pyschotic & iconic.

mar, she/her, gtop’s girl 18+ only | requests: open masterlist ‪‪❤︎‬

[moontabi]

. ݁₊ ⊹ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 !

this blog contains nsfw content & dark themes, minors dni beyond this point.

𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐃 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄

CHOI SU BONG/THANOS.

yandere alphabet

NAMGYU.

off limits vampire headcanons

𝐁𝐈𝐆𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆

KWON JIYONG/G DRAGON.

melted kisses bonamana so good your biggest fan knockout ft. csh mean girls

CHOI SEUNGHYUN/TOP.

say please work of art brat taming drop your top knockout ft. kjy shut up

KANG DAESUNG.

soon

[aizshallnotbefound]

SHORT N' SWEET || writing challenge !

hello my lovelies ! i’m excited to announce a new writing challenge !! from the 4th till 31st of august, i’m holding a collaboration AND celebration event w some of my gorgeous & talented writer friends !! Thank you guys so much for 241 followers i really appreciate each and every one of you guys <33. ♡ every track on sabrina carpenters SHORT N' SWEET album (including the deluxe version) will be adapted to fics by a different writer in august! the list can be found below ❀

i hope you all enjoy <3

Best viewed in dark mode ~

~ TRACKLIST ~

1: taste - {daesung} | @gdinthehouseee

2: please please please - { } |

3: good graces - {seunghyun} | @sevendaysummer

4: sharpest tool - {seunghyun} | @flymetothexmoon

5: coincidence - {g dragon} | @moonqz

6: bed chem - {felix} @emmiesoverthemoon

7: espresso - {g-dragon} | @mashtatosworld

8: dumb and poetic - {hyunjin} | @emmiesoverthemoon

9: slim pickins - { } |

10: juno - {g dragon} | @loveesiren

11: dont smile - { I.N } | @makeitworse

12: 15 minutes - {jungkook} | @stlllle

13: couldnt make it any harder - {g dragon} | @jiuewy

14: busy woman - {daesung} | @moontabi

16: bad reviews - {seunghyun} | @lovemepartly

Please use the tag “short&sweetwritingevent!” When the fic is released <3

Taglist:

𓊆 @sherrayyyyy , @ldydeath , @eru-vande , @tulentiy , @infinetlyforgotten , @moonqz @gdinthehouseee , @mashtatosworld , @loveesiren @breakmeoff @kwomikailea @heartubeatusalon @sylviavf @flwerangii @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup p @ilovethe141 1 @pinkpunkdynamite @nbjch05 @evangeline3 @idknunsadly @moontabi @sherxoo @crvshedpetals @steponupbabe @strxbrry-108124 @raynamorono23 𓊇

Im revamping my taglist again so lmk if you wanna be in it in the comments <3

[moontabi]

hi everyone, it’s been a while :(

i’m so sorry for disappearing and being so late with uploads. moving has been a mess, and my internet’s still not set up at my new place

ive been in a rough headspace, probably better for me not to get into right now but please know none of that makes me miss you any less. if anything, i’ve been thinking about you all even more 😭😭 i’m so so grateful for all the kind words and support ive gotten while i’ve been gone. you have no idea how much it means to me. i don’t take your patience lightly it’s such a huge gift, and i love and appreciate every single one of you

i’m really hoping to get some free time soon to catch up on everything i’ve missed and give you all the love back that you’ve shown me. thank you for sticking with me even when i hit slumps like this. my favorite part of writing will always be you guys <3

love always, mar

[moontabi]

SHUT UP

apart of @steponupbabe’s positions series

choi seunghyun x fem! reader

summary: your favorite subscriber knows exactly how to make your insecurities shut up.

warnings: 18+ content ahead including mutual masturbation, phone sex, dirty talk, praise, guiding/mentoring dynamic, pet names. cam girl! reader, implied age gap, online relationship

a/n: so sorry i’m late!! moving has been hectic :,) i hope this is okay

You weren’t even supposed to notice him.

Just another username in a sea of regulars—no demands, no dirty comments, no pressure. He tipped big without asking anything in return. Stayed for the full stream, but never flooded the chat. Just watched. Maybe sent the occasional heart emoji after the show was already over.

It felt…different. Respectful. As much as it could feel, for a cam girl.

When he finally messaged you—really messaged—you were half-asleep, still in your makeup, still buzzing from the high of a good night. You almost didn’t respond. But something about the way he wrote made you pause.

You looked gorgeous tonight

You sent back a quick, thank you <3

Nothing special.

But he kept showing up. Every stream. A bigger tip here, a compliment there. Never pushy. Just warm. Curious. A little older, judging from the way he typed—slower, more intentional. And when he sent a voice note for the first time?

You listened to it three times before answering.

His voice was deep. Smooth. The kind that wrapped around you—low, a little raspy, like the tail-end of a cigarette and something sweeter underneath.

“You don’t have to reply. I just…wanted to hear you laugh in today’s stream. Is everything okay? I’m here.”

God.

At first, you told yourself it was part of the job. Playing favorites. Building connections. But it started bleeding into your real life. You looked forward to his messages. You started wearing the things he liked. You noticed the difference when he was there—and the hollow ache in your chest when he wasn’t.

You found out his name was Seunghyun. Much older. Not in a way that made you cringe—in a way that made you feel taken care of. He didn’t try to win you over. He didn’t have to. He had that kind of presence—rich in a worn-in, lived-in way. Not flashy, not loud. Just expensive wine, silk button-downs open at the throat, perfect teeth behind a slow smile.

You teased him for being too “old” sometimes. Like when he sent blurry selfies from his apartment balcony or at an art gallery—half his face in shadow, a glimpse of collarbone and a chain. Always with some silly caption.

Had too much wine

I miss you

I like you ♡♡

You’d roll your eyes, but your stomach would flip.

He was sexy. You couldn’t deny it.

Not in the obvious way. Not like the guys who begged for customs or flooded your DMs with half-assed compliments. No, it was something else. It was in the way he showed he cared—not just about your body. In the way his voice dragged just slightly when he spoke, like he wasn’t in any rush for your attention.

What he didn’t know was that he already had it.

And then there were the gifts.

You used to get excited when someone tipped a hundred, but with Seunghyun, it was different. More generous. More frequent. More...thoughtful. Not just a number on your screen, but something that lingered. The kind of support that made it feel like he was looking after you even from far away.

Sometimes he sent things to your P.O. box. A silk robe in your favorite color. A book of poetry with a note scrawled inside: this reminded me of you. Or even a designer bag, just because.

And then, one night, buried in a longer voice note, he said it—

“Sleep well, my girl.”

Soft. Low. Possessive in a way that didn’t ask permission.

You saved it.

Played it in your headphones when you couldn't sleep. When your room felt too lonely. When you needed to feel wanted.

But now?

Now you’re spiralling.

You’re not supposed to care. He’s just a subscriber. One of many. A username who tips big, sends kind messages, calls you pretty. You’ve dealt with worse. You’ve dealt with better. He’s not yours.

But Seunghyun—he’s different. And now that he’s quiet, it’s eating you alive.

The silence has never lasted this long. Not since he found your stream a few months ago and started tipping just to hear you say his name sweetly, just to see you smile in a color he liked, just to watch you come undone.

He watched every show. He sent compliments that didn't feel fake. Even voice notes in that deep, slow voice that made your stomach flutter.

And suddenly? Nothing. Not a single message or voice note or call. Not even a view on your livestream from earlier this evening.

You’ve checked. You keep checking. You tell yourself it’s pathetic.

Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he ended up watching someone else tonight—someone younger, someone prettier, someone less needy.

Your phone buzzes. Your heart leaps—only to find its spam. The bitterness is sharp. You throw the phone onto the bed and whisper to the empty room, He’s just a subscriber.

But your brain won’t shut up and the truth is, you miss him. You miss the way he talks to you—the way he'd send a picture of the wine he was drinking and say he wished you were there to share it with him. You miss the little voice notes where he sounds low, saying

"You were so beautiful tonight baby, you make me crazy."

You miss him so much.

It's embarrassing. But it's real. At least to you.

Finally, with a trembling breath and more pride than you want to admit slipping away, you pick up your phone and send him a text.

you didn't join my stream today :(

The three dots appear right away.

I’m sorry. long day at work

couldn’t stop thinking about you though.

wish I’d been there

You don’t reply, but more messages appear.

I’m really sorry princess

I’m here now

Can I call you?

Your chest tightens. You hesitate for one breathless second, then accept.

The phone vibrates. You answer.

“Hello?”

“Hi, princess.”

His voice slides into your ear like warm honey. You almost cry.

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Missed you,” he says, and you hear the faint crackle of his vape before a slow exhale. “Didn’t mean to worry you, sweetheart. Had a busy day.”

“It’s okay.”

A pause. “You sound upset.”

You don’t mean to, but it slips out. “Thought maybe you’d found someone else.”

The silence is heavy, then—he groans softly, almost pained. “No. Don’t ever think that. You’re my special girl.”

Your throat is tight. “I don’t know…sometimes it feels like I’m just one screen out of hundreds.”

“You’re the only one,” he says, firmer now. “The only woman I think about when I close my eyes.”

Your brain wants to argue, wants to pick apart every word—but his tone leaves no cracks to slip through. You tell yourself to shut up. Just shut up and believe him.

For a moment, there’s only his breathing in your ear. Then, lighter, “You’re pouting, aren’t you?”

You let out a small, involuntary laugh. “Maybe.”

“There it is,” he says, warmth flooding his voice. “Goddamn, you know how much I love that sound?”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Probably,” he admits, “but I’m not kidding. That laugh could fix my whole day. You should give me more of it.”

You bite your lip, suddenly warmer all over. “And how exactly am I supposed to do that?”

“I can think of a few ways…” His tone shifts—still teasing, but lower now, silkier. “But you’d have to tell me you missed me first.”

“Seunghyun…”

“Mm?” His voice drops, warm and heavy in your ear.

You swallow, heat creeping into your cheeks. “…I missed you.”

A low hum of approval, almost smug. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

He lets the silence stretch, just enough to make your pulse spike. “Say it again.”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’m not pushing,” he says, voice velvety, coaxing. “I just like hearing it. Makes me wonder how much you mean it.”

Your stomach twists. “More than I should.”

That earns you a quiet groan, the kind that makes your thighs press together. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

You try to deflect with a teasing edge. “Oh, I think I do.”

“Do you now?” His tone sharpens just slightly—less playful, more dangerous. “Then tell me…what were you thinking about when you missed me?”

You hesitate. He hears it. “Go on.”

“Your hands,” you say quietly. Quickly.

There’s a pause, his breathing slower now. “…What about them?”

You bite your lip. “I want them on me.”

He exhales slowly, as if you’ve just knocked the wind out of him. “Where?”

Your breath catches. “You really want me to say it?”

There’s a low, quiet laugh in your ear, rich and dark. “Princess…” His voice drags over the word like silk. “Tell me.”

You shiver, clutching the phone tighter. “I—”

“Don’t think,” he cuts in gently, he already knows where your nerves are headed. He was somehow always one step ahead of you. “Just tell me exactly what you were picturing. Where you wanted me.”

His breathing is heavier now, slower. You can hear the faint rustle of fabric, maybe the shift of his hand dragging over his thigh. It’s intimate, feels like he’s leaning right up against your ear, letting you feel every word.

You close your eyes. “…Everywhere.”

“Mmm.” That sound—deep, disapproving, almost a groan. “That’s not good enough. Start at the top. I wanna picture it too.”

Your cheeks are hot, your pulse hammering. “Your hands in my hair.”

“Mm, yeah,” he murmurs, and you hear a faint exhale, he’s seeing it now too. “Fisting in it. Holding you still for me. What else?”

You bite your lip. “On my waist…dragging me into you.”

He groans low, “Jesus,”

The air in your room feels warmer, your skin prickling. You swallow hard. “…On my throat.”

He makes a sound that’s almost a growl. “God, baby…yeah. My fingers curled around your neck. Just enough to feel your pulse.”

You’re squirming now, pressing your thighs together, but he doesn’t let up.

“Keep going.”

