memorize you all over again.

You hadn’t spoken in a while—not since the kiss that stopped midway. But there was no awkwardness, just the kind of silence that feels safe when you’re lying in the arms of someone you’ve loved for too long to hate.

Then his voice, soft and low, broke the quiet.

“Princess…”

You rolled your eyes a little, your cheek still pressed against his bare chest. “Seriously? After all this, you’re still calling me that?” He chuckled, that lazy, breathy kind of laugh that made your stomach flutter even now. “What? I’ve been calling you that since you were nineteen. It’s tradition.” You groaned playfully, but your lips curled into a small smile. “Yeah, well. Your princess is tired of waiting for her happily ever after.”

He didn’t laugh this time. Just held you a little tighter. “I know,” he said. “Seven years... I still remember the first time you came over and stole my hoodie like it was yours.” You smirked. “It was mine. You just didn’t know it yet.” He leaned in and kissed the top of your head.

“I’ve loved you since that day, you know,” he whispered. “Even before I admitted it to myself.” You stayed quiet for a beat. “I loved you through every shoot, every late night, every city I had to fly to without you.” Your throat tightened. The words were sweet, but they didn’t answer what you really needed to hear. Still, you replied softly, “I never stopped loving you either.”

He hummed, fingers sliding down to lace with yours under the covers. “I know I’ve been a mess,” he said. “But you’re still the best thing I’ve ever had, princess. No shoot, no project, no city ever felt like home unless you were in it.” You bit your lip, eyes starting to sting. “Then why does it still feel like I’m always waiting for you?”

He didn’t have an answer. So instead, he pulled you even closer, your nose brushing against his collarbone.

Maybe love wasn’t about answers anymore. Maybe it was just two hearts trying not to fall apart in the same bed.

You didn’t know how long you lay there, tangled in memories, in touch, in the invisible weight of years. There was no clear path forward—only the space between love and something that used to be love. But when you tilted your head up to look at him, he was already watching you. His eyes were glassy, lips parted like he’d been trying to find the right words but failed every time.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he murmured. You didn’t reply. Instead, you leaned in slowly, as if you were giving yourself permission.

And then, you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft, or shy—it was the kind of kiss that tasted like every year you’d stayed, and every tear you’d held back. His hand cradled your cheek, the other pressed firmly against your lower back as he pulled you on top of him, not with hunger, but need.

It was passionate. Desperate. Familiar. You kissed him like he was still yours. And he kissed you like he was terrified you wouldn’t be tomorrow

Two months later.

The days blurred into one another, stretched out by routine and silence. You were still together—still sharing meals, still sleeping in the same bed—but something had shifted. A kind of quiet had settled between you, like an echo of something that used to be loud and full of life.

That night, it all came to a head. You sat on the edge of the bed, folding freshly washed laundry under the dim yellow light of your bedroom lamp. You didn’t plan to say it—but it had lived in your chest for too long.

“I want to get married, San. ”Your voice was steady, almost gentle. But he knew it wasn’t just a wish.

He froze beside the dresser, holding one of his shirts mid-fold. “Y/N…”

He sighed, walking over slowly before sitting beside you. “I just… I don’t think I’m ready yet. You nodded once, lips pressing into a thin line. The pain wasn’t new—it just settled deeper this time. “I see.” San reached out to hold your hand, but you pulled back slightly—not in rejection, but in resignation.

“Have you stopped loving me?” you asked quietly. His eyes widened. “No. Of course not. I love you so much.” “Then why does it feel like I’m the only one holding on?” A tense silence filled the space between you. You stood up, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t want to wait another seven years for you to be ready, San. I’ve already given you everything.”

He stood quickly. “And I didn’t ask you to!” he snapped before softening. “I mean—I didn’t want you to feel like you had to wait that long just for me.” You let out a dry laugh. “But I did wait, San. Because I believed in us. I believed you’d eventually choose me fully.”

“I have chosen you.”

“No, you didn’t.” You turned to face him, tears brimming. “You chose your work. Your freedom. Your timing. I was just the one who waited around.” His jaw tightened. “I’m doing my best. You know that.” “I know you think you are,” you replied, quieter now. “But sometimes your ‘best’ still leaves me alone.”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off. “I’m not mad you’re not ready, San. I’m heartbroken that after all this time, you still can’t see a future where I’m your wife.” Your voice cracked at the end. He stepped closer, unsure if he should reach out again.

