#......it's been a long week......i apologize

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕃𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕤

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: older!rafe, age gap (college senior with rafe in his 30s), secret dating, angst, fighting, suspected cheating, name-calling, swearing, pet names, rafe grabs the reader’s face, spanking, spanking with a belt, bdsm, wet and messy, squirting, edging, multiple orgasms, threats, unprotected p in v, orgasm denial and control, rough sex, fingering, manhandling, soft!rafe at the end, praise, dirty talk, brat taming, teasing

📖 All of my asks got deleted 💕😭 so I'm not sure who requested this, but thank you! This was not a kinkmas ask, but I made it one 😋 The premise is that Professor!Rafe has been distant and now after cancelled plans you want to know what the hell is going on.

Masterlist

Reader’s POV:

The brisk December air bit your cheeks as you stepped out of your apartment and headed downtown. Christmas lights glowed warm along the street, but your mood was anything but light. You stuffed your hands into your pockets; your arm looped in your friend’s, head tilted on her shoulder as you suffered in silence.

All your finals were done, a long, relaxing break to look forward to, but all you could do was think about him…

For months, you had been navigating your whirlwind romance, secretly dating your Professor—sexy, intelligent, successful… And you had fallen hard against your better judgment. It was wrong… It was risky as hell… But it was real. Or, at least, you thought it was.

Lately, though, Rafe has been pulling away—canceled plans, vague apologies— his lingered gaze that you had gotten so used to fizzling away. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration. A night away, just the two of you, celebrating your completion of the semester and a week of rest and relaxation for the both of you.

He hadn’t even brought up winter break… Rafe wasn’t looking toward the future anymore. He was completely checked out.

But tonight was different… He canceled, and unlike before, you didn’t ask for an explanation. And to your disappointment, he didn’t give one either.

“Forget him,” you grumble, momentarily wallowing in self-pity.

“Forget who?” Your friend asks with a laugh as she squeezes your arm a little tighter.

You bite your lips, taking a shallow breath as you let those two words slip your lips. “This guy from my econ class,” you lie. “He blamed our B on me…” Another lie.

”Who complains about a B in college?” Your friend scoffs and laughs, tipping her head on yours. “Forget him? Fuck him…”

“Agreed,” you smile, the wavering in your tone making her raise an eyebrow, pressing again.

“Is that why you didn’t want to come out?” She asks as she softens her voice. You flutter your lashes, feeling the emotion you’ve been pushing down bubble up in your chest.

It’s not like anything has happened… Nothing has happened, as a matter of fact. He was giving you nothing, yet you felt his silence was speaking louder than any words could. And who could you talk to about it? No one.

“Babe?” She tries again as your friends walk across the bustling street, heading into the flooded downtown area.

“Just not feeling like myself lately…” Your voice floats away with the winter wind as you see Rafe open the door, holding it open for a woman to pass through.

He looks handsome in his fitted suit and black wool overcoat, his hair brushed back, giving you a glimpse of his perfect face and chiseled features.

Your friend coaxes you forward, but your body freezes in the middle of the sidewalk. You watch as Rafe and a beautiful woman in a powder pink dress fall out of sight, disappearing behind the doors of The Flora Room.

“Seriously, what’s going on with you?” She asks, shaking you playfully to get you out of your daze.

“Where do you guys wanna go?” One of the girls in your party calls out. You look around the little town square, seeing bar after bar, knowing it would be a tough sell to get your friends to sit down even for a single drink in there when they could buy three shitty drinks for the fee of one overpriced martini.

You watch your friends drift to one of the downtown sports bars, but you keep your feet grounded. Your friend reads the room, hanging back with you, following where you lead, her curiosity piqued.

“You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?” She mumbles from the corner of her lips as the two of you pass through the doors.

There’s no bouncer at the door; your shoes don’t stick to the ground with each step. Screaming, laughing, and a deep bass rumbling from the speakers are exchanged for light conversation and piano music. It’s rich and elegant, the polar opposite of what the two of you are used to on a typical night out.

“We’re just gonna sit at the bar,” you smile at the hostess, who extends a hand, ushering you back. Your eyes dance around the space, looking for Rafe and the women as you feel your anger and unease fester.

So busy you couldn’t see me, huh? You seethe as you position yourself just far enough away from him.

The situation is hard to read—a party? You look at the group he’s with; the lot of them dressed to the nines. Watching with your breath held as she laughs, his head tilting slightly as if the woman said something clever.

She looks sophisticated and expensive, her curves hugged in a dress that seems to have been made for her. She reaches out, squeezing Rafe's bicep as she chuckles again, making your stomach churn.

The bartender rests your martinis in front of you. You keep your eyes locked ahead; the tears in your eyes sparkle in the bar lighting. It's impossible to see without blinking, but you know the second you do, they’ll fall.

Your friend's hand rests on your thigh, and with that little bit of physical contact, your eyes shut. Tears roll down your cheeks and fall off your chin. She looks ahead, following where your attention was paid before looking back at you and back at him again. “Oh…” she breathes, before her eyes widen.

“Yeah,” you whimper, knowing she put two and two together. ”Just don’t-”

”I won’t say anything,” she assures before you can even finish, reaching over, blotting the tears off your cheeks with a bar napkin.

You reach in your purse, hands tightening around your phone, and without thinking, you open the text thread… The one where Rafe left you on read.

You: We’re done.

You watch as Rafe’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He adjusts slightly, looks at the lock screen, and sees the notification with your name on the front before stuffing it back in his pocket, not giving it any more attention.

Missed call after missed call; text after text… It only took a few blocks before Rafe finally pulled his phone out of his pocket and gave you the time of day.

You couldn’t help but give him a similar treatment, watching as all his attempts rolled in, you not making any effort at all. You look over your shoulder as you walk into your apartment; there are so many texts from Rafe that you know he can’t be far behind.

You pace your apartment, just waiting for the inevitable. Regardless of what that was or what that wasn’t, he’s been ignoring you. How simple would it have been to let you know where he was going and the real reason why he canceled?

That woman—who the fuck was that? A friend, I’m sure… But you couldn’t even fathom Rafe watching that all go down. He would feel the same fucking way, especially if you were giving him reasons to worry before.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

You hear Rafe’s heavy footsteps on the other side of the door, making your stomach sink, jarring you out of your thoughts.

“Baby,” Rafe’s familiar voice called from the other side. “What the hell is going on, huh? Open the door.”

Your fingers curl into fists by your sides, annoyed at how easily Rafe could demand your time. How he only seemed to care when you sent those three words. “Go away!” You shout, feeling goosebumps spread across your body.

“Not fucking happening,” his tone was firm—the frustration bled through his words. “Open the door.”

“No.”

“You kiddin’ me?” BANG. He bangs his fist against the door in frustration. You hear his voice soften as he gets closer to the door's seam. “What the fuck is going on?” He hisses.

“Why don’t you tell me,” you step a little closer as well.

“If I knew, I would apologize. Alright? I got nothin’ to hide from you-”

”Bullshit,” you cut him off. “Who was she, Rafe?”

“What?” He cries out as he jiggles the door handle rapidly, testing it and then testing it again. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“The women from the bar, Rafe. I was there.”

“Princess… What the hell?” He breathes. “You don’t understand, baby. C’mon.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly, Rafe,” you snap as you bang against the door yourself. “You’ve been ignoring me for days, you barely look at me anymore, you're canceling our plans, not telling me where the hell you’re going, and then I find you on the night we were supposed to actually spend some goddamn time together flirting with someone else. Yeah, Rafe. I understand. You’re a liar.”

Silence falls heavily outside the door. You furrow your eyebrows, looking through the peephole straight at your neighbor's door, your heart breaking when you don’t see him on the other side.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, making your heart leap.

Rafe: Have a great night, sweetheart.

“You’re joking me,” you huff as you push out into the hall, gasping as Rafe pushes you back in.

“I love you. But you’re being a fuckin’ brat,” he grunts as he lets the door clap shut behind him before dragging you a few steps to your room, slamming that door as well.

“You have five minutes to explain, Rafe,” you shout, “then I’m kicking you out.”

“Five minutes, sweetheart? After all this time? That’s generous of you.”

“Talk or leave,” you snarl before Rafe shoves you down on the bed, making you gasp again as he mounts you fast, his hand slapping against your mouth, holding it shut.

“Stop fucking testing me and listen. Alright?” You mumble underneath his trembling palm. “If I lift my hand, you’re gonna listen to me, do you understand?”

Your eyes narrow on his, and he cocks an eyebrow at you. “I’ll tape your mouth shut if you won’t listen to me. You know that, right?” He asks in a gentler tone, contrasting his dark words.

You roll your eyes, finding yourself getting more annoyed by the second. “The fuck has gotten into you, huh?” He asks as he looks down at you below him, wearing a new defiance you’ve never shown before.

He lifts his hand, and you huff out a breath, scowling as you look up at him. The older man looks back at you with the same disgusted look.

“What, Rafe?”

“There’s been a rumor circulating around the campus that a professor has been sleeping with a student… I’ve been dealing with that—I have not been avoiding you for any reason other than that. And that woman… That woman who could never be you, princess, is not who you think. Okay?”

“So, who is she, then?” Your glare softens slightly, the bite of your tongue still there. “Because you sure seemed like you were enjoying her company, Rafe.”

Rafe sighs deeply, dragging his hand through his hair as he steps off the bed. “She’s the new University President… That was the faculty Christmas party. I forgot to tell you because I was too caught up in all this shit.”

”You forgot?” You ask. Rafe is taken aback by your attitude, even after telling you everything.

“Yes. I forgot,” he answers, his tone sharp. “Because I’ve been trying to figure out how to protect us,” he chides as he gestures between you. “The scandal, the risks… You kept sayin’ everything was fine, so I wasn’t worried. I have never worried about you.”

You feel a slight guilt creep in, seeing him so vulnerable. You would be lying if you said you didn’t assure him everything was okay and that the two of you were fine. “Well, maybe if you’d told me, I wouldn’t have assumed the worst.”

“Assumed the worst?” Rafe’s scoffs, his frustration crystal clear. “You mean accusing me of cheating and ending things over a text? A text? Because that’s a rational response right there, sweetheart. Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?”

”You don’t get to turn this shit around on me, Rafe. You’ve been distant. When I told you I was “okay,” I wasn’t… Didn’t you notice a change between you and me? Couldn't you hear it in my voice that I clearly was not okay? You’re so distant. It’s like we’re not even together-”

“I’ve been distant because I’m dealing with this—this shit has real consequences, princess. This isn’t a fuckin’ game. If anyone finds out about us-”

“Then talk to me!” You yell over him as you step closer. “You’re acting like I’m irrational. I would have understood. All you had to do was tell me what’s going on!”

“And all you had to do was ask instead of throwing a fuckin’ tantrum,” he shoots back.

Your jaw drops, temper flaring even more. “A tantrum?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, his gaze unwavering. “A tantrum. You’re acting like a spoiled brat-”

”Fuck you,” you hiss. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“What the hell?” He laughs at you weakly, looking back at you like you’ve gone completely mad. “Where’s my girl? What the fuck is happening?”

“Do you need help finding the door or what?”

His eyes widen; the man struck utterly silent. “Please tell me you haven't been feelin’ this way the whole time we’ve been together,” he asks, the exhaustion of the fight wearing on him as he looks back at you, shoulder slumped, breathing heavy.

“The last few weeks, yeah-”

“But not the whole time, right?” He asks, the tone of his voice letting you know you both know the answer.

“No… Not the whole time,” you mumble.

“Couldn’t have given me the benefit of the doubt, princess? I mean hell, sweetheart. You could have looked around the goddamn bar. What the hell would I be doin’ hanging out with your Econ teacher if I could be spendin’ the night with you? Why would I be rubbin’ shoulders with Dean Richardson— your Dean, by the way, unless I had to, huh? Don't you think I’d rather spend my night with you?”

You look back into his piercing blue eyes, your cheeks burning with a mix of shame and anger. You open your mouth to speak, but he steps toward you fast, standing above you as you sit on the edge of the bed. You squeak as he grips your cheeks in his big ringed hand, forcing your gaze.

“I love you, princess… But you need to grow up. Use your words. Stop jumpin’ to conclusions and start cuttin’ me some fuckin’ slack.” You mumble, but he pinches your cheeks even more. “Stop cuttin’ off before I can explain myself.” Rafe slots himself between your thighs, loosening his hold slightly.

“I…” You hesitate, taking a little breath as you look at him. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“No.” Rafe silences you as he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss on your lips. “Apologies are fine, but you need to listen. This isn’t some fling. This is real. And if we’re gonna make this shit work, you have to trust me. Even when it’s hard,” Rafe whispers, letting his lips graze against yours.

Your heart pounds in your chest, thighs drawing in slightly. “I trust you, baby,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe pulls away, his gaze softening more than before, but his frustration hasn’t completely faded from his beautiful blue eyes. “Then show me… Stop playin’ these games.”

“I wasn’t playing games,” you protest, but he cuts you off with a look that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand straight.

“You sent me a breakup text, then ignored me when I came here to fix it,” he chides. “I’m not some frat boy—not some college kid you can pull that shit with. Aight? And if you don’t think that little stunt you pulled is a game, I don’t know what is. Do you know how many times I called you?”

“I texted you too, and you ignored it,” you mumble as you look away, feeling the weight of his gaze as your face heats up.

“N’why do you think I had to do that, huh?” He adds condescendingly.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Knowing that answering a text from you, a mid-faculty party in the light of a scandal, probably wouldn’t have been Rafe’s best move.

“We’re done with this little back-and-forth bullshit. If you have a problem, tell me. And if I screw up, I’ll do the same.” You nod, looking at Rafe again as he cups your face, his rough thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“Rafe…” You pout.

“Yes, baby,” he responds gentler than before.

“Why aren’t you talkin’ about the future anymore? I know you wanted to take the heat off us but didn’t even ask what I’m doing for break. You didn’t even make plans with me-”

“Shh…” He shushes you as he looks down at you tiredly, about ready to lose his mind that you’re still challenging him in some way. “Take out my phone,” he mumbles. You lower your gaze slightly, reach into the pocket of his dress slacks, and pull out the device. “Your birthday, baby,” he hums his passcode. You unlock the phone, looking up at him again. “Open my email…”

You pull up Rafe’s Gmail and see the confirmation for the Four Seasons Resort and Residences in Vail, with your name attached to the reservation made a week ago.

“You drive me insane, you know that?” He murmurs as he grabs the phone off your hands, tossing it to the side.

“I’m sorry-”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“I mean it, Rafe. I-”

“You think you can sass me, throw a tantrum, and walk away without consequences?” He mumbles. “I think it’s time someone teaches you a lesson about being a brat, princess,” he whispers as his lips find your neck, licking and sucking your hot skin, making your pulse race.

Rafe’s loosened tie hangs from his neck, sweeping against your thighs as his teeth graze along your ear. You grab it, pulling him toward your lips, making him chuckle against yours.

“Got some shit you wanna say, sweetheart?” He laughs darkly.

“Maybe I like being a brat, Rafe,” you whisper, feeling him smile against your lips.

Rafe kisses you deeply, sucking off your bottom lip, taking it between his teeth, nipping with enough pinch to make you whimper into his open mouth. “Then I guess this is going to be a long night for you, princess,” he rasps as he grabs your tights between his fingers, ripping them open. You inhale sharply as he cups your pussy in his big hand, rubbing your sex over your wet panties.

“Fuck,” you whimper as he slaps your cunt, making your thighs draw in just for him to force them apart. He continues to tease you over your panties as he gathers your hair with his other hand, tugging it back.

“These last few weeks… Fuck, they’ve been frustrating, huh?” He asks as he pushes his big fingers into your entrance, the threshold of the wet cotton blocking him from going any deeper than a knuckle deep. “And you’re gonna misbehave? Make it harder on me? You know I could have just taken my frustration out on this pretty little pussy, baby,” he mumbles as he hooks his finger around your panties, pulling the fabric tight, making you whimper.

“Rafe, please-”

“We’re at the finish line. Two days away from a vacation that I’ve been plannin’ for weeks. That I was gonna surprise you with… and you’re actin’ like a fuckin’ brat? What’s that about, huh?” He asks as he paws off his tie, tosses it on the bed, and pops open the buttons of his shirt one by one.

You take in his gorgeous body as he exposes more skin—his broad chest and his cut abs, the deep ridges of his v-lines kissing the top of his pants. You bite your lip, stripping yourself of your tattered tights and clothes as he undoes his leather belt, releasing it with a crack before tossing it on the bed.

“Stand up,” he orders, and you do as your tummy flutters. “Turn around. Hands behind your back.” Rafe reaches for his tie, running it through his big fingers as he takes in your body. “Wrists, baby,” he mumbles against your neck as he stands close, his rock-hard cock pressing against your ass.

Rafe binds your wrists and grabs your hips, sitting down on the bed, guiding you to lay over his big thighs, your ass in the air. Rafe’s rough fingers drift up the back of your legs, making you tremble, your wetness already weeping from your aching hole.

He chuckles as he runs two thick fingers right through it, taking it between his lips, moaning around his digits. “Fuck, princess… You’re a problem aren't you? Gettin’ wet off this shit, huh? Like gettin’ yelled at and punished.”

“Yes,” you whimper.

“Yes, what, princess?” He groans as his hand comes down on your ass, making you cry out.

“Yes, sir,” you sniffle. “I like getting yelled at and punished.”

“Atta girl… Look at you. Already turnin’ that little attitude of yours around, huh?” He asks as he thrusts his fingers in your pussy, making you wail. He fucks them into you fast and hard, your warmth squelching lewdly.

You crane your neck, eyes widening as he goes for his leather belt. You struggle slightly, your natural reaction to move away, but his big arm wraps around you, holding you in place. “Think you’re gettin’ away from me?” He chuckles. “Not a fuckin’ chance.”

CRACK.

Rafe delivers a loud smack on your supple flesh. You let out a loud cry, feeling the sting and tears welling on your waterline.

“You had a lot to say before, baby,” he mocks as he drags the leather up the back of your thighs. “Where did my bratty little bitch go, huh?” He mumbles as he lands another hit, making the tears spill over.

Rafe tosses the belt to the ground, plunging his fingers into your slickness again, only to find that you’re even wetter than before. “Stop enjoyin’ this shit so much, pretty,” he breathes, his smug smile heard in your tone as he curls his fingers inside you.

“Yes, baby,” you moan as your head falls forward, feeling yourself about to cum around his big fingers. “Oh, Rafe.”

“Mmm… I should stop, shouldn’t I?” He asks as he continues his brutal pace.

“No… No, please,” you sniffle as you feel your body tighten around him, your peak approaching fast. You lift your ass in the air, following his fingers as he pulls them away gradually, yanking them out right before your body gives way. You gasp, breathing heavily as Rafe robs you of your orgasm, your heart banging in your chest.

“How do you think it felt gettin’ that text tonight, hmm?” He asks as he lifts you off his lap, shoving you on the bed—your chest on the mattress, and your feet on the floor. “The love of my life… The only thing-” CRACK. He spanks you yet again, making you scream. Rafe laughs mockingly into his next couple of words, “The only thing that has ever truly mattered to me,” he mumbles as he lowers himself to his knees. The warmth of his breathing hits your throbbing cunt. “Broke up with me… through a text message. Fuckin’ insane, right?”

His tongue plunges into your drooling hole, fingers swirling on top of your throbbing clit making your thighs tremble. Rafe sucks and tongue-fucks you like a god, taking you right to the edge of ecstasy again. Your muscles clench, fists balled up, rising on your tippy toes reeling, and right when you're about to break, he pulls away again.

“Rafe, please!” You sob.

He steps forward, the front of his muscular thighs flush with the back of yours. You whimper as he draws away just enough; his swollen head rubs through your drenched folds, teasing your clit, toying with your glossy hole ‘til you’re burying your face in your comforter.

"Beg for it, princess. C’mon…” He whispers as he taunts you with his tip.

“Please…” You beg, lips quivering with every breath. “Please… I’m begging you, daddy. M’sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” you whimper. “I love you… I love you so—oh, fuck,” you cry as he sheathes his cock into your swollen cunt.

Rafe grabs the edge of his tie, knotted around your wrist, using it as a hold to fuck into you deeper, gliding into your greedy hole, your body quickly cumming around him, pussy flutter wildly, but he just keeps on going.

He yanks the tie, pulling it loose. He flips you to your back, looping your legs over his shoulder before plunging in again. Rafe brings his big body closer to yours, folding you in half, toned hips clapping against your body with each rough stroke.

“Didn’t ask for permission, princess. Creamin’ around my dick when I should be usin’ you like my personal fuck toy...” You follow his gaze, looking down at the place where you context the creamy ring of your arousal glistening around his thick base, the picture alone leaving you feeling like you could cum on sight. “You better ask… I know you're about to cum again. And if you do-”

“Rafe, I-” You grit your teeth, fighting back another orgasm you know he’ll deny.

“I’m not done talkin’. Fuck, have you learned nothing?” Hot tears roll down your cheeks, wetting the bed below as your body shakes. “If you cum without askin’, I'm gonna tape those pretty little lips of yours shut, grab that vibrator from your nightstand, and have you cummin’ ‘til you pass out.”

“Please. Please. Please,” you sob.

“Might do it anyways, princess. It’ll be good for you…”

“Rafe!”

“Cum for me, baby.”

You grab the edge of the bed, holding on tight as Rafe makes good on his words, taking his frustrations out on your tight cunt as you squirt around his length.

"There you go, fuckk. There's my girl,” he murmurs, smiling smugly, tilting in and kissing your forehead sweetly, his punishing strokes telling a different story entirely as he chases his climax, emptying himself in your fluttering cunt with one final thrust.

Rafe lowers your trembling legs, dragging back, but you grab his hips, pouting your lips and shaking your head ‘no.’ He smiles down at you, lowering himself to your lips, kissing you deeply.

“I’m sorry…” You whisper.

“Don’t be, baby. I never want you to think I don't care. Okay? I'm sorry… Should have let you know what was goin’ on. I should always be takin’ care of my girl,” he mumbles between gentle kisses. “You were right. Alright?” He whispers before kissing your forehead.

“I thought you didn't want to be with me anymore…”

“That’s crazy, baby. ‘Course I do. I was serious; you're the only thing that truly matters to me…”

You bite your lip, smiling into your kiss. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, princess.”

tags: @rafesthroatbaby @littlelamy @kisses4angels @watchmerora @buckybarnessweetheart @anamiad00msday @namelesslosers @cades-outsider @romaescapes @starkeysprincess @oxpogues4lifexo @unrealmirrorball @sleepiibunniiii @gri959 @rafesgiirl @daryldixon83 @akobx @hyperfixationgirl @lhhlver @rrafeswhore @slut-4-gojo @blair-bears-blog @loveesiren @cameronwillow @rafegf-real @alphabetically-deranged @ariana2saucyy

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

Older rich milf Wanda who is overly affectionate with you and calls you darling and gives you the best hugs that linger far too long to be polite while you bury your nose in her neck and breathe her in and she's perfect and warm and you fall in love with her more with every interaction you have.

She makes you food when you're stressed with finals, and you always thank her profusely. She cooks enough for nearly a week, your backpack laden with tupperware. She finds your stuttered thank you's and red cheeks adorable, and she loves it when you return her containers to her after you've washed them.

You offhandedly mention one time that you'd been looking forward to buying some new candles, but they hadn't gone on sale yet, so you were excited for the sale to begin near the Holidays. Somehow, a large box full of all your favorite scented candles is delivered to your apartment the next week, with a simple red heart drawn on the top.

Wanda always finds excuses to touch you, her hands around your waist or on your thigh and you just dismiss it as her being a touchy person, but your heart rate always picks up and you have to control your breathing and push your arousal down when she gets a little too handsy... (she loves your reactions).

You make the first move, kissing her softly after a wine and movie night, her blanket wrapped around the two of you as you practically sat on top of her, cuddling closely. You pull back and start to apologize, fearing that you read the situation all wrong, but she simply grabs your collar and pulls you back in, whispering about how adorable you are before kissing you within an inch of your life.

She is always gentle during sex, but she makes you feel owned in every way possible, her lips marking your skin as her hands squeeze you wherever she can. Her possessiveness is attractive, even though you both feel secure in the relationship, it's fun to watch her glare at anyone who tries to talk to you.

I need older rich milf Wanda in my life ♡

[ghostwhippet]

From Scratch

Nutrition Info: Johnny/Reader; 4k; a meetcute launched by Reader's inability to cook reasonable portions, and Johnny's... well, just Johnny

No matter how long you live alone, you can’t get the hang of cooking for one person. Even when you try to make a single-serving meal instead of batch cooking, somehow it balloons out of control. Wasting food makes you feel awful, but you can only freeze so much.

One evening, desperate and utterly fed up, you go kick gently at a neighbor’s door, both hands full, trying to mimic a knock with your shoe. Jason, you think his name was? Striking blue eyes, big frame, a cute cropped mohawk, amazing brogue, and he’s always been cordial when you’ve run into him around the building. Friendly, but not too friendly.