Your breath shakes. “On my hips.”

“To hold you still,” he says immediately. “Keep you right where I want you. Let you feel how bad I want you.”

You can hear the faint drag of his breathing now, uneven, matching yours.

“And then?” His voice is almost a whisper.

“…Between my legs,” you admit, so soft you barely hear yourself.

There’s a beat of silence before he groans low in his chest, the sound curling straight down your spine. “Fuck, princess. You trying to kill me?”

You laugh—short, nervous—but it dies quickly when you hear the way he inhales, steadying himself.

“I can see it,” he says after a moment, his tone nearly reverent now. “You spread out for me, all soft and needy. My hands everywhere you just said. And you—looking at me not knowing what to do with yourself.”

You can’t breathe. “I’d know.”

“Hm,” he says, skeptical, his deep voice wrapping around you. “You’d try. But I’d take my time. Make sure you feel every fucking second of it.”

Your heart is pounding, your body thrumming with want. “You’re mean.”

“No,” he says softly, “I’m patient.”

There’s something in the way he says it—measured, deliberate—that makes your chest ache and your stomach flip all at once.

“I wish I had you right now baby, I’d make you say all of that again while my hands were actually on you.”

You let out a soft sound, part whimper, part gasp, and he exhales sharply.

“That’s it,” he says, voice low and rough now. “Give me more of that.”

You swallow hard, your pulse hammering. “More what?”

“That needy little sound you just made,” he murmurs, savoring it. “The one you try to hide in your streams… but I always catch it. The second your legs start to tremble.”

Your cheeks burn. “I wasn’t—”

“Princess.” Just his pet name for you, slow and dangerous, the way he says it when you’ve got no chance of getting away with anything. “Don’t lie to me. You’re already wet for me, aren’t you?”

Your breath catches, and he hears it.

“Thought so.” His tone is almost lazy now, you can hear him leaning back in his chair, comfortable—knowing you’re exactly where he wants you. “If I was there, I’d make you prove it. Let me slip my hand between those soft thighs and get a taste of your sweet pussy.”

Your fingers curl in the sheets. “You’re not here.”

“Then you’ll have to do it for me,” he says simply. “Touch yourself, princess.”

Your breath stutters. “Seunghyun—”

“That wasn’t a no,” he cuts in, smoother now. “Do it. Put your hand where you want mine to be. Go slow.”

You hesitate, but your hand is already sliding down, the thin cotton of your panties warm under your palm.

“Tell me,” he says, voice a shade rougher. “What do you feel?”

“Hot,” you whisper.

He groans low, the sound rolling through you. “Bet you are. Bet I could feel it before I even touched your skin. Now—push them aside. Let yourself breathe for me.”

Your breath comes faster as you hook your thumb under the waistband of your underwear, the cool air a shock against heat.

“That’s my girl,” he says, almost tender. “Now, just rest your fingers there. Don’t move yet. I want you aching for it.”

You whimper softly, and he exhales sharply. “Fuck, baby…You sound perfect.”

“Please,” you beg before you can stop yourself.

He smiles into the phone—you can hear it. “Please what?”

“You know.”

“Cmonn I wanna hear it,” he says, tone darkening. “Use your words...”

Your breath catches. You bite your lip hard enough to sting, heart pounding in your throat.

“Please…touch me.”

The groan that follows is low and unsteady, vibrating through the speaker, needier than before.

“If I could, sweetheart,” he rasps, “I’d have you on my dick by now.”

You hear the faintest rustle on his end—a shift of fabric, the creak of leather, followed by a slow inhale.

Your hips twitch, your fingers brushing against your slick folds without meaning to.

he hums, catching the faint hitch in your breath. “Couldn’t even wait, could you?”

“How did you—”

There’s a quiet sound in the background—a faint, rhythmic drag—that you recognize instantly. “Shh, Don’t answer,” he says, slower now, blowing smoke. his mind half on you and half on the way his own hand is working over his cock. “Just let me listen to you.”

The line goes quiet except for your breathing—faster now, uneven—and the muted, wet slide of his strokes between each of his words.

“Circle your clit now,” he instructs, his voice thick with restraint. “Barely there…tease yourself.”

You obey, your breath trembling as your fingers start their lazy motion.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, and you can hear the faintest hitch in his breathing now. “Keep on dragging over that spot. Drives me fucking insane hearing you whine.”

Your lashes flutter shut with a whimper, his words sinking in. “Feels so good…”

“Im sure…” he says, breathier now, the sound of his fist moving faster underlining every word. “Press harder. Just a little. Lemme hear what it does to you.”

You do, and a broken moan slips out before you can bite it back.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, rough and low, and you know he’s imagining your fingers exactly where his should be. “…I’d keep my hand there, hold you open with my thumb, and just—” he breaks off with a hiss, “—watch you fall apart for me.”

Your hips roll involuntarily, chasing the pressure, your breath coming faster.

“Don’t rush it,” he warns, the rhythm of his strokes slowing like he’s matching your pace. “I want you to draw it out. Make you come so slow it’s almost torture. You’d hate me for it, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp, “and—I’d still want it.”

His laugh is low, broken around another quiet groan. “I know you would.”

You can hear the wet, steady sound of his strokes now, just under his breathing. He’s not trying to hide it anymore.

“Mmh, you’re making me work for it tonight,” he murmurs, voice low and rough around the edges. “Precious thing like you…shouldn’t even know how to get to me like this.”

Your breath hitches, “Y-You like it.”

“‘Like it’?” he echoes, almost scoffing. “Princess, I’m twice your age and I’m sitting here with my fist wrapped around my cock because you can’t stop making those sweet little sounds for me.” His tone sharpens—dangerously smooth. “Tell me that’s not exactly where you want me.”

You moan softly, the truth spilling out before you can catch it. “It is.”

“Yeah,” he drawls, smug curling at the edges—but it frays into a deep, ragged sound that vibrates right down your spine. “You fucking love this.”

You can’t deny it. “You make me feel…” The words falter on your tongue.

“Tell me,” he urges, voice dipping lower, coaxing.

“…Like I can’t think straight,” you breathe. “Like you’ve already figured out what I need before I even know it.”

There’s a pause—long enough for your pulse to thump in your ears—before he speaks again, darker now. “Good. You don’t have to think. Let me do it for you.”

The warmth in his voice slips under your skin, right to your core.

“Ease a finger inside…feel how ready you are for me.”

You push in, the stretch immediate, slick heat pulling at you. Your palm presses against your clit in the same motion, a double pulse of sensation that makes your moan loudly.

“Holy shit,” He groans, the wet drag of his fist on his cock filters through the phone—You picture his grip working from base to tip, twisting slightly, the slide sticky and obscene.

“Curl your finger,” he says, quieter now. “Find that spot that makes your legs twitch.”

You do, hips rocking into your own hand, the grind of your palm sharpening the pressure on your clit until your thighs tremble.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “If I was there, I’d press down on it while I fucked into you—make you squeeze me so tight I’d have to fight to stay in.”

Your mouth falls open at the thought. “Oh fuck Seunghyun…”

“Keep saying my name like that,” he grunts, the sound of his stroking growing wetter, sharper. “Lets cum together—”

You shift, sliding in a second finger, your body clenching around them. The pressure is perfect, your palm still catching your clit with each movement.

“Match me…slow down and then snap your hips forward. Feel your fingers all the way through you…imagine it’s me inside you.”

You follow his lead, timing each thrust with the slick slap of his strokes, your pleasure climbing with every pass of your fingers. “Im close…”

His breathing quickens, voice raw. “Ah—fuck me too—I’m gripping myself so hard for you right now…my hand’s a fucking mess. I want you to feel that in your cunt, baby. Can you feel it?”

The image hits hard—you can almost feel the weight of him sinking deep, the stretch and sweet burn of it, the slick heat of your wetness mixing with his. Your rhythm stutters into something desperate, chasing every last bit of it.

“Y-yeah…fuck—I can feel it—”

“Feels so real.”

The sound between you turns filthy—wet, rhythmic, the air thick with both of your breathing. Your thighs shake, your fingers curling harder into that spot, palm grinding with sharp, steady pressure. The heat in your belly is white-hot now, unstoppable.

“Right there,” he gasps, voice rough and urgent. “Stay with me princess—ah, fuck!”

It hits all at once—your body bows, your walls clamping around your fingers as the orgasm tears through you. A cry rips from your throat just as his groan cuts in, low and raw, the wet slap of his last stroke ending in a deep, shuddering spill.

The line goes quiet except for your shared panting, the sound as intimate as any touch.

“You still with me?” he murmurs after a moment, voice rough but warm.

“Mhm,” you manage.

A satisfied hum. “Sound wrecked, baby.”

You smile faintly, still catching your breath. “You did that.”

He chuckles. “Yeah…and you were so damn good for me. Never felt anything like that.”

Silence stretches—comfortable now, threaded with the faint sound of him breathing.

Then, softer, “Don’t go quiet on me now.”

“I’m not…” you lie, even as that old squeeze tightens in your chest, that creeping voice telling you you’ve said too much, taken too much.

He hears it—of course he does. His tone shifts, low and deliberate. “Hey. Whatever’s in your head right now…shut it up.”

The words land heavy—not sharp, but firm enough to pull you back. It’s not a command to your body this time; it’s for your mind, the part of you that doubts.

“You listening to me?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Because there’s nothing you could say right now that’d make me want you less. Not a fucking thing.”

You close your eyes, letting the words sink deep, wrapping around the quiet insecurities that still twitch in the back of your mind. He doesn’t rush you. Just breathes with you, patient, like always.

“I mean it,” he says, certain. “You’re my girl.”

The words quiet everything else—the doubts, the noise, the part of you that still thinks you’re just someone on a screen to him. It’s all gone, replaced by the calm hum of knowing he sees you. likes you. You breathe it in like a song you don’t want to end, letting his voice drown out every lie you’ve told yourself.

challenge tags: @lowkeylauraa @loveesiren @thanosspills @stormin9 @smokingblossoms @millytugby

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ tags: @mashtatosworld @loveesiren @szonyix6277 @seungttttop @xxtoptaexx @tabibabib @s4intkwon @heartubeatusalon @breakmeoff @gdinthehouseee @septywitch @aizshallnotbefound @namsgyu @thanosspills @flymetothexmoon @gothlnlove @banjoekeery contact me if you want to be added to or removed from my permanent taglist

[steponupbabe]

hello everyone! in honer of hitting 400 followers on my old account that got deleted💔, i wanted to do something special for u all hehe. 🤍

i gathered some of my fav writers to help me out aswell, the event will be based off of the album ‘positions’ by ariana grande, and will include Bigbang OT4. i am so excited and i am extremely grateful for all the love and support i have received on my fics, i love you all so much. thank you to all the creators who will be participating!, and thank you all for 400. 💋

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Track 01: Shut up.

( @moontabi - Choi seunghyun.)

Track 02: 34+35.

(@gdinthehouseee- Kang Daesung.)

Track 03: Motive.

( @steponupbabe- Kwon Jiyong.)

Track 04: Off the table.

(@jiyongsangel- Kwon Jiyong.)

Track 05: Six thirty.

(@slut4kwon - Kwon Jiyong.)

Track 06: Saftey net.

(@z0mbbiegvrl- Choi Seunghyun.)

Track 07: My hair.

( @emmiesoverthemoon- Kwon jiyong.)

Track 08: Nasty.

( @gds-daisy- Kwon Jiyong.)

Track 09: West side.

( @jiuwaves- Kwon Jiyong.)

Track 10: Love language.

( @ldydeath - Kwon Jiyong.)

Track 11: Positions.

( @infinetlyforgotten- Choi Seunghyun.)

Track 12: Obvious.

( @moonqz- Kwon Jiyong.)

Track 13: POV.

