#I hope she finds what she was looking for. I hope we all make it. kind of wild that i dont do such major self-sabotage at this point myself
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anchored to you | rafayel
⤜ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ- You rolled your eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Am I?” he mused, his voice lilting, coaxing—so effortlessly familiar. “You wound me, Miss Bodyguard. Here I was, trying to paint a masterpiece, thinking of you after an agonizing week apart, only to check my notifications and find you, in the dead of night no less, liking another man’s post. Truly, a betrayal of the highest order.”
“Thomas is your agent.”
“Doesn’t change the facts.”
You sighed again, but this time, it was laced with amusement. “You know what? I’m coming over.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, sharper now— “What?”
(Or... at 3:30 AM, Rafayel calls about you liking Thomas’ post. You know him far too well to believe that’s all it is. So you go to him, finding him amidst half-finished paintings and restless emotions, teetering between wanting space and needing you too much.)
⤜ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ- rafayel x female reader
⤜ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ- smut & fluff
⤜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ- 10.5k words
⤜ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ (or tags)- nsfw, mdni, no use of y/n, use of pet names (cutie & miss bodyguard), dom!rafayel, jealous!rafayel, themes of codependency and insecure feelings, references to rafayel's limited five star memory (intertidal zone) and bond story (nightly stroll), angst (slight-ish), possessive behavior, making out, clit play, mutual masturbation, cum marking, overstimulation, penetration (p in v), dirty talk, unprotected sex, marking (biting), creampie, mentions of ownership, and aftercare.
⤜ ɴᴏᴛᴇ- I've always wanted to write about that one time in the game when Rafayel called MC (us) early in the morning just because she (we) liked one of Thomas’ posts—but, of course, with a little more plot. Hope you enjoy!
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The quiet hum of the city at 3:30 AM was a stark contrast to the sharp vibration of your phone on the nightstand. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, your screen casting a cool glow over your hands as you stared at the caller ID.
Rafayel.
Bringing the phone to your ear, you barely got a word out before Rafayel’s voice came through, low and unmistakably petulant.
“At 3:30 AM, four hours after you said goodnight to me, you liked Thomas’ post. Instead of, like, sending me a message.”
There was a slight pause, just long enough for you to picture the way he must look right now—sprawled out somewhere, his dusky purple hair a tousled mess, one hand probably still holding his paintbrush, the other curled around his phone. His voice was smooth, casual even, but you caught the edge beneath it, the restless undercurrent of something deeper.
“Rafayel—” you sighed, rubbing at your temple, but he cut in before you could finish.
You had only just liked a post. A simple tap of your finger on Thomas’ latest Moment, barely even thinking about it. But somehow, that was enough.
“Is this what you do when you can’t sleep, cutie? Scroll through posts and ignore me?” His words were lighthearted, teasing, but that wasn’t all there was to it.
You knew him well enough by now—there was a reason he called, and it wasn’t just to complain about a liked post. It was the same reason he always asked you to update him, the same reason his messages came at odd hours, checking in without outright saying he needed to. He wouldn’t ask for reassurance, not directly. Instead, he’d do this—wrap himself in playful irritation, hide behind his usual theatrics, and hope you’d read between the lines.
And you did.
But it had been a week since you last saw him—because he asked you not to visit, claiming you were too distracting. “Cutie, if you’re here, how am I supposed to suffer properly for my art?” he’d said, all dramatic sighs and faux despair. “What if I forget to be miserable and start painting you instead?”
You had laughed, indulged him, and then you had listened. Given him the space he asked for. But now, with his name flashing across your screen at 3:30 AM, his silence stretching between you like a thread pulled too thin, you wondered if that had been the right choice.
Shaking your head, you drew in a slow breath and let a small smile tug at your lips, even though he couldn’t see it. “I didn’t think you’d still be awake.”
“I was trying to paint,” Rafayel admitted, his voice carrying the faintest hint of exasperation. “But then my phone buzzed, and—what do you know? Turns out I am capable of being abandoned and creatively drained at the same time. Tragic, isn’t it?”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Am I?” he mused, his voice lilting, coaxing—so effortlessly familiar. “You wound me, Miss Bodyguard. Here I was, trying to paint a masterpiece, thinking of you after an agonizing week apart, only to check my notifications and find you, in the dead of night no less, liking another man’s post. Truly, a betrayal of the highest order.”
“Thomas is your agent.”
“Doesn’t change the facts.”
You sighed again, but this time, it was laced with amusement. “You know what? I’m coming over.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, sharper now— “What?”
“You’re still in your studio, aren’t you?”
“That’s not the point. It’s late.”
“Exactly. And now you’ve got me wide awake.” You sat up, already reaching for your sweater. “Besides, if you’re going to whine about being abandoned, I might as well do something about it.”
“Cutie.” His tone was suddenly more serious. “It’s dangerous.”
“I’m a Hunter, Rafayel. I deal with Wanderers. I can handle myself.”
“That’s not—” He exhaled, as if weighing whether to argue, but he must’ve known it wouldn’t change anything.
“Cutie, you’re being reckless,” Rafayel muttered, exasperation slipping into his voice.
“And you’re being difficult,” you shot back. “I’d much rather talk to you in person.”
He let out a sharp breath, like he was running a hand through his hair. “I’ll get angry.”
You smirked, already slipping on your jacket. “Try not to get too angry when I’m there, then.”
A pause. Then, quieter— “You’re impossible.”
But he didn’t tell you not to come.
You pulled a sweater over your head, the soft fabric settling over your shoulders as you slung a small bag across your body. Extra clothes—because you knew this wouldn’t be a short visit. Because you knew, deep down, that appeasing him would take time.
As you grabbed your phone and house keys, it vibrated once. Then again. And again.
Rafayel.
You ignored it for now, slipping out of your apartment and making your way down the quiet hallway. The city outside was still alive, neon lights flickering in puddles from the earlier rain. You stepped through the building’s gate, raising a hand to hail a cab.
Only when you were safely in the backseat, the soft hum of the engine filling the silence, did you finally check your phone.
The next message was just a long, broken string of typed-out ellipses.
Rafayel: dun come
Rafayel: ill get mad
Rafayel: cutie cutie listen to me i mean it
Rafayel: ur so stubborn its insane who raised u like this
Rafayel: if u show up i swear to god ill
You could picture him—pacing in his studio, running a hand through his hair, chewing on his bottom lip as he typed and deleted messages, trying so hard to pretend he didn’t want you there.
Rafayel: fine but im not opening the door
Rafayel: i mean it
Rafayel: its locked
Rafayel: double locked
Rafayel: barricading it rn
You typed back.
Rafayel: go to sleep like a normal person
Rafayel: cutie go home dont test me
Rafayel: actually u know what im turning my phone off
Rafayel: fr
Rafayel: im pressing the button
Rafayel: last chance to stop being reckless
Rafayel: …
Rafayel: wait what r u doing why r u not answering
Rafayel: hello???
Rafayel: ur not actually coming right
Rafayel: right
Rafayel: CUTIE
Try not to trip over all that furniture when you let me in.
The little “typing…” bubble popped up immediately. Then disappeared. Then popped up again.
You smiled.
Rafayel: ????????
Rafayel: EXCUSE ME
Rafayel: who said ur getting in
Rafayel: who said im letting u in
Rafayel: who said ur not gonna get stuck outside FOREVER
A few minutes passed, you were near his studio and once the cab turned onto his street, there he was.
Rafayel stood outside the gate of his studio, arms crossed over his chest, his sharp silhouette carved against the dim glow of the streetlights. His tousled hair, usually a careful kind of mess, was more unkempt tonight—like he’d run his hands through it too many times while pacing. Even from a distance, you could see the way his jaw tensed, the slight furrow of his brows. He looked intimidating. Unapproachable. Like someone who hadn’t just been blowing up your phone with ridiculous messages.
And yet.
Here he was. Outside. Waiting for you.
The cab slowed to a stop in front of the gate, the tires rolling over the uneven pavement with a soft crunch. Before you could even reach for the door handle, Rafayel was already there.
His fingers curled around the handle of the passenger seat, yanking it with a sharp pull—only for it to stay locked. A fleeting scowl crossed his face, irritation flickering in his eyes—like a storm brewing in a sky streaked with rose-colored clouds as he rapped his knuckles against the window, then motioned for the driver to unlock it.
The driver hesitated.
You could see it in the way his grip tightened on the wheel, his gaze shifting to you in the rearview��mirror, uncertain. Concerned. And maybe, if you weren’t you—if you didn’t know Rafayel, if you hadn’t memorized the way he carried himself like an unspoken warning, all sharp edges and simmering intensity—you might have felt that hesitation, too.
But you only sighed, already reaching for your bag. “It’s fine,” you reassured the driver, voice steady. “I know him.”
It was only after you placed the bills into his hand that the lock clicked open.
The moment you pushed the door open, you barely had time to step out before Rafayel’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. His entire demeanor shifted like a switch had been flipped—gone was the intimidating figure who had been standing outside, waiting with crossed arms and a brooding scowl. Instead, the Rafayel in front of you was warm, playful, the same one who had sent you all those ridiculous messages. His hold on you was firm, pressing you flush against him, his chin resting atop your head like he had been waiting for this the entire time.
“You’re so stubborn,” he muttered, his voice laced with something between exasperation and relief.
You huffed a laugh against his chest. “I thought I was staying outside forever since you barricaded the door?”
Rafayel stilled for a fraction of a second before exhaling sharply, his grip on you tightening just the slightest bit. “Yeah, well,” he drawled, his tone slipping back into something teasing, “I figured you’d just break in anyway.”
You sigh into his arms before he’s leading you towards the entrance of his studio.
Inside, the studio was dimly lit, the scent of paint and turpentine clinging to the air. You had barely stepped in before Rafayel was already leading you deeper into the space, steering you toward the large canvas propped up on an easel. He didn’t give you a chance to bring up the real reason you had come—not his cryptic messages, not the weight in his voice, not the way he had been waiting for you outside despite claiming he wouldn’t let you in.
No, instead, he gestured at the painting, his voice smooth, light, deliberately avoiding whatever had been simmering beneath the surface. “What do you think?”
Your gaze drifted over the painting, but before you could answer, something else caught your eye—the mess surrounding it. Crumpled papers littered the floor, discarded sketches with deep, frustrated lines slashing across them. Streaks of paint smeared over the nearby desk, some dried, some still tacky, as if he had gone through so many iterations, chasing something he couldn’t quite reach.
It wasn’t hard to understand why.
The painting in front of you was unmistakably his—a swirl of haunting beauty, a dreamscape teetering on the edge of something sorrowful. And in the center, hidden within layers of colors that bled into one another, were streaks of red coral. Not just any red coral. The same shade, the same intricate, fractured formations that you had seen in all his works.
Rafayel’s work had always been laced with something more than artistry. It was a requiem, a quiet, painstaking tribute to a world long buried beneath the sand. His people. His home. The Lemurians, slaughtered and scattered, their blood mixing with the ocean until all that remained were these paintings, these desperate fragments of a civilization that humanity had tried to erase.
And yet, standing here, seeing the evidence of his struggle—all those discarded attempts, the restless, feverish way he had chased this image—you knew this one was different.
This wasn’t just another piece to be sold to the highest bidder, another silent form of vengeance wrapped in beauty.
This painting—this one meant something to him.
You exhaled softly, still taking it in. “It’s beautiful.”
The words left you before you even had time to second-guess them. And they weren’t just words—you meant it. This painting was raw in a way that went beyond his usual work, and knowing what he had gone through to reach this version of it only made it more striking.
But as soon as you said it, you felt his gaze on you. Heavy. Unwavering.
You turned to him, and your breath caught at the sight.
His eyes—those pools of blue and pink—were darkened, pupils blown wide, swallowing up the usual sharpness of his gaze. There was a strange kind of intensity there, something unspoken, something restless. Like he was waiting. Like he was memorizing the way you looked as you said those words.
You’d seen him like this before, but it never failed to leave a lingering warmth in your chest, a quiet awareness curling at the edges of your thoughts.
You cleared your throat, trying to steady yourself against the weight of his stare. “So… about that phone call.”
Rafayel blinked once, slow and deliberate, before tilting his head, watching you beneath thick lashes. The studio light caught the pink in his irises, making them gleam like crushed petals under glass. For a moment, he didn’t react, didn’t move, and then—like a tide pulling back—his expression changed.
His lips curled into something languid, lazy. A smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He ran a hand through his already-messy hair, tousling the dusky purple strands even further. “Tch. Here we go.”
You ignored his theatrics, crossing your arms as you leaned against the closest surface. The room still smelled like oil paint and damp canvas. “You sounded—” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “Like you needed me.”
His fingers twitched at his sides.
For just a second, you saw it—the way his breath hitched, the way his eyes flickered, something raw flashing across his face. But then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. His shoulders rolled back, his stance shifting into something looser, deliberately careless. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, cutie. All I remember is telling you not to come and you showing up anyway.”
You arched a brow, tilting your chin. “Oh? So you didn’t mean it when you said you’d get mad?”
He scoffed, casting his gaze aside, suddenly engrossed in the streaks of dried paint staining his fingers. “I was gonna get mad.”
You stepped closer—close enough to catch the faint flush creeping up his ears, close enough to see the way his jaw tensed, just barely. “Then why were you waiting outside for me?”
Silence.
A long, stretching silence.
His tongue swiped over his lips—slow, deliberate, stalling. Then, finally, his eyes lifted to meet yours. Something swam beneath the blue and pink, something unreadable, something fragile.
He exhaled—a breath caught between a sigh and surrender.
“Because you were coming.”
Then, as if realizing the weight of his own admission, he turned away, raking a hand through his hair, mussing it further. “So you came all this way just to nag me? So unromantic, cutie.” His voice was all drawl, all lazy amusement, but beneath it, beneath the teasing, there was something else—something raw, something he didn’t want you to see.
You crossed your arms, unimpressed. “You were the one who called me first.”
“And you were the one who liked some other guy’s post at 3:30 AM.” He shot back without missing a beat, eyes flickering toward you, sharp even in his supposed nonchalance.
You rolled your eyes. “Thomas is not ‘some other guy.’”
“Don’t care.” Rafayel flopped down onto the couch with dramatic flair, draping himself over the cushions like an exhausted cat, arm thrown over his forehead. “What’s done is done. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
You sighed, gaze drifting past him to the painting still propped on its easel. In the dim studio light, it looked almost alive—the deep reds and ink-dark blues swirling like something dredged up from the ocean’s depths. The scattered, crumpled drafts around it told you everything you needed to know.
“Rafayel.” Your voice was quieter this time, careful.
He didn’t look at you, but his fingers twitched against the couch cushion.
“You don’t have to pretend everything’s fine,” you continued. “I know why you called me. I know why you’re like this.”
Silence stretched between you, thick and weighted. Then, finally, he let out a slow exhale, tilting his head back against the couch, eyes meeting yours.
“Yeah? And what am I like, cutie?” His voice was light, teasing, but you could hear the thread of something else beneath it—something taut, something fraying at the edges. A quiet challenge.
Your gaze didn’t waver. “You’re scared.”
That got him.
His lips parted slightly, breath catching—just for a second—before he covered it up with a slow, lopsided smirk. “Scared? Of what? You?”
“Of me leaving.”
His smirk lingered, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
Rafayel didn’t answer right away. His fingers curled into the fabric of the couch, grip tightening for the briefest moment before he forced them to relax. The smirk on his lips wavered—just a fraction—but enough for you to catch it.
Then, with a scoff, he turned his head away, staring somewhere past you, toward the half-finished painting standing in the dim light. “Don’t say stuff like that,” he muttered.
You took a step closer, voice softer now. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
His jaw tightened, his throat bobbing in a swallow. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But you could see it—woven into the way his body tensed, the way his hands refused to stay still, fingers tapping restlessly against the couch. You knew him. You knew how he was when he got like this. When he tried to pretend things didn’t bother him, when he played the fool because it was easier than admitting the weight pressing against his ribs.
You sat down beside him, close but not quite touching. “Rafayel.”
Nothing.
You let out a slow breath. “I’m here. You don’t have to act like I’m not.”
For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, suddenly, he let his body slump sideways, his head dropping against your shoulder in a heavy, boneless motion. His hair tickled your cheek, and his warmth seeped through the fabric of your sweater.
“I don’t like it,” he muttered. His voice was low, muffled against you.
“Don’t like what?”
“You being far.”
Your heart squeezed in your chest. Slowly, carefully, you reached up, brushing your fingers through his hair. He didn’t stop you. If anything, he melted further, like a thread pulled loose.
“I’m not far,” you murmured. “I’m right here.”
He huffed, but it wasn’t his usual theatrical sound of complaint—it was something quieter, something raw. “Still don’t like it.”
His arms moved before you could react, looping around your waist, pulling you in, pulling you against him like you’d disappear the second he let go. His grip wasn’t desperate—but it was firm, certain, stubborn.
You exhaled, smoothing your fingers over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of him pressed against you. “For the past week, I gave you space,” you murmured. “You said you’d be painting something for an exhibit. That having me around was… distracting.”
Rafayel let out a soft scoff against your shoulder, his grip tightening—like he knew exactly where you were going with this and didn’t like it one bit.
“So I listened,” you continued. “I gave you space. And yet—” you pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt your head and look at him, “—you’re acting like I vanished off the face of the earth.”
His eyes flickered over your face, something restless, unreadable, shifting beneath the surface. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he pulled away, flopping back against the couch.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, cutie,” he drawled, throwing an arm over his eyes like he was shielding himself from a particularly blinding light. “I was doing just fine.”
You raised an eyebrow, gaze flicking pointedly to the chaotic mess of crumpled papers and paint-streaked cloth littering the room. “Yeah. Clearly.”
A pause.
Then—his fingers twitched. A tell.
You caught it—the way his fingers curled slightly, a fraction too tense, like a stray thread barely holding everything together. It was the smallest thing, but with Rafayel, the smallest things always spoke the loudest.
Your gaze softened. “Rafayel.”
His arm remained over his eyes, but his lips twitched—just a little, like he was debating whether to smirk or frown. In the end, he did neither.
Instead, his other hand lifted, reaching blindly for you, fingers curling loosely around your wrist. He didn’t pull you closer. Didn’t say anything. Just held on.
Your chest ached.
“You were doing fine, huh?” you said quietly, shifting so you could properly look at him. “Then why does this look like the aftermath of a war zone?”
Rafayel groaned, finally dragging his arm away from his face to glare at you. “It’s called the creative process, cutie. Not all of us can be effortless masterpieces.”
You snorted, unconvinced. “Right. Creative process. Is that why you sent me a hundred messages at three in the morning?”
He clicked his tongue, clearly about to dodge the question with something absurd, but you squeezed his wrist before he could. The reaction was immediate—his mouth shut, his eyes flickering toward your touch.
For a second, just a second, you saw it again—that restlessness, that hesitation, the war between wanting you close and pretending he didn’t.
Then, quieter, you asked, “You really didn’t want me here?”
His jaw shifted. He looked away, fingers tightening around yours, voice dropping lower. “That’s not—” He exhaled sharply, as if physically forcing himself to swallow down whatever instinct had been his first response. “Don’t twist my words, cutie. You know what I meant.”
You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “You could have just asked me to come by, you know.”
Rafayel’s gaze snapped back to yours, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
“For the past week,” you continued, voice steady, “even when you told me I’d be a distraction… if you really wanted me here, you could have just said so.”
His fingers twitched again, his grip flexing slightly around your wrist. “That’s—” He clicked his tongue, his expression shifting like he was trying to rearrange his thoughts faster than he could say them. “That’s not how it works, cutie.”
You raised an eyebrow. “No? Then how does it work?”
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his tousled hair before letting his head loll back against the couch. “I don’t know.” His voice was quieter now, like he hated admitting it. “I don’t know how to want something and not ruin it at the same time.”
Your chest tightened.
It was the closest he had come to saying it outright—that he didn’t just want you here. He needed you here.
And it terrified him.
You sighed, shifting closer, your hand settling over his where it rested on the couch. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t look at you either. His fingers flexed beneath yours, restless.
“I don’t want you to shut me out,” you said, gentle but firm. “Even if I know what you want by now—I still respected what you asked of me. I didn’t come by, I gave you space, because I thought that’s what you needed.” You hesitated, then softer, “Was I wrong?”
A muscle in Rafayel’s jaw twitched. His lips pressed together, something pensive behind his gaze.
Then, with an exhale, he finally looked at you.
“You weren’t wrong,” he murmured. “I thought I needed it too.” He huffed a soft laugh, humorless. “Turns out, I’m just an idiot.”
You smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t say you’re an idiot.”
“Then what would you say?”
You squeezed his hand lightly. “Stubborn. A little dramatic.”
His lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but instead, he only turned his hand over, fingers curling around yours. His thumb brushed idly over your knuckles, contemplative.
“You should’ve just ignored me,” he said after a moment.
You raised an eyebrow. “And let you suffer in silence?”
“I would’ve survived.”
You gave him a look.
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, fine. Maybe I wouldn’t have.” He peeked at you from between his fingers, voice quieter now, more uncertain. “But you still listened to me, didn’t you?”
Something in the way he said it made your stomach twist—not with relief, but with something heavier. Like it hurt him in a way he didn’t know how to put into words. Like it would’ve been easier if you hadn’t.
You held his gaze, steady, unwavering. “I did,” you admitted. “But I would’ve come—if only you asked.”
You exhaled, your fingers tightening around his. “And now I did come, because I knew this wasn’t just about me liking Thomas’ post.”
Rafayel stilled. Just slightly. His hand in yours remained lax, but his grip on your other hand faltered for half a second—like you had struck something he wasn’t prepared for.
Then he scoffed, leaning his head back against the couch, gaze flicking elsewhere. “Obviously. You think I care that much about some dumb post?”
You gave him a pointed look. “You called me over it.”
His mouth opened—then closed. His expression twisted into something begrudging.
“Okay, maybe I cared a little.”
You rolled your eyes. “Rafayel.”
He sighed, rubbing his temple, before finally—finally—meeting your gaze. But he didn’t look teasing now. Didn’t look like the Rafayel who had whined about your stubbornness through text messages or tried to act put out when you showed up at his door.
There was something raw there. A flicker of hesitation, of want, of something he had trouble admitting even now.
“Fine,” he muttered. “It wasn’t just about the post.” His eyes searched yours, voice quiet. “It was about you.”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you. His lips parted like he wanted to speak, but the words hesitated—lingering somewhere between thought and voice.
Then, with a heavy breath, he raked a hand through his tousled hair and dropped his head back against the couch, exhaling sharply through his nose. “You really wanna talk about this, huh?” His voice was light, almost teasing, but there was something else beneath it. Something strained.
You didn’t answer right away. You just held his gaze, waiting.
Rafayel let out a soft, humorless laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “Shit,” he muttered. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Wherever you want,” you said gently.
He was silent for a while. Then, finally, he sat up properly, elbows resting on his knees, fingers lacing together like he was grounding himself. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. Not soft—Rafayel never did soft—but honest.
“I don’t like being alone.” The words came slow, deliberate. His thumb ran idly over his knuckles, a nervous habit you rarely saw from him. “Not really. Not when it’s—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Whatever. You get it.”
You did.
He exhaled, tilting his head, gaze flickering toward the painting propped up on the easel—the one he had clearly agonized over. “I told you I needed space. That I had to focus, that I—” He scoffed, pressing his fingers to his temple. “But the second you gave it to me, it was like—like something was missing.” His eyes flicked to you, laced with something almost accusing, almost vulnerable. “It was unbearable.”
You swallowed, watching the way his fingers curled, the way his expression twisted between frustration and something he wasn’t sure he wanted to name.
“I kept telling myself it was fine,” he continued, voice rough, like he hated the confession even as it left his lips. “That it was good, even. That I could work without distraction. But every time I tried to paint—every time—I just ended up staring at the damn canvas, thinking about you instead.” He let out a breath, shaking his head. “I hate that.”
You frowned. “Hate what?”
Rafayel clenched his jaw. “Hate that I need you this much.”
Your breath hitched. His words, raw and unguarded, settled between you like something heavy.
He laughed, short and sharp. “God, it’s pathetic, isn’t it?” His fingers curled against his knee. “I used to paint because I had to. Because it was mine. And now—now I feel like I’m dragging you into it too.” His expression darkened, something bitter curling at the edges. “Like I’m taking from you.”
You knew what he meant. Rafayel had always taken from the world. From pain, from suffering, from the ghosts of things that could never be restored. His art had always come from that—extraction. And now, you could see the fear in his eyes. That he had started doing the same with you. That his love for you, his need, had become something he feared he would drain dry.
But you didn’t move away. Didn’t recoil. Instead, you reached out, your fingers brushing over his, grounding him back.
“You’re not taking from me,” you said, firm but gentle. “I’m here because I want to be.”
He stared at you for a long moment. Then his fingers curled over yours, his grip tight—desperate, almost.
“…Yeah,” he muttered. But you could hear the waver in his voice. The uncertainty.
Like he wanted to believe you. Like he didn’t know if he could.
Rafayel’s fingers tightened over yours, his grip feverish, like he was anchoring himself to something—someone—before he could spiral too far. His eyes flickered, restless, torn between frustration and something else, something raw.
“It doesn’t help,” he muttered, almost like he was talking to himself. “That you’re always here. That you’re not—” His jaw clenched, and he looked away, shaking his head. “That you’re not pushing me away.”
You frowned, squeezing his hand. “Why would I?”
His laugh was sharp, almost bitter. “Because you should.”
You inhaled, steadying yourself. “Rafayel—”
“No, listen.” He pulled back slightly, though his fingers still lingered over yours, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go. “You don’t turn me down. Not when I act like a pain in the ass. Not when I pull you into my mess. Not when I—” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “You don’t even get mad when I tell you to stay away, then act like an idiot when you actually do.”
You swallowed, watching the way his expression shifted—tight, conflicted, like the words hurt to say.
“You don’t leave,” he said finally, quieter this time, almost accusing. “And it just—it just makes it worse.”
Your breath hitched. “Worse?”
His eyes flickered to yours, something turbulent beneath the surface.
“I keep thinking,” he murmured, voice rough. “That if you did—if you pushed me away, even just a little—maybe I could stop needing you this much.”
The air between you felt heavy, thick with something unsaid.
He huffed out a humorless laugh, tilting his head back against the couch. “But you won’t, will you?” His eyes, shadowed and tired, flicked to yours. “You never do.”
You didn’t hesitate. “No.”
Rafayel exhaled, shutting his eyes briefly before opening them again, something tired—something helpless—settling behind his gaze.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s what I thought.”
Rafayel let out a slow breath, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. His fingers raked through his tousled hair, shoulders tense, like he was holding something back—like he was bracing himself.
“I don’t trust it,” he admitted finally, voice low, rough around the edges.
You frowned. “Trust what?”
His lips twisted, like he was trying to find the right words. “This. You.” A pause, then he huffed out a quiet laugh, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Not because of anything you’ve done. You’re—you’re too good to me, cutie.”
The way he said it—like it was an accusation—made your heart ache.
Rafayel’s hands flexed against his knees before curling into fists. “It’s just that…I know what it’s like. To have someone be everything. To be convinced that no matter what, they won’t leave.” His fingers twitched. “And then one day, they do.”
Your chest tightened. “Rafayel—”
“You can say it won’t happen,” he cut in, looking at you now, eyes dark with something heavy. “You can promise all you want. But I’ve heard it before.” He let out a shaky breath. “I’ve believed it before.”
Your heart pounded.
“And that’s why I—” He broke off, shaking his head. “That’s why I don’t know what the hell I want. One second, I need you here, and the next, I think maybe—maybe it’d be easier if you weren’t.”
Your breath caught.
“Because if I let myself have this—if I let myself need you—” He swallowed, voice barely above a whisper. “Then what happens when you leave?”
There it was. The real fear.
Not anger. Not frustration.
Just the quiet, aching certainty that he would be left behind. Again.
Your throat tightened. Slowly, carefully, you reached for his hand. His fingers were still curled into a fist, knuckles white, but you pried them open, threading your fingers through his. Warm. Calloused. Shaking.
“Then I won’t,” you said simply.
His breath hitched. His gaze snapped to yours, searching, uncertain. “You don’t—you can’t know that.”
