#Or maybe that’s me being dramatic. Who fucking knows

[wosospacegirl]

And they were roommates - part 3

Summary: Y/n gets injured and has to stay in recovery for 8 months. It's a good thing her friend and teammate Kyra is more than willing to move in with her. wink wink

Warnings: kissing, lots of kissing and sexual tension hehe

Word count: 4k

MASTERLIST

| PART 1 HERE | | PART 2 HERE |

Kyra’s legs felt like concrete and her brain was foggy as she watched Katie steal the ball from her—again. Kyra was tired and confused, and her exhaustion was reflected in her poor training today. She had lost possession of the ball to Katie at least 3 three times, and after the third time, Katie even stopped teasing her about it. The fact that Katie even felt sorry for her spoke volumes about how awful she was today.

When she failed to do well in the last drill, Renée had—gently—asked her to step that one out. Kyra hadn’t wanted to at first, but Renée hadn’t asked her to either, so she went to the bench and sat on the stiff surface, watching her teammates actually show why they were on the field, and she wasn’t.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Alessia said handing her a protein bar. Kyra did not even see her approaching, highlighting how absent-minded she was.

“No,” Kyra mumbled, taking the snack, and fiddling with it at first before taking a small bite. Strawberry and white chocolate flavour, Kyra’s favourite. Maybe she wouldn’t be so depressed today after all. “Did you get kicked out of the pitch too? Is this the ‘prodigy-child-who-can’t-seem-to-kick-a-ball’ corner?”

“Well—no.” Alessia laughed. “Renée asked me to come here and see, in her own words, ‘what the fuck happened to Cooney’, so here I am.”

“Oh, so you don’t really want to talk to me, I’m just another chore in your busy day,” Kyra joked, biting back her laugh as Alessia nudged her slightly with her shoulder.

“You’re being dramatic,” Alessia stated, accepting the half-eaten protein bar Kyra handed back to her.

Alessia finished the protein bar while she waited for Kyra to formulate whatever she was thinking. After a few moments, she finally spoke.

“I’m so confused. And when I’m confused, I get completely worn out from the among of neurons I’m using,” Kyra confessed suddenly.  “I don’t like when things are… I don’t know. Blurry, maybe?”

Alessia listened carefully with narrowed eyes, chin resting on her hand. “But what are you confused about, what’s blurry?” Alessia questioned, not really understanding what the girl was talking about.

Kyra’s cheek flushed. “Y/n has been acting weird lately, I’m not sure why.”

“What do you mean weird? Last time I spoke to her she sounded fine, happier even,” Alessia tilted her head.

“Maybe weird isn’t the right word—” Kyra continued with her mumbling. “She’s acting different, not in a bad way, though.”

“In what way then?” Alessia asked, pressing further.

“She’s being very nice to me,” Kyra blurted out. “Not that she wasn’t before, of course she was always very kind, but now it’s…”

“Different?” Alessia complete easily, given Kyra’s difficult relationship with, well, words today. “She’s being nicer to you, and that’s making you feel confused?”

“Exactly!” Kyra said, throwing her hands up in the air.

Alessia laughed quietly. “All right, tell me about it, let’s dissect it,” Alessia said, fake-serious tone that made Kyra roll her eyes.

“I’m serious, Less!” Kyra groaned,

“I’m too! Go on, I’m all ears,” Alessia encouraged.

So, Kyra told what had happened last night.

Y/n had begged Kyra to put a mattress in her living room. “It’ll be like when we used to have girl’s night!” Y/n had said cheerfully as she sat on the couch. Kyra didn’t match Y/n’s energy. It was late, and Y/n mattress was surprisingly heavy.

“We could keep having girl’s night in your room,” Kyra complained, finally letting the mattress hit the floor. The Australian let out a sigh of relief as her hand went to her shoulder and pressed against the skin.

“Just so you know I am not carrying this upstairs again,” Kyra pointed at the mattress as if it were a sentient being responsible for its weight.

“Too heavy?” Y/n smiled, spreading her legs and motioning for Kyra to sit in between them on the floor.

Kyra obeyed, though not without some complaining. “Yeah, I don’t know what it’s made of.  Aren’t mattresses supposed to be made of goose feathers or some shit?”

Y/n squeezed the spot on Kyra’s shoulder she was complaining about, her hands touching the rough texture of Kyra’s Matilda's hoodie.

“Wow, there, right there,” Kyra whispered as Y/n touched the spot more firmly.

“I think mattress are supposed to have a fair amount of foam, spring, polyurethane—” Y/n explained.

“You’re just making up words,” Kyra muttered, leaning into Y/n’s touches.

“Unfortunately, they’re real words that make up real mattress materials,”

“How do you even know that?” Kyra turned, her eyebrows furrowed as she looked up at Y/n.

“I read it in an article n the newspaper,” Y/n mumbled, tapping Kyra’s head. “And turn around, I’m trying to give you a massage.”

“Newspaper? How old are you? 99?” Kyra whined as Y/n pressed her acromion. “Ouch, don’t be so rough!”

“Sorry! It would be easier if you weren’t wearing this bulky hoodie, I can’t even feel where I’m touching.” Y/n bickered. “Plus, the colors on it aren’t even that good.”

“Those are literally the national colours of my country!” Kyra argued, rolling her eyes as she watched the smug smile on Y/n’s face. “Ok, you’re messing with me,” Kyra concluded.

“Just a little, you’ve been too tense lately, and normally you’re very relaxed.” Y/n said. “I’m just trying to do something nice for you.”

“Yeah, maybe if the derby wasn’t so close I could feel happiness and, you know, live life, but we can’t have everything we wish for.” Kyra said in a fake-sad-voice.

Y/n’s hand fell from Kyra’ shoulder as Kyra pulled out the hoodie in a sweeping motion and threw it casually on the love seat by the window. The other girl was wearing a black sport’s bra underneath the hoodie.

Y/n froze, hands in the mid-air. She hasn’t expecting to see Kyra’s very strong back today. Kyra’s trapezius and deltoid muscles were very defined, Kyra looked tough, but also soft. The dichotomy of it making was making y/n breath out loud.

Kyra turned back to Y/n again, confusion on her face. “Don’t you want to do it anymore?” She asked the girl.

“Do what?” Y/n swallowed, trying not to look at the skin on Kyra’s back, focusing instead on Kyra’s eyes. Eyes were safe. Eyes didn’t make Y/n feel hot in places she shouldn’t feel hot at the moment.

“—The massage? You said if I didn’t wear the..”

“Oh yeah, yeah, of course!” Y/n rumbled. “Sorry,” she whispered as she placed her thumb, forefinger and middle finger on Kyra’s skin, gently pressing the sore spots.

“You’re tense,” Y/n told Kyra, “Especially here…” Y/n placed her fingers on the back of Kyra’s neck.” Y/n applied more pressure, until she felt Kyra’s muscle relax. “Feels good, now?” Y/n asked, continuing to work with her fingers.

“Yeah, it feels great really,” Kyra replied, enjoying Y/n’s hand on her. Maybe Kyra was in a dry spell for months, or maybe Y/n’s finger were really out of this world.

Kyra shivered slightly as Y/n nails scratched gently through her neck. Kyra had to hold back a moan to keep her dignity.

The realisation hit Kyra like a cold winter breeze, she was wearing a sports bra and being massaged—in the most delicious way—by a very pretty girl, who also happened to be her friend.

And now she was supposed to suck it up and share a mattress with said friend because said friend didn’t want to sleep in her room alone anymore. ‘It’s too lonely, it makes me sad’ Y/n had said.

Kyra was hyperventilating slightly. She wasn’t sure if Y/n could notice it.

Y/n moved her leg—the good one—more to the left and touched Kyra’s arm. It was such an innocent touch, but it made Kyra feet like a teenager all over again. Kyra began squirming in her spot, her palms clammy. It was seriously humiliating to feel this hot and bothered by a fucking touch on the arm.

Y/n’s fingers were quicker now, going from the middle of her back to her neck.

Kyra had been with girls before. She knew how to flirt, how to tease, where to touch. She wasn’t inexperienced or innocent on that matter. But the way Y/n was making Kyra’s body shiver just barely felt almost overwhelming—in a good, but scary way.

“Why do you seem more tense than when we started?” Y/n asked, interrupting Kyra’s inner monologue.

“Oh, I’m not. I’m …you just overwhelmed me with your flawless technique!” Kyra said, trying to sound teasing, but failing.

“Oh well, thank you,” Y/n said smiling, but still tilting her head slightly, as if she did not believe Kyra’s word. “I’m trying to find new hobbies, like you said.”

“You should stick with it. Your fingers feel amazing,” Kyra breathed, and then stopped. Her eyes went wide as what she had just said sank in.

“My fingers are that good, huh” Y/n said smugly, enjoying seeing Kyra squirm a little.

“You’re making it dirty,” Kyra said sheepishly.

Y/n laughed and watched as Kyra stood up. “You made it dirty first! Come on, telling a fellow lesbian her fingers feel good?”