( @petersasteria- Choi Seunghyun.)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

a/n: my fucking acc got deleted BOTH OF THEM!!!! so literally everything i’ve worked on is gone :) im crashing out so bad rn.

taglist: @lowkeylauraa @loveesiren @thanosspills @stormin9 @smokingblossoms @millytugby

[moontabi]

i am so sorry about my inactivity. ive been really unwell mentally as of late :( i hope this feeling goes away soon bcs i miss everyone so much ive just been hurting and its been so hard to stop myself from spiralling

[thanosspills]

hii could you write about reader and thanos and namgyu trying cid or shrooms together and comforting reader if she freaks out or has a bad trip?? If not thats fine

Trip-sitters

thanos x fem! reader, nam-gyu x fem! reader

༺♱༻  warnings:  drugs,  other then that it's pure fluff

༺♱༻  summary: just the request but instead of your usual psychedelics it's the pills

༺♱༻ word count:  1,354

༺♱༻  authors  note:  i  haven't  written  in  MONTHS.  putting  my writing out  there  is  always  so  scary  and  i  feel  like  i'm  not  great  at  it.  BUT  i've  been  itching  to  cook something  and  i  really  liked  this  request  so  i  hope  it  doesn't  disappoint!  this  is  also  my  first  time  writing  for  nam-gyu  like  this.

caps and grammar are style preferences

༺♱༻  thanos  and  nam-gyu  were  pretty  much  always  on  something  every  time  you  hung  out.  usually,  you'd  turn  down  whatever  they  offered.

༺♱༻  but  while  you're  at  the  boys'  apartment,  thanos  pops  open  his  cross  necklace,  revealing  a  handful  of  colorful  pills  tucked  inside.  you  can’t  help  it; this  time,  you're  intrigued.

༺♱༻  you’d  never  seen  pills  like  that  before,  you  could  almost  confuse  them  for  candy.  after  thanos  went  on  a  whole  spiel  about  how  they  were  some  crazy  new  synthetic  drug  better  then  ecstasy,  you  said  fuck  it.

༺♱༻  thanos  grabbed  a  blue  pill  for  himself,  handed  you  a  yellow  one,  and  nam-gyu  a  red  one.  “cheers  gang”

༺♱༻   it  had  only  been  about  5  minutes  before  you  hear  thanos  exhale  a  long,  “fuuuuuck” 

༺♱༻  his  pupils  are  blown  out  as  he  scans  his  head  around  the  room,  taking  in  his  come  up.

༺♱༻  you  turn  toward  nam-gyu  and  see  him  hunched  over,  his  face  completely  buried  in  his  hands. “gyu?”

༺♱༻  nam-gyu  slowly  lifts  his  head  up,  lightly  dragging  his  finger  tips  down  his  face  as  he  turns  toward  you.  “y/n.”  he  breathes  “this  is  fucking  amazing.”

༺♱༻  a  couple  minutes  pass,  and  nothing’s  changed  for  you. 

༺♱༻  you  cross  your  arms  and  pout,  “i  don’t  feel  anything.” 

༺♱༻  thanos  snaps  his  head  up,  “yo,  what?”

༺♱༻  thanos  leans  over  where  you’re  both  slouched  on  the  couch,  eyes  darting  across  your  face  before  he  shakes  his  head.  "nah,  we  can’t  be  having  that.  you  gotta  feel  this  shit  senõrita." 

༺♱༻  he  opens  the  cross  necklace,  the  soft  click  catching  nam-gyu’s  attention.  he  turns  his  head,  "you'  giving  her  another  one?"

༺♱༻  "she  needs  it.."  the  words  drag  from  thanos's  lips  as  he  picks  up  a  pill.  "open."  he  mutters.  you  part  your  lips  for  him,  and  he  delicately  places  it  on  your  tongue.  

༺♱༻  he  closes  his  necklace  again,  “we  should  go  to  pentagon!”  thanos  practically  shouts  as  he  pushes  himself  off  the  couch,  the  tenderness  he  showed  just  a  second  ago  clearly  dissipated  into  child-like  excitement.

༺♱༻  nam-gyu’s  arms  are  folded  across  his  chest.  he  closes  his  eyes  and  shakes  his  head, moving agonizingly slow,  “nah..dude.” 

༺♱༻  “c’mon  gyu  i’m  down.”  you  grab  onto  his  hand  and  attempt  to  pull  the  two  of  you  up,  but  the  second  you  stand..

fuck.

 ༺♱༻  you  immediately  find  yourself  falling  back  on  the  couch,  stuck  this  time.

༺♱༻  an  intense  head  rush  crashed  over  you  like  violent  waves.  suddenly,  the  lights  are  too  bright,  the  tv  is  too  loud,  and  the  ceiling  fan  squeaks  and  echoes  in  ways  that  taunt  you.

༺♱༻  was  it  the  first  pill?  or  the  second?  or  was  it  both  hitting  at  once?

༺♱༻  "shit  dude  her  eyes  are  rolling"  you  hear  thanos's  voice  vibrate  through  your  ears  like  ripples  in  water.

༺♱༻  you  straighten  out  your  vision  in  response,  the  room  sharpening.  you  didn't  even  realize  you  weren't  seeing  straight.

༺♱༻  “oh,  there  she  is.”  nam-gyu  says  it  almost  too  casually,  but  his  body  stiffens  when  he  catches  the  size  of  your  pupils,  “damn,  y/n"  "you  good?”

༺♱༻  you  stare  back  at  him.  your  pupils  are  so  big  they  practically  swallow  your  eyes  whole.

༺♱༻  you  finally  manage  to  croak  out  a,  "fuck"  before  closing  your  eyes  again  and  disassociating  back  into  your  altered  state.

༺♱༻  "yeah,  dude  she's  trippin'"  thanos  says  lowering  himself  on  the  cushion  beside  you.  he  starts  to  gently  pet  your  hair.  partly  to  comfort  you,  and  partly  because  he's  been  aching  to  touch  you  since  his  high  kicked  in.  or  maybe  even  before  that. ༺♱༻  nam-gyu  sighs  and  slouches  down  on  the  opposite  side.  "giving  her  two  was  a  bad  idea hyung."

༺♱༻  you  lean  your  head  against  thanos,  suddenly  so  aware  of  how  nice  his  gentle  touches  feel,  like  static  running  under  your  scalp.

༺♱༻  you  simultaneously  lift  your  legs  and  drape  them  across  nam-gyus  lap.  his  expression's  blank,  but  he  feels  sickeningly  tender, something he'd probably blame on the drugs later.

༺♱༻  he  unties  your  sneakers  before  shaking  them  off  and  gently  setting  them  on  the  floor.  he  rests  his  hand  back  on  your  calf.

༺♱༻  you're  practically  purring  into  thanos's  shoulder,  soft  streams  of  drool  escape  the  corner  of  your  mouth  and  drip  down  thanos's  shirt.

༺♱༻  you  were  moving  in  and  out  of  the  present  moment,  waves  of  hot  and  cold  rushed  in  and  out  from  under  your  skin.  you  couldn't  tell  if  you  were  covered  in  sweat  or  goosebumps.

༺♱༻  thanos  shakes  his  shoulder.  you  look  up,  facing  him  and  his  dimpled  grin.  "you  with  me,  flower?"

༺♱༻  his  deep  voice  was  like  a  soothing  bassline,  you  tried  to  respond,  "it's..s.s..too  much."

༺♱༻  thanos  gently  rubs  his  thumb  up  and  down  your  shoulder,  "i  know  flower."  "prolly'  shouldn't  of  given  you  two,  your  eyes  look  crazy."

༺♱༻  "i  look  crazy?"

༺♱༻  thanos  stops  his  strokes  on  your  shoulder,  pausing  for  a  second  before  he  moves  his  hand  to  your  chin,  thumb  now  stroking  your  jaw.  "nah.."  his  voice  is  lower,  "i  think  you  look  perfect." ༺♱༻  you  reach  for  thanos's  other  hand,  and  he  helps  move  it  toward  you.  you  stare  down  at  his  colorful  painted  nails,  with  the  help  of  the  visuals  from  the  drugs  they  really  did  look  like  shining  infinity  stones.

༺♱༻  you  lightly  smile  to  yourself  at  the  revelation,  running  your  thumb  down  the  black  line  tattooed  on  thanos's  pointer  finger,  slowly  grazing your thumb  up  his  arm.  he  shuttered  at  your  touch,  how  delicately  you  were  moving.

༺♱༻  you  noticed  thanos's  legs  shift,  and  so  did  yours  as  nam-gyu  quietly  stood  up  and  walked  to  the  kitchen.  you  listened  as  he  rummaged  through  cabinets,  every  movement  you  heard  seemed  unusually  loud. ༺♱༻  "here,  y/n."  you  lift  your  eyes  up  from  thanos's  arm  and  see  nam-gyu  holding  a  glass  of  water.

༺♱༻  you  reach  for  the  glass  but  your  grip  is  too  weak,  your  fingers  barely  hold  on  before  it  slips.  you  splashed  a  bit  on  your  lap  before  nam-gyu  quickly  snatched  the  glass  back.

༺♱༻  "shit  you're  making  a  mess"  "here"  he  uses  one  hand  to  cup  the  side  of  your  face,  his  cold  rings  sending  goosebumps  up  your  neck.  he  raises  the  cup  to  your  lips,  and  you  down  the  water  like  it's been years  since you've  had a drop of liquid.

༺♱༻  nam-gyu's  lips  curl  into  a  soft,  amused  smile.  he's  never  seen  you  so  desperate,  so  disconnected  from  control.

༺♱༻  "hang  on"  nam-gyu  mutters  before  disappearing  back  into  the  kitchen.

༺♱༻  thanos's  hand  still  rests  in  your  hair,  except  he's  no  longer  petting  it,  just  holding.

༺♱༻  "you  scared  me  for  a  second,  senõrita."

༺♱༻  "didn't  mean  to.."  you  murmur.

༺♱༻  "i  know"  thanos  glances  down  at  you,  brushing  a  strand  of  hair  behind  your  ear.  "you  trust  me  a  lot,  huh,  flower?"

༺♱༻  you  glance  back  up  at  him,  nodding.

༺♱༻  he  grabs  the  back  of  your  head  and  gently  pushes  it  into  his  chest,  holding  you  there.

༺♱༻  nam-gyu  finally  returns,  holding  a  pack  of  crayola  markers  and  thanos's  beat-up  leather  notebook  he  uses  to  write  his  raps.

༺♱༻  you  raise  your  head  to  see  what  nam-gyu  brought  back  and  gasp  in  excitement  as  soon  as  you  see  the  markers.

༺♱༻  nam-gyu  hands  you  the  crayola  box,  and  before  he  can  find  a  blank  page  in  the  notebook  for  you,  you  grab  his  arm,  taking him by surprise.

༺♱༻  you  pop  off  the  cap  to  the  red  marker  and  begin  to  lightly  color  in  the  horse-shoe  tattoo  on  his  forearm.  he  rests  his  hand  on  your  thigh  and  watches  as  you  color.

༺♱༻  "you're  warm,  gyu"  you bite your lip in concentration, "i  like  touching  you."

༺♱༻  he  swallows,  not  taking  his  eyes  off  his  arm,  "yeah?"

༺♱༻  "yeah."  "i  didn't  know you were this  gentle." you were almost teasing him.

༺♱༻  nam-gyu  pauses,  the  fingers  resting  on  your  thigh  twitch  a  bit,  "i  can  be."

༺♱༻  by  the  time  nam-gyus  tattoos  are  stained  in  color  and  the  markers  are  rolling  off  the  couch  your  body  finally  starts  to  level  out.

༺♱༻  you're  still  not  fully  there,  but  you  feel  safe,  and  warm.

༺♱༻  thanos  shifts  behind  you,  curling  one  arm  around  your  waist.  nam-gyu  helps  lift  your  legs  back  over  his  lap.

༺♱༻  your  head  rests  against  thanos’s  chest,  rising  and  falling  with  each  slow  breath he takes.  his  heartbeat  soothes  you,  along  with  nam-gyu’s  fingers  grazing  absentminded  shapes  into  your  shin,  his cold rings  clinking  against  your  skin  with  each  pass.