“I do.” You squeezed his hand. “Rafayel, I’m not going anywhere.”
He let out a ragged breath, and you held his hand tighter. “No matter what happens, no matter what you do, how much space you need, or how much you push and pull—I’m here.” Your voice was steady, certain, because you meant it. “I’ll always be here.”
Rafayel exhaled sharply, as if the weight of your words had knocked the air from his lungs. He looked away, jaw tight, throat working like he was trying to swallow something down.
“You say that now,” he muttered, voice rough, “but—”
“But nothing,” you cut in gently, tugging his hand just enough to make him look at you again. “You’re not just some phase in my life, Rafayel. You matter to me.” Your thumb brushed over his knuckles. “I’m not leaving. Not now. Not ever.”
His breath shuddered out of him, his fingers tightening around yours like he was afraid to let go. And for the first time since you’d arrived, you saw it—that tiny flicker of hope beneath all the doubt.
Your lips curled into a small smile. “You know�� you’re not the only one who needs someone, Rafayel.”
He huffed, shaking his head. “That so?”
“Mmhm.” You squeezed his hand, tilting your head playfully. “I just happen to be better at hiding it. Comes with the job, you know. Can’t have my client thinking his bodyguard is just as much of a mess as he is.”
That earned you a scoff, though there was the faintest trace of amusement in it. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
You shrugged. “I mean, think about it. If I didn’t need you, why the hell would I be here at three in the morning?”
Rafayel stilled. His grip on your hand faltered for half a second before tightening again. You saw his throat bob, his lips part slightly—like he wanted to argue, to throw something back at you. But he didn’t. Because you were right.
His gaze flickered, searching yours, as if trying to find a crack in your resolve, some sign that you were just saying this to make him feel better. But there was none. You meant it.
A breath left him, shakier than he probably wanted it to be. Then, quietly, he muttered, “…Idiot.”
You grinned. “Takes one to know one.”
You suddenly sighed dramatically, stretching your arms above your head before letting them drop. “You know, you didwake me up in the middle of the night. And I did drag myself all the way here, just for you.”
Rafayel arched a brow, skepticism flickering over his face. “You just said you came for me.”
Before he could go any further, you reached out, cupping his jaw with one hand and pressing his cheeks together, effectively smushing his lips into a ridiculous pout. “Shhh.”
His brows furrowed, a muffled noise of protest escaping him.
You smirked. “See? Much better.”
His eyes burned into you, but the effect was entirely ruined by the way his lips were puckered like a sulking child. You had to bite back a laugh.
Rafayel made another unintelligible sound, hands coming up to pry yours away, but you held firm, tilting your head. “Now, are you gonna make it up to me or what?”
Without letting go, you leaned in, pressing the softest, most fleeting kiss against his ridiculously pouted lips.
The reaction was instantaneous.
Rafayel tensed, his entire body going rigid beneath your touch. And then—
His face erupted in color. A deep, searing red that bloomed across his cheeks, climbed to the tips of his ears, and even dusted down the length of his neck. His eyes widened, pupils dilating, mouth parting slightly as if his brain had short-circuited entirely.
You pulled back just enough to see the full effect, utterly pleased with yourself.
His hands, which had been trying to pry yours off a second ago, twitched uselessly before dropping altogether.
“Wha—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, glaring at you as best he could while still blushing furiously. “What the hell was that?”
You grinned, finally releasing his jaw, tapping his cheek lightly. “You looked too cute not to.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing. But the red across his face refused to fade. If anything, it darkened.
“I hate you,” he muttered, voice thick with embarrassment.
You hummed, utterly unbothered. “No, you don’t.”
He didn’t respond—because he couldn’t. Not when his body betrayed him so obviously.
Before he could recover, you leaned in again, this time pressing a soft, lingering kiss against his flushed cheek.
Rafayel froze.
A sharp inhale, his fingers twitching against your waist as if debating whether to push you away or pull you closer. The warmth of his skin burned beneath your lips, the heat radiating from him palpable.
And then—
A strangled noise. Half a scoff, half something else entirely. “You—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply, tilting his head away as if that could somehow hide the deepening red overtaking his face.
His ears. His ears were burning.
You smiled against his skin. “You’re really easy to fluster, you know that?”
His hand curled into the fabric of your sweater. “Shut up.”
You kissed his other cheek just to spite him.
Another sharp inhale. Another full-body flinch.
“Cutie.” His voice was strained, and when you finally pulled back to look at him, his eyes were dark, unreadable, something perilously close to desperate lurking beneath the surface.
It sent a shiver down your spine.
You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were. The way his breath fanned against your skin. The way his grip on you had tightened, like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers if he let go.
And then, quieter and lower—almost hesitant—he spoke.
“…You’re doing this on purpose.”
You barely had a second to process the way his eyes darkened before he moved.
A sharp tug—your breath hitched—then suddenly, the world tilted.
Before you could react, you found yourself toppled onto the couch, your back pressed against the cushions, Rafayelhovering above you. His grip on your waist was firm, his body heat overwhelming, and his beautiful eyes—flushed with something you couldn’t quite name—devoured you.
You blinked. “Raf—”
And then he kissed you.
No hesitation. No teasing remark. Just desperation, raw and unfiltered, poured into the space between you. His lips found yours in a feverish press, warm, insistent—taking.
Your fingers curled into his shirt instinctively, anchoring yourself as he deepened the kiss, as if trying to chase away something neither of you had spoken aloud. His weight caged you in, a solid, unrelenting presence above you, his hand sliding from your waist to cradle your cheek.
It was different from before—this wasn’t just his usual playful antics, wasn’t just him indulging in his own flirtation.
This was real.
A shuddering breath left him as he pulled back just an inch, enough for your lips to part but not enough to create space. His forehead rested against yours, his own breath uneven.
“…You came for me,” he murmured, almost like he still couldn’t believe it.
You smoothed your hands over his back, feeling the tension in his frame, the way he was holding himself back. “I did.”
His lips brushed against yours again, softer this time. “Say it again.”
You smiled, breathless. “I came for you.”
His exhale was shaky, his hold on you tightening. Then, he kissed you—slower, more lingering, like he was memorizing every second.
For a moment, it was like that.
His lips pressed against yours again—harder this time, more forceful, less patient. The teasing, the usual playful give-and-take between you, was gone.
This was different.
His weight pressed you down into the couch, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, keeping you exactly where he wanted. His other hand curled around your hip, firm, possessive—demanding.
You barely had time to breathe before he was kissing you again and again—deeper, slower, like he was trying to carve the feeling of you into himself. There was heat, unmistakable and consuming, but also a quiet desperation simmering just beneath the surface.
His lips left yours only to trail along your jaw, then lower—lower—pressing against the sensitive skin beneath your ear.
“You always do this,” he murmured, voice rough, breath warm against your throat.
You shivered. “Do what?”
He pulled back just enough for you to see his face, still flushed, ears burning, but his gaze? That wasn’t the usual playful Rafayel staring down at you. It was something deeper. Darker. Unrestrained.
“Make me want more,” he said, his thumb tracing slow, maddening circles against your hip. “And you don’t even try.”
Your breath hitched as his lips found yours again, more insistent, more relentless. His grip tightened, keeping you right there, letting you feel every bit of his warmth against you.
Your breath was unsteady as you tilted your head back against the couch, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt. His lips ghosted over your jaw again, trailing lower, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to make you feel him.
“What…” Your voice came out weaker than you intended, a soft, breathless thing. “What are you doing?”
Rafayel huffed a quiet laugh against your skin, his lips brushing against the hollow of your throat. When he pulled back just enough for you to see his face, his smirk was smug, but his eyes—half-lidded, dark with heat—betrayed something else.
“Making it up to you,” he murmured. “Like you asked.”
Then his lips were back on you—pressing, dragging their way down the curve of your neck, slow and deliberate. His hands, warm and steady, slid along your sides, mapping out the shape of you through your clothes.
You barely had time to breathe before his kisses wandered lower—just beneath your collarbone, just above the fabric of your sweater—his fingers toying with the hem as if debating how much further he could push.
He wanted to push.
You could feel it in the way his grip flexed against your waist, the way his breath came out uneven, like he was barely holding himself together.
But he was waiting.
Waiting for you to stop him.
Waiting for you to tell him no.
And when you didn’t—when you stayed still beneath him, your own breath shaky, your fingers curling into his shirt like you needed him there—his smirk faltered for just a second.
Rafayel barely gave you a second to register what was happening before his arms wrapped around you, strong and unwavering. A startled gasp left your lips as he lifted you, pressing you flush against him as he rose to his feet.
Your arms instinctively tightened around his shoulders, legs curling slightly, but he carried you with ease—his grip firm, his body heat seeping into yours through the fabric of your clothes.
He didn’t stop kissing you.
Even as he moved, his lips barely left yours, stealing breath after breath, deepening the kiss with each slow, deliberate step. His pace was unhurried, almost lazy, like he was indulging in every second it took to drag you both toward the bedroom.
His fingers flexed against your thighs, pressing you closer, and you could feel the way his heart pounded—just as wild, just as reckless as yours.
Somewhere between the hallway and the door, you tried to murmur his name, but he swallowed the sound with another kiss, tilting his head, teasing you, taking you apart one stolen breath at a time.
By the time your back met the soft sheets, Rafayel was hovering over you, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his lips swollen, his breath uneven. His tousled hair framed his face, a few strands falling over his forehead, and his cheeks—his ears—were still red.
But his expression was different now. Not the usual playful teasing. Not the embarrassed flustered mess you were used to. Something deeper.
And he was still looking at you like he was starving.
You felt yourself shrinking under his gaze.
But he doesn’t let you.
Instead, his fingers trail up your skin, his touch searing, possessive. “Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with something you can’t quite name “You said I had to make it up to you. What, getting shy now?”
You barely have time to react before his fingers curl into the fabric of your sweater, tugging it up with slow, deliberate intent. The air kisses your skin as he drags the material higher, his fingertips brushing along your sides—light, teasing, making you shiver.
His gaze never wavers. Heavy-lidded, sharp with intent, the dusky pink in his eyes darkening like the sky before a storm. He drinks in every inch of you as more of your skin is revealed, his breath coming a little heavier, his lips parting just slightly.
“See?” His voice is low, almost coaxing, though there’s an edge of something darker beneath it. Hungrier. “Nothing to be shy about, cutie.”
The sweater slips over your head in one smooth motion, and before you can even process the loss of warmth, his hands are on you again—this time against the curve of your waist.
His hands move with unhurried precision, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your pajama pants. The fabric bunches under his touch as he drags it down, knuckles grazing the curve of your hips, the dip of your thighs—his touch light, but purposeful.
He doesn’t look away, doesn’t give you the chance to hide. His eyes drink you in, dark with something unreadable, something smoldering beneath the surface.
“Still with me?” His voice is lower now, rougher, as if he’s feeling the weight of this just as much as you are.
You nodded.
The fabric pools at your ankles, and his hands return to your skin, smoothing over newly exposed warmth. His thumbs press gently into your hips, grounding, as if savoring every second. As if making sure you’re not going anywhere.
“You’re perfect—so perfect.” he mumbled.
“Raf—” you murmured, skin flushing at his words.
His lips curved, fingers tracing slow, reverent lines over your skin, as if memorizing every inch. He leaned in, pressing a kiss just above your knee, then another, his breath warm against your skin.
“You don’t even know, do you?” His voice was quiet, almost in awe. His hands skimmed higher, thumbs grazing your hip bones, his touch a slow burn. “How impossible it is not to want you. Not to need you.”
Your breath hitched. He was everywhere—his warmth, his presence, the way his eyes pinned you beneath the weight of his gaze.
“Rafayel—” You swallowed, trying to steady yourself, but he only hummed, the sound deep, pleased.
“I know,” he murmured, pressing another lingering kiss to your skin. “You don’t have to say anything.”
His fingers curled against your thighs, his grip tightening just enough to make you shiver. His touch was deliberate, lingering—like he wanted to take his time. Like he had no intention of letting you go.
You shuddered as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties. With a slow, deliberate tug, he began to drag them down, inch by excruciating inch, his knuckles grazing against your sensitive skin.
You could feel your heartbeat pounding between your legs as he finally eased your panties off completely, leaving you bare and exposed before him. His gaze was intense, almost reverent, as he took in the sight of you, his eyes darkening with desire.
Without saying a word, he parted your folds with his fingers, exposing your glistening, needy flesh to his hungry gaze. You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks at the intimacy of the moment, your body trembling slightly under his touch.
Rafayel traced a single finger along your slit, not quite penetrating, but teasing you mercilessly. He gathered the moisture that had already begun to gather at your opening and brought his coated finger to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste you.
His eyes fluttered closed briefly at the flavor, a soft groan escaping his lips. “God, you taste so good, cutie.” he murmured, his voice rough and low.
A whine bubbled at your throat, “Rafayel, y-you…”
He dipped his finger between your folds once more, gathering more of your essence, before smearing it along your sensitive flesh. He didn’t push inside, didn’t give you the satisfaction of penetration just yet. Instead, he simply smeared your arousal along your slit and around your clit, teasing you with the lightest touch.
Rafayel reached for your hand, his fingers curling around yours as he guided it between your legs. He pressed your palm against your slick, heated flesh, urging you to start touching yourself.
“Touch yourself,” he commanded, his voice low and rough with desire. “I want to watch you pleasure yourself while I undress for you.”
With his other hand, he began to unbutton his shirt, his fingers working slowly, almost teasingly. He shrugged the garment off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor as he revealed his toned, pale chest.
His eyes never left yours as he reached for his belt, unbuckling it with deliberate slowness. The clinking of the metal made your heart race, your breathing growing more ragged as anticipation built.
“I want to see you touch yourself, cutie. Come on…” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.
He shoved his pants down his hips, his hard, thick length springing free, already visibly aroused, slick forming at the tip. He wrapped a hand around himself, giving a single, slow stroke from base to tip.
“Touch yourself,” he ordered again, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. “Show me how much you need me.”
With trembling fingers, you began to touch yourself, tracing your slick folds and circling your aching clit. Soft mewling sounds escaped your lips as you pleasured yourself, your hips rolling instinctively into your touch.
Rafayel loomed over you, kneeling between your spread thighs, his gaze riveted to your face. He stroked himself slowly, his eyes dark and intense as he watched your every expression, every flicker of pleasure that crossed your features.
His other hand gripped your thigh, spreading your leg further, opening you more to his hungry gaze. “That’s it….” he murmured, his voice a low, approving rumble. “Touch yourself just like that.”
You could feel the heat of his body, the way his skin seemed to burn against yours. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps as you circled your clit faster, your fingers slick with your arousal.
Rafayel’s strokes grew more purposeful, his grip tightening around his thick length as he watched you. The sight of him touching himself while he stared at you with such raw, unbridled lust sent a surge of heat through your core.
“Rafayel,” you gasped, your back arching off the bed as you felt the first flutters of your impending release. Your fingers moved frantically over your clit, your body tensing, your thighs trembling.
“Don’t stop,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. “I want to watch you come undone. I want to see your face, cutie.”
His words, his intense gaze, the feeling of your fingers on your clit—it all pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you, your body shaking and convulsing as waves of intense pleasure consumed you.
Through it all, Rafayel watched you, his strokes growing more urgent, more desperate as he chased his own release. The sight of your pleasure seemed to drive him wild, his chest heaving, his grip on himself almost punishing.
As your orgasm subsided, leaving you trembling and gasping, Rafayel let out a guttural groan. His strokes became erratic, his grip tightening around his throbbing length as he found his own release.
“Look at me. Just m-me.” he moaned, his voice cracking.
Your eyes locked, and almost immediately, thick ropes of his hot seed spilled from the tip of his cock, painting your stomach and thighs with his essence. The sight of his pleasure, the feeling of his warmth coating your skin, sent a fresh surge of desire coursing through you.
Before the last waves of his climax had even subsided, Rafayel pressed the swollen head of his cock against your sensitive, dripping folds. He coated himself in your arousal, mixing your fluids together as he teasingly parted your lower lips.
“Rafayel,” you whimpered, still sensitive from your own intense orgasm. The feeling of his hard, hot length pressing against your core made you clench and quiver with anticipation.
He didn’t push inside, not yet. Instead, he simply rubbed the head of his cock along your slit, up and down, coating himself fully in your slick heat. His eyes, dark and intense, stayed locked with yours, watching your every reaction.
“Tell me you want it,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “Tell me you need my cock inside you…”
His words, the feeling of his hard length stroking your most intimate place, made your heart race and your breath come in short, sharp gasps. You could feel the heat of him, the way his skin seemed to burn against yours.
“I need it,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please, Rafayel. I need you inside me.”
Rafayel cursed under his breath, “Fuck. You’re driving me insane.”
Agonizingly, he pushed the head of his cock inside you, a low groan rumbling in his chest at the feeling of your tight, wet heat enveloping just the tip. He paused there, his hips pressed against your inner thighs, as he savored the sensation.
Your back arched off the bed slightly, your hands fisting in the sheets below you. The stretch of you around him was delicious, the way your walls fluttered and clenched around just that small part of him.
“You feel incredible,” Rafayel breathed, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. His fingers dug into your hips, his grip tightening as he fought the urge to surge forward and bury himself fully inside you.
He rolled his hips forward just slightly, the head of his cock pushing in a little deeper, stretching you just a fraction more. The movement made you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at the sheets as a jolt of pleasure shot through you.
Rafayel’s eyes were glued to your face, watching every flicker of emotion and sensation cross your features.
He let out a breathy chuckle, his lips curving into a smirk even as his cheeks and ears burned red. “Look at you,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement and something darker, more indulgent. “Clinging to me like this, and I’ve barely even started.”
You glared at him, your body trembling, “S-Shut up…”
His breath hitched, the smirk on his lips faltering for just a second before he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “Can’t,” he rasped, his voice unsteady, tinged with something raw. “Not when you feel this good… not when you’re making it so damn hard to hold back.”
Rafayel couldn’t hold back any longer. With a low, guttural groan, he surged forward, burying his hard, thick length deep inside your tight, wet heat. He didn’t stop until he had pushed in to the hilt, his hips pressed flush against yours, his heavy balls nestling against your skin.
“See?” he murmured, voice rough, uneven. “Told you… I need you. Don’t ever—” His lips found your temple, your cheek, anywhere he could reach. “Don’t ever leave me…”
You bit your lower lip, before gasping, “I-I won’t Raf—”
Slowly, almost torturously so, Rafayel began to move. He withdrew until just the tip of his cock remained inside you, before thrusting forward again, burying himself to the hilt. He set a deep, powerful rhythm, each thrust pushing you further up the mattress.
His hands gripped your hips, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he held you in place. “If I ever tell you to leave me alone for a week again…” He let out a shaky laugh, pressing his forehead against yours. “Smack some sense into me, alright? Because that’s not me—never me.”
He angled your hips to take him even deeper, his cock kissing your cervix with every driving thrust. The room filled with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, punctuated by your gasps and his grunts of pleasure.
His lips brushed against your ear, voice raw, pleading. “Let me hear you, c-cutie—oh!” A pause, a sharp inhale as he held you closer. “Don’t hold back.”
Your breath hitched, fingers clutching at him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. “I—I’m not… just—” Your voice wavered, breaking into a gasp as heat curled in your spine. “Rafayel—”
His breath was hot against your skin, ragged and uneven. Then—sharp. A gasp tore from your lips as his teeth sank into your shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you shiver.
“Mine,” he mumbled against your skin, lips brushing over the fresh mark before he soothed it with his tongue. His grip on your waist tightened, like he wanted to pull you even closer—like even now, even here, it wasn’t enough.
He pressed another bite just below the first, this time lingering, as if engraving himself into you. Then he pulled back, gaze hooded, cheeks flushed, lips red. “There. Now you really can’t leave me alone for a week.”
Rafayel drew back, breathless, his lips hovering just above your skin. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dazed, his flushed cheeks still burning with heat—but then you saw it.
The mark.
Faint at first, but unmistakable, glowing softly against his chest, just above his heart, near his collarbone. It pulsed in rhythm with his ragged breaths, a delicate yet unyielding reminder of something ancient, something that had endured beyond time itself.
Your fingers lifted before you could think, you’ve always been drawn to it. Even more so now. The moment you touched it, Rafayel shuddered—a full-body tremor, like you had reached inside and wrapped your hand around his very soul. His breath hitched, eyes snapping to yours, wide with something raw.
“Cutie—” His voice was hoarse, almost pleading, but he didn’t move away. He couldn’t.
It’s like something in him snapped. Suddenly, Rafayel gripped your hips tightly, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises. He used the leverage to pull you towards him, meeting each of his powerful thrusts and pressing you even closer.
Your own body moved with the force of his actions, your breasts bouncing with every slam of his hips against yours. You could feel the coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your core, your walls beginning to flutter and clench around his pistoning length.
“That’s it, c-cutie,” Rafayel grunted, his voice thick with desire and impending release. “Take it. Fuck, I can’t—you’re too much.”
He drove into you harder, faster, the bed creaking beneath the force of his thrusts. His balls slapped against your skin, the obscene sound spurring on his lust.
Suddenly, with a roar of your name, Rafayel slammed into you one last time. His cock jerked and throbbed as he found his release, thick ropes of his hot seed painting your insides. He ground his hips against yours, pressing as deep as he could go, making sure every last drop of his essence was buried inside you.
“Cutie—!” he bellowed, his body shuddering and convulsing above you.
You could feel the heat of his release flooding your core, filling you up. Your own body responded in kind, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You cried out, your voice joining his in a symphony of pleasure as you came undone around him.
You both stayed like that for a while, the sound of your breaths mingling.
As Rafayel finally pulled away, you shuddered at the sudden loss of warmth, your body still thrumming from him. He huffed out a breath, his forehead dropping against yours as if gathering himself—his flushed cheeks and dazed eyes making him look almost boyish, despite everything he’d just done.
Then, in true Rafayel fashion, he smirked. “Tired, cutie?” His voice was hoarse, but smug.
You scoffed, swatting weakly at his shoulder. “You’re seriously asking me that?”
He chuckled, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “Just checking. Wouldn’t want my bodyguard passing out on duty.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest when he eased you onto your back, his hands already reaching for the discarded sheets to pull over you both. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as they traced over your skin, smoothing over every mark he’d left.
A comfortable silence settled between you as he ran his hands over your arms, your waist—touches more soothing than teasing now. Then, quietly, “You okay?”
You softened at that, at the way his usual bravado slipped just enough for you to see the raw concern underneath.
“I’m fine,” you reassured, brushing your knuckles over his cheek. “Though I think you owe me a week’s worth of massages for all that.”
He let out an exaggerated sigh, flopping dramatically beside you. “Demanding, aren’t you? First, you drag me out of my self-imposed exile, now you want labor?”
You smirked, shifting to drape yourself over his chest. “Shouldn’t have woken me up at 3 AM, then.”
Rafayel clicked his tongue but didn’t push you off. Instead, his arms curled around you, holding you so close it was almost suffocating—but in the best way. His lips ghosted over the crown of your head, lingering there.
“Not gonna make that mistake again,” he muttered. “Next time, just smack me back to my senses.”
You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Deal.”
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#love and deepspace#love and deepspace smut#love and deepspace angst#lads#lads smut#l&ds#l&ds smut#rafayel smut#lads rafayel#l&ds rafayel#love and deepspace rafayel#rafayel x reader#rafayel x mc#qi yu#rafayel lore#rafayel angst#love and deepspace rafayel x reader#love and deepspace fanfic#rafayel love and deepspace#love and deepspace x reader#love and deep space#love and deepspace rafayel x mc#rafayel fluff#divider by cafekitsune
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look at us now (2) II Renée Slegers x Reader
romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | part 1 | word count: 1695
summary: the team tries to figure out if Renée and reader are in a relationship or just friendly with each other. requested
author's note: hi everyone, we hope you enjoy the fanfic as much as part one. 🫶🏻🫶🏻
disclaimer: Everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.
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Rekindling your relationship with Renée had brought back the same feelings that you had when you dated her back in Sweden. Everything was easy with Renée. You felt safe and secure, loved and cared for. And you loved taking care of her too by making sure she didn’t work until late at night and took enough breaks. The only difference to back then was that this time you decided to keep it a secret.
It should have been easy. You two were professionals after all. But seeing Renée so deflated after Arsenal just lost to Chelsea, made it really hard not to walk over and put your arms around her.
As if she was looking for your closeness, she appeared next to you in the tunnel.
“We were so close.”, she sighed.
You gently put your hand on her upper arm, trying your best to stay positive: “Don’t be upset. It was a good game.”
“I’m not upset. Our team did well but what am I going to tell them? They will be sad and disappointed because of the loss…”
You studied her for a moment, unsure if she was actually talking about your team or herself.
“You’ll find the right words, Renée. You’re never at a loss for words.”, you smiled gently.
Renée didn’t answer. She turned towards the pitch, making sure that no one could see the two of you hidden in the dark hallway leading towards the dressing rooms. And then she kissed you.
It was quick and grateful. A small gesture to let you know that she was happy to have you in her corner.
When you pulled away, you quickly realised that you weren’t alone anymore.
The Chelsea coach passed by, her assistant by her side and to your surprise she winked at you.
“I think your players are looking for you two.“, she said with her strong French accent.
“Oh… uhm , thanks.”, you stammered, the shock of being caught still lingering.
She left with a knowing smile on her lips: “De rien.”
“I think what she wanted to say was you’re welcome. Come on, the girls need us.”, Renée grinned, seemingly unbothered by the interaction and dragged you with her back towards the pitch.
“Hope you have some ideas for your speech now.“, you laughed.
“I do.”
Before Renée could gather the team, Kim came up to you. She frowned, holding herself like she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. You weren’t sure if you had ever seen your captain so devastated.
“I’m sorry, coach. I don’t know why I tried to stop Lauren James in the penalty area.”, she apologized, her voice steady but not free of frustration.
Your heart ached for your captain.
“It happens and it’s okay. You were trying to help the defence out. Yes, maybe we lost the match today but also showed that we can keep up with Chelsea. And this is what we should take away from this game.”, Renée said patiently as more and more players formed a circle around you.
Leah clapped her hands with a determined face: “That’s right. We get up and learn from it. Next time, we’ll beat them.”
“Exactly that.”, Renée nodded. The blonde defender's words of encouragement seemed to lighten the load on the players' shoulders a little. Only one footballer looked completely miserable.
As you whispered in Kim’s ear, you hugged her gently:” Don’t be too hard on yourself, Kimmy.”
“I’ll try to.”, she replied with an unhappy smile.
“Promise?”
‘Sure,’ the captain shrugged before making her way to the changing room. It was heartbreaking to see her in this state.
On another evening you attended your first dinner with the team. Between the starters and the main course, Alessia asked you something private, to which you laughed awkwardly.
Reprovingly you clicked your tongue: “Alessia.”
“What I was asking you a simple question.”, she answered, sounding quite innocent.
“That’s not a question that belongs here.”, you stated.
The blonde immediately protested not without a smile:” If you’re seeing anyone? But you know everything about us.”
“Just because you tell her a lot about yourself doesn't mean she has to.”, Renée came to your aid.
With a teasing smile on your lips, you added: “And I never asked you to share everything with me. And I mean literally everything.”
“Hey, why are you looking at me while you said that?!”, Kyra pouted.
“Because I really don’t need to know what you’ve for breakfast. Every day.”, you chuckled.
The Australian midfielder couldn't help but burst out laughing too:” A girl likes to yap, okay?”
“Everyone here knows.”, Steph assured her, patting her lightly on the shoulder.
Caitlin, who was sitting next to them, confirmed it.
You needed a moment for yourself, so you went to the dimly lit restaurant’s bathroom, your girlfriend followed a few minutes later.
There was an amused twinkle in her brown eyes:” Our players are very interested in your love life.”
“I don’t know why though.”, you sighed as she hugged you from behind.
In a sincere tone Renée retorted: “Me neither.”
“When can we go to your place?”, you asked your girlfriend longingly.
“Not yet. They might notice.”
“Maybe we should leave around different times? So, it’s not too obvious.”, you suggested. co
The brunette thought about it for a second, then announced: “Good idea. I’ll leave first.”