He’s understandably confused by your request at first, but seems happy enough for the food, and takes it around your repeated apologies–for bothering him, for existing, for anything you can find, really.

Unfortunately, not even forcing yourself to go and do all of that manages to pierce your shite sense of volume. Your trips to his door do get less awkward over time, though. And Johnny, his name is, always has sparklingly clean dishes and containers to return in exchange for the full ones. 

Eventually he just starts showing up at your place instead and eats with you at your bar counter. He didn’t really ask, and you definitely didn’t, but there he is all the same, and… if you're honest? He’s just so easy to be around, it quickly feels natural having him there. He puts you off your guard, puts you at ease and makes you smile, like those are somehow the most natural things in the world.

From that first night, Johnny has insisted on helping with dishes. Starting the second, he’s always got groceries with him. Even manages to talk you out of your discomfort over accepting them, so well that on his fourth night, you’ve got a small shopping list ready. He’s cheeky, you don’t think he’ll mind. And he is right, after all: you're probably feeding him at least three or four nights out of the week, what with all the leftovers.

You start eating better, and trying new things you'd always planned on “getting around to,” now that you've got a reason to cook beyond not starving. Everything comes out fine the first time you make it, when you’re closely following a recipe, and Johnny has no qualms about trying anything you put in front of him. You’ve never met someone so genuinely un-fussy when it comes to food.

A couple months after he’s started eating at your place, he disappears for a while. “Work trip,” is all he'll say, and you don’t pry, even though you really want to. 

Once he’s back, he starts coming over weekend afternoons sometimes. You do brunch with beer or fancy drinks in champagne flutes, or occasional breakfast on the roof before other people are awake, him in a big hoodie or jumper, and you wearing a thick blanket like it's trying to digest you, looking like a half-drowned cat because no living being is meant to be awake at such an hour. 

You cut fruit into mangled flowers and vague geometric shapes for the brunches, usually while just spending time with him. He tries his hand at it once, with you pulling up videos, laughing the whole time you’re explaining how it’s supposed to work, and the utter bastard is better at it on his first go than you were after weeks. His hands are confoundingly steady, and his hand-eye coordination borders on the unnatural.

That’s probably the official start of his sous chef arc. And that’s what has him spending a night judging your knives and marveling, repeatedly and loudly, that you still have all your fingers.

You might put a piece of eggshell into his omelet that night in retaliation, and he might not even have the decency to react to it.

“...Johnny I can hear it crunching, oh my God would you spit it out!” You manage between laughter that’s got your face hurting.

That happens a lot around him. Smiling so much it hurts.

“Nah, i’s nice texture,” he says around the mouthful, then starts enunciating the longer words. “Very advanced technique. Shows a great awareness of the culinary experience–”

“You’re being such a prat. Why are you being such a prat!”

He talks over you as if he can’t hear you, as if he’s doing some mockingly posh review. “And honestly, the crunching–” he pauses and chomps down on the shell for effect, and how is it still intact, “it really engages the senses. Keeps me immersed in my dining experience.”

You regret loaning him your cooking books. Never again.

After that, though, he steals your knives, takes them home, and they come back so sharp you can cut windowpane slices of potato. He offers to teach you how to do it yourself–after stipulating with heart-clenching thoroughness that he’s happy to come over and do it for you any time.

Johnny gets weirdly into shopping farmer’s markets, walking around discovering new produce and varieties of things he’s never seen before. “Fuck would I know tomatoes come in this color? Look at this thing, it’s like a feckin’... it’s a wee lumpy sunset, isn’t it? And this! Like someone took the heart of a dragon,” his voice had gone terribly dramatic, and you definitely hadn’t covered your face, “and stuck it on a bush somewhere.”

“Baby how are you so huge, but so adorable?” You don't know when the pet names started, but you know he started them; sometimes it feels like you two grew up together. 

You like the challenge of the new and unexpected ingredients that come from his trips, and by this point, he’s keeping your kitchen pretty stocked with whatever oddball pantry items you ask for, so you're set up to deal with almost anything. But on rare occasions he’ll call you with a question, too. You’ve had each other’s numbers for a while, it just made coordinating easier. 

“Oi can you make sommat with uh… fiddlehead ferns?”

You always can, whatever he asks about. It just takes a quick internet search to find out if you can tackle it that same night, or if it needs to wait for another day. Sometimes it ends up disastrous, but like a shot, Johnny has you laughing or throwing something at him (usually-but-not-always also while laughing) before guilt or shame can get a proper foothold.

There was a night when he was too excited about something to wait for you to answer the door when he knocked, and since then, he just sort of comes in on his own after he announces himself—at least when you know to expect him. That feels right, too, just like having him at your counter had.

You’re feeding the both of you almost every night of the week by now, even if you’re still not cooking often. You like being around him so much, you can’t imagine doing it less, not even when cooking is the last thing you want to be doing. It’s like there’s a bubbly little sun in your chest when he’s around.

Johnny makes you so happy, in fact, and you’re so afraid of losing your time with him, it’s nearly six months before the first time you have to tap out of a dinner, too knackered to make yourself even casually presentable, nevermind cook so much as instant noodles.

He reacts like it’s no problem at all, which of course he’d do, because he’s wonderful, but you don’t manage to keep your heart from dropping that he’s not at least a little sad. That he doesn’t, maybe, look forward to the nights like you do. You know your arrangement is practical, and he’s never been over unless there was food involved, but… well… seeing him seems to have become rather… vital to you.

Which means it’s better to put it away, anyhow, right?

So when, an hour after you’d texted him and basically all he’d said was No problem, thinking takeout, any votes?, he’s coming through your front door with delivery bags and talking a mile a minute like it’s just another night, you're left with your mouth open and your hand on the knob, because… because he's here.

You're not cooking, but he's still here.

You just stand there gobsmacked as he sits on the couch, nattering away, half the food out before he even realizes you’re still playing doorstop. He asks if you’re having the time of your life or if you’re going to come sit down, those horrible (wonderful) crinkles at the sides of his eyes, brows pulled up in the middle.

He looks confused when you say you want to freshen up, like he can’t see that your hair might’ve lost a row with a feral rodent, or that you’re wearing clothes that shouldn’t even be outside of a bin, nevermind on a person. He just tells you the food will get cold, and that it’ll be no good that way.

So you run your hands through your hair and sit, subdued and uncertain like you haven’t been around him in ages, as he amiably fills the silence. You know he can tell you’re not right, but he’s just… acting like it’s ok that you aren’t.

Midway through the meal, he reaches forward to grab a container and put it in front of you, and it makes his knee come up against yours. 

It doesn’t move away when he sits back.

Then, as the night wears on and the very most jagged edges of your weariness have eased, he makes a joke and you bump your shoulder into him in retaliation. It pushes your legs flush… and neither of you do anything to separate them. He just keeps on being Johnny like nothing is different, like nothing strange is happening, like he can’t see how bloody flushed you must be, like the room hasn't turned to glass and burst, leaving the both of you toppling through the air.

You're not stupid, so you have to tell yourself repeatedly that he’s just trying to comfort you. He’s acting completely normal otherwise—for Johnny—and you look like a person in need of a friend tonight. And same as him, you’re at all your meal nights instead of off with friends or dates. At least for him, it’s because of his career. You haven’t even seen him bringing up a new fling in ages.

…You’re not stupid. Right?

After the food is finished, Johnny putters about cleaning up, working his way around your kitchen like he knows it exactly as well as he does. He puts all but one container of leftovers in your fridge. 

You hug your knees comfortably, just sort of watching him, too full of static to be paranoid about it, and he either doesn’t realize or isn’t bothered by it. Not being a complete creep, you don’t keep it up for too long, anyhow. You’ve got plenty to occupy your thoughts.

He surprises you on his way out by casually setting a mug in front of you. He’d made you something hot to drink while he was cleaning up, and you were so spaced you hadn’t realized. He just gives you a little smile, a gentle squeeze on the shoulder with a stroke of his thumb, says, “Wednesday, yeah?” (the night of your next normal get-together), and moves on toward the door. All normal. But there’s some metal in your chest painfully bending itself into unaccustomed shapes, jabbing places that aren’t used to the pressure, pushing into your windpipe until it’s hard to breathe, and you can’t stop yourself from telling him that you made up a new seasoning blend for popcorn, if he’d maybe like to watch a movie before he goes.

He stands there by the door looking at you just for a split second too long, opens his mouth, closes it, then settles right back onto the couch up next to you. He reaches out an arm and pulls you gently into his side, moving in a way that makes it an invitation and not a demand, while he’s talking about what to watch.

You fall asleep there. So does he.

Things turn a bit funny after that in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. At the surface, everything is the same. But nothing feels the same. Every time there’s a tease, casual touches, close quarters, you have to chant not stupid not stupid not stupid on repeat in your head. He’s just Johnny, that’s all. The guy you could have grown up with.

You keep up the dinners and the weekends, and eventually, finally realize that with him around to take all your extras, you can bake. It’s something you’ve wanted to try forever, but recipes don’t really make single servings, and you never had anyone to pawn off the other 22 muffins or ¾ of the cake onto, or the sheet of croissants, because you absolutely want to try the most fussy, difficult things. And it turns out, when at last he tells you what he does, that Johnny works at the local military base–which at least explains his size–so if he can’t polish something off, well, he knows some blokes.

You’re so excited after that, things almost seem to return to normal. He even comes over and hangs out while you’re baking sometimes. Just knocking about, licking the beaters and the spoons and the bowls, doing dishes as you go, fidgeting with this or that, all while knowing you’re equally as likely to produce something inedible as you are a treat.

Johnny tells you a little about his career one evening. He says that it means he’s in real danger often, there’s a lot of secrecy with people in his personal life, long absences and surprise ones, shit pay, and likely a brief expiration date. (You don’t really let that last one in). He’s got a bit of a funny look in his eyes when he shares about all of it. Quite focused on you, in a way? It makes your cheeks heat. It isn’t as if it’s on you to approve of his life.

But at least now you understand why he’s on his own. And you suppose you’re a bit small, because while you’re incredibly sad for him, part of you is thrilled that it means he’s not likely soon going to be swept away by someone else too soon.

You just gather yourself up, smile, and tell him that at least he’s spending the time he has as best he can, which is a hell of a lot more than a lot of people do–although you personally hope there’s a lot more of it. And that… at the end, you're glad for all the times you're involved.

Johnny’s leaning against the counter while you fold nuts and rum-soaked fruit into a thick batter, his normally busy hands jammed into his pockets, posture a bit off, and so close you almost keep elbowing him on accident, the two of you just bantering back and forth. 

You turn your head toward him to fire back, and–

–his mouth is just there, on yours.

He lingers, but doesn’t move otherwise. It’s… testing, you think. You feel his lips shake against yours, in fact, just once. 

Your shock dies fast and your eyes slip closed, and while it’s a brief kiss, when he pulls away, you don’t open them. You can’t. Because if you’re honest, you’ve probably been gone for him since the first time you gave him a friendly hug goodnight, and it’s only ever gotten worse. If you open your eyes, this won’t be real, or it won’t have happened, or it will shatter somehow.

After a pause, he runs the back of a finger down your temple, trailing the side of your face to your jaw. You still won’t open your eyes, so he just toys with your face until you do.

He’s got a soul-crushing smile at the corners of his eyes.

“Been wanting to do that for a long time,” he admits into the quiet.

“...Oh?” Your voice is embarrassingly, unhelpfully breathy. It’d probably be mortifying, if you had the mental capacity to fully register embarrassment at the moment.

He pauses, smile making its way to his lips, and curling them up at the corners, bit by bit. He cants his head, just a little, like he wants to see you from another angle. “Aye. …Might’ve been since the first time I saw you at the mailboxes.”

“Oh?” 

That had been one of the first times you remember ever seeing him. He never said a word to you other than, “Mornin’” or “Evenin’,” if he said anything at all.

His smile blooms until you can see his teeth. “You were wearing this little shirt. Green, thin. Bit worn, like it was a favorite. Showed a wee spot of skin at your back.” His fingers brush the spot, soft and testing, near the base of your spine, and it jolts you from scalp to toes. “Might’ve… lost some time, thinking about what it’d feel like if I slid my hand up there.” He toys with the hem of your shirt and steps in, voice going deeper and rougher around the edges. “Might’ve imagined pushing it up, getting a bit closer. Really might’ve imagined putting your back up to the slots, mo–”

You kiss him this time, before he can go on, and it’s anything but testing.

And just like everything else about him, this fits. 

His mouth fits against yours. His body fits against yours. And as if some band of control snaps, so abruptly you swear you feel it jolt through his skin, he's got you up on the counter, his thighs between yours, both of you already breathing hard.

His hands on you are perfect, calloused, slipping up under the back of your shirt, smoothing and gripping, making your chest and your thighs feel molten. It's ravenous, like he just has to touch your skin, has to get you closer. You arch toward him, fingers running up through his hair, legs curling around his and pulling him nearer.

His hips are carefully, stubbornly, infuriatingly back from you, but the kiss is so full of need, so close, that some of his breaths sound hollow against your mouth. It's like he can't decide whether inhaling or devouring you is more important, so he just doesn't choose.

When you're at the point of moaning unintentionally, of hungry little sounds forcing their way out of your chest, of your hips moving against the counter in desperation, when you're moments from outright begging, Johnny pulls back, and goes further when you try to chase his mouth.

His lips are red and full, his face dark--much worse when he catches sight of how completely drunk you must look--and he's panting. His fingers dig into your hips like he's trying to keep one or both of you from drowning. He squeezes his eyes shut.

You don't mean to, you really don't, but you look down, and lord help you but–

“That looks painful,” you tell him. Your voice sounds like it's been run over a washboard. He's tented against his denim, and his size is… proportional.

…You can't seem to remember how to make yourself look up.

“Really rather not talk about my cock just now, love,” he gravels, fingers clenching briefly against you. His head tips forward onto your shoulder, breaths panting out against your collar bone, leaving you to pick up every bit of heat he's trying to get out of himself.

You hum, teasing. “Shame, because I can't think of anything I'd rather talk ab—”

His big paw covers your mouth. “For the love of every Saint, I’m beggi—”

You cut him off right back. By licking his palm.

He recoils in horror, but the moment your eyes meet, you both burst into laughter, made worse every time he tries to tell you how disgusting that is, something about his sisters as kids, you don't know what else.

You're the first to sober, breathing almost back to normal, thoughts already whirring on fast-forward. You look down, pulling your knees together, hands gripping the edge of the counter. “Are we…. Will we be ok, after this?”

You peek up to see him looking at you like you're daft.

“‘S been the better part of a year,” he says softly, moving forward and running his thumbs over your knees. Asking your legs to make room again, to let him get close again. “Have you really not figured it out, all this time?” 

Your legs open hesitantly, and he steps in and, when you look up at him, kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other, slow and warm and so tender it feels like your chest is cracking right down the center.

Eyes closed, brows a little pinched, you murmur, “We can't all be SAS savants, Johnny.” Maybe you know. Maybe. But it has been all this time, so maybe you need to hear it, too.

He's still kissing, pace unhurried and savouring, making his way to your jaw and just beneath it. But it's calming now, somewhere between reverential and still trying to bring the both of you down. Himself especially, you think.

“Then let me spell it out for you. Gladly.” He noses up against the bottom of your ear and roughs, “You are fucking stuck with me. Glued. Bloody welded.” He huffs a laugh and leans back upright—but not all the way, not too far back. “This isnae a new thing for me. You know that, right? I just….” He shakes his head and abandons the thought, “Hell, my mates have already been asking when they can come over for dinner, the dobbers.”

Your brows shoot up. “You've talked about me at work?”

He looks down, and while his face is in half a scowl, you'd swear he does it to hide a slight flush, too. “Haven't shut up about you, more like. Should hear what my Lieutenant– Ach, nevermind that.”

You hurry to say that they're welcome any time, but it makes him scowl fully.

“Not exactly keen on the idea just yet.” He puts his arms around you, buries his face in your neck, and just stands there, breathing you in. He mutters into the crook of your shoulder, “Mind if I stay like this for a bit? Just while I, uh… calm down.”

His hips are still well back from you. You’re not sure you’ve ever adored and hated him so much at once.

“I’d really like that,” you tell him softly, arms going around his ribs, hands on his shoulders, chest to chest.

It's warm and resounding like this, so after a spell, without thinking, you bite his shoulder. Just sink your teeth in and leave them there. It’s not even entirely conscious, it's just so comfortable and comforting.

“All good, there, wee piranha?” he eventually asks, a smile in his voice.

You detach instantly. “Ah, sorry! I, uh, might have a tiny bit of an oral fixation.”

He groans. “Are ye trying to do me in?”

“I’m not the one who said we had to stop, Mr. Military Discipline.”

His eyes darken in a flash, but he tamps down on it just as quickly and gets that godawful cocky look on his face, instead. “Pardon me for not wanting to rush something that really matters.” His tone goes so soft at the end that you can’t even be mad at him--exactly as you know he intended, the great bastard.

“How did I not know what a sadist you are?”

And that look means he’s about to make you eat your words.

“Johnny I will happily kill you in your sleep.”

“I could handle that. Means you'd be in my bed, aye?”

He pulls your hands up from the death grip they've found on the edge of the counter and laces your fingers together. “I dinnae….” He clears his throat, frowns. “Just being away on deployment is shite now, and I love what I do. But I miss you while I'm gone, think about you back here all the bloody time, and we havnae even….”

When he doesn’t finish, you whisper, heart clenching with the realization, “You don't want to rush this.”

He laughs quietly like he wants to argue. But what he says is, “No. I don't. But while that's true….” He steps in, chin ducking, eyes darkening even as they shine, voice lowering. “What do you say we turn the oven off? I've a funny feeling you willnae be getting around to that bake today.”

Masterlist

[yxngbxkkie]

just a fight (b.c)

hello!! it's been an extremely long time since i've posted any fics on here (or written them)! but i finally got the inspiration to write one for our lovely chris 🤭 i saw a tik tok from the new album intro and came up with this idea. i hope you all like it 🥰

feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

It's about the fourth time in an hour that Chris has checked his phone, the frown on his lips staying there as there's still no texts from you. He releases a sigh before attempting to refocus on the task at hand; recording.

The two of you have been in an argument for the past two days. Longest time the two of you have spent angry at one another. You didn't argue often, so Chris is becoming a bit panicked when you don't text him on the third day.

“Hyung,” Changbin's voice snaps Chris from his thoughts, turning in his chair to face the younger member. “Is everything okay? I've never seen you this spaced out.”

Chris provides a fake smile, going to reassure him that everything is okay when his phone vibrates. He picks it up immediately, his heart dropping a bit when it's not you. He swipes away the notification without any thought, not really in the mood to converse with anyone.

“I'm okay, I guess,” he mumbles, setting his phone back on the desk. “Uhm, Y/N and I had an argument three days ago and…” Chris trails off, biting his lip to stop himself from crying.

“Have you tried calling?” Changbin asks, motioning for the other staff to give them a minute alone.

Chris blankly stares at the computer screen, moving the mouse around idly. “I get sent to voicemail,” he tells Changbin, not moving his gaze once.

“I'll try calling. This can't go on any longer. You can't work like this,” Changbin sighs, standing up from the couch. The younger member pulls his phone out of his pocket, finding your contact before calling your number.

Chris can hear the phone ringing, his heart beginning to beat a million miles a minute in his chest.

“Bin?” Your voice comes through the receiver, causing Chris to gasp lightly. He finally looks over towards Changbin, seeing him hold his phone out.

Take the phone. He motions, holding the device out to him. Chris hesitantly takes the phone as you continue to call out for Changbin.

“Y/N?” Chris calls out your name just after Changbin leaves the studio. He can hear your breath hitch at the sound of his voice, and he begins to think you might hang up. “B-Before you hang up… can we talk? Please?”

Silence fills the space as he waits for your reply. He swallows the lump in his throat, wondering if he's fucked up one of the good things in his hectic life.

“I'm really sorry, y'know? I've always had the habit of keeping shit to myself. You can ask the guys,” he starts to apologize, staring at your contact name. “I was doing really well on keeping you in tabs of everything, but these past few weeks have been pretty stressful. And, I know that's not a great excuse, but being cooped up in the studio hours on end has brought me back to my old ways. I should've told you what's been going on, but I promise, if you don't leave me that I'll change. I don't want to lose you.”

His heart is in his throat as he waits for you to say something, anything. When he hears you start to cry, his first instinct is for him to run to your apartment. “Baby–”

“How are you so perfect?” You whisper loud enough for him to hear. You sniffle and clear your throat before speaking again. “I should be so mad at you, Chris. But, you– you make it impossible to stay mad.”

“I'm sorry?” He mumbles, furrowing his brows in confusion.

A chuckle comes from your end, and his heart skips a beat. “It's okay. Uhm, are you busy? Is it okay if I come to you, or,” You offer to meet up, making Chris's heart race.

“Y-Yeah, no, yeah, you can come by. I'll let the front desk know. Text me when you get here?” He asks, a smile coming to his lips for the first time in three days.

“Of course, handsome. I'll see you soon, okay?” You reassure him.

~

You're nervous as you walk into the JYP building. You know everything's going to turn out okay, but for some reason, the nausea is still there. The receptionist clears you through, and you step into the elevator. After pressing the button for the floor Chris is on, you decided to take some deep breaths.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, seeing a single heart emoji text from Chris. Your heart flutters in your chest, beginning to believe that everything will be alright. The door to the elevator opens up, and you step out, walking in the familiar direction of the studio they're using.

When you round the corner to go down the slim hallway, you find Chris standing at the studio door. You stop in place, meeting his dark eyes. The first thing you notice is the bags under his eyes. A frown comes to your lips at how exhausted he looks.

“Baby,” you mumble and start walking towards him.

“You look good,” Chris smiles at you, his eyes a little glossy. “I missed you so much.”

Both of you wrap your arms around one another, embracing tightly. You tightly grip the shirt he's wearing as he takes in the scent of your perfume.

“I missed you, too, baby,” you sigh, combing your fingers through his hair with your free hand.

Chris holds on to you as if you'll disappear once he lets go. He moves both of you into the studio before shutting the door, giving you some privacy.

You pull away from him, keeping your hands on his forearms as you look back up at him. “Everything's gonna be okay, okay?” You reassure him, gently stroking his arms.

He nods his head, clearing his throat before wrapping you up in his arms again. “I honestly thought that this was the end, y'know?” He mumbles into your neck, kissing the skin lightly.

“I'm in love with you, Chris. I don't ever want this to end,” you tell him while massaging the back of his head.

His hands slip under the hoodie you're wearing, a breathy sigh leaving his lips at the feeling of your soft skin. You bring your hands to his face, making him look at you before your lips meet his.

Chris moans into the kiss, his grip on your waist tightening. “God,” he mumbles, pulling away for a quick second. He reconnects his lips to yours, putting some more passion into the kiss. “I love you.”

You can't help but giggle, resting your forehead against his. “You make me feel like I've got a high school crush, you know that?” You ask him while placing one of your hands to your chest, feeling how fast your heartbeat is.

“I feel the same about you, baby,” he grins, dimples on full display. Chris grabs a hold of your hands as silence fills the room. He intertwines your fingers, keeping his gaze on them.

“You okay, baby?” You ask him quietly, squeezing his hands. “Talk to me.”

He lifts his head, the smile still there, and he nods. “I'm okay. I'm just– really happy that you're back and that we're okay,” he releases a deep breath, bringing your hands to his lips, peppering the backs of them in kisses.

“I'm afraid you're stuck with me,” you joke with him.

“I wouldn't want it any other way, baby,” Chris pulls you close to him, capturing your lips in another kiss.

~

tagging: @strawboorybunny @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @like-a-diamondinthesky @prettymiye0n @foxinnie8

[ellecdc]

she sells sea shells by the sea shore

Finnick Odair x fem!reader who sells jewelry at the market [1.3k words]

CW: meet cute/ugly turned into frequent visits, district accurate, gameless au, fluff

You thank the woman for her purchase as you hand her the small paper bag containing her new necklace and matching earrings, smiling at her daughter who chose to immediately wear her new bracelet as they walked away. 

You busy yourself with putting away the cash and tidying up your displays. You had never been quite comfortable with self-promotion; desperately trying to make eye contact with those passing by who were equally desperate to avoid your eye contact, or - somehow worse - pressuring those taking an interest in your works to purchase something when all they wanted to do was look. 

Probably not the best trait to have when you make a living selling ocean themed jewelry by the beach, but alas, here you were. 

You were just about to take a seat on the wicker chair you’d purchased from a few stalls down when the sun peaking through the canopy of your stall disappears.

“Hello there.”

You hope he didn’t hear the way your neck cracked when you whipped your head up to see the handsome guy who stopped at your shop once a week without fail to buy your jewelry. 