༺♱༻  nothing  feels  scary.  not  the  noise,  not  the  high,  not  even  your  own  thoughts.  thanos and nam-gyu  got  you.

sorry if it was too short guys im lowkey so scared to post this bye

[moontabi]

my absolute goat posted whoohoo!! i’m eating vampire namgyu not the other way around i will literally take a chomp out of him 👅👅

btw hope ur feeling better baby🫶

-🧁

I LOVE YOU SO MUCHH

im feeling alot better thank you babes😭🩷🩷

[gdinthehouseee]

No One Mourns The Wicked: NAMGYU x READER

summary: goodness knows the wicked's lives are lonely; the wicked die alone. after the games, you're left only on your own.

word count: 2788

tags: heavy angst, established relationship, typical squid game stuff (SPOILERS): blood, violence, drug use, death.

ao3 link

Pink goes good with green. 

You had always thought that, especially when you started dating Namgyu a while back. You were the golden retriever to his black cat, the half-full to his half-empty, the angel to his devil. You used to think loving him just meant getting comfortable with the things he didn’t say. He wasn’t cold. He wasn’t cruel. He just carried his chaos quietly—like the smoke in his lungs, like blood under his fingernails. Never talked about it. Never asked you to hold it for him.

So you learned to exist in the silences between disasters.

Nights like this one were the calm between storms. The two of you tangled up on the worn-out couch, his hoodie soft against your cheek, his breath slow where it ghosted over your temple. Outside, the city pressed against the windows—neon signs flickering, someone yelling in the alley below, sirens threading through the distance. But inside, it was just him and you, breathing the same tired air.

His hand was in yours, loose but there. His thumb brushed the back of your knuckles every now and then, like muscle memory. Like he wanted to remind himself he was still here. You let your eyes drift shut. Pretended you couldn’t feel the tension in his shoulders. Pretended you didn’t know what it meant when his leg bounced under the blanket, restless, his mind somewhere else. Somewhere darker. Somewhere you couldn’t follow.

It had always been like this. He’d get into shit—bad deals, late-night phone calls, friends with faces you didn’t ask about—and then he’d come back to you, quiet and hollow-eyed, sliding under the covers like nothing happened.

And you let him. 

Because he let you hold him afterward. Let you wrap your arms around him, bury your face in his chest, act like the world ended at the edge of your bed.

Sometimes you’d fall asleep like that, your heart too full and too empty at the same time. Sometimes you’d lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how long you had until the next time he slipped through your fingers. He never told you what he was planning. Never warned you about the next mistake, the next risk, the next thing he’d say yes to because saying no wasn’t in his nature. But he let you love him anyway, and that felt like enough.

At least, back then it did.

You weren’t supposed to say yes.

That’s the part that keeps running circles in your head as you sit alone in the apartment, bag at your feet, bright pink uniform still folded inside like a secret. The mask rests on top of it, face-down. You haven’t touched it since they gave it to you. A week, they said. Just stand there, do what you’re told, keep the mask on, don’t ask questions. Simple.

Except it’s not.

You’ve seen what this is. You’re not stupid. You know it’s not just "security work," no matter how politely they dressed it up in the briefing. You know what the managers had spoken about—the Games, the blood, the rules nobody mentions. You’re not naive. Just desperate, and that’s almost worse.

Your phone sits heavy in your palm, screen dimmed but not off. Namgyu hasn’t answered you all day. You stare at your last few messages, reread them like they’ll change if you look hard enough.

“Namgyu?”

“Can you call me?”

“I need to tell you something.”

They’ve all been delivered. None of them read.

Your stomach twists. You try not to let your mind go to the usual places. Sometimes he disappears for a day or two when things get bad. When the wrong people call his phone. When money runs low and pride runs lower. Sometimes you find him again after, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his hoodie pulled over his head, looking at you like he’s sorry but too tired to say it. So maybe it’s just that again. Maybe he’s out. Maybe he’s fine.

Still, your thumb hovers over the screen. On impulse, you open a new chat.

Thanos.

He usually knows where Namgyu is when you don’t. He’s always been the one who helps drag him home when things spiral. You bite your lip and type:

“Hey. You seen Namgyu?”

“I need to talk to him. Tell him to call me if you do.”

A pause. The message sends. No reply.

You don’t know that he’s gone too.

The apartment feels too big when you’re alone like this. The TV is off. The lights are low. The air conditioner hums in the corner, louder than it should. You stare at the front door, half-expecting to hear keys in the lock, half-hoping he’ll text back before the uniform stops being just a uniform and starts being a choice you can’t undo.

You practice the words in your head:

It’s just for a week. Just for the money. I’ll come back and we’ll be fine.

But you already know that’s a lie.

Time drags. Minutes feel like hours. You check your phone again. Still nothing. No sign of him. No sign of Thanos. Just the weight of the mask in your bag and the buzzing in your chest that tells you—quiet, cold—you’re already too late.

When you finally stand up, the room tilts a little. Your legs are stiff from sitting too long. You sling the bag over your shoulder, fingers lingering one last time on the doorframe before you lock up behind you. You don’t know it yet, but the next time you see Namgyu, it won’t be here.

You’re in pink, and he’s in green.

You spot him by the way he moves—swaggering like he owns the entire island. Eyes glassy, lips stretched into that grin he wears when he’s halfway between cocky and suicidal. His tracksuit is smeared with blood—some of it his, most of it not. His knuckles are raw, split open at the seams. His pupils are so blown they barely look human. You don’t know what they gave him. Pills? Powder? Something slipped under his tongue by the wrong person at the wrong time? Maybe it doesn’t matter. He’s gone off the rails.

So has Thanos.

Thanos is at his side, draped over Namgyu’s shoulder like dead weight, but there’s a smile on his face too. The kind of smile that doesn’t reach the eyes. His mouth is moving, slurred and sharp all at once, muttering shit you can’t hear through the plastic. Blood streaks down his wrists. There’s a smear of it on his cheek like war paint.

You know what they’ve done. You saw the footage, you heard the whispers through the guard channels.

They’re responsible for goodness knows how many deaths already. 

Not by accident.

They didn’t get lucky in the games—they took control of them. Shoved weaker players, laughed while other people begged, pushed their way to the front of the food line, broke some guy’s nose in an unfairly stacked fight. Some players are scared of the guards, but most of them are scared of Thanos and Namgyu.

You wish you could pretend it wasn’t him.

But it is.

It’s the same Namgyu who used to fall asleep on your chest after long nights, mumbling half-conscious apologies for things he couldn’t name. The same one who kissed you like he was afraid you’d disappear first. Now he’s the one doing the disappearing. Piece by piece.

Your throat tightens behind the mask.

You don’t cry—you can’t. The plastic seals it in. But your heart clenches so hard it feels like it might crack your ribs. You know what the other guards say when they talk about them in hushed voices after lights out.

“The wicked ones never last long.” 

“Someone’ll take them out soon.”

“No one’s gonna mourn those two when they fall.”

And maybe they’re right. Maybe the boys have crossed the line already. Maybe they’ve jumped straight into the fire because it’s easier than standing still and waiting for it to burn them while you’re still here. Watching. Helpless. Heartbreaking behind pink and plastic.

You want to rip the mask off. Run to him. Scream his name. But your hands stay still. Your mouth stays shut. Because you know the rules. And besides—you’re not sure he’d even recognize you anymore.

Namgyu’s laugh cuts sharp through the air again.

It bounces off the metal walls, jagged and too loud, eyes half-lidded but glittering like a knife-edge. His arm’s still around Thanos’s shoulders, but his gaze isn’t on him now.

It’s on you.

You freeze behind the mask. You know better. You’ve been trained not to lock eyes. Guards don’t stare. Guards are furniture. Background noise. But your eyes have been glued to him since he stumbled into view, and of course he noticed. He always knows when somebody’s watching him a little too closely.

His lips part, tongue wetting the cut at the corner of his mouth. His pupils are blown wide, but there’s a flicker of something underneath the haze.

Thanos mutters something in his ear, but Namgyu doesn’t break eye contact—not even for a second.

“That one’s looking at me.”

His voice is too loud. He knows it.

You flinch under the mask, but you don’t move.

You can’t.

Namgyu tilts his head, that signature smirk curling slow, crooked. Like he’s solving a riddle in real time.

“Hey,” he calls, sing-song, dragging the word out. His voice is rough from yelling and laughing too much. “What’s the matter? Never seen a couple winners before?”

There’s blood on his teeth when he grins.

The other guards stay still. So do you. Your hands grip the rifle tighter. Knuckles bone-white under the gloves. Namgyu steps closer. Not enough to get in trouble. Not enough to break a rule. But just enough to make your heart slam against your ribs. He’s looking straight at you now.

Right through the mask.

“What’s your problem, huh?” His voice drops to a murmur. Lower, quieter—but somehow worse. “You’re not like the others.”

Thanos laughs, head thrown back. His shoulders shake, but his eyes are glassy, unfocused. He doesn’t notice the way Namgyu’s still staring.

But you do.

Because Namgyu’s pupils narrow just a little. Like he’s clearing the fog for a second. Like he’s seeing you. Your mouth goes dry. You want to say something. Anything. His name, maybe. A warning. A plea. But the mask stays in place. The silence swallows you whole.

He chuckles, low in his throat. His tongue flicks over his lips again.

“Thought I’d be scared of you?” he whispers, just for you. “Please.”

His gaze lingers for one more long, unbearable beat. And then he turns back to Thanos—laughing again, loud and messy, like the moment never happened. But you’re left standing there, rifle shaking in your hands, knowing exactly what that look meant. He doesn’t know it’s you for sure. Not yet. But he knows something. And soon, he’ll figure out the rest.

He’s always been smarter than he lets on.

You find out about Thanos’s death the same way everyone else does, after that fight broke out in the men’s bathroom—among the other numbers—the chill ran down your spine after you heard it.

“Player 230 eliminated.” 

Someone stabbed him in the neck with a fork in the bathroom. Blunt. Sloppy. Not a clean kill. Desperate.

Namgyu doesn’t cry. 

You watch him from across the room, heart clenching in your chest, hands sweating under the gloves. He just sits there, cross-legged on the cold floor, running his thumb over Thanos’s pendant. The silver cross that used to hang from Thanos’s neck. 

You don’t know what’s worse: that he took it, or that you understand why.

Something shifts after that.

Namgyu stops pretending there’s a line.

That night, using the same fork Thanos met his fate, he killed Semi. You’re not sure if it was strategy or punishment. Maybe both. But no one asks questions. No one mourns her—aside from that poor boy, Minsu, of course.

You watch Namgyu thread the pendant chain through his fingers, looping it around his wrist like a rosary. The pills rattle softly inside the hollow cross. Sometimes he laughs when he’s alone. Sometimes he stares at the ceiling with his mouth open, eyes empty, like he’s already halfway dead. You don’t know if he’s trying to win anymore. You don’t know if he ever was. Maybe he just wants to make sure no one else gets out alive.

And the worst part is—you can’t stop him.

You can’t break character. You can’t take the mask off. You can’t grab his wrist and remind him who he used to be. All you can do is stand there, silent and still, while he drags himself further into hell. You want to believe there’s something left of the boy you loved under all of this.

But you’re starting to think he died in the bathroom with Thanos.

It all happens too fast, but slow enough to ruin you.

The doll-like statues. The bridge. The rope. 

The godforsaken, now-empty cross. 

The scream rips out of his throat as he stumbles, off-balance, weight pitching forward toward the edge. For one split second, his eyes unknowingly meet yours. Wide. Wild. Real. No swagger. No grin. No manic laughter. No pretending to be someone he’s not just because his friend was there. Just fear.

His body tilts past the point of return.

His hand snaps out—like he’s reaching for something. Maybe the cross. Maybe you. Then he falls. The scream cuts off halfway down. The rest is just gravity.

“Player 124 eliminated.”

You stay still, rifle pressed to your chest, heart slamming so loud you can hear it over the ringing in your ears. Your mask doesn’t move. Your gloves don’t shake. But inside, you’re splintering.

There’s no pause for grief. No siren. No commentary.

Namgyu’s body disappears into the pit below, limbs crumpled at wrong angles. The silver cross hits against the hand-painted floor, cracking open next to him. 

No one mourns him.

Not here.