After Renée was gone, Beth noticed: “Coach left early.”,
“You know her, there’s always work.”, you waved it off.
“And she likes to be prepared.”, Leah continued.
With a glance at the clock, you realized:” But it’s also late, girls.”
“Don’t say you’re going too.”, Kyra looked at you with big eyes.
“Yes, I am. Bye everyone.”, you told the players.
As soon as you were out of sight, Beth turned excitedly to her teammates: “Girls, did you notice how long the farewell hug was between Renée and our new assistant coach?”
“You’re overinterpreting here, Beth.”, Stina countered.
Quickly, Alessia disagreed: “I think she has a point.”
“Oh, please.”, the Swede rolled her eyes.
“But she didn’t want to talk about it either.”, the English striker reminded the fellow blonde.
A smile lit up Leah's face when she admitted: “Yes, that was suspicious.”
Stina shook her head: “They’ve been over it for a long time.”
“If you say so…”, Beth shrugged, ending the conversation but the sparkle in her eyes was evidence enough that she wasn’t ready to drop the topic yet.
A week later, Arsenal faced Manchester City. The game was chaotic and all over the place. You could barely stay in your seat watching your players move around the pitch. Subconsciously, you cringed. Finally, you had enough. You got up and joined Renée on the sideline.
“Oh, I can’t look. This is turning into a basketball game, no midfield to be seen.”, you complained to her, desperately pointing towards your defensive and central midfielders trying to gain control of the game.
You could tell that Renée followed the game with growing concern but she turned towards you and joked: “If it was basketball, they would use their hands, y/n.”
You rolled your eyes and bit back in smile.
“Yes but still, where is our midfield? Get Lia on.”
Renée who had turned back to watch the game only glanced at you this time: “Calm down.”
“I am calm.”, you replied without taking your eyes off of your girlfriend.
“Good.”
Discussion over. You both focused back on the game.
The minutes passed and nothing changed. Finally, Renée gave in and called Lia over to be subbed in. You both shared a look before she entered the pitch. You raised your eyebrow to signal your girlfriend that you had told her so, to which Renée responded with a playful roll of her eyes.
With Lia on, the game started to stabilise. But still, it went back and forth between both teams. When the final whistle blew, Arsenal was one goal ahead, winning the game 3:4.
You snuck up to Renée and grinned at her: “See? Getting Lia in was a good idea.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t only that sub.”, she said cooly, still staring out on the pitch and reflecting on the game.
“Of course not.”
Renée finally looked at you and nodded once: “But important three points.”
“Yes, we got a lot to take away from it too for when we play them again in a few days.”
“Yes, a lot of work for us.”, Renée agreed.
“We can do that.”
“I’m sure.” Renées face softened and a smile tugged on her lips as she dragged you along with her towards the player’s tunnel. She kissed you in the safety of the darkness as she so often did after games.
All of a sudden you felt the eyes of your players on you and began to clear your throat nervously: “Uhm Renée the team is staring at us.”
“What?”, your girlfriend followed your gaze with an alarmed look on her face.
Barely audible you whispered:”I think they saw the kiss.”
“Oh no.”, Renée began to curse.
With a proud smile on her lips Beth turned to her teammates:” I told you so, I was right girls!”
“They’re so cute.”, Alessi chirmed much to your surprise.
An amused chuckle escaped your lips:” You know that we can hear you, right?”
“Yes, we do.”, Leah smirked.
Renée ran her fingers through her hair flustered, trying to take her players’ minds off the kiss: “We should give our thanks to our travelling fans.”
“Come on, coach. It’s fine. You don’t have to distract.”, Beth assured the Dutch woman.
The England captain quickly added: “Yeah, we’re glad to see you this happy.”
Without words, Renée picked up Beth, while both started to laugh out loud.
“I think you can tell that she’s happy.”, you remarked smiling.
A teasing grin played around your girlfriend’s lips: “Oh, can you? But yes, I am What about you, love?”
“Our team won, and I got a gorgeous woman on my side. I can’t complain.”, you replied cheerfully.
And this much was true, if you looked at the two of you now, you wouldn’t change a thing.
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#renee slegers#renee slegers x reader#renee slegers imagine#renée slegers#woso#woso community#woso fanfics#woso x reader#woso imagine#woso oneshot#woso one shot#arsenal wfc#awfc#arsenal wfc x reader#arsenal wfc imagine#awfc x reader#awfc imagine#kim little#kim little x reader#leah williamson#leah williamson x reader#alessia russo#alessia russo x reader#kyra cooney cross#kyra cooney cross x reader#beth mead#beth mead x reader#steph catley#steph catley x reader#pitchside_story
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How to Lose A Guy in 30 Days || Ch.4 — jjk.
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❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀° ❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/her, afab) ❥genre/rating: strangers to lovers, 18+ ❥chapter warnings/tags: software engineer!Jungkook, writer!Reader, flirting, some family drama, crazy and manipulative mom stuff, movie night, some domesticity, they are cute for like five seconds before everything goes to shit (whoops), Jimin and Tae being little shits, Jin being a real homie, some heavy misunderstanding and miscommunication ❥word-count: 7.1k ❥Series Masterlist Previous Chapter ||❥|| Next chapter fic is cross posted to ao3 send an ask or comment on post to be added to the tag list. a/n: Hi everyone I know this is a short chapter but I hope you enjoy anyway, this chapter introduces some important stuff so I really like it. Enjoy <3 ❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°
Day 07
“12 dates is hilarious.”
Jin, Ronnie, and Namjoon all snickered as you explained your last date with Jungkook, explaining the end and your sorry excuse to get out of his apartment.
“I couldn’t think of anything else! I needed some excuse to leave and then he asked me how many dates, and I just thought of the first number that felt ridiculous.” You run your hands through your hair, laughing at yourself. The four of you gathered in your small living room, you had taken to laying on the floor. Picking out fibers from the rug you had. Jin sitting next to you and Namjoon and Ronnie on the couch.
“What did he say?” Ronnie asked.
Suddenly a buzz from your phone, a small piece of you wondering if maybe it was a text from him. Seeing who it was, your disappointment became evident but you tried to play it off. Not in the mood to respond to who that text actually came from. Setting your phone down on the coffee table face down.
Thinking back to the shocked and then cool and collected look Jungkook had on his face was amusing, “Oh he was fine with it, maybe a little surprised. Said he just needed to plan for ten more dates.”
“At least he’s got some class.” Jin poked your forehead. The disappointment from whatever text you got was evident on your face.
He had a lot more class than any of you had given him credit for. “So what comes next for the two of you?” Namjoon asked, curiosity had filled the room the whole morning about what your next steps would be.
Another buzz comes from your phone, you don’t need to check it. You know who it’s from. You ignore it and continue, “Well I think I can start to turn up the heat.” You sit up. “Which is the hard part of all of this.”
“Oh you’ve got this. If you can almost break your own nose in front of him, surely anything else will be a piece of cake.” Ronnie assured you with a wink and you roll your eyes.
“Still sore to be honest.” You say touching the end of your nose. Remembering the concern on Jungkook’s face when you had hit yourself, it was sweet.
“When are you going out next? I want to help you plan.” Jin bounced in his spot next to you.
You placed a hand on his shoulder to hold him in place. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, I haven’t even heard from him.” Another buzz from your phone, you ignore it again. Wishful thinking would make it be Jungkook.
“Why not call him? Who says you have to wait on the guy?” Namjoon suggests.
“You think I should?” You felt a little nervous and unsure.
Ronnie nods, giving Namjoon a pat on the shoulder. “Namjoon's right, plus you’ve already called him so the ice is already broken!”
Jin, grabs your phone from your coffee table, holding it to you, “Oh do it now! We can help!”
You take your phone but right at that moment you get another text. Putting it at four already, your face dropped a little as you just ignored them opening your phone. Finding Jungkook’s contact and almost pressing call but suddenly you realized how close everyone was and they were all staring at you with big and intent eyes. You very quickly understood what it felt like to be a fish in a bowl.
“Okay freaks, I’m doing this in the other room.” You stand to your feet, but Jin pulls you back down and they all protest.
“No! No no we’ll be good I swear.” Ronnie said, sitting straight up in her spot like you were a teacher.
“Swear.” Jin crossed over his heart.
“...Fine.” You groan. You decided to press call. Waiting for a moment, immediately regretting your decision. You didn’t have a single clue what you were going to say.
The phone rang and rang, it was possible he was busy and you were almost going to hang up. Just as that moment line picked up, there was shuffling on the other end before the line cleared.
“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice came through the line, he sounded groggy and probably not awake. It was 11 you didn’t think it was too early to call.
“Hi.” Your voice is turning lighter than you would normally use it. “Uhh good morning! Did I wake you?”
You look to the others and Namjoon is gesturing for you to put the phone on speaker but you wave him off. One, for the off chance one of them laughs and completely embarrass you. Two, you didn’t need every second of this situation invaded by your friends.
Jungkook let out a tired laugh, “Yeah but I don’t mind… Good morning.”
"I was just sort of calling to say hi…" You hesitated, then smiled. "Which I’ve already done, so I guess I could just hang up now."
Jungkook hummed, amusement slipping into his tone. "Well, it’s a good thing you called. I was just having a crazy dream about us."
“Oh us?”
"Yeah. Something about you coming over and us having a movie night… details are fuzzy, but that was the gist of it."
“Hmm sounds like a pretty lame dream.”
"Lame?" Jungkook scoffed. "I thought it was sweet. A classic date formula."
"I’m teasing, can’t mess with a classic. Well, speaking of that." You started, shifting your phone to your other ear. "I was actually going to see if you were free today… or tonight, I guess."
Jungkook made a dramatic show of shuffling around on the other end of the line, as if checking a nonexistent schedule. "Let me see… yep. A whole lot of nothing planned for today."
"Wow, what an eventful life you lead."
"I know. Truly, I’m booked and busy."
You bit back a laugh. "Okay, can I come to yours again? I have some errands on that side of town."
A small fib. You didn’t actually have errands, but you weren’t ready to have Jungkook over at your place.
"Yeah, that’s fine." Jungkook said easily, followed by a yawn. "Text me some snacks you like, and I’ll go get them."
"Oh, you don’t have to do that."
"I have nothing better to do today anyway." There was a sound of sheets rustling, like he was stretching. "Text me when you’re on your way."
"Alright. See you later."
With that, you ended the call, exhaling deeply before finally looking up—only to find three pairs of eyes locked onto you with identical expressions of giddy anticipation.
You groaned. "Okay, I’m leaving."
Namjoon smirked. "It’s your house."
You stand just to go into your kitchen, honestly trying to step aside. Because you got five more texts in the span of that call. You knew exactly who from, and you were finding your anxiety building on your stomach. Twisting and turning as you read the messages, Jin coming over to you in your focused concern.
“It’s happening again, isn’t it?” He says it quietly, Namjoon and Ronnie distracted with some conversation by themselves.
You don’t look at him shielding your phone, “That easy to tell?”
“You looked like you saw a ghost when you looked at your phone, then continued to intentionally ignore it. I’m a bit of a detective” He leans on one hip bringing his pointer finger and thumb up to his chin. Obviously trying to make you feel better. “Let me guess, back in the country?”
“I guess so…” You pause, you get another text.
Are you going to respond to me? Hello?
You sigh, shoving your phone in your pocket, Jin sighs. “You can talk about it if you would like.”
"No." You shut it down quickly, then, realizing how defensive you sounded, cleared your throat. "No… it’s fine. I’ll be fine. It goes like this every time."
Jin arched a brow. "Yeah, and every time, you give in."
"I know." You murmured. "It’s just… sometimes hard to say no."
"But you have to." His tone was firm but not unkind. "It won’t be like last time, right?"
You swallowed. "Right."
Jin was clearly not convinced, but he let it go. "If you need backup, let me know. I’ll hover around you like a helicopter if you need."
You let out a weak laugh. "I won’t need that. I just have to keep details short. If I talk about my promotion at all, it’ll turn into a whole thing."
"I know. I was there last time." Jin said, voice laced with frustration—not at you, but at the situation. "Just… don’t let yourself get guilt-tripped into giving her money again. You know it’s not going to where she says it is."
“It’s…not always like that…” A lie, a knee jerk excuse. One you had been trying to stop making.
“Uh-huh." Jin gave you a look. "Just try to remember how bad things got. I know she’s your mom but she has a way of convincing you things aren’t so bad.”
There it was. Mom. Or as she liked to put it, your best friend.
"As long as she doesn’t start showing up at my house, it’ll be fine." You said, picking at your nails. "After that, it’ll be hard to get her to leave…"
Jin watched you closely, eyes scanning your nervous fidgeting, but instead of pressing further, he simply bumped his shoulder against yours.
"Come on," He said, his voice deliberately lighter. "No more talk about her. Take out your anxiety on Jungkook instead."
You snorted, shaking your head. "That’s not how that works."
Jin smirked. "Could be. Just make his life a little difficult for fun." He gave you a playful shove back toward the living room.
"So," Ronnie said as you rejoined them. "What’s your plan for tonight?"
You let out a slow breath, feeling a familiar little spark of mischief flicker in your chest.
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Jungkook spent the day tidying up his apartment—not that it was messy to begin with, but he wanted things to be nice. After all, you were coming over. He even grabbed some snacks, per your request, carefully picking out a selection he thought you'd like. It had been a while since he spent a Saturday night in, but honestly, he was looking forward to it.
Last week getting to know you had been easy, comfortable in a way he hadn’t expected. If the next month went like this, he’d coast through without a hitch. That is, as long as there weren’t any more unnecessary interruptions. Like Channel.
Except tonight, he had a different interruption to deal with.
A series of loud knocks echoed through his apartment just as he was pouring chips into a bowl. He sighed, already sensing trouble before he even reached the door.
"Jungkookie!" Taehyung’s familiar voice called from the other side, followed by the sound of muffled laughter—Jimin, no doubt.
Jungkook frowned as he swung the door open, revealing both of them standing there with far too much excitement for two people who weren’t supposed to be here.
"You’re not dressed." Jimin pointed out immediately, gesturing to Jungkook’s sweatpants and oversized t-shirt like they personally offended him.
"Am I supposed to be?" Jungkook asked, already feeling the beginnings of a headache.
"Uh, yeah. We have plans." Taehyung said, pushing past him into the apartment without hesitation. Jimin followed, shaking his head in disappointment.
Jungkook turned, face scrunching in confusion. "No, we don’t."
Jimin scoffed, crossing his arms. "We always go out on Saturdays. It’s tradition. Like breathing, or me looking better than Taehyung."
"You wish." Taehyung muttered before grabbing a handful of popcorn from Jungkook’s snack spread.
"Well, not tonight." Jungkook said firmly, closing the door and facing them with finality. "Y/N is coming over. We’re hanging out."
Jimin raised an eyebrow and did a slow scan of the room, eyes landing on the array of snacks, the neatly arranged couch, and the cozy atmosphere Jungkook had set up.
"Oh. Hanging out." He echoed, a teasing lilt in his voice.
Jungkook narrowed his eyes. "Not like that. Actually just hanging out."
"So you’re ditching us?" Taehyung asked, feigning a dramatic pout as he stuffed more popcorn into his mouth.
"To hang out with her? Absolutely."
Jimin gasped, clutching his chest. "Who are you, and what have you done with my party animal Jungkook?"
Jungkook rolled his eyes. "Nothing’s changed. I’m just taking our little bet seriously."
The moment he mentioned the bet, Taehyung and Jimin exchanged glances—silent, knowing, mischievous. They weren’t about to lose to him that easily.
"Come on, we came all this way." Taehyung tried again, leaning dramatically against the counter like he was truly heartbroken.
"Yeah, and I feel so bad." Jungkook deadpanned. "Now, please leave before I throw you out."
He ducked into the bathroom before either of them could protest further.
The second he disappeared, Jimin and Taehyung snapped into action.
"Okay, we have to do something." Jimin whispered.
Taehyung’s eyes flickered around the room before landing on Jungkook’s phone sitting on the kitchen counter. A slow, devious grin spread across his face.
"Don’t." Jimin warned, though he didn’t actually mean it.
Taehyung was already moving, snatching the phone up swiftly.
"We’re just gonna... help him out a little." He said, winking.
❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀ • *₊
Later, another knock sounded at Jungkook’s door.
He wasted no time opening it, revealing you standing there, smiling brightly. You were also dressed down. To his surprise in some very bright pink sweatpants, which were Ronnie’s, but he would never know. You also wore a very cutesy graphic t-shirt with my melody on it to match the vibe. Nothing wrong with them at all but not your usual vibe but this choice of outfit was more of an experiment.
Jungkook didn’t seem to blink at it.
"You wear glasses?" The words tumbled out before you even said hello, your eyes locked onto the frames perched on his nose.
Jungkook blinked, caught off guard. "Uh, yeah. My contacts were irritating my eyes, so I went with these tonight."
He stepped aside to let you in, watching as you barely moved, still staring at him like he had just unlocked a whole new level of attractiveness.
"No, they’re super cute." You said quickly, almost tripping over your words.
You actually pull your eyes away though as you make your way to the living room. Needing to bite on your something since you were a stupid sucker for glasses on anyone. Realizing Jungkook had indeed gotten most of the snacks you requested and some you assumed were to his preference.
Everything was spread over his coffee table with some precision it seemed, like he thought about where to place things intentionally.
This was a great opener to turn on your new “Charm” that Jin had helped you perfect most of the day earlier. “Awe! This is so sweet Jungkook.” Pitching up your tone almost borderline in a baby voice. Having to fight back at cringing at yourself. Taking a seat down on the couch.
Jungkook didn’t seem to notice, “I tried. I got a couple things for the both of us.” Acting all nonchalant. Strolling around the couch and taking a seat next to you.
You force yourself to giggle a little too obnoxiously. Hitting Jungkook in the chest with a little too much force but in a playful manner, “So what are we watching?”
Jungkook rubs the spot where you hit him, you had much more strength than he gave you credit for. “I was going to let you choose. I’m not too picky when it comes to movies.”
“Oh yay!” You clap your hands together, god you really hated this. This was not you, Jungkook seemed to be a little thrown by your giddiness but it was whatever. You grab the remote he strategically placed on the table. Guess he had prepared for this. “What to pick, the choices are endless.”
Which it actually had you in a small panic, you weren’t ready to have to pick the movie. You had a hard enough time just telling Jungkook what snacks you wanted. While you began to pursue, Jungkook’s phone sounded with the dig from a text. You glanced sideways for a quick second, Jungkook pulling out his phone to see who it was from.
Jungkook's expressions seemed throne and confused by the text that came through. Then another ding. The expression seemed to twist further. Your interest peaked.
“Something wrong?” You look at him, glancing down to his phone then back to him.
Jungkook locks his phone and sets it down on the couch beside him. “No, I think a wrong number is texting me.” His tone is casual, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression.
You nod, turning back toward the TV, scrolling lazily through the endless options. “Okay… are you opposed to any genres?”
“Nope.” He smirks, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. “Do your worst.”
You hum thoughtfully, but you’re already scheming. The goal isn’t to pick a good movie—it’s to pick the worst one possible. Something Jungkook would definitely find boring. But just as you’re debating between a painfully slow documentary or an overly dramatic romance, his phone vibrates again.
And again.
You don’t glance over, but you hear it—persistent, insistent.
Jungkook sighs quietly and checks his screen. More texts.
Taylor: Hey remember me? ;)
Taylor: Busy 2 night?
Taylor: Wanna get a drink??
Taylor: Hello?
He hadn’t hooked up with any Taylors recently. At least, not that he could remember. He locks his phone again, deciding it’s best to ignore it. Hoseok had drilled it into his head not to be on his phone when hanging out with someone—it was rude, and Jungkook actually wanted to be present.
But the buzzing doesn’t stop.
Meanwhile, you keep scrolling, eyes fixed on the screen, but you’ve already started keeping count. How many texts? How many times is he checking? The more his phone vibrates, the more you start tallying numbers in your head.
“Oh! Miss congeniality!” You cheer, a pick that actually really was a favorite of yours. Not a total favorite of any guys you had watched it though.
Jungkook raises an eyebrow, glancing at the banner image. “What is it?”
You tuck your legs under yourself, shifting to look at him. “Sandra Bullock is an FBI agent who goes undercover at the Miss United States Pageant to stop a terrorist attack. She gets a really awesome makeover halfway through.”
Jungkook tilts his head. “Alright. I’ll bite.”
“If you hate it, we can change it.”
“No, I always commit once I start a movie.” He didn’t seem to be bullshitting you here.
“Perfect.” You don’t hesitate to hit play.
The movie starts to play and Jungkook seems to actually be true to his word, the two of you sat close but he didn’t try to make a move or anything. He had these big brown doe eyes watching and would smile or laugh a little too himself.
But something still gnaws at you.
His phone sits in his lap, and every time it vibrates, you hear it.
And it’s vibrating a lot.
Jungkook ignores it for as long as he can, but eventually, he caves. One quick glance at the screen, and his stomach drops.
Over thirty new texts.
From Taylor.
Taylor: I CANT BELIEVE YOU
Taylor: YOU DON’T REMEMBER WHO I AM
TAYLOR: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU
The texts continued like that. Not to mention he was also getting texts from another girl who he seemingly had no recollection of, Jemma.
Jemma: You aren’t going to tell Taylor that we hooked up right?
Jemma: Jungkook she can’t know she like… super likes you
Jemma: Like for serious likes you
Jemma: Jungkookie?
Jungkook stares at the screen, brain scrambling to place the names. Who the hell are these people? His memory isn’t that bad—if he had hooked up with someone recently, he’d remember. Right? Jungkook sighs and quickly types a response, hoping to shut this down before it gets any worse. Whatever was going on was certainly getting noticeable.
Which you had indeed noticed. You kept tally, and you were trying to find a window when you could use this. When could this play to your advantage tonight?
Jungkook begins to type furiously trying to find something to say that will end this for the night or until he can figure out what is going on another time.
Which is when you take your moment to jump, “Who are you talking too?” You ask casually, looking over at his phone. You had already seen the girl's names on his phone already.
Jungkook immediately pulls his phone closer to his chest. “It’s no one.”
Which was not a lie because Jungkook was trying to figure out who these people were.
Your eyes flick to his phone, knowing full well that’s not true. “You seem to be getting a lot of texts.” You remark, folding your arms. “Seems like someone really needs your attention.”
Jungkook notices but figures he can diffuse the situation once he figures out what's going on. He doesn’t respond but continues wracking his brain for a moment as he looks at the texts trying to place these names.
You take the silence as a good opener, having to psych yourself up a bit. “Who is she?”
Jungkook blinks, finally looking up at you. Your eyes are locked onto him, sharp and expectant. “Huh?”
“The girl you are clearly talking to, who is she?” You pressed, your voice was now more accusing and you were waiting to see what kind of answer he was going to give.
“I’m not–” Almost like on cue Jungkook’s phone begins to ring in his hand. The big bold name Taylor is fully visible on his screen for the both of you. “Oh my god this can’t be happening. I swear I genuinely don’t know who this is.”
“You expect me to believe that? Your phone has been going off all night.” You huff and look away from him and keep your eyes locked on the movie. Having to bite the inside of your cheek so as to not laugh at how ridiculous you sound right now.
Jungkook looks lost. Completely lost. He declines another incoming call, his frustration growing. But the silence only fuels your ‘annoyance.’ He was confused how you immediately Jumped from A to Z so quickly. Jungkook grits his teeth and scrolls through the messages again. He scans every name, every interaction—until finally, it clicks.
Only to come to the realization…
“Oh those fuckers.” Jungkook says under his breath. “I will be right back.”
Your eyes widened because was he really going to leave while you were upset right now? Fake upset but still. “You’re actually going to take that call?”
“It’s not what it looks like, just let me take care of this. Then I will clear this all up.”
“Not what it looks like? It looks like you’re going to take another phone call with another girl during the movie? Are you serious?” You wave your arms around a little dramatically but it sells it.
Jungkook is unsure of how to navigate this. “I just need to resolve this so that we are no longer interrupted. I swear it’s not what it looks like.”
Jungkook gets another call from the “mysterious” Taylor. Jungkook answering it and stepping out the front door of his place to take the call, “You guys are really fucked up you know that?”
There’s a dramatic throat clearing on the other end, followed by an overly high-pitched voice. “What do you mean, Jungkookie? I’m Taylor.”
Jungkook closes his eyes, exhaling sharply. “Had your fun? Played your games?”
There’s muffled laughter, and then Jimin’s voice replaces Taehyung’s. “We were just screwing with you, man. We were pissed you bailed on us. By the way, how’s your date going?”
Jungkook pinches the bridge of his nose. “Thanks to you two idiots, she thinks I’m screwing around. So not great.”
“Oh no.” Taehyung deadpans. “So sad. Taehyung's voice mocked Jungkook but Jungkook was actually mad.
You were already hesitant to date him in the first place and this looked really bad. Your reaction may have been a little strong… and confusing since you were pretty rational. It did look bad though and Jungkook couldn’t deny that.
“Fuck you guys.” He mutters. “We were actually having a nice time.”
“You never said we couldn’t interfere.”
Jungkook ran a hand over his face. “Because that’s fucking insane? I didn’t think I had to say it.”
“Fine, you’re no fun. We won’t interfere from here on out.” Jimin swears” Jimin’s voice was mockingly sincere but Taehyung wasn’t going to make the same promise.
“Goodnight.” Jungkook was too annoyed to deal with them anymore.
“I hope she dumps you-” Taehyung calls into the phone as Jungkook didn’t even dignify that with a response; just hung up and shoved his phone into his pocket. He let out a slow breath before heading back inside.
The apartment felt heavier than before, quieter, except for the hum of the movie still playing in the background. You were still on the couch, but your posture had changed. You weren’t curled up comfortably anymore; instead, you sat stiffly, chewing on popcorn in the kind of silence that was loud. You wish you could see yourself, it was a very convincing performance after all.
Jungkook hesitated before stepping closer. “I’m sorry about that.”
You didn’t even look at him. “Yeah, okay.”
He winced. “You’re mad.”
“Well, duh, Jungkook.” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you stared at the screen. “You were texting and talking through the movie when we were supposed to be hanging out. If you’d rather be somewhere else, you could’ve just said so.”
Jungkook sat down beside you, carefully, like you might bolt at any second. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.” His voice was quieter now, sincere. “I’ve really liked getting to know you. I actually wanted to watch this with you, but my idiot friends decided to mess with me.”
You shot him a skeptical glance. “Friends. Right.”
“I swear.” Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “They were pissed I bailed on them tonight, so they changed their names on my phone, spammed me, and set me up.”
You hesitated, but Jungkook was already unlocking his phone. He scrolled up in his messages, showing you the texts. “See? Just last week, their real names were still here. This whole thing was just them being assholes.”
You narrowed your eyes at the screen, scanning the evidence. A pause. Then, finally—“Wow. Your friends kinda suck.”
Jungkook let out a relieved laugh. “Just a little.” He shook his head. “They thought it would be funny. And, okay, maybe it was—”
“It wasn’t.” You deadpanned.
He smirked. “Yeah well, not for me.”
You sighed, your shoulders relaxing just a little. “I guess I… overreacted. I just have a thing about people being on their phones during movies.” You scratched the side of your head, looking slightly sheepish.
Jungkook grinned, happy to take the win. “No more phone.” He picked it up and placed it far away on the couch. “Easy.”
It was a nice gesture but completely unnecessary. “You’re cute but it’s alright.”
“Nah. No more phone. I’ll never look at it again.” He teases as he scoots close to you, “You’re much more interesting to look at anyways.”
“Wow, that was really cheesy.” You teased, shaking your head.
Jungkook just grinned.
Despite the earlier hiccup, the night had settled into something easy and comfortable. You rewound the movie to the parts he missed, both of you sinking back into the cushions as if nothing had happened. There was no tension, no lingering frustration—just soft laughter, playful commentary, and the occasional reach into the snack pile.
“Okay, but like, I would let Sandra Bullock beat me up too.” Jungkook commented, nodding in approval at the screen.
You turned to him, raising a suspicious brow. “Masochist?”
“I’ll never tell.” His smirk was effortless, teasing, but what you hadn’t quite realized was how close the two of you had shifted throughout the night. Your legs had found their way over his lap at some point, and his arm was draped lazily around your shoulders, his bicep doubling as a makeshift pillow. His other hand rested absentmindedly over your calf, tracing absent-minded patterns against the fabric of your sweatpants.