You found yourself disappointed when the first time he bought a delicate charm bracelet he asked to have it gift wrapped, but you still enjoyed the view and banter he promised you on his weekly visits. 

“Hi.” You let out breathlessly, horrified when his eyebrows raised, encouraging you to clear your throat and try again. “Welcome back.”

His smile turns almost bashful as he shrugs one of his shoulders and busies himself with studying your inventory. “It’s all so beautiful; you make it difficult to stay away for long.” 

You look down at your feet in hopes he can’t tell how hot your cheeks are from where he’s standing.  

“What are you looking for today?” You finally ask, leaning your palms on the stand in front of you and subconsciously leaning closer to your crush. 

He seems to remember why he’s here as he mirrors your position, pursuing the options before lifting one hand to pick up a pair of earrings. 

“Maybe these?”

You nod in approval. “Those are very cute; they’d match the necklace you bought last week.”

You watch as his smile grows wider as he recalls last week's purchase.

“You’re right.” He agrees. “You’ve got a good memory.”

You make a noncommittal hum instead of admitting that you were sort of obsessed with him and replayed all of your interactions over and over in your head to the point of memorization. 

“I take it that the necklace was a hit?” You ask as you package up the earrings.

“It was.” He replies with a nod. “I still think her favourite was the bracelet I bought that first week, though.” 

You smile as you remembered the first day you’d met - or, perhaps it was seen? Seeing as you still really didn’t even know the dude’s name - he had been weaving through shoppers with his hands full of bags of groceries when two kids went running by, forcing him to dodge them which resulted in him bumping into your stall. 

He’d only knocked over one jewelry stand, but you would have thought he’d burnt your entire stall to the ground with the way he kept apologizing. He asked how he could make it up to you, but you laughed and waved him off, telling him there was nothing to make up for. 

He picked up one of the bracelets he’d knocked over and inspected it; you had assumed at the time he was looking to check that he hadn’t scuffed it, but he simply held it out to you and said he’d like to purchase it, please.

Still assuming he was just trying to make it up to you, you smiled and rang him through, though your heart fell when he asked if you offered gift wrapping. He was buying it for someone. 

However, you enjoyed his presence enough that you were more than happy to wrap up presents for his special someone every week. 

“She’s lucky.” You comment, smiling to yourself when he laughs.

“Thank you; I’ll let her know you think so.” 

You hold his bag out to him and watch as he raises a distracted hand to retrieve it, his eyes glued to a large, golden sun shaped pendant necklace. 

“That’d look really nice on you.” You try; his sea green eyes darting over to you as a dimple makes itself at home on his cheek.

“Yeah?” He asks, eyebrows raising when you nod your head yes. “Mind if I try it on?”

“Be my guest.”

Large, calloused hands with delicate fingers unclasp the necklace before he positions it around his neck, examining his reflection in the small mirror you had situated at your stand. 

“What do you think?” He asks, turning his body towards you and striking a pose.

“Gorgeous.” You agree, hardly finding it in you to feel embarrassed at how honest that answer was.

Something about his eyes turns softer even as his smile grows wider. “I’ll take it, then.” 

“There’s a smaller one, too. If you wanted to get her a matching one?” You explained, gesturing towards a smaller golden sun pendant hanging on a delicate chain. To your surprise, he lets out a laugh. 

“I’m sure she’d like that, but I think I might be a little old to be matching with my mom.” 

Your head actually tilts to the side as you pause in your movements; hand hovering in front of you as you dumbly hold the money he’d just placed in your palm.

“For…your mom?”

“Right.” He says, smiling. 

“The bracelet-”

“For my mom.” He explains.

“And…the necklace?”

“Yup.”

Your eyes fall to the bag you’d handed to him moments ago. “And the earrings too,” he continues unprompted, “all for my mom.”

“Oh.” You mumble stupidly, forcing yourself to move and finally placing the money into your small safe. 

You look back over to see him pinch his lips between his teeth, seemingly fighting against a smile though his dimples gave him away. 

“Don’t tell my mom, but, I’ve sort of only been buying her gifts as an excuse to talk to the pretty girl who runs the stand.” 

A disbelieving sound leaves your lips as a hopeful smile adorns them. “You didn’t need an excuse.”

“No?”

You shake your head. “No.” 

He makes a show of letting out a breath of relief, one hand moving up to fiddle with the new pendant around his neck. 

“Hey, what’s your favourite smoothie?” He asks suddenly.

“What?”

“What flavour of smoothie do you like? I’ll run to the juice stand and grab some for us.”

“Mango.” You offer slowly, still wondering if you should pinch yourself to confirm this was real.

“Perfect, and your name?” He asks as he starts walking backwards. You give it to him before asking him for his.

“Finnick.” He says. “Now I know three things about you.”

“What was the third?” You call after him.

“That you’re gorgeous!” He responds, and then he disappears into the crowd as he heads in the direction of the juice stand. 

You fall back into your wicker chair with a slightly hysterical laugh, eyes inadvertently falling on the matching necklace you’d just tried to sell to Finnick when you thought he had a special girl to go home to.

You rip your eyes away from it as you fiddle with the bracelets on your wrist.

Maybe one day.

[holylulusworld]

How to cure a grump (1)

Summary: You're losing your job on Christmas.

Pairing: CEO/Boss!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, grumpy Bucky, awful boss

“Santa Claus is coming to town,” you sing along to the song blaring from your phone. You’re, as so often, the last one at the office.

Before the holidays, most of your colleagues try to get out of the office as early as possible. They have better plans than to work like busy ants two days before Christmas.

Sadly, you didn’t get to leave on the clock. Your boss demanded your attention. You couldn’t join your colleagues at the little Christmas party you organized for weeks.

Now they will all exchange the Secret Santa gifts you got for most of them, drink eggnog, and sing awful Christmas songs while you are stuck here with your grumpy boss.

“Miss Y/L/N, I need the numbers now." Mr. Barnes doesn’t even walk toward your desk. He simply barks orders your way.

You heave out a sigh and glance at the stack of papers on your desk. Before you get up to hand Mr. Barnes the numbers he wanted you to finish before the holidays, you save your work.

Grabbing the papers, you silently pray that Mr. Barnes won’t come up with more tasks. It’s long past your work time, and you’re tired and cranky. You’ll need a good night’s sleep and at least a day off before driving home for Christmas.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he barks as you are already halfway toward his office. Mr. Barnes huffs as you stumble over your own feet. “You know, I had better things to do than wait for the numbers. I have been waiting for hours. I think you’re the worst person working here.”

For a second, you’re stunned. You feel like Mr. Barnes slapped you across your face.

“Maybe if you asked the person responsible for the mistake to help you with the numbers, you'd like the outcome better. I worked overtime only to get yelled at!” You gasp. The words just flew out of your mouth, unfiltered and raw with emotions.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t work here any more then!” He bites back. It wasn’t a surprise to you that Mr. Barnes lost his temper. He’s always been a little hot-headed and grumpy. Mr. Barnes fired people here and there over the years. You just didn’t think you’d be one of them one day.

“You’re firing me after I fixed a mistake someone else made?” You huff and cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t see anyone else standing in line to work through the numbers. I worked overtime before the holidays to do you a favor.”

“That’s your job,” he growls and points at the door. “Or was. I want you to pack your things and don’t come back.”

“Fine,” you huff and turn on your heels, regretting your mishap instantly. You’d apologize and even fall to your knees to get your job back. Sadly, Mr. Barnes is a strict man. He doesn’t accept mistakes or insubordination. Whatever you’d do or say, there was no way he’d give you your job back.

So, you got a box from the storage room, emptied your desk, grabbed your belongings, and left the building for the last time in your life. To hell with this job and your boss.

“Mom, stop asking questions,” you plead as your mother wouldn’t stop asking questions about your job.

“It’s all so exciting. Living in the big city, having friends you meet up at bars like Carrie in Sex and the City, and your job. It sounds wonderful!”

“Mom, I barely made any friends,” you sigh, and try to rub the embarrassment off your face. “I’d call them work friends or acquaintances.”

“I bet they are all too happy to have you around,” she coos and cups your face. “I know my Munchkin conquered the big city in no time.”

“Mom, I—” you sniffle and look away, ashamed. It never gets easy to lie to your mother. “I have to tell you something about the job.”

“What is it, Munchkin?” she asks, looking at you, worry in her eyes. She coos to you as you begin to cry. Starting anew after your long-term boyfriend and fiancé broke things up was the dream you wanted to fulfill. Now, you failed again.

“I got fired yesterday,” you sniff. “I worked overtime, and my boss yelled at me. I fixed someone else’s mistake, and he still yelled at me. I lost it and…” You shake your head and refuse to look at your mother.

“Y/N, that’s not the end of the world.” She wraps you in a warm embrace. The kind of embrace only a mother can give you. You feel warm and safe, remembering all the times she calmed you in times of need. “You’ll find a new job, a better one. If he fired you, that man doesn’t know how to value you.”

“The fuck no!” Bucky flings a stack of papers across the room. He tried to access your account, only to realize he never asked you to reset your password. Now he’s seething because most of your work, except the files you shared with colleagues and him, is password protected. “She forgot to reset the fucking password!”

“Well, you told her to pack her things and leave, Buck. What did you expect to happen?” Steve huffs. He had to leave his cozy home and wife to help Bucky with some unimportant paperwork. “We've got time to fix this until after the holidays.”

“Unimportant to you,” Bucky bites back. “I want this finished before the year ends.”

“Buck,” Steve snorts. “If you need her password, call her.” The blonde shrugs before turning to leave. “I know you are not the best at communicating, but I believe in you. You can handle a phone call with a woman you just fired.”

“I tried more than once,” Bucky snaps at his best friend and business partner. “She won’t answer. The last time I called, she blocked my number.”

“Yeah, because you fired her!” Steve replies, laughing. “I wouldn’t answer any call from an asshole firing me two days before Christmas, either.”

Bucky opens his mouth to reply. He huffs as his friend already walks toward the door.

“What shall I do now? I need the password!”

“If you cannot reach her, go to her home and ask for the password. I will go home now. Please don’t call me during Christmas. Natasha will rip me a new one if I miss Christmas.”

“She’s not home. I was there. Her neighbors told me that Y/N will spend Christmas at her parents’ house. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Buck,” Steve laughs. “You can fly to her hometown and ask her for the password. While on your way back, you can celebrate with a pretty stewardess in first class as every Christmas…”

[mononijikayu]

you're my relief — ryomen sukuna.

GENRE: modern au; smut with minor plot;

WARNING/S: smut, romance, relationship, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, rough sex, p to v sex, fingering (female receiving), oral sex (female receiving), orgasm, profanity, pet names (babe, etc), characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, short cause i was just thinking about sukuna and wrote him like this;

WORD COUNT: 2.5k words.

NOTE: guys listen sukuna coming home and being overstimulated from interacting with people and work, i just??? yeah, that's the theme for today. like, can you imagine he's just finding his partner on bed trying to reach pleasure and he's just like oh okay i guess relief is here for both of us - anyway, that's just what i think. i hope you enjoy my nonsense anyway

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

HE DIDN'T KNOW WHAT YOU WERE DOING ON THE OTHER SIDE. All he wanted was your comfort after a long day. He wanted to be able to comfort you too after a long and challenging day.

Yet somehow, he could feel it. Something was off. The air in your room is heavy, the evening’s quietude broken only by the soft rustling of sheets as you adjust on the bed, entirely unaware of the tension building just beyond the door.

Ryomen Sukuna, for all his arrogance and unflinching demeanor, has spent the better part of the last week buried in tasks that, by their very nature, he despises. The weight of his responsibilities at the company and the lack of relief claw at his resolve, leaving him restless, frayed, and desperate. He'd been wanting to rest, to fuck. He wanted to feel good.

But this is isn't what he had been expecting.

He hadn’t meant to walk in on you. Not like this.

But when Ryomen Sukuna catches even a glimpse of you, your beautiful body laid bare, your fingers trembling as they disappear between your voluptuous thighs. They entered in and exited out over and over again, your moans echoing softly in lowly pants. You weren't getting off and it was frustrating you.

It had been a few days since you and Sukuna had last made love, and the distance had been palpable. Your schedules were chaotic, tangled in the demands of work and new projects that seemed to stretch every waking hour thin.

It wasn’t hard to feel the ache of longing between you both, the way your gazes lingered a little too long or how your touches seemed to convey unspoken apologies for the time spent apart.

Tonight, the air felt different. Heavy, charged with something unsaid yet undeniable. Sukuna returned home late, his broad shoulders taut with tension, only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight before him.

You.

Laid bare across the bed, your body twisting and turning as your fingers disappeared between your thighs, your lips parted in soft whimpers that filled the otherwise quiet room. The dim light bathed your skin in a warm glow, and the sheer vulnerability of the moment sent a surge of heat straight through him.

He froze in the doorway, his crimson eyes narrowing as he took in every detail—the way your back arched slightly, the soft sheen of sweat on your skin, the desperate little gasps that fell from your lips. It did things to him. Things he couldn’t put into words, but they burned low in his gut and tightened his chest all the same.

There was something inside him that just snaps. All at once, the exhaustion, frustration, and tightly coiled restraint unravel. It was that birth of pleasure effortlessly echoing through his belly. You don’t hear him at first, lost in your own world, but his voice, guttural and low, pierces the haze.

“I want you… so badly.”

Your breath hitches, your fingers stilling mid-motion as you whip your head toward the door. Your eyes widens. Your boyfriend, he's home. And he's standing there, the usual sharpness of his gaze softened by something raw, something desperate.

You barely have time to process before he strides over, the door clicking shut behind him with a quiet finality. His knee quickly pummels through the bed as he climbs onto it and leans forward to you. You could see his bulge forming below.

"Sukuna—" you begin, but the words die in your throat.

Your boyfriend moves closer to you onto the mattress, his larger hands gently replacing yours, cradling your trembling body with surprising tenderness.

“Tch, babe.” Sukuna’s deep voice finally cut through the room, dark and dripping with hunger. “Is this what you doin' today?”

Your eyes snapped open, a mix of shock and embarrassment flashing across your face as you stilled. But Sukuna was already moving, stalking toward you with the predatory grace of a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

“No, don’t stop.” he growled, his lips curling into a wicked smirk as he knelt on the edge of the bed. His hand reached out, capturing your wrist and guiding your fingers back where they had been. “I want to see you fall apart. Don’t hold back now, not when you’re like this.”

His gaze burned into yours, molten and unrelenting, as he leaned down to press a kiss against your trembling thigh. “Missed this, didn’t you?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver up your spine. “Missed me?”

You could only nod, your breath hitching as his hands began to roam, his touch firm yet gentle, possessive yet reverent. Sukuna’s smirk deepened, his crimson eyes never leaving yours.

“You have no idea, babe.” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear as his lips trail fire down your neck. His touch is reverent yet urgent, as though grounding himself in the feeling of you. “No idea what you’re doing to me right now.”

And just like that, Ryomen Sukuna unravels completely, consumed by the need to feel you, to lose himself in the one thing he knows will put him back together.

Sukuna’s weight presses against you, a delicious combination of strength and heat that sets your nerves alight. His pleasure ridden crimson eyes drink you in, his lips curling into that sinful smirk that’s equal parts predatory and adoring.

Sukuna’s lips trail up your thigh, his kisses slow and deliberate, the heat of his breath teasing your sensitive skin. His hands roam your body with a confidence that leaves you trembling, every stroke of his fingers igniting a fire that burns through you.

"You're so damn beautiful like this." he murmurs against your skin, his voice deep and rough, laced with unrestrained hunger. His sharp teeth nip at the tender flesh of your inner thigh, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“Could’ve just called for me. I would’ve dropped everything.”

His words make your cheeks flush, but you’re too lost in the moment to feel shy anymore. Sukuna presses himself between your legs, his tongue darting out to trace over the spot where your fingers had been moments ago. The sensation is electric, your back arching as a moan escapes your lips.

"Keep those hands right there, babe." he orders, his crimson eyes glinting with mischief as he glances up at you. "I want you to feel exactly how good I make you."

You do as he says, your hands gripping the sheets beside you as he works his tongue against you, slow and thorough. The pressure of his mouth, the way he alternates between teasing and taking what he wants, it’s all too much and not enough all at once.

"'kuna." you gasp, your hips bucking slightly against his mouth, but he holds you in place with a firm grip. His smirk is smug as he looks up at you, his chin glistening with your slick.

"That's it, babe." he growls, his voice vibrating against you as he licks and kisses with a devastating precision. "Let me hear you. Let me know how much you missed this."

You’re trembling beneath him, your body teetering on the edge, when he suddenly pulls back, leaving you gasping for more. Before you can protest, he takes the initiative.

Ryomen Sukuna climbs over you, his powerful frame caging you in as he captures your lips in a searing kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, the intimacy of it sending another wave of heat through you. It takes a while before you both part. He just takes his time, making out with you and taking your breathe to boot.

You groaned against his lips as his fingers trace the base of your breasts and then your nipples, feeling the sensitivity of your body succumb to him. He could all but grin against each and every pull of your lips.

“You don’t know how long I’ve needed this." he murmurs, his voice gravelly, resonating deep in your core. His fingers trace along the curve of your hip, slow and deliberate, igniting a fire with every touch. “How long I’ve needed you like this—bare, needy, ready for me.”

His words make you shiver, your body arching into him instinctively. Sukuna lets out a low growl, his hand sliding down your thigh to hook it over his hip, pulling you impossibly closer. Almost immediately, he had taken your breath away.

The tension in him is palpable, the weeks of overstimulation and repressed desire evident in the way his breathing quickens, the way his fingers tremble slightly as they trail over your skin.

His mouth is everywhere—on your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. He was leaving a trail of kisses and nips that make your breath hitch and your skin red with pleasure.

“So soft." he mutters against your skin, his voice a reverent whisper before it dips into something darker. “So perfect.”

When he finally captures your lips again, the kiss is deeper, hungrier, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance that leaves you dizzy. He presses his body into yours.

The heat of him searing even through the thin fabric separating you. His hand slips between your legs, his fingers grazing over you with a teasing lightness that has you gasping his name.

“Already so wet for me, babe.” Sukuna growls, his lips curling into a smug grin as he watches your reaction. “You like this, don’t you? Being completely at my mercy.”

You can barely nod, your words caught in your throat as he presses harder, his movements precise and calculated. His other hand pins your wrists above your head, his sheer dominance sending a wave of heat through you.

“I want to hear you.” he demands, his voice dropping an octave. “Don’t hold back from me. I want to know every little sound I pull from you.”

Your moan spills from your lips before you can stop it, and Sukuna’s smirk deepens, his control slipping as his own need overtakes him. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers.

“That’s it. Give it all to me. Let me drown in you.”

And then he’s everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his presence overwhelming in the most intoxicating way. Sukuna isn’t just taking; he’s devouring, his movements precise yet desperate, his need for you breaking him down into something raw, something unguarded.

And when he finally embraces the whole of you, it’s not just physical—it’s a surrender, a merging of every pent-up emotion and desire he’s been holding back. In that moment, Ryomen Sukuna is entirely yours, and you are entirely his.

But you wanted more and more.

You wanted to be full of him.

You wanted to be overwhelmed by him.

“'kuna.” you whisper, barely audible, but it’s enough.

The sound of his name spilling from your lips is like a match striking against dry tinder, igniting something uncontrollable within Ryomen Sukuna.

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t hold back. In a blur of motion, he’s on you, pressing you down into the mattress with a growl that vibrates through your very core.

“You feel so good, babe. So so good.” he snarls, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue.

It was as if he needs to devour every part of you to keep himself from unraveling completely. His calloused hands are everywhere—gripping your thighs, pinning your wrists, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

And then he’s there, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance, thick and unrelenting. You gasp, your body arching instinctively as Sukuna pushes forward in one fluid, devastating motion, filling you completely.

The stretch is overwhelming, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that has you crying out his name. Sukuna groans, deep and guttural, his head falling to the crook of your neck as he stills for a moment, savoring the way your body clenches around him.

“So tight, babe.” he rasps, his voice dripping with raw desire. “You’re perfect. Made for me.”

He doesn’t give you much time to adjust, his movements swift and unrelenting as he begins to thrust into you, each stroke hitting deeper than the last.

His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he takes what he’s been craving for so long. The sounds of skin against skin, his ragged breathing, and your breathless moans fill the room, a symphony of raw, unfiltered passion.

“'kuna—” you gasp again, your voice breaking as he angles his hips just right, dragging a cry from your throat that only spurs him on.

His lips find your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he growls. “Say it again.”

“Sukuna!”

He groans, the sound reverberating through you as he picks up his pace, each thrust harder, deeper, more desperate. He’s utterly consumed by you. He always will be.

All of his usual composure, all his confidence, all that snark, it was completely shattered as he chases his release. Everything about him is surrendered to you. As his body moving against yours like he’s trying to claim every part of you. And you were taking everything of him too.

“You’re mine, babe.” he growls, his voice rough and possessive, his hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” you manage between gasps, your body trembling as the pleasure builds to an almost unbearable peak. “Always yours.”

And with that, Sukuna loses himself in you like a wild animal chasing his prey. His thrusts growing erratic as he pulls you over the edge with him, the two of you shattering together in a moment of raw, unrelenting passion.

As you scratch his back with a loud moan, he doesn’t slow down, even as the waves of sensual echoes crash over both of you. He rides you through the aftershocks of your slick, unadulterated pleasure as you moan, tears pouring from the edges of your eyes.

As soon as his fingers wipe away your tears, the onslaught continues. His body relentless, his growls low and feral as he prolongs the high for as long as he can. The drool on your lips pouring out as much as your eyes echoing stars of pleasure in a hazy.

"'kuna, so....so good!"

“Look at you, babe.” he murmurs, his voice a mix of arrogance and adoration as his hands tighten on your hips. “Falling apart on me so perfectly.”

You can only whimper in response, your body trembling beneath him as he finally begins to slow, his thrusts becoming deeper, more deliberate.

Each stroke draws a shiver from you, the lingering sensitivity of your body no match for the way he moves. It was slow, yet unrelenting, as though savoring every second he’s inside you.

His forehead presses against yours, a rare intimacy in the midst of his primal hunger. His crimson eyes, half-lidded and heavy with desire, lock onto yours, holding you captive in their intensity.

“You feel too good, hgh....” Sukuna rasps, his voice thick with strain as his hips grind against yours, drawing out every ounce of pleasure he can. “Too perfect.”

He doesn’t stop, can’t stop. Not when he’s this close. You feel the way his body tenses, his breathing growing more ragged as his movements grow erratic.

His hands grip your hips tighter, anchoring you beneath him as his pace falters, his control slipping with each passing moment. The slapping of skin was the only melody harmonizing with the moaning coming from you two. Everything felt too good, too all in-compassing for you to care about anything else.

“S-So close, babe.” he groans, his voice breaking into something raw and guttural as his body finally gives in.

He buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he spills into you, the warmth of him flooding your core. The sensation is overwhelming, his release trailing down your thighs, a tangible reminder of his possession.

He lets out a low, shuddering breath, his forehead still pressed to yours, his body trembling as he comes down from his high. His hands relax their grip, one sliding up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he exhales deeply.

“You’re my pretty babe, aren't you, hm?” Sukuna murmurs again, softer this time, his voice tinged with satisfaction and something almost vulnerable. He lingers inside you, unwilling to let go just yet, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

The room is quiet save for the sound of your mingled breathing, his body still heavy against yours as he finally begins to move, careful and gentle.

It was easing you both from the intensity of the moment. His touch remains firm yet tender, a stark contrast to the ferocity with which he claimed you moments ago.

And though his movements have slowed, his eyes remain locked on yours, still burning with a hunger that promises this is far from over.

“You drive me insane.” Sukuna admits, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss far gentler than you expected. “Do you even know what you’ve done to me? How you consume me, hm?”

His hand slides down to rest on your abdomen, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin as he lets out a low, satisfied sigh. The weight of him, the heat of his body, feels grounding, as if he’s anchoring himself in your presence.

“You’re everything, babe.” he says, his tone softer now, though no less intense. “Everything I need, everything I’ll ever want.”

For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing, his forehead still pressed to yours, his body still intertwined with yours. Sukuna’s lips curl into a faint smirk as he lifts his head to look at you, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek.

“You’re mine.” he repeats, his voice steady, possessive, but laced with something deeper—something almost tender. “Always mine.”

And though he’s still buried inside you, still radiating that overwhelming dominance, there’s a softness in the way he cups your face, a vulnerability he only ever shows to you.

“You okay?” he asks, surprising you with the sudden shift in tone. His crimson eyes search yours, his thumb brushing your cheek with an uncharacteristic gentleness.

“I’m okay, 'kuna.” you whisper, your voice hoarse but steady. "I feel happy. Missed you, you know?"

"Missed you too, babe."

Silence settles between the two of you, a comforting stillness broken only by the sound of your shared breathing. Sukuna, for all his sharp edges and domineering presence, softens in this moment.

