#Soothe-bell expressions

[whosashan]

Hello! I love your writing! I was wondering.. would it be possible to request a sequel to Bitter for all the guys? The angst really got me good, but an end Where they see the Reader move on, whether it be with another LI or another person. Those sorts of fics soothe the angst for me even if they don’t end up together again.

Sour

Pt.1

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x non-mc!reader

SYNOPSIS: A year has slipped through your fingers like sand, carrying away the sharp edges of bitterness— or so you thought. Yet, the past has a cruel way of resurfacing, and when you stand before your former lover once more, the question lingers: has time truly softened the wound, or does resentment still simmer beneath your skin?

A/N: A lot of you guys asked for a sequel, and I must say - I'm so greatful for all of your support. It feels unreal, knowing that so many people enjoy my writing and get engaged in it. I tried to include every suggestion you gave me in some way. It ended up quite long, because I wanted to make sure they suffer. I really hope it's up to your liking, enjoy!

Xavier

A year had passed—one carved from sorrow, stitched with bitterness. Betrayal, mistrust, insecurities—every fracture in your heart laid bare, every ugly truth dragged into the light.

And yet, in some quiet, inexplicable way, you were grateful.

Grateful for the clarity, for the stripping away of illusions, for the lesson that love—no matter how fervent—could not thrive on longing alone. You had spent so much time searching for a deeper meaning, convincing yourself there had to be one. But sometimes, the truth was simple. Painfully, mercilessly simple.

He hadn’t chosen you.

There had been texts, calls, attempts at conversation. Words typed and deleted, ringing phones you never answered. You knew his tactics too well—the pleading eyes, the soft-spoken apologies, the way he’d paint his regret with honeyed words. But you had learned. This time, you refused to fall.

And so, the city became a vast and empty place, void of Xavier’s shadow. No accidental encounters, no glimpses of golden hair in a crowded street. It was as if the universe had granted you mercy, shielding you from the ghost of what could have been.

And with time, bitter turned to sour. Sour softened into something gentler, something warm. Until one day, you woke up and found yourself unburdened.

You were thriving.

A promotion at work. New friends. Doors opening where once there had only been walls. It was almost absurd, how small your world had been, how much of yourself you had given away for the sake of love that was never truly yours.

Because in the end, one heartbreak wasn’t the end of the world.

And when you finally let yourself step forward, the idea of meeting someone new no longer felt like a betrayal of your past self. It was slow at first—hesitant, uncertain—but why should someone else pay the price for wounds they never inflicted?

You were seeing someone. The phrase alone felt foreign on your tongue, strange in your mind. But it was real. It was different. No silent doubts, no waiting for the inevitable unraveling. Just laughter. Just affection. Just love, in the simplest, most effortless form.

You were distracted by happiness.

And maybe that was why fate decided to test you.

The bell above the café door chimed, a familiar sound that had never meant anything—until now. Until the moment you met a gaze you once knew better than your own.

Blue. Icy, calculating, flickering with disbelief.

Xavier.

He looked different. Sharper somehow, but worn. Dark circles framed those piercing eyes, his golden hair a little unkempt, a crease forming between his brows. There was no laughter in his expression, no easy charm. Just silence—thick, heavy, laced with something you couldn’t name.

Like he was seeing a ghost.

Like, after all this time, he still wasn’t sure if you were real.

He stood from his table, slow and careful, as if you might vanish if he moved too quickly. You straightened your posture, steeling yourself.

"Y/N..."

Your name left his lips like a prayer. Soft. Tentative. As if he didn’t deserve to say it.

And maybe he didn’t.

Still, you had promised yourself you’d be better than bitterness. That you wouldn’t let the past sink its claws into you.

So you smiled. Small, polite, but distant. "Xavier. Long time no see."

Something flickered in his expression, fleeting but unmistakable. Hurt.

"Yeah," he echoed, glancing down for a moment, hands curling into fists before he exhaled, gathering himself. "Long time no see."

A pause. A heavy, unspoken weight settling between you.

And then—"Would you sit with me?" His voice was quieter now, more hesitant. "Just for a little while? I won’t... I won’t nag you, I swear." A ghost of a smile barely touched his lips.