But you do. Silently. Behind the plastic. Behind the role. Inside the uniform, you’re screaming his name.

The air feels stale in your mask. Plastic pressed to your skin, warm breath fogging the inside. Sweat clings behind your ears, the smell of it sharp and sour, trapped with you under the uniform. You stand at your post like you’re supposed to—shoulders stiff, hands wrapped tight around the rifle, feet aching in the heavy boots. Your shadow stretches long across the cold floor. And you stare at the empty space where he used to be.

You can still hear the sound of him falling in the back of your skull.

The sudden, sharp snap of the rope catching his ankle. The slip of his shoes on the slick platform. That awful, human sound he made—half scream, half plea—as gravity pulled him away from you for the last time. And then the silence after. Like the whole building swallowed him whole.

You never got to talk to him again. 

Not since you put the mask on. Not since you agreed to this job. There’s a whole unlived life sitting heavy in your throat, pressing there like a lump you can’t swallow.

You think about all the things you never said. The way you meant to tell him it was just a week—just a job, just a temporary thing, just something to get by. The way you wanted to get out of the city together, even though neither of you meant it. The way you never granted him forgiveness for all the times he disappeared, for all the shit he got himself into, for all the nights you stayed up worrying while his phone went dark.

There were endless things. Small things.

Buying new bedsheets because he always kicked the old ones off the bed. Learning to cook, even though he was terrible at it and made the kitchen smell like burnt oil. Arguing over movies you’d never finish because you always ended up tangled together on the couch, asleep before the credits rolled.

Together, you were unlimited.

The silver cross is gone too. You don’t know where it ended up. Maybe it’s at the bottom of the pit with his body. Maybe someone else pocketed it already. Either way, it’s out of your hands now. The games continue. The fluorescent lights hum overhead. The few players left shift nervously in their sleep, waiting for the next round. And you stand there. 

Heartbreaking quietly behind plastic because no one mourns the wicked.

And no one mourns the people who loved them.

taglist: @loveesiren @aizshallnotbefound @mashtatosworld @modzmadness @flymetothexmoon @moontabi @riddlerloveb0t @crashmunson @gdoddity @xxxicddbr88 @nsainmoonchild @sherrayyyyy @breakmeoff @raynamorono23 @moonqz @lilshu65 @ttturnitup @sherxoo @ninnys @kuntix @carrotheadedtoast @rememberbackintheday @madzzz0707 @bettelaboure @mattsturniolosbabymama @shieraseastarrs @smokingblossoms

[moontabi]

once again, just want to say thank you for the overwhelming support and kind words :( i don’t deserve yall

[moontabi]

do you have any thoughts on vampire namgyu?

VAMPIRE NAMGYU HCS

namgyu (player 124) x fem! reader

warnings: DARK themes including extreme violence, blood and gore, non con/dub con, heavy yandere/obsessive behavior, stalking, murder, death, blood drinking, drug abuse, possessiveness, manipulation, corruption kink, choking, biting, forced transformation (he turns reader into a vampire too), dacryphilia, fork violence (lol), degradation, pet names (angel, jagiya), cunnilingus, unprotected sex, monsterfucking, creampie, etc. this can be triggering content proceed with caution. do not engage if you're under the age of 18. takes place during the games (alternate universe)

vampire! namgyu who purposely gets himself into the games—not for money, but for blood; whose finances have already been rotting from years of feeding a drug habit that numbs nothing, just repetitive highs and needles that leave him emptier every time. nothing cuts through the hollow, gnawing hunger that even fresh blood can’t satisfy anymore.

he’s been alive too long. long enough that the thrill has curdled. every decade blurs into the next, every victim tastes the same. club rats with spoiled blood, trust fund brats with powder in their noses and no pulse in their veins, back alley dealers whose blood is bitter and burnt out. it’s all stale now. synthetic. lifeless. nothing excites him anymore. not the feeding. not the aftermath. not even the hunt.

it starts as a rumor, something he overhears in the haze of a trip, murmured by some half-nodding geezer slouched in the corner of the subway. a game, they say, for people who owe too much and have nothing left to lose. no one ever leaves the same—if they even leave at all.

he doesn’t buy it at first. sounding like nothing but a ghost story passed between crazies. and yeah, he’s a vampire, but he’s not that gullible. he’s lived long enough to know bullshit when he hears it.

but still, the words echo. something deep inside him—older than hunger, colder than instinct—starts to rise. his teeth itch, and there’s a hum beneath his skin, a prickle in the air. whatever this is, it’s calling to him.

he starts searching, just enough to confirm the feeling. scattered posts on dead forums, disappearing threads, the same strange terms showing up again and again—“salesman” “children’s games” “456 billion won cash prize” buried in the corners of the dark web are pages full of broken grammar and paranoid code. warnings about dangerous debt collection. invitations that come out of nowhere. vague mentions of money, rules, disappearances.

and it sounds perfect. not because of the prize, but because of the stakes. hundreds of bodies packed into one place, hearts hammering, blood racing, fear so thick it fogs. a buffet of terror, a slaughterhouse pulsing with life. finally, something alive enough for him to sink his teeth into.

what grabs him is the terror—that tight-throated, heartbeat-sprinting, chest-caving fear. the kind that stains the blood hot. he craves that. needs it.

so he digs himself deeper on purpose. he stops paying bills, maxes out whatever credit he has left, even takes out loans he has no intention of repaying. he’s not worried about the fallout—he’s not planning to survive as a player anyway. he’s chasing the kind of debt that gets you taken, just for the thrill of feeding.

vampire! namgyu who doesn’t flinch when the man in the suit finds him. red and blue ddakji in hand, like it’s a casual transaction. he plays the game without a word. lets himself get slapped, again and again. doesn’t even blink.

when the card is offered, he pinches it between two fingers and studies it. circle, triangle, square. no emotion on his face—but his hunger starts to burn again. he’s going to sink his fangs into the first person who sobs in front of him, who begs for mercy, who bleeds fast and alive. or at least, that was the plan.

vampire! namgyu who enters the games as player 124. he wakes up in that stiff green tracksuit, tilts his head as the others line up to take their photos—sharp eyes and his tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth, already imagining how they’ll taste once fear starts pumping through their veins.

he can smell it in the air before it even happens. the dread, the adrenaline, the slow churn of panic. it’s a better high than anything he’s had in years.

but everything changes when he steps into the dormitory and smells you for the first time.

vampire! namgyu who goes completely still the second your scent hits him. his jaw clenching and his pupils dilating, fangs throbbing in his gums.

suddenly everyone else reeks of burnt-out vices. their blood laced with corruption, crime, and too many bad choices. but you—you smell like innocence and something syrupy. copper and purity and sin, all tangled into one perfect, intoxicating drag of breath. his knees nearly buckle. “fuck.” he murmurs under his breath, licking the inside of his cheek. already deciding no one else is getting anywhere near a human who smells this sweet.

and just like that nobody else in this entire place matters to him anymore. he’d been prepared to take the first warm body that broke in front of him, to claw through flesh and drink until something finally hit right again. but now? all he wants is you.

vampire! namgyu who stalks you from the very beginning—he doesn’t hide it. doesn’t even pretend. during meals, he sits directly across from you, eyes half-lidded and mouth still, his food untouched. his gaze never leaves the hollow of your throat, watching the way it shifts when you swallow, how your pulse flickers just beneath the skin.

he “sleeps” only a bunk away, always turned to face you. he doesn’t actually sleep of course. he just lies there, still as death, watching you in the dark. listening to the rhythm of your breaths, cataloging the way they hitch when nightmares wake you. sometimes you find yourself staring back, unnerved, but he only smirks back—eyes gleaming with quiet knowing, as if he’s already seen how this ends.

he follows you from game to game with a lazy gait and bloodlust simmering in his chest. as long as you’re near him, nothing touches you. it takes a while for you to notice. the way a stray elbow never connects. during mingle, he chooses you—making sure no one else can get close. the player who lunged at you in panic? gone, bloodied and limping before you even turn your head.

he studies you. watches the way you jump at violence. how your hands shake after each game. the way your throat tightens when someone dies too close. he watches the flutter under your jaw when your pulse spikes, memorizes it. imagines it under his tongue, how sweet it would feel to press his fangs into skin made just for him.

vampire! namgyu who votes to stay without a flicker of doubt. he doesn’t glance at the other players, doesn’t entertain the fantasy of release. his fist hits the glowing blue o, firm and final. he takes the patch without hesitation and presses it to his jacket, already turning away before the machine finishes processing. he’s not here for freedom, doesn’t want mercy. he wants blood, your blood. he hasn’t fed once since arriving, not even a drop. he’s been saving himself for you.

vampire! namgyu who watches as you step up to the machine slowly, visibly rattled. your eyes flicker around the room nervously and then to him for just a second. then you press your hand to the red x, leave.

did you really think you could escape him? his stare doesn’t waver. no surprise, no fury—just a stillness that deepens by the second. fear was expected. of course you’d choose to go home. but thinking that would save you from him? that was almost laughable.

some part of you must still believe you have a say in this. that fate can be undone with the press of a button. that this connection—this pull—can be severed just because you’re scared.

he doesn’t lunge at you though, not yet. just watches as you melt back into the crowd, arms pulled tight around yourself as if that vote hadn’t just snapped the last thread of restraint he had left. as if walking away changed anything, but it didn’t. not for him.

because now you’re not just the only thing he wants, you’re the one thing he’s been starving for and you’ve just made it impossible for him to hold back.

vampire! namgyu who doesn’t blink when the majority swings to stay. doesn’t react when the cheers break out when players grin at each other with murder already in their eyes.

he never doubted what the vote would be. never doubted you’d end up trapped here with him. you sealed that the moment he saw (smelled) you and now, there’s no way out. not for you. not until he’s tasted you. not until he’s buried himself so deep inside you, you forget what it felt like to exist without him. not until you understand exactly what you’ve done to him and exactly who you belong to.

vampire! namgyu who sits perfectly still while the room spirals into panic, unmoving as players whisper desperate alliances. there’s a feverish edge to the air—fear thickening it, turning each breath sharp. people pace in tight circles, eyes flicking toward shadows, already trying to predict who’ll snap first. but he doesn’t have to guess. the crack already runs deep through him, quiet and irreversible. he snapped long before the rest of them even realized they were breaking. now, he waits patiently, eyes on the flickering ceiling bulb, waiting for the lights to go out so he can finally make his move.

and when the speaker buzzes “lights out in 20 minutes” his lips grow into a smile. small, but nonetheless hungry. he leans forward just slightly on the bunk, his eyes fixed in your direction. you’re pacing, wringing your hands, biting your bottom lip raw and the sight alone makes his breath hitch.

the timer hits zero and the lights flicker once, then again, before cutting out entirely on the third blink. the room erupts—screams tearing through the dark, fists slamming into bone, feet skidding across concrete slick with panic. bodies drop fast and hard.

vampire! namgyu who rises slowly through it all, head low, pupils blown wide, moving not with fear but with intent, each step deliberate as he threads through bodies and blood, hunting you like his prey.

vampire! namgyu who moves like a shadow, effortless and cold. he doesn’t even look at the players he cuts down—fork in hand, slashing throats, severing tendons, leaving carnage in his wake. it coats his face, soaks into his clothes. he’s not killing for survival—he’s clearing the path. every body dropped is just one step closer to you.

because the second the lights went out, your scent bursted in the air—ripe with fear, the stench heavy in his nose. he felt it snap in his gut, sharp as a wire pulled tight. it blinded him, made his fangs drop and his cock throb against the fabric of his pants, his composure unraveling thread by thread. it’s all he can feel now, all he can think about.

vampire! namgyu who finds you curled up between the bunk beds, chest hitching with shallow, panicked breaths. one hand is clamped over your mouth to keep the sobs in, the other wrapped tight around your knees. your entire body trembles, shoulders jerking with every shaky inhale.

he moves through the wreckage with purpose, a bloodhound locked onto scent. his eyes flicker faintly in the dark, catching on each hellish flash of light that stutters through the room. there’s a fork in his hand, slick with something, and blood streaked across his cheek, half-dried. his mouth twitches at the corners—not quite a smile, more a grimace, stretched and feral.

you don’t even see him at first. but he sees you. and when you finally glance up—wide-eyed, shaking, lips parted in a quiet, hopeless gasp—it’s already too late. you run. and he lets you. just for a moment. just long enough to enjoy the cat and mouse. then he moves.

you don’t make it far—barely five feet before his hand twists into your hair and yanks you back in one cruel, breathless motion. you stumble, heels dragging against the floor, but he holds you upright, forcing you to follow. tugging you backward, step by step, away from the others. behind a collapsed pile of bunk beds, tucked between shadows—where no one will see. where no one will come. where he can finally corner you.

he drags you through the dark like you weigh nothing, fingers locked in your hair, knuckles bruising your scalp. and then without warning he yanks you upright and slams you against the wall. the impact rattles through your spine, knocks the air from your chest, makes your head spin. you barely have time to breathe before he’s on you, body pressed flush to yours.

one hand clamps around your throat. the other grips your hip, fingers digging deep into flesh. you can feel his breath on your face—too sharp, too still, wrong in a way your body registers before your mind can name it.

then his eyes shift, burning red. not metaphorically—glowing, pulsing, inhuman. and when his lips curl back, it’s not a sneer. it’s a reveal. long, gleaming fangs catching in the low light. you sob, soft, stunned. you can’t believe what you’re seeing.