Jungkook couldn’t remember the last time he had just sat with someone like this—no expectations, no rush, just the quiet hum of companionship. It was… nice.
You, on the other hand, were still determined to find another opening to be difficult, but as the night wore on, you were reluctantly realizing that you might have to try again another time.
Jungkook had kept his word, his phone untouched for the rest of the evening. Not that he was missing much. Whatever was happening in the group chat could wait—he was too busy being here. With you.
“You’re all techy and whatever.” You mused, tilting your head up at him. “Would you ever be an FBI agent?”
Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head. “Not a chance. I don’t think I’m smart enough to foil a terrorist plot… or go undercover without blowing my own cover.” He absentmindedly played with his lip ring, his voice dipping into something thoughtful. “What about you?”
You exhaled a small laugh. “Yeah, no. I’m a writer, not an agent, that’s for sure.” You paused, considering it for a moment before adding, “Although, I think I could do undercover.”
Jungkook glanced at you, intrigued. “Oh yeah? You could be a Gracie Lou Freebush?” He referenced Sandra Bullock’s alias in the movie.
“Oh, absolutely.” You said with zero hesitation. “Plus, I’ve interviewed and hung out with a lot of pageant girls in the past for my writing.”
His brows lifted in genuine interest. “Wait, what? How come?”
“I did a piece in college about pageantry and got to know a lot of girls who did it professionally. They were really sweet, honestly.”
“That’s so cool.” His voice was laced with admiration. “What else have you written?”
You hesitated, suddenly shy. “Oh god, I’ve written about a lot of things, but nothing worth the time.”
“That can’t be true.” Jungkook’s voice softened, his curiosity undeniably genuine. “I’d love to read something… I mean, if you’ll let me.”
You blinked at him, caught off guard. His big, expectant eyes searched yours, but there was no teasing, no ulterior motive—just pure interest.
A warm flush crept onto your cheeks. “Okay.” You murmured, cursing the lovesick way your voice wavered. “Maybe I can find something that’s not totally terrible.”
Jungkook grinned like you’d just given him a prize.
Neither of you had been paying much attention to the screen, and at some point, the movie had ended.
“Alright, your turn.” You pat Jungkook’s arm, the one still draped around you, before shifting your legs from his lap, giving him space in case he needs to move.
Jungkook leans over to the coffee table and retrieves the remote from the coffee table. Shuffling through the choices. He thought for a moment what he should select. If he should stay on the romance vein or go down another path.
Eventually landing on, definitely a left turn movie for the night.
“Okay, I know this totally changes the tone, but I love this movie.” He clicks on Across the Spider-Verse. “The animation is insane, and I really love Spider-Man.”
You laugh. “You don’t have to sell it to me. I’ve seen it before.”
“Good.” His excitement is almost tangible. “I’ve been wanting to rewatch it.”
Without a second thought, Jungkook casually lifts your legs back over his lap, a move that catches you off guard.
“I was cold.” He feigns innocence.
“Uh-huh, I super believe you.” You giggle, settling back against his arm just as the movie begins.
You couldn’t have gotten a minute in before you felt your phone vibrate like you were getting a call. It was in your pocket and you intended to silence it but you wouldn’t be so lucky to ignore it. Your mom’s ID popping up on the screen. You pretty quickly decline it, hoping, no praying it wouldn’t be pushed further than that. That was until the text that it was immediately followed up with.
Mom: Baby I’m coming over. You keep ignoring me.
Mom: I have so much to tell you about!!!!!!
Oh no. Oh no no no.
She was going to your place. You aren’t at your place.
Panic spreads like ice through your veins. You sat up in your place away from Jungkook, hiding the sick feeling that spread across your face. You had to call her. If you didn’t call her back she would go to your place and ask so many questions. She didn’t have a key but she would still manage to get in. Right after you just made that whole stink about Jungkook being on the phone earlier.
You couldn’t ignore her. You have to call her back.
She won’t let it go.
Jungkook was worried for a second when you moved away from him so suddenly and now you were suddenly standing.
“I’m so sorry.” Your voice is tense. “I need to take a call.” You hesitate before meeting his gaze. “It’ll just be a second—I need to step into the hall.”
Jungkook for a second almost doesn’t think about it but you just made a whole fuss about him taking a call. “Are you serious?”
“I know.” You say quickly. “I know what I said.”
“Is this a joke?”
“No.” Your phone vibrates again. Another text.
Mom: I’ll be there in 30 minutes.
Shit.
“I’m sorry.” You say again, already moving. You weave around the couch, heading straight for the front door before Jungkook can protest.
You shove your feet into your shoes and step into the hall, needing somewhere private; somewhere your mom won’t hear even the faintest trace of Jungkook in the background.
The elevator.
You dial her number and you press the button for the elevator to go to the first floor. The phone on the other end ringing for what felt like forever in your ear. Feeling more and more sick to your stomach with each ring. Dreading hearing her voice on the other side.
The line picked up as you reached the first floor. “Baby!” Your mom’s voice bursts through the speaker, cheerful and chipper like she hadn’t just threatened to ambush you. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “Yeah, I know. Mom, why are you going to my place right now?” A headache forming in the back of your mind.
She sighs dramatically. “I miss you, baby. I’ve been gone for three months!”
“Yes Mom-...”
“And yet, you don’t even want to talk to your own mother?” Her voice shifts, just enough to press guilt into your ribs. Her saddened voice on the other end, hitting you in the same familiar place in your gut.
You exhale slowly, biting down the automatic frustration. If you say the wrong thing, she’ll cry. If she cries, you’ll have to go see her. “Of course I want to talk to you.” You say carefully. “I’d love to talk. But I’m busy.”
“Busy with what? Where are you?” Her interest clearly piqued that you could possibly have plans that had nothing to do with her.
“I’m out with some friends. Nothing special.” There is zero chance you’re mentioning Jungkook.
“Oh no, no, no. How many times have I told you those friends of yours are no good?” Her voice is all silk. “Come meet me somewhere instead.”
“How about I come see you later this week mom. I am busy with a work project but I’m all yours later this week…” You grit your teeth. You hope this might be enough and she hums on the other end.
“All weekend?” She counters. “I get to have you all weekend? I just miss you, baby. And I have so many clothes from Europe that don’t fit me right—you’ll love them.” Typical. Dumping overpriced, ill-fitting designer pieces onto you so she doesn’t have to feel wasteful.
“Yes. We can go through them together.” You nod to the air around you almost like she was here or that she could see you. Like the look on your face right now wouldn’t send her into an immediate spiral.
“Oh, perfect! I’m so excited.” She cheers on the other end and it in some sick way brings a smile to your face.
“Okay I really do have to go.”
“Alright, baby. Call me tomorrow!” She sounds almost… normal. But you know better. If you don’t call tomorrow, she won’t let it go.
The moment the call disconnects, you sag against the elevator wall, pressing your palms to your face. Needing something to bring the anxiety that had welled up in your chest back down to a normal level. Your fingers tremble slightly, the weight of the conversation settling in like lead in your stomach.
This was such a bad time for your mom to be back in town. If she got even a whiff of your promotion, she’d find a way to turn it into something about her. And if she caught onto whatever this… thing was between you and Jungkook, she’d find a way to ruin it.
Maybe you should just sic her on Jungkook. That would send him running for sure.
In hindsight, if this were any other date, it would probably look bad. You had disappeared in the middle of the night, left without much of an explanation, and now, you were returning like nothing had happened. It felt messy, inconsiderate even. But everything with your mom is an emergency.
The problem is, you can’t say that.
With that thought, you start the slow walk of shame back to his apartment. The door is still unlocked from when you left, and as you step inside, the difference is immediate. The air feels stiff. The movie was stopped. The room is too quiet. You slowly stepped further inside, Jungkook was leaning against his counter looking at something on his phone.
You hesitated, stepping inside and slipping off your shoes. "Sorry about that." You said quietly.
Jungkook doesn’t look up right away. "It’s… fine."
It isn’t.
Not really.
It’s obvious in the clipped way he says it, in the tension sitting in his shoulders. He’s irritated, trying not to show it, but you can feel it lingering between you.
And honestly? You get it.
You were the one who had made a big deal about him being on his phone earlier. You were the one who rolled your eyes at him answering a call, told him to be present. Then, the moment your own phone rang, you left the apartment with little word.
So yeah, you get it.
"It was just an emergency." You offer, though even you can hear how weak of an excuse it sounds.
Jungkook finally glances up then, dark eyes flicking to yours. "Right. Just a little frustrating though, don’t you think?"
Your stomach twists. "I know."
He exhales sharply, shaking his head as he sets his phone down on the counter. "I mean, you gave me so much shit about being on mine. Accused me of something you didn’t have any information about. Then you not only take your call—you leave the floor for it."
"I get it." You say quickly. "I do. And you’re right. It was hypocritical of me."
Jungkook studies you for a moment, expression unreadable. His voice is quieter when he speaks again. "Was there a reason you had to take your call downstairs?"
“What?”
“Well I stepped into the hall to make sure everything was okay but you had totally fled the floor. What’s up?” Jungkook coming off even more defensive now
You freeze for a fraction of a second, caught off guard.
"I—" You start, before quickly regaining composure. "It was private."
Jungkook’s brows lift slightly. "And mine wasn’t?"
You inhale, feeling an edge of frustration creep in now, not necessarily at him, but at this entire situation. At how suddenly complicated something as simple as a movie night had become. How your mom had complicated a simple movie night. Something for your job.
Then you remember. This was for your job. The thing that got you into this situation, for one reason only…
So you switched gears "You were being really suspicious and weird about who you were talking to. Plus who even calls people anymore.” You say, keeping your voice measured.
Jungkook lets out an incredulous laugh. “You literally just took a call.”
“Yeah, but mine was an emergency,” You stress, as if that explains anything.
He narrows his eyes. “Oh, so when I answer my phone, I’m talking to some girl, but when you answer yours, it’s a crisis hotline?”
You shrug. “Correct.”
Jungkook pauses having to think about what was even going on before bouncing back, “Yours seemed much more like a call from another guy than mine seemed like a call from another girl.” Jungkook was frustrated but he was falling back on an old habit. He was falling into that old routine of finding an excuse to run. Except he couldn’t in this situation, so he needed to switch gears just like you.
You let out a slow breath. Acting a little too casual for the situation at hand. "Maybe we call it a night, doesn’t seem like we will see eye to eye on this.”
Jungkook doesn’t say anything for a moment, but eventually, he nods, stepping away from the counter. "Yeah." He mutters. "Probably for the best."
You don’t miss the way his voice shifts, slightly more closed off than before, and something about it stings more than you expect it to.
But you don’t say anything else.
Instead, you slip your other shoes back on, grab your things and leave. It wasn’t okay for him to just automatically assume that you were talking to another guy. Then again that's exactly how you started. It didn’t matter though, having this night go wrong actually helps. It helps push Jungkook away and maybe after tonight he might ghost you who knows.
It would certainly make your article short but you could make a good narrative, losing a guy in 6 days.
Still a small pang of guilt was eating at your stomach. Usually you would fight to explain yourself but you were doing your best to fight those normal instincts. This was the assignment, even if a part of you was actually starting to like Jungkook a little bit. He put in a lot of effort for just a few dates which was completely unexpected.
Maybe in another life where you didn’t have to act insane.
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#jungkook fic#jungkook fanfic#jungkook fanfiction#bts fic#bts fanfic#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook x y/n#bts fanfiction#kpop fanfic#kpop fanfiction#jungkook fanfic recs#jungkook fic recs#how to lose a guy in 30 days#htlagitd#smartkookiee#jungkook fluff#jungkook scenarios#jungkook imagine#bts scenarios#bts imagine#jeongguk fic#jeongguk fanfic#jeongguk fanfiction
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Harmless
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader
Summary: A seemingly innocent cab drive turns into torture once you decide to go along with the driver's assumptions.
WC: 600-ish
A/N: blurb to check if I still got it. It gets suggestive at the ending. Enjoy r flustering Spence <33
| Masterlist
Spencer knows you're playful. At any given time, you tell white lies with the most serious expressions on your face just to mislead the ones listening to them. Unbeknownst to you, he finds it endearing. Today, you are wearing a much too big raincoat to shield you from the thin droplets of rain that fall from the sky. “I think we should probably get a cab,” you say, giggling, as the rain becomes stronger.
“Yeah, I think so too.”
He quickly hails a cab, opening the door for you and getting your wet raincoat as you settle in the backseat of the car. He folds it and shakes it as much as he can to get rid of the excess water. Folding it neatly and placing it over his lap, you mutter, “Gimme that, it'll soak your pants.”
Silently, he refused to give it to you when he saw your hands reach for the yellow material.
The cab driver, an elderly lady, grins fondly at the two of you interacting. Stopping at a red sign, she can't help but think out loud, remembering her own lover. “You two make a beautiful couple.”
Spencer freezes, cheeks burning red with embarrassment as he looks at you, searching for an acceptable reaction. His instincts were telling him to thank the older woman and he does so, shyly, feeling his heart skip a bit. Upon hearing his responde, a twinkle of mischief takes over your eyes. “Thanks, ma'am. We really do, don't we?”
Oh, my God. Here it comes.
The old lady gives you two a loving glance through the rear-view mirror, agreeing wholeheartedly. “You do.”
“I always say he'd give me pretty babies too.”
Spencer turns to you, baffled. Widened eyes petrify as they catch the underlying teasing in your expression, brain short-circuiting as he tries to process what the hell did you just say. He can't believe that, out of all the harmless lies you've told, you had to go with what the woman said, not batting an eye to deny it.
(He tries not to feed the image conjured in his mind as you say the words pretty babies. He really, really tries.)
He looks at the driver, who has an amused smirk on her face. Spencer shoots you a look, trying to disguise his flustered state with what he hopes it's a glare. Silently, but half-heartedly, begging you to not encourage the lady’s comments.
“We… we aren't…” The words die on his tongue, too shaken by the sparkle in your eye.
“He always says we aren't ready for it yet.” You complete, rolling your eyes, stifling a giggle. He lets out a breath.
There is now a traffic jam outside as the rain turns more careless drivers into safer ones. Therefore, Spencer busies himself into trying to control his own breathing, glad for the silence, albeit awkward (for him), that settles over the small space. The cab drive is tortuously slow, and he keeps digging himself a deeper hole as he indulges in the fantasy and imagines himself with a life by your side.
When you two reach your destination, he pays the lady, even though he can't meet her eyes. “You have to stop telling lies,” he mutters, mortified, as you almost double down in laughter once she drives away.
“Come on. That… that was pretty funny.” You say as your laughter dies down.
He swallows, still gripping the wet raincoat tightly over his lap, walking side by side with you. “You and me as a couple?”
You shake your head. “Your reaction.”
“Why?”
“If you're this flustered by my harmless lies…”
“There was nothing harmless about that.”
Cheekily, you respond, "Then practice should be fun.”
Silence.
Oh.
OH.
“What?!”1
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fic#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x yn#spencer reid x fem!reader#dr spencer reid#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fic#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid blurb#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid oneshot
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Seventeen - Heathers | Scarabia animatic 🐍☀️
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I love thinking about what JamiKali’s dynamic would’ve been if things had gone differently. I feel like both Jamil’s and Kalim’s personalities would really shine in ways we haven’t seen before of them (though maybe later, who knows! There going through a lot of development in the main story so here’s to hoping 🤞)
Ramblings/analysis under the cut
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This song, Seventeen, speaks of a desire to JUST be seventeen years old, to be normal, to not have damage and scars dictate all you are. I found this song very fitting with Jamil and Kalim, because they’re seventeen, but neither had the opportunity to ever just be normal teenagers. They’ve both gone through a lot, they’re “damaged”, but that doesn’t make them wise, or special, or different. They’re still just teenagers, not yet emotionally developed, young, and not capable of carrying so much weight on their shoulders. The line “we don’t choose who lives or dies” I find particularly applies well to Jamil’s whole, ahum, incident, but also in general to Jamil’s desire to be in control of things (which of course stems from his desire to be in control of his own life, so one could argue that he wants to be in control of whether he lives or dies).
Sometimes I feel we tend to forget how young the twst characters are. Even Leona, sitting at 20 years old, I’d consider relatively young, which just makes everything they go through that much sadder. They’re so young, and though there will never really be an age where it’s easy to handle this sort of stuff, as a teenager it’s even harder because life is already so complicated and difficult for them (speaking as if I’m not a teen myself lol).
Kalim in this song/animatic pleads to just be normal, to do normal teenage things, to set aside all the complicated feelings that have been bubbling under the surface for both of them, all the stupid things their lives have thrown at them, and to just be seventeen. Not the Housewarden and Vice-Housewarden, not Master and Servant, not an Asim and a Viper, but just Jamil and Kalim, just two seventeen year old boys.
———
Soooo it’s been a month… I promise I’m not dead and I also haven’t lost interest in twst, I’ve just been hyperfixating on other things, plus I’ve been really busy with school. Drawing can be really hard sometimes :(
I kinda pulled a Wiege (Alien Stage) by including some weird AU of some sorts huh! What a fun episode Wiege was, I totally didn’t sob violently! Also!!! The Scarabia manga has FINALLY released and its so cool!!! Well worth the way. The new Yuu is a Gyaru, and she’s so cool! I had my doubts on the artist they chose, but honesty they really delivered, I’m really happy with how the manga looks :)
#twisted wonderland#twst#jamil viper#kalim al asim#scarabia#animatic#ディズニー ツイステッドワンダーランド#disney twisted wonderland#my art#art#noahsart#fanart#heathers#heathers the musical#seventeen#seventeen heathers#jamikali#overblot#book 4#veronica sawyer#twisted wonderland jamil#twisted wonderland kalim#twst jamil#twst kalim#animation#twst animatic#twst fanart#twst angst#ジャミル・バイパー#カリム・アルアジーム
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Rafe shuts you up with fingering you under the table
Warnings:(Mature Content, Sexual situation, Explicit language, Public setting with a lack of consent, Graphic sexual content)
‐-------------------------------------------
The dinner table was filled with laughter, the clink of silverware against fine china, and the hum of polite conversation. Rafe sat across from her, his jaw clenched, his posture stiff. The evening had started off well enough—at least, that’s what his family would think. But she, the Kook he couldn’t seem to shake, was making things more complicated with every word that left her lips.
“I can’t believe you actually went for that ugly thing," she laughed, her voice a little too loud, her eyes bright with the kind of energy that made Rafe’s irritation grow. "It looks like something you’d find in the bargain bin, Rafe. But I guess we all have our... standards, right?”
She took a sip of wine, not noticing how every snide comment caused his grip on his glass to tighten. His family, as usual, was either too polite to call her out or too scared of him to make a scene. But Rafe wasn’t interested in playing nice anymore.
“Maybe you should mind your own business, sweetheart,” he said softly, his voice cold as ice. He could feel his family’s eyes on him, their subtle glances over the rim of their glasses, but he didn’t care. She needed to be quiet.
She was relentless though, pushing every boundary, crossing every line. “I’m just saying, Rafe," she continued, her voice now slurring slightly as she got more comfortable with the wine, "if I were you, I’d never let my girl wear something so... tasteless.”
The table fell silent. His father cleared his throat, his mother shot him a look, but none of them dared to intervene. Rafe’s eyes narrowed, and before she could continue, he slid his chair closer to hers under the table. She didn’t notice at first, too caught up in her own laughter and the attention she was demanding.
He reached out, his fingers sliding up her thigh, under the tablecloth, brushing against the smooth fabric of her dress. The sudden shift in her demeanor wasn’t visible to anyone else, but Rafe felt her body tense, the subtle struggle to maintain composure.
She shot him a look, her lips twisting in annoyance, but her breath caught in her throat as he applied just the right amount of pressure. Her face flushed as she tried to force herself to focus on her words, to finish her sentence, but the heat spreading between her legs made it impossible.
Her voice faltered slightly. “Wha—what are you—” she gasped, her hand gripping the edge of the table, her nails digging into the wood. She tried to play it off, pretending it wasn’t happening, but Rafe knew. He could feel her squirming, her body fighting against the growing urge to react.
Underneath the table, he continued, his movements calculated, forcing her to fight the urge to make any sound. The more she struggled to stay composed, the harder it became for her to maintain control. He couldn’t help but smirk, his eyes locked on hers, watching her face contort as she tried to keep her voice steady.
“Quiet, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips barely moving. “Unless you want everyone to know what you’re feeling right now.”
Her breath hitched, her grip on the edge of the table tightening as he slowly, deliberately moved his fingers, making sure she felt every inch. She fought to keep her composure, her back straight, her gaze flicking between Rafe and the others at the table, hoping they hadn't noticed. But the heat in her core was undeniable, and she could feel the pulse of her body betraying her.
Rafe leaned back in his chair, his fingers still gently teasing, his thumb brushing against the fabric of her dress, the subtle pressure making her heart race. His eyes were focused on her, smirking as if he knew exactly what was happening.
The tension at the table grew as she struggled to speak, her voice now quieter, more controlled—too controlled. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her tone defensive, but it trembled slightly. She was too aware of his touch, too aware of the pressure building between her legs.
“Really?" Rafe's voice was low, barely above a whisper, but it sent a shiver down her spine. "You’re gonna keep talking like nothing's happening?"
She bit her lip, trying to stifle a moan as his fingers shifted, pushing a little deeper, teasing the edges of her underwear. Her stomach flipped, her face flushing as she fought against the urge to squirm. Her lips parted, but she forced herself to keep her voice steady, her words coming out strained.
"You’re—being inappropriate," she managed, but the sharpness in her voice didn’t match the way her body was betraying her. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up the facade. Her body was responding to him despite herself, her breaths shallow as she fought to stay quiet, to stay calm.
Rafe’s smirk grew wider, sensing her struggle. He could tell she was fighting every instinct, every urge to let go. He could feel her clenching around his fingers, her breath coming faster as the seconds ticked by, each one like a challenge he was enjoying more than he should.
“Everyone's looking at you, sweetheart," he whispered, leaning in just enough for her to hear. “And you’re not even letting them know what’s happening under the table. You’re so good at keeping it all inside... but not for much longer."
Her eyes darted across the table, glancing at the others who were blissfully unaware, all too busy with their own conversations. But she knew Rafe was right. Her body was betraying her in the most intimate way. Every inch of her skin felt alive, burning with the desire to give in, to let herself be taken by the intensity of the moment.
Her chest tightened, and she could feel herself getting closer to the edge, the pressure between her legs nearly unbearable. She wanted to cry out, but she couldn't—not with her family just a few feet away. She could barely hold it together as his fingers moved again, this time more insistently, making her breath catch in her throat.
“Shh,” he murmured, his voice low and mocking. "We wouldn't want them to know, would we? They might think you're enjoying this more than you should."
She felt her whole body tense, her face growing hot as she tried to push back against the pleasure building inside her, struggling to keep her voice steady, but failing. Her lips parted slightly, and she was thankful for the distraction of the clinking glasses, the soft murmurs of conversation around her, even though she knew Rafe was fully aware of what was happening.
It wasn’t long before the pressure became too much. Her breathing quickened, and she couldn’t stop herself from biting her lip to keep from making a sound. She wanted to scream in frustration, in desperation, but she knew better. She was trapped—trapped by her own body and by Rafe’s insistence that she stay quiet, stay composed.
“Good girl,” Rafe muttered, as if he knew she was close to breaking. His voice was low, but there was a hint of something darker, something victorious in it. “Just a little longer.”
#rafe headcanons#rafecore#rafe imagine#rafe x reader#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron smut#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron fluff#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron one shot#rafe cameron outer banks#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron#rafe#rafe x you#rafe x y/n#rafe x sofia#rafe x oc#rafecameron#rafe cameron x you#rafecameronmasterlist
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| I am my father’s daughter |
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💖 Dad!Price x Daughter!reader, eventual Soap x reader
PART FOUR: John Price hasn’t seen or heard from his daughter in over year, but that changes when she calls him one night asking for help. 2,565words
TW: hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/ complicated father-daughter relationship
Previous parts > [Series Masterlist]
🔈Reader’s view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate
You learnt from a young age to stay silent when it came to the adults in your life. Made it easier to get the talk over with. Less words to get you in trouble, something you always tried to dodge.
Silence, your best friend. The one thing that kept you company most days. You stared at your dad, arms folded over your chest as you leant back on the stiff wooden chair. Not quite tucked in under the table, slightly angled in case you needed to make a quick exit.
The shiny new phone on the varnished surface, some sort of peace offering or something to be held over you, another thing for you to figure out.
The Captain however, he wasn’t as easy to read and that added to the weight on your chest. You weren’t sure on the limits, what he’d allow or how he’d deal with something he didn’t like.
You cleared your throat, gaze flitting to his across the table. “So, I can probably find a place in like a couple days or so, a week tops you know,” you said rambling on about a friend of a friend who lived close by.
Not a total lie, you’d slept on your mates sofa’s here and there as a teen when things went south before. You’re sure you can pick up some bar work to help you out till you find something more permanent.
The Captain shook his head. “Stay as long as you need, kiddo. Anything you need your old man’s ‘ere.”
As long as you need, another open ended thing for you to figure out. You didn’t want to overstay your welcome or get too close to him. Didn’t want to rely on your dad, knowing that he’ll come and go as he pleased. Blame it on the job, send you a message to check in and rid himself of the guilt.
“You know, it’s not just us living here,” he said, interrupting the constant thoughts rattling in your head. You know the little voice that’s always second guessing other people’s actions and trying to decipher the true meaning of their words and actions.
Oh shit, you didn’t even think of his team living in the same house. They’d given you and the captain space since you’d got here. You’re hoping you won’t be there for long, even if you have to stay at a shitty hotel until you get enough money to put down on a flat to rent.
“I’ll stay out of the way, no problem.”
Out of sight, out of mind. Least he wasn’t taking you to his house with your brother and stepmother.
“Nah kiddo, this is just as much your space now,” he said, his brows scrunching together as his eyes roamed your face. Like he was also trying to figure you too. “There are some rules though.”
“Rules?” You echoed back at him. You weren’t so good with rules, they normally came with expectations and punishments when they were broken.
Not that you’d be breaking them, willingly anyways. You didn’t want to think of the outcome if you did either.
“We’ll be in and out of the house, no set routine. All you gotta do is look after yourself kiddo, we eat mostly in the canteen as it’s convenient. So you’ll probably be having your meals alone, help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge, but add to the list on the front if you run out of stuff,” he said, sliding a notepad in front of him. The scratch of his pen jotting down numbers and words.
You nodded, “sure that’s okay.” You’d been fending for yourself for years, knew how to make the most of the basics or go without. Skipping a meal a day wasn’t a big deal for you. You could survive on just one if you needed to. You wondered if they kept track of the food or if they labelled their own food. There wasn’t any locks on the kitchen cabinets, so it looked like it wasn’t too strict.
“Now, you’re on base. So you won’t be able to walk anywhere and everywhere. There’s a map here,” he mumbled, pointing to an unfolded leaflet. He placed it in front of you and started to circle some areas, blue ink tracing the paths and road. “All the places I’ve highlighted you can go. Do not, I repeat do not go anywhere else.” His voice lowering as he got to the last sentence, gaze flicking up to yours. He jabbed the tip of the pen in your direction, brows raising as if daring you to argue about it.
The look of someone you did not want to piss off. You glanced back to the untouched areas, half of them with no labels or names.
“Uh, yes sir. I won’t go there.”
He doesn’t question the formal sir you’ve thrown his way, the line between his brows softening and eyes relaxing from their narrowed gaze.
“You got any idea what type of work you’re looking for?”
You shook your head. There wasn’t much you could do, a few different jobs here and there. You’d take anything at this rate, you weren’t picky. Money was money at the end of the day.
“Alright, I know someone hiring,” he said, raising his hand to stop you interrupting him. “Three days a week, entering data into a computer. Gotta interview kiddo, nothing comes for free.” He ripped off a piece of paper from his notepad, pushing it to you. A number and name, along with a date of the interview.
The ever prepared Captain already scheduled you an interview. Part of you wondering if he’d planned the rest of your time here.