For a moment, you considered.

Curiosity stirred—how had he been? How had life treated him? And yet, you knew better. You had spent too long craving answers that would never change the past. The Xavier who stood before you was not yours to worry about. Not anymore.

So you inhaled slowly, steadying your heart, and said simply, "I don’t think there’s anything left to talk about."

Blunt. Honest. Kind, but final.

And for once, you didn’t feel guilty for choosing yourself.

The bell rang again, the door swinging open, and warmth enveloped you as familiar arms wrapped around your waist, a kiss pressed to your cheek.

"Love," a voice murmured, teasing and light. "You always make me chase after you." They laughed, and you did too, the sound effortless.

Your partner turned, glancing at Xavier with mild curiosity. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Nothing at all," you assured, slipping your fingers into theirs, warmth meeting warmth. "Let’s go."

And as you walked away, hand in hand with the person who had mended what Xavier broke, you didn’t look back.

But he did.

Xavier stood frozen, watching as you disappeared into the city, just as he had let you slip through his fingers once before.

And this time, there was no note left behind. No final words.

Only silence.

And the weight of a mistake he could never undo.

...

But it seemed fate was not yet finished with him. Seeing you again was a wound torn open, an ache that refused to fade. Xavier realized, with the kind of clarity that arrives too late, that he couldn’t let you go.

Not without trying.

And it didn’t matter that you belonged to someone else now—desperation made a man reckless. He would settle for anything. A glance, a word, a sigh in his direction. Proof that he had not become a ghost in your memory.

So he searched. Called. Texted. Every message fell into silence, his words lost to the void. He wandered through the places you once loved, only to find them hollow, emptied of your presence. It was as if you had evaporated, leaving no trace behind.

But then—when he finally found you, sitting on a weathered park bench beneath the fading gold of an autumn sky—his breath hitched. You looked different. Not just in the way time shapes a person, but in the way peace does. It softened you, made you untouchable.

He hesitated. He didn’t want to startle you, didn’t want to seem like a desperate man chasing shadows. But wasn’t that exactly what he was? Obsessed, haunted, unraveling beneath the weight of his own mistakes.

And then you looked at him.

His heart stuttered. Your eyes—once a universe he had called home—held no welcome for him now. There was recognition, yes. But it was distant, indifferent. A ghost of a smile graced your lips, polite but hollow, and something inside him withered.

"I need to talk to you," he rasped, his voice raw from all the words he had never said.

You tilted your head, considering him in that quiet, unreadable way. Then, with a small sigh, you gestured to the empty space beside you. An invitation—not of warmth, but of duty. Perhaps you felt he deserved the clarity he had never given you.

He sat, feeling like a man standing at the edge of a cliff.

"I have no right to ask for forgiveness," he confessed, staring down at his hands as if the answers were etched into his skin. "I know that. But I feel... lost. Lost without you guiding me."

There was silence, heavy as the twilight creeping in around you. And then—

"What’s done is done." Your voice was steady, like the final toll of a bell. "You’re right—some things can’t be forgiven. And actions have consequences. I’ve moved on, Xavier. And you should, too. That’s the only clarity I can give you."

Your words struck like a blade, precise and inescapable. He had braced himself for anger, for screams, for the fury he knew he deserved. But instead, you looked at him with nothing but pity.

And that—God, that was worse.

"Y/N, please," he choked out, his resolve crumbling. "Just give me a chance. I’ll do anything. Anything."

He fell to his knees before you, the weight of his regret pressing him into the earth. Once, he had stood tall beside you. Now, he knelt at your feet, pleading for the remnants of something he had destroyed with his own hands.

You blinked, surprise flickering across your face before you exhaled softly. "I’m happily taken…" The words were gentle, but firm. And then, the final blow—"Engaged, actually."

You lifted your hand, and in the dimming light, the diamond on your finger gleamed like the last star in a dying sky.

Xavier’s breath left him in a ragged gasp. No. No, this couldn’t be real.

"Please—" He reached for you, his hands trembling, his world tilting beneath him. "I can’t do this without you."