“you voted to leave me,” he rasps, voice unraveling as his mouth lingers at your ear. “thought you could just get away from this? from me?”

you twist, panic clawing its way up your throat, but his grip only tightens. he shushes you—softly, mockingly—his lips brushing your ear now. “no one’s listening.” his fangs twitch where they skim your cheek, hunger thrumming just beneath the surface. “shit,” he breathes, drunk on the scent of you. “you smell even better up close. i’ve been so fucking patient.” you sob, and he groans, the sound hitting something deep, something starved. “don’t cry yet, angel,” he murmurs, voice unraveling with want. “not until i’ve had my taste.”

vampire! namgyu who finally has you cornered and can’t hold back. he doesn’t bite you right away. he wants to. his whole body’s trembling with it. fangs bared, tongue wetting the corner of his mouth but he waits. drags it out. keeps you pinned.

he watches the panic bloom behind your eyes. the shallow rise and fall of your chest. the way your pulse jumps beneath your skin, fluttering so fast he could almost weep. it’s been decades since blood called to him like this. since anything stirred the hunger into something close to madness.

and it’s not just the blood. it’s you now too. the way you tremble. the way your voice caught in your throat when he slammed you into the wall. the scent of your terror, sweet and metallic, cutting through the rot of the dorm. you’re not just his prey anymore. you’re his.

his hand on your neck slides lower—cold fingers bruising, pressing into soft, warm skin like he’s trying to memorize every dip and tremble. “you’re so warm jagi~” he says, and the word hits wrong—too intimate, too familiar, rewriting your story in his head and expecting you to play along. his breath skims your throat.

vampire! namgyu who presses his lips to your throat as if in a vow—still not biting, just breathing you in, trembling with restraint, every inhale cracking him further open. his hands begin to move with purpose now, sliding up your sides over the loose green fabric of your uniform, palms dragging slow and heavy, peeling away your humanity inch by inch.

“off,” he says, already grabbing at the zipper. “take it off. can’t smell you properly with it on.” he doesn’t wait. just yanks it down himself, the metal teeth shrieking. your jacket falls open, and his eyes flare red again—burning in the dark. he shoves it off your shoulders roughly, exposing the slope of your chest, your stomach, his cold hands already sliding under your t-shirt, greedy for bare skin—for proof you’re real, that you’re his. then he’s gripping your track pants and dragging them down in one harsh pull, not gentle, not careful—just taking. your underwear goes with them, shredded on one side from how quick he pulls.

he groans again when he sees what he’s uncovered. “fuck angel,” he breathes, fingers ghosting over the slick heat between your thighs. “i’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

but he doesn’t take you against the wall. not when your knees are buckling, not when your breath stutters in your throat. not when he wants you spread out for him, every inch exposed, every sound you make echoing beneath him. so he grabs you, drags you to the nearest bunk, handling you like something precious and unholy all at once like a man possessed.

vampire! namgyu who throws you onto the bed like you weigh nothing, and climbs on after you—one hand pushing your shoulder down as he climbs over top of you, trapping you and looming above you with that same fevered look. you kick at him once, instinctively, but he catches your leg and laughs.

“still fighting?” he murmurs, voice gone low and playful and terrifyingly fond. “so cute~”

his hand slips under your thigh now, pushing your legs open until your knees are spread wide. obscene. vulnerable. your cunt glistening in the dark, glinting with your irresistible slick and he moans.

“fuck, you’re wet,” he whispers, dragging two fingers through your folds—soaked, hot against his cold skin. his gaze lifts, pupils blown wide, mouth parted. “i should ruin this…” he mumbles, voice trembling with restraint. “make sure no one even thinks about touching you here ever again. keep it mine, jagiya.”

his fingers press deeper, smearing your arousal messily over your folds. another groan leaves him, strained and involuntary.

“i’m gonna eat you so slow. kiss this pretty pussy and tongue you open until you’re crying—until you’re making those sweet little sounds i’ve been torturing myself with ever since i got here.” and then his head dips.

vampire! namgyu who eats your pussy nasty—tongue greedy, lips sucking at your clit with a lewd, wet slurping that makes your thighs jerk around his head. but he shoves them back down, rough and unbothered, shoulders locking your legs open as he keeps going.

his fangs graze the inside of your thigh and you squeal, body jolting, but he still doesn’t bite yet. he wants you to beg for it first.

his nails dig crescent moons into your skin. he doesn’t stop licking your slit, even when your hips writhe and your hands shove uselessly at his hair, desperate to pull him back—or maybe closer. you can’t tell anymore.

“so sweet,” he groans between licks. “fuckin’ knew you’d be.”

you’re crying now—confused, aroused, terrified—and he loves it. drinks it in like the taste of your pussy. he groans into you, nose nudging your clit, tongue dragging through your slick again and again, savoring you. and then he bites.

not your neck. thats for later. just the soft meat of your thigh—deep, brutal—and you scream.

he whimpers the moment he feels your blood on his tongue, mouth locked around the puncture, sucking slow. blood spills over his lips, drips down your leg in hot, runny trails. he licks it up, doesn’t stop eating you while he drinks, tongue now painting red patterns into your skin, smearing blood and spit across your thighs in messy, reverent strokes.

vampire! namgyu who can’t stop. not now. he tongues you through your first orgasm with a shudder and a snarl, lapping up every drop. you cry out, body convulsing—but he holds you down, lips locked around your clit until you’re shaking and sobbing and coming again, unable to stop.

“that’s it, angel, cum for me. soak my fucking face.”

he pulls back panting, face blood-streaked and wild-eyed. his mouth is a mess—slick and blood smeared across his lips, shining on his chin, clinging wet to the sharp edge of his jaw. he’s trembling, breath ragged, tongue darting out to taste what’s left of you, what’s still dripping down his face.

his hair clings to his skin in dark, damp strands, curling where sweat and blood have soaked through. loose pieces fall into his eyes, framing his face in chaotic waves, sticking to his cheeks and forehead as he stares up at you with a crooked smile. he looks devastating like this. unhinged. ruined. almost beautiful in a way that can’t be explained.

but that’s quick to change. his hands clamp down on your hips and, without warning, he flips you—effortless, inhumanly fast. your breath knocks out of you as your chest hits the mattress, arms scrambling beneath you. he presses down hard, his palm between your shoulder blades. “you gonna take it like a good girl, jagiya?”

vampire! namgyu who shoves you down, face-first into the sheets, and yanks his cock free with a sharp, frustrated hiss. it’s flushed dark, swollen, slick with precome—the head glistening from how long he’s been holding back.

he doesn’t prepare you. just fists your hips with bruising force and presses the blunt head of his cock to your dripping cunt. you’re still wet with what he left you with earlier and it makes his jaw go slack as he buries himself in one brutal thrust, bottoming out in a single, merciless stroke.

you scream into the sheets and he gasps. your cunt clamps down around him immediately—too tight, too wet, too fucking perfect—and he twitches inside you, eyes rolling back.

“oh fuck,” he breathes, voice catching. “angel, you—hah—you feel so good squeezing me in.”

his hips snap forward again, then again—no rhythm, no restraint. just the loud, filthy slap of skin on skin and the wet drag of his cock dragging you open over and over.

your moans come in helpless, gasping bursts, every thrust knocking the breath from your lungs. every grind against your cervix making your legs tremble. he leans over you, panting into your shoulder, his fangs grazing your sweat-slick skin.

“shhh, shhh, listen,” he whispers, “d’you hear that? how messy this pussy sounds for me? fuck, you’re a mess…made to be used like this, yeah? fucked full and crying—you’re so pretty when you cry.”

you sob something that might be his name, but it catches, shredded and broken. “thats right,” he croons, voice lilting and breathless, almost sweet. “fall apart on it.”

you’re crying now, legs shaking, hands scrambling for the sheets—and he just laughs, a ragged, high sound, grabbing the back of your neck and forcing you down harder. he grinds in to the hilt, and your whole body jolts. “you’re fucking mine,” he pants, lips brushing your spine. “no one else can fuck you like this,” he hisses, voice cracking into something low and mean. “i’ll kill the next motherfucker who even looks at you too long.”

you sob, choking on another moan, and he groans—grinding into you harder, “k-kill everyone here if it means i get to keep you under me like this.” he breathes, forehead pressed to your back.

vampire! namgyu who pins you in place, fucking you harder, deeper, until you swear you can feel him in your stomach. and then he bites your neck.

no warning. no mercy. just sharp fangs tearing into your throat as he thrusts into you one final time, burying himself to the base. your scream rips through the air as blood floods his mouth, his cock twitching deep inside you—your orgasm hitting you so hard it blanks your mind, blacks out your vision, leaves your body convulsing under him.

your pussy squeezes around him like a vice, spasming uncontrollably as he drinks from your neck. his hips stutter, then still, and he groans low and savage against your skin as he cums—hot and thick and endless, flooding you until you’re full of it, dripping with it, ruined by him completely.

vampire! namgyu who doesn’t stop sucking even after filling you. the high too overwhelming for him. you feel every pull of his mouth, every greedy drag of blood from your veins as your heartbeat slows. your limbs go weak. your body trembles, still clenching around his cock, still fluttering with aftershocks.

he only stops when you go limp. then, slowly, he lifts his head—lips glossy red, eyes glowing—and turns your face toward him and kisses you, slow and messy, his tongue pushing into your mouth, smearing your own blood across your tongue. the taste is metallic, sticky, vile—but he kisses you like it’s holy. like he’s worshipping you.

“you’ll feel it soon,” he whispers, cupping your cheek, blood still dripping from your neck. “the hunger. the ache. that burn in your gut? that’s me now. that’s forever.” his voice is soft, almost sweet—but it’s wrong. twisted.

“don’t be scared, angel. i did this for us. you were never getting out of here without me.”

“it was always going to end up like this.”

your lashes flutter. the world dims. your blood is still seeping from the wound, cooling on your skin, and your body is so cold now—so far away—but he stays close. stays inside you, cock softening but still buried, refusing to separate himself from you even now.

“we’ll win this game together okay?” he murmurs into your skin, curling his arms around your slack body, stroking your hair with bloody fingers. your eyes close and his voice is the last thing you hear before the darkness takes you.

vampire! namgyu who lives up to his promise and turns you—because of course he does. he said he would. said it over and over while he fucked you raw and fed from your throat, while you cried and begged and came for him, barely able to speak through the haze of pain and pleasure.

“mine,” he breathes as your body goes still in his arms, lips stained with your blood. “forever.”