“I just really like massages,” Kyra tried to recover from the awkwardness, her hoodie now on. “And it seems like you really liked making me squirm, so I think we’re both even.”

“Oh, okay, you turned that around quickly, I’ll give you that” Yn said, a little taken back, cheeks warm.”

“Flirting.” Alessia stated. “She was flirting with you! And you flirted back.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“You just told me how you flirted with each other!” Alessia said enthusiastically, looking like a happy puppy.

“We weren’t flirting! We were teasing each other, we always do that,” Kyra argued, pointing at Alessia and then at herself. “We always do that.”

“We? Ky when was the last time I made a dirty joke on you?” Alessia questioned, crossing her arms.

“Never!” Alessia said without letting Kyra answer it. “And Y/n never teased me like that either.”

“I’m so sorry Ky but I can’t see where your confusion is coming from, it” Alessia got up, standing in front of Kyra, looking down at her. “It looks to me like you two have a little crush on each other?”

“A crush?” Kyra whined. “We aren’t seven!”

“Well, right now you’re acting like a seven-year-old who can’t see what’s happening right in front of her,” Alessias lectured softly. “What did you guys do after the massage? Please spare me any intimate details, though.”

Kyra rolled her eyes. “Nothing happened, we just got ready for bed and slept.”

“In the same mattress, right?” Alessia asked.

“…Yeah”

“I’m sorry baby, but you can’t be this naïve,” Alessia said softly, looking at Kyra as if she were a innocent child learning how the world works for the first time.

“What happened after the two of you woke up?” Alessia asked.

Kyra blushed as she remembered the position she was when she opened her eyes in the morning. Y/n couldn’t move much because of her cast, but Kyra was a very fussy sleeper and had changed positions during her sleep.

When Kyra’s alarm clock went off, she wasn’t only greeted by the usual and annoying noise, but also by Y/n’s breathing. Kyra had snuggled up to Y/n’s body for some reason. Her head on Y/n’s shoulder as the girl breathed softly into her ear.

“Don’t go,” Y/n said half asleep when Kyra tried to get up.

Kyra blushed, enjoying the way Y/n pulled at her shirt lazily.

“I have to get up and make us breakfast,” Kyra explained, taking Y/n’s hands from off her shirt. “And you have your first physical therapy session today, so we can’t be late.”

“5 more minutes? Please?” Y/n murmured

Kyra sighed, allowing Y/n to lie back on her chest. “Okay, but just 5 minutes.”

“Uhum okay,” Y/n mumbled, falling back asleep.

“Nothing much,” Kyra said, back to Alessia. “We just, I don’t know, cuddled?”

“You cuddled?” Alessias asked slowly.

“Yeah.”

“You are Y/n seemed to be in a pretty domestic bliss right now,” the blonde bent down to tie her boots. “Maybe the whole moving in together had made you realise that you have this chemistry going on?”

Kyra thought for a moment.

“I guess so? I’m not sure about chemistry, though,” she admitted. “I’m not even sure Y/n feels the same way I do.”

Kyra felt pathetic, really. Sure, perhaps she had feelings for her friends—and her roommate—but that didn’t mean that Y/n liked her back. There was always the possibility that Y/n was just lonely, and Kyra just happened to be there.

“I don’t think she’d give you a massage or cuddle up with you if she’s still saw you as just her friend,” Alessia pointed out. “Y/n isn’t the type to play hard to get—she’s very straightforward about how she feels.”

Alessia was right. Whenever the three girls went out to a bar or club, Y/n never played games with the women she wanted to take home. She was direct and confident.

“I guess I just don’t see her liking…me?” Kyra confessed, looking down. “I’m not going into a spiral of self-loathing or anything—I know I’m pretty and funny,” She half-joked.

“But Y/n’s also dealing with a lot right now. She’s focused on her recovery, getting better, starting physio… I don’t think she’s even aware of whatever this is,” Kyra added.

“Y/n’s recovering from a really bad injury, but she’s still Y/n,” Alessia countered, eyebrows furrowed. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders—I don’t think she’d be so oblivious about this whole situation.”

Before Kyra could respond, their conversation was cut short. Renée had called both players back to the pitch.

“I hope you got your mind off whatever was bothering you,” the coach said as she patted Kyra on the back.

Kyra thought of Y/n’s face.

“Yeah, I’m back now. Sorry,” Kyra said, slipping her practice vast on and jogging onto the field.

Hours later, the training was over, and Kyra was on her way to pick up Y/n from the physiotherapy clinic. Kyra parked in front of the white building, spotting Y/n already waiting with a smile on her face

“Hi, how was it?” Kyra asked as she stepped out of the car, opening the passenger door and helping Y/n inside.

“It was very good, actually,” Y/n said happily, handing Kyra her crutches so she could put them in the back seat. “Dr. Marta says my leg’s looking great and that haven’t lost too much muscle mass, so I won’t have too much trouble when we start doing the heavier exercises.”

“That’s great!” Kyra said, looking in between Y/n and the road as she drove away. “Has Dr. Marta said when you’ll be cleared to do the physio back at Arsenal?”

Y/n turned on the radio and Pink Pony Club by Chappell Roan filled the car. “Yeah, she said I could go in two weeks. She just wants to make sure my ligaments are strong enough first.”

Kyra put a hand on Y/n’s leg—the good one—and gave it a light squeeze. “Well, I bet your ligaments are already better than mine.”

Y/n stared at Kyra’s hand, enjoying the subtle touch.

Kyra noticed the silence realised where her hand was. “Sorry,” she mumbled, quickly pulling it back and placing both hands on the wheel.

“its’s okay,” Y/n said, taking Kyra’s hand and putting it back on her leg. “Your hand is warm; my leg is cold. You can keep it there,” y/n said casually.

Kyra swallowed. She wasn’t sure what to do, so she just left her hand where it was.

“But now tell me about the training—how was it?” Y/n asked, shifting the conversation. “And I saw you guys had media day! I was so bummed I missed it…I love media days”

Kyra raised an eyebrow, her thumb now gently caressing her skin now. Not a big deal.

“No, you don’t.” Kyra huffed. “Last season, you pretended to have cramps, so you wouldn’t have to film a TikTok.”

“I said I love media day, I didn’t say I like making a fool of myself dancing,” Y/n shot back, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, come on, you’re a good dancer,”

“Yeah, at parties! I don’t do well when I’m the only one dancing and everyone around me is watching,”

“Well, when you come back all healed up, I’ll do a TikTok dance with you, so you don’t have to dance alone.”

“Given your dancing skills I think we’d both be better off hiding in the changing room,” Y/n teased.

Kyra stuck her tongue out at Y/n before they both burst laughing.

..

Y/n felt like a like a caged animal whenever she was around Kyra, which was often, considering they lived together. She tried, really tried to control herself and her impulses around Kyra, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable in any way.

But every time Kyra got a little too close, Y/n had to remind herself to breath, to think straight and not to let her gaze linger for too long.

Y/n wanted to kiss Kyra, really kiss her.

That was all she could think about when Kyra slipped a pillow under her leg without her being asked, or when she cut apples and handed them to Y/n before she even realised, she wanted a snack.

Maybe Y/n’s love language was acts of service—after all, why was she horny just because Kyra put socks on her feet?

It had been months since Y/n had kissed anyone, maybe a month or two months before her injury. She couldn’t quite remember it. So it was unnecessary to say that she was desperate.

Y/n though she had more grace, more control in her, but it all went out the drain the moment Kyra plopped herself on her side on the mattress, fresh from the shower. Her hair was still damp, and the shampoo she used filled the room with a vanilla fragrance.

Pretty, pretty girl.

Y/n felt as if her entire brain had ben short-circuited, as if her neuronal network had been designed to think about Kyra and only Kyra.

Both girls had gone out to a restaurant an hour earlier, it was the first time Y/n had seen all her teammates together since her injury. It was lovely to see all of them together after such long time.

The arsenal players stayed until late, but when Kyra and Y/n had gone home, Y/n suggested a movie night, which Kyra had agreed to—under one condition—she was the on picking the film.

‘But I’m a cheerleader’ was in the final ark already when Megan crashed the graduation party to be with Graham.

Y/n wouldn’t say it was the film itself that influenced her to take that step. It was more the subtle brush of Kyra’s arm against her own that did the trick.

“Hey, Kyra?” Y/n said, her confidence rising.

“Hmm?” Kyra mumbled, not taking her eyes off the TV.

“I really wanna kiss you right now,” Y/n confessed bluntly. She didn’t stutter or stumble in her words—she knew what she wanted, and she’d be very happy if Kyra wanted It too.

Kyra gasped slightly and finally looked into Y/n’s eyes. “What?”

It felt as if there was no air in her lungs, as if her stomach was turning against itself. Was she dreaming?

No, she wasn’t. She was sure this was real.

“Kiss you. I really want to,” Y/n explained calmly. “But it’s alright If you don’t want,” She added, looking intensely at Kyra.