He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, pressing warm, lingering kisses against your damp skin. The heat of his breath and the gentleness of his lips send a shiver down your spine.

He doesn’t speak, just holds you closer, savoring the way your bodies fit together so perfectly. He knows he should take a day off tomorrow. You deserve that.

He’s seen the way your eyes light up when he’s fully present, how much you cherish those rare moments of closeness beyond the physical. He knows he hasn’t given you enough of that, and it tugs at something deep within him.

You deserve better, he thinks. Better than just this, better than the fleeting moments he steals with you. He owes you tenderness, affection, the kind of care that lingers long after the passion fades.

But before he can say anything, your voice cuts through the quiet, soft and hesitant.

“Want more of you, ‘kuna.” you mutter, your voice muffled against his chest, shy and unsure.

His breath catches, and for a moment, the world seems to still. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly as he processes your words.

A smirk starts to curl at the corner of his lips, but there’s something deeper in his gaze now—something softer, something that makes his chest ache in a way he isn’t used to.

“More of me, huh?” he teases, his voice low and rough, though there’s no mistaking the warmth that laces his words. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips before murmuring. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

You avert your eyes, cheeks flushing, but you don’t deny it. Sukuna chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates against your skin.

“You’re lucky I don’t mind, babe.” he says, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your flushed skin. “Because if you want more of me, you’ll have it.”

You giggled. "Well, I already have all of you from the beginning, don't you think?"

He snickers. "You're such a sly cat, aren't you?"

"Hm, but yours too."

His lips find yours again, slow and deliberate, as if to prove his point. And as his hands begin to roam, his movements unhurried and deliberate this time, he silently vows to give you everything you need—not just tonight, but always.

Because you weren't just his relief. You were his everything. And you will always deserve everything, even all of him. Because that's how love is. Love is the relief in different forms that makes life best.

[lechrts]

Sweet Tea. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: When Lando tries to find forgiveness after an argument through acts of service.

Word Count: 1.3k

Disclaimer/s: established rel, fluff, kinda angst…. ish.

Vera’s Voice! Hi. this was fun to write :3 hope u enjoy mama ^_^ the lando oneshot grind doesn’t stop.

The hum of the heating system filled the stillness of the apartment. It wasn’t exactly peaceful—more like tense, suffocating, and heavy.

You sat curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders, your phone glowing faintly in your hands. You scrolled aimlessly, not really reading anything, but it was better than thinking about the argument that had left you and Lando in this standoff.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him pacing between the living room and the kitchen. He wasn’t saying anything—he hadn’t since you’d gone quiet—but his restless movements said enough.

He hated silence, especially when it was because of you.

The fight hadn’t started as anything serious, just a playful back-and-forth after a long day. But his teasing had crossed a line without him realizing it, and you’d snapped.

“You don’t need to be so dramatic about everything,” He said, half-laughing, when you’d voiced your frustrations about something that had been bothering you for days.

The words had stung, lodging themselves deep in your chest. You didn’t know if it was the dismissive tone, the laughter, or just the stress of the week catching up to you, but you’d shut down completely after that.

No sarcastic comeback, no explanation, just cold, steely silence.

And Lando?

He hadn’t done much to help himself. Instead of apologizing, he’d groaned, muttering, “Oh, come on, don’t do this,” as if your feelings were an inconvenience to him.

That was what had really sealed it.

So now you were here, refusing to meet his eyes, letting the silence stretch longer and longer.

From the kitchen came the faint clink of dishes. You glanced up briefly, noticing Lando hunched over the counter, his brows furrowed in concentration.

He was making something.

But what?

You couldn’t quite tell.

You wanted to stay mad—wanted him to feel the weight of how much his words had hurt—but curiosity gnawed at you.

Lando wasn’t exactly a chef, and him fumbling around in the kitchen was unusual.

A few minutes later, his footsteps padded softly toward you. He stopped just in front of the couch, hesitating before placing a small plate on the coffee table.

Beside it, a steaming mug of tea.

You looked down, your stomach tightening at the sight. It was your favorite treat, carefully prepared just the way you liked it.

The tea even seemed to have the right amount of honey—he must’ve measured it out because he always teased you for how sweet you liked it.

“Here,” Hr said quietly, his voice almost timid. “I, uh… I thought you might be hungry.”

You stared at the plate for a moment, then looked up at him. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“I’m sorry,” He added quickly, before you could say anything. “I was a complete ass earlier. I didn’t mean to brush you off like that—I wasn’t thinking.”

You didn’t say anything, though the sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. Instead, you reached for the mug, cradling it in your hands.

Lando shifted awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or give you space.

After a moment, he sighed, running a hand through his messy curls. “I don’t like seeing you upset. Especially when it’s my fault. I know I messed up, but I hate this—” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, “—this cold shoulder thing. Can we please talk?”

You finally set the mug back down, fixing him with a pointed look. “Talk? Like how we talked earlier and you laughed at me?”

He winced, guilt flashing across his face. “I didn’t mean it like that. I thought I was being funny, but I wasn’t. I didn’t realize how much it was bothering you. That’s on me.”

“You made me feel stupid for being upset,” You said quietly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Like I was overreacting.”

His expression softened, and he dropped onto the couch beside you, careful to keep some space between you. “You weren’t overreacting,” He said, his voice low. “I swear, I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I was just being an idiot. You know I’m terrible at serious conversations.”

“That’s not an excuse, Lando.”

“I know,” He said quickly. “I know. I’m not trying to make excuses. I just… I’m sorry. Really. I should’ve listened instead of brushing you off.”

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket. Part of you wanted to hold onto the anger, to make him sweat a little longer, but the vulnerability in his voice was breaking down your walls.

Lando reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against your knee. “I’ll do better,” he sighed, his voice almost a whisper. “I don’t want to make you feel like that again.”

You glanced at him, taking in the way his brows were knit together, the way his lips were pressed into a thin line. He looked genuinely remorseful, and your heart softened despite yourself.

“I just want you to take me seriously,” You said quietly.

“I will,” he promised, his hand gently resting on your knee now. “I mean it.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, finally, you let out a small sigh. “Okay.”

His head shot up, hope sparking in his eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeated, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “But don’t think this means you’re off the hook.”

He grinned, leaning in slightly. “Noted.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away when he shifted closer, his hand sliding up to your cheek. “I’m sorry again.” He muttered as he shifted even closer.

You didn’t answer, but the way you leaned into him was all the permission he needed. His lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative at first, then firmer as you kissed him back.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Are you still mad at me?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “When am I never mad at you.” Rolling your eyes as you slightly joked. “But, seriously. I am still a little mad.”

He grinned, pressing another quick kiss to your temple before pulling you into a warm hug. “I’ll take what I can get,” he murmured, his arms wrapping tightly around you.

As you leaned into his embrace, the weight of the argument melted away, leaving only the warmth of his love—and the promise to do better.

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tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress

[thedensworld]

Fortune Teller Confession | C.HS

Pairing: College Student! Hansol x reader

Genre: fluff, angst, friend to lover au!

Summary: No confession—no gig success. His logic-driven mind convinces him that it’s a harmless choice to make a confession over a fortune teller words, not realizing the emotional weight it carries.

Hansol watched as you walked out of the classroom, a little too quickly for his liking. You didn’t glance back, didn’t slow down, and didn’t even pause when Soonyoung called your name with a hopeful grin. Next to him, Soonyoung's face twisted into a pout.

“Again?” Soonyoung muttered, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket. “She didn’t even look at me.” He sighed like it was a personal betrayal.

Hansol frowned, his gaze lingering on the door you’d just left through. It wasn’t like you to avoid them — at least, not for this long. He tried to think back to the last time he’d had a proper conversation with you.

Five days ago?

A week?

It felt longer. Your schedule had been packed lately, full of classes, projects, and other commitments. But even when you were busy, you'd at least send a nod or a small wave. Lately, though, it felt like you were actively avoiding them.

Soonyoung tilted his head toward Hansol as they started walking down the corridor toward the campus cafeteria. “Tell me honestly,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “did you do something to her?”

Hansol shot him a confused look. “Why do you think it was me?” he asked, his tone defensive.

Soonyoung shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “Because it’s definitely not me. I would never make her mad.”

“Oh, right, because you’re a saint,” Hansol muttered with a roll of his eyes.

“Not a saint, but I know how to keep my friends happy,” Soonyoung quipped, tapping his temple like he had it all figured out. “You, on the other hand, are... well…” He paused for dramatic effect, giving Hansol a once-over. “...an obnoxious person. So you wouldn’t even realize if you hurt somebody’s feelings.”

Hansol stopped walking. “That’s way too much to say to a friend,” he said, his brows pulling together in disbelief.

“Okay, okay, I take it back.” Soonyoung raised his hands in surrender, clearly not looking for a fight. He patted Hansol on the back. “But, you know, I’m just saying — think about it.”

Hansol didn’t respond, but the words lingered like an itch in the back of his mind. Had he done something? If he had, wouldn’t you have told him?

They reached the cafeteria and got in line to order food. As they waited, the familiar noise of clattering trays, snippets of conversations, and the faint hum of a pop song filled the air.

Soonyoung glanced at Hansol while tapping his fingers against the counter. “How’s the gig prep going?” he asked. “You nervous?”

Hansol glanced up at him. “of course,” he admitted. “I feel like if I’m nervous, it means I’m doing something right.”

“Hmm, I guess that’s true,” Soonyoung said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Sometimes, being a little nervous is good. Like when I apologized to my sister.”

Hansol raised a brow, his curiosity piqued. “You actually apologized to her? You?” he asked, letting out a short, incredulous laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” Soonyoung said, waving him off as if it wasn’t a big deal. He grabbed his food tray from the counter. “It was tough, but I’m glad I did it.”

Hansol tilted his head, still grinning. “Did something change between you two?”

Soonyoung nodded, chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful of rice before answering. “Yeah, things are better now. I stopped getting ‘the glare’ every time I walked past her room.” He swallowed, then leaned in slightly, as if letting Hansol in on a secret. “I’m telling you, it’s because I listened to the fortune teller.”

Two weeks ago, Soonyoung had dragged Hansol to the hottest fortune teller near the campus gate. It wasn’t entirely random — their friend Jun had given the place a glowing five-star review, swearing that he got a girlfriend after following every bit of advice the fortune teller had given him.

“Bro, five stars,” Jun had said, eyes wide with conviction. “I did exactly what she said, and boom — I’m dating Yejin now.”

That was all the motivation Soonyoung needed. As the self-proclaimed “saddest single person in the world,” he decided it was finally time to seek help from the mystical forces of fate. Whether it was for entertainment or genuine desperation, Hansol wasn’t sure. But somehow, Soonyoung managed to drag him along.

The fortune teller’s place was a cozy, dimly lit room that smelled faintly of incense. Strings of beads framed the doorway, and the glow of warm, golden light made everything feel surreal. The fortune teller, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and a silk scarf tied around her head, welcomed them like she had been expecting them all day.

Soonyoung, full of energy, sat forward like a student ready to ace an exam. Hansol, on the other hand, leaned back, arms crossed, watching the whole thing with mild amusement.

After a short reading, the fortune teller told Soonyoung, “Your relationship with your sister is the mirror of your relationship with women.”

That got Soonyoung’s attention. He sat up straighter, blinking in surprise. "Huh?"

“You must mend that relationship,” she continued, eyes never leaving his. “If you do, the reflection will change, and so will your luck.”

She handed him three steps to repair the bond with his sister, each one oddly specific. Hansol didn’t remember all of them, but one was definitely “buy her something without expecting anything in return.”

Now, two weeks later, Soonyoung was beaming like he’d won the lottery.

“As you know,” Soonyoung said, eyes glinting with excitement as he jabbed his chopsticks toward Hansol, “Mina from the Broadcasting major actually replied to my DM. No one ever does that.”

Hansol glanced up from his tray, raising a brow in surprise. “No way.”

“Yes way!” Soonyoung grinned, pointing at himself. “I’m telling you, man, the fortune teller knows her stuff.”

Hansol couldn’t hold back his laughter, shaking his head as a small chuckle slipped out. “That’s actually amazing, bro. I’m happy for you.”

“Right? Right?” Soonyoung beamed, clearly riding the high of his "success." But then his eyes narrowed as he zeroed in on Hansol. “Wait. What about you?”

Hansol blinked, confused. “What about me?”

“You,” Soonyoung said, eyes sharp with suspicion. “Have you done that yet?”

Right after Soonyoung’s session ended, the fortune teller had stopped them just as they were about to leave. Her gaze had locked on Hansol like she could see straight through him.

“Wait,” she had said, tilting her head as if something invisible had just come into focus. “You have something unresolved too.”

Hansol had paused mid-step, frowning as he glanced at her. “Me?”

Her eyes didn’t waver. “There’s a blockage in your energy,” she said, her voice calm but certain. “It’s tied to your music career.”

That had caught his attention.

“Soon, you will stand in front of a large crowd of people,” she continued, her hands hovering over her cards. “But something will go wrong — a technical malfunction, perhaps.” She lifted her gaze to meet his eyes. “If you want to avoid it, you must remove the blockage.”

Hansol raised an eyebrow. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

The fortune teller’s lips curled into a small smile. “Confess,” she said simply. “You must confess your feelings to the person you like.”

Soonyoung’s gasp was so loud it could have shattered glass. His head whipped toward Hansol, eyes wide with unfiltered shock and excitement. “YOU LIKE SOMEONE?!” he whisper-shouted, like it was the biggest secret in the world.

Hansol shot him a glare, his face twisting in disbelief. “I don’t.”

“Then why is she telling you to confess?” Soonyoung said, practically bouncing in place. He squinted at Hansol, leaning in with all the intensity of a detective interrogating a suspect. “Who is it? Who do you like?”

Hansol waved him off, already walking toward the door. “I don’t like anyone,” he muttered, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “She’s just making stuff up.”

“Pffft,” Soonyoung scoffed, trotting after him. “Fortune tellers don’t just ‘make stuff up.'" He jabbed at Hansol’s side with his elbow. “Come on, just admit it. You’ve been holding out on me this whole time, huh? I told you everything, Hansol. My crushes, my heartbreaks, the time I accidentally liked my crush’s old selfie from 2018 at 3 a.m. — I shared it all.”

“Yeah, and I’m still trying to forget that story,” Hansol shot back, his lips twitching with a grin.

“Don’t deflect,” Soonyoung said, eyes narrowing in fake seriousness. “If you like someone, you have to tell me. That’s the bro code.”

“I. Don’t. Like. Anyone,” Hansol said, emphasizing every word with a jab of his finger. “The fortune teller’s wrong.”

“Mm-hmm,” Soonyoung hummed, still unconvinced. He tilted his head, giving Hansol a knowing look. “You’re being awfully defensive for someone with nothing to hide.”

Hansol clicked his tongue, exasperated. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re in denial.” Soonyoung smirked, stuffing a spoonful of rice into his mouth, his eyes never leaving Hansol.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds being the clatter of trays and the murmur of students around them. Hansol chewed slowly, gaze fixed on the table. His mind wandered back to the fortune teller’s words.

"Confess if you want to open the blockage."

It was silly. Ridiculous, even. He didn’t like anyone. There was no one in his life that made his heart race or made him feel unsteady. No one.

“But she did say your performance would be affected,” Soonyoung pointed out, his voice serious for once.

Hansol let out a long, heavy sigh, his fingers drumming against the table. His logical mind told him the fortune teller’s words were nonsense — just vague predictions designed to mess with people’s heads. But somewhere, tucked in a quiet corner of his mind, a small voice whispered that maybe he shouldn’t ignore it. Not when the band had poured weeks of effort into preparing for the gig.

“Do you really think my energy is that important to the band?” Hansol muttered, tilting his head back against the chair. “There’s five of us. It’s not like I’m carrying the whole thing on my back.”

Soonyoung squinted, deep in thought. “That’s an interesting point,” he admitted. “But you’re the leader.” He stabbed his spoon into his rice like it emphasized his point. “That’s probably why.”

Hansol groaned, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration. “I don’t want the performance to be disappointing,” he muttered, his fingers gripping at the strands like he could pull the stress right out of his head.

“Then just do what she said,” Soonyoung said with a shrug, like it was the simplest solution in the world.

“I told you, I don’t like anyone,” Hansol shot back, voice firm but tinged with doubt.

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow, his lips pressing into a slow, knowing pout. He leaned forward, squinting at Hansol like he was inspecting him under a microscope. “You’re getting way too worked up for someone who doesn’t like anyone,” he said, pointing at Hansol with his chopsticks.

“I don’t,” Hansol repeated, but the way his eyes darted away made Soonyoung's grin grow wider.

“Uh-huh.” Soonyoung dragged out the sound, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Hansol rubbed his temples, clearly done with the conversation. He’d argue, but he knew Soonyoung had a way of turning everything into a game he couldn’t win.

“Then just confess to anyone,” Soonyoung suggested, half-joking. “Boom, problem solved. No blockage, no bad energy, just vibes.” He snorted at his own ridiculous idea. “Actually, wait, that’s a terrible idea. Don’t do that.”

But Hansol froze. His eyes widened, and his hands slowly lowered from his hair. He stared at Soonyoung like he’d just unlocked the secrets of the universe.

“That’s…” Hansol said, eyes narrowing as his face shifted from confusion to excitement. He pointed both hands at Soonyoung, grinning like a kid who just figured out how to cheat a board game. “That’s actually a fantastic idea!”

Soonyoung’s whole face scrunched in horror. “No, it’s not, bro!” He shoved his tray to the side, waving his hands like he could physically erase the idea from existence. “Take it back! Forget I said it!”

But it was too late. Hansol's mind was already racing, the gears turning at lightning speed. “All I have to do is confess to someone,” he said, tapping his fingers against the table with renewed energy. “It doesn’t matter who, right? I just have to confess and the performance will go smoothly.” His eyes gleamed with confidence. “That’s it. Easy.”

Soonyoung's eyes darted around like he was looking for an escape route. “No, no, no! I shouldn’t have said that.” He shook his head, panic growing in his voice. “You’re taking it too literally, man.”

But Hansol wasn’t listening anymore. He was already planning. His foot tapped against the floor, and he rubbed his hands together like he’d just been handed a winning lottery ticket. “Okay, okay. Casual confession,” he muttered to himself, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “No pressure, no drama, just simple and clean. I can do that.”

Soonyoung watched in pure disbelief, his jaw hanging open. “This… this is not how logic works, Hansol.” He pointed both hands at him, eyes wide with warning. “This is going to backfire so badly, I can feel it.”

“Doubt me all you want,” Hansol said, grinning like a man on a mission. “But when that gig goes off without a hitch, you’ll be thanking me.”

Soonyoung dropped his head into his hands with a groan, his voice muffled by his palms. “I can already hear the disaster coming.”

*

“Hey, can we talk tomorrow?”

Hansol sat on one of the benches, his gaze fixed on his phone, scrolling mindlessly as he waited. The faint rustle of leaves above him was the only sound until he heard the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel path.

Lifting his head, he spotted you walking toward him, a smile already tugging at your lips despite the obvious weight of the stack of books in your arms. His eyes softened at the sight of you.

He stood up quickly, shoving his phone into his pocket, and walked over to meet you halfway. Without a word, he reached for the books, carefully taking the stack from your arms. His fingers brushed against yours for a second, a brief, unspoken connection neither of you acknowledged aloud.

"Where are you heading with all these books?” he asked, glancing down at the pile in his hands. “Planning to build a personal library or something?”

You sighed, stretching your now-free arms. “Just finished a group project, and somehow I got stuck being the one to return all the books. Alone.”

Hansol snorted, a low, amused sound as he glanced at you. “Classic group project logic,” he said, shifting the books in his grip to hold them more comfortably. “Here, I’ll help you return these, and then we can talk.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “You sure? I can handle it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, already walking ahead. He glanced over his shoulder, flashing you a casual grin. “I’m not about to let you haul a whole library on your own.”

You followed him, your pace matching his, and together you made your way toward the campus library. The sun filtered through the trees, casting patches of golden light onto the path. The air was warm but breezy, carrying with it the distant hum of student chatter.

At the entrance of the library, Hansol paused, holding the door open for you with his shoulder as he balanced the books. You slipped past him with a quiet "thanks" before he followed you inside. The familiar scent of old paper and clean air-conditioning greeted you both.

Hansol stayed by your side as you approached the return desk, placing the stack of books on the counter with a relieved sigh, as if he’d carried them across continents. He leaned on the edge of the counter, eyes following you as you handled the administration process.

“So,” you said, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, “what did you want to talk about?”

His posture straightened, his fingers tapping idly against the countertop. “I’ll tell you once we’re done here,” he said, offering you a small, unreadable smile.

But his gaze lingered on you a second too long.

He knew he had to do it soon.

The fortune teller’s words echoed in his mind, as stupid as they were. “There’s a blockage in your energy. To clear it, you must confess to the one you like.” He could still hear Soonyoung’s gasp of betrayal beside him. “You like someone?” he'd whispered like it was the juiciest secret of the year.

Hansol shook his head, shoving the memory aside. He didn’t like anyone, but he did care about his band. If there was even a 1% chance that this superstition had some truth to it, he couldn’t risk it. They’d been working too hard for this gig to flop.

You returned from the counter, brushing off your hands. “All done.”

Hansol nodded, stepping aside to hold the door open for you. The two of you walked out of the library, sunlight filtering in through the tall glass windows of the campus hallway. Students passed by, some in pairs, others in groups, all caught up in their own conversations.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

It’s just Y/n.

No big deal.

He knew you well enough to know you wouldn’t make this complicated. You wouldn’t take it seriously. You were too practical for that.

“Hey,” he started, voice steady but a little quieter.

You glanced up at him. “Hm?”

He stopped walking. You took two steps ahead before noticing, turning to face him with a curious look.

He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, fingers fidgeting with loose threads. His heart wasn’t racing, but his mind was unusually loud. He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t real. It didn’t mean anything.

But still, he felt his throat go dry.

“I like you,” he said.

It came out fast. Too fast. Not smooth at all. His eyes flicked up to you, watching for your reaction.

Your face froze. Wide eyes. Lips parted slightly, like you’d misheard him.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hansol cleared his throat, shifting his weight to one leg. “I like you,” he said again, slower, more controlled this time.

Your brows furrowed as confusion settled in. You didn’t speak, and that silence was heavier than anything he’d prepared for. Why aren’t you saying anything?

“Okay,” he said quickly, snapping his fingers like he’d just remembered something. “So, before you freak out, it’s not, like… real.” He scratched the back of his head, glancing to the side. “It’s for the performance.”

Your eyes stayed on him, unblinking.

He sucked in a breath, forcing himself to explain. “Soonyoung and I went to see this fortune teller a couple weeks ago. She told me there’s this… ‘blockage’ or something that’ll mess up our gig unless I confess to the person I like.” He raised his eyebrows like it should be obvious. “But I don’t like anyone. So, I figured—” He tilted his head toward you, lips curling into a grin. “—I’ll just confess to you.”

You didn’t move.

“You’re my friend,” he added with a casual shrug, trying to sound as natural as possible. “I knew you’d get it. It’s not a big deal. Just, like, a technicality.”

More silence.

Hansol felt something twist in his chest, like the air pressure had shifted around him. He didn’t know why it felt weird, but it did. He’d expected a laugh from you, maybe a playful shove or a snarky comment. Something normal.

“Okay,” you said, your voice quieter than he’d ever heard it.

He blinked. “Okay?”

You nodded once, eyes flicking to the side like you didn’t want to look at him. “Yeah. Sure.”

Relief washed over him so fast it almost felt dizzying. His grin returned, this time more genuine. “See? I knew you’d get it.”

He glanced at his phone, eyes widening slightly. “Oh, shoot. I’ve got practice soon.” He took a step back, his mind already shifting to his next priority. “Thanks for this, Y/n. You’re a real one.”

He raised a hand in a wave as he turned to leave. “See you later!”

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t think to.

Why would he?

It had gone exactly as he’d expected — smooth, simple, and free of any awkwardness. You’d understood. You always understood him. It’s why he’d picked you in the first place.

As he walked, he felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. His band would be fine. The gig would be a success. The "blockage" was gone, whatever that meant.

The sound of students chatting around him faded into background noise. His mind buzzed with thoughts of the upcoming setlist, the soundchecks, and which songs they should open with.

Should they start with something upbeat or something more atmospheric?

He scratched the side of his head, lips curling into a grin at the thought. They’d kill it. He knew they would.

But as he reached the next hallway, something tugged at him. Not physically, but like a small, sharp pull on his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see nothing at all.

But his eyes lingered on the empty hallway behind him.

You weren’t there.

You’d probably gone in the opposite direction, maybe heading to class or meeting up with friends. That was normal. Totally normal.

He turned forward again, walking faster this time.

So why did it feel like he’d forgotten something?

Why did it feel like he’d missed something important?