You smiled then, and for the first time that evening, it was real. Soft, kind, but completely out of reach.

"I’m afraid that’s none of my business anymore."

You rose to your feet, turning away from him, your figure bathed in the golden light of a world that no longer had room for him. He watched, helpless, as you walked away—each step sealing his fate, each breath pulling you further from his grasp.

And when you disappeared beyond the trees, he realized the cruelest truth of all.

Some mistakes don’t come with second chances.

Zayne

A year.

A year since you had stood in the ruins of what you once called love, waiting for something—anything—to make sense. Since the walls of your world had collapsed beneath the weight of neglect, since the name Dr. Zayne had burned like acid on your tongue.

And yet, look at you now.

Thriving.

You had carved out a life that was entirely your own, no longer bending yourself into smaller, more convenient shapes to fit into someone else’s world. Your career—once just a dream, a hesitant whisper in the back of your mind—had become your reality, a space where your talents were not only recognized but celebrated. Your relationships flourished, no longer strained by the quiet loneliness of waiting for a man who always seemed just out of reach.

The girl who once sat by the phone, heart aching for a call that never came, was gone.

And yet, the ghosts of Zayne still lingered.

The recipe he once taught you? You still loved it, the taste laced with a bittersweet nostalgia. The song he always played while driving? Occasionally, you let it slip through your speakers, if only to remind yourself how far you had come. The pain of his absence had dulled into something quieter—no longer a gaping wound, but a faded scar.

You had learned to appreciate what his neglect had taught you.

Because he had shown you exactly what love wasn’t.

And now, you knew better.

...

It was supposed to be an ordinary evening.

Your partner—warm, steady, everything you had once begged for—had suffered a minor accident. Nothing dire, but enough to warrant a hospital visit, just to be sure. And so you stood there, waiting near the reception desk, arms crossed over your chest, glancing at the fluorescent glow of the overhead lights. The air smelled of antiseptic and sterile linens, the faint beeping of monitors a rhythmic pulse in the background.

And then—

You felt it before you saw it.

A gaze. Heavy. Familiar.

You turned.

And there he was.

Dr. Zayne.

For a moment, the world seemed to shrink, narrowing down to the space between you and him. He looked... different. Or maybe it was you who had changed. His sharp, professional composure remained, but there was something wearier about him now. The pristine white coat did little to hide the exhaustion beneath his eyes, the slight furrow of his brows, the way he adjusted his glasses in that meticulous way of his.

And yet, despite it all—he was still devastatingly familiar.

"Y/N?"

Your name fell from his lips like a habit he had forgotten he missed.

There was something almost startled in his expression, as if he hadn’t expected to see you here, hadn’t expected you at all.

"Did something happen? Are you hurt?" He was already stepping forward, concern etched into every line of his face.

There was a time when that look would have unraveled you. When your heart would have stuttered at the mere thought of being the center of his attention.

Now, it felt… strange.

Performative.

Not because you thought he was faking it—Zayne never faked anything—but because it no longer mattered.

You blinked, taken aback for a brief moment before schooling your features into something unreadable.

"I'm alright."

A pause.

Why did he sound as if he had just seen you yesterday? As if a year of silence had not stretched between you like an ocean?

Why was he looking at you like that?

And why—why did it still taste bitter?

His gaze flickered over you, searching for something, before he spoke again, his voice softer this time. "Then why are you here?"

You raised an eyebrow.

"Actually, it’s none of my business," he amended quickly, clearing his throat, adjusting his glasses again—nervous. Zayne never used to be nervous around you.

"But since you’re here," he continued, voice carefully composed, "perhaps we could talk? If you wouldn’t mind, of course."

There was something almost hesitant in his tone. Like he was reaching for something he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask for.

And before you could decide how to respond—

A warmth wrapped around you.

"Sorry I kept you waiting, baby."

A familiar voice. Soft lips pressed against your temple. A presence that felt like home.

Your partner.

Zayne went still.

You didn’t even need to look at him to know. You could feel it—the way the air between you turned sour, thick with something unspoken, something unacknowledged.