“I-I want to kiss you,” Kyra said, a hint of question in her voice.

“Yeah? You sure?” Y/n asked, slightly teasing.

“Uhum,” Kyra nodded eagerly.

“Ok,” Y/n whispered before leaning in and carefully kissing Kyra.

Y/n cupped Kyra's jaw gently, controlling the depth of their kiss with gentle confidence. Kyra's tongue slipped shyly into Y/n's mouth. Their bodies fit together in the best possible way.

The kiss was better than they had ever imagined. Y/n had kissed many women before, but Kyra was definitely her best kiss yet. Kyra’s softness and her slight hesitation to just let go in the kiss made Y/n feel hot.

It was like their bodies wanted each other for a long time.

Kyra sighed into the kiss; Y/n welcomed her breath. The kiss was slow, and deliberate, not rushed in any way—like they were savouring something they’ve been waiting for a long time.

Kyra broke the kiss, but didn't pull away, instead touching her forehead and looking into Y/n’ eyes. “I liked it,” Kyra said shyly.

Y/n smiled. “Me too, a lot.” She bit Kyra’s lip gently. “Can I kiss you again?” 

“You can kiss me whenever you want”, Kyra said, taking Y/n's mouth back into her own.

The position their bodies were currently in was a little odd. Kyra was sitting up on the mattress, but leaning slightly on Y/n, while Y/n was lying with a pile of pillows on her back so she could sit up straighter and still be comfortable with her cast.

They kissed once, then stopped to catch their breath. And then they kissed some more. Kyra's elbow resting next to Y/n’s face while Kyra held her body over Y/n with her forearm.

“That was a very good kiss,” Kyra said, kissing Y/n's mouth, then her cheeks, then her nose. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” she confessed.

"Yeah? Me too,” Y/n said, enjoying the feeling of Kyra’s lips on her face. “It was very hard not to kiss you before.”

“And I can see why, you're all flushed,” Kyra teased, now kissing the base of Y/n’s neck, sucking the skin gently, not enough to leave any mark.

“I’m not,” Y/n mumbled, very much appreciating what Kyra was doing.

“All for me” Kyra whispered, Y/n barely hearing it.

Unfortunately for Y/n, Kyra pulled away.

“No, come back,” Y/n whimpered, tugging at Kyra's oversized shirt, trying to bring her closer, but Kyra didn't give in. 

Kyra smiled softly, taking Y/n's cheeks in between her hands and puckering her lips. “It's almost two in the morning,” Kyra explained, getting out of bed. “You have to take your meds, and we need to go sleep.”

Kyra handed Y/n's prescription bottle, along a glass of water. Y/n took them, but not without making sure she was very disappointed at Kyra for ruining their snog session.

“Do you think I’m not mad at myself too?’ Kyra asked as she watched a pout form on Y/n’s face.

Kyra got back in bed and urged the girl to lay her head on her chest. “I’m having to be the responsible one! The ‘let's not move too fast’ one the ‘hey it's late and we should be sleeping.’”

Kyra continued with her rant while Y/n just enjoyed her voice and how soft her body was against her own. They weren’t kissing anymore, but they were cuddling. It was enough for Y/n.

Kyra’s fingers found themselves on Yn’s scalp massaging it.

“We really should be sleeping,” Y/n said. “I can’t barely keep my eyes closed.”

“I swear I could stay up late without a problem a few years ago,” Kyra said added.

Y/n patted Kyra's cheek patronisingly. “And that's because you're getting older, babe,” Y/n murmured.

“I don't like it.” 

“You'll get used to it.”

“You say it like you’re much older than me” Kyra said.

Y/n noticed her voice sounded more tired now.

“I am.” 

“Only 2 years.” 

“Enough to have a fully developed brain.”

Y/n waited for Kyra's familiar teasing remarks, but they didn't come. She was already fast asleep. And so was Y/n a few moments later.

..

Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

Tell me if you would like to read any special scene with Kyra and reader!

[svtiddiess]

Hiii I’m back hehe I just saw that you said you in the mood to write a Drabble and I went through the list and the one that caught my eye was

126. “They gave us... One bed?” “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” (could end in smut, or simply fluffy teasing) I was thinking maybe with Mingyu *I just love him* us being low key rivals (nothing too serious)

"They Gave Us...One Bed?" + "Don't Pretend You Don't Like It."

Pairing: Mingyu x gn!reader

Genre: suggestive, non-idol! au, drabble

Rating: suggestive

Word count: 0.4k

Request a drabble from me using these prompts!

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

You drop your bag in utter disbelief as you step into the bedroom you’ll be calling home for the next week. You were supposed to be on a fun trip with a group of friends, but thanks to some last-minute chaos, you ended up having to share a room with someone.

And not just someone—no, of course not. It had to be Kim Mingyu, the one person who gets under your skin like no one else. Some might call you dramatic, but they don’t get it. They weren’t there when Mingyu humiliated you on the first day of university, an incident that still sends a cold shiver down your spine whenever it crosses your mind. They don’t know how he manages to annoy you to the point of wanting to rip your hair out every single day. They don’t understand how he refuses to give you a moment of peace, no matter how many times you tell him to "fuck off".

And now, here you are, forced to share a room with him for the next week. Curse your mutual friends for putting you in this situation.

You frantically scan the room, hoping your eyes are playing tricks on you. This can't be real. There’s no way this is happening.

"They gave us…one bed?" you mutter, your voice dripping with disbelief.

Mingyu, ever the picture of nonchalance, drops his bag and flops onto the bed with a chuckle, stretching out like he owns the place.

"Don't pretend you don't like it," he smirks, his tone teasing.

Damn him and his stupidly handsome face. It makes you want to wipe that smug grin right off his face.

"I'd rather sleep on the street," you snap, crossing your arms.

Mingyu clutches his chest dramatically, as if your words have physically wounded him.

"Ouch, doll. You're so cruel," he fake-pouts, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Your cheeks burn at the nickname. No matter how many times you've told him to stop calling you that, he never listens. And you hate the way it makes your stomach flip, the way it sends a traitorous flutter through your chest.

"I'm not sharing a room with you," you hiss, turning on your heel to leave.

But before you can take a single step, his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back. In one swift motion, he pins you against the wall, his tall frame caging you in. Your eyes widen as your heart races, your cheeks flushing under his intense gaze. He leans down, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear as he murmurs,

"Don't even think about it. You're stuck with me all week, doll."

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @iwannakisspoutycheol @foxiesgf24 @livelaughloveseventeen @aliiikareed @jennwonwoo @cherrybb96

[starkeysprincess]

Petals & Promises

rafe cameron x Kook fem!reader

SUMMARY: Rafe Cameron doesn’t do romance—until after that wild night at the party, when he starts showing up at your door with flowers. No words, just a smirk and a bouquet. It’s probably just a joke... or is it?

wc: 3,4k (I got carried away 😛)

WARNINGS: some angst, mainly fluff, (idk what else to add lmk)

Y/N was curled up on her couch, overwhelmed with the strenuous college work that she had to turn in till next week. It was quiet on Figure 8, The afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, casting a soft glow across the room. The stress inside of her was slowly building up while cautiously reading through her essay, making sure not to make one single mistake. She was a straight A student after all, and the only thing that mattered to her was having perfect grades. Meanwhile her friends were going out, partying, drinking, living their best lives, she was bed rotting and freaking out about her future, it was stupid really.

suddenly, she heard her phone ring and when she saw that it was her best friend Lila, she couldn't of have been happier. Immediately she picks up the phone:

L: "hey girlll, how are you?"

Y/N: "hey Lil, I'm finishing up my assignment, as always, ugh im literally about to pass out."

L: "okayyy perfect then, I have the perfect solution for you, you're coming to Rafe Camerons party today at 8. You seriously need to loosen up."

Y/N: "wait- what? Lil, you know I can-"

L: cya there!

*the phone Hangs up*

"Fuck...." you mumble to yourself and let out a sigh. But on the other hand, maybe listening to Lila and forgetting about school wouldn't be so bad at all? I mean, as long as you don't get wasted what could go wrong? Time passes and you get up to fancy yourself up. It feels so stupid to you, but on the other side you've never been to a party before and a feeling of excitement rushes through you. Therefore you do a full face of soft glam makeup, touching it up with a rosey pink color of gloss and curl your hair. The last touch was the outfit, for which you had decided to go with a pretty dark blue evening gown and a pair of louboutin heels. If you were being honest, this was the prettiest you've felt in a long time. It felt relieving to feel comfortable and beautiful in your own body again. You leave your house and start walking to Tannyhill. Once you get to your destination, you see a large crowd of people in front of the Cameron household. You step into the house, and boom—music shaking the walls, bodies everywhere, air thick with booze and something fruity. Before you can even process, Lila spots you.

“GIRL, FINALLY!” she stumbles over, nearly spilling her drink. “I was ’boutta send a damn search party. By the way you look JAW DROPPING”

“Thank you but you texted me two minutes ago.”

“And that was two minutes of suffering,” she says dramatically, shoving a cup into your hand. “Now drink.”