Hansol shook his head, hands stuffed back into his hoodie pocket. You’re overthinking it.

But his fingers fidgeted with the loose thread again, and his mind couldn’t seem to settle.

*

"Hey, you’re daydreaming."

Joshua’s voice snapped you back to reality, a light jab landing on your side. Your eyes flickered to him, your closest friend in the photography club, and then to the rest of the room. Everyone was staring at you.

Oh no.

The club leader tilted her head, clearly waiting for a response. "I asked if you’d be willing to report on The Gigs next week."

Heat rushed to your face. You nodded quickly, forcing a polite smile. "Ah, yeah, sure. I can do it."

Her eyes lingered on you for a second longer before she moved on, resuming the discussion. You sank lower in your chair, feeling Joshua stifle a laugh beside you. He didn’t say anything, but the amused glint in his eyes said it all.

When the meeting finally wrapped up, you were already halfway out the door when Joshua caught up to you. He grinned, pulling a small candy from his pocket. “Here,” he said, handing you his favorite coffee-flavored treat.

“Thanks,” you muttered, unwrapping it immediately and popping it into your mouth.

“You good?” he asked as you both stepped outside, the cool breeze hitting your face. "You were totally out of it back there."

You glanced at him, shrugging. "Just… had a lot on my mind."

Joshua nodded knowingly. "Don’t tell me it’s about that draft. Mine’s still stuck, too."

The two of you wandered down the pathway toward the nearby campus cafe. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets, his breath forming little clouds of fog in the air.

The draft. Right.

The club had tasked every member with coming up with a new program idea to boost engagement and attract more students to join. Your idea was Cupid Pic — a playful service where students could request anonymous photos of their crushes, which would then be posted on the Student Daily Web. The twist? If two people happened to request photos of each other without knowing, they'd be notified of the "cupid match." It was fun, cheeky, and surprisingly wholesome.

You'd been so excited about it at first. So much so that you'd shared the idea with Soonyoung and Hansol one evening at Soonyoung’s apartment studio. The three of you had spent hours brainstorming catchy slogans and working out the logistics of how to involve the Broadcasting students for video teasers. You remembered how Hansol had thrown out ridiculous ideas like, “Make them wear angel wings while taking the photos,” which Soonyoung fully supported for the chaos alone.

Soonyoung had tapped out early, collapsing on the couch after too many shots of soju, muttering something about "the stars aligning." But you and Hansol had stayed up. Just the two of you. The warmth of the room, the faint hum of music, and the quiet conversation felt… different. Intimate, even.

Maybe that’s why it all spilled out of you.

You didn’t mean to dump your worries on him. But with Soonyoung snoring in the background and the soft glow of the desk lamp hitting Hansol’s face just right, you felt something unspoken loosen in your chest.

“I feel like I’m barely holding everything together,” you’d admitted, your voice quieter than usual. “Class, part-time shifts, the club, this stupid project… and now one of my friends reported me to the professor for missing too many classes. I mean, yeah, I missed a few, but I had valid reasons. She didn’t even ask me. She just… reported me.”

Your throat had felt tight saying it all out loud. You didn’t expect Hansol to say anything — maybe a simple, “That sucks, Y/n.” But he didn’t do that.

Instead, he leaned forward, his eyes soft with a kind of patience you’d never really seen from him before. Hansol, the logical one. Hansol, the sharp-tongued realist. But that night, he was… gentle.

“Sounds like you’ve been carrying too much,” he said quietly. His voice wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow, steady, like every word was placed carefully so it wouldn’t crack you open any further.

Your eyes stung a little, and you hated it. You hated how one kind sentence had more impact than all the self-reassurances you’d told yourself in the mirror.

“You’re doing fine,” he added. “Actually, you’re doing more than fine. You're managing all this at once — that's impressive. People don't get how hard that is.”

It wasn’t much. Just a few words. But in that moment, it felt like he’d seen you — really seen you — in a way no one else had.

He didn’t tell you to “just work harder” or “push through.” He didn’t tell you that you were overreacting. He just listened.

Somewhere between his words and the soft glow of that lamp, you felt something shift.

Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered on you for a second too long.

Maybe it was the warmth in his voice that you hadn’t heard before.

Or maybe it was just you, feeling too vulnerable, too raw, too desperate for someone to tell you it was okay to slow down.

But you knew it, clear as day.

That was the moment you realized — I think I like him.

It wasn’t immediate, like some storybook cliché where your heart suddenly skips and angels start singing. No, it was quiet, slow, like the weight of realization settling over your shoulders. Your chest felt heavier, and your head felt lighter, like you’d been dropped into unfamiliar territory.

You'd stayed up with him a little longer, letting the conversation drift to other things, but that moment stayed with you. Even when you went home that night, it replayed in your head over and over. His voice. His gaze. His words.

By the next day, you realized it was easier to avoid him than to face what you’d discovered.

If you didn’t see him, you wouldn’t have to deal with the way your heart sped up around him.

If you didn’t talk to him, you wouldn’t have to remember how it felt to be seen so clearly.

If you didn’t stand too close, you wouldn’t have to hear the echo of his voice telling you that you were doing fine.

So, you avoided him. Not in any obvious way. Just small things. Picking a seat on the opposite side of the room. Leaving class a little earlier. Responding later to group chats. It was stupid. Childish, even. But it was safer.

You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. It’s not like he likes me anyway.

But then, yesterday happened.

“I like you,” he’d said, just like that.

His words echoed in your mind like an annoying replay button that wouldn't turn off.

“I like you.”

At first, you’d frozen, your brain struggling to process it. And then, like a fool, you’d let yourself hope. Your heart had done that stupid leap it always did when you thought maybe, just maybe…

But it only lasted a second.

“But it’s not real. It’s for the band.”

He’d smiled, so casual, so unbothered, as if it was all part of some inside joke.

“You’re my friend. I knew you’d get it.”

You had nodded. Of course you nodded. What else were you supposed to do?

He’d walked away smiling. Light. Unburdened.

You stood there, your chest still heavy, like you'd swallowed all the words you wanted to say.

Stupid.

Idiot.

Asshole.

“Y/n?”

Joshua's voice cut through the spiral, and you blinked, realizing you’d been chewing on the coffee candy too hard. The bitterness had turned sharp in your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked, his brow raised in concern.

You uncurled your fingers from the crumpled candy wrapper in your pocket, feeling the imprint of it against your palm. Calm down, Y/N.

“I’m fine,” you muttered. “Just thinking too much.”

Joshua gave you a long look, like he wasn’t sure whether to believe you. But in the end, he shrugged it off. "Alright. Just don't overdo it. We still have drafts to finish, yeah?"

“Yeah,” you said, stuffing the wrapper into your pocket. "I’ll finish it.”

But as you walked with him toward the cafe, the taste of coffee lingered on your tongue, sharp and bitter.

Just like the feeling you’d been trying to forget.

*

The smell of grilled meat wafted through the apartment as Soonyoung shouted from the kitchen, "Open the door for me!" His voice was strained, probably from the concentration it took to flip the meat perfectly.

You had just finished changing into the borrowed sweater and sweatpants Soonyoung had tossed your way. It was one of his newer pieces — oversized, soft, and surprisingly comfortable. After folding your work clothes neatly on the chair, you headed to the front door, tugging the sleeves over your fingers.

When you pulled the door open, your heart did a sudden flip. Hansol stood there, framed by the dim hallway light. Black T-shirt snug on his frame, denim jacket casually draped over his shoulders, and those stupid cargo pants with "chill guy" printed boldly on the thigh. You'd teased him about them before.

His eyes scanned you briefly before his lips curled into a familiar, lopsided grin. "That sweater looks better on you than it does on him." His gaze lingered for a beat longer, and you recognized it — the sweater he'd given Soonyoung for his birthday this year.

"Everything looks good on me lately," you shot back, flipping your hair with mock confidence as you stepped aside to let him in.

Hansol let out a quiet snort, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. "Alright, superstar," he muttered, carrying in the bags of groceries Soonyoung had texted him to bring.

You followed him to the kitchen, leaning against the counter as Soonyoung waved his tongs in your direction. "Look who decided to show up after three weeks of radio silence!" He held up three fingers in front of your face like it was a major scandal.

You rolled your eyes, nudging his arm to move him aside. "I've been working, Soonyoung. Not everyone can live a life of leisure like you."

"Leisure?" He scoffed, flipping the meat with unnecessary force. "You act like I’m not hosting this Michelin-star-level barbecue for you guys. You should be grateful, Y/n."

You snorted but didn’t respond, letting the familiar warmth of their banter settle over you. For a moment, it almost felt normal. Hansol was sorting through the bags, pulling out soda cans and snacks like it was just another casual night. Soonyoung was fussing over his grill with too much enthusiasm, and the smell of searing meat filled the air.

But that “three weeks” comment echoed louder than you wanted it to. Three weeks since you’d hung out properly. Three weeks since Soonyoung had badgered you into late-night ramen runs. Three weeks since you’d willingly stayed in a room with Hansol for longer than ten minutes.

The realization must have hit him too because Hansol glanced at you from over his shoulder, eyes flickering with something like curiosity. His hands slowed as he set down a bottle of soda. “Yeah,” he said, voice quieter this time. “We haven’t hung out in a while, huh?”

You shrugged, feigning indifference. “Guess not.”

Soonyoung glanced between the two of you like he was watching the first act of a drama. He wiggled his eyebrows, lips pursed in exaggerated interest. "Oooh, tension."

"Shut up," you and Hansol said at the same time.

"Okay, okay, geez." Soonyoung threw his hands up, grinning like a troublemaker who just set off a firecracker. "I’m just saying, tonight is reunion night for our little trio. So no work talk, no avoidance, no mysterious disappearances. We’re all staying until dawn."

"Bold of you to assume I’m not sneaking out at 2 a.m.," you muttered, grabbing a soda from the pile Hansol had unpacked.

Soonyoung narrowed his eyes at you. “Bold of you to underestimate me.”

Soonyoung wasn't exactly the sharpest in the group, but he had an annoying knack for reading the room. That was why you’d been trying so hard to act normal around Hansol tonight. Every glance Soonyoung threw your way felt like a spotlight, and you hated it. You shouldn’t have come. Stupid decision.

But after an hour, the unease started to wear off. The alcohol certainly helped with that. You’d had more drinks than usual — more than even Soonyoung, the self-proclaimed "party endurance king." At one point, he actually tried to stop you, waving his hands in front of your face like you were about to push a red button.

“Hey, hey, easy there, Y/n. That’s your third drink in, like, ten minutes,” he said, eyes squinting in concern. "Bad day or something?"

You only hummed in response, lifting the cup to your lips again.

“Desperation. I get it,” Soonyoung sighed, plopping down on the couch beside you. He tilted his head back dramatically. “We’ve all been there. Even Hansol and I went to a fortune teller.”

Hansol, who’d been scrolling on his phone, looked up, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. “Don’t lump me in with you like I went there on purpose.”

“Okay, but you got a reading too, didn’t you?” Soonyoung shot back, jabbing his thumb in Hansol's direction. His grin was all teeth, clearly proud of his "gotcha" moment.

Hansol rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he shoved his phone into his pocket.

Soonyoung wasn’t done, though. He turned his attention to you, gesturing wildly like he was narrating a grand tale. “Yes, so we went to a fortune teller,” he repeated, leaning toward you like he was about to reveal a state secret.

“I know,” you muttered, taking another sip.

Soonyoung blinked, his head tilting to the side. “Huh? I never told you that. How do you know?”

Your eyes flickered toward Hansol, who had suddenly gone very still. You pointed at him, arm a little wobbly from the drinks. “He told me.”

The room went quiet for half a beat.

Soonyoung’s eyes darted between the two of you like he was watching a live plot twist unfold. His mouth parted in shock. “You guys… talked? Without me?”

He sounded more offended than curious, like you’d committed some great betrayal.

Hansol groaned, his head falling into his hands. "Oh my God, Soonyoung, it’s not that deep."

“It is that deep!” Soonyoung gasped, clutching his chest like you’d personally wounded him. “How could you, Y/n? I thought I was the main character of your friendship arc!”

"You're the comic relief, Soonyoung," you deadpanned, reaching for the half-empty drink in front of you.

"Comic relief?!" He clutched his heart again, this time with more flair, like he'd been hit with a spear. "I am the glue that holds this trio together."

You snorted, trying to hold back a laugh, and for a moment, it actually felt normal again. Except for the weight pressing down on your chest every time Hansol glanced your way.

"Want to hear something funny?" Soonyoung grinned mischievously. "This guy has to make a confession if he wants his gig to succeed, and he says he doesn’t like anyone!"

He burst into laughter, clearly enjoying Hansol’s discomfort. Hansol groaned, slouching in his chair. "Go ahead, laugh. My life is a comedy," he retorted sarcastically.

"So, Romeo," Soonyoung teased, raising his eyebrows, "your gig is in three days. Have you done it yet?"

Hansol stayed silent, his eyes wandering to you. You were busy pouring yourself another shot of soju, trying to drown out the chaos around you. The weight in your chest was growing heavier with every passing minute, but you tried to focus on anything other than the situation at hand.

"So, Y/n," Soonyoung continued, turning his attention to you, "what do you think? Should he just confess to anyone to make his performance successful, or should he ignore the fortune teller's advice?"

The question hit you like a brick, and a lump immediately formed in your throat. You didn’t know how to answer.

"But I think he won’t do it," Soonyoung added with a sly smile. "Why? Because this guy is all logic. He’s a T," Soonyoung said, referencing Hansol’s MBTI type — Thinking, not Feeling.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the mounting frustration in your chest, but you found yourself muttering under your breath, "Confession is not a game. You shouldn’t play with it."

Soonyoung, to his credit, nodded in agreement. "Yes, exactly. Here here!"

You continued, your voice quieter now, a little heavier. "You think it’s easy to just confess to someone for the sake of success? That’s selfish." You could feel the anger simmering beneath your words. "But I guess, people can be like that. They don’t think about others' feelings."

The moment your words left your mouth, you glanced up at Hansol, only to find his gaze fixed on you. His expression was unreadable, but there was a certain tension in the air now, thick and uncomfortable. For the first time, you realized he was actually paying attention to what you were saying.

In that moment, everything felt overwhelming. You had spent the evening carefully balancing your emotions, trying not to let the bitterness and disappointment leak out, but it was becoming impossible. Soonyoung's teasing and Hansol's casual confession — the one that had hurt more than you wanted to admit — were circling in your mind, making it harder to breathe.

Soonyoung froze mid-action, his hand suspended in the air with the shot glass still waiting to meet his lips. The atmosphere shifted, and he squinted at you, his tone playful but with a hint of confusion. "What's up with you tonight? You're a bit... deep?"

You sighed, feeling a knot tighten in your chest. You quickly gathered your things, not meeting anyone's eyes. "I think I should go. I’ll pick up my clothes tomorrow morning, is that okay?" you asked Soonyoung, your voice quieter than usual as you stood up from your seat.

Soonyoung blinked, looking at you with a mix of surprise and concern. "What? What's wrong with you?"

But you didn’t answer. You had already made up your mind to leave. The weight of the evening, mixed with the alcohol, had created a fog in your thoughts, and you just wanted to escape. You needed space to sort through your feelings, to put some distance between you and Hansol, who had somehow managed to worm his way into your heart even though you tried so hard to keep it at bay. The fact that he still had this effect on you, that you were still torn between anger and something softer, was suffocating.

You could feel your emotions stirring as you moved toward the door, the anger bubbling under the surface. How could he say all those things and then act like it didn’t matter? How could he confess without meaning it and expect everything to be fine? You had convinced yourself that leaving was the only way to avoid losing control of your feelings, to protect yourself from further hurt.

You closed the door. But then Hansol's hand on your arm stopped you in your tracks. His grip was gentle, but firm. His touch, so simple and yet so familiar, sent a jolt of something through you. You weren’t sure if it was anger or longing, or a dangerous mix of both. You wanted to pull away, to push him out of your thoughts for good, but somehow, standing there with him felt like an emotional standoff. You could feel your heart racing, unsure of whether you should let the tears you were holding back spill or just walk away from it all.

"What do you mean?" Hansol asked, confusion and frustration lacing his voice.

"Let me go, I'm tired," you replied, your voice barely a whisper as you tried to pull away.

But Hansol wasn't having it. He turned your body to face him, his grip firm yet gentle. "Not until you explain. Were you referring to me?"

You stared at him, exasperated, as the words tumbled out, "What do you want to hear? That I wasn't?"

Hansol's gaze softened, but his frustration was palpable. "Yes, I was referring to you because I think Soonyoung's right. If you're as logical as you say you are, you shouldn't be doing whatever the fortune teller told you."

You scoffed, your voice bitter, "And you really think that confessing to your friend is going to fix everything?"

Hansol ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. "Y/n, I was desperate. You heard him — the fortune teller said my performance would flop if I didn't confess. I had no choice!"

"By confessing to your friend?" You spat, the hurt in your voice evident.

Hansol's eyes widened, his voice rising as the emotion spilled over. "Because you're my friend! I thought you'd understand! You always have!"

There was a tense silence between you both, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Finally, you let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping under the burden of it all.

"So, it was easier for you to confess to your friend? To use them for your own benefit?" you asked, your tone sharp and cutting.

Hansol closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Okay, I'm sorry. I didn't expect it to turn out like this. I thought you'd understand, Y/n. You're my friend."

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "Because I'm your friend, you thought it would be easier to confess to me? Don't you think about the consequences, Hansol? Or is it all about your performance?"

His face twisted with frustration as he stepped closer. "It’s important to me, Y/n!"

You took a step back, feeling the sting of his words. "I never said your performance wasn’t important, but have you ever thought about the consequences? When you decided to confess to me, did you even consider my feelings?"

Before Hansol could respond, Soonyoung’s voice interrupted the charged silence. "You confessed to Y/n?" He stood in the doorway, his face a mix of shock and disbelief at the revelation.

The tension in the room hung thick, and you could feel the knot in your stomach tighten. This was not how you imagined things would play out.

*

When Soonyoung heard you sob, his heart sank. He knew it then—he knew both he and Hansol had messed up. Without a word, he let you go, his hand stopping Hansol from following.

"Let her go," Soonyoung said, his voice unusually calm, but there was an underlying firmness. "She needs time."

"But—" Hansol protested, his voice full of urgency.

"No buts, man. You hurt her. Don’t you get it?" Soonyoung’s voice, surprisingly soft for someone who had just witnessed a betrayal, cut through the air. It was like the weight of everything had finally hit him—Hansol had confessed to you because of some ridiculous fortune teller's prediction, without considering the consequences.

Both of them sat in silence, the remnants of the food and drinks ignored, their minds consumed by your face—the betrayal in your eyes, the way your mouth gaped for breath, and the tears that welled up in your eyes.

Soonyoung broke the silence first. "You did it, huh?" His tone was more of a statement than a question. Hansol shook his head, clearly not ready to confront the reality of what he had done.

"You're the most oblivious guy I've ever known," Soonyoung continued, his frustration bubbling up. "How could you not see it? She likes you, Hansol."

Hansol turned his head toward Soonyoung, still confused. "What are you talking about?"

Soonyoung sighed heavily, rubbing his face with his hand. "See? You don't even understand." He stood up, his movements mechanical as he began cleaning his apartment, as if the action would help him clear his mind.

"I'm going to sleep. Feel free to stay," he said quietly, before turning off the light and retreating to his room.

Hansol remained on the couch, the weight of Soonyoung's words sinking in, but his mind still swirling with disbelief. He had made a mistake—one that could cost him everything.

Hansol sat motionless on the couch, his eyes staring blankly at the empty room around him. Soonyoung's words echoed in his mind like a haunting refrain—She likes you. The weight of it crushed him, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a sharp, raw vulnerability that he wasn’t used to.

He had always seen you as someone amazing—smart, driven, with a kindness that radiated in everything you did. You were the kind of person who had everything going for her, someone who seemed untouchable, like she existed in a world beyond his reach. He had always admired you from afar, but he never allowed himself to consider that you could have feelings for him.

You were... too good for him.

He had been convinced that someone like you would never be interested in someone like him. He was logical, maybe a little too blunt, a little too wrapped up in his own world. He couldn’t imagine you, with your warmth and grace, ever wanting to be with someone like him. So, he built up this wall in his mind, telling himself that he was better off staying in his lane, quietly admiring you from the sidelines. He didn't want to risk embarrassing himself by thinking he could ever be more than a friend to you.

But now, in the aftermath of his reckless confession, Hansol couldn't help but wonder—did you actually like him?

His chest tightened at the thought. The way you had reacted earlier—the way you had looked at him—did it mean something? Had you been feeling something for him this whole time? Or had he just completely misread everything, making a mess of it all with his desperate attempt to follow the fortune teller's advice?

He felt like an idiot. An utter fool. He had used you. He had confessed to you without considering your feelings, without thinking about the consequences. All because he was scared of failing in front of his band, of letting everyone down. But now, all he could think about was how much he had hurt you. How much he had probably ruined any chance of you ever seeing him as more than just a friend.

It was painful, this realization. He had always thought you were out of his league, that you would never be interested in someone like him, but now that the possibility had opened up, it felt like he had taken it and crushed it under his own foolishness.

He wanted to fix it, to undo everything he had done. But he wasn’t sure where to start. The damage felt irreparable. He had hurt you, and no matter how much he regretted it now, it didn’t change the fact that he had crossed a line.

"We can take a rest," Seungkwan, the vocalist, suggested, noticing Hansol had been staring at the wall for a little too long.

Hansol nodded absently, "Yeah. Sure..." He realized he hadn’t been in the right frame of mind since last night. His thoughts kept circling back to you, replaying the conversation, the hurt in your eyes, the words that had escaped his lips in a moment of desperation. How could he have been so careless? He had to stop thinking about it, but it was impossible.

"The broadcasting students called—they wanted an interview tomorrow. Is that okay?" Mingyu, the bassist, asked as he walked over after picking up a phone call.

Hansol blinked, momentarily distracted. "Why didn’t they call me?" he muttered, then it hit him. He had been offline all day, lost in his thoughts.

"I couldn't reach you since this morning," Jihoon, the drummer, added. "You're usually glued to your phone."

Not since last night.

"Are you saying he’s addicted?" Jeonghan, the keyboardist, teased, throwing a playful jab at Jihoon. The drummer shot back with a grin, threatening to throw his stick at him, but Hansol wasn’t paying attention.

All he could hear was the ringing silence in his head, and all he could see was your face—hurt, confused, disappointed.

Everything felt distant, like he was trapped inside his own mind, while the world continued on around him. They were talking, joking, but Hansol couldn’t focus on anything except the ache in his chest, the question that loomed over him—How had things gotten so messed up?

"Hi, I'm Joshua," a photographer introduced himself before the interview began. He snapped photos of the group throughout the session, the pictures set to be featured on the university’s social media and in the monthly magazine.

Once the interview wrapped up, Joshua approached Hansol with a small smile.

"Hansol, right? Y/n's friend," he said, casually mentioning you.

Hansol raised an eyebrow. "Y/n’s friend?"

Joshua nodded. "Yeah, we’re in the same club. She was supposed to be the one in charge today, but she’s sick."

Hansol's concern deepened. "She’s sick?"

Joshua gave a shrug. "She mentioned something about going out in the rain, but honestly, I’m not sure. I’m just filling in for her."

Hansol’s mind raced as he processed the information. He headed straight to your apartment. When he arrived, your older brother, Seungcheol, answered the door.

"Seungcheol hyung, I heard Y/n is sick, so I brought porridge," Hansol said, holding up the warm container. Seungcheol stepped aside to let him in.

"She’s sick? She hasn’t come out of her room all day," Seungcheol said with a frown. "I need to head out for work. Can you make sure she’s alright while I’m gone?"

"Of course," Hansol replied, his tone filled with concern.

Seungcheol gave a small nod and left, trusting Hansol with the responsibility. Hansol walked down the hallway toward your room and gently knocked on the door. "Y/n?" he called softly, his heart beating faster than usual.

He turned the doorknob gently as he heard you humming softly from inside. It wasn’t the first time he’d stepped into your room, but something about being here now, knowing you might have feelings for him, made his heart race and his stomach flutter with nervous excitement.

"It’s me... I heard you’re sick," he said quietly, stepping inside. He watched as you tossed and turned on your bed, your face scrunched in discomfort.

"My head hurts," you muttered, sounding exhausted.

"You drank too much last night," Hansol remarked softly, his voice full of concern.

You let out a soft sigh before slowly sitting up on your bed. You blinked up at him, clearly still groggy. "What are you doing here?"

Hansol hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the coolness in your voice. Wasn’t this the same person he had been trying to make things right with?

"Did I do something stupid last night?" you continued, your voice tinged with confusion. "I don’t remember anything. I was too drunk."

What? Hansol’s heart sank. You didn’t remember? He could feel his stomach twist in unease. The whole night had been real for him. But you didn’t even recall it?