“I want that future with you,” he said softly. “I just… I’m scared.” You looked up at him, eyes full of the kind of pain that only love could cause. “So am I, San,” you said. “But I’m more scared of staying in a love that never moves forward.”

There was a long silence. The kind that made the air feel heavy. You stared down at the floor, blinking fast, trying to will the tears not to fall. Then, his arms wrapped around you—tentative at first, but then tighter. Like he needed to feel you there to believe you hadn’t already slipped away.

He pressed his forehead to your shoulder, voice cracking. “I don’t want to lose you.” Your eyes closed, a tear sliding down your cheek. “I just… I don’t know how to fix this if I’m the only one waiting,” you said quietly. He slowly turned you around to face him. His eyes were glossy, tired, and scared. But underneath that, there was sincerity. 

“I swear to you,” he whispered, “I will marry you, princess. Just… not yet. Not when I’m still figuring out how to be the man you deserve.” You wanted to believe him. God, you did believe him. That was the worst part. “You always say the right things,” you said, voice small. “But time keeps moving. And I don’t know if I can keep holding on to promises without a date.” San cupped your face, thumbs gently wiping away the tear that escaped.

“I know. You deserve more than words. You deserve certainty. But I need you to trust me a little longer. I’m not running away from you—I’m running toward something I can offer you fully. Without doubt. Without fear.” You didn’t respond immediately. But your body relaxed slightly in his hold, the storm inside you softening—just a bit.

He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re my princess,” he murmured. “Always have been. Always will be. I don’t want anyone else but you.” You closed your eyes, heart aching with how much you loved him—still.

Maybe the timing was off.

Maybe love wasn’t enough right now.

But maybe... just maybe, it was still worth holding on to a little longer.

It was supposed to be a simple date.

Just the two of you. No work. No calls. Just iced americanos in plastic cups, walking through boutiques you didn’t even plan to buy anything from. Something normal—something grounding.

But San’s phone kept buzzing.

You noticed it the first time when you were browsing scented candles. The second time, when you pointed at a keychain shaped like a strawberry, hoping he’d smile the way he usually did. He didn’t even look up.

By the fourth buzz, you’d had enough.

“San,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm. “Can you put your phone away for just five minutes?” He blinked, like he’d just been pulled out of a different world. “Huh? Sorry—my client just changed the entire concept for tomorrow’s shoot. I need to reply now or I’ll forget.”

You stared at him, jaw clenched. “We're on a date.”

“I know, babe,” he said, sighing. “I just need a second.”

“You always ‘just need a second’. And suddenly the whole day’s gone.” San finally looked up, frustrated now. “What do you want me to do? Ignore work and get scolded later? This is my job.” “And I’m your girlfriend,” you snapped. “But I guess I only get your attention when we’re in bed or when you’re drunk and scared I’ll leave.”

That hit too close.

His eyes darkened, lips parting like he might yell—but instead, he let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You always twist things when you’re upset.”

“Because you never listen until I raise my voice.”

People were starting to stare. You didn’t care.

You stepped back a little, arms folded. “This was supposed to be our time. You promised you’d be present.” He put his phone in his pocket with a sharp movement. “Fine. I'm here. Happy?”

“No,” you replied coldly. “I’m tired.” He stared at you for a second too long, jaw tight. Then, he turned and walked away a few steps. Just far enough to let you feel abandoned. But not far enough to leave for real.

As always. You followed in silence, like you always did. Because no matter how many cracks formed, something in you still reached for him—even if your hands were bleeding. The subway ride home was quiet. No eye contact. No conversation.

You entered the apartment in the same silence, the door clicking shut like the period on a sentence neither of you wanted to finish. They didn’t talk much after the fight at the mall.

Just awkward silence on the subway ride home. A short, dry “I’ll shower first,” from him. And the sound of the water running, long enough to wash off whatever emotions he was trying to drown.

The apartment felt too small tonight.