You sniff it. “What the hell is this?”

“Who cares? It’s alcohol.”

You take a sip—mistake. “Bro, are you tryna poison me?”

she cackles. “Lightweight. C’mon, we need shots.”

Fast forward—you're both gone.

You’re clinging to each other, half-dancing, half-tripping, screaming the wrong lyrics to some song. Your head spins, but in a fun way.The room spins. The lights blur into streaks of neon, and the bass vibrates through your chest like it's syncing with your heartbeat. You don’t know how long it’s been—minutes? Hours? Your head is heavy, your legs unsteady, and suddenly, Lila is gone. Panic flickers through the haze of alcohol. You push through the crowd, bumping into sweaty bodies, murmuring half-apologies. Your vision tunnels, and the edges of the world start to fade. Shit. You need air. You need to sit. Stumbling toward the wall, you brace yourself, blinking hard to clear your vision. The party keeps moving around you—people laughing, dancing, making out in dark corners—but it all feels distant, like you're underwater. But even through your fucked up vision and fuzzy head, you see and feel someone eyeing you down.

And then you see him.

Rafe Cameron.

He’s across the room, leaning against the counter, drink in hand, watching you. Not just looking—watching. His sharp blue eyes flicker under the dim lights, unreadable, intense. Your pulse stutters. Whether it's from the alcohol or the way he tilts his head slightly, like he’s debating something, you’re not sure. All you know is that everything else—the noise, the people, the chaos—fades into the background.

It’s just you and him.

Your legs give out before you can take another step. The world tilts violently, and the last thing you feel is the cold floor meeting your body. Distantly, voices blur together, someone laughs, music pulses through your skull. Then—warm hands. Strong arms wrapping around you before you hit the ground completely. The scent of cologne, sharp and clean, cuts through the alcohol haze clouding your brain. “Shit.” A deep voice, close. Your head lolls against something firm—a chest? A shoulder? You can barely process it, everything slipping in and out of consciousness like a bad dream. “Yo, is she good?” someone asks. “She’s fine,” the voice responds, low and controlled. “I got her.”

Then you’re moving. Lifted effortlessly, arms hooked under your legs and back. The warmth is grounding, but your mind is too fogged to fight it, to even think about what’s happening. Cool air kisses your burning skin as you’re carried outside. The music muffles behind closed doors, replaced by the sound of steady footsteps, the distant hum of crickets.

You try to mumble something, but it comes out as a slurred mess.

“Relax,” the voice says. “You’re safe.”

Safe. The word wraps around you, pulling you further into the darkness.

The first thing you notice is the warmth. Not just from the hoodie wrapped around you, but from the air itself—quieter, softer than the freezing night outside. The second thing is the scent—clean linen, expensive cologne, a faint trace of cigarette smoke.

You’re not at the party anymore.

Your head is still spinning, but the pounding bass, the suffocating crowd, the overwhelming chaos—it’s all gone. Replaced by something calmer. Safer. Blinking hard, you push yourself up slightly, your body weak and heavy, and that’s when you see him.

Rafe Cameron.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, head tilted slightly like he’s been watching you this entire time. But not in the way people usually say he does. There’s no arrogance, no sharp amusement. Just something unreadable. Something almost… gentle. His blue eyes flicker over your face, scanning, assessing. “You good?” Your throat is dry, but you manage to croak, “Where—?”

“My place,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You were out of it. I wasn’t about to leave you there.” The weight of those words settles in your chest. You were vulnerable—completely out of it—and instead of taking advantage, instead of leaving you behind, he brought you here. Safe. Taken care of.

You were confused, and on the other hand you were partially panicking, why would Rafe Cameron take you to his house?

“I—” You don’t even know what to say. Your hands clutch at the hoodie around you, only now realizing it’s his. The sleeves practically swallow your arms, the fabric drowning you in warmth. “You were shaking,” Rafe says like he’s reading your mind. “Figured you could use it.” Your stomach flips. Why is he like this?

You’ve heard the stories—Rafe Cameron is reckless. Selfish. Dangerous. But the guy sitting in front of you? He’s none of those things. Maybe it's just an illusion, maybe he just wants to get between your legs and leave you. He shifts, reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand, then holds it out to you. But when you try to grab it, your fingers tremble too much. You're unsure of wether you should trust him or not.

Rafe notices.

Without a word, he lifts the glass to your lips himself, his free hand cupping the back of your neck, steadying you. His touch is warm, careful, almost hesitant—like he’s afraid of hurting you. The moment stretches, something thick and heavy settling between you. When you finish, he pulls back just slightly, his thumb barely grazing your skin before he lets go. The loss of contact makes something tighten in your chest.

“You feeling okay now?” His voice is quieter now, softer.

You nod weakly. “Yeah… thanks.”

His lips press together, like he’s debating something. Then, finally, he sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“I don't want you to go there anymore.”

Your breath catches. “I—what?” Rafe lets out a small, breathy chuckle, almost like he can’t believe himself either. “You just… you don't belong at parties.” He glances away for a second, then back at you.

Your heart drops, unsure what he means and you swear you could feel your face heat up in embarrassment.

Your fingers tighten around the hoodie still wrapped around you, and you finally whisper, “Why?”

Rafe holds your gaze for a long moment, the air between you thick, heavy with something neither of you know how to name. Finally, he reaches out, fingers barely grazing your cheek, his touch featherlight. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Because it’s you,” he murmurs. He stares you down with a neutral face expression. The embarrassment lingers, twisting in your chest.

Parties aren’t for you.

Rafe’s words replay in your mind, making you feel small. You tug his hoodie tighter around you, avoiding his gaze. He sighs, grabbing his keys. “C’mon. I’ll take you home.” The drive is quiet until he finally speaks. “You think I meant that in a bad way.” You hesitate. “Didn’t you?” His grip on the wheel tightens. “No. I meant… you don’t need that shit. The fake smiles, drunk assholes, guys looking at you like—” He stops, jaw clenching. “Like you’re something to mess with.”

Your heart stumbles.

“I just—” He sighs. “It’s not you.” The weight in your chest shifts. Not gone, but lighter. When he pulls up to your house, he reaches out, tugging the hood over your head gently. His fingers graze your jaw, slow, careful. “Get inside safe,” he murmurs. You nod. “Thanks… for everything.” As you step out, you don’t look back.

But if you did, you’d see him still watching. Still waiting.

Two days pass, but you can’t shake the way Rafe looked at you that night. The softness in his voice, the weight in his eyes. Like he saw you differently. Like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

You tell yourself it was nothing. That it was just a moment. That Rafe Cameron doesn’t do things like that.

But then— The doorbell rings.

When you open it, he’s there.

Standing on your porch, dressed in a dark hoodie and jeans, looking almost nervous. And in his hands—a bouquet. Not just any bouquet, but the kind that looks like it came straight from some overpriced florist. Deep red roses, white lilies, wrapped in a silk ribbon. Your breath catches.

“Uh…” You blink at him, words failing you. “Are you lost?” Rafe huffs a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “No.” He glances down at the flowers, then back up at you. “These are for you.”

You just stare. Because—what? After a beat, you slowly take them, fingers brushing his as you do. The petals are soft, the scent rich and overwhelming. “Rafe…”

“I know,” he cuts in, running a hand through his hair. “This is… not what you expected.” You nod, still too stunned to process. He exhales sharply, like he’s bracing himself. Then, finally—

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

Your heart stutters. Rafe looks away for a second, like this is harder for him than it should be. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, rougher.

“That night? Seeing you like that? It fucked me up.” His blue eyes meet yours, and there’s nothing cocky in them. Just honesty. Raw and unfiltered. “I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I started caring. And it scared the shit out of me.”

You swallow hard, your grip tightening around the flowers.

He takes a small step closer, voice dropping even lower. “But you looked at me like I was good that night. Like I was worth something.” He scoffs under his breath, shaking his head. “And I wanted to be that. For you.”

Your chest tightens, your pulse pounding. Rafe runs a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “Look, I don’t do this shit. I don’t—” He gestures vaguely, like this is beyond him. “But I can’t not do this with you.”

Another step. Closer.

“So let me take you out. A real date.” His gaze softens, voice barely above a whisper now. “Let me prove I can be good for you.”

The world narrows to just him. His eyes, his voice, the plea hidden beneath it all.

And suddenly, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.

Because this? This feels real.

[nameless-jamie]

hi babes! i’m obsessed with jamie x pa reader oh my god its amazing! 🩵 would love to read jamie sabotaging pa’s dates like, everytime she says shes going out with someone he comes up with something urgent for her to do just to spend time with her and also him being jealous of them lolll💕 feel free to change anything and thank you🫶🏼

Not on Accident

FINALLY THE CLIMAX

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, suggestive scenes, kissing

A/N: I hope you like it and thank you for the request, It was such a good idea that I made it into the climax of their tension-filled relationship.

Y/N had been Jamie Tartt’s personal assistant long enough to recognize when he was full of shit.