His words caught in his throat, his mind racing. He had to find a way to explain everything, but for now, all he could do was stand there, speechless.

*

You pushed him toward the door, your hands firm against his chest. It was too much — too much to be in the same room with him after everything that happened last night. Your heart pounded in your chest, every beat a painful reminder of the weight of it all.

"Y/n, wait—" Hansol tried, his voice laced with confusion, but you shook your head firmly.

"Just go, Hansol," you muttered, your gaze fixed on the floor, refusing to meet his eyes.

Damn your lying. There was no way you could forget what had happened last night. The alcohol might have given you the courage to say everything that had been festering in your heart, but it didn’t steal your memory. No, you remembered every single detail — from the heat of your words to the stunned look on his face.

You remembered it all. The sharp ache in your chest. The way your voice trembled as you laid it all bare. The way he stood there, silent, unable to say a word in return.

And now, you cursed yourself for being so stupid. Stupid for drinking too much. Stupid for letting it all out. Stupid for hoping, even for a second, that he’d understand.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, you let out a shaky breath, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. You leaned your forehead against the door, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Stupid,” you muttered under your breath, wiping at your face harshly. “So, so stupid.”

But no matter how many times you cursed yourself, it didn’t stop the hurt from settling deeper into your chest.

A sharp knock echoed through the quiet of your room just a few minutes later. You clenched your jaw, already feeling the annoyance bubble up in your chest.

Hansol, seriously?

You stomped toward the door, ready to tell him off. Your hand gripped the knob with more force than necessary, and you yanked it open with a glare.

"I told you to le—"

But it wasn’t Hansol.

It was Soonyoung. His eyes widened for a second, clearly taken aback by your sharp tone. He tilted his head, a lopsided grin slowly forming on his face.

"Wow, rough welcome," he teased, holding up a plastic bag in one hand. "This how you treat visitors now?"

Your lips parted, words caught in your throat. Guilt prickled at the back of your mind as you stepped aside to let him in. "Sorry... I thought you were someone else."

"Clearly," he muttered, walking in like he owned the place. His eyes scanned the room before settling on you. "Your brother told me you were sick when I called to check in. Figured I’d drop by and see if you’re still alive."

You sighed, running a hand down your face. "I'm fine. Just a little headache."

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow as he set the bag on your desk, pulling out a small container of soup and a bottle of sports drink. "Doesn't sound 'fine' to me. And you look worse than you sound."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," you grumbled, sitting on the edge of your bed.

"Hey, honesty is love," he said with a wink, cracking open the soup container. "Eat this before you start spiraling about whatever it is you're thinking too hard about."

Your eyes flicked to him, your walls momentarily crumbling under his casual warmth. He knows. Soonyoung wasn’t the most perceptive person, but when it came to his friends, he could read you like an open book.

"Not thinking about anything," you muttered, picking at the hem of your sweater.

He shot you a look as he handed you the soup. "You don't fool me, Y/n. You forget, I know you too well."

You hesitated for a second, your fingers curling around the warm container. The scent of the soup was comforting, but the knot in your chest was too tight to untangle just yet.

"You wanna tell me what happened, or should I guess?" he asked, leaning against your desk, arms crossed and eyes watching you with quiet patience.

Your fingers tightened around the container, the warmth seeping into your skin. Tell him? You could. You should. But the words felt heavy, and your throat burned from all the words you’d swallowed the night before.

Soonyoung’s eyes softened when you didn’t respond. "I heard about Hansol."

Your eyes snapped up to him. He didn’t look smug or teasing. He just... knew.

"Seungcheol hyung told me he was here earlier," he continued, eyes steady on you. "I figured something went down."

"Something always goes down," you muttered, trying to brush it off, but your voice cracked at the end. You sucked in a sharp breath, looking away. Not now. Don't fall apart now.

Soonyoung let out a quiet sigh and crouched in front of you, resting his hands on his knees. "Y/n."

The weight of his gaze pulled you in.

"You don't have to do this alone, you know."

And just like that, the dam broke. Your face crumpled, a shaky breath escaping your lips. Tears you thought you’d buried came spilling out, and you hated it — hated how easy it was for Soonyoung to crack you open.

"I hate him," you choked out, shoulders trembling. "I hate how he made me feel. I hate that he doesn't even know."

Soonyoung sat cross-legged on the floor, his arms draped lazily over his knees as he watched you wipe at your face with the sleeve of your sweater. He didn’t say anything right away, just let the silence stretch long enough for your breathing to even out. You hated how vulnerable you felt, but with Soonyoung, it somehow felt okay.

"You know," he started, his voice light but steady, "Hansol’s always been like that. Head up in the clouds, heart locked up in a safe somewhere only he can find."

You sniffled, eyes still downcast, but you listened.

"He’s not a bad guy," Soonyoung continued, resting his chin on his hand, "but he’s stupid sometimes. No, scratch that. He’s logical to a fault — one of those people who overthinks everything and somehow ends up making the dumbest decision possible."

You glanced up at him, eyes red-rimmed but curious. "Sounds like you’re defending him."

"I’m not," he said quickly, shaking his head. "I’m just telling it how it is." He sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Hansol's the type to approach life like a math problem — one solution, one outcome, no room for feelings. He’s good with logic, terrible with emotions. If it doesn’t fit his formula, he just ignores it."

"Sounds pretty annoying," you muttered, folding your arms over your knees.

Soonyoung let out a short laugh. "Oh, you have no idea. Do you know how many times I’ve seen him 'debate' with Mingyu about how ‘romantic gestures are pointless unless they serve a purpose’?" He shook his head like it physically pained him to remember it. "Like, bro, sometimes you just give people flowers because it’s nice! Not everything needs a reason."

Despite yourself, you cracked a small smile. You could picture it perfectly — Hansol arguing with that deadpan logic of his, Mingyu gesturing wildly, both of them convinced they were right.

"But," Soonyoung leaned forward, his tone softening, "he’s not heartless, Y/n. He’s just... slow. The type of guy who doesn’t notice his own feelings until they’re too loud to ignore. He doesn’t realize he’s hurt someone until it’s staring him in the face. And honestly, I think last night was the first time he really saw it."

You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes flickering toward the window. "It’s not like I needed him to see it. I just... I just wanted him to think of me. Not as some safe option, not as a convenience, but as someone who—"

You stopped yourself, lips pressing into a thin line. Your eyes burned again, and you hated it. Soonyoung watched you for a moment before he spoke.

"He does think of you, Y/n," he said firmly. "But like I said, he’s stupid. He’s probably been thinking of you this whole time and didn’t even realize it. You know how he is."

"Yeah, well, I’m tired of waiting for him to figure it out," you muttered, fingers tugging at a loose thread on your sleeve. "I'm not a puzzle to be solved."

Soonyoung smiled, leaning his head back against the wall. "Good. You shouldn't be." He sighed, glancing at the ceiling like he was remembering something. "But if I know Hansol, he’s probably kicking himself right now. You know how he gets when he messes up — goes all quiet, stops talking to anyone, starts staring at walls like the answers will magically appear."

You blinked, remembering how distant he seemed when he visited earlier. His awkwardness hadn’t been new, but it felt... different. Guilt, maybe?

"Do you think he regrets it?" you asked quietly.

Soonyoung tilted his head, his eyes kind but sharp. "I think he’s finally realizing that you’re not as 'out of reach' as he made himself believe."

Your head snapped toward him, heart stuttering. "Out of reach? What does that mean?"

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow. "You really don't see it, huh? This whole time, he’s been looking at you like you’re untouchable. Like you’re this smart, ambitious, 'got-everything-together' kind of person that’s too good for some guy like him."

You frowned, disbelief creeping into your voice. "That's ridiculous. Hansol's not like that."

"Yeah, well, people get real stupid when they like someone." Soonyoung stood up, stretching his arms over his head with a loud groan. "You think you’re the only one overthinking? Hansol’s been overthinking since the day he met you." He glanced down at you, eyes twinkling with something playful but sincere. "But like I said, he’s slow. And if you’re tired of waiting, I get it. Just don’t pretend you don’t care when we both know you do."

Your throat felt tight, and you stayed quiet as Soonyoung headed for the door.

"Rest up, alright? I’ll check in on you later," he said, tossing you a grin before stepping out. "And if Hansol shows up again, try not to kick him out too fast. He might actually say something smart for once."

The door clicked shut, and silence filled the room.

You stared at your hands, the weight of Soonyoung's words settling deep in your chest.

Out of reach.

You never thought of yourself that way. But... was that really how Hansol saw you? All this time, did he think he never had a chance?

Your heart ached, and for the first time, it wasn’t from anger.

The door suddenly opened again, and Soonyoung peeked his head back in. His face was serious this time, his brows drawn together like he was thinking carefully about what to say.

"Hey, Y/n," he called softly.

"Yeah?"

"Don't get too caught up in him, alright? I mean it." His eyes were steady as he spoke. "Focus on yourself for a while. You’re allowed to do that, you know. Let him figure himself out while you do the same."

You blinked at him, feeling the weight of his words sink in. Focus on yourself. When was the last time you did that? When was the last time you prioritized your own peace instead of waiting for Hansol to notice something?

"Yeah," you murmured, your gaze turning thoughtful. "Yeah, I’ll do that."

Soonyoung grinned. "Good. You deserve it."

This time, when the door clicked shut, it didn’t feel so heavy. It felt like a quiet kind of relief.

*

The band had just wrapped up their third song, the crowd’s energy growing wilder with every beat. Anticipation hung in the air as Seungkwan stepped up to the mic, his grin sharp and infectious.

"And now, for our last song — an original!" he announced, voice booming over the crowd's cheers. "This one’s for everyone who denies something because they’ve never felt complete."

A ripple of excitement passed through the audience, a sea of nodding heads and raised phones ready to capture every second. Hansol’s fingers hovered over the strings of his guitar, heart pounding in time with the thumping bass.

This was it. Their first original song. The song they’d poured their hearts into.

Hansol could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, but it wasn’t suffocating — it was exhilarating. The fortune teller's words from before felt laughable now. What a load of crap. He’d been so caught up in her prediction, but here he was, on stage, living proof that none of it mattered.

His eyes scanned the crowd, and then he spotted you. Right in front, camera in hand, snapping pictures with that same focus you always had. You weren’t just an onlooker — you were part of it. You bopped to the beat, your grin wide as you caught every moment on film.

He couldn’t look away. Not when you gave him that playful high-five before he went on stage. Not when you danced along like you’d been cheering him on from the start. And definitely not when you smiled like that — so bright, so natural, as if none of the things between you two had ever happened.

How are you acting so normal?

He strummed the opening chord, pulling himself back into focus. Jihoon’s sharp drumming set the pace, and the song began. Everything fell into place, the rhythm steady, the notes clean.

Then, during the second verse, something went wrong.

The speakers cracked. The bass fizzled. The sudden static made a few people in the crowd wince, and then — silence.

Everything stopped.

The instruments, the vocals, the energy. All of it.

Mingyu shot a glance at Hansol, his eyes sharp with confusion. What’s going on? his look asked. Hansol didn’t know. He glanced back at Woozi, who had put down his sticks, his face a rare mask of concern. Seungkwan was already at the side of the stage, talking to a frantic staff member waving their hands in panic.

The whole venue was too quiet, the only sound the low murmur of confused voices from the crowd.

Hansol felt his chest tighten. His pulse quickened, not with the thrill of the stage, but with panic. His fingers hovered uselessly over the guitar strings.

Not like this. Not now.

He scanned the crowd again, and then he saw you. You were mouthing something at him, your eyebrows raised in concern.

"What's wrong?"

Hansol swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He glanced back at his bandmates, at the staff, at the broken audio equipment. Everything around him felt like a blur.

But you weren’t a blur.

You were right there, your eyes on him, steady and sure.

He crouched at the edge of the stage, motioning for you to come closer. Without hesitation, you moved through the crowd to stand right in front of him.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the low hum of the venue.

Hansol didn’t answer.

Instead, he looked at you like he’d been holding something in for too long. His eyes darted to the crowd behind you, the sea of strangers with phones pointed at him, waiting for something to happen. The weight of all of it pressed on him again, but this time it didn’t feel like too much.

It felt like a push.

He sucked in a sharp breath and shouted,

“I like you!”

Your eyes went wide. The whole crowd gasped in unison, but Hansol didn’t care.

“What?” You blinked up at him, too stunned to move.

“I like you!” he shouted again, louder this time. “I really like you! Since… I don’t even know when!”

His voice rang out, clear and sharp, like it had been waiting to be said for too long.

“What are you talking about?” you said, taking a small step back, but your eyes never left his.

“I like you, Y/n!” he yelled, his voice cracking, but it didn’t matter. “Let’s go on a date after this!”

A split second later, the audio kicked back on.

The speakers popped, and suddenly, the music came blaring back with Woozi’s drumbeat leading the charge. The bass reverberated through the venue, and Seungkwan’s voice returned right on cue.

The crowd exploded.

Cheers, whistles, and shouts of surprise roared through the space. Phones pointed at Hansol, recording every second of his impromptu confession.

Mingyu’s jaw hung open, his eyes darting between Hansol and you like he’d just witnessed something unbelievable. Woozi’s drumming faltered for just a second before he locked back into rhythm. Seungkwan stumbled on his words, glancing over his shoulder with wide eyes before grinning like a man who knew he’d be talking about this for weeks.

But Hansol didn’t care about any of that.

His eyes stayed on you.

You looked at him like you couldn’t believe it. Your fingers hovered over your camera, your body tense as if you were about to bolt. But then, slowly, you lowered your camera to your side.

Your lips parted, and he thought you were about to say something, but you didn’t.

Instead, you smiled.

Not a small smile. Not a confused, nervous smile.

A real smile.

Hansol let out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing for the first time all night. His heart was still pounding, but this time, it wasn’t from panic.

He pushed himself up to his feet, letting the weight fall off his back. He threw his guitar strap back over his shoulder, fingers gripping the neck of his guitar as he glanced at you one last time.

See you after the show, he mouthed with a grin.

Your face flushed, and you covered your mouth with your hand, eyes squinting with a mix of disbelief and something else. Something soft.

With that, Hansol turned around and rejoined the band.

His heart was still racing, and his hands were still shaking, but none of that mattered anymore.

He’d been so sure he’d ruined things with you two days ago. He thought he’d wrecked something that couldn’t be fixed. But now, under the blinding lights of the stage, with the crowd still screaming, he finally felt something shift.

For the first time in a long time, Hansol felt complete.

*

The cozy hum of the café blended with the quiet chatter of other patrons. The smell of fresh coffee beans and sweet pastries filled the air, but none of that could drown out the sound of Soonyoung’s obnoxious laughter. He sat across from you, phone in hand, replaying that moment for the fifth time.

"Here it comes, here it comes," he said with the excitement of someone watching a blockbuster plot twist. His grin stretched wide as Hansol's voice blared from the tiny phone speaker.

"I like you, Y/n! Let's go on a date after this!"

The crowd's eruption played out again, and Soonyoung slapped the table, laughing like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. His shoulders shook with every cackle.

“Can you stop already?” you muttered, fingers tapping away at your laptop as you edited the batch of photos from last night’s gig. Your latte sat next to you, half-finished, its warmth barely noticeable anymore. "I heard it live, Soonyoung. I don’t need a replay."

"But I do," Soonyoung grinned, wiping at the corner of his eye. "This is gold, Y/n. Absolute, once-in-a-lifetime gold. Do you realize how many people would pay for a confession like that? In front of a whole crowd? On stage? With working audio as the grand finale?" He pressed play again.

"I like you, Y/n! Let's go on a date after this!"

Your face burned as you ducked behind your laptop, ears heating with the memory of the moment. “I swear, if you don’t stop—”

“I like you, Y/n!” Soonyoung mimicked, his voice high-pitched and theatrical, throwing his head back as if he were the one on stage. “Let's go on a date after this!”

You shot him a glare. “Keep it up, Soonyoung. See what happens.”

“Oooh, scary,” he teased, grinning even wider. "Don't be shy, Y/n. You looked like you were about to cry." He sniffled, pretending to wipe away a tear. "Oh, Hansol, I’ve been waiting for you to say it all my life—"

“Do you have a death wish, Kwon Soonyoung?” you deadpanned, voice dangerously calm.

Hansol, sitting right next to you, snickered behind his hand. He leaned back in his chair, hands in his hoodie pocket, glancing at you with the laziest grin imaginable. He hadn't said much since you sat down, but the look on his face said he was thoroughly entertained.

"You're both impossible," you muttered, eyes flicking back to your laptop. You clicked through your photos, adjusting brightness and contrast, but the warmth in your chest refused to fade. Your lips twitched despite yourself. "This was supposed to be our first date, you know," you muttered into your latte, barely loud enough for them to hear.

But of course, they heard.

“Ohhh?” Soonyoung's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned forward, propping his chin on his hands. "Is that regret I hear, Y/n? Did you want something more romantic?”

“Romantic?” you scoffed, glancing at him briefly. “Yeah, I definitely dreamed of being confessed to in front of 200 strangers while the sound system crashed.” You rolled your eyes, but there was no bite in your voice.

Hansol leaned in, his elbow resting on the table, his gaze steady on you. His grin softened into something quieter, something almost fond.

"Would you have preferred something more low-key?" he asked, voice low but curious. He tilted his head slightly, his hair falling into his eyes. "I can do it again if you want."

Your heart skipped once, just once, and you had to look back at your screen before your face gave you away. "Don't be ridiculous, Hansol."

"Noted," he said simply, still grinning.

“Don’t let her fool you, man,” Soonyoung butted in, eyes flicking between the two of you like he was watching his favorite TV drama. “She loved every second of it. I saw that little smile. Oh, wait, should I replay it for reference?” His finger hovered over the screen.

You snatched a napkin off the table and threw it at him, hitting him square in the face.

“Shut up, Kwon Soonyoung.”

He howled with laughter, catching the napkin and tossing it back at you. “You’ll thank me later! I’m basically the biggest investor in your relationship!” he declared, puffing out his chest like he deserved a trophy. “Without me, none of this would have happened.”

“Investor?” you shot back, eyebrows raised. “Investor in what? Chaos?”

“Love,” he corrected, tapping his chest with mock sincerity. “I invest in love.”

Hansol laughed quietly at that, his shoulders shaking just a little. His eyes stayed on you, warm and steady, like he'd finally stopped second-guessing everything.

And for a moment, you forgot about Soonyoung's antics, the video, the embarrassment of it all. You only noticed Hansol, his gaze on you like it had been for weeks — no, maybe longer.

I like you, Y/n. Let's go on a date after this.

You didn’t need a replay for that.

It was already stuck in your head.

*

Late at night, the faint hum of streetlights buzzed in the background as Soonyoung paced back and forth outside his apartment building, phone pressed to his ear. His tone was casual, but his words carried a hint of mischief.

“Hey… yeah, it’s me — The Reckyz’s manager,” he said with a grin, glancing around as if someone might overhear him. “Mm-hm, that’s right. I wanted to talk about our performance tomorrow. Got a minute?”

He stopped pacing, eyes narrowing with focus as he listened to the response on the other end. His grin widened. “Perfect. Here’s the thing — I was wondering if you could help us out a bit during the gig tomorrow.” He leaned his back against the wall, his fingers drumming against his thigh like he was cooking up a master plan.

“Yeah, yeah. Nothing too crazy,” he reassured. “I was thinking… maybe some technical issues on stage during the last song. Not a full shutdown, just enough to get people on edge for a second. It’s for promotional purposes, you know?” He laughed lightly, the kind that only comes from someone far too pleased with their own scheme.

“Don’t worry, the members will be aware of it,” he added, his voice smooth as if he’d done this a hundred times. “They’ll play along. Trust me, it'll be unforgettable.”

His eyes flickered with satisfaction as the person on the other end agreed.

"Perfect. I'll owe you one," he said, his grin sharp now, like a cat who’d just caught a mouse. "Just make sure it happens right before the second verse. Timing is everything."

He hung up, slipping his phone into his pocket, eyes glinting with quiet triumph.

"Operation Unforgettable Moment is a go," he muttered to himself, pushing off the wall and strolling down the street, hands in his pockets, a spring in his step. “Biggest investor in love, huh? Yeah, that’s me.”

[wayward-dreamer]

I'll Be Home For Christmas

Pairing: Dean x F!Reader

Word count: 3,730

Summary: Dean resigns himself to the fact that his girlfriend has to miss out on Christmas with him, hard at work and trying to meet a deadline over the holidays, states away. He hopes she can make it.

Warnings: Swearing, slight angst, lots of fluff towards the end, smut: dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), v fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it up people), breeding kink if you squint, Dean being a domestic dream boyfriend.

A/N: Requested by @xlynnbbyx. I hope you like it! Happy reading everyone! Unbeta'd.

There’s nothing quite like coming home to a warm house, especially just as the chill of winter starts to set in. As Dean stepped into his home, scarf bundled around his neck and tucked into his long, black coat he was thankful that his home was well insulated, even when the heating wasn’t on. Snow was just beginning to fall, causing him to dust it off his shoulders and hair before he removed his coat, hanging it by the door on the rack along with his scarf. He slipped off his black loafers, turning the thermostat on as he walked into the kitchen. He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the bar stool, making his way over to the fridge. He took out a bottle of beer, twisted the cap off and took a long swig, sitting in the bar stool with a heavy exhale.

He looked around the darkened house, the only light on in the kitchen, his eyes scanning over the photos on the wall. The only thing better than escaping the cold for warmth, was having the warmth of someone next to him. He smiled softly as he looked at his favorite photos of him and his girlfriend, wishing she had been there to greet him when he got back from work. It had been several months that hadn’t occurred, and he was starting to get sick of coming back to an empty nest. He took out his phone, checking the time and shaking his head when he realized it was too late to call her. He might just have to try for your lunch break the next day.

Y/N had been offered a new position at her company, which came in the form of a relocation for 10 months. It had been hard in the first few weeks to be apart, but they had made it work with her coming home every other weekend, or him flying in to see her on the alternate ones. As things got busier for both of them that meant they had less freedom to do that. He had spent many sleepless nights in their bed, wishing she could be back in Kansas with him and not miles away in another state.

Now with just a week until Christmas, he had to live with the fact that she couldn’t come home for the holidays. She had broken the news to him a week prior, apologizing profusely as they had to work through the Christmas period to meet a deadline. As usual, he understood it was her job and she had responsibilities, but it just plain sucked that he wasn’t going to have her home to celebrate.

He just hoped that they had a better shot at New Years Eve.

“So we’re doing 24th dinner here, and presents in the morning and then 25th dinner at mom and dad’s,” Sam explained, passing the box of orange chicken to Dean across the table.

“Sounds good,” Dean muttered, taking some of the chicken out onto his plate. “I gotta go to Benny’s after I’m done with work, but I’ll be here after that.”

Sam nodded, as he took the noodles from Eileen. “What time is Y/N flying in?”

Dean pursed his lips as he looked between both of them, totally forgetting the fact that he hadn’t told them yet. “Uh, she’s actually not gonna be here for Christmas. Her team’s working through to meet a deadline and she can’t make it.”

“Seriously? She’s not going to be here?” Eileen signed, frowning as she watched Dean sit back in his chair.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I mean, yeah it sucks that this’ll be our first time away from each other during Christmas, but she’s gotta work.”

“You’re shockingly cool about this,” Sam stated.

Dean huffed, shaking his head. “What do you want me to say, Sammy? You want me to say I want her here for Christmas, because it’s already been 5 months without her being home? Yeah, that’s what I want, okay? I really want that, but it’s her job, man. I can’t argue with that.”

Shoving a huge forkful of food meant the conversation was over, but as they continued with dinner and moved onto talking about other things, Sam couldn’t get the thought of Y/N not coming home for Christmas out of his mind.

Maybe he had to use his persuasive skills thanks to his job for this situation too.

If there was one place Y/N didn’t want to be so close to Christmas, it was work.

Relocating to Philadelphia had been exciting at first, even if she was sad about leaving her friends and family behind in Lawrence. She knew 10 months was going to be a lot, but she hoped with all the work that needed to be done, that time would fly by. However, it had 5 months of ridiculous hours, and only getting to see her boyfriend once every few weeks, if they could manage it. The work was fine, she was good at her job, but she never loved it. It was only meant to be temporary when she was back at the Kansas City branch, but when her boss asked her to relocate she hoped that it was just a way to prove herself and get back home sooner. Maybe even get a promotion because of it. Then hearing that she couldn’t travel back for the holidays was the tasteless icing on a shitty cake.

She just prayed they could meet the deadline by the weekend and she could still try and make it before it was too late.

Y/N finished typing up the latest report that needed to be collated with the others, emailing it to the administrative assistant of her department. Checking the time, she sighed in relief that it was just after 1pm and she could finally eat. Picking up her purse, she walked out of her office, her heels clacking against the wooden floors as she passed the assistant’s desk.