Boring work, but you didn’t have the luxury to care. You needed to find something as fast as you could.
“It’s not working here is it?” You asked, trying not to offend him.
The Captain chuckled, “nah kiddo. A fifteen minute drive. If you get the job, I’ll sort the insurance on the truck and you can borrow it for now till you find your feet.”
It’s been years since you’ve seen him smile, the curve of his lips making him seem younger. Like the dad who used to ruffle your hair and put you over his shoulder when you were six. The years seemed to harden your parents, your mother’s snapping tone still sent a shiver down your spine. Your father’s stern face, lines in the corners of his eyes and the centre of his forehead painting him serious most of the time.
“What about rent?”
Nothing comes for free, his own words repeating in your mind. You wonder what else you’ll have to earn whilst you’re staying with him.
“Keep ya’ money,” he grumbled, his chair scraping back as he stood up. He walked over to the fridge, pinning a piece of paper under a magnet. His finger jabbing the scribbled mess. “If you need to reach me, this is my office number. Mobile first, office is last resort.”
“And mum?” You dared to ask, still expecting her to appear with each waking day. Least you'd hear her before you actually saw her.
“We’ll talk about it another day. Rest up and look after yourself. You still need to take it easy.”
You nodded, releasing a deep breath. The weight on your chest lifting, the tension loosening from your shoulders.
The Captain turned his back from you, flicking the kettle on. You rose from the chair, tucking it back under the table. He handed you a steaming cup of tea and you settled down into the sofa, placing the cup on the coffee table.
A kiss landed on the crown of your head, "gotta go back to the office, you know what to do if you need anything."
You didn't get a chance to react, the front door closed before you could catch a glimpse of your father.
Sleep had been fleeting the past week, as soon as your cheek hit the pillow on the couch you were out. You were never much of a heavy sleeper, but the rough weight on your forehead soothed the heat and sweat coating it, that you didn’t question it. The cool touch easing your faltering breaths.
You shifted, the cushion wedged behind your back brushed against the wound near your shoulder blade, a groan slipping from your lips. The hushed tones of someone shushing you and the hair sweeping behind your ear, however, sent alarm bells ringing. You shot up, head crashing into the nearest thing.
Johnny Mactavish stumbling back with a grunt. He cradled his jaw, a string of curse words falling from his lips.
"Fuckin' hell, Johnny," you snapped, clutching your forehead and scrambling to sit up. "Why are you breathing over me?" You traced the stitches above your brow, lowering a trembling finger tip expecting blood, but there was none.
Your heart drummed against your chest, the shirt you wore drenched in sweat and sticking to the dip between your breasts. Your fingers pinched the fabric, allowing the excess to swallow your figure once again.
The crick in your neck stopped you from turning your face quickly to the man in front of you.
Johnny rubbed his chin, red tinge marring his jawline. "Thought you'd passed out again, checking for your breath lass." He sat on the edge of the coffee table, wood groaning under his weight.
The distressed denim jeans hugged his thick thighs, baggy t-shirt skimming over a leather belt. Sergeant written across his firm chest. Your gaze wandered to the short sleeves and the way they curled around his biceps. A few nicks and scrapes dotted his bare arms, fading green bruise on his knuckles.
He reached out and you dodged his hand, trying to sink further into the sofa. Wanting it to swallow you up, anything to go unnoticed.
“You’re hot.”
It took you a second to register what he'd said.
“I’m what?” You stuttered, trying to pull the thin blanket over your shoulders as you slid down in your seat. God, he was so hot. Different to your ex, something untouchable about Johnny too though.
A deep chuckle shook his chest, his head cocking to side. Smile stretching his lips as if he noticed your stare. “Yeah, your head. Fever maybe?” He mumbled, leaning forward and placing the back of his hand on your forehead for a few seconds.
Of course, he wasn't looking at you like that. You don't even know why your mind went there either. Must be the fever messing with you.
You blinked, not sure of why he was checking you over again. If you’ve got a fever you’ll be taking a bath right? Or just riding it out? You weren’t quite sure. Did the Captain put him up to this?
It was the first time taking medication like this, normally you took paracetamol and hoped for the best.
Johnny’s touch is light, brief as he pulled away and clasped his hands in between his legs. “Did ya’ miss your meds?” He glanced over his shoulder, the ridiculously large clock ticking away.
“I fell asleep.” You shrugged, “I’ll just take them in a bit.” It’d been four hours since you’d settled on the sofa and three hours ago you were supposed to take two pills.
“You gotta take them at the specific times,” Johnny said, popping the pills out of their packaging and into your palm. He walked to the kitchen, returning with a large glass of water.
Sipping the water and throwing back your medication, you went to place it on the table, but he shook his head.
“Drink all of that, will help with that fever,” he said, sinking into the sofa beside you. The cushion dipped beside you and found your body leaning to his. "Might wanna, take that blanket off too." He snatched the blanket from your lap, balling it up and tossing it on the armchair beside him.
You drank half, gaze locked on his as you placed the glass on the coffee table. Wondering if he’d tell you to drink more, but he picked up the remote, flicking through the tv guide.
“Captain got you babysitting?” You checked your phone, a chain of texts from your father and an alarm notification you slept through that alerted you of the time and the meds you needed to take. forty-six missed calls and twelve voice messages, your ex's name lit up the screen as you turned it over on the table.
Johnny slouched against the back of the sofa, legs widening. Your knee brushing against the side of his denim clad thigh. His hand resting ever so close to yours on his own leg.
“Nah, watching the rugby.” He pointed to the tv with the remote, the match three minutes in already. There’s a bottle of beer in his other hand, the same one your ex liked.
The one you used to stare at in the shop, wondering if this pack would go in your favour or go against you.
Johnny seemed pretty calm though, you don’t know him well so the beer in his hand doesn’t help you feel any better. People are totally different after consuming stuff like that.
“You like the rugby?”Johnny said, his deep voice pulling you out of your head. He sucked in a breath as the players tackled each other for the ball.
You shook your head, “I hate sports.” You can't think of anything worse, a group of men shouting and hollering at a match. The spike of violence when their teams didn't win, all because of a game. You tried to keep away from all that.
The bottle doesn't touch his lips, a chuckle shaking his shoulders. "Yeah my sisters hated it whenever I watched the rugby." A smile playing on his lips, his fingers picking at the label on his beer bottle.
"You've got sisters?" It doesn't surprise you. He's respectful towards the women on base, well from what you've seen so far.
"Yeah, three of them. Don't know what's worse, three of them or that they're older."
You wonder how different your life would have been if you had siblings, someone else around your age to take the load off of you. Another person who could relate to everything, someone you could talk to without judgement.
Johnny rambled on about his siblings, telling you little bits of pieces of his childhood. The more he said, the more you felt like you'd missed out on a lot. You nodded along, lying when he'd asked you if you were close with your mum. The instinct to paint everything good still ingrained in your being.
The phone in front of you vibrated, kept doing so until you picked it up and turned it off. You don't even need to look at who it is, no matter who it is, it's not someone you want to deal with right now.
"Block 'em, don't want the Captain getting a hold him." He doesn't spare you a glance as he spoke, the tic in his jaw pulsing.
Johnny meant well, but you couldn't stop the cogs turning as you thought of what would happen if the Captain knew everything. A part of your life you'd never shared with your dad, for good reason too.
And if he'd even believe you.
✨ Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed it :) there might be some errors/mistakes as I'm dyslexic, I do check my work a couple times, but I do miss bits and pieces - Leya
Taglist: @unclearblur @enfppuff @reiluvr @elita1 @tired-writer04 @kaoyamamegami @gallantys @leon-thot-kennedy @trulovekay @harley101399 @misshoneypaper @rpgsandstuff @tomatto1234 @lolyouresilly @madsothree @astrothedoll @grandfartvoid @delaynew @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf
(Some of the tags wouldn't work so sorry if I didn't tag you. If you would like to be added just let me know)
#cod fanfic#cod x reader#cod fanfiction#cod mw2 x reader#call of duty x reader#call of duty x female reader#johnny mactavish x reader#johnny mactavish x female reader#johnny mactavish fluff#johnny mactavish x you#johnny soap mctavish x you#johnny soap mctavish x reader#johnny mctavish x reader#john mactavish x reader#captain john price x female reader#john price x female reader#captain john price x you#john price fanfiction#john price x you#captain john price x reader#john price x reader#dad!price#call of duty x you#call of duty fic#call of duty fanfic#cod mw2 fanfic#cod x you#cod x female reader#cod x fem!reader#john price fic
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I was going through some archived scans of 90's otaku magazines, as is my sacred duty, and I stumbled on this ad for a Sega Saturn game I did not know:
The pitch of Roommate (as seen here) is that of a "real time" romance simulation:
What makes it real-time is that the game progresses in sync with the Saturn's internal clock. In that way [main girl] Ryoko is just like a real girl; she has her own daily habits and lives her life accordingly. So if you start the game in the afternoon, you might not be able to meet her because she's at school [...] The purpose is to enjoy living together with Ryoko in real time and communicating with her.
And this is exactly the kind of way-too-convoluted gimmick that sacrifices gameplay functionality on the altar of conceptual novelty based on random technology add-ons present in new-gen consoles of the era that I just love. Obviously the concept of starting a game and having the main girl not be present so you cannot play is completely asinine - but think of the realism!
Between that and the discount-Sadamoto 90's character designs, I wanted to see it for myself; so I spent way, way too long setting up a Sega Saturn emulator. In my experience early CD-ROM-based consoles often require much more bespoke set-ups to get working, in this case custom BIOS files in the emulator firmware directories, and JPN-language ones at that for this game. But I got it to work and oh yeah, this is some early "digital" console era crust:
Playing this game is just painful. The clock of course means that you essentially can't play it at all - looking at YouTube comments on the very few Let's Plays and such that exist, people are reminiscing about how they could never find Ryoko because their schedules didn't align. One person even comments:
This game is for NEETs and shut-ins
Which is a valid demo I guess! But it doesn't really stop there - your house is a "fully realized" 3D environment of bare walls which you navigate with clunky controls. Let me log in and take some screenshots...
Jesus Christ it's 10 pm and you are cooking dinner?! The one time I don't want this ghost popping out of the cracks in the floorboards, I swear...
Okay, got rid of her (She broke a plate -_- you moved in yesterday, girl):
You walk, in real time (step by step) through this pixel museum just...hoping that one of the rooms will contain Ryoko and proc a dialogue event based on the time of day. There is a little more to it than that but that is essentially the gameplay. This would, very obviously, be simply better as a straightforward visual novel.
But you see how that just isn't as cool in 1997, right? This is the era where the fidelity of graphics and the technology for simulation is progressing at a rapid clip, and everyone wants to see the boundaries pushed. Roommate isn't the first "real time simulation" game, but it is the most pure, the one fully committed to the bit. Your house is completely mapped out, the girl has her routine, you walk step by painful step through the rooms because this is "real", you are living it. They even use a live photo for the outside of the house to sell the aesthetic (and also save money):
Ryoko is waiting in the kitchen of that house when you come home from work, putting on an apron, ready to cook dinner. For you.
Assuming you get home at whatever fucking 30 minute window the game decided to gatekeep its gameplay behind! But of course I exaggerate - it wasn't that bad (there are little mechanics you can use to set some schedule times in the game for example), player tolerance for bullshit was way higher then, and you were expected to buy strategy guides for these things. So even though it was panned by critics on release...it was a sleeper hit with a devoted fanbase.
Which means it got a ton of sequels and ports! We don't have to go through them all, though I will share my favorite factoid about the first sequel - "ROOMMATE ~Ryoko in Summer Vacation~" from the wiki:
The character designs are significantly different from the previous game (especially Ryoko's brown hair and large breasts).
Priorities, baby. But some of the ports are interesting because of the changing tech. A version was ported to the PlayStation, which does not have the internal clock a Sega Saturn had. But coincidentally it did have the PocketStation, a handheld GameBoy/Tamagotchi hybrid expansion tool that did have an internal clock and could sync with the game. It also let you track Ryoko's schedule and play mini-games, with some very adorable animations as you can see in this ad for the product that featured Roommate:
This device absolutely reminds me of the Disc Fax system discussed in my Miho Nakayama essay - a very niche product biting off more than it can chew making games overly complex to play but allowing things that would otherwise be impossible (and this one was a good deal more successful at least). Here it allowed Roommate's central gimmick to function - and is super cute, honestly I would buy a standalone tamagotchi version of this game.
The PS1 also couldn't quite handle how the game was built for the Sega Saturn graphics-wise, and as such a bunch of the 3D elements were sanded off into 2D simulacrums - most notably the house:
Which, despite this being a technological downgrade, is way better! It looks adorable, you can actually see what is going on and where Ryoko is, and you can navigate it way more cleanly. God, did...hold on let me tab back to the game...yeah, is there no clock in the original game on screen. That is insane. Anyway the PS1 version had a lot of these cute little graphical additions, even right on the title screen:
It is definitely the better looking version, which is a classic tale - in 1997 the "bleeding edge" of 3D graphics were impressive to players, even through their roughness. Now they just aren't, and so the retro charm of designs that are optimized what the mediums of the time could reliably handle have a lot more appeal.
There was also a PC port in 1998, which did exactly what I suggested and added an "adventure" mode where you could ignore the clock system. They definitely learned over time what worked and what didn't; but the appeal of the gimmick is what first sold it to players in the end.
All of this is to say, don't play Roommate, and if you do just emulate the PS1 game instead of torturing yourself with the Sega Saturn version. Oh...you weren't gonna play a Japanese-only abandonware 90's not-even-eroge dating sim to begin with? Ah, well, yeah, I guess that makes sense.
Man I should translate it shouldn't I? So people can play it...
#Roommate (1997)#ash plays visual novels#Ash otaku archives#mini-essay#Ryoko's design in that first ad is so cute and like everything here is downstream of that flash of affection
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mmmmokay can i request maybe a hashira!reader x sanemi where during the hashira meeting with lady amane following the swordsmith village arc, reader also takes her leave with tomioka and sanemi is piiiissssed and confronts her about it at her estate afterward (obv angrily). but then eventually she breaks and tells him that she wants to give him the future he deserves, to live happily married together with as many children as he wants (…perhaps… she could already be pregananant?). but she can’t bear the thought of leaving a child orphaned if they both manifest the curse mark (im sure he understands)
thanks love <3 ur my fav btw
hello nonnie!! am i barely answering your October request now in February? yes! somethings don't change sldkfjsdk. i hope you enjoy it because i love sanemi so much and could totally see him itching to kill somebody over you until he gets THE NEWSSS ohhhh. SANEMI CALL ME PLEASEEEE MY PHONE NUMBER IS 1-888-FCK-MEEE!!!
anyway - here it is
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Discord 18+ - Twitter
Pairing: Sanemi Shinazugawa x Female Reader
Summary: With the imminent threat of Muzan approaching, the Hashira are given their new assignments. And Sanemi is none too happy about yours.
A/N: nothing crazy going on here tbh. just some jealous lovesick sanemi. i didn't proofread because i'm lazy lmfaooooo
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There’s a rage simmering in Sanemi’s chest, hot and threatening to boil over at any moment if he doesn’t find a way to calm down and quickly. Even with anger being Sanemi’s baseline emotion most days, he’s not sure he’s ever felt this incensed in his life. And try as he might, he just can’t seem to quell it.
The root cause shouldn’t be as big of a deal as it is, and yet it feels like it’s the end of the world. Like his world has just shifted and he has no control over what may happen next.
And it’s been this way since the Hashira gathering with the Mast- …Lady Amane, where he’d received probably the worst orders of his life. Since then, it’s taken everything in Sanemi to not blow the roof off of every single building on the estate.
-
“You’ll be dispatched to your assigned territories in pairs,” Lady Amane had spoken earlier in the evening. “This is for not only the protection of Nezuko, but for your own safety. Muzan is likely to go to extreme measures to get to the demon who has now conquered the sun. We have a better chance of success defeating Upper Moons if you are together.”
Sanemi disagreed. He didn’t need to be paired with anyone in order to do his job. He was a Hashira for fucks sake! If anything, they’d just be in his way. Why did he need to be paired with another Hashira on the off chance they ran until an Upper Moon? An insult, but if the Master deemed it necessary, there could be no argument.
“Understood,” Himejima spoke on everyone’s behalf. “Who is to be paired with whom, Lady Amane?”
“Please understand that these pairings are not given based on strength,” the small black-haired child beside Lady Amane began. “Shinobu will remain on estate grounds. Her tasks lie outside of combat.”
From Sanemi’s peripheral, he sees Shinobu nod.
“Himejima will also remain at the estate, tasked with guarding the Master’s quarters.”
The soft rattle of Himejima’s prayer beads sound throughout the space. And Sanemi imagines he must feel honored to be given such a heavy order. He’s jealous, but the idea of an Upper Moon coming from the depths to try and make their way to the Master, only to be met with Sanemi’s blade thrills him in ways he’s can’t explain.
“Now, to the pairings,” the child continues. “Muichiro and Shinazugawa.”
Sanemi and the child prodigy. He supposes he can’t be too upset, though Muichiro wouldn’t have been his preferred choice. The kid is strong, probably stronger than him, though Sanemi will never admit that aloud. No, he’s not mad at this pairing at all.
“Mitsuri and Obanai.”
The two share exchanged looks, Mitsuri red-faced, Obanai slinking further behind his mask if possible. Sanemi tries not to laugh. He’s certain Obanai is reeling from being paired up with the woman of his dreams. Once this meeting is over, he’ll have to give him all kinds of shit.
But now, Sanemi realizes with hardly concealed dread, that that leaves one particular dick head –
“Giyuu and –”
You.
The woman of Sanemi’s dreams.
Now that is a pairing that Sanemi can be mad about. His eyes cut sharply across the room, where you sit stiffly behind Muichiro, hands curled into fists on your thighs. You and Tomioka? Paired to be stationed somewhere far, far away from here? Together? Alone?
Tomioka, who Sanemi is 99.999% certain has feelings for you. Tomioka, who deems himself “not like the rest of them”, like he’s above you all somehow. Tomioka, despite not bothering to speak to any of the other Hashira, found himself to be rather close with you. Even with Sanemi’s clearly voiced disdain for him, you remain friends. Tomioka, who makes Sanemi’s anger intensify when he sees him glance over to you discreetly, and you glance back and fucking smile at him!
It’s small. So tiny, that if Sanemi wasn’t already so well-versed in every little mannerism you possess, he’d for sure have missed it.
But unfortunately for you and Tomioka, Sanemi is well-versed in every little mannerism you possess, every move, and every single sound you’re capable of making. He knows you in ways Tomioka fucking wishes he could know you. In ways that Tomioka will never fucking know you if Sanemi has any say in it.
But so much can happen in such a short time. Who’s to say that you won’t find yourself falling for the Water Hashira in an unlikely way? The same unlikely way you found yourself falling for the Wind Hashira, and him for you. It’s enough to make Sanemi’s entire body tense.
Violet eyes pierce repeatedly into the back of the Water Hashira’s head, Sanemi wishing he’d fall dead in front of his eyes, and stop fucking staring at you. His mind races with a million different ways to kill Tomioka. The thoughts are fleeting, really so brief, the temptation to lunge for Mitsuri’s sword and wrap it around Tomioka’s neck, ending Sanemi’s misery right then and there. But would it be worth all the trouble?
Unlikely…
Which is why Sanemi instead settles for staring hard daggers into the side of your skull. Poking and prodding, hoping you feel the immense weight of his gaze and stop looking at goddamned Tomioka and look at him!
“Look at me!” Sanemi screams internally. “Turn. Just turn this way! Turn your head and look over here! Stop fucking smiling at him! LOOK AT ME!!”
You don’t look at him, though, don’t dare meet his gaze.
And that has Sanemi seething.
But he doesn’t have time to dwell, because Lady Amane speaks and her tone demands everyone’s attention.
“Muichiro, Sanemi. You will leave in three days’ time. Mitsuri and Obanai. You will leave in two days’ time.”
A staggered dispatching of the Hashira. Sanemi has a bad feeling about this.
“Tomioka and ___. You will leave tonight.”
This just keeps getting worse.
-
Sanemi’s been glued to his spot among the Hashira since, sitting with his legs folded, eyes closed and arms crossed for ages in an attempt to meditate and shove the fury down as deep as it can go until it’s no longer affecting him. It’s pointless, it seems. Even the darkness he’s staring into behind his eyelids is starting to piss him off.
The reasonable part of Sanemi is telling him that there’s no reason to be upset. This is work! It’s not like you requested this partnership. It’s not as though you asked the Master if you and Tomioka could go on this mission together for God knows how long, doing God knows what in your down time together. It’s work for God’s sakes! You’re not running off to the beach and frollicking through the market with your fingers laced together. You’ll be potentially fighting for your fucking lives out there.
That’s it. Work. Nothing more.
But the unreasonable part of Sanemi is telling him he has every right to be pissed! He’s observed Tomioka’s behavior around you – annoyingly desperate for your attention, quickly yearning from across the room. It’s pathetic. Worse, Sanemi’s observed your behavior around Tomioka as well. Far too kind, far too friendly for Sanemi’s liking. And you know how he feels!
Even with your reassurance that you harbor no romantic feelings for Tomioka, Sanemi just cannot stand the thought of you two traveling shoulder to shoulder together. It can’t happen!
Riding the train and sitting beside each other while you take in and discuss the beautiful views? Unacceptable!
Sharing meals together, waking up and greeting each other first thing in the morning. Telling each other goodnight before climbing into bed?
Sanemi wants to rip his hair straight from his scalp at the thought of how domestic it all seems.
His reasonable side calls to him again, tries to calm him.
‘They’ll be far too busy patrolling for demons and potentially fighting Upper Moons to care about any of that.’
And somehow, that makes it all worse for him.
Sanemi would love nothing more than to lay down his life in front of you, for you if needed while facing an Upper Moon. He’d relish in standing back-to-back with you while raising your blades and bringing them down on any demon who stands in your way – together. You and him. You and Sanemi. Not you and Tomioka Giyuu.
With a sigh, Sanemi’s eyes open. All of the Hashira remain gathered in a circle, discussing the details of today’s meeting. Himejima drones on about whatever. Who really gives a fuck? Sanemi can’t be bothered. Not when you still haven’t taken even a second to look his way.
And the rage continues to burn hot. He’s not getting any less angry.
‘Or jealous,’ his mind mocks.
The softness of the sunset peeks through the room’s windows, and it’s only a reminder that soon you’ll be on your way with Tomioka. And if things wind up going left, it could be the last time Sanemi ever sees you. It’s a thought that has Sanemi grinding his teeth, hard and loud enough that he’s grabbed Obanai’s attention, his elbow digging into Sanemi’s ribs.
The loud hiss that comes from Sanemi’s lips grabs Himejima’s attention, pausing his spiel.
“Hmm,” the monk hums. “Perhaps here is a fine place to stop. We will resume discussions at the next meeting.”
The Hashira stand, and Sanemi watches as each pairing finds each other. He’s grateful that Muichiro isn’t the small talk type because he simply murmurs that he will meet Sanemi at the destination and takes his leave. Obanai has found Mitsuri and he lets her do what she does best – talk his ear off. Himejima and Shinobu are both speaking quietly away from the rest of the group.
And you…Sanemi’s eyes find you, staring back at him finally. Your eyes are sad, a small smile holding an apology on your lips. Is it because you’ll be gone in the morning and will likely not have a moment to see him? Maybe. But there’s something else in your gaze, though Sanemi can’t quite place it.
Then there’s Tomioka, who without fail, is heading towards you. You don’t see him, your eyes locked on to Sanemi’s. And he can’t imagine not having at least one last conversation before you go your separate ways for what could be the final time. He can’t have that.
Tomioka gets closer, and it makes Sanemi move, makes him remember that the clock is ticking. It won’t wait for him, and the more he stands here brooding, the closer you are to being out of his reach.
His feet carry him across the room, fast and long strides quickly closing the distance. Your eyes widen when you see him approaching, still not aware that Tomioka is also closing the gap, and when you finally do it’s too late.
Your name falls from Tomioka’s lips. The sound makes Sanemi’s jaw clench tight.
“I was hoping we could –”
Sanemi snatches your wrist, the yelp you let out cutting off the Water Hashira. Blue eyes take in the sight before him; you wide eyed and surprised. Sanemi, wide eyed and murderous.
“Fuck off, Tomioka,” Sanemi snarls, the venom dripping from every word. “We’re talking.”
His stupid, nonchalant demeanor drives Sanemi insane. He’s not the least bit affected by Sanemi’s tone.
“Yes, but–”
“No buts. I said fuck…” Sanemi’s voice lowers into a menacing whisper. “Off…”
You quickly shift between the two men, your hand coming up to land on Tomioka’s shoulder and Sanemi is really about ready to lose his shit. “I’ll meet you at the gates in a few hours, okay? I’ll send my crow for you.”
Tomioka’s eyes drift down to your hands where Sanemi still grips onto your wrist. Then they slide up to his face, where Sanemi’s lip curls up into a snarl. But you seem calm, unaffected even. So Tomioka simply tells you he will see you soon, and takes his leave.
The other Hashira still linger, pissing Sanemi off with their presence.
“Come with me,” he demands, and you nod.
“Not here, though.”
-
There’s hardly any sun left when you lead Sanemi to the small alleyway beside the building. It’s dark and quiet enough for you two to speak without interruption. Once alone, Sanemi pins your wrist to the wall, his face so close you can feel his breaths fanning against your face.
“What’s wrong with you?” He wastes no time getting to the point. “You get assigned to a mission with Tomioka and suddenly I’m invisible…”
You roll your eyes, because as always, you find him to be dramatic. And maybe he is being dramatic, but he can’t seem to find a fuck to give when you’re so close to leaving.
“Oh, so you want to be out there with Tomioka, then?”
“Sanemi…” you whisper calmly.
He shakes his head. “No, don’t Sanemiiii me. I saw you at the meeting earlier, smiling at Tomioka when you found out you’d be sent off halfway across the country to do who knows what,” Sanemi hisses. “No objections from you?”
You scoff, snatching your hand from his hold. “We’re going halfway across the country to work, Sanemi.” Your hands settle on his bare chest and Sanemi has to stop his eyes from fluttering shut. “What should I have done? Refusing Lady Amane’s orders would be the same as refusing the Masters. I am not doing that just because you’re throwing a jealous fit over Giyuu. As always.”
“I am not…” he grumbles, “throwing a fit.”
At this, you snort, and the sound makes Sanemi soften. Only by a fraction.
“I just…” He pauses, hands coming to rest on your hips and his anger melts away finally, because that’s how it always is with you. The moment he’s able to touch you, feel you the way he desires, all turmoil disappears.
“...hate Giyuu?” You finish his sentence for him, and Sanemi rolls his eyes, sighing.
“Not as much as I fucking hate you calling him by his first name like that,” he grumbles, leaning forward so that his face is nuzzled against your shoulder.
“I call everyone by their first name, you dummy.”
It’s true. But it only annoys Sanemi when it’s his name falling from your lips.
“He wants you, you know? Potential life or death mission with a beautiful woman?” His voice lowers, grip on your hips squeezing hard, but not enough to hurt. “Probably thinks this is his perfect chance to make a move, that fucker.”
You shake your head, lips pursing together. “He doesn’t. And he wouldn’t.”
“He does. And he would. I mean, I would. I did.”
“That’s different!” You chuckle softly. “Giyuu…He–” you stop yourself, hands coming up to rub at your temples. “Why am I even arguing with you about this?!”
Because Sanemi hates that you’re leaving and that you’re leaving with Tomioka! And he hates that you and Tomioka are friends, that you call him by his first name with such affection it makes Sanemi’s skin crawl. He hates that you can’t see what Sanemi does when Tomioka looks at you. And he hates the idea of you potentially coming back in love with Tomioka and tossing Sanemi aside!
It seems so stupid when he spells it out in his head like this, but it’s how he feels. He’s not going to apologize for it.
“I don’t like it,” He mutters. “He has some weird secret crush on you and I hate seeing the way he looks at you. Like if you let him, he’ll ask you to marry him on the spot.” You chuckle at this, and Sanemi’s lips turn down with a scowl. “It’s not funny! Tomioka would love nothing more than to build you a pretty little house and have babies and shit. Fucking freak probably dreams about it. I can tell because–”
Because Sanemi would love nothing more than to do those exact things.