And right now? He was positively overflowing with it.

The week went by as normal as it gets with Jamie, Y/N was coordinating his schedule, making sure he showed up to sponsorship meetings, and handling his existential crises when he decided his hair wasn’t quite right before the game.

It was Saturday and usually Saturday nights Y/N had her day off. Her Saturday night plans had been set for over a week. She had even mentioned them to Jamie in passing while reviewing his schedule, barely expecting him to register the information. But, to her surprise, he had—oh, he absolutely had.

"—and Friday you have to do this little interview with our new sponsor..."

"Yeah, will do that, love. What are ya up to this weekend?"

"Oh, you know, just the usual. Chilling, cooking and cleaning...oh and Saturday night I actually have a date with this guy."

"Huh. Hmmm...well have fun then."

At the time, he had simply hummed with a short response, not saying much further. She had chalked it up to him not caring. Why would he care? He was Jamie Tartt. He had models in his DMs and a different woman on his arm at every event.

Meanwhile, Y/N was just his PA. Why would she care? Pfff no, she doesn't. They only kissed like once, on accident, and flirted all the time. Oh, and kissed that one time when they pretended to be a couple, also they've slept in one bed...Fuck, ok maybe she does care.

Anyway, she had gone about her week, fully expecting to follow through with her plans. A date. It wasn’t anything serious, just dinner with a guy she had met through a mutual friend. Ryan was nice enough—handsome in a conventional way, good job, well-dressed, not arrogant, and also a little boring.

Most importantly, though, he was not Jamie Tartt.

Because Jamie Tartt was not an option. Jamie Tartt, who made her heart miss a beat every time he touched her or called her love... Jamie Tartt who was also her cocky slightly arrogant boss, was not an option!

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

But then—just as she was putting the finishing touches on her makeup, slipping into a dress that made her feel genuinely attractive for once, and fastening the delicate clasp of her necklace—her phone rang.

She sighed at the sight of Jamie’s name flashing on the screen.

Of course.

Jamie did not respect business hours, nor did he care that it was a Saturday night. Jamie Tartt needed 24/7 care.

Still, she answered. She always did.

“Jamie, if this is about your dry cleaning again, I swear to—”

“Nah, nah, it’s an emergency,” he cut in, his voice decidedly not panicked for someone claiming to have an emergency.

That alone made her suspicious.

She narrowed her eyes. “An emergency, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

"On the day I told you I'm going out—with a man..."

Silence again.

She blinked. “Are you going to elaborate or should I hang up?”

Jamie exhaled sharply. “I’d rather not do it over the phone. Can you come over?”

Y/N checked the time. “Jamie, I told you I have plans.”

A beat of silence. Then—“Yeah, I know. Cancel ‘em. Please, it's urgent. Really.”

She scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“Look, I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t serious, Y/N.”

She hesitated, gnawing on her lip. Jamie was dramatic, but he wasn’t outright cruel. He used her first name too, instead of babe or love, might really be urgent... If he was truly in trouble if something was really wrong—what kind of assistant would she be if she ignored him?

A terrible one, that’s what.

And Ryan probably wouldn't mind rescheduling. He is too nice to mind.

With a sigh, she grabbed her bag. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

She just had to make one awkward phone call with Ryan now...

"Y/N, hi!"

"Hi Ryan, look I have to tell you something..."

"You have to cancel, don't you?"

"Ugh...yeah, actually yes. I'm so sorry Ryan, it's a work thing."

"That's okay, you work for Jamie Tartt, right? Uhm....Do you maybe like think you could get me an autograph, I'm a fan of him and all that."

Ok, that kinda gave Y/N the ick...She couldn't even explain why.

"Huh, yeah I'll ask him. Let's see when we both find the time to meet up again. See ya!"

Jamie had been pacing his living room when he heard the knock.

He swung the door open, the words “took you long enough” ready on his tongue—only to forget how to speak entirely when he saw her.

Fuck. That fucking dress. She was gonna wear that...FOR HER DATE?!

He had expected her to look nice—she always looked nice—but this? This was different.

She was stunning.

Hair done, lips glossy, dress distractingly well-fitted. Black and short.

His stomach twisted. Why the fuck was she trying to look this good for him? Was is something serious?

Y/N gave him a pointed look arms crossed in front of her chest making her boobs more prominent. “Well? What’s the emergency?”

Jamie blinked, very much struggling to remember his own bullshit excuse.

Shit.

“Uh…”

She uncrossed her arms, waiting. “Jamie Tartt.”

“Right. The emergency.” He cleared his throat, stepping aside so she could come in. “Yeah, so—uh—I think my… thermostat’s broken?”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“Are you fucking serious? Do I look like a fucking handyman? You are unbelievable.”

Jamie winced. “Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds—”

“No, Jamie. There is no way you just made me cancel my date because you’re too lazy to Google ‘how to adjust thermostat settings. I'm not your fucking butler.”

Jamie had the decency to at least look guilty.

“I just—I dunno, it’s like, well cold in ‘ere, and I thought—”

“Oh my god.” She turned on her heel. “I’m leaving.”

“Oi, wait—”

“Nope. Absolutely not.” She marched toward the door. “I cannot believe I fell for that again—”

His hand wrapped gently around her wrist before she could reach the doorknob. “C’mon, just—stay for a bit, yeah? You already canceled, might as well help me now.”

She should have walked away. She should have told him to call an actual handyman and gone on her boring date, with average Ryan.

But Jamie was looking at her like she was the only person in the world.

Like maybe—just maybe—he had needed her here tonight.

And that was so fucking unfair.

She sighed. “You’re an absolute idiot. I really fucking hate you.”

His lips quirked up. “An absolute fit idiot, though.”

She rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched in betrayal.

Yup, Jamie took that as a win.

A bottle of wine later, Y/N was curled up on Jamie’s small couch, the thermostat now warming up the place (it was fucking off, not broken). Y/n had her heels kicked off, her dress still clinging to her in all the right places, riding up her thighs slightly.

And Jamie had not stopped staring at her all night.

She caught him looking more than once, but instead of calling him out, she simply lifted a brow. “Something on my face, Tartt?”

His lips curled into a smirk. “Nah. Just thinkin’.”

“About?”

His gaze flickered over her, lingering. “What a shit date you missed out on. Lucky girl.”

Y/N huffed a laugh. “You arrogant prick! You don’t even know him.”

“Don’t need to.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes locked on her. “Bet he wouldn’t ‘ave made you laugh like I do.”

Her breath hitched.

Jamie noticed.

She scoffed, attempting to regain control. “Bit full of yourself, aren’t you?”

He grinned. “You love it, Y/N.”

Her first name again. She refused to answer.

Instead, she looked down at her glass, swirling the remaining wine before saying—so quietly he barely heard—

“I didn’t think I could have you.”

Jamie’s heart stopped.

For a moment, he wondered if he had imagined it.

He sat up straighter. “What?”

Y/N exhaled, staring at the rim of her glass. “You never seemed like the type to—” She paused. “I just figured you didn’t see me that way. I mean I'm your assistant and—”

Jamie wanted to laugh.

Not at her—but at the sheer fucking absurdity of her words.

Instead, he reached out, his fingers tilting her chin up just enough to make her look at him.

“Babe.” His voice was soft. Rough around the edges. Honest. “I ‘aven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since the day you started workin’ for me. Fuck we've kissed twice already and I've taken both of those kisses seriously. No accidents. I've wanted you since day one.”

She swallowed hard.

Jamie’s gaze flickered to her lips. “Say the word, and I’ll prove it.”

A pause.

Then—

“Prove it.”

And just like that, Jamie Tartt closed the space between them, kissing her like he had been waiting his whole fucking life for this moment.

Y/N melted against him, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer because fuck, this was inevitable, wasn’t it?

Jamie pulled back just enough to smirk against her lips. “Told you that date of yours would’ve been shit.”

Y/N laughed, shoving his shoulder.

"By the way my 'date' asked for your autograph when I stood him up..."

Jamie smirked and caught her wrist—like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

"I'll just send you back to him with my marks all over your neck. Better than a dumb autograph, yeah baby? Bit more of a personal message from Jamie Tartt."

And for once, Y/N let herself go, she grabbed him by his neck and they fell back on the couch, their mouths never letting go of one another...this time not on accident.

[cloversplace]

“Pony was being dramatic!” “Darry only hit him once!” “You’re telling me Darry never hit him before?” “Johnny gets hit everyday at home and doesn’t complain!”

Shush. Just, stop for a minute. I personally think that Pony’s reaction to getting slapped was justified, and it angers me a little sometimes when people chalk it down to just him being a brat. Ponyboy already thinks Darry doesn’t want him around, Darry’s constantly on Pony for every little thing, being hard on him to keep him from getting taken away. Hitting him is one thing that would get Pony taken away faster than anything else, in doing this, Darry’s accidentally sending Ponyboy a message: He doesn’t just not want him around, he wants to get rid of him as quickly as possible. 