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ tags: @mashtatosworld @loveesiren @szonyix6277 @seungttttop @xxtoptaexx @tabibabib @s4intkwon @heartubeatusalon @breakmeoff @gdinthehouseee @septywitch @aizshallnotbefound @namsgyu @thanosspills @flymetothexmoon @gothlnlove @banjoekeery contact me if you want to be added to or removed from my permanent taglist

[gdinthehouseee]

Read Your Mind (CHAPTER 2): CHOI SEUNGHYUN x READER

summary: after the clip of seunghyun admitting his crush goes viral, all eyes are on you.

word count: 1355

tags: fluff, slow burn, smau elements

series masterlist

The low hum of the dressing room surrounded you—zippers tugging, brushes tapping against compacts, your manager murmuring quietly into a headset in the corner. A warm spotlight buzzed overhead, catching the subtle shimmer of the crystals stitched into your performance outfit, making them glint each time you shifted.

You sat perched on the edge of the plush velvet couch, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, heel bouncing in a slow, nervous rhythm. The fabric of your outfit felt snug and expensive against your skin, but your mind wasn’t on that. Not on the stage. Not even on the lyrics you were about to sing.

Your thumb scrolled absently over your screen, chasing distraction. The familiar bright blue of trending tags glared back at you: your name sat comfortably in the top five. Again. Not unusual on award nights.

But then you saw another name beside it: Choi Seunghyun.

And right below that…

“T.O.P exposed on lie detector over Y/N.”

“He’s so done with them LMFAO the way he lied so confidently—”

“Wait so… he does like her???”

Your thumb paused. Apprehension and adrenaline stirred under your skin.

You tapped the clip. It was grainy, the kind of screen-recorded fan upload that someone had already slapped a screaming caption over in neon font. But the audio was clear. The boys were sat around, relaxed and teasing each other as usual. A laugh track played over their voices, but the tension beneath the banter was real.

A voice off-screen, likely the host or a production assistant of the show, cheerfully piped up. “Let’s just get this out of the way. Do you like Y/N?”

You could hear Daesung and Jiyong snort in the background. Youngbae was already grinning like he knew what was coming. Seunghyun didn’t flinch, his expression unreadable. That same effortless cool he wore like armour.

“I don’t like her like that.”

Smooth. Measured. Unbothered.

The lie detector lit up like a war siren.

The studio erupted. Jiyong launched himself backward, laughing while clutching his chest in mock betrayal. Daesung howled, smacking the table like it personally offended him. Youngbae started clapping as if he knew the answer all along, purely amused at the exposure. Even Seunghyun cracked, startled into a short, dry laugh as he glanced down at the machine like it had betrayed him.

You stared at your screen, lips slightly parted.

The clip was only a few seconds long. You watched it three times. The way he said it. The subtle pause afterward. The shift in his eyes. And then the tiniest smile—crooked and flustered—curling at the corner of his mouth. Something fluttered in your chest. You weren't sure if it was panic or something sweeter.

A knock came at the door. Your stylist’s voice floated in, calling your name. “Five minutes. They’re getting the stage ready.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Your phone screen dimmed in your hand, leaving your reflection ghosted in the black glass. The light caught the glitter dusted across your collarbone. You looked… composed. Regal. Every inch the popular solo idol you are to the world. But inside? A mess of butterflies. You closed your eyes for a moment, pressing your lips together.

Then your earpiece buzzed.

“Three minutes. You’re next after the MCs.”

You set your phone down, screen-side down, as if the weight of that one clip could burn through it.

Tonight, you were singing a stripped-down version of your latest single: a confession dressed as a melody. A song about frustration, about yearning. About how exhausting it was to keep pretending you didn’t feel something just because you were afraid the other person wouldn’t say it first. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

You stood, smoothing down your outfit with careful hands, your heart still thudding softly behind your ribs.

If he was watching tonight—and you knew he would be—you hoped he listened closely. 

You were about to sing the truth.

The moment you stepped onto the stage, the noise of the arena softened into a distant roar — like the ocean heard through glass. Your heels echoed against the high-gloss floor, stage lights casting a silver halo around you as you walked slowly to the centre. You adjusted the mic stand with deliberate grace, fingers cool against the metal. Behind you, the LED screen began its slow bloom: soft washes of colour, warm tones, bleeding reds, dusky pinks, and gold blooming like a heart exposed. City lights blurred into fog. A silhouette reaching out but never touching.

A hush swept the crowd. Then the first piano note rang out, clear and aching.

You closed your eyes briefly. Not to find the note, but to steady your breath.

The camera pushed in slowly from stage right. This was live. Millions watching. Aired in real-time, with subtitles already trailing below. You were used to that. You knew how to carry your expressions just enough. Hold your voice at the perfect quiver. Sell the emotion.

But tonight wasn’t about selling.

Tonight was about your bleeding heart.

Your voice drifted into the air like a secret. The kind you whisper into a pillow, not expecting to be heard.

Somewhere in the first verse, the camera cut to the audience.

Rows of idols, industry staff, cameras flashing from the pit. Beautiful people, stiff in their formalwear, nodding along politely. You didn’t look yet, not until the second verse, when the strings curled beneath your voice and something inside you tugged.

You lifted your gaze. Just for a moment. The camera didn’t cut away.

There, seated near the center in the front row were the BigBang boys and, more importantly, Seunghyun. Sharp in a tailored dark jacket, one leg crossed, a single silver ring glinting on his hand. His chin rested lightly against steepled fingers, mouth unreadable. Eyes fixed on you.

You faltered—only slightly. A breath caught in your throat. Not enough for the crowd to notice. But the camera caught the shift; caught the way your eyes locked with his. Caught how long they stayed there.

Suddenly, the air felt different.

The camera lingered.

Too long for it to be a coincidence.

“If I say your name, will you stay?”

It was the line that always left you raw. Tonight, it landed harder. You swore you saw Seunghyun’s jaw twitch like he’d swallowed something that wanted out.

You didn’t look away.

Neither did he.

The camera held it—live, streaming to fans around the world—two idols, eyes locked across the room, wrapped in a love song too honest to pretend it wasn’t personal. 

In the wings, your manager visibly froze behind the curtain. Backstage staff exchanged glances. Whispered. Even some of the idols seated nearby noticed. Youngbae, seated beside Seunghyun, leaned slightly in his direction, one brow raised. He didn’t laugh. He just looked like he knew something the rest of the room didn’t.

You broke eye contact first, smoothly turning your head as the bridge crested.

“Say it scared. Say it.”

The final line lingered on your lips like a dare. You didn’t sing it gently. You let it settle in your voice. Bold, tired, sharp. A truth too long buried. Then the final note. A soft chord. A breath. 

The lights dimmed to black.

The audience erupted into applause, polite at first, then louder. But even as you dipped your head in a graceful bow, your heart hadn’t stopped racing. The moment between you and him still hung in the air like a spark suspended in time. You walked offstage slowly, aware of every camera flash, every eye, every thought that would spiral from that one locked gaze.

Back in the wings, your phone was already vibrating. You didn’t pick it up yet.

Behind you, someone whispered, “that looked intense.”

It did look intense.

Because it was.

But you kept walking, your heels quiet against the backstage floor, face unreadable. Somewhere behind you, still seated in that arena under fading lights, Seunghyun watched you disappear into the wings — eyes still trained on the spot where you’d been. Neither of you had said a single word.

But everyone watching tonight knew something had changed.

taglist: @loveesiren @aizshallnotbefound @mashtatosworld @modzmadness @flymetothexmoon @moontabi @riddlerloveb0t @crashmunson @gdoddity @xxxicddbr88 @nsainmoonchild @sherrayyyyy @breakmeoff @raynamorono23 @moonqz @lilshu65 @ttturnitup @sherxoo @ninnys @kuntix @carrotheadedtoast @rememberbackintheday @madzzz0707 @bettelaboure @mattsturniolosbabymama @shieraseastarrs @madebybec @starrgirll444 @steponupbabe @smokingblossoms

[steponuupbabe]

🍵400 Followers Celebration🍵

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

hello everyone! in honer of hitting 400 followers, i wanted to do something special for u all hehe. 🤍

i gathered some of my fav writers to help me out aswell, the event will be based off of the album ‘positions’ by ariana grande, it will start on the 20th and end on the 2nd, and will include Bigbang OT4. i am so excited and i am extremely grateful for all the love and support i have received on my fics, i love you all so much. thank you to all the creators who will be participating!, and thank you all for 400. 💋🤍

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Track 01: Shut up.

(@moontabi- Choi seunghyun.)

Track 02: 34+35.

(@gdinthehouseee- Kang Daesung.)

Track 03: Motive.

(@steponupbabe- Kwon Jiyong.)

Track 04: Off the table.

(@jiyongsangel- Kwon Jiyong.)

Track 05: Six thirty.

(@slut4kwon- Kwon Jiyong.)

Track 06: Saftey net.

(@z0mbbiegvrl- Choi Seunghyun.)

Track 07: My hair.

(@emmiesoverthemoon- Kwon jiyong.)

Track 08: Nasty.

(@gds-daisy- Kwon Jiyong.)

Track 09: West side.

(@jiuwaves- Kwon Jiyong.)

Track 10: Love language.

(@ldydeath- Kwon Jiyong.)

Track 11: Positions.

(@infinetlyforgotten- Choi Seunghyun.)

Track 12: Obvious.

(@moonqz- Kwon Jiyong.)

Track 13: POV.

(@petersasteria- Choi Seunghyun.)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

taglist: @lowkeylauraa @loveesiren @thanosspills @stormin9 @moontabi @smokingblossoms

[moontabi]

so exciting!!

[gdinthehouseee]

Guess: LEE CHAELIN x READER

summary: you've been friends with chaelin for years. everyone can see it's always been more than that, but you've never even kissed a girl before... well, not yet, at least.

word count: 2725

tags: hints of slow burn, smut; oral (f receiving)

ao3 link

You weren’t even sure why you said yes. It had been a long week, and parties like this weren’t really your thing anymore—especially not the kind packed with industry people, drenched in dim red lighting and designer perfume, curated like an editorial spread. But when Bom texted that she’d swing by and drag you there herself, you gave in. Maybe because a part of you wanted to be dragged.

Or maybe because you knew she would be there.

CL.

Chaelin, to you.

Your friend for years. Your ‘what if’ for nearly as long. From the start, there had always been something more than platonic between you. A look held a second too long. A laugh shared too close. Whispered things that could’ve meant nothing… or everything.

Even the other 2NE1 girls had side-eyed you both more than once. Jiyong had joked about it on tour once, nudging you in the ribs after he caught the two of you laughing in your own little world at the private afterparty. But nothing ever happened. Neither of you moved. Maybe because you didn’t want to risk it. Maybe because you weren’t sure if it was real. Or maybe because… you had never kissed a girl before. And Chaelin was never just a girl. 

Tonight felt no different—until you stepped into the rooftop space and saw her.

She was standing by the glass railing, city lights shimmering around her like a crown. Black tailored bodysuit, neckline plunging deep enough you could see the beauty mark on her chest—the mark you often caught yourself staring at more times you’d like to admit—and opaque stockings, looking like she was dressed up for a stage. A cigarette between her fingers, half-smoked and barely touched.

You stopped breathing for a second. She turned. Her gaze didn’t flicker when she spotted you. Didn’t falter. Just moved over you slowly, as if she had every right. As if she knew exactly what she was doing. You felt it in your stomach. That slow coil.

“Found you.”

You hadn’t even seen her walk over.

“I didn’t know I was hiding,” you said, smiling carefully.

“Mm. You’ve been hiding from me.”

She said it so casually that it didn’t register at first. But when her fingers ghosted along the fabric at your elbow, anchoring you there with a barely-there touch, your heart kicked up in your chest.

“You look good,” she added, her voice quieter now. “Like… really good.”

You laughed awkwardly. “You’re being extra.”

She smiled. But her eyes—God, her eyes didn’t move. “No. I’m being honest.”

You looked away first. Not because you didn’t want her looking at you like that. But because it made you feel too seen. Too exposed. The music thrummed through the floor beneath your heels. The buzz of conversation surrounded you, but all you could feel was her standing close, so close, like she was waiting.

“You wanna get a drink?” You asked, deflecting with a tilt of your head toward the bar.

She stepped aside with a grin and motioned with her hand, “After you.”