You curled up on the edge of the bed, scrolling through your phone without reading anything. When San came out—shirtless, hair damp, towel slung low on his hips—he didn’t say a word. He just glanced at you, then turned off the main light, leaving only the dim glow from the bedside lamp.

You heard the sheets rustle as he lay down beside you. A full arm’s length away.

Silence.

Then, after a few minutes, his hand found your hip.

Slow. Hesitant.

You didn’t move away. He scooted closer, pressing his forehead to your back. “I’m sorry.” His voice was rough from exhaustion. And maybe guilt. “I hate fighting with you,” he whispered. You turned slightly, meeting his eyes in the dark. “Then stop giving me reasons to feel ignored.” His hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer. “I know I messed up.”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t pull away either. He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss on your neck. Then another, lower. His breath was shaky, like he’d been holding it in all night. “Let me show you I’m still here,” he murmured against your skin.

Your body reacts before your mind does. You turned fully to face him, and your lips met in the middle—slow, hungry, desperate. The kind of kiss that begged for forgiveness and refused to ask for it at the same time. Clothes came off in silence, not out of passion, but out of aching need. To feel something real. To remember what it felt like when love was simple.

He touched you like you were glass—then like you were air and he couldn’t breathe without you. You held onto him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered.

It wasn’t wild. It wasn’t perfect. But it was familiar. And when it was over, you laid tangled in each other’s arms, his breath steadying against your collarbone.

“I still love you,” he whispered. “Even when I don’t know how to show it.”

You closed your eyes, lips barely moving.

“I know.”

San moved over you gently, letting his body pressed against yours, his lips never leaving your skin for too long. Every kiss, every touch, felt like an apology he didn’t know how to speak. Clothes slipped away with practiced ease—your shirt pulled over your head, his sweatpants pushed down. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real.

He looked at you for a long second before anything else—his fingers brushing over your cheek like he was memorizing you. “You’re the only one who makes me feel like home,” he murmured.

Then he entered you slowly, both of you letting out quiet breaths at the contact. You moved together in sync—lazy and heavy with emotion, not frenzy. His hand found yours above your head, fingers interlacing tightly like he needed to be anchored to you.

Your moans were soft, swallowed between kisses. His name slipped from your lips like a prayer.

“San...”

“I’m here,” he whispered against your throat. “I’m right here.”

It wasn’t wild or loud.

But it was everything.

And when it was over, you stayed like that—bodies tangled, hearts still heavy, but quiet. His thumb brushed lazy circles over your hip as he kissed your forehead.

“I’m scared to lose you,” he said, voice almost gone. You turned to face him, resting your head on his chest. “Then stop making me feel like I’m already gone.”

He looked at you for a long second before anything else—his fingers brushing over your cheek like he was memorizing you. “You’re the only one who makes me feel like home,” he murmured.

You reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head slowly. San’s gaze dropped, not with hunger—but with reverence. Like he hadn’t seen you in years, though you’d slept beside him every night. His hands found your waist, thumbs brushing over your skin before he leaned in to kiss the spot beneath your collarbone.

Wordlessly, he shrugged off his own t-shirt, letting it drop to the floor.

You kissed again—messy, slow, wanting. His hands slid down your back, your hips, tugging at the waistband of your shorts as he pressed your body closer. Heat bloomed under your skin as you helped him strip off the rest of your clothes, and his.

Now both bare, you laid back against the sheets—your skin against his, the only thing between you was the heavy breath you shared.

He pulled the blanket over you both, half out of instinct, half out of intimacy. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the sheets and the stutter of breath as his body aligned with yours. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest as he entered you, slowly, letting the moment swallow you whole.

His thrusts were gentle at first—rhythmic, like waves. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your nails brushing the skin of his back. The way he looked at you in that moment—half broken, half in love—made you want to cry.

He whispered your name like it was sacred, his lips ghosting over your jaw, your ear, your mouth.

“Princess…”

You gasped softly, eyes fluttering shut as he moved deeper, slower. The kind of pace that said I love you, even when the words had stopped working. Your bodies moved together until you were both trembling, chasing that final exhale. When it came, it was quiet—just two people breaking apart and clinging tighter at the same time. Afterward, he held you close, skin still sticky with sweat, breaths uneven.