“Oh but Darry probably hit him a lot when they were kids!” EXACTLY. When. They. Were. KIDS. Darry 100% slugged Pony a couple times bc he was being a little shit, but Darry’s stuck halfway between being a father and a brother. He’s not just Pony’s brother anymore, he’s his guardian. Pony explicitly says that no one in his family hit each other, including their parents. Pony says Darry looks exactly like their dad, in that moment, Pony can’t imagine his father hitting him. If his parents had still been alive and his father had hit him instead of Darry, Pony would’ve had the same reaction. Pony’s in shock, when someone is hurt they go into fight or flight, Pony is a track star, and also kinda scrawny. (no offense Pony) He’s gonna choose to run instead of try to fight back. Because in his mind, if Darry hit him once, who’s to say he isn’t gonna do it again?

Now onto Johnny, yes Johnny has it way, way worse at home than Pony does. But he’s also used to it, it’s sad, but true. Johnny’s used to being hit by his parents, Pony isn’t. The first hits are always the worst. We see that in Tex and The Outsiders. There’s no doubt in my mind that Johnny acted like Pony did when he was younger, when he wasn’t so used to his parents hitting him. If Darry continued to hit Pony, Pony would eventually start to act like Johnny. Learn to take it. I also don’t think that Johnny was mad/annoyed with Pony for acting like he did. Maybe Johnny was a little jealous when Pony used to complain that Darry hated him. But that was before Darry hit him, Johnny’s probably a little mad at Darry too, being honest. Darry’s supposed to be the one holding them together. The one refuge most greasers on the East side have. Johnny probably knew deep down that Darry was scared and most likely felt bad and won’t do it again. But you still don’t hit people when you’re scared. Johnny has never been hit out of fear, every time his parents beat on him it’s out of anger. You hit out of anger, you fight back out of fear. 

So no, Pony didn’t deserve to be slapped. He wasn’t asking for it. They lost their parents less than a year ago. Darry is 20 years old for fuck’s sake! I bet some of you reading this right now are either older than that or only a year or two younger. 20 is arguably still a kid, and 20 should not be the age to take on two jobs, maintaining a house, and taking care of two teenagers, plus 4 other teens and oh, I don’t know, almost everyone in eastern Tulsa? That’s too much to ask of anyone. Even if Pony was being a little shit (which he usually is, but in the argument that night I would say Darry kind of instigated it more, at least in the book/movie) that still doesn’t mean he deserved the hit, or shove, in the movie’s case. 

Thank you for coming to my ted talk, I really needed to just put that out there. I’m seeing so many people ratting on Pony for the way he acted, especially comparing him to the way Johnny is treated at home. Which isn’t fair in my opinion. Thank u for listening! 💜

@natur3sf1rstgr33n @magefelixir @staygoldspiiderrah @marciavalance @sonnysimagination@polishravagingasexual @dairyfairyy @curtis-brothers-hug @penguinstuff @colequette@therealtwobit67 @far-away-from-tulsa @strxwberry-julius @fawning4leif @im14andivebeen14foramonth @chipperdipperr @stayruby @averagefandomist @johnnycademyschmookie @maxiebearz @totoroboiii

[everytimewetouch-dot-mp3]

svsss omegaverse au no thoughts just post-canon alpha-“alpha” bingqiu ft trans omega binghe who feels safe enough to explore for the first time.

at first sqq is thoughtlessly cruel about it— ‘binghe is an alpha among alphas; surely he shouldn’t be building nests. what’s all this fake whining—binghe can’t trick me into staying home longer by playing at being an omega. binghe’s kneading at me like a child; he really should stop that before someone mistakes him for an omega.’

never any true malicious intention, but the kind of casual sexism that flourishes in someone who has never thought to examine their beliefs or behaviors. he’s constantly communicating to binghe ‘it is wrong for an alpha to behave like an omega; being an omega is bad; you are finding comfort in the wrong things and you need to stop.’

i was trying to picture how it might come to a head. maybe a plant or potion that affects alpha and omega dynamic sexes—essentially swaps alphas into omegas and vice versa. maybe it needs dual cultivation to cure, and suddenly binghe tries his damndest to avoid sex as long as he can.

but i think what i like better is a lot more mundane.

during a period on qjp, sqq goes out to tend to his duties for the day and lbh decides to stay home. sqq is out, the house is warded to hell and back, and binghe is properly alone. so he builds a nest, and he lets himself purr even though it sounds wrong to his ears. he lets himself feel safe and comfortable and vulnerable.

and then sqq gets home early, sees binghe acting like an omega, and is confused. because binghe is the alpha-est alpha to ever alpha. so he must be confused, if he’s behaving like this.

so he scolds his husband—not overly harsh, in his opinion, but with the clear intention to correct this. (maybe he’s a bit flustered because binghe looks so cute like this, and then he feels guilty for finding it cute. clearly something is wrong if his number-one-alpha husband is acting like this.)

‘binghe, what’s gotten into you, acting like this? are you a full-grown alpha or aren’t you? what kind of fearsome demon lord rolls around in a nest of another alpha’s clothes like some kind of omega? get up binghe, get—’

and binghe just. cries. not the dramatic waterworks that he uses to tease sqq and get his way—there’s no blubbering, no whining, no begging shizun to reconsider. binghe just sort of shuts down, murmurs a hollow, tight-throated ‘yes, shizun,’ and gets up. takes apart the nest as he’s told and cries quietly, because clearly there is something wrong with him. but if sqq doesn’t want him to be that way, he won’t be that way, no matter how it hurts to pack all his softness away.

and immediately sqq sees that he’s fucked up. he doesn’t really understand how, but he sees that he’s hurt binghe deeply, so he stills binghe’s slow, heavy movements as he takes apart his little nest, and he pulls binghe into a warm embrace.

‘binghe…’ he doesn’t know what else to say, so that’s all he says for a while. rubs binghe’s back, strokes his hair, holds him gently and waits for him to calm before he finally, finally asks. why the nests? why all the little things he’s been doing to make himself more like an omega? why play at being something he’s not?

and all binghe can say, voice tiny and vulnerable, is ‘but shizun, i think maybe i am.’

[just1cefor4ll]

— You’re the kind of person they write rock songs about

modern!au Viktor x fem!reader warning. swearing, not proof read, might be OOC

part six || part seven || part eight

A/N. okay ngl this chapter is so shitty but i have serious writers block so i guess this will have to do :P

‘Your beauty is so vain

It drives me, yes, it drives me

absolutely insane.’

You stared at the ceiling, thinking about none other then Viktor. Who else would you be thinking about anyway? He’s been all over your mind for the past month so it’s no surprise he’s still lingering there even in this moment.

You were hanging out at Ekko’s dorm, asking for advice though he wasn’t of much help.

“Oh my fucking god Ekko you’re literally not helping at all.” You groan, putting a hand on your forehead. You sit up, sitting cross legged with Ekko barely paying attention to your paranoid self anymore. “How did you make the first move on Powder?” You ask desperately trying to get any useful advice out of him.

“Alright, listen," Ekko sighed, finally setting his phone down to give you his full attention. "First of all, you’re overthinking this way too much. Second—why are you even stressing? It’s Viktor."

You groaned, flopping back onto his bed dramatically. "That is exactly the problem, Ekko. It’s Viktor. He’s, like.. I don’t know.. him?And I don’t wanna screw this up."

Ekko rolled his eyes. "You’re acting like he’s some impossible riddle to solve."

"He kinda is!" You sat up again, running a hand through your hair. "He’s smart as hell, he overanalyzes everything, and he probably thinks I’m just being friendly whenever I try to flirt."

Ekko snorted. "You are just friendly. You’re terrible at flirting."

"Wow, thanks."

"Just saying," he shrugged. "If you actually wanna make a move, you gotta make it clear. No weird mixed signals. When I made the first move on Powder, I didn’t hesitate. I knew what I wanted, and I went for it."

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? And what did you do, Romeo?"

Ekko grinned, leaning back against the wall. "I told her straight-up that I liked her and then kissed her before she could overthink it."

Your eyes widened. "You what?"

"Yeah. No games, no confusion. Just straight to the point."

You stared at him like he had just grown a second head. "That’s insane. I can’t do that."

Ekko sighed dramatically. "Well then, I dunno what to tell you Y/N. If you wanna make a move, you either do it or you don’t. Simple as that."

You chewed on your lip, processing his words. "Okay. Maybe not that bold, but.. I get what you’re saying." “Good." Ekko picked his phone back up. "Now, if you’re done panicking, I’d like to get back to my very important business."

You peeked at his screen—he was watching cat videos.

With a sigh, you stood up. "Fine, fine. I’ll figure it out. But if this goes badly, I’m blaming you." "Yeah, yeah," he waved you off. "Just don’t overthink it. You got this."

You weren’t sure if you believed that yet, but still, you left his dorm with a little more determination than before.

You entered your dorm, opening your phone to text Viktor but it looks like he had thought a bit farther ahead then you had, because right there on your screen was a notification from none other then Viktor.