He feels the tension radiating off of you in an instant, his eyes falling onto your hands that are now rubbing absentmindedly along his scars. There’s a strange change in your demeanor. Like you’re nervous about something. Is just the mention of marriage and a house with kids so off putting? Perhaps you’re not interested. Or maybe you are interested, and you’re interested in having that with…
With Tomioka, is what Sanemi wants to add. But he thinks it better not to when he sees the look on your face. Quiet, thoughtful, maybe even a little sad.
“Sanemi…we need to talk.”
You feel his lips against your skin, turning down into a scowl. Then he’s pulling away to look at your face. “Not loving the sound of that.”
Your eyes find his, adjusting to the slow darkness creeping into the space. It’s only for a second before you’re looking away again.
“I–” Your voice trembles. “I feel like I need to tell you something.”
Fuck.
You do want that…and with Tomioka?! He should have known. The signs were right there in front of him
“I fucking knew it…”
“Knew what?”
He chuckles, dryly and with absolutely no humor. “That you want Tomioka. Or, excuse me, Giyuu.” He spits the Water Hashira’s name out like it’s bitter. He knows he sure is. “That’s why you were so fucking smiley when you got your orders, right?”
Sanemi steps back, just out of your reach and begins pacing, truly trying not to take it upon himself to bring the Hashira count down by one. Really, who’d miss Tomioka anyway? He sure fucking wouldn’t.
“Stop, that’s not it at all!”
“Oh, then what is it?!” He barks, then inhales deeply to try and calm himself, though he knows it will be pointless. Still, he lowers his voice. “You two have been making eyes at each other all goddamn day. You couldn’t even look at me after you got your orders.” He stares you down now, feet rooted in place.
“I’m trying to tell you that–”
“That you’re done with this? That why Tomioka’s over there shooting you encouraging smiles? Rushing over to you after the meeting?”
“No, he’s–”
“Because you need the pep talk to give you the courage to break this off, huh? Didn’t expect such a cowardly move from you.”
Sanemi can’t see it, but your hands ball into fists at your side, about two seconds from strangling him.
“Sanemi…” Your tone is a warning that he chooses to ignore.
“Oh, I bet you can’t fucking wait to run off into the sunset with that fucking wet rag.”
“I’m trying to –”
“And Tomioka, oh I just know he’s at home packing and imagining this amazing future you two are obviously planning to build together. It’s so –”
“Will you shut up?!” Your voice screeches, cutting through Sanemi’s rant like a sharp blade. “For the love of God! I’m trying to tell you that I was paired with Giyuu for a reason! It’s not because we’re planning to run away together. It’s not because I love him…well, I love him, but only as a friend –”
Sanemi’s lips open to speak, surely to argue about the love part but you hold up a finger and he quickly shuts his mouth. You pick up where you left off, voice shakily trying to get this out.
“The Master paired me up with Giyuu for this mission that could very well be my last because not only am I fucking terrified of what the future holds…” You inhale deeply, steeling yourself. “...but I’m also pregnant, Sanemi.”
Your wide eyes stare at him, the fear loud and clear in your dilated pupils. And his expression matches yours.
There’s silence. Long, drawn out. Loud.
What can he say? This was definitely not how he was expecting this conversation to go.
“You’re…” Sanemi’s rough voice shatters the quiet between you. His feet drag him forward, bring him closer until he’s standing chest to chest with you again.
You swallow hard, watery eyes locked onto the man before you. “...pregnant.”
He drops to his knees, not caring about the way the gravel digs painfully into his flesh, not caring how pathetic he may look to any passerby, not caring about anything except you. You and…
His strong arms loop around your waist, pulling you to him until his cheek is pressed to your belly. You can feel his breath, ragged and quick against the fabric of your uniform, and you let that be the only sound for who knows how long until Sanemi speaks again.
“You’re with child…my…child?” His head tilts back, cheek still resting against your abdomen until his eyes meet yours. And you see it.
Fear. Raw, unfiltered fear.
It’s such a strange emotion to see on the face of the Wind Hashira. Known for facing any and all challenges head on without hesitation and coming out on top, you now see a look that is unfamiliar to you. Even when it’s just the two of you, you don’t know Sanemi to fear anything. But you do what you know to do when he needs comfort. Your fingers find his hair, slipping into the surprisingly soft tresses where you comb through soothingly. His eyes drift shut and he leans into your touch.
“Yes.” It’s a whisper. So soft, you’re not sure Sanemi’s heard. But when he inhales sharply, you know he has. “That’s why I’ve been given this pairing and station.”
Sanemi shakes his head, confused. He doesn’t understand what the pairing with Tomioka has to do with anything. Just that you heading to the front lines is out of the question. He mutters your name softly, then peers up at you with pleading eyes. “You…you can’t go into battle with child.”
“This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you to worry,” you answer, as though you can read his mind. Your voice trembles, and Sanemi can feel the splash of fallen tears against his cheek. Not his own.
He rises to his feet, his rough hands cupping your face and swiping away the moisture on your cheeks. Your hands hold onto his forearms, and he bends to press a soft kiss to your wrists. He sees your lip quivering, hears your quiet sniffles and his lips find yours. The kisses are feather light, but just the touch of his mouth against yours opens the floodgates, and you’re soon sobbing into Sanemi’s mouth.
He holds you while your body shakes with sobs, lets you press your hands against his chest again, dig your nails painfully into his skin until he’s gritting his teeth. Sanemi cannot imagine what you feel.
“We can speak to the Master. Or…Lady Amane,” Sanemi suggests quietly, holding you closer if possible.
“We can’t. These are orders from the Master himself.”
“He can’t do this,” he insists softly, quietly. Even he is a little afraid that someone will hear what he’s suggesting. To go against the Master…well, it’s highly frowned upon.
“He’s doing what’s right…for now. Even Giyuu is kind enough to be escorting me away from the fight that’s sure to come.” You seem to have calmed down, voice a bit steadier now as you pull away from Sanemi to peer up at him.
“I’m scared, Sanemi. I want…you. I want a life that’s not tainted by fear. And to do that, I have to fight. But if I fight and develop the mark, or if you die, we will be leaving this baby as an orphan.”
Right. A condition of the mark – certain death. One that Sanemi, under no circumstance is willing to let you or your child suffer through.
“Not to mention,” you continue. “If I die in battle in my current condition, we…” You take Sanemi’s hand in yours, press it to your belly. “We will die…”
Another scenario Sanemi is not willing to let happen.
“I want to defeat Muzan so that we can finally have peace. So that we can be together without worrying constantly over what’s lurking in the darkness. Or if our child will be able to have a normal childhood and life. I want to live with you. I want to fall asleep and wake up in your arms. I want to spend our days as a family and…” You wipe at your eyes, tears threatening to spill again. “Everything is so uncertain now and I just–”
Your words die on your tongue when Sanemi’s lips crash into yours. He kisses you hungrily, swallowing every sob and whimper you have to offer. Partly because he wants to kiss away any pain, and partly because he’s damn near ready to cry himself.
It’s not fair.
This world is not fair.
“I don’t want you to worry about this, anymore,” Sanemi orders. “Take your leave. Protect yourself.” He kisses you again, tenderly this time, though his next words don’t match his actions. “And don’t die.”
Yes, everything is uncertain right now. Yes, there’s no way to know what the future holds for either of you or your unborn child. Yes, life is terrifying. There is much to be scared about. But Sanemi knows one thing for certain.
You must live. He must live. That child must live.
And Kibutsuji Muzan…whether he knows it or not, has just had his fate sealed.
Because Sanemi will do everything in his power to make sure that by the time this child comes to be, Muzan is long dead.
#sanemi x you#sanemi x reader#sanemi x y/n#shinazugawa sanemi x you#shinazugawa sanemi x reader#sanemi smut#kny sanemi#demon slayer smut#kny x you#kny x reader#kny x y/n#anime smut#anime x reader#sanemi is down bad#sanemi shinazugawa smut#demon slayer x you#demon slayer x reader#kny smut#sanemi shinazugawa#demon slayer fic#demon slayer sanemi
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SO excited a fave is back!!!!
i was wondering if we could have some fwb angst to fluff with eddie? like eddie has been super vague about his feelings for r and shes super sad abt it but then he invites her over for valentines day and they have a cute date with a cute confession?
I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you so much for requesting❤️
Valentine's Day
It was supposed to be a one-time thing, one night, and mean nothing. She and Eddie were only meant to cross the lines as best friends one time.
Only
One
Time
"Can I ask you something?" Y/N asked, fiddling with her fingers nervously. A few beers scattered on the floor, giving her the courage to ask.
Eddie nodded as he inhaled his cigarette, keeping his eyes on her. She sat across from him on his bed, the two were just spending a typical Friday night together. Something they always did.
"Have you ever had sex?"
Eddie coughed as he exhaled, not expecting his girl best friend to ask him something so personal. He blushed as he ashed out his cigarette.
"Um no," he mumbled embarrassed, "have you?"
Y/N was a little surprised he was still a virgin, but in a way, it comforted her. She felt embarrassed as she shook her head no, taking a swig of her drink as her throat got dry.
"Really? I'm surprised," Eddie mumbled, leaning over to grab her beer as he took a swig.
"What? Why?" She asked, her head turned to the side and Eddie thought about how cute she was.
He shrugged, passing her the beer. "I just find it hard to believe, that's all."
"Do you think I'm a slut or something?" She questioned a little hurt by his response.
He panicked, eyes wide as he waved his hands. "Of course not! It's just you are... attractive." He stumbled out, he wasn't sure if it was the embarrassment or the beer that made his body hot.
"Oh," she whispered, slightly smiling to herself. "I would say the same about you," Eddie swallowed harshly as she looked at him with batted eyelashes.
"You think I'm attractive?" Eddie chuckled
"Don't laugh!" She said as she smacked his arm. "You're handsome and I think everyone can see that."
"Handsome? What am I four? I wanna be smoking hot to the babes," Eddie smirked, placing his hands behind his head. Y/N stopped herself from staring at the way his arms bulged out in the new position.
She was pretty damn sure from this point the alcohol did all the talking. And that's where it got complicated.
"You are," she confessed, "trust me, we all think it."
Eddie had a big grin on his face as he sat up, leaning over so his face was closer to hers. "You all think I'm smoking hot? Including you?"
She didn't know but her words were making his heart race. He didn't care if he was hot to other girls, he wanted to be hot to her.
"Yes," she said as she shyly looked away but Eddie didn't let that happen. His finger rested under her chin as he pushed her head up.
"I think you're smoking hot too, baby," he whispered. She nibbled on her lip as she looked into his dark and intense brown eyes. Her stomach did flips when his eyes flashed down at her lips. "Why did you ask about sex?"
"I don't want to be a virgin anymore," she whispered honestly. The alcohol gave her no shame or boundaries. "And I'm too scared to do it with a random guy."
Eddie couldn't help but feel himself getting turned on by the idea. A teasing glint in his eyes made her nervous. He leaned in, his nose nudging hers as his finger stayed on her chin. She was so close to him that she could taste the beer and cigarette in his breath.
"Are you saying you want me to fuck you?"
She mindlessly whined, her body betraying her as she felt something between her thighs. She closed her eyes as she pictured it. His warm body was on top of hers as he made her feel things she'd never felt.
"Yes," she said with her eyes closed. Too scared to face the reality.
"Ask nicely," she could hear the teasing in his voice. Eddie always loved to pick on people and tease them to get them riled up. And she wasn't shocked he did the same thing in the bedroom.
She opened her eyes, and the nervousness she felt washed away as she remembered it was Eddie in front of her. No amount of his teasing was serious. He'd be gentle and he'd do anything she wanted.
"Will you please-" she couldn't even finish before he pushed her body against the mattress, and his lips landed on hers.
~
The morning after was so awkward and they didn't know how to act. It was silent the whole car ride to her house. It took days before either of them got the courage to talk. They realized they might have ruined their friendship for one night.
But the problem wasn't that the sex was bad that it made it impossible to see each other. It was that the sex was so damn good that they craved it.
Instead of talking it out and trying to resolve it, they ended up back up in bed together. Their relationship wasn't awkward in the sheets, her under him and calling out his name.
So that's how a friend with benefits came to be. It's been a hot few months and neither wanted it to end. But Y/N couldn't help but realize she was falling for him. She wished she could keep it as only sex but she wanted to kiss him whenever she wanted. She wanted his hand in hers at all times. She wanted to be claimed and to claim him.
But Eddie was very hard to read. He was so vague with his feelings unless it was during sex. She did try to talk about it but he got this uncomfortable look on his face and changed the subject. Unfortunately, she believed that was him telling her nothing more would happen.
Eddie noticed she was different during their pillow talk. Her eyes didn't hold the same passion, almost like her eyes got sad. She didn't look at him during sex much anymore, keeping her eyes closed as he tried to touch her back to life.
He wasn't sure what was going on but he was scared to ask. He didn't want to lose her like he almost did last time. So he figured it was best to do what they felt comfortable doing.
He wasn't aware that his cold feet were making Y/N want to change her mind.
~~~
Y/N pulled up to Eddie's trailer, a question on her mind and she was ready to demand an answer. She let herself in, heading to his bedroom.
The door was open as she looked in. He was scribbling in his notebook, looking up as he heard footsteps.
"Hey baby, what are you doing here?" He smiled
She ignored how beautiful he looked with his hair tied up. She sighed and moved to sit across from him, taking the small notebook out of his hands so she had all his attention. He watched silently, letting her do so.
"I want to talk about us," she said
"What about us?"
"What do you think we're doing?"
Eddie was confused, treading lightly. "Friends who enjoy sex together?"
"Is it just sex?" She asked. Her soft eyes stared into his as he fumbled for an answer. He wasn't sure what the right answer was.
"I don't know," he shrugged, "we haven't discussed how this works."
"Because you refuse, Eddie!"
"I just don't think we need to have a conversation about it! We like what's going on so what needs to change."
Y/N tried to hide her disappointment. He was fine with what they were and that's all she needed to know.
"You're right," she faked a smile.
Eddie felt relieved as she seemed to be fine. "Yeah? We're good?"
"Yes," she lied, leaning in to press her lips against his.
~
Eddie wasn't interested in becoming her boyfriend so she figured to look elsewhere. In the meantime, she could enjoy sweaty sex with Eddie, and find a rebound to fix her heart.
Luckily for her, a guy in one of her classes has been waiting for her to say yes to a date. Finally, she did.
"So how come this place?" Zack asked as they walked into the Hideout.
Y/N felt guilty for using the poor guy, but she wanted to punish Eddie for not wanting her. She wanted him to feel jealous and find out he did want her. Zack was a pawn and it was wrong, but she was out of ideas.
"One of my favorite places to hang out. Good music, drink and food," she explained. The two sat at a small booth after they ordered their drinks at the bar.
~
"No way, dude. Not interested," Eddie laughed as he and Gareth walked into the Hideout.
"Why? You already said that you and Y/N are still only sex," Gareth explained.
"Doesn't mean I want to get involved with another girl and create a mess," Eddie said heading to the bar. He sat on the stool and ordered a beer as Gareth sat next to him.
"Then what the hell are you doing? Fucking your best friend but won't date her. But also don't want to get involved with another girl."
"Why does sex immediately mean a relationship? I love Y/N but I don't know if I could be a good boyfriend. But what I am is a good friend and that's why I'm not going to sleep with her and then randomly go on a date with a girl. She'd be crushed," Eddie explained as he took a swig of his beer.
"Would you be crushed if she did it to you?" Gareth asked, his eyes looking past Eddie. Confused, Eddie turned around and felt his stomach drop.
"Is that Y/N?" Eddie asked, staring ahead. Y/N was sitting very close to a random guy, his arm thrown over her shoulder. "She's on a date." Eddie gulped.
"See a problem with it?" Gareth asked. It was clear Eddie wanted to be with her and Gareth was pretty sure Eddie wouldn't do it on his own without a push.
"A little," Eddie growled. Anger and jealousy filled his body as the boy scooted closer, his face getting close to hers. Before the boy could press his lips against hers, Eddie threw him out of the booth.
"Dude, what the hell?" Zack said as he stood up. Y/N looked at Eddie shocked, quickly getting out of the booth as she stood between the boys.
"Eddie, what is wrong with you!"
"Wrong with me? You were in my bed last night and now you're on a date with this loser?" Eddie growled as he puffed out his chest. His anger-filled eyes locked on the man behind her.
Y/N felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment. "Calm down and let's go talk."
Eddie followed her outside but nothing calmed the jealousy in his body. The door closed, and she went to speak, but Eddie didn't give her a chance. His tongue was in her mouth in seconds, she gasped as she melted into his touch.
She moaned into his mouth as he gripped her ass and took control of the kiss. Her head was spinning as her back found the brick wall of the bar, his body pressed against hers.
Even though she got lost in him, she gained her composure and shoved him off. "I said talk, Munson."
"I don't want to talk," he said against her lips, going to kiss her again but she shoved him off again.
"You never want to talk! It's only physical with you. I'm fucking done," she spat. She turned to go back to the bar but Eddie grabbed her arm.
"Done? Why are you mad at me? You're the one on a date," Eddie argued.
"Yes, I'm done. And I'm mad because I've given you so many chances to make this more. And you never once seemed interested. Now that someone else is interested you want to get jealous? Screw you." She fought. He didn't know this was what she wanted. She wanted a fight; she wanted him to fight for her, run after her, and beg for her.
"Fine," he said with a straight face. "You want whoever that dude is, go for it. But when you realize no one will touch you the way I do, don't bother calling."
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Eddie. You only want sex, I can find that in anyone. But you can't find love in anyone. I'm not settling anymore."
Eddie felt the blow to his chest. Hurt that what they had was her settling. And he hated the idea of her finding sex with anyone. He pushed down his jealousy, prepared to say everything she needed to hear to say.
"I can give you love. And I'll prove it to you. But please don't leave with him," he begged. He moved closer, watching to see if she moved. When she didn't, he pressed his forehead against hers. His deep eyes bored into hers.
"One chance, Eddie. That's all I'm giving you," she sighed.
~
She did as he asked and went home alone. Her brain was exhausted from his back and forth she was fine to be alone. She wasn't sure if Eddie could give her the love she needed, but giving it a shot was worth it.
The next day she received a call from him asking her to stop by his trailer for dinner. She was nervous to see how it would go. They never were able to talk about whatever they had going on, and now she was going to find out the truth. It was Valentine's Day and she couldn't lie that she was thankful he didn't have another girl to spend the holiday with.
Could Eddie love her the way she wanted?
She took a deep breath as she walked into the trailer. She froze as the trailer was lit up in ways it never was before. Fairy lights along the walls and pink and red decorations hung up. Flower petals scattered along the floor.
"Eddie?" She called out moving into the trailer but he was nowhere to be seen. After calling his name, he came out of his bedroom, holding a single rose as he was dressed in dark jeans and a white button up.
She gulped as she took him in. He was insanely gorgeous and her stomach fluttered.
"Happy Valentine's Day," he said softly as he passed her the rose. She took the rose and smiled. He was close enough that she could smell his delicious cologne, see the sparkles in his eyes, and feel his shaky breath touch her face.
"Thank you," she whispered. Her nerves were building as the room felt thick. "What's all this?"
"You said I have one shot, and I'm going to put everything I got into this one chance," Eddie said. He gently grabbed her hand and walked her over to the couch. Snacks on the table, all her favorites.
"Eddie you don't have to do all of this. I just want to talk," she explained, "but this is all very beautiful."
"And I'm ready to talk and I'm going to be honest about everything. " His breath was shaky as he sighed. He kept his hand laced with hers. "After we had sex for the first time, it was awkward and we almost didn't know how to fix it."
She nodded along, that was true. She was terrified they messed everything up.
"But when we found ourselves in bed again, it was fixed. I wanted us to focus on the part we didn't struggle with. I knew whenever we were intimate that we would be us again. I almost lost you, and I'm terrified if we move forward, get into a relationship, and it falls apart. Then I'm losing you forever. And fuck, I can't lose you." Eddie explained, all his feelings on the table.
She gripped his hand as he seemed to be nervous. "Honestly, that all makes sense. I can understand why you didn't want to change what we knew was working. But Eddie, I fell for you. I didn't think that's what would happen and I was so scared I was going to fuck it up because I realized I love you. If we go down this route of only sex, we are going to lose each other because I'm going to end up heartbroken."
"So you want to be with me?" Eddie questioned
"Do you want to be with me? Could you fall in love with me?" She asked, biting her lip as she nervously waited for him to answer.
"Darling I already did,"
She smiled at his words, feeling the need to scream with excitement. "So ask me."
Eddie unlaced their hands, moving down to one knee as he dug into his pocket. Her eyes widened as she panicked. But felt relief when he pulled out a candy heart necklace.
"Y/N, will you be my Valentine and spend our first Valentine's Day together as my girlfriend?"
She smiled as she nodded her head, "I'd love nothing more."
Eddie smiled and tossed the necklace on the table, "Wait I want that!" She fought but Eddie grabbed her legs and yanked her to the edge of the couch.
"Yeah, later; right now, I want to taste my girlfriend and make up for all my stupid mistakes," he smirked as his hands ran up her thighs. She shivered under his touch and leaned down, her lips softly pressing against his.
@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123 @emxxblog
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfic#eddie stranger things#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson request#ashwhowrites#eddie munson fluff x reader#eddie munson angst#eddie munson angst x reader#eddie x reader
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Drunken Confession - Xavier
Characters: Xavier x gn!mc
Warnings: Very Drunk MC, Xavier's Myth Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort
Word Count: 2428
Written: 25th February 2025
Notes: Pre-relationship, with Xavier and the main MC I write for. Me giving MC bad coping mechanisms and bad grieving habits? So likely. Incredibly likely. Help. It was accidental I swear. They're so messy... I love them. (they get better)
Masterlist AO3
<- Caleb <-Zayne Rafayel ->
Xavier is pleasantly asleep at his desk, when he's shaken awake by a worried Tara. He blinks himself awake, rubbing at his eyes as she peers down at him frantically. He pulls back, stunned at the way she leans into him for a moment. A grumble escapes him, but she does not seem to notice or care.
"Xavier, have you seen them? They handed in the mission report and now I can't find them anywhere?"
The drowsiness and soft embrace of slumber disappears in an instant, and he digs around for his phone. When he finds it, on the floor where he must have knocked it off earlier, he finds it quiet. You've not sent him a message, and you always let him know when you're about to head home if you're at work together.
It's become a routine to walk back to your shared apartment building, after buying some snacks from the corner shop. You wouldn't just forget. Whenever you show him what you've bought, normally some limited edition snack that looks like it will be an adventure for you both, with a mischievous smile and a dare in your eyes.
He enjoys it, even when you shared those vile pocky with him. His luck to always draw the worst one, seemed to carry on to roulette jellybeans, and mystery chocolate. Though your laugh… it almost makes the horrible taste of fish sweets worth it.
So he sends you messages.
Where are U?
Are U ready to leave?
Are U ok?
Tara is next to him, chewing on her pen lid, staring down at his phone like it'll offer answers. When it stays silent, he turns to her, "What happened?"
She shakes her head, hair falling over downcast eyes and fidgets, "We had a support mission, some kids got caught up in it, one got hurt. They had to be transported to Akso. I just got the call that they're alright, they just need some time to recover, but I can't find them."
He thinks about times he's failed to protect people, the guilt holding him down. Chains around his legs, slowing each step. He's had to forcibly break them time and time again, just to keep moving. Just to keep walking towards you. Xavier's life is you and fighting wanderers. He knows yours is just as focused on putting your life into your role as a hunter.
It wears down the soul, it always has.
"I'll go find them." He stands, he doesn't know where to start truthfully, you may have gone home, so he'll start there.
"Tell them-" Tara pauses, fidgeting, and then gives Xavier a smile he knows is meant for you, not for him, so he makes a note to inform you of it when he finds you, "they did everything right, we did everything we could."
Xavier thinks it goes without saying, of all the things he admires about you, the drive to keep being better is one of those things. When it counts, when it matters most, you do not stop, and you do not give up.
It is one thing of many, but he knows what Tara is thinking.
You're blaming yourself.
He knows how that feels. Meteor showers, and wounded heart in the catastrophe he could not hope to stop.
Guilt settles strong and heavy, and he needs your hand to help raise his own. You need his, he hopes, to raise yours.
He leaves the Association quickly, teleporting as soon as he's outside onto your balcony. Normally he'd be more conscious of your personal space, but his worry and his anxieties bite on his heels. He can't lose you, not again.
He can't lose you.
The balcony door is locked, but there are no lights on. He knocks, and hears nothing. There's a moment, where Xavier is staring at the door, debating breaking the lock, when he hears his phone go off.
Starlight.
"Wh-" He barely manages to open his mouth, when you giggle down the phone.
"Xavi, what's up?"
"Where are you?"
You're quiet for a moment, and he tries to imagine the possible answers. Spiralling into distress the longer it takes for you to respond.
"Are you ok?" He tries again, but you're still quiet.
He thinks about the times you've been uncomfortable in front of him, wavering on the edge of speaking. Mouth opening, closing, thinking and stirring. Running over and over in your head. He swallows down his words, and forces himself to still.
"Do you remember Fluffy?"
He remembers every little thing he's shared with you, everything about you, every thought and word. He will never forget a single thing, especially because you didn't remember. Instead he says, "Of course."
"I'm where we met them. If you want to join me?" It's a question, unsure and hesitant. You don't sound sad, but then it can be hard to read your feelings based on your physical and verbal interactions.
Xavier never has to think too long on time spent with you, sad, or happy, he'll fly to you at a moment's notice. "I'm coming. Wait there for me."
His ability to teleport, truly is a relief, when he appears in the garden, to see you lay down. You're staring up at the sky, a flower in your hand, pulling the petals off absently. Fluffy is chirping nearby, but mostly minding their own business.
You reach out a careful hand to pat Fluffy's head, humming to yourself, phone still resting in the other.
There's silence as he approaches you, sits down next to you, and holds himself back from reaching out, to take your hand. Instead, he watches as you turn your face to him, and smile. He feels the anxiety settle, but as he lies down to join you, he can smell it. Alcohol on your breath, faint but there.
He doesn't speak, isn't sure what to say, not for a second. There's a lot he wants to ask, or affirm. He wants to comfort you, he just can't work out where to start, so he starts with Tara. "The kid is ok." He offers.
Watches as your eyes widen, blinking and then you smile. Really smile at him. Relief colouring you. "Good. I'm glad." You turn on your side, releasing your phone, so you can pillow your head against your arm. Hair falls over your eyes, so he reaches out to push it behind your ear. Twisting a wave for a moment around his fingers, and then pulling back before he aches for the heat of your skin. "They shouldn't have to suffer for my mess up."
"You didn't mess up." He knows that, he knows it for sure. He knows it in the pride of Captain Jenna when she talks about you, he knows it from Tara's assurance, he knows it from what he sees everyday. He knows it as easily as he knows you're his beacon.
You sigh, "I should have been faster. They should never have gotten hit."
When will you learn you're just one person?
"Just a kid…" There's a flash of agony, and he thinks about the catastrophe, when he'd stepped in to protect you. The fear and pain of a child facing a creature that was too dangerous, too powerful, and too hard to understand. "No kid should have to see something like that, let alone be hurt by one." Your voice is breaking at the edges, guilt tying you down. You close your eyes to escape from him.
He moves closer, so that his arm gently touches yours, you're so close. The brush of contact makes you open your eyes, and this time he catches your gaze with his own. He hopes you hear him, "Sometimes-" He swallows, and your free hand brushes his where it rests between the two of you, "we can't do everything we want to do. Sometimes, we fail where we think we should have succeeded."
A monster in a forest, and a protocore thrown back at a man he'd learned to hate.
A body under a meteorite shower, and a protocore too late to be worth anything.
The bodies of those he was supposed to lead, driven to bestial rage and betrayal.
"You did everything you could, even if you had failed, which you didn't, you did everything you could." He takes your hand in his, squeezing it once, before going to release. You don't let him, holding onto his hand, entwining your fingers, moving closer so your breath warms his cheeks. "It's ok."