The blanket was barely covering either of you now. Just tangled limbs and quiet apologies wrapped in silk sheets. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, kissing your temple. “I never want to lose this.” And you whispered back, with a crack in your voice, “Then fight for it.”

Afterward, you stayed curled into him, your legs tangled beneath the blanket, your cheek resting on his chest. “I still love you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Even when I don’t know how to show it.”

You closed your eyes, holding him tighter.

“I know.”

And just like that, the cycle reset again.

It was Love Hangover.

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

end of part 1, the last part will be uploaded soon <33 thank you for your time for reading this fic!

PART 2 LINK : https://www.tumblr.com/sanshinely/782901850226737152/love-hangover-part-2-ateez-choi-san?source=share

[midosqr]

❥ sun-kissed

shoyo hinata swore today would be the best day of his life.

rushing to get any necessary items and tugging on his shorts, the biggest smile is plastered on his face. 

after finding oikawa, the other invited him for a little match at the beach. sure, he’s practiced with maybe one or two people or even by himself, but today would be his first ever match. his smile grew knowing that every step, even his lowest points, brought him to this moment. his head perked up upon hearing oikawa’s call from outside his bedroom door.

“hurry up, shrimpy! weather’s been actin’ up, sun night not be out the whole day!” 

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

the sun was, in fact, out the whole day.

shoyo, of all people, knew and especially felt that.

his whole body was an uncomfortable shade of red, his newfound friends just wincing looking at it. in his rush and excitement, he (obviously) forgot to put on sunscreen. he’s honestly mesmerized at how he can leave a handprint on his shoulder and it can just go back to neon red.

as the sky turns a golden orange, the other players call it a day and bid the duo goodbye. as his adrenaline wore down, shoyo suddenly felt pain everywhere on his body. he begged oikawa to jump in the water for a few minutes to cool off, but they’d already reserved a place for dinner. the orange-haired boy hangs his head in defeat.

“sho… you really need aloe vera or something,” oikawa sighed with furrowed brows. 

“well did you-”

“no, sorry,” oikawa cuts him off, sass radiating as he already predicted his question.

“well why didnt you?” hinata slightly snaps back, side eye deathly and annoyance creeping up with the sting.

“you really think i carry aloe around?”

“don’t you preach about skin care or something?”

“yeah, enough to know to constantly put on sunscreen, let alone put it on at all.”

“you forgot, didn't you.”

“no idea who you’re talking to.”

god, he’s really like kageyama, hinata thinks to himself with a sigh as oikawa stomps off. 

in the corner of his eye, he sees a girl sitting under a tree. the golden rays kiss her entire figure, luminating her enough to make hinata think she were an angel. mustering up his courage, he trudges through the sand like a man on a mission.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

you just about finished the chapter you were on, grabbing your little book marker and closing up that world you were lost in. as you stand up, dusting off the back of your cover-up, a man awkwardly approaches you.

“uh hi!” he starts off. he pauses for a bit almost as if he was at war in his mind over whether or not that was a good greeting.

“um… hi?” you reply, a little intrigued at this interaction. you took this time to look at him and all you saw was muscle. biceps, triceps, shoulders, and quads galore. you caught a glance at his chest, pecs peeking out from behind his loose, white tank top — if it weren’t for that piece of fabric, you would’ve lost your mind. darting your eyes back up to his, you noticed he probably did the same. (holy mother of fine shyt went through both of your minds)

“can i help you?” you softly questioned, breaking the tense silence.

“oh right! um… o-oh yeah! are you… d- wait…” the boy stuttered, orange hair tangled in the slight breeze. he definitely didn’t rehearse this, if he had something to rehearse at all. you smiled at how he fumbled over himself, heart beating a little faster than it already was.

“ah! um, do you have aloe vera perchance?” he asks, smiling to himself that he finally had an excuse remembered what he was going to ask.

oh god, that smile… you thought to yourself, starting to feel your knees weaken.

“u-um… yeah i think i do! well i hope i do.. wait where’s my bag.” now it was your turn to fumble all over yourself. the boy smiled at you as you walked towards your bag, slinging one strap over your shoulder and pushing the other side open. after a second or so, you finally reached a familiar bottle and handed it to him.