——————————————————————————

[vik.tor222] Are you free tonight?

[truly.y/n] oh? since when do u make plans?

[vik.tor222] Since I decided to make your night more interesting.

[truly.y/n] bold assumption that you being here is interesting

[vik.tor222] Admit it, you’d be devastated if I didn’t show up.

[truly.y/n] you’re delusional

[vik.tor222] Yet here you are, still replying instantly.

You frowned at your screen. He was getting cocky.

[truly.y/n] hm, what’s the occasion anyway? you bored or just wanna hang out?

[vik.tor222] or maybe i just want to see my favorite rockstar?

You huffed, but your stomach did a little flip.

[truly.y.n] whatever. maybe I don’t want to see you tonight

[vik.tor222] Lying doesn’t suit you, rockstar.

You bit your lip, ignoring the way your face warmed.

[truly.y/n] fine, pow is leaving around 8pm, i was just about to play my guitar so if you’re lucky you might get a free live performance >;D

[vik.tor222] Can’t wait.

——————————————————————————

You rolled your eyes, smiling like an idiot as you set your phone down.

When Viktor arrived, you were already playing your guitar, fingers idly plucking at the strings as you sat cross legged on your bed.

He leaned against the doorframe, watching you with that small, amused smirk of his. "You were serious about the live performance." "Always," you grinned, patting the space beside you. "Come in, take a seat. I promise not to charge you."

Viktor chuckled as he made his way over, sitting beside you on the bed. His cane rested against the nightstand as he settled in, tilting his head slightly as he listened to you play.

"You’re really good," he murmured after a moment.

You shot him a teasing look. "I have a band, Vik. Would be awkward if I sucked." Viktor huffed a laugh. "True. But still—you are impressive." Your heart did that stupid fluttery thing again. "..Thanks."

A comfortable silence followed as you continued to strum softly, just playing whatever came to mind. After a while, you set the guitar down and leaned back on your hands, glancing over at him

“So.. anything new in the lab?” You asked, keeping your voice light. Viktor hummed in thought. "Not really. Other then Jayce almost setting the lab on fire again." He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. You stiffle a laugh, gasping dramatically; “No way!” You say in mock surprise. “Yes.” Viktor shook his head. “I keep telling him, just because something looks stable does not mean it is stable.”

“Classic Jayce.”

“Unfortunately.”

"Why engineering and physics?" you ask suddenly, catching Viktor off guard.

"Hm?" he replies, raising an eyebrow.

You laugh awkwardly, fiddling with your guitar. "I mean, why those majors? Is there a cool backstory, or is it just something you're good at?"

Viktor thinks for a moment before answering. "I've always been fascinated by how things work—like putting together a puzzle. The more I learned, the more I wanted to create things that could change how people live."

You nod. "That makes sense.”

He tilts his head. "What about you? Art, right?"

"Yeah, for me, it's the opposite," you say, smiling. "Art is about creating things that don't necessarily make sense but still feel right."

Viktor considers this, then shrugs. "That sounds freeing." You laugh. "It is, but it’s also a challenge to make it come together. Just like your work, I guess." He nods slowly, a faint smile on his lips. "I get that."

You both fell into easy conversation after that, talking about random things—your band, his research, upcoming gigs, the ridiculous amount of people who had started messaging you online asking for new music.

Eventually, though, you both got tired of talking and decided to put on a movie.

Halfway through, you started to get really comfortable, shifting closer to Viktor. Without thinking too much about it, you leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder. Viktor didn’t react at first—just a small, sharp inhale before he relaxed under you. Encouraged, you moved a little closer.

Then, in a move that surprised you, Viktor gently pulled you towards him, adjusting you so that you were practically lying against his chest.

Your heart stopped.

You hesitated for a moment before settling against him completely, your cheek resting over his heartbeat. His arm stayed around you, fingers lightly tracing up and down your back.

"You good?" you murmured, peeking up at him.

Viktor exhaled, a small smile playing on his lips. "Hm? Yeah.. m’fine.”

Neither of you moved after that. The movie continued playing in the background, but it barely mattered. The warmth of Viktor’s body, the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest—it was all so.. peaceful.

At some point, your eyes grew heavy, and before you knew it, sleep was tugging you under.

Viktor didn’t say anything when you finally drifted off, but he did let his fingers brush lightly over your arm, holding you just a little closer.

It wasn’t a confession. Not yet.

But it was something. And for now, that was more than enough.

Viktor woke up slowly, warmth pressing into his side, a weight draped over him.

It took a moment for the fog of sleep to clear, for him to register the steady rise and fall of your breathing, your head still tucked against his shoulder, arm loosely curled around him.

His chest tightened.

Carefully, he turned his head, just enough to see your face—eyes shut, lips slightly parted, hair falling messily against his shirt. Peaceful. Unaware of the way you had completely undone him.

His fingers twitched at his side.

He should move. He should.

But for a few more moments, he let himself stay.

How had he let this happen?

How had you managed to slip so effortlessly into his life, into his mind, until the thought of not having you there seemed impossible?

He swallowed.

He needed to tell you.

The thought alone made his pulse quicken, but—God, he couldn’t keep pretending. Not when you were right there, curled against him, like you belonged there.

The door swung open.

Viktor tensed, head snapping toward the entrance just in time to see Powder step inside.

She stopped short.

Eyebrows shot up.

Then, a slow, shit-eating grin.

“Well, well, well.”

Viktor exhaled sharply, already bracing himself.

“This is new,” Powder mused, crossing her arms. “Didn’t take you for a cuddler, lover boy.” Viktor frowned, carefully shifting Y/N’s arm off of him before sitting up. “It was not planned.” Powder’s grin only widened. “Sure it wasn’t.” He shot her a look before grabbing his cane and standing. Powder tilted her head. “So. You gonna tell her?” Viktor’s grip tightened slightly. “..I intend to.” Powder hummed, rocking back on her heels. “Good. ‘Cause I really don’t wanna watch you two keep dancing around each other.” Viktor shook his head, amused despite himself. “Yes, I am aware.”

Powder smirked, stepping aside as he made his way to the door. “Lover boy,” she called after him, just loud enough to make sure he heard it.

He didn’t give her the satisfaction of reacting.

He made his way towards his dorm, his mind full— full of you. This wasn’t new. He had spent too much time thinking about you, about what he felt, about what it meant. But now, after tonight, it wasn’t just in his head. It was real.

His fingers brushed over his phone, hesitating.

It was absurd, really, how fast it had all happened. How easily you had slipped into his life, uninvited, without him even realizing what was happening.

The first time he had ever seen you was at The Last Drop. He can’t imagine how differently his life could’ve went if he hadn’t agreed to Jayce’s constant begging and pestering about him going out and leaving studying behind for just a day.

He didn’t like the idea of being there, not for a bit at least— but then you came up onto that stage and he forgot how to think.

You had been something else entirely. The warm lights caught the curve of your smile perfectly— the easy confidence in the way you moved, the way you just carried yourself was so alluring, he couldn’t resist succumbing to your charm.

He hadn’t been the only one captivated.

That night, they had all been introduced to you. He knew of your existence before then, but that night he got to know you better— the musician, the artist, the lightning storm in human form.

He couldn’t wait to hang out with you again— not sure if that would even happen, but then Vi burst into the room with a text from her sister, that they’d be going to a café that week and that his group was invited. And there you had told him—offhand, casual—how it was your dream venue. How you had always wanted to play there.

And that gave him an idea.

Why had he even done it in the first place? The call? Setting up the entire gig? He wasn’t sure, but something deep inside him told him to do it—and so he did. In his mind, you deserved it. And when he saw the excitement in your eyes? His heart had felt like fireworks bursting on the Fourth of July.

And then—

The cheek kiss.

So quick, so effortless, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That was when he knew. That was when he realized he was screwed.

And now— Now, he had to do something about it.

The whole damn friend group had been pestering him for weeks. Jayce, Ekko, Isha, Powder—all of them, telling him to stop being an idiot, to tell you.

Viktor exhaled, gripping his phone.

It was late.

Too late for this.

But his hands moved before he could stop himself.

——————————————————————————

[vik.tor222] I like you Y/N

[vik.tor222] like a lot

[vik.tor222] god you’re literally all i can think about you make me insane

[vik.tor222] i love you, rockstar.

——————————————————————————

He set his phone down as soon as he typed the last message, his mind racing with all the possible outcomes. What if you rejected him? What if you laughed in his face, or worse, ignored him completely? What if—

His phone buzzed.

And his mind went blank.

© just1cefor4all— I don’t consent to my writing being reposted to other platforms or fed into AI. Translating it is also strictly prohibited. 🚫

taglist: @erica2024 @lolixsstuff @skullmvncher @startingtoloveyou @astarionapologist @th3stup1dcat @fiveperrcent @fadedpinkpen @noxturnalmoth

[aziraphalianfangirl]

Reblogging to let any fans of good omens know that the tinhatters are still out there making content claiming David and Michael actually hate their children and families and are only with them "out of obligation" whilst having a secret torrid affair on the side.