“Hey, Riley. I just emailed you the latest report, can you make 10 copies of those and have them on my desk by the end of lunch?” she asked, slinging her tote over her shoulder.

“Sure,” Riley replied, blandly as she ignored her.

Y/N closed her eyes, breathed in deep before she exhaled, trying to let go of her frustration. She looked at the younger blonde woman, plastering on a polite smile. “Please. In half an hour.”

She walked away before she caught Riley no doubt rolling her eyes, making her way to the elevators. She went down a few floors to the cafeteria, opting for lunch inside rather than enduring the cold and finding a cafe to go to. She didn’t have the energy or willpower for that today. As she sat down with her salad and water, she checked her texts and other emails she hadn’t gotten to yet. She scrolled mindlessly on Instagram, liking a post every now and then as she shoved food into her mouth. Her thumb lingered on one post, a sad smile pulling at her lips when she saw her boyfriend and his brother and sister-in-law just taking a casual selfie at family dinner, something she also would’ve been a part of had she been there. Double tapping and moving on after the heart appeared, she flinched as her phone buzzed in her hand, startling her. She recovered quickly, seeing Sam’s name pop up on the screen.

“Hey, Sam,” she answered, pressing the phone to her ear.

“Hey! How’s Philly treating you?” he asked, no doubt smiling.

“Just making me wish I was somewhere tropical right now,” she replied, glancing out the huge glass windows at the bleak sky.

She heard his boisterous laugh through the speaker, making her smile softly. “Well, it’s not much better here in Kansas, but we’re getting through it. Missing those gingerbread cookies of yours, though.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m missing the fact that I haven’t made them this year,” she admitted. “And I miss y’all enjoying them, too.”

“So… maybe we can expect a small batch at least if you swing by for just Christmas Eve and Christmas Day?” he asked, suggestively.

She sighed heavily, shaking her head. “I don’t know, Sam. I mean, I really want to and I’m working overtime just trying to get stuff done so that I can hopefully make it in time, but I don’t even know if we’ll be done by Tuesday at this point.”

Sam was quiet for a moment before she heard his soft timbre.

“Look, Y/N, I know that it’s your job and if you really can’t make it work then I completely understand… but if there’s a way you can, then just know that at least my brother’s not going to be brooding at the dinner table.”

She huffed a small laugh at that. She knew Dean was just being supportive of her and she loved him for it, but she wouldn’t have blamed him for being upset about this unfortunate circumstance. She was upset about it, knowing she’d much rather be with all of them.

“Okay, Sam. I’m gonna try like hell to be there,” she stated, firmly.

“Good. See you soon,” Sam ended the call with what she hoped was his words to God’s ears.

Y/N sat back in chair, fingers tapping against the screen of his phone, causing it to light up and show her she still had fifteen minutes before she had to head up to her desk. While she had hoped this relocation would be a way to come home to promotion, it was that she wished she could find her way home before kicking this job to the curb. She didn’t know how much longer she could handle being away from everyone, or how much longer she could endure the work that gave her absolutely no joy. Her phone buzzed again, this a text from her boss in all caps, reading: BE UP IN 5!!!

She glared down at the message, shaking her head as she considered the fact that she just felt like a pack mule carrying the entire load of the work and getting nothing in return. She had been there 6 years and barely had anything to show for it. She breathed in deep, closed her eyes and when she eventually opened them again, she knew what she needed to do. Something she should’ve done a long time ago.

When she got to her boss’s office, she walked in and was greeted by his scowling face barking orders at her. They went in one ear and out the other as she sat down calmly in the chair in front of his desk, waiting for him to finish before she spoke.

“There’s actually something we need to talk about first.”

Snowfall had begun and was sticking to the ground by the time Dean got home from his last day of work until after the new year began.

After leaving and making a quick stop at Benny’s to catch up before he left for Louisiana, he was intending to go straight to Sam’s, but he decided to go home first and change. Truly he didn’t care anymore if he was a dishevelled mess after work, but his mom would’ve had a few things to say and he didn’t want to deal with that today. It was Christmas Eve, and all he wanted to do was eat, drink and not think about the fact that Y/N was all the way in Philadelphia. He kept his mind occupied with the thought of food and alcohol, and not his beautiful girlfriend that he hadn’t seen in months. He missed her too much and he supposed for the sake of everyone in his family he should at least try not to dwell on the fact that she wasn’t there with them, to be more tolerable for the next few days.

He walked into the house, closing the door behind him and blocking out the cold. He frowned as he felt the house was warmer than usual, which meant he probably didn’t turn the heat off before leaving in the morning. Shaking his head at his own forgetfulness, he took off his coat and scarf, hung it up and was about to slip his loafers off when he heard a clattering sound from the kitchen. His jaw clenched as he stilled himself, wondering if he was just hearing things but then he heard the oven open and close, making him realize that the house was wafting with the smell of ginger and cinnamon. He took slow, tentative steps towards the arch to the living room and kitchen area, his heart beating rapidly in his chest until he saw the intruder he thought had broken very easily into his home wasn’t an intruder at all.

“Hey, baby,” Y/N greeted him with her signature beaming smile, placing a tray of her famous gingerbread cookies on the kitchen counter.

His eyes widened as he looked around the room before he focused on her. “I’m hallucinating, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know whether to laugh or be insulted,” she teased, leaning her hands on the edge of the bench.

A smirk crept up on his face as he stared at her, taking in her beautiful face. “Fuck.”

He rushed over just as she skipped out of the kitchen and met him halfway, jumping up and wrapping her arms around him. She squealed as his arms wrapped tight around her waist, spinning her around as she buried her face into his neck. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, her jaw before looking deep into her eyes, confirming that this wasn’t a dream and pressing a searing kiss to her lips.

“Okay, okay, wait,” he muttered, pulling away but his face was still close to hers. “How the fuck are you here? I thought you had to work all-”

“Well, it turns out that I couldn’t take one more day in that place and being away from you,” she said, her hand combing through his short hair. “So, after a very brief but convincing phone call from your brother I went to my boss and asked if I could come home.”

“Damn, that was generous of him,” he stated, holding her tight. “I thought he was a hardass.”

“Oh, he is and he made a big noise about me leaving before the deadline, so I quit.”

“What?” he asked, frowning. “Babe, wait. Why would you do that?”

“Because I already had one foot out the door these last few months and I couldn’t spend another day doing something I didn’t love,” she explained, pecking his lips. “Plus, I missed you too much.”

“Y/N,” he shook his head, comprehending everything she just told him. “You gotta be totally sure about this, ‘cause-”

She cut him off with a soft kiss to his lips, looking deep into his eyes. “I am.”

“Fuck, I missed you so much, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers. “I guess I owe Sam, huh?”

“Yes, and I owe him a whole batch of cookies just for him,” she chuckled, pointing her thumb behind her to the kitchen.

He hummed as he kissed her once, twice as he walked back towards the staircase near the front of the house. “That’s gonna have to wait until I’m done with you, though.”

“Dean, I have to put another batch in!” she exclaimed as he carried her upstairs.

“Later,” he breathed, his gaze intense as he looked into her eyes. “Right now we got a lot of time to make up for.”

“We’ll be late,” she mumbled between kisses as he moved towards their bed.

“They’ll live.”

She giggled as they quickly stripped themselves of their clothes before he helped her onto the bed. She laid down and pulled him with her, wrapping herself around him as he kissed her, roughly. Taking her hands in his, he moved them above her head, drifting down and leaving a trail of kisses along her body. Time apart hadn’t hindered the effect that he had on her, her legs immediately falling open as he nipped and licked along her soft skin. She sighed as his tongue found the swollen nub at the apex of her thighs, her fingers combing into his locks and keeping him in place. Soft moans gained volume as he continued to pleasure her with his talented mouth.

“Dean, oh god,” she moaned, loudly, throwing her head back. “Fuck, I missed this.”

He chuckled as he pulled away slightly, looking up at her. “Gotta make sure you didn’t forget it.”

“As if I ever could,” she sighed, meeting his gaze.

He continued his ministrations, groaning at the feel and taste of her against his tongue as he circled the bundle of nerves. He slipped two fingers into her, a sharp cry escaping her as he wasted no time and set a quick pace, finding that sweet spot inside with each thrust. Her arousal grew as he kept going, the familiar heat pooling deep in her core and she knew she was close. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time, hadn’t felt him in such a long time and she found herself growing impatient.

“Dean, please,” she pleaded, pushing herself up on her elbows. “I’m so close, baby, please.”

She gripped his hair roughly between her fingers as he sped up, his tongue flicking over her clit expertly. Her eyes squeezed shut as she felt the burning knot in her stomach wind tighter, his name falling from her lips in a loud whimper once she reached the blissful peak. Her wetness coated his tongue and fingers as he slowly withdrew from her, shifting up and pressing his lips to hers. She moaned at the taste of herself against him, clinging to him as he gathered her in his embrace.

“Fuck me,” she ordered, her lustful gaze meeting his. “Now, right now, please…”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice, babe,” he grinned.

He took hold of his hard shaft, notching himself to her entrance and in one quick motion, buried himself inside her soft walls. Her mouth fell open as a long moan escaped her, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he pulled out slightly, sliding into her wet heat again and setting a languid rhythm to his thrusts.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good,” he groaned, nipping at her jaw. “Missed feeling this sweet little pussy around my cock.”

Their faces were close as they gazed into each other’s eyes, neither wanting to look away considering how long it had been without this type of connection. She shifted her hips to meet his, the pace not being enough to satisfy her in that moment. She wanted more, needed more.

“Harder, Dean,” she gasped, pulling him closer by his shoulders. “Fuck me harder, wanna feel it for days…”

“Yeah? You wanna feel my dick deep inside you, huh?” he husked, low and rough.

She whined with desperation, the rumble of his voice making her clench around him. One hand slid down his muscular back, squeezing the curve of his pert ass. “Yeah, fuck me like you missed me, baby. Come on.”

She got exactly what she wanted as he slammed into her, a shrieking moan falling from her lips, feet locked as she wrapped herself around him to keep him right where he was. He pounded into her, the head of his cock pressing against that spot that made her toes curl, that caused her moans to grow louder with each stroke.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” she whimpered, her eyes half closed in bliss. “Right there, Dean, feel so fucking good inside me.”

“So perfect, baby,” he whispered against her lips. “So fucking perfect.”

She grabbed his face in both of her hands and pulled him into a passionate kiss, their lips fused together as he continued to move within her. He felt her slick walls clench around him, her impending release as close as his.

She hummed as she looked up at him, her thumb stroking his jaw. “So close, Dean…”

He smirked as his hand drifted down between their bodies, his fingers circling her clit and making her eyes widen as she clung to him. Her breath stuttered as he moved them faster, in time with the hard drive of his hips against her, the heat deep in her core growing. With another thrust, her walls contracted around him as she came undone, a sharp cry of his name from between her lips as her arousal covered his shaft. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer as his hips faltered, his cock throbbing inside her as he felt a heat curling in his belly.

“Cum inside me, baby,” her soft voice encouraged, her eyes sparkling with love for him. “Fill me up, I wanna feel it.”

A guttural moan rumbled in his chest as he slammed harder into her, his rhythm sloppier as he felt himself about to reach that perfect release. A shaky grunt escaped him as he finally shattered, pushing into her as far as possible. She moaned softly in his ear as she felt spurts of his seed flood her, content with being filled by him. He rolled his hips into her, the need to get his come as deep as he could inside her overwhelming in that moment.

He slowly dropped down on top of her, his head falling on her chest as her fingers combed his hair. They breathed heavily, coming down from the high they hadn’t experienced in a long time. She bit her lip as she stared up at the ceiling, a small giggle bubbling up through her lips. He lifted his head, resting his chin on her as he looked into her eyes.

“What?” His voice was low but rough from their activity.

She shook her head, smiling down at him. “Just… I’m so happy to be home. I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he husked, kissing her chest. “Best Christmas ever.”

She beamed, her lips resting against his forehead as she sighed. She had never been happier about a decision in her life, and she was glad she came home before it was too late to celebrate the holidays.

“Best Christmas ever.”

[nemisuki]

Falling For You

Crush AU | You didn’t realize having a crush on your friendly classmate would lead to a competition on how to gain his attention. Lucky for you - he seems to have a favorite. 

᧔o᧓ || eijirou kirishima x f!reader, no manga spoilers, fluff, jealous reader, aged up to third years, dense kirishima, silly moments, kiri is popular bc he's just a lil guy fr, misunderstandings, happy ending, oneshot, 1.9k word count

Being friends with the redhead in your class was not for the weak.

It wasn't because he was troublesome whatsoever - if anything the guy was too nice.

Every time she tried to get some alone time with him, someone he knew would strike up a conversation!

Whether it be when they're walking down the hallways, waiting at the bus stop or even in the classroom.

He always had a friend around.

At first it didn't bother her, she knew he was a friendly guy, someone that's impossible to hate.

Anyone would want to be friends with Kirishima. So his inevitable popularity made sense.

But lately she's been feeling off.

A foreign emotion taking over her entire body.

It didn't take her long to realize what she felt for him - it only grew the more they hung out.

Her small crush fully blossomed during the winter. Maybe that's when the jealousy started. During their previous years of high school, the pair used to be inseparable.

But as of recently - that doesn't seem to be the case.

She doesn't blame him for spending less time with her, the amount of patrols always increased during the holidays.

He was constantly apologizing whenever they would have to reschedule their hangouts for the sake of his work study.

Y/N knew they'll be getting busy this time of year but she wasn't aware it would affect their bond this much.

She's barely hung out privately with him this week, but today she'll be the first to initiate plans.

With newfound motivation, she closes her locker door and looks around in search of a certain redhead.

To which she spots immediately, it wasn't hard to miss his unique hair color in the hallway.

At the view of him putting his books away, alone for now, her legs moved quickly - seeking this rare opportunity.

Shortening the distance with each step.

"Kiri" she mumbles softly, gently tapping his arm to get his attention.

His head perks up at the sound of her voice, turning in her direction, recognition and warmth casting over his eyes.

A toothy smile that makes her heart flutter every time - forms on his face, "Oh hey Y/N! What's up!"

He carefully shuts his locker, his eyes never leaving her face as he teasingly pats her head, ruffling her hair a little.

Only making her more flustered by the minute.

Thank the gods he can be dense sometimes, or he would've found out about her feelings a long time ago.

"Ah nothing much... I just noticed you've been working hard on your internship with Fat Gum after school. So I wanted to make sure you aren't overworking yourself."

Her gaze softens, a hint of worry displayed in her eyes as she notices a small bandage on his cheek.

He seems to notice the shift in her expression and bends down slightly so they can be face to face, "Though I appreciate the concern - I assure you I'm fine!"

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

With his other hand, he points to the bandage, letting out a small chuckle "And don't worry about this. Last night I was sparring with Tetsutetsu and he managed to do some damage. No biggie!"

At the sudden close contact, she can feel her cheeks instantly warm up, his laugh easing away all her worries like nothing.

"I-I see...." she stutters out, completely forgetting how to form a coherent sentence around him. Her eyes snapping away from him in a flash.

How could she look into his eyes in this state?!

He tilts his head, seemingly about to ask if she's alright, but is interrupted as some of his friends from another class approach him, three guys in particular whom she hasn’t met. 

"Hey Kirishima!"

The red head turns around at the sound of his name, a friendly grin reappearing on his face, "Oh hey guys!"

The trio of students begin chatting away with Kirishima, moving onto a topic Y/N wasn't too familiar with.

She fidgets awkwardly as she watches them exchange words, her eyes moving back and forth, listening to see if she can add any minor comment to the conversation but is ultimately left in the dark.

Kirishima seems to notice and quickly changes topics, "Ah sorry I should've introduced you! Guys this is Y/N!"

As he speaks, he slings an arm around her shoulder - a proud expression on his face.

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

She doesn't know how much of this her heart can take.

The other guys politely smile and wave, giving her their names one by one but frankly... the only thing she can focus on right now is the close proximity between her and the redhead.

His body is so warm and comforting, the urge to melt into his embrace only heightens as time passes.

She's missed this.

"Hey kiri, you gonna come with us to the arcade again today or what?"

Huh...

Her gaze wanders to the girl who approached out of nowhere. The other guys greeting her casually as she smiles back.

They must be in the same friend group.

"Yeah sure! I don't have to patrol today so I'm game" Kirishima says, giving a small nod in response.

He retrieves his arm that was previously draped over Y/N, letting it rest at his side again.

"Great, c'mon let's go before it gets crowded!" the girl giggles, wrapping her hand around Kirishima's forearm - intending to pull him along.

Until she notices Y/N.

"Oh- hello, are you one of Kirishima's classmates?" she smiles, looking at Y/N with curiosity.

"Uh yeah" Y/N mumbles, her thoughts spiraling at the sight of this new face. She's never seen this other girl before.

And why is she holding Kirishima's arm so casually - even calling him Kiri.. are they close?

"Ah I see! Is she coming along too?" the girl asks Kirishima, letting go of his arm a second later.

"What do you say Y/N?" He smiles nonchalantly, as if unbothered by the other girl's previous actions.

Her heart no longer beats like before - with thrill or joy. But now aching at this new revelation.

Sensing something off, Kirishima's brows furrow with contemplation. Suddenly giving the group an apologetic smile, "Sorry guys but I just remembered I have something to do! I'll catch you guys next time, yeah?"

Not even waiting for a response, the redhead grabs Y/N's arm and pulls her along.

She’s stunned for a moment but follows his lead around the corner, into an empty classroom. 

Once inside the room, he lets go and tilts his head with a questioning look, "so you gonna tell me what's wrong?"

"I don't-"

"Don't lie to me please."

A pout forms on his face at her attempt to dodge the question. His eyes pleading as he looks into her own.

Damn it, he's too cute.

"It's dumb..." she mumbles, looking at him - completely embarrassed.

"If it's making you sad then of course it isn't dumb" he says softly, gently resting his hand on her shoulder.

Her fingers twitch with anxiety, feeling like a bundle of nerves right now.

Seeing her in this state made him uneasy, he's never seen her act this way.

With his hand on her shoulder, he pulls her closer into his chest. Trapping her in his warm embrace as he soothingly rubs her back in small circles.

Her breath hitches as he holds her, a sensation she missed all too well.

All her worries seemed to vanish as his familiar scent surrounds her. There's something so comforting about his presence that keeps her calm.

"I-I'm jealous" she admits all of a sudden, deciding to be honest with him.

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Her skin burned with bashfulness, humiliation and shame.

His eyes widen at her words - in his arms she can feel his muscles tense in response, "Jealous? Of who?"

He pulls away slightly to get a good view of her face.

"Those friends of yours. That girl from earlier. Everyone who hangs out with you" she whispers, ashamed of her own feelings.

She couldn't look at him right now and decided to bury her head further into his chest, hiding away from the impending humiliation. 

He's at a complete loss for words.

"Because we haven't hung out as often? I'm sorry I know I've been busy. But then why did you say no earlier to the arcade-"

“That's because... I just want to be with you. Just us..."

Silence.

After a minute of no response, she hesitantly lifts her head up, gaining the courage to look him in the eyes.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight.

Kirishima is looking down at her, eyes full of disbelief, face completely red - a lighter hue of the color that compares to his hair.

"O-Oh I... wait don't look yet... agh... I didn't expect this" he mumbles, lifting a hand to cover the lower half of his face.

His eyes looked anywhere else but her.

A newfound spark of hope shines within the girl - he's blushing.

For some time both don’t say anything, not knowing how to go about this. Despite it being cold in this empty classroom, both of them are hot to the touch.

"You're free right now right?" he smiles down at her, giving the girl more reason to have a heart attack right then and there.

"Uh- yeah. Yes I am!" she says, practically brightening up at the idea.

A smile returning to her face with full force.

He begins laughing at her sudden shift in mood, "Then let's go! There's this bakery I've been dying to go to!"

He hurriedly takes her hand as they leave the classroom. Reminding her - just how much he cares.

But there was still one question that was in the back of her mind.

As they walk outside the gates of UA, she decides to ask, wanting to ease her conscience before she possibly goes insane. 

"Say Kiri.... about that girl earlier.." she starts off, looking up at him with hesitance.

"Yeah, what about her?" he hums, oblivious to her inner turmoil.

"Are you two close? It just looked like, um, you two we're dating or something" she reluctantly says, a small pout threatening to form at the mere thought.

He freezes in his tracks.

His head snapping in her direction, dismissively waving his hands around, "What?! Of course not! She's a foreigner so that's probably why she was touchy. I would never cheat on you Y/N!"

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Eh?

Being both confused and flustered, she looks at him baffled, "Huh?! Why are you talking as if we're dating!"

He flinches back - looking appalled at her words, "Because we are?"

"What?!" she gasps, covering her mouth in shock. She doesn't recall them having this conversation!

He looks just as puzzled, embarrassment displayed all over his face, "Well we've always been close, going out just us two, so I just assumed...."

"You like me?!" she practically yells out, looking at him intently.

"I mean yeah! Wasn't it obvious..." he averts his eyes, shyness creeping in at this whole mix-up.

At the sudden news she couldn't believe it, her heart leaping with joy.

She doesn't know if it's from sheer excitement or her dazed state, but her legs gave out, leading her to fall backwards onto the snowy grass.

The soft snow acting as a cushion, breaking her fall in response to her shenanigans. 

"Ah Y/N! Are you okay?!"

They'll need to have a long conversation about this soon. But for now, she'll stay here laying in the snow with a dazed expression.

In a state of shock at the revelation - her crush likes her back.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

A/N ||| Ugh idk how to feel about this one u guyssss! Kinda didn't proof read but whatever ig. Kirishima fans RISE UPPPPPP! He would totally fit a friends to lovers trope hehhehehe. I actually love him so much, I wanna put him in my pocket!

[ms-snape]

Hi could you please write an imagine in which snaps and reader are together, reader grew up in a muggle house, didn’t go to a wizarding school therefore doesn’t know a whole lot about magic. Somehow they find out the other has powers and Snape takes it upon himself to teach her everything.

Title: Magic?

Warning: None

Words Count: 2000+

Masterlist

___

Severus Snape was a man who kept his life meticulously ordered—every detail tightly controlled, every secret well-guarded. His flat in Spinner’s End reflected that precision: shelves lined with books on obscure topics, an assortment of jars containing rare herbs and powders, and not a single item out of place. For years, his life had been predictable, secluded, and exactly as he preferred it.

Until Y/N.

She had appeared one rainy autumn afternoon, moving into the house near his with a clatter of boxes and the faint sound of her laughter through the place. He’d paid her no mind at first, assuming she was just another ordinary muggle passing through the neighborhood. But Y/N had a way of quietly insinuating herself into his life, her warmth and curiosity chipping away at the walls he had spent years constructing.

It started with small conversations, then turned into shared cups of tea on dreary afternoons. Severus found himself drawn to her despite his better judgment, captivated by her wit and her ability to see through his sharp exterior without fear. Before long, her presence became a comfort he didn’t know he needed.

But Severus Snape was no ordinary man, and secrets like his had a way of complicating even the simplest of relationships.

The first time Severus noticed something unusual about Y/N, it was during one of their many tea sessions. She had been recounting a frustrating encounter with a nosy coworker, her voice tinged with exasperation, when the sugar bowl on the table suddenly slid toward her without anyone touching it.

Severus froze, his sharp black eyes narrowing as he watched the bowl settle.

Y/N, however, seemed entirely unaware. She simply reached for the sugar and continued talking as if nothing had happened.

The incident lingered in Severus’s mind for days. It wasn’t an isolated occurrence. As their relationship deepened, he began to notice more of these oddities.

One evening, while she was cooking dinner, she muttered under her breath about needing a spoon. A drawer across the room creaked open, and a wooden spoon floated out, landing neatly on the counter. She had stared at it in confusion for a moment before shaking her head and muttering something about exhaustion.

Then there was the time they had gotten into a mild argument. The moment her voice rose, the lights flickered ominously, and a glass on the counter shattered. Y/N had apologized profusely, blaming her clumsiness, but Severus couldn’t ignore the growing evidence.

She was no ordinary muggle.

He debated telling her for weeks, but every time he tried, the words caught in his throat. How could he explain magic to someone who had lived her entire life unaware of its existence? More importantly, how could he tell her that she might possess magic of her own?

As he hesitated, Y/N’s curiosity began to grow. She wasn’t blind to his odd behaviors—the way he seemed to know things he shouldn’t, the strange ingredients she occasionally glimpsed in his kitchen, or the books with titles written in languages she couldn’t understand.

It all came to a head one fateful evening.

Severus had been in his study, absorbed in a particularly complex potion, when Y/N’s voice broke through his concentration.

“Severus, can I ask you something?”

He looked up, his expression unreadable. “What is it?”

She stepped into the room, holding a thick, leather-bound book in her hands. His heart sank as he recognized it immediately.

“Where did you get that?” he asked sharply.