“thank you so much! you’re a life saver,” he exclaimed. he squeezed some into the palm of his hand and rubbed it over his arms. he repeated this process and all you did was watch. as golden hour came and passed, his body, too, was a beautiful gold that you just couldn’t pull your eyes away from. shadows danced all around his hair as he stuck his tongue out in concentration. his eyes, hazel and wide with wonder, mirrored the sun’s glow — it was hard to tell the difference between the two at this point. 

“my names shoyo hinata, by the way!” he said, much more relaxed than earlier. you felt like melting into a puddle and knew damn well it wasn’t because of the heat.

“nice to meet you! i’m-”

“shoyo! come on, we’re gonna lose our reservation!” another boy with brown hair calls out. hinata darts his head towards him and hurriedly closes the bottle and hands it back to you.

“i’m so sorry, i have to go. thank you soso so so so so sososo much again!” he rambles, hands flailing around as if he were trying to comfort you with them, but choosing to restrain himself. you were about to speak again when he started backing away.

“i hope i'll see you again soon, ‘gel!” he calls before running back to meet his friend. as he went back into the distance, you squealed and struggled to not start doing cartwheels all around the shore. not only was he sweet as sugar and a fucking god-given sculpture, but he even gave you a cute(??) nickname. 

as you pack up your stuff, you make a mental note to by a couple more bottles of aloe vera.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

“so, who was that, sho?” oikawa asked, food pushed to the side of his cheek to ask the burning question.

“someone,” he replied, the cheekiest grin on his face.

“mmhm,” oikawa smirked. “her name’s jell or something?”

“oh, i don’t know her name,” hinata looked up with doe eyes. “i just called her ‘gel.”

“ohh got it got it. is it ‘cus she gave you that aloe?” he asks with a raised brow, fork pointing hinata’s way.

hinata smiled to himself, the red on his face being a mixture of two reasons: the sun and his angel.

“yeah, something like that.”

what the flip first post holy fart

[onlyfortaetae]

Baby Daddy (m) kimtaehyung!

A test. Two lines. One question Taehyung wasn’t ready for fatherhood—but neither was she.

•𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈:boyfriend!taehyung x femreader

•𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: angst,drama.and romance

•𝒄𝒘: Two people who have no idea how to do this whole parenting thing. Expect emotional tension, confusion, and characters stumbling through fear, feelings, and figuring it out—one awkward moment at a time.

𝑨/𝒏: 𝒉𝒆𝒉.....𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆. 𝑰 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒚'𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊 𝒂𝒎 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆😀

Query successful

Well, the pull out method definitely didn't work.

He can see that now as you show him the pregnancy test. Well, you showed him two minutes ago, and he's been dead silent just staring at it ever since. His head was starting to spin from the breath he forgot he was holding.

"Fucking 'ell..."

He finally murmured as he exhaled the long breath. His brown eyes blinked down at the white stick, the little plastic thing changing his life. He pressed his lips into a fine line, not like you could tell his face's ministrations from under his mask.

You've been his girlfriend for a few years. Fuck, he loved you more than anything, but his silence made him seem angry. In his head, all he was thinking of was the long line of shitty fathers in his family. His fingers flexed a bit, wondering if he could outrun that lineage.

"Looks like the guest rooms finally gettin' a renovation," He mumbled under his breath. It was hard to decipher if he was happy, since everything had to be a sarcastic remark.

A nervous laugh bubbled up, though there wasn't much humor in it. "Renovation? Yeah, something like that. A pretty big one, actually."

He placed the test down with a sigh, tilting his head towards you. "How far on are you?" he asked, clueless as to what this meant.

You watched his fingers tap against the worn wood of the table, his brow furrowed in thought. "And, um… about eight weeks, give or take." You kept your voice even, trying to gauge his reaction beyond the initial shock.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the rhythmic drumming of his fingers. You waited, your own breath catching in your throat, for the next sarcastic remark, the worry, or maybe, just maybe, something else entirely.

"When will we know if it's a boy or girl yet? Cause I'm wondering what color I should paint that impromptu nursery..."