This is one of the reasons I stepped away from the go fandom, plus what happened with neil, being almost cancelled and then learning we were only getting a 90 min episode. The horrible way with which people treated each other, calling horrible names to fellow fans just because they were disappointed, the creepy obsession and parasocial relationship with David and Michael, all of it.

And it all started with me happily scrolling through the good omens/David/Michael tag and coming across this blog's unhinged posts (along with many others) claiming David, his son, and Georgia's father loathed Georgia. Why you ask? Because she claimed they were sending a "secret message" with their facial expressions during a joke at a doctor who photoshoot. I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP. At this point these people are erotomaniacs except instead of thinking the celebrity they don't know is in love with them and sending them messages, they believe they're sending them to another celebrity, his secret lover. (David and Michael)

There used to be a blog who dared to call out their shitty and toxic behaviour but unfortunately, as far as the fandom knows, that person passed away from cancer. That absolutely shook me and it was the last straw. It was too much heartbreak and I was never able to engage with the go fandom again.

If you don't want to see any creepy posts about Michael/David or unhinged posts talking shit about their loved ones Georgia and Anna, you can still visit dtmsrpfcringe and check out her block list. I strongly advise, for your own mental health, to just block these people and not engage. Maybe someday someone else will be brave enough/patient enough to call these people out but sometimes it's just not worth it for our mental health to engage with these people. They would literally send horrible anon hate and deny and gaslight their way into believing their delusions. They wouldn't answer any asks asking them for proof of their theories either. I do not believe these people want any help. They have a group of followers who also believe the "theory" and they use everything Michael and David do in public to justify that they are secretly gay, together and hate their current partners.

This might sound super dramatic and dumb but it absolutely ruined the fandom experience for me. I used to love seeing Georgia's and Anna's content, along with random David and Michael content but now every time I see it I just think about the mean spirited and creepy posts some people are using them for.

Also, they use RPF as justification for their behaviour

I am not a personal fan of rpf but I follow the "don't like, don't read rule". Rpf is a sub genre of fanfiction using real people's names and descriptions (actors, musicians, celebrities, etc) instead of fictional characters.

What rpf is NOT: obsessively stalking an actor's family, friends, routine, whereabouts, and making up rumours about their real life claiming them as TRUTH.

These people are not making up RPF stories about Michael and David, which can be clearly labelled as such on ao3 and therefore be recognised as fanfiction. They are making up stories about them and claiming them to be true, using extensive footage, photos and blind items (a gossip blog with no sources) as evidence.

I literally cannot do this anymore. I have these blogs blocked but the other day they showed up as a reblog as I was scrolling Tumblr. It was an absolutely creepy and uncomfortable comment under GIFs of David describing Michael in an interview, joking about wanting to be a Vet Detective and Michael being an old dog he would put down. THEY USE THIS AS IRREFUTABLE EVIDENCE THAT THESE MEN ARE FUCKING AND TREAT ANYONE WHO DISAGREES OR POINTS OUT THE CREEPINESS AS BULLIES ATTACKING THEM!

They have pinned posts on their blogs claiming to be victims of anon hate and bullying while we all watched as the only blog that was created to call them out received disgusting and horrible anon hate.

If they got them or not I don't know, but I know damn well they sent a lot of it.

I'm sorry for rambling but I just want any of my followers to know about this and for the sake of your mental health stay away

Amy, (aka ingravinoveritas) I am going to say this as kindly as possible. And please, please, please read all of this before you block me. David and Georgia have been together for 16 years. They are a couple who trust each other, and more importantly, they are best friends. I have no idea if you've ever been in a relationship before, but there are some relationships who love to tease each other with dry, dark humor. because thats what some friends do. My parents included. its actually what I love most about them, and they've been together for nearly 25 years now. its what me and my close close friends do as well. It all comes down to trust. kind of like a "hey! only my partner can say that about me!" type of thing. it works for some people, and for other people, not so much. and thats okay! Not everyone has to have the same love language! however, you do not get to dictate what type of love language is best for David and Georgia just because it doesn't match your ideas of what a healthy relationship looks like. there are several types of healthy relationships that come in all shapes and sizes.

I also have no idea what your nationality is, but British humor is a LOT dryer than American humor.

There is nothing off about David "looking into the distance" as he gets his makeup done, or when he looks out a goddamn window for christ's sake. You do not know this man. I know you wish you did, hell, I wish I did too, but you don't. You don't get to decide what feels "off" about the way he acts, because he is not the Doctor. he is not his character on Staged. he is not Crowley.

He is a regular human being who you've only met at a stage door and watched on television.

also, Georgia gets to post whatever the hell she wants on her story because at the end of the day, its HER story. shes allowed to be excited for free skincare. I know I'd be! she's allowed to post black and white photos of David. you complain when she doesn't mention David on her story, and then you find something to complain about when she does. so don't come on here with "I dont wish for them to be miserable" because you pray to god every day that David is in an unhealthy relationship with Georgia and that he's sleeping with Michael on the side.

also, stop calling him a gigolo. For everyone's sake.

(just wanted to post this pic cuz shes so fucking pretty 🥰)

[billygoat26]

…Lemme just put this out there.

The amount of “gofundme I’m stuck in Gaza” asks are insane. I know the situation and trust me I really am sorry and hope you guys are safe and can get out safely but…

I AM A MINOR. I DON’T HAVE A JOB YET. I LITERALLY CAN’T DONATE.

I’ve answered a few of the asks I’ve gotten related to that over time but after discovering that one that I got before the Gaza asks started flooding in (I think it was the one with the mom and kids or cats? Idfk) was fake I’ve lost my trust.

I’m sure not all of them are fake (and chances are none of them are) but please- the only way I can help is to answer the asks so my followers can see and I don’t know how many of them are like me and literally can’t help.

I don’t think there’s any way to put this without it sounding like me being insensitive or something- I don’t want it to come off as that 😭

I guess I’m tired of getting the asks when I literally cannot to anything to help.

I’ve even said that before when I answered some asks and the person said something like even the smallest amount, even just a dollar, can help. Like- I have NOTHING to donate. No money. Not even a cent. What do you want me to do 😭

But if you guys are getting these too and they ARE real then please, do support them. But I don’t know what’s real and what’s fake anymore and I’m tired of being asked to donate something when I have nothing to give.

See the tags for more…

[faunandfloraas]

Look, I don't believe in preferential treatment, it's not right.... BUT ☝️ if we're gonna have changbin saying sydney is skz's second hometown I just think maybe australia could not be charged things like 60+ dollars shipping.... or 75 dollars for a normal album at the most prominent music retailer when other places pay 15-20 for the same thing.... lol

[diamondrib]

fun fact all those people who talk about how type 4 hair and dealing with it sucks are right but in a nuanced way where it’s actually systemic racism’s fault and not anything about our hair itself making it uniquely shitty

[forestgreenlesbian]

.

[melancholic-pigeon]

Okay this is the *actual* last comment, for real, but I just found out Spider is now smearing me as a convert and accusing me of being involved with drama I was not involved with because he mistakenly attributed my apologies for his public temper tantrum as being about something unrelated.

THIS IS A FALSE ACCUSATION and I do not appreciate having yet another bit of fake malicious intent falsely ascribed to my actions and* attributing a completely unrelated attack to me.

Also, it's very sad and disappointing whenever a Jew gets mad at a convert because something else is going on in the Jew's life and the convert happens to be in the splash zone and the Jew falls over backwards to smear the convert and invalidate her faith.

Just....the childish aggression is making me so, so sad and disappointed, from someone I used to think very highly of, who is now lying about me and publicly smearing me with false accusations based on a conflict he started because he misinterpreted something I said and I went out of my way to give him the benefit of the doubt when trying to clear up the mistake HE MADE that led him to decide bullying and attacking me for three fucking days was appropriate and okay and that I'm the bad guy for saying it's wildly unprofessional to behave like this in public to a former customer face.

Sorry, but facts, reality, linear time and the truth of what I actually said and did are on my side here, and I will not stand for being smeared and attacked and shat all over because I had the gall to try to kindly resolve his uncalled for, unjustified temper tantrum.

I am also not sorry that I left a side note in the tags that it was also unacceptable for HIM to drag his daughter into a stupid internet slapfight based on his own reading comprehension failure. Because it was and is unacceptable, and she needs to hear that message from someone.

End of story. Keep digging that hole as long as you like, Spider. It's not helping your case and is continuing to make you look progressively worse and more unreasonable, and the only person you have to blame is yourself.

*revised for clarity

[gravyhoney]

Guy who went on a seven year nostalgia trip so bad that they live in Texas again but the nostalgia has worn off and they’re realizing this actually sucks.

[teamfortresstwo]

In a life swap AU rather than just a role swap I think it would be sooo fucked up if Patroclus swapped with Theseus and Achilles with Asterius

[orcelito]

Sometimes I get worried about whether smth I'm doing is wildly ooc but then I'm like This Is Fanfiction, what the fuck ever