“It was on the shelf,” she replied, her brow furrowed. “I was looking for something to read, and this caught my eye. But… Severus, what is this? It’s not just a book, is it?”

He rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate. “Y/N,” he began, his voice measured, “that is not something you should have been reading.”

“Why not?” she pressed. “It’s not like I can understand half of it. But the parts I do understand…” She flipped the book open, pointing to a page filled with detailed instructions for a potion. “This talks about powdered unicorn horn and asphodel. These aren’t… normal things, are they?”

Severus stared at her, his mind racing. There was no more hiding it.

“No,” he said finally. “They are not.”

She waited, her expression a mixture of confusion and determination. “Then explain it to me. Please.”

And so he did.

Severus spent the next hour explaining everything—the wizarding world, Hogwarts, and his own role as a potions master. He spoke of magic and its many forms, carefully observing her reaction as he revealed the truth he had kept hidden for so long.

Y/N listened in stunned silence, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. When he finished, she exhaled a shaky breath.

“So… you’re a wizard,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“And you’ve been hiding this from me the entire time we’ve known each other?”

“I was protecting you,” he said, his tone defensive. “The less you knew, the safer you were.”

She frowned, her gaze piercing. “Safe from what?”

“From the dangers of my world,” he replied. “Magic is not always a gift. It can be a burden—a dangerous one.”

Y/N shook her head, her expression softening. “Severus, I understand why you wanted to protect me. But don’t you think I deserve to know the truth? Especially if…” She hesitated, her voice faltering.

“If what?” he prompted.

“If I’m part of it too,” she said quietly.

Severus’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

She looked down at her hands, twisting them nervously. “I’ve always had… strange things happen around me. Things I couldn’t explain. I thought I was just unlucky or clumsy, but… after what you’ve told me, I don’t know anymore.”

He studied her carefully, his mind racing. He had suspected as much, but hearing her say it aloud confirmed what he had been reluctant to admit.

“Y/N,” he said slowly, “it is possible that you are not a muggle.”

Her eyes widened. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he continued, “that you may be a witch.”

___

The morning light filtered softly through the windows of Severus’s flat, illuminating the scattered remnants of the night before: a few spell books left open on the table, a candle burned low in its holder, and a single white feather resting in the middle of the room. Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, her brow furrowed in concentration as she waved a borrowed wand at the feather.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” she muttered, her tone deliberate.

The feather trembled slightly but refused to lift. Instead, it skidded a few inches across the wooden floor.

“Again,” Severus instructed from his chair, his tone calm but firm.

Y/N sighed, gripping the wand tighter. “I’ve said it at least twenty times. Why isn’t it working?”

“Because,” he replied, “you’re trying to force it. Magic requires control, yes, but also intention. You cannot simply will it into being. You must feel it, allow it to flow.”

She groaned, letting her head drop forward in frustration. “This is harder than it looks.”

Severus set down the book he’d been thumbing through and moved to sit beside her on the floor. His presence was steadying, his dark eyes watching her with an intensity that made her heart race.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice losing some of its usual edge, “no one masters magic overnight. Even the most talented witches and wizards stumble when they first begin.”

“But I can’t even levitate a feather,” she muttered, her tone tinged with disappointment.

“Progress is not measured by perfection,” he said, reaching out to gently tilt her chin so she was looking at him. “Every spell, no matter how small, is a step forward.”

She gave him a small, tentative smile, and he allowed himself a rare moment of softness, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“Come,” he said, standing and offering her his hand. “Let’s try again.”

For the next hour, Y/N practiced under Severus’s watchful eye. Each attempt was met with either a subtle correction or a murmured word of encouragement. When she managed to lift the feather a few inches off the ground, she let out a triumphant laugh, her excitement lighting up the room.

“I did it!” she exclaimed, turning to Severus.

He allowed himself a small, approving smile. “Indeed, you did.”

Unable to contain her excitement, she threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him off balance. He stiffened for a moment before relaxing, his hands resting awkwardly on her back.

“You’re a surprisingly affectionate student,” he remarked dryly, though the faintest hint of amusement flickered in his eyes.

“And you’re a surprisingly patient teacher,” she shot back, grinning.

He shook his head, muttering something about “foolishness,” but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, curving ever so slightly upward.

As the days turned into weeks, their lessons became a regular routine. Severus taught her simple spells first—lumos to light her wand, accio to summon objects, and even reparo to fix the various things she accidentally broke during her practice.

But not every lesson was smooth.

One rainy afternoon, Y/N was attempting to cast a cleaning charm on a spill she’d made. Instead of vanishing, the liquid exploded outward, splattering both her and Severus with tea.

She gasped, horrified. “Oh no! I’m so sorry, Severus!”

He stood there, dripping tea, his expression unreadable. For a moment, she thought he might be angry, but then he let out a deep sigh and flicked his wand, vanishing the mess in an instant.

“Perhaps,” he said, his tone dry, “we’ll revisit cleaning charms another day.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, and to her surprise, Severus’s lips twitched in response.

Despite her occasional missteps, Y/N’s progress was undeniable. With each successful spell, her confidence grew, and Severus found himself strangely proud of her determination.

One evening, as they practiced in the dim light of his study, Y/N managed to conjure a small stream of water from her wand. She let out a delighted laugh, her eyes sparkling as she turned to him.

“Did you see that?” she asked, beaming.

“I saw,” he replied, his voice quiet.

Her joy was infectious, and before she could stop herself, she leaned in and kissed him. It was a fleeting kiss, soft and full of gratitude, but it lingered between them like an unspoken promise.

When she pulled back, she looked at him nervously. “Was that okay?”

Severus’s dark eyes searched hers, and for a moment, she thought he might retreat behind his usual stoicism. But then he reached out, his hand cupping her cheek as he kissed her back—slowly, deliberately, as though he were committing the moment to memory.

When they finally parted, he rested his forehead against hers, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re remarkable, Y/N.”

Her heart swelled, and she smiled, brushing a strand of dark hair from his face. “So are you, Severus.”

The weeks passed in a blur of lessons, laughter, and quiet moments shared between spells. Y/N still struggled at times—her wand sometimes sparked unpredictably, and her frustration would boil over when a spell refused to cooperate. But Severus was always there, steady and patient, guiding her with a firm but gentle hand.

One evening, as they sat together by the fire, Y/N leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Do you think I’ll ever be good at this?” she asked softly.

Severus placed a hand over hers, his touch warm and reassuring. “You already are.”

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his. “You really believe that?”

“I do,” he said simply.

Y/N smiled, her doubts melting away under his steady gaze. For all his gruffness and guarded nature, Severus had a way of making her feel seen—truly seen.

And as she drifted off to sleep in his arms, she realized that magic, for all its wonder and mystery, was nothing compared to the love they had found in each other.

[v3nusxsky]

Can you do dominating Larissa and subby reader, reader is a surgeon, that is putting her kid in Larissa's school and is a single mother and starts looking at Larissa like she's a chew toy, but Larissa asks about reader's job and reader starts explain what she does and Larissa gets lost in all of it but loves hearing reader talk. And pulls reader into a kiss. Reader is tall and curvy. Maybe gp? Please also reader is head of cardiothoracic surgery. I love your work Mars keep it up. Thank youuuu

My heart surgeon

*Authors note~ this is a super cute. I’m sorry I changed the request but I couldn’t seem to get any smut to flow and I just hope I can do it some justice but medical knowledge is not my specialty so Google was heavily relied on*

Trigger warnings~ medical talk, reader is a cardiologist surgeon, fluffy

Prompt~ see ask^^^

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Raising an Empath as a single parent was no easy feat. Couple that with your career and well, you were spread thin. Years of medical school and practice as a fully qualified surgeon couldn’t prepare you enough for parenthood. Knowing your child could feel pain of those around them being discovered when they visited you at the hospital. Watching your child scream in pain and being helpless near enough killed you. It was then you realised, as much as you love them, you couldn’t give them the best chance at understanding their abilities. One place could though. Even if it meant leaving your child alone at school for the first time in your life.

The first letter they wrote to you was informing you of parents weekend. Intelligence ran high in your bloodline so it was to no surprise that your sweet thoughtful child reminded you it was okay if you were busy saving lives. They would live. But it wasn’t something you were prepared to miss out on, after weeks of not being able to hold them in your arms and tell them you love them was affecting you more than you thought even though you knew they’d began to settle in well thanks to Larissa Weems, the beautiful principal, informing you of the progress within the first few weeks.

Long shifts are something you’ve grown use to. So you chalked up your reaction to her voice as sleep deprivation. It was the only thing that made sense after just finishing a long surgery on a child not much older than your own, your own emotions wearing on you. Parents weekend allowed you to put a face to the voice… well you were fucked. And not in the way you wanted to be. Her voice was just as angelic as the first time, and her whole self? Stunning. You couldn’t help but stare at the beautiful woman. If she taught you then you were sure you’d be failing her class due to being so star struck by her. It was only when your beautifully insightful child informed you that your emotions were “weirding them out” and to stop staring at the woman like she was your next meal that you realised. You definitely have a problem. With a muttered apology you attempted to hide your wandering eyes more.

The second she started to approach you and your child you assumed you’d died and gone to heaven. No way had a beautiful woman choose to speak to a workaholic surgeon with a teen child. What was the appeal? You didn’t have much time to wonder about it, soon enough you were engaged in conversation with the woman. Blushing as she complimented what a lovely child you had raised, a true blessing to Nevermore.

It’s a bad habit, but you tend to take work home with you. Something your own child found frustrating was how you would immediately start to ramble about work and how your day had been. Obviously confidentiality had to be kept thanks to HIPPA yet still somehow you never ran out of things to say about such a rewarding job. “Mom” you groaned unhappily at the choice of topic. You missed her. But still work talk was never fascinating to you. Embarrassment at the fact your own principal was being subjected to all the medical jargon you threw her way, all while your eyes wandering over her frame. “Mommmm” you whined again nudging her while signing, “you’re doing it again mama.”

Larissa Weems was fascinated. The words just rolled off your tongue with an ease that she couldn’t help but admire. Truthfully, she’d used her contacts to find out about you the moment you enrolled your child, the name ringing familiar in her ears. Hearing the way you spoke so passionately about your work and the intricacies of the heart her suspicions were supported even more. You had done her surgery a few years ago after the dreaded nightshade poisoning had almost killed her. Memories of waking up and being told they had to get the best of the best to complete her surgery yet a brand new surgeon to the professional spotted the damaged and effectively saved the shifters life. Stuck in your on going rant of information, you seemed oblivious as the connection dawned on her.

“I see the immediate and life-changing results of your work, but my role is demanding yet completely worth it. It’s more than just cutting into people. I meet with patients and their families to discuss and explain procedures and offer reassurance. It’s massively important to be crystal clear, empathetic and warm is vital for success in my line of work. As well as performing surgery, I am involved in the treatment and management of many different conditions within this speciality. I may need to attend outpatient clinics, multidisciplinary team meetings and ward rounds.” You rambled on about what you knew best and before you knew it the other woman was so overcome by emotions that she tugged you close to her by your curvy hips and crashed her lips to yours.

The rest of your words died on your tongue as you processed what was happening before moving to place your hands on her shoulders, savouring the kiss before pulling away slightly flushed and confused. “Larissa, I “ you muttered dumbly, “what a way to shut a girl up.” Gazing into her cyan blue eyes it suddenly hit you. This is the woman who practically caused your career to fly. That fateful night where you made one observation in hopes to save a life was now coming back to you in violent flashes. “Larissa as in shifter who was on my OR table a few years ago? That Larissa?” Causing your child to sigh, everything relates to work, and well the emotions coming off you both were truly too much so you did what you could do best, slip away and allow the women to catch up while you tried to convince yourself and friendship group that your mother most definitely hasn’t kissed your principal.

Word count ~ 1016

[edgessunflower]

Cold shoulder

Pairing: Rhea Ripley x Fem reader

Description: You give Rhea the cold shoulder after she accidentally takes your chance to be a champion away

"What the fuck Rhea!?" you yelled at Rhea once you were backstage after the three way match between you, rhea, and Shayna Baszler for a chance to win the women's NXT championship from Charlotte Flair however your chance was thrown away thanks to rhea who had pinned you and won the match between the three of you but it wasn't intentional on her part as she looked at you with guilt and hurt knowing that she was why you were upset and that she had took your chance at the thing you had been working nonstop for over the last five months. "I didn't cover you to take this!" you teared up wanting to truly believe her but you were in such disbelief and so hurt that you truly didn't know what to think when you saw the replay and turned to her with the most heartbreaking expression on your face that just ripped rhea's heart out of her chest straight to the floor watching you walk away to your locker room crying wanting to go after you but knowing that you would only be more upset by it, the two of you had been together for a year and had never really been upset at each other or in a disagreement that affected one or both of you badly like this did as she looked at her phone after you texted her saying that you would stay in a different room which made her heart ache as she drove back to the hotel and walked into the empty room with the big bed that the two of you had been sharing and the same bed she would be in all alone while you showered and watched tv in a room on the floor under her before going to bed as the match replayed on her mind nonstop. During the match you had gotten flipped by shayna due to a clothesline that was mistimed leading to you falling on your head which made her heart drop as she looked at you very dazed after throwing shayna out of the ring gently grabbing and shaking your arm then placing a hand on top of your head before laying on you to check if you were out since you didn't move or talk but it was as she began to lean back up to speak to the ref that the bell rang and she was announced as the winner which made her eyes as big as dinner plates and her heart shatter, the next three weeks she had texted and tried to call you but you wouldn't respond and whenever she saw you backstage you would immediately leave if you saw or or ignored her if she tried to talk despite the need and longing that you had for her support and comfort but you were so hurt that you were isolating yourself to deal with what had happened until one night. It was during rhea's match with Bayley that your heart stopped when you not only saw her glazed and confused after a bump but when you saw blood from her head you felt a cold chill run over you as you ran out of your locker room while two officials helped her to the medical room backstage where she had four staples put in her head and checked for any other injuries and found out she was concussed as she laid on the table looking at the doorway where you stood, "You scared me" your voice was quiet as you stood next to rhea holding her hand as you gently ran your hand through her hair leading to another apology from her coming out making you tear up while laying your head on her chest gently shaking your head as you apologized in a choked up voice for ignoring her leading to an hour later of the two of you in her hotel room staying with her as she laid in bed after helping her shower and change with soft whispers being shared between the two of you.

[sissylittlefeather]

Hi there! I’m not exactly sure how to give links to songs, nor am I sure if I send this other places, but I do have a song I’d like to give for the event! “Your Love’s Been A Long Time Coming”, by Elvis, of course, and my only other request is that you have a good day/night! 💜

12 Days of Ficmas

Day 5: Your Love's Been a Long Time Coming

A/N: Aw thank you so much!!! I'm sorry this one is late. We're still dying of some kind of plague in my house and it's been rather distracting. But here it is!

(Also, as an aside, I have a whole fic series based on this song. If you're interested, find it here.)

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, smut, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: ~1.2k

You've had one bad relationship after another with men that hurt you over and over again. It's gotten so bad that you've sworn off dating altogether. It's just not worth the pain.

That's when Elvis collides with your life. No, really. He actually collides with you. He rear-ends your car in the middle of the night on your way home from work because you're too broke to get your tail lights fixed. He's ready to read you the riot act until you roll your window down and turn your tear-stained face up to him. When you realize who he is you stammer and apologize and cry even harder, but he's gentle and kind and he makes sure you and your car get home safely. Still, you're pretty sure you've seen the last of him.

But you haven't, not by a long shot. He turns up on your doorstep two days later with a bouquet of pink roses and the keys to a brand new station wagon. You sit on the porch and talk for a bit until he tries to persuade you to go to dinner with him. You're deep into telling him no when your son comes to the door to announce that whatever your mom is cooking is ready to eat. It's a veritable nightmare and you bury your blushing cheeks in your hands.

“What's for dinner, bud?” Elvis asks over you. Your 5 year old son, Benny, replies happily.

“Meatloaf!”

“I love meatloaf. Is there enough for me?” You sit up and shake your head. There's no way you're letting him come into the house you share with your aging mother and young son.

“We always have extra. Come on.” Benny pushes the screen door open and Elvis stands up before you can stop him. You want to sink into the floor as he stands in your tiny, messy living room, but Elvis continues to be gracious and sweet. He puts his arm around your shoulders and pulls you in close to him, whispering in your ear.

“It's okay, honey. I like it. It's nice and homey.” He pulls back and smiles down at you. You're not sure how it happens, but somehow you end up with Elvis Presley at your small dinner table, laughing and chatting with your little family. He and your son bond instantly over cars and football. He even manages a talk with your mother about church music and she blushes and calls him a ‘nice young man’. The conversation is easy and you seem to get along in a way that he hasn't experienced in a while. There's something about you, a simplicity and authenticity, that he can't get enough of. When the night comes to an end, you walk him back out to the front porch and he kisses your cheek and tells you he'd like to see you again. How on earth are you supposed to say no?

After a few more weeks of spending an inordinate amount of time together, you find yourself in his bedroom at Graceland. You know he's married, but that doesn't seem to matter to either of you as he kisses you deeply, his hands on your hips. He starts to move down your neck, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin under your ear.

“Elvis?”

“Hm?” He doesn't stop kissing your neck.

“Why do you like me?” Now he pulls back and looks down at you.

“Honey, I've been dating beauty queens and movie stars for so long, I forgot what a regular woman is like. You're a real person and I like who you are. You make me laugh and you're kind and warm and you don't see dollar signs when you look at me. You're smart and beautiful and you're a good mom. I've been waiting for someone like you for a long time.” You look up at him, your eyes glassy with tears.

“I think I've been waiting for you too.” He smiles and dives into another deep kiss and neither of you looks back. You shed clothing left and right as you stumble to the bed, his hands running over your naked skin. He presses his lips anywhere he can get them and lays you on the bed gently. In a matter of seconds, he has you spread open for him, his tongue dipping into your pussy between hard licks over your clit. Your hand goes to his hair as you whimper and moan and get closer and closer to your climax. He's relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure and you've never had a man try this hard to get you off. He feels your walls flutter and tighten on his fingers and hums, the vibration making you see stars. It doesn't take much longer for you to cum, your pussy throbbing around him as the lightning bolts run in your veins.

“God, you're pretty when you cum.” He whispers as he sits back up, situating your ankles on his shoulders. You bite your bottom lip as he teases your sensitive entrance with the head of his cock. “You ready, baby?”

“Yes, oh yes please!” You whimper breathlessly as he starts to slowly push into you, giving you time to adjust to the size of him. It feels so good, being filled like this, and the pleasure threatens to overwhelm you. When he bottoms out, his whole cock inside you, he stops for a second and groans.

“You're so tight, baby. So fuckin’ tight. You're perfect.” You moan as he slowly pulls back and then thrusts forward, filling you again. “Does it feel good?”

“Feels so good! Oh!” He smiles down at you and kisses your ankle as he starts to pick up a steady rhythm of fucking into you.

“You got such pretty little sooties, baby.” He kisses your ankle again as his hand caresses your foot, his dick sliding in and out of you at an even pace.

“God, Elvis, this is amazing.” You moan as he rearranges your legs to be around his hips. He leans over on top of you and whispers in your ear.

“I want you to stay with me. Not just tonight.”

“But aren't you–”

“That's over. Has been for a while now. I want you, baby, for the long haul. Tell me you want me too.” He holds both of your wrists in one of his hands above your head and runs his fingertips down your body with the other.

“Yes, Elvis. Yes, I want you.” He grips your hip with his free hand and starts to pump into you faster and harder.

“Good. I'm gonna cum, baby.”

“Me too, oh god.” He slams into you hard and deep and you hit your climax simultaneously, both of you pulsing and panting and melting into each other. As your bodies relax and you come down from your shared high, he presses his sweaty forehead to yours.

“I love you, baby. I know it's quick, but I've loved you since I first saw you.”

“Oh, Elvis. It's not quick. This has been a long time comin’ for me. I love you too.” He smiles and rests his head on your chest.

“It has for me too, baby. It has for me too.”

******

The End

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Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy

[bwat5-blog]

Someone To Be Strong For

(Arcane Oneshot)

(Cannon Deviation)

*Three weeks after the battle of the commune*

Caitlyn Kiramman:

"Please Violet... please wake up... I know your angry. God knows you have every right to be but.. don't do it for me. Do it for you.. You deserve more than this. You deserve more than to hurt and suffer... please wake up. Even if you can't forgive me just please... we need you..I need you... "

Caitlyn sits by Vi's bed as she has every night since they made it back to Piltover. That hellish rush through the undercity to bring Vi back is as fresh in Caitlyn's mind as if it had been earlier this morning... blood.. so much blood.. Vi screaming.. Caitlyn shakes her head viciously banishing the memory, wiping the tears from her eyes. Vi is here, her skin is pale, but the best it has been in weeks, her breathing steady. She is here...

Vi was stable, and her father and the other physicians were confidant she was recovering. But none of them could say when she would wake. And every day it grew harder to remain hopeful. They had been fortunate, in that the explosion claimed Ambessa and Viktor both. But that didn't magically erase the suffering they caused. A knock on the door startles her out of her daze.

"Enter" she says firmly, standing and smoothing her pants. Only to smile seeing Mel Medarda herself entering the room.

"Caitlyn darling, how is she?" Mel asks, hugging Caitlyn and sitting down in the other chair.

Caitlyn shrugs, brushing more tears away "Stable... but... she won't wake" she says trying to smile but her face cracks and Mel pulls her into another hug. The two had grown close in the last few weeks, both victims of Ambessa Medarda in their own way.

"Vi is quite possibly the strongest person I have ever known Caitlyn. She will come back to you" Mel says firmly, patting Caitlyn's arm.

Caitlyn smiles "Thank you.... I believe in her but... it's been so long. I just.. I just want to hear her. Even if she's telling me to fuck off" she laughs sadly.

Mel laughs "That sounds like her".... "Hey, she's gonna pull through".

They are interrupted by a messenger at the door. Mel takes the note and reads it, her face showing shock but mostly.. curiosity Caitlyn realizes.

"what is it? Cait asks".

"It's Jinx... She wants to come see Vi"

_____________________________________________________________

Later That Evening:

Caitlyn stands as the doors open to her bedroom, and Jinx enters, accompanied by two guards.

"You may leave us" Caitlyn says crisply. They bout look at her... than at Jinx nervously. "tell me soldiers do you believe she helped me save her sisters life simply so she could kill her here? no? You are dismissed".

The two guards threw a nervous and quick salute before rushing out the door, and then it was just the two of them.... and the sleeping Vi. Jinx looked... pale. Even more so than usual, but her face was calm.. more so than Caitlyn had ever seen.

"So... you asked to see her?" Caitlyn says gently, testing the waters

Jinx nods, her big eyes looking around the room in vague wonderment... no... anywhere but her sister.. she doesn't want to see her unbreakable sister this way Caitlyn realizes and is shocked in a moment of heartbreak for Jinx.

"I just um.. I have some things that I really need to say to her.. And I'm afraid if I wait to long, I may never be able to...." Jinx says quietly, starting at the floor.

Caitlyn feels a shock of pain for her go through her chest.. "I know how that feels. Do you want some privacy?"

Jinx shakes her head "please.. please don't go" in a soft and small voice. Caitlyn nods her head "I'm here.. I swear it".

Caitlyn stands a little ways back, and watches in shock as Jinx climbs into the bed, until she is able to hug Vi's arm... like she is a little kids who just wants her sister...

"I love you Vi..." Jinx says softly, hugging her sisters muscular arm. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry I didn't tell you more.. I'm sorry I never apologized for my part in everything, never appreciated what you went through keeping us safe. I'm sorry I blamed you for leaving when you were literally kidnapped and I... I'm sorry for trying to hurt you before... god.. you spent seven years in that horrible place all alone and what have I done?!" Jinx throws herself onto Vi's chest, hugging her crying and shaking. Caitlyn realizes she has been holding her breath.. tears run down her face and she looks down at the two them, seeing the sisters they should have been.. before the world took their light. She walks slowly and before she can really think about what she's doing, she hugs Jinx to her. The younger girl goes completely stiff, then melts into Caitlyn's arms sobbing...

"Jinx... I have a proposal" Caitlyn says softly.

Jinx just nods her head to continue, still in Caitlyn's arms. Caitlyn clears her throat. "things between us... are never going to be simple. But.. maybe we can work through them together..while you serve your time here in my estate with me, helping care for Vi. Rather than in that bunker... is that.. something you would want?"

Jinx hugs Caitlyn so tight it feels like her ribs are going to crush as Caitlyn pats her back, "Maybe... maybe together we can become strong enough to be the people she deserves" As Jinx starts to respond they are both stopped when they hear a groggy yet affectionate voice "I'm already the luckiest woman alive".

__________________________________________________________

Like the Tobias one I did this is just another variation on "For the love of god show Vi a little kindness please" I am NOT a writer but hopefully at the very least it will brighten your day haha. Thank you for reading.