That was Taehyung for happy, at least. He was a working man, never really relaxed to celebrate the hell. Hell, the lads back at base would rejoice at the news for him.

All of a sudden, his eyes widen briefly. He slowly looks up to you.

"This mean we should get hitched?" he asks, his voice genuinely curious. He didn't know how this parenting thing worked, didn't know how you thought of it. His was of rationalizing was a million questions, ones he only trusted you to answer.

A soft smile touched your lips, a warmth spreading through the anxiety that had been knotting in your stomach. His question, so earnest and a little bit clueless, was unexpectedly sweet. "Well," you began, your voice a little shaky but filled with a newfound tenderness, "it's definitely one option. Is it what you want, Tae?" You reached across the table, your hand hovering over his before gently resting on his.

"Because this isn't just about the baby, it's about us too. What do you envision for our future?" You watched his face, searching for more than just the initial surprise, wanting to see the man you loved beyond the shock of impending parenthood.

His eyes flicked down to your hand on his, the warmth of your touch seeping through his calloused skin. He was silent for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly beneath the skull mask. When he spoke, his voice was low and thoughtful, a rare glimpse into the deeper emotions he usually kept locked away.

"I've never really thought about the future, not beyond the next mission or the next deployment. But with you... and now this little one..." He trailed off, his gaze drifting to your stomach before meeting your eyes again.

"I want to be there. I want to come home to you every night, to watch you grow and change. I want to see our kid take their first steps, hear their first words."

A wave of emotion washed over you, a mixture of relief, tenderness, and a burgeoning sense of hope. His words, so simple and direct, held a weight that resonated deep within you. You squeezed his hand gently. "Oh, Tae," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "That's... that's more than I could have hoped for."

A tear escaped and traced a warm path down your cheek. You hadn't realized how much you'd been bracing yourself for something different, something less. To hear him speak of wanting to be present, of envisioning a future with you and the baby, it eased a knot you hadn't even been fully aware was there.

"So," you continued, a small, watery smile gracing your lips, "does that mean... you want to get married?" You needed to hear the words, to solidify this unexpected turn, to truly believe that this future you suddenly dared to imagine was real.

Taehyung thumb brushed over the back of your hand, a gentle gesture that belied his usual roughness. He swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat working visibly. When he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion.

"Yes, I want to marry you," he said, the words coming out in a rush, as if he was afraid he might change his mind if he hesitated. "I want to stand up in front of everyone and say that you're mine, that you and our kid are my family. I want to protect you, provide for you; be the man you deserve."

He paused, his dark eyes searching yours intensely. "I know I'm not good with words, and I'm shit at showing my feelings. But I promise you, I'll spend every day trying to be the husband you need. I'll be there for you, for our family. Always."

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time they were tears of pure, unadulterated joy. Your heart swelled with a love so profound it felt like it might burst. You squeezed his hand back, your own grip firm.

"Yes," you breathed out, a shaky laugh escaping your lips. "Yes, Taehyung, a thousand times yes."

A wave of relief seemed to wash over his features, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards, a small, genuine smile that reached his dark eyes, making your heart flutter. It was a rare and precious sight, a glimpse of the man beneath the mask, the man who was now vowing to be your husband and the father of your child.

"Good," he said, his voice a little rougher now, thick with emotion. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles. "Good."

[mummyemmatojames]

37. Monthly Check-In: A Deep Dive and Some Compromises

Hello, wonderful community! Emma here, your Mummy-in-training, with an update on our MDLB and FLR journey after this month’s Sunday check-in with James. It was a really interesting one—full of highs, lows, and some honest adjustments to our dynamic. We talked about how he’s thriving, the fallout from the wetting incident, and his feelings on the formula. I’m feeling hopeful about the compromises we landed on, and I’d love your take on how we’re moving forward!

James Thriving—and a Work Promotion

We started the check-in on a high note, curled up with tea as equals, and James opened up about how he’s feeling overall. He admitted he’s thriving right now—emotionally, physically, and even at work, where he just got another promotion! His boss praised his focus and reliability, and he’s now leading a small team, which is a huge step up from where he was a few months ago on that performance plan. He gave me this shy smile and said, “I think it’s because of you, Emma—everything we’re doing.” My heart swelled—he tied it to our dynamic, the early bedtimes, the healthy snacks, my milk, all of it keeping him steady and sharp. It was so rewarding to hear, and I told him how proud I am of my little boy growing into such a capable man too.