You turned to face your lover, melting into the easy affection they offered, their touch grounding you in a way Zayne’s never had.

"Is that your friend?" your partner asked curiously, glancing at Zayne with polite indifference.

You tilted your head, considering the question.

Friend?

No, that wasn’t quite right.

You let out a soft giggle, shrugging as you intertwined your fingers with theirs. "I guess?"

And then—without another glance, without another word—you turned, walking away.

Zayne remained where he stood, unmoving, silent.

He didn’t call after you. Didn’t reach out.

Because he knew.

He knew that if he had any place in your life, it would have been beside you, not behind you—watching as you disappeared into a world that no longer included him.

And now, the only thing he had left—

Was the taste of regret, bitter and lingering on his tongue.

...

Bitterness clung to Zayne like the aftertaste of a drink too strong, too sharp. And so, he sought sweetness in the only way he knew how—in thoughts of you.

Your touch, the gentle weight of your hand on his wrist. Your voice, quiet yet commanding, soft yet certain. Your presence, steady as the tide, once an anchor, now a ghost.

He had spent too long convincing himself he could let you go. That logic could silence longing, that reason could tame regret. But then he saw you again.

And the moment he did, he knew.

You belonged by his side.

So, it began. A pattern. A ritual. Lingering in the places you once adored, slipping into the coffee shop you used to frequent, hoping—praying—that fate would grant him another moment.

And fate, cruel and kind in equal measure, did.

You were alone, sipping your drink, fingers lazily scrolling through your phone. Every now and then, the corners of your lips twitched into a smile—small, fleeting, devastating. Zayne felt something in his chest splinter.

He wanted to be the reason for that smile again.

With a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding, he stepped forward, lowering himself into the seat across from you.

"Y/N."

Your name left his lips like a confession, quiet, careful.

You lifted your gaze, expression unreadable, an eyebrow arching slightly at his sudden presence. But no shock. No warmth.

That alone made doubt creep in. But it was too late to turn back now.

"...That’s unexpected," you said, returning your attention to your phone. "I thought you didn’t like this café."

His lips curved, but there was no humor in it. "I don’t," he admitted, adjusting his glasses with practiced ease. "But I find myself drawn to places that remind me of you. Old habits die hard, it seems."

A pause. Then—

"Nice."

Nothing more. Not a smile, not a flicker of interest. Just a word, impersonal and distant, slipping from your lips with all the weight of an afterthought.

It caught him off guard. He hadn’t expected warmth, but this? This felt like standing outside in the cold, staring at a window where a fire once burned.

Still, he pressed forward.

"So," he began, voice smooth yet hesitant. "Have you been well?"

"Cut the small talk."

Your voice was calm, but your patience was thin, and when your eyes met his again, he saw it—exhaustion. The kind that settles after a storm, after too many words left unspoken for too long.

"What do you want, Zayne?"

He exhaled slowly, as if composing himself. "I see time has made you even more direct," he mused, before his gaze darkened, sharpened. "Very well. I won’t insult you with pleasantries. I came because I needed to speak with you—about us."

A flicker of something crossed your face, too fast for him to name. And then—

"There is no ‘us,’ Zayne."

Your words were soft, but they struck harder than a shout.

"We didn’t work out," you continued, your voice steady, final. "It happens. Move on."

His fingers curled against the table, the faintest twitch of his jaw betraying the emotion he so carefully masked.

"You make it sound so simple," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "As if what we were—what we could have been—was nothing more than an inconsequential mistake."

"Not a mistake," you corrected. "A lesson."

He laughed then, low and humorless. "I see. And what exactly did I teach you?"

"That love is not enough."

It was cruel in its honesty. Devastating in its simplicity.

He looked away for a moment, staring at the swirl of steam rising from your drink, as if it held the answers he sought. Then, quieter this time, he said, "And yet, I find myself incapable of learning that lesson."

You didn’t respond. You only stood, preparing to leave.

That was when he reached for you.

Fingers wrapping around your wrist—gentle, hesitant, desperate. And in that moment, neither of you spoke.

Because you both felt it.