But she didn’t follow behind you—she walked beside you. One hand grazing the small of your back in a touch so light it made your breath catch. At the bar, she leaned in again, her mouth close enough that you could feel the words more than hear them.

“You’ve been dodging me.”

“I’ve been… thinking.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “About what?”

You sipped your drink. Cold, fizzy, something citrusy. “What it would mean.”

“What it would mean?” She echoed simply.

You turned your head, finally meeting her gaze. “If I didn’t dodge you.”

Chaelin’s lips curved slow. Satisfied. Not surprised.

“You don’t have to guess,” she murmured. “You could just let it happen.”

You stared at her. At the slope of her neck, the smirk tugging at her lips, the heat in her gaze. For the first time in years of lingering moments and never-acted-on tension, you wondered if you were finally ready to stop pretending you didn’t want her. But not yet.

You turned your body to face the bar again and said, “Let’s start with a drink.”

Beside you, Chaelin only smiled—low and knowing, like a fuse had finally been lit.

The night bled on. Drinks flowed. Laughter echoed in pockets around the rooftop. You let yourself fall back into easy conversation with familiar faces, let Bom pull you into a shot or two, let Daesung try and drag you onto the makeshift dance floor before Youngbae saved you with a knowing eye-roll. But no matter where you stood, no matter who you talked to, you felt her. Like gravity. Chaelin’s gaze found you across the crowd again and again—sometimes a glance, sometimes a lingering stare over the rim of her glass, sometimes just the ghost of a smirk when your eyes accidentally locked with hers.

It was like she had all the time in the world. Like she wasn’t in a hurry because she already knew how the night was going to end.

By the time the party thinned out, the sky had dipped deeper into black, the Seoul skyline glittering under soft fog. The music had faded into something slower, quieter, meant for late hours and low voices. You stood by the glass balcony railing, fingertips tapping the condensation on your drink, trying to focus on the cold press of the glass instead of the heat rising under your skin.

“I was starting to think you’d leave without saying goodnight.”

Her voice came from behind you, smooth and close, threading into the space between your shoulders. You closed your eyes for half a second before turning to her.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Chaelin stood just close enough that you could feel her perfume—clean, spicy, soft—and it sent a shiver down your back. She rested a hand on the railing beside yours, fingers so near you could feel the heat radiating off them. “Good,” she murmured, eyes on you, not the view. “Because I hate games.”

“I thought you liked games,” you teased, voice lighter than you felt.

“Only the kind I win.”

You swallowed, throat tight. Your eyes dropped to her mouth before you could stop yourself.

She noticed.

Of course she did.

Her hand drifted toward yours—not grabbing, not forcing, just letting her fingers barely brush along the side of your hand. The touch was featherlight. Purposeful. Like she was asking permission without saying a word. You didn’t move away.

“I know you’ve thought about this,” she whispered, voice low enough that it barely reached your ears over the hum of the city.

You exhaled slowly, your pulse loud in your chest.

“I’m not drunk,” you said, because you needed her to know that. “I’ll remember this tomorrow.”

“Good.”

She tilted her head, leaning in—not rushed, not reckless, but deliberate. Her lips hovered near yours, breath warm and steady. You could’ve stopped her. Could’ve turned your head, laughed it off, kept the friendship in its safe little box.

But you didn’t.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you let the space between you close. Her mouth brushed yours—soft at first, careful. Barely a kiss at all. Just the suggestion of one. When you didn’t pull back, she pressed in again, slower this time, lips parting against yours in a kiss so patient it almost broke you. It was nothing like you expected. No roughness. No wild rush.

Just heat and want: years of something unspoken finally slipping out between your mouths.

When she pulled back just enough to breathe, her eyes were darker than before. Your hands finally lifted—one curling into her jacket, the other sliding along her jaw—and you kissed her again. Her mouth stayed close to yours, lips brushing in half-kisses like she wasn’t ready to let go. Her fingers slid up your arm until they rested just below your jaw, thumb stroking the edge of your throat.

“You’re shaking,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“You scared?”

You weren’t sure what you were. Your chest was tight, your stomach was a knot of heat and nerves, but your skin ached for more. You’d never kissed a woman before tonight, but now? Now you couldn’t stop thinking about how much more you wanted to do.

“No,” you breathed. “Not scared.”

Her lips curved against yours, the softest smirk. “Good.”

She kissed you again, but this time her hand slid into your hair, anchoring you there—not rough, but firm. Her tongue pressed against your bottom lip, asking, and when you parted for her, she deepened the kiss just enough to make your head spin. She tasted like champagne and something sharper underneath. Like control. Like her.

When you finally pulled back for air, her thumb traced your lower lip.

“I’ve thought about this,” she admitted softly, her voice a warm glide against your skin. “More than I should’ve.”

Your heart tripped in your chest.

“Me too,” you whispered.

Her eyes flicked up to yours, searching. Making sure you meant it. When you didn’t look away, she slid her hand down. Fingers dragging from your jaw to your neck, down the curve of your shoulder, until her palm rested at your waist.

“Come with me,” she murmured. Her tone was velvet but her grip told you it wasn’t a suggestion.

You followed.

Inside her apartment, the world shifted again. Her place was dark except for the city lights pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the room in blue and gold. You barely had time to take it in before Chaelin kicked her heels off, shrugged out of her jacket, and turned to you with a look that made your breath catch.

You stayed near the door, suddenly unsure of what came next. Your hands trembled at your sides.

“C’mere,” she whispered, beckoning you with a curl of her finger.

You moved toward her slowly. Careful. When you reached her, she reached for you—hands settling at your hips, thumbs sliding under the hem of your top. Her skin against yours sent a sharp jolt straight through your stomach.

“I’m gonna go slow,” she promised, lips at your ear. “You tell me if you want me to stop.”

You nodded, and she kissed the side of your neck, dragging her mouth along your pulse until your knees weakened. Her hands slid up your sides, under your shirt, fingertips skimming the swell of your breasts but never quite touching where you wanted. You arched instinctively, desperate for more friction.

“Look at you.”

“Chae—”

“You’re so sensitive already,” she whispered. “All I did was kiss you.”

You whimpered, caught between embarrassment and want. Her mouth dropped lower, lips and teeth grazing your collarbone as she slowly peeled your shirt over your head. When she saw your bare skin in the low light, she paused—eyes dragging over you like you were something she’d waited for.

“You’re gorgeous,” she whispered, almost to herself.

Your cheeks burned, but she was already ducking her head, lips closing over your nipple in a kiss so soft it made you gasp. Her tongue circled slow. Then again. Just enough to tease. Your hands found her shoulders, gripping tight—not to stop her, but because you had no idea how to stay standing when she touched you like that.

“Relax,” she whispered, breath hot against your skin. “Let me take care of you.”

You did: you let your head fall back, let her mouth travel lower. And when she sank to her knees in front of you—fingers hooked in the waistband of your jeans, eyes locked on yours—you let out a shaky breath, chest heaving.

“Still good?” She asked, voice warm and low, her lips a breath away from the button of your jeans.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Please.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard.”

She didn’t break eye contact as she undid your jeans—slow, careful fingers sliding the zipper down like she had all the time in the world to savor this. Her lips parted just a little, the corners curling into something between a smirk and a promise.

“Take these off for me,” she whispered, voice honey-slick but edged with steel.

Your hands trembled, but you obeyed. You pushed your jeans down your thighs, stepping out of them clumsily, heart racing. Chaelin stayed on her knees, watching you the whole time. Her gaze wasn’t soft anymore. It was hungry. When you stood in front of her in just your underwear, she tilted her head.

“Look at you,” she murmured, fingertips grazing your calves, sliding up to the backs of your knees. “Shaking for me and I’ve barely even touched you.”

Your cheeks burned, but there was no hiding now.

She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of your panties next, looking up at you with dark, molten eyes. “Take these off too.”

Your breath hitched, but you did it. Slid them down slowly, swallowing your nerves as you stood there—completely bare in front of her. Her eyes dragged over your body, slow and heavy, like she was memorizing every inch of you.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “This is better than I imagined.”

You whimpered again and she chuckled softly, leaning in to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Your knees almost buckled. Her hands slid higher, gripping your thighs to steady you—and then she nudged your legs further apart, just enough to make you feel exposed. Her mouth ghosted closer to your core, breath warm against slick, aching heat.

“You’re so wet for me,” she whispered, tongue flicking out to taste you—just once, a soft stroke along your slit that left you gasping.

Then she pulled back slightly, lips slick with you, eyes locked on yours.

“You really never let a girl eat you out before?”

You shook your head, lips parted, panting.

“Guess I get to ruin you first,” she purred.

And then she dove in.

Her mouth pressed against you, tongue flattening and dragging up through your folds with slow, devastating precision. She licked you like she was savoring a lollipop, teasing your clit with the tip of her tongue in lazy circles before sucking just hard enough to make your hips jolt.

“Fuck—Chaelin—”

Her hands gripped your thighs tighter, nails digging in just enough to sting.

“Stay still,” she murmured between licks, voice low and filthy. “Take it.”

You moaned, your whole body shivering under her mouth. Her tongue lapped at you relentlessly, switching from slow flicks to deep, greedy strokes that dipped inside, tasting everything you had to give. You were dripping down her chin, your thighs shaking so hard you thought you might fall—but she held you up, kept you open for her, eating you like it was her last meal. When you cried out again, she pulled back just barely—just enough to whisper filth against your skin.

“God, you taste so fucking good. Look at you. Making a mess all over my face.”

You glanced down, eyes glassy, and the sight made you whimper again—Chaelin’s mouth wet with you, lips red and slick, tongue darting out to catch more.

“You’re gonna come for me like this,” she whispered, fingers pressing into the softness of your thighs, keeping you spread. “Right on my mouth.”

Her lips sealed around your clit again, sucking hard this time—no more teasing, no more slow burn. Just raw hunger. Her tongue circled fast, relentlessly, and your knees buckled for real. You moaned—high, breathless, nearly sobbing—as the coil in your belly snapped, pleasure tearing through you in sharp, blinding waves.

Chaelin groaned into your cunt, like she could feel it too. She didn’t stop when you came—she kept going, licking you through it, lapping up every drop, murmuring filth against your skin.

“Fuck, look at you,” she whispered between licks, her mouth still working you even as you trembled. “Didn’t know it could feel like that, huh?”

Your hand tangled in her hair, hips jerking, but she didn’t let up—not until you were gasping, pleading for her to stop.

“Shhh,” she soothed, kissing the inside of your thigh again, lips still shiny with you. “That was just the first one.”

She licked her lips, eyes dark and soft at the same time.

“We’re not done.”

first cl fic how we feeling xd

challenge taglist: @peachesclose @currentloser @jiyongsangel @moonqz @breakmeoff @mashtatosworld @emmiesoverthemoon @steponupbabe @petersasteria @makeitworse @flymetothexmoon @loveesiren @moontabi @jiuwaves @ikwon1c @gdinthehouseee @szonyix6277 @aizshallnotbefound @keiraryan @sternilei @lilshu65 @smokingblossoms

my taglist: @loveesiren @aizshallnotbefound @mashtatosworld @modzmadness @flymetothexmoon @moontabi @riddlerloveb0t @crashmunson @gdoddity @xxxicddbr88 @nsainmoonchild @sherrayyyyy @breakmeoff @raynamorono23 @moonqz4now @lilshu65 @ttturnitup @sherxoo @ninnys @kuntix @carrotheadedtoast @rememberbackintheday @madzzz0707 @bettelaboure @mattsturniolosbabymama @shieraseastarrs @smokingblossoms

[moontabi]

💌Send this to the twelve nicest people you know or who seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome >:p💌

sending it right back to you my love 🩷

[moontabi]

hey love i saw ur post i’m so sorry ur feeling this way :( i just wanted to let you know it’s okay to be feeling down but i promise ur family, friends online and offline, and your followers appreciate and love you so much! you’re so talented and such an amazing person we love you take time for yourself never doubt you’re amazing 🫶

-🧁

thank you for taking the time to send such a thoughtful message :(( i love you soso much this put a smile on my face

[littlescorp1o]

face card never declines