"I just want to help Xavi. It feels like everytime I can't do it right, perfectly, I'm… I'm not doing enough." Tears fill your eyes, trembling on lashes. Waiting to be given permission to fall, and you fight it, like you always do.
"I don't think it ever feels like enough." Is his honest answer. It certainly feels like no matter how many Wanderers he fights, he'll never make a dent in what leaves a scar on this world. On your home. "We just have to keep trying." Even if he's tired. Even if he aches.
Even if he feels himself struggling to stand up.
He has to keep going.
Your eyes search his face, and he hopes he's not showing his weakness to you now. So you will come to him with the fears you refuse to share, that alcohol has carried on the breeze to him now.
Whatever you find, you move closer, and on reflex he extends his arm out for your head to rest on. Arm carefully settling over your waist. You close your eyes to get comfortable in his arms. His fingers twitching with the urge to hold you even closer. Against his chest, against his heart. "Thank you, Xavi."
He doesn't respond, just hums as he rests his head next to yours.
"Maybe I should take some tips from Lumiere." You mumble against his arm, and he flinches, brows furrowing as he looks down at you. Your one eye cracks open to see him, and you laugh. Once, loudly, and then breakdown into giggles.
His mild irritation, and not so mild jealousy, eases up as he watches you relax. As the guilt sheds away, in favour of a feeling he's all too familiar with. The need to keep moving forwards.
You'll be ok, and he will too. You have each other to help move forwards, and one day you'll come to him first with your stress and strain, and not seek out relief anywhere else.
Though he certainly doesn't dislike how close you are, even though he fights back his urges like they are barely chained. "I'll come with you on missions instead." He grumbles, leaning forwards to rub your nose with his, gently.
You open your eyes properly to look at him, bright twinkling mismatched gaze that reminds him every moment what he's fighting for. Your smile is small, but your laugh is music to his ears. A comfort and a joy. "The best partner one could ever ask for." You say on an exhale, he's close enough to feel the heat off your cheeks as you say it.
He lies with you there for quite some time, resting and listening to Fluffy's song. While your eyes close, and you relax, he watches. It's rare he gets the chance, but sleep seems to evade him.
"I like it here." You speak, cracking open an eye, and he almost flushes from being caught staring at you, but you don't comment on it, simply add, "It's the first place I got to know you a little better."
His heart thumps, skips, skitters. His throat tightening. You speak about wanting to know more about him sometimes, often in frustration. When he disappears, when he doesn't share something with you. It's the times you get closest to arguing, he thinks. He wants you to know everything about him, but there's so much, and it's so heavy to carry. He's not sure he's ready to find the words.
Xavier hopes he'll be ready one day. He hopes you'll accept him regardless when that happens.
He is not one for faith. Not anymore. Not since the foundations of his belief were crumbled at the hands of his own family's cruelty.
He thinks he can believe in you though.
Your eyes close again, and he extends his hand. Wanting to touch you again, place his hand on your cheek, stroke over skin, run fingers through your hair. He wants so much, all the time, the yearning a deep pit in his stomach of so many years without you. Not lost. Never lost, when he seeks you and finds you again. He has so much to catch up on though, but he's scared to push his luck. To test your limits, and lose you.
"I want to know you better, Xavier. You're important to me." Your lips brush his arm when you turn your head, getting comfortable when the exhaustion from the day catches up with you.
He's shown you so much already, all the way in the past, and now the you in front of him, but he will show you everything. Whatever you ask, he would offer you. If you wanted him to be your knight, he would.
Important could not begin to describe how precious you are to him. Could not touch on the undeniable adoration he holds for you.
He will give you everything, he will. If you can be patient, if you can give him time. He will. He swears it. You're already asleep when he finally finds his voice again, when he feels the ache of hundreds of years subside. When he stops feeling every guilt and shade and shadow on his shoulders.
When your breathing evens, and he strokes over your cheek like he wants to. Just for a moment. The smallest fragment of time, the briefest heat of your skin. You'll move forwards tomorrow, and you'll be ready to keep fighting again. He'll watch you be strong, and he'll fight alongside you as long as he is capable of doing so.
"You're everything to me, Starlight. One day." He promises, holding you closer, so that the chill of the evening breeze will not wake you from sleep you do not find easy.
Whether you forget him tomorrow, or forget this evening. None of that matters. Your future is what he cares to protect, and he'll keep doing so, as long as he can, until he cannot fight for it anymore.
And if he gets his way, forever. At your side.
#love and deepspace#lnds#lads#wonder writes#lads x reader#lads x mc#lads xavier#xavier love and deepspace#xavier x reader#xavier x mc#xavier shen#xavier#xavier lads#lnds xavier#l&ds xavier#xavier x you
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Young love don’t always last forever pt. 1 (SMAU/ writter)
Charles Leclerc x reader
sypnosis: you and charles have known each other since childhood, and lovers since you were both 16. as charles finds success in his formula 1 career, you too, rise to stardom as an actor and singer. for a few years, your life looks perfect. what happens when you and the love of your life break up after 10 years together?
warnings: none
2019
Transcripts of an interview with Charles Leclerc, new driver for Ferrari.
Interviewer: Ah, Charles. Congratulations. Ferrari has always been your dream. How does it feel?
Charles: Thank you. It feels great, to finally achieve my life long dream. Ferrari has always been the goal for as long I can remember.
Interviewer: Tell me, were there any.. special people that motivated you throughout your career? I know it hasn't always been easy, what encouraged you to push through?
Charles: My father, and Jules. Ferrari.. It makes me feel closer to both of them, in a way. They were both one of my biggest anchors throughout my career. Losing them was.. It was a lot, but in a way, it made me stronger. *Silence*. Oh, yes, and my girlfriend! My girlfriend, Y/n, she.. we've known each other for all our lives, but I'm sure everyone knows, I've seen the combinations of videos of me talking about her in my interviews. *Awkward chuckle*. She.. she's seen me at my worst and she decided to stay. She.. One thing about our relationship is that I always know it'll be okay, even when things go to shit- Sorry. When I'm with her, things feel okay.
Interviewer: That's a rare thing to find. Congratulations. Now that you've done the Ferrari part, what's next in your life? Both career wise and non-career wise.
Charles: Well, I hope to win the championship, for starters. Apart from Ferrari, that's the only thing I want. Both the constructor's and the driver's championship, of course. But, non-career wise.. *Light laugh*, I want to marry Y/n and start a family with her. I want an older brother for my little girl, so if my little girl gets bullied at school, her brother will be there to help her. Growing up with siblings myself.. it was, quite the experience, I'll give you that. Maybe we'd get a dog first, so our kids will have a little companion growing up. Maybe a little dachshund will be nice.
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2022
F1wags shared a new post!
liked by chary/n, f1gossipm, user1, 1367 people
F1wags: Spotted: Chary/n, Carbecca at Y/n's movie premiere!
user1: why are carlos and rebecca there as well
user2: we love supportive baesss
user3: Drooling... for Y/n
user4: Y/n's so hot idk how Charles pulled her man
→ user5: how did that gold-digging talentless bitch pull charles leclerc, thats my question.
→ user4: you do realise she’s one of the biggest celebrities in the world right..
user6: aww chary/n looks more in love than ever
-
yourusername shared a new post!
liked by chary/n, charlesleclerc, arthurleclerc, F1wags, 1.3m people
yourusername: monacoooooo (ft. my love)
user1: body is PIPING HOT TEA
charlesleclerc: Monaco est le meilleur! (monaco is the best)
→ yourusername: well, there is one thing that i love most about monaco <3
user2: living every girl's dream.
user3: THE LOOK OF LOVE
chary/n: parents!!!!!!!!!!!
charlesleclerc shared a new post!

liked by yourusername, arthurleclerc, chary/n, 780k people
charlesleclerc: stole his phoneeee :))) mon amourrr (my love)
user1: that last pic.. sir..
charlesleclerc (original author): @/yourusername You forgot to add the filter!!
→ yourusername: forgot? you mean i forgot to add that ugly filter that you insist to put on every post? i didn’t forgot nothing ;)
user2: awwwwwww
user3: mom and her pet
user4: so hot.. not you charles
user5: the look of love, once again.
pascaleleclerc: ma chérie, fais attention, tu pourrais te blesser ❤️ (my darling, be careful, you might get hurt)
→ yourusername: i will mamma :))
arthurleclerc: why does he look like that?
→ charlesleclerc: like what?
→ arthurleclerc: like a rat.
→ charlesleclerc: @/pascaleleclerc
user6: they went to paris?!
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2023
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yourusername and charlesleclerc shared a new post!
liked by pascaleleclerc, arthurleclerc, chary/n, y/npriv, F1gossipm, F1wags, 832k people
yourusername and charlesleclerc: Dear all, we have decided to end our romantic relationship after 10 wonderful years together due to personal problems. We will always be special to each other. We have both done our best to salvage our relationship, but somethings were bound to end. With that being said, our split was both of our decisions and we parted in a friendly matter. We urge all of you to please respect both of us during these difficult times, and we will naturally share more when we are ready.
Love, Charles & Y/n.
arthurleclerc: you will always be family Y/n!
pascaleleclerc: ❤️❤️
yourbestfriend: idiots
carlossainz55: Sending love to both of you!
iamrebeccad: Love you both lots!
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2024
yourusername shared a new post!
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liked by charlesleclerc, charles’girlfriend, yourbestfriend, 3.2M people
yourusername: The Tortured Poets Department. An anthology of new works that reflect events, opinions and sentiments from a fleeting and fatalistic moment in time - one that was both sensational and sorrowful in equal measure. This period of the author’s life is now over, the chapter closed and boarded up. There is nothing to avenge, no scores to settle once wounds have healed. And upon further reflection, a good number of them turned out to be self-inflicted. This writer is of the firm belief that our tears become holy in the form of ink on a page. Once we have spoken our saddest story, we can be free of it. And then all that’s left behind is the tortured poetry. THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT is out now.
user1: ‘talking rings and talking cradles, i wish i could un- recall how we almost had it all’ this is definitely about charles…
user2: wait so she wanted to marry charles but he wasn’t ready??? but charles was always talking about how he wanted to start a family with her
pascaleleclerc: mon amour ❤️ (my love)
user3: CHARLES BROKE NO CONTACT, I REPEAT, CHARLES LIKED
user4: the alchemy is definitely about how charles always looked for her after he wins..
arthurleclerc: that idiot
arthurleclerc: love this, y/n!
charles’sgirlfriend: ❤️❤️❕
→ user5: what’s SHE doing here
→user6: @/user5, and after liking all those shady tweets about y/n too
user7: 10 years..
user8: ‘Said you’d never leave, never mind’ WHEN CHARLES ALWAYS SAID Y/N WAS THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE AND THAT SHE WAS THE ONE FOR HIM- HE SAID “ID NEVER LEAVE HER” OMGGGGG
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charlesleclerc shared a new post!
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liked by F1gossipm, charles’sgirlfriend, arthurleclerc, 870k people
charlesleclerc: stole his phone :))) amourrr (love)
user1: That caption.. looks eerily similar to the one Y/n posted all those years ago
charles’sgirlfriend: @/charlesleclerc, yes i didn’t put the filter :)
→ user2: notice now he didn’t respond?
→user3: shut UP copycat
user4: another day of her trying to be y/n
arthurleclerc: okay 🤨
→ user5: hahahaha arthur is NOT impressed
pascaleleclerc: 🤔
→user6: OMGGGG MAMA LECLERCCCCCCCC
→user7: that woman is not impressed by this behaviour..
→user8: i just KNOW she hates charles’s girlfriend
user9: The difference in how Charles looks at her vs how he used to look at Y/n is comical
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liked by F1wags, chary/n, y/nfanclub, user1, 368 other people.
F1gossipm: BREAKING: According to fans in Monaco, Charles Leclerc appeared very displeased with girlfriendname, and was actively ignoring her during their evening outing. Could this be about Y/n’s new album…?
user1: LETS GOOOO
user2: that snake never even wanted charles for him
user3: TEAM CHARY/N UNITE
chary/n: can’t say we didn’t see this coming
read more..
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yourusername shared a new post!
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liked by y/nfanclun, chary/n, charles’sgirlfriend, charlesleclerc, pascaleleclerc, arthurleclerc, 1.8m other people
yourusername: FIRST SHOWWWWW!!!! sosososossosoooo grateful for all the love i’ve received <3 this album was a jumbled collection of songs i wrote in 2023. i wasn’t sure how it would turn out, because at that time my emotions were all over the place, and as you know my songs are a big reflection of what i feel. this is for sure the most intimate album i’ve made. it contains the most unfiltered parts of me that someone really special encouraged me to display. it’s 4am as i’m writing this, so i’m just gonna end it with this: to that special person, this one’s for you. i wish you well.
user1: so we’re all in agreement that it’s for charles right?
user2: GUYS CHECK @/F1GOSSIPM RIGHT NOW
charles’sgirlfriend: ❤️❤️🐍
→ user3: the fuck is that supposed to mean?
user4: charles keeps liking… ;))))) we’re so back
user5: She sounds better than ever!
pascaleleclerc: Repose-toi bien ma chére ❤️(rest well my dear)
→ yourusername: thank you maman!!! :)))
→ user6: She still calls pascale maman omggg
arthurleclerc: Congrats!
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F1gossipm shared a new post!
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liked by charles’sgirlfriend, chary/n, arthurleclerc and 136 other people
F1gossipm: BREAKING: Charles Leclerc seen at Y/n L/n’s latest show, sources say his girlfriend was NOT in attendance!
user1: what’s girlfriendname and arthur doing here?
user2: I smell chary/n!!
user3: I wonder if Y/n knows
user4: charles please just leave that snake and get back tgt with mom
read more..
pt. 2 coming out soon
pls give me suggestions and tell me what you want to see in the next part because like my money, my creativity is running very low nowadays 😃
#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc fanfic#f1 fanfic
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Fiance
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Goo wants everything that Jonggun has. His clothes. His glasses, the same amount of salary he gets. It’s always the same thing. He never asks. He just takes. It’s what Jonggun finds the most irritating about Goo. He’s sly and sinister. Often he doesn’t announce when he visits Gun and just barges in. Normally Gun could brush it off. He finds it irritating. Really. But then again…what can he possibly do about it?
Currently, jonggun was in the shower. And coincidentally you, his fiancé, was…just doing your thing. Probably watching a K-drama. He hopes you’re enjoying your stay here, you’re his fiancé after all. It was your first time here since you usually handled his affairs in the Yamazaki estate back in Japan. Being engaged since you two were kids made things a lot easier. Although you wouldn’t describe it as optimal, it certainly isn’t bad at all. Being in one of Gun’s house was rather…interesting. It was a mess but at the same time it had pieces of furniture that looked very expensive. You could suppose that it represents Jonggun quite well. A stoic individual who loves luxury yet usually retreats to a junkyard. The only reason he even bought this penthouse is because you were coming to Korea. Leaning back on the couch you were suddenly interrupted by the door opening. As far as you knew, Jonggun hadn’t left and was still in the shower. So who the hell just came in??? Standing up from the couch and making your way to the hall, you were met by the sight of a rather tall man with blonde hair and a pair of glasses. He wore expensive clothes and seemed equally as surprised. ‘Well what do we have here?’ The man’s surprised expression turned into a playful smirk. His eyes wandering over your figure. He hasn’t seen you before, and you not him. A soft chuckle escaped his lips which made you narrow your eyes at him. ‘Who are you?’ The question made the man laugh at you. ‘That bastard jonggun…how dare he go to a club and take a girl home without me…’
That made you raise an eyebrow. Not In surprise. But rather amusement. So Jonggun has a friend? And he goes to clubs with him to hang with women? Interesting. ‘I’m not from the club.’ That made the man stunned for a moment. You’re not a hostess? Or a hooker? That’s weird. Very weird. Jonggun doesn’t do relationships. So who the hell are you? The man smiled, clearly amused by your words. ‘So who might you be, sugar?’ ‘I’m his fiancé.’ Fiancé…FIANCÉ????? the man looked you up and down a few times, his hands grabbing you by the shoulder and pushing you into the wall. His face closer to yours. One hand moving from your shoulder to cup your face. ‘Don’t you think he’s boring sweetheart? I can be way more fun than hi-.’ The blonde stumbled back, holding his stomach. What the hell? He wasn’t playful anymore. His eyes narrowed at you. Did you just punch him? Taking a look at your stance already gave away who trained you. Gun. So you really weren’t kidding.
‘What is this noise?’ Both you and the man looked towards the living room to see Jonggun looking at you two with a towel wrapped around his waist. ‘You never told me you had a fiancé.’ The man said standing up straight and walking towards gun, leaving you confused behind. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, Goo’ Gun replied to the blonde haired male, crossing his arms over his broad and bare chest. ‘Look at you. All cut up like a cutting board. Sad.’ An irritated look appears on Jonggun’s face. A scoff leaving his lips. Goo instead snickered at him and turned his attention towards you again, giving you a wink. ‘She’s pretty…’ he muttered towards Jonggun, his eyes never leaving yours in the process. Gun’s expression soured. ‘And she’s mine so back off’ Jonggun flicked Goo’s hand off his shoulder, earning a huff from the blonde male. The two of them started bickering in front of you with Goo’s main argument being that Jonggun always gets the best things from everyone and everything like a prince. You on the other hand avoided Goo and went back to your K-drama. Which Gun didn’t mind, but he did have to deal with a whining Goo who doesn’t get why Gun’s fiancé doesn’t like him.
#jonggun x reader#gun park#lookism x reader#lookism gun#lookism gun park#gun park x reader#jonggun park x reader#jonggun park#lookism gun park x reader#gun x reader#lookism fanfic
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Secret Never Meant To Be Told. (s.w)
Pairing: Sensei Wolf/Feng Xiao x Fem!Reader
Summary: A former Cobra Kai/Miyagi-Do student joins the Iron Dragons, intent on uncovering more about Terry Silver. But along the way, she finds herself drawn to someone she never expected. Her new sensei. Fast forward to the Sekai Taikai, and her carefully balanced double life begins to crack. When Wolf catches her speaking to someone she shouldn’t, suspicion flares, forcing a confrontation she isn’t ready for.
Type: one-shot
Warnings: READER IS LEGAL AGE, age-gap, minor slow burn for a one-shot, everyone knows except for them, forbidden kiss, friendship with Axel because he needs a friend, UNEDITED.
a/n: i'm back with my latest hyper-fixation. i also didn’t expect this to be this long, but i hope you all enjoy!
Word Count: 5.4k
masterlist
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Your phone buzzes in your hand while you’re waiting to board the plane to Barcelona, and you notice Robby’s contact pop up on the screen. You hesitantly look around to see if anyone who would get you in trouble is around but find no one aside from Axel near, you decide to answer the call. “Cover for me for a few?” you whisper to Axel while standing up from your seat.
“Yeah, be quick.” Axel nods reassuringly to you.
“Y/n? You there?” Robby’s concerned voice comes through the phone. You hear in the background, “Dude, I told you it wouldn’t be a good time to call!” sounding like Miguel.
“Yes. Sorry, just making sure I won’t get caught,” you mutter in a low voice, finding an empty spot near the gate. “I can’t talk for long. I board in 15 mins.”
“I’m with Miguel right now, and we just wanted to check in on you. How are you holding up?”
You let out a sigh before a small smile settles on your lips, “As good as I can be. Sore as hell, though Wolf’s no joke with training. He has Axel and me up by 5 a.m. every day to train for the past two week since he’s named us captains.” You look over your shoulder to see Axel signaling to you to hurry up. “Silver hasn’t shown up in the dojo lately, but he keeps in contact with me for updates on the tournament. He’s meeting us in Barcelona on the first day of full events.”
“I wish we could do something to help you, Y/n. They’ve been keeping you on this too long,” Robby says, frustrated with his dad and Mr. LaRusso. “Be safe, okay? We’ll see you soon,” and the line goes dead.
When you turn around to start heading back, you’re met with Wolf’s hard stare piercing into you as he approaches Axel and your seats. You see him say something to Axel but can’t make out the words.
“Personal call?” Wolf questioned you in a dry, unimpressed voice as you sat back down. “I thought I said no distractions,” he leaned down to coldly mutter close to your ear while placing a firm grip on your shoulder, causing you to lean back and meet his eyes again.
“It wasn’t one, Sensei,” you answered through the loud announcements to tell passengers that boarding would start soon, causing him to release his tight grip and sneer while walking away from you.
Axel let out a breath of relief next to you, “Always lucky. If that were me, I would’ve paid the price by now.”
“Axel-” You warn.
“I am just saying no one could get away with the things you do,” he remarked while grabbing both your bags and leading the way to the plane entrance. “I mean, come on. He let it go, just like that? No way. Not to mention he doesn’t even like it when we’re too close together.”
While we were waiting for the people in front of us to find their seats, my neck snapped to turn to him taken aback by what he just said, “Now, you’re going too far-” I scoffed.
“Am I?” Axel breathed down by your ear pressing closer to your back with his front. “Look up.”
Sparked by curiosity, you tilt your chin up and look around the plane and find Wolf’s icy glare already on you and Axel. You look long enough to see him clench his jaw. “I’m still not getting your point...”
“You will soon enough. He’ll snap sooner rather than later,” he let out a deep chuckle.
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You stand next to Axel and Zara, waiting for your bags to come out. Zara points out her luggage to Axel, asking if he can help her get it, leaving you alone waiting for your suitcase. You see it finally drop down to the conveyor belt and you wait for it to come around to your side. You lean down to reach for the handle, but you see a tattooed hand grab it for you. “I could’ve taken it.”
“I’m sure you could,” Wolf smirked, setting your bag down beside you before walking off.
Before you can think too much about what just happened, your phone screen lights up with a new message from Miguel saying landing in 3 hours! sensei larusso said that he’ll text you our room numbers later if you find a moment to get away from the team
You hear your name being called, so you begin walking over to the team and like Miguel’s message before putting your phone away. “Texting a boyfriend?” Zara teased, raising her eyebrow to you in curiosity.
You turn to glare at her before replying, “Wouldn’t you love to know.”
“Can’t have our captain distracted with a long-distance boyfriend, now can we?” she questioned back as the team started to make their way to the bus that was taking everyone to the hotel.
“Enough, Zara, keep your voice down,” you warned, giving her a pointed look.
“I don’t know how you got the captain’s spot after suddenly showing up a few months ago, but I won’t have you embarrassing us during the tournament.”
“If I remember it correctly, I beat you for this spot,” you reminded her before making your way to sit next to Axel, who saved you a spot near the front of the bus.
“Do you always have to argue? Is it an American thing?” Axel shook his head at you in amusement as you settled in your seat. “You know I think you would be happier if you just ignored her.”
You scoffed lightly. “I need some type of entertainment, and it just so happens that arguing is the most interesting thing that happens around here.”
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The speakers boom as Gunther begins his introduction for the Sekai Taikai, “Welcome, competitors, senseis, sponsors, and esteemed guests to Barcelona, this year's home of the world's greatest karate tournament, the Sekai Taikai.” He pauses as loud cheering erupts in the arena room. “The Sekai Taikai boasts a rich and proud history. And if you are here, it's because you embody all that the Sekai Taikai stands for. Leadership, respect, sportsmanship. Captains, step forward and tie on your headbands.”
The room tensed the moment the captains stepped forward onto the mat. Conversations stuttered, eyes narrowing as teammates straightened their shoulders. You glanced at Axel before he gave you a nod of reassurance. You center the headband in your hands then raising to your forehead to tie it back.
“Captains, you will have the honor and privilege to compete in our televised tournament of champions. But that is only if your dojo does well enough in our team competitions to make it to the final four. Once the tournament is over, we will then tally all the points your dojos have earned. The dojo with the most points wins the Sekai Taikai. Team events begin tomorrow,” Gunther adds to his speech. “Each event counts. They will all be a surprise. But today, it's about enjoying our host city and making new friends.”
You break your focus away from Gunther speaking and catch Tory’s stare. You felt your pulse jump. It takes you aback for a moment, realizing what gi she has on. Even more so when you look behind her to see John Kreese smirking back at you.
“We have a field trip arranged for our competitors. And for our senseis, a cocktail mixer with our distinguished sponsors, some of the world's finest martial arts brands. It's a beautiful day to make a first impression. And I suggest you enjoy it, because tomorrow, your lives will change forever. Good luck, and welcome to the Sekai Taikai!” Gunther finished sending everyone off to figure out where to go next.
You planned not to go on the stupid field trip and instead find some solace in your hotel room, but by the looks of it, Wolf knew what you were thinking to do. “I’m not going.”
“You will go,” you could tell in his voice that there wasn’t any room for you to argue. “You will represent the team and show you are better than every single one of them. I saw that girl who surprised you from the Cobra Kai dojo. I will not have you show any weaknesses. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sensei,” you hissed out in reply.
“Good girl. Now go make sure the team comes back in time for last-minute training after dinner tonight,” he murmured, his voice dipping slightly.
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“Y/n!” you glance behind you to see who called your name, to find Tory alone in by the aquarium with you.
“Tory-” you breathed out in ease. You quickly approach the girl and pull her into a quick embrace. “I heard what happened. I’m so sorry about your mom.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, Tory. Don’t do that to yourself. It’s okay to not be okay,” you leaned back to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”
“You couldn’t have known,” she shook her head and looked down before telling you, “I think I made a mistake coming here. I’ve ruined every relationship I have by coming here with Cobra Kai.”
“I understand why you did it, and I don’t blame you for it. You deserve the spot of being captain. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
“They hate me-”
“No. They just need to get over themselves and realize this isn’t about them.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“Me too, Tory. It’s been hell being in Hong Kong these past few months, but I don’t regret it,” you admitted to her. “The training they have us do is on another level. Not to mention, Silver trusts me more now, away from everyone.”
“I’m sure it helps that your other sensei likes you,” she told you jokingly.
You let out a small snort, “No.”
“Oh, I saw the way he pulled you to the side earlier after we were dismissed from the introduction ceremony…” she revealed, but before she could continue, you heard a loud commotion, causing you to dart away from Tory to see what was going on.
You come to find people crowded together and see Robby talking to a guy from Cobra Kai, “What, I gotta kick above that line?” you heard Robby ask.
“Oh, what have you gotten yourself into,” you muttered under your breath. “Robby,” you called out in warning, catching people's attention in the room.
You felt a nudge at your side, “You know him?” Zara points to Robby with a smirk, “Wanna introduce me?” Axel stood next to her and gave you a look of disapproval. You ignored
At first, Robby didn’t really notice her. But then, his eyes flicked back. For a second, it was enough to make him forget what he was about to say. The others behind him let their gaze flicker over their old teammate with careful neutrality, lingering just long enough for a silent exchange. Miguel looked over like he wanted to say something but knew it wasn’t the right time. “Y/n,” Robby muttered lowly, but the silence in the room allowed for many to hear, confirming any suspicions of us knowing each other. “I got this,” he said before taking a step back to focus on his kick. He landed higher than the rest, but as you side-glanced to the Cobra Kai guys, you could tell they weren’t worried.
Before Kwon goes up to make his kick, you blurt out, “Care to make things interesting and let me go after you? I get the rooms if you lose, and you get two if I do.”
“For you, princess, sure,” he smirked at you doubting your abilities. He chalked his shoe and kicked, which landed higher than Robby’s. You knew this was a risky call, given the circumstances. “All you, now.”
Axel exhaled sharply, shaking his head just enough to make a point. Next to him, Zara had muscle twitched in her jaw with her expression screaming, ‘Are you serious?’ You just hoped deep down no one would tell Wolf about this once you guys got back, but you knew better than to hope for such things. You took a running start and grunted, “Ais!” as you kicked the board. You let out a heavy breath as you land back on your feet.
“No way…” you heard someone say.
“Unbelievable,” Zara let out in disbelief.
“Who is she?” “Did you see that??” “I didn’t know someone could kick that high.” “What dojo is she from?” murmurs filled the room, causing you to look at your mark that was just above Kwon’s kick. You let out a laugh and smirked at the Cobra Kai guys while holding out your hand for their cards.
“Don’t worry. I’ll leave your bags in the hallway,” you grinned, taking the hotel cards.
People started to flow out of the space, and you let out a yelp of surprise as Miguel and Hawk took you in their arms in cheers. “Oh, thank god you were here.”