The Wetting Incident: A lingering Impact

Then we got into the tougher stuff—the wetting incident from last week. I’d apologized the next day, but this was our first real chance to unpack it as equals. He said it hit him hard—not just the accident itself, but how humiliated he felt in the car, fussing with the dummy in while I didn’t realize what was wrong. “I hated feeling so helpless,” he admitted, his voice low. “I know you didn’t mean it, but it made me feel like I couldn’t trust you to listen.” That stung—I felt terrible all over again—but I let him talk it out. He wasn’t mad anymore, just shaken, and I could tell it dented his confidence in our public rules.

We agreed to tweak the toilet permission rule in public. Instead of asking me and waiting for my okay—like he did in the shop when I forgot—he can now just tell me when he’s going, like, “Mummy, I’m going to the toilet now,” and head off. It’s still within our dynamic—I’m aware and in charge—but it gives him the freedom to act if it’s urgent, so we never risk that again. I promised to be more attentive too—no brushing him off when we’re out. He seemed relieved, and I think it’ll rebuild that trust without losing the structure we both love.

Formula Frustrations and a Compromise

The next big topic was the formula top-up. James was blunt—he hates it. He loves the closeness of nursing from my boobs, the skin-on-skin warmth and comfort, especially at bedtime or when he’s fussy. “That’s perfect,” he said, “but the bottle and the flavor are weird.” He’s tried two kinds now—the organic one and the new flavor from the shopping trip—and he scrunches his nose every time, saying it’s too thick or not sweet enough compared to my milk. It’s not just the taste—he doesn’t like the bottle itself, how it feels less personal than feeding from me.

I get it—nursing is our special thing, and the formula’s been a practical fix since I can’t produce enough. But I’m not ready to give up on it—I want him to get everything he needs, and my supply alone isn’t cutting it yet. So, we compromised. I told him I’ll feed him skin-on-skin as much as possible—nursing first every time, letting him have all the milk I’ve got—because I know that closeness matters to him. For the top-ups, I’ll try another formula flavor (maybe something sweeter or thinner) and I’ve ordered a new bottle with a faster flow, hoping it’ll feel more natural and less clunky for him. He didn’t look thrilled, but he nodded— “Okay, I’ll try it”—and I think he trusts me to keep tweaking until it works.

I’ve got a huge tub of the current stuff to work through, so I’ll mix it with the new flavor when it arrives and see if that helps. I’m still pumping and taking supplements to boost my supply—hoping one day I won’t need the formula—but until then, this feels like a fair middle ground. He gets the closeness he craves, and I get to keep nourishing him fully.

Where We’re At

The check-in ended on a good note—our usual adult sexy time as equals sealed it with that spark we save for these moments. Back in our dynamic now, things feel steadier. James is thriving, and hearing him connect that to us was a huge lift after the wetting guilt. The toilet rule change takes some pressure off me in public, and I’m hopeful the formula tweaks will settle his bottle woes. He’s asleep now—nursed, then topped up with the current bottle—and I’m feeling like we’re on the right track, even if it’s not perfect yet.

I do wonder if the new bottle and flavor will make a difference—or if I should rethink the top-up idea if he keeps hating it. I’m not sure it’ll all work, but I’m committed to finding what does. My little boy’s health and happiness mean everything, and I’ll keep adjusting until it clicks.

What Do You Think?

I’d love to hear from the community—how have your check-ins shaped your dynamic after a tough moment like the wetting? For those who’ve tweaked public rules, did it help rebuild trust like I’m hoping? And if you’ve dealt with formula woes—taste, bottles, all of it—what worked to make it feel right for your partner? Any flavor or bottle recs for a picky little one? I’m also curious how you balance their feedback with keeping the care you know they need—I want to honor James’s feelings without losing what’s working.

Thank you for being here as we navigate these ups and downs. This check-in reminded me how strong we are together, and I’m so grateful for your wisdom along the way.

With all my love, Emma (aka Mummy) 💕