“Had to make sure you idiots didn’t get yourselves in trouble,” you laughed. “It seems I was cutting it a bit close on timing. Anyway, here are their hotel cards. I don’t need it.”
“You don’t want your own room?” Demetri questioned while Robby took the cards from your hand.
“No. I have my own room already,” you told them.
They raise their eyebrows at you skeptically, and Miguel asks you, “How’d you manage that?”
“Silver is to thank for my room,” you revealed. “He wanted to make sure I had no distractions while I’m here.”
“Of course, he did,” Robby scoffed at the mention of Silver. “What else does that maniac have you do lately?”
“Train until I feel like my legs are going to fall off,” you joked, trying to lighten up the tension. “I know he has people watching me to make sure I’m 'on track' with progress. He reminds me every time that if I lose here, that won’t be the worst thing I experience-”
“You’ve got to tell Sensei LaRusso and Lawerence about this,” Miguel butts in concern.
“I can handle this, Miguel. I’m already too far in. Anyway, I got to go and make sure my team is back in time for training. I’ll see you guys out on the mat, okay?” I turn walking away from them.
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It was late. Too late for training, but no one dared to complain. Tomorrow was the first of team events, and every second counted. “Just wait until Sensei Wolf hears about what you pulled earlier,” Zara sneered at you loudly as the team filled the space.
Wolf entered the room looking directly at you, “Hear about what?”
“Nothing. I did what you said to do earlier. I showed them I’m better,” you said, voice firm and unwavering while crossing your arms in front of you.
“And how did you do that?” he walked up until he was close enough to stare down at you.
“I won. Doesn’t matter how.”
“Fine,” he backed off before turning back to face everyone in the room. “Tomorrow will be the first day of team events. You will all show them we do not lose. That we are invincible.”
“Yes, Sensei,” people responded around the room. The team dropped into fighting stances, getting ready as they launched into synchronized movements, their punches and kicks slicing through the air. You’re faced against Zara, who lunges at you. Managing to block her attempt, you, in a blur of motion, struck back with a controlled sweep to her legs. Zara barely had time to react before she hit the mat, hard.
Sensei Wolf circled them like a predator, his sharp eyes scanning for weakness. When someone faltered, he noticed. He always noticed. He tsked in disappointment as Zara pushed herself off the mat.
“You’re going to pay for that one, bitch,” she spat out at you.
“I don’t think I will.” your eyes met Sensei’s, and he gave a sharp nod.
Wolf studied you for a long moment before speaking. “Again. All of you. Faster. No hesitation.”
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We stood stone-faced as Gunther introduced the round of events. “Welcome to our first event. I hope you’re all well-rested and ready for a new and unique competition. We call it the “Captain’s War.” We told you how important your captains will be, So let’s see how well you protect them.” From the corner of your eye, you see Miyagi-Do look at each other nervously. “Four dojos will take the mat. Only one will be left standing. If you hit the mat, you’re out. If one of your captains hits the mat, your entire team is out for this round. Check the boards to see your group, decided by random draw. Group A, you’re up.”
“You know what to do,” Wolf growled as he gripped onto mine and Axel’s arms. He let go of Axel, pulled me back for a moment, and leaned down to my ear, “Let them come to you. Then, take them out. Don’t let them get back up.”
You listen for the other dojos' plans for attack and take note of Kwon’s as he tells his team, “We take Miyagi-Do first. They're weakest. Let them come to us. Then we fight the other dojos.” You already know that won’t work, and Tory knows it too.
You switched your attention to Miyagi-Do and saw the words “Protect the egg” fall from Miguel’s mouth. “Ready? Begin!” Gunther booms from the speakers.
You stay back with your team as you watch the others take each other out one by one. You can tell that Miyagi-Do won’t last long when Tory breaks straight through their front line. Everyone can see the team arguing with each other, unable to agree on their next move. The other Cobra Kai members went after another opposing team. None of them seemed to notice us as we stood tall, waiting for our moment.
“Falchi Della Notte captain down. They are out. Only Cobra Kai and the Iron Dragons remain alive,” came through the announcers.
“All six are still standing,” Tory mumbled in disbelief.
“What is your strategy now?”
“Same as before. We’re outnumbered two to one. Pierce the front line, go straight for the captain,” you hear her say to the two guys while she looks directly at you.
“Okay.”
No words were needed between you and Tory but the tight line of your mouth said enough. Your teammates break their form as Tory, Kwon, and Yoon begin to charge, halting them mid-in their tracks. “What are they doing?” Sensei Kim questions from the side. You keep eye contact with Tory as your teammates begin to walk around you and Axel.
“I’ll take the girl. You two get the big guy.”
The fight erupted between the guys. Cobra Kai spread out trying to divide and conquer, but they realized it didn’t matter that they outnumbered us. Axel sidestepped Kwon’s punch with ease, his counterstrike landing hard against the guy’s ribs. A sharp exhale of pain followed, but Axel didn’t give him a second to recover. Then, he switched with a quick sweep to Yoon, and he hit the mat with a solid thud. Tory looked away from you to notice her teammate down. You take a moment to glance at Axel but don’t dare to spare another second looking.
Axel’s expression was calm but calculating. He shot forward like lightning, closing the gap before Kwon could reset. A quick one-two punch to Kwon’s stomach doubled him over, allowing Axel to make the quick grab to push him, and Kwon’s back crashed down, hitting the mat.
Tory knew she had to play this smart. You were faster, sharper, and you had the skill of waiting for the right moment before attacking. Tory tested the waters first. She sent a quick jab, a feint, then a real strike.
You didn’t even flinch. You weaved between the attacks, your footwork crisp, light as air. Then, you struck. A snap kick that Tory barely blocked in time, stumbling back from the impact. Tory grunted, adjusting her stance. She needed a better approach. She stepped in again, faster, aiming for your ribs, then your head.
Blocked. Blocked.
Tory’s stomach twisted, she could tell you were reading her like a book. Before she could rethink her approach, you made your move. A fake low kick then a switch-up. Tory reacted to the low feint, but you were already airborne. A spinning roundhouse.
The heel of your foot crashed against Tory’s temple. Tory’s vision blurred and her balance wavered. She barely had time to react before you swept her feet out from under her. Tory landed on the mat hard. Hitting it in frustration.
The crowd’s cheers were distant, muffled beneath the pounding in your ears. The referee’s hand rose to signal the victory, but none of that mattered. Not yet. “Both Cobra Kai captains go down. The Iron Dragons win.”
You turn to look for Wolf and realize he’s already watching you. He smirks at you, giving you a nod of approval. Your stomach flipped, and your breath hitched, your heart slamming against your ribs. The weight of his gaze pinned you in place, more intense than the fight itself.
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You make your way to the elevators to head back to your hotel room for a quick shower before the next event. When you were close to reaching the doors, a hand grabbed you from behind you, causing you to yelp before you could realize that it was Miguel pulling you to a private room.
“Miguel! You can’t do that here!” you screeched, hitting his arms. “I was this close to punching you,” you huffed out while pinching your fingers close together as an example.
Miguel let out a laugh, watching you get worked up. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I just didn’t know when I would get another chance to see you alone. You are either always with the giant brute or your killer sensei. Who, by the way, I think is completely into you.”
“Who? Axel? He’s like the big friendly giant.”
“No, pendeja!” he flicked you on the forehead. “Your sensei! That man never takes his eyes off you. Like, ever.”
“Wolf? No, he’s just like that,” you played off.
“So he looks at everyone like he wants to devour them?”
“Miguel!”
“What? I’m just stating the obvious here. Which you want to pretend isn’t true.” Your cheeks flush with heat as you think about Wolf. “See, you’re blushing!”
“No, I’m not,” your hand flew to cover your cheeks.
“Whatever. Enough about them. I want to talk about the captain’s war from earlier. I need advice.”
“Like the fact you should’ve been captain and it’s super obvious that Robby isn’t focused because of Tory being Cobra Kai?”
Miguel shook his head in amusement, “Yes, exactly that.”
“I think you guys need to all sort your shit out before you come back onto the mat because it’s ruining you guys from actually having a chance here. Everyone can tell that you’re not together as a team, and they will use that to their advantage every single time.”
“What, like how the Iron Dragons are a team?” he scoffed, remembering how you and Axel took the fight.
“No, that’s different. Axel and I are enough as captains alone. But you guys have Robby whose head is so far away from the tournament and Sam barely even looks like she wants to be here,” you tried to explain to him. “The rest of you need to work together to make sure they don’t bring you down, unlike how the captain’s war went for you guys today.”
“Bring us down?”
“Miguel, I saw what happened earlier. Everyone did. You took two guys from Cobra Kai at once today, but Robby couldn’t even get past Kwon. I just don’t want to see you fail. I know how much this tournament means to you,” your voice came out sharp, exasperated like you’ve been holding it in for too long. “Forget about Stanford. Forget about the team issues. Forget about everything. Just fight and do it for yourself. Prove to them the leader you are.”
“Okay,” his voice was hesitant, as if unsure of the words. You took it as a sign to pull him back in for another hug, leaning your head on his shoulder, “You should take some of your own advice and do something for yourself,” you heard him murmur into your hair.
“If only it were that easy,” you sighed while pulling away.
“It could be.”
“Not with him. Not with Silver whispering into his ear,” you scoffed at the thought.
“Maybe after all of this then?”
“Maybe,” you said wistfully.
Miguel walked out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You let them linger in your mind, thinking about the what you were risking by starting something with Wolf. You had a mission while being here. To prove you have what it takes to be a champion, and you weren’t going to let anyone take that away from you. This could risk you everything you worked for these past few months and ruin your cover to learn more about Silver. If Wolf found out, you wouldn’t just be losing your spot in the tournament. You’d lose him before you even had a chance to have him.
But maybe he was worth the risk.
You stepped out of the room and looked around carefully to see if anyone you knew was around. Just your luck, you saw Sensei Wolf talking to a group of what looked like other senseis in the lobby. His eyes flickered to the side, catching you. His head tilted like he was confused or more like processing something.
You beelined for the elevator in hopes of avoiding him. You were close to making it alone in the elevator, but a foot stopped the doors from closing. To only reveal Wolf with a sinister look written across his face. He stepped in, and the doors closed behind him. He continued to close the gap between you until you were trapped leaning against the wall with your face turned away from him.
His hand flew to your neck, applying a firm but gentle pressure, guiding your gaze back onto him. “What were you doing in that room?” Wolf hummed, eyes scanning your face.
“Needed a moment alone,” you let out quietly.
“Alone?” he drawled. His grip on your throat tightened for a second, and you noticed his jaw clenched with tension.
“Yes.”
“Do you think I am a fool?” he jeered, making no effort to hide his disdain.
“No, sensei,” you replied in a breathy tone as you tried to push yourself more into the wall to gain some distance between you two.
The elevator rang and opened its doors to your floor, and Wolf dragged you into the hallway. His grip now fell onto your wrist, leading you to your hotel room. “Open the door.”
You fumbled around your bag for your keycard. You quickly unlock the door and walk in, setting your bag on the bed. He comes in, slamming the door behind him shut. You stay silent, not knowing what to say that won’t anger him more. You already knew you got caught, but you didn’t know how much he knew.
“I am going to give you one more chance. What were you doing in that room?” his voice ringed with steel behind each word. “Do not lie to me again.” he sounded low but forceful, voice tight with suppressed anger.
You let out a breathe you were holding, rubbing your temples when you answered him with, “Why does it matter? I give you the results you want. So why does it matter what I do?” You were pushing your luck, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of giving in.
Wolf let out a single, humorless chuckle, “It matters when I think you’re not here to win.”
“This tournament is everything. I will not fail.”
He closed the distance in two sharp steps, stopping just short of colliding. His breath was warm against your face as he growled, “Then tell me what were you doing in that room.”
“I was talking to a friend-” your voice failing you at the end as your breath hitched at the close proximity between you two.
“Friend. Is that why you looked so guilty walking out?” he spat out.
You broke your gaze from him and turned your face away, “Nothing happened.”
“Say that again,” Wolf used his finger to redirect your face to meet his eyes.
“We only talked. Nothing happened.” you were hesitant, paused between words, voice softer than usual.
“Then what are you hiding.”
“Nothing.”
“I SAID DO NOT LIE TO ME AGAIN,” he yelled into your face, making you take a step back until your legs hit against the end of the bed.
“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” you tensed.
“And you don’t get to lie to me. So tell me what you were doing with that boy from the pathetic Miyagi-Do,” he sneered. “Wouldn’t want him to get hurt now?”
“He’s nothing, Wolf. He’s just a means to an end,” you explained cautiously, lying through your teeth.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed all the secret looks and phone calls and the constant hiding of your phone from anyone who could see,” Wolf pointed out. “I know you’re hiding something.”
“If you knew then, why do you care now?” your voice was tight, wondering if you really want to the answer to this or not.
“You’re my champion,” he stated slow and deliberately.
“Yet, I don’t know what you want from me anymore,” you sighed.
“Everything.” Wolf pulled you to him by your hips, making you gulp at the action. You’re holding on by a thread to your self-restraint. His lips broke out in a small smirk that was close enough to brush against your lips, mumbling, “Give in.”
Your breath was uneven, hot against his skin as you whispered, “I shouldn’t.”
“But you can.” and neither of you moved away.
Instead, he raised one hand to brush his fingers against your jaw, featherlight, as if memorizing the shape of you, as if giving you one last chance to walk away. Your lips parted slightly, a breath caught between want and restraint.
Then it snapped.
He crashed into you, his lips searing against yours. You gasped into the kiss, hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more. His grip tightened at your hip, anchoring you to him.
You knew you were being reckless, but at the moment you couldn’t care anymore. You were doing this for yourself. You move your hands to go around his neck to try and pull yourself up to him. The kiss was fast and feverish, making you gasp slightly and allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. You kissed until all the breath left your lungs and even then you never wanted him to stop.
His teeth grazed your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine. Your hands found his hair, pulling it with need. The world blurred around you. The way you fit together like a secret never meant to be told.
Then a noise. A knock against your hotel door.
A reminder of reality.
You tore apart, chests heaving, eyes wild. His lips were red, swollen, his pupils blown wide as he stared at you, something raw and untamed in his gaze.
Heavy silence stretched between you.
“We shouldn’t have-” you started, voice barely a whisper.
His thumb brushed your lip, tracing where his kiss had just been. Claiming.
“I know.” His voice was low, rough. And yet, neither of you held any regret.
#cobra kai#cobra kai season 6#sensei wolf#sensei wolf x reader#sensei wolf x you#cobra kai x reader#cobra kai x you#lewis tan#iron dragons#fanfic#cobra kai fic#cobra kai fanfiction#reader insert#feng xiao#feng xiao x reader#sensei wolf cobra kai
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Oh god, who could that be?
Start from the beginning (Gen 2)
Previous | Next
Note: I believe the "favorite comb" part was inspired by something authorspirit said one time! I found it so funny and I immediately told her it'd be canon. But for the life of me, I CANNOT find the message/comment or remember the exact words 😭 But yeah, writing credits for her hehe 💗
[This was it. Dulce was hoping and PRAYING she would find the notebook here. She looked in several places before she found a locked safe in a drawer.]
DULCE: Oh my gosh, what could the passcode be?
[She racked her brain. Could it be his mom’s birthday? She tried it. No luck. The day he got his favorite comb? No. The number of subscribers he has??? No. Nothing. Damn it all, if only she’d paid more attention to him.]
[Suddenly, there was a commotion in the hallways, prompting a gasp from Dulce. She paused to hear what was happening, but the noises were too muffled. She could only hope Antonio was okay.]
[The ruckus was probably her sign to leave, but she didn’t want to. They had gotten this far. Then, she came across a photograph of Caruso as a toddler with his mom.]
[Guilt crept up. This was the person she crushed—the one who wants revenge because of something SHE had done first. Should she take the notebook?]
DULCE: Yes. I have to do this. He didn’t love me either. We were both in the wrong. The difference is that I tried making things right. He went off the rails.
[However, the photo on the other nightstand made her second-guess her concluded stance on this matter.]
[It was a photo of Cosi, the Pomeranian they had adopted together.]
DULCE: I... didn’t know he cared about her that much. I didn’t even ask if he wanted to keep seeing her after we broke up. He didn’t show interest?
[Dulce went back to wondering if she was really that inconsiderate as a person.]
DULCE: Hold on, what if...?
[She raced back to the safe and tried Cosi’s birthday as the passcode attempt. It didn’t work.]
[But she persisted. She had a gut feeling she was on the right track. What if she tried the date they adopted Cosi? No... ugh. Okay, what about that date but backwards??? Now this was desperation.]
DULCE: ..It worked.
[Suddenly, she heard a knock...]
#oops late update sorry#i decided last min that i wanted to edit: use better words or improve the flow#dulce alegria#tjolc gen 2#matchalovertrait#tjolc#alegria legacy#joy of life challenge#joy of life legacy#sims 4#sims 4 story#sims 4 legacy
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THE ONE SHE CHOSE
pairing: taylor swift x reader
summary: what started as a secret turned into heartbreak. but when taylor finally chooses love over fear, will you be able to trust her again?
a/n: my first with taylor x reader in a romantic way. hope u like it <3
word count: 2,5k
warnings: angst but with a happy ending <3
The first time you met Taylor Swift, it was at a high-profile music industry party—one of those events where champagne flowed endlessly, executives laughed a little too loudly, and every conversation felt like a transaction. You had just landed your first major record deal, your name beginning to make its way through the industry like an echo of something promising.
And Taylor? She was already Taylor Swift. The empire. The legend. The woman whose songs had narrated your teenage heartbreaks and dreams in equal measure.
You hadn’t expected to meet her, much less talk to her. But somehow, fate—or maybe just good timing—placed you right beside her at the bar.
She turned her head, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, and smiled. "I don't think we've met yet."
Your throat dried instantly. "Uh—no. I mean, I’d remember if we had."
Her laugh was soft, effortless. "You’re the one everyone’s talking about. The rising star."
You tried to play it cool, shrugging as you picked up your drink. "And you’re the one everyone’s been talking about for, what? Almost two decades now?"
She smirked, swirling the wine in her glass. "Touché."
That night, the two of you talked like old friends. It was easy—too easy. She made you feel like you belonged, like you weren’t just another newcomer struggling to prove your worth. The industry could be ruthless, but in that moment, with Taylor by your side, you almost believed it didn’t have to be.
And so, the friendship began. The kind that was private, stolen between studio sessions and late-night texts.
The kind that turned into something more before you even had the chance to realize it.
It started as an adventure.
The kisses behind closed doors, the whispered secrets in dimly lit hotel rooms. You told yourself it was fine—this was Taylor Swift, and of course, things had to be complicated.
"Just us," she’d murmur against your lips, her hands tangled in your hair. "No cameras, no headlines."
And for a while, you didn’t mind. You were still finding your place in the world, and she was offering you something so intoxicating it felt worth the secrecy.
But then, the contract happened.
You had known about Hollywood relationships being fake before, but when you heard about this one—Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce, the golden couple—your heart clenched in a way you hadn’t anticipated.
At first, you pretended it didn’t bother you.
"He’s just for the public," she told you, lying in your bed after sneaking away from yet another high-profile event with him. "You know that."
And you did. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.
Because then came the moments you hadn’t prepared for—watching her hold his hand in public, hearing her gush about him in interviews, seeing her eyes light up for him in a way that looked too real.
The way you had always wished she’d look at you.
The breaking point came on a quiet evening in your apartment. You were supposed to be happy—your album had just gone platinum, your name was no longer just a whisper but a headline of its own.
But all you could think about was Taylor.
About how you had been the one there in the silence, in the moments in between the flashing lights. And yet, she could never claim you the way she claimed him.
When she walked through your door that night, you didn’t even let her speak before saying, "I can’t do this anymore."
Her brows furrowed. "What?"
"This." You gestured between you. "Loving you in the shadows while the world thinks you love someone else."
She stepped closer, panic flashing in her eyes. "You know why I can’t—"
You shook your head. "I did know. And I let myself believe it was enough." You swallowed hard. "But it’s not."
Her hands reached for yours, but you pulled away.
"I wanted to be the person you’d be proud to love in front of the world," you admitted, voice breaking. "But I can’t keep pretending that hiding is the same thing as being loved."
The silence between you was deafening.
And then, barely above a whisper, she said, "I’m sorry."
But "sorry" wasn’t enough to stay.
So you left.
Years passed.
You became someone. The world knew your name, your music, your story. You stood on the biggest stages, your voice echoing in sold-out arenas.
And unlike Taylor, you had made the choice to be open.
You came out, let the world see you for who you were, and never hid the way your heart loved. And the world loved you for it.
Taylor never stopped watching from the sidelines.
She cheered for you in private, liked your posts from a secret account, hummed your songs when no one was listening.
She never stopped wanting you.
And then, one night, she found you again.
At another industry event, just like the first time.
You felt her before you saw her. And when you turned, there she was.
Older. Wiser. Still the most beautiful person you’d ever seen.
"Hey," she said, as if no time had passed at all.
"Hey," you replied, though your heart was hammering in your chest.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke.
And then, softly, she asked, "Are you happy?"
You hesitated. Because the truth was, you were. You had built a life for yourself, one where you didn’t have to hide, where love wasn’t a secret.
But Taylor had been your great love, your burning red, your almost.
And so you answered honestly. "I am."
She nodded, exhaling. "Good."
You should have left it at that.
But then, before you could stop yourself, you asked, "Are you?"
She looked at you for a long time, as if debating whether to tell the truth.
And finally, she whispered, "I could be."
For a moment, you weren’t sure you had heard her correctly.
"I could be."
Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. Because that wasn't a yes, wasn't a declaration of contentment—it was a quiet admission that somewhere along the way, she had lost herself in the life she had chosen.
And then, as if realizing she had said too much, Taylor cleared her throat and offered a small smile. "I, um—I've been keeping up with you."
You raised an eyebrow, attempting to ignore the way your pulse quickened. "Oh?"
"Yeah." She tilted her head, watching you carefully. "You've been doing amazing. Headlining stadiums, breaking records." A pause. "Coming out."
You swallowed. That had been a turning point for you, a choice to live freely, without fear or shame. A choice you had made knowing full well that Taylor could never make the same one.
She shifted on her feet, gaze flickering away before she murmured, "And… dating a certain British pop star?"
Ah. There it was.
You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. "Are you fishing for information, Swift?"
She gave you a look, one that was half-amused, half-something else—something unreadable. "Can you blame me?"
You thought about lying. About teasing her, leading her to believe the rumors were true just to see if it would crack that perfectly composed exterior of hers.
But you weren’t that person.
"She’s a friend," you admitted, watching her carefully. "We’ve collaborated, we spend time together, but—" You sighed. "No. I’m not dating her."
Taylor let out a breath, something that sounded dangerously close to relief, but she quickly masked it with a sip of her drink.
Still, you saw it.
You felt it.
"Why do you care?" you asked, keeping your voice soft but steady.
Her fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. "I don't know."
Liar.
She did know. She knew exactly why she cared.
"Taylor—"
"I shouldn't have let you go."
The words slipped out so quietly, so suddenly, that for a second you thought you had imagined them.
But then she was looking at you, truly looking at you, and you saw it—the weight of all the years, all the regrets.
And just like that, you were twenty-two again, sitting in your apartment with your heart in your hands, listening to her tell you she couldn’t.
Couldn’t love you the way you deserved.
Couldn’t give you a future where you didn’t have to hide.
Couldn’t be brave enough to choose you.
Your throat tightened. "Taylor, don’t do this if you’re not sure."
She stepped closer. "I am sure."
You shook your head, exhaling sharply. "No, you’re not. You weren’t back then, and I can’t—" You swallowed hard. "I can't go through that again. I won't."
Her eyes softened, and this time, when she spoke, it was almost a plea. "I've spent years pretending that I don’t miss you. That I don’t regret every single moment I let you believe you weren’t enough for me."
You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the way your heart was screaming at you to believe her.
"Let me prove it to you," she whispered.
You hesitated. Because this—this was everything you had wanted back then.
But was it still what you wanted now?
Could you risk it?
Could you let her back in, knowing what it had cost you the first time?
Taylor reached for your hand, fingers barely brushing against yours.
"You don’t have to decide right now," she murmured. "But if there’s even a part of you that still believes in us, I—" She swallowed. "I won’t hide anymore."
The weight of her words settled between you, heavy and undeniable.
And for the first time in years, you felt something crack open in your chest.
Hope.
Maybe—just maybe—this time, you wouldn’t have to be her secret.
Maybe this time, she would choose you.
You didn't give her an answer that night.
Despite the raw honesty in Taylor's words, the years of unspoken longing, and the way your heart ached to believe her, you weren't ready to just fall back into her arms.
She had to prove it.
And she did.
Slowly. Patiently.
Taylor started texting you again—not in the casual, distant way she had before, but genuinely. She wanted to know how your day was, if you had eaten, what book you were reading. She sent you songs she had been working on, asking for your opinion. It was a small thing, but you knew what it meant coming from her—sharing her work had always been the most intimate way she could express herself.
Still, you kept your distance, only meeting up with her a few times over the next couple of months. And always in private.
Because as much as you wanted to believe she had changed, a part of you still feared history repeating itself.
But then she started doing something different. Something she never would have done back then.
She started mentioning you in interviews.
Nothing obvious at first. Just small things. A passing comment about how talented you were. A story about a song you had written together years ago.
Then, she started going to your shows.
It was discreet at first—backstage visits, sitting in the VIP area with a hoodie pulled over her curls. But the real shift came when she posted about your album.
Not a cryptic like on a tweet. Not an anonymous Spotify playlist addition.
An actual Instagram post.
"This record is magic. I'm so proud of you, always."
The internet exploded.
For the first time, Taylor Swift wasn’t pretending you didn’t exist.
For the first time, she was acknowledging you in a way she never had before.
And you? You felt something shift inside of you.
But it wasn’t enough.
Not yet.
The real turning point came one night in New York.
You were at an awards afterparty, chatting with a few friends, when you felt it—the unmistakable weight of her gaze from across the room.
When you looked up, Taylor was already making her way toward you, completely ignoring the small group of people she had been talking to.
Your heart did that thing again. That stupid, hopeful, aching thing.
But you forced yourself to stay put as she finally stopped in front of you.
"Hey," she said, voice warm but hesitant.
"Hey," you returned, tilting your head. "What are you doing over here? Thought you were busy charming the room."
A small smirk played at her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "I got bored."
"Of them?"
"Of pretending I wanted to be talking to anyone else but you."
Your breath hitched, but you refused to let her see how much those words affected you. "Smooth, Swift."
She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. But then her expression softened.
"Come outside with me?" she asked.
You hesitated, but something in her voice, in the quiet please hidden between her words, made you nod.
The air was crisp as the two of you stepped onto the balcony, the city buzzing below. For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then, Taylor exhaled and turned to you. "I meant what I said."
You looked at her, waiting.
She swallowed. "That I don’t want to pretend anymore. That I want to be with you—for real, this time."
Your chest tightened. "You say that, but—"
"I'm going to tell them," she interrupted, voice firm.
You blinked. "Tell who?"
"Everyone."
It took you a second to process her words. "Taylor—"
"I don’t care what happens. I don’t care about the rumors, or the media, or the backlash. The only thing I care about is you."
Your throat felt tight. "Are you sure?"
She stepped closer, reaching for your hands. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."
And when she looked at you like that, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, you believed her.
Maybe—just maybe—this time, she really had chosen you.
It happened a week later.
It was a random Tuesday, and you were in your apartment when your phone started blowing up.
You frowned, unlocking it, only to see her name trending everywhere.
With shaky fingers, you clicked on the video that everyone was talking about.
It was a clip from an interview. Taylor, sitting across from the host, answering a question about love.
And then, with a soft, almost nervous smile, she said your name.
Out loud.
In front of the whole damn world.
"She’s incredible. One of the most talented, kind, and beautiful people I’ve ever known. And, um—" She laughed, almost to herself, shaking her head. "I guess what I’m trying to say is… I’m very, very in love with her."
You stared at the screen, barely breathing.
Taylor had just confirmed it.
No contracts. No secrecy. No hiding.
She had chosen you.
And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe—
This was the beginning of something real.
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