The ghost of what once was. The warmth of a memory neither had fully let go of.

His grip loosened, but he did not let go.

"Tell me," he said, voice softer now, raw in a way he had never allowed himself to be. "Is this truly the end?"

Your gaze met his, unwavering.

And then you nodded.

A single motion. Firm. Certain. Unshakable.

He let you go.

And though every part of him rebelled against it, though his heart ached with the knowledge that he would wake tomorrow with the same longing, the same regret, he told himself it was enough.

Because if you were happy—if someone else had succeeded where he had failed—then who was he to ask for more?

At least, that’s what he tried to believe.

Rafayel

A year had passed.

The seasons had shifted, weaving through time like a quiet symphony, their passage marked by sun-warmed afternoons and frost-kissed mornings. Life had carried on, carrying you with it.

And somehow, somewhere between then and now, you had left him behind.

Not in a single, heart-wrenching moment, not in some grand, dramatic farewell. No, you had left him slowly—like the tide pulling back from the shore, retreating inch by inch, until one day you realized there was nothing left to reach for.

And you were okay with that.

More than okay.

You had built something new from the pieces of yourself he had never cherished. A life that felt like yours, untouched by the weight of waiting, unburdened by the ache of almost-love.

And you had found someone. Someone who didn’t make you wonder if you were asking for too much. Someone who reached for you first, without hesitation.

You never thought about him anymore.

Not really.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

Because today, just as laughter spilled from your lips like honey, warm and golden, just as your partner squeezed your hand in theirs, grounding, steady—

You saw him.

Rafayel.

Standing at the entrance of the café, half-cast in shadow, his sharp gaze locked onto you like a man seeing a mirage in the desert.

Your breath did not hitch.

Your pulse did not quicken.

If there was an ache left inside you, it was nothing more than an old scar—a faint reminder of pain you had long since learned to live without.

But he—

He looked frozen.

Like he had walked into a moment he wasn’t supposed to witness.

Like the sight of you—laughing, radiant, untouched by him—was something he had never considered possible.

You met his gaze, tilting your head slightly.

Oh.

He hadn’t changed much. Still dressed in purple tones, still holding himself with that same quiet confidence, still looking at you like he was searching for something.

But he had changed.

His face was unreadable, but his eyes—once filled with amusement, teasing, always dancing just out of reach—were darker now. Heavier.

You knew that weight.

Regret.

Good.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick with things left unsaid, ghosts of words that once sat on the tip of your tongue, always swallowed before they could escape.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Y/N.”

Your name on his lips used to feel like the start of something. A promise. A quiet, unspoken longing.

Now, it was just a name.

You blinked at him, offering a small, polite smile—the kind you gave to distant acquaintances, to strangers who mistook familiarity for significance.

“Oh,” you said, as if realizing he was there for the first time. “Rafayel.”

The casualness in your voice was deliberate.

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture did—just the slightest shift, just enough for you to know he felt it.

“It’s been a while,” he said.

It had.

A lifetime had passed in that year.

“Yes, it has.”

You didn’t ask him how he was. Didn’t give him the opening he was waiting for.

The silence stretched between you, long enough to feel like a choice.

The café smelled of coffee and cinnamon, of sugar melting into warm pastries, but the only thing you could taste was clarity—light, crisp, sweet.

Then—

“Who’s this?”

Your partner’s voice, gentle yet firm, cut through the stillness.

You turned to them, your gaze softening the moment it met theirs.

And that—that was what made Rafayel’s breath hitch.

The way you looked at them.

The way you had never looked at him.

“They’re an old friend,” you said simply.

Not a lover.

Not someone who had once left you waiting in the dark, sifting through the scraps of his affection, trying to find something whole.

Just someone you used to know.

And you knew he heard the finality in your voice.

For a second, just a fleeting second, something flickered in his expression.

Loss.

Too little, too late.

You turned back to your partner, your fingers still laced with theirs.

The conversation resumed. Effortless. Unbroken.

And Rafayel—who had once believed you would always be there, lingering like an unfinished story—stood there, realizing he had become nothing more than a footnote in yours.

You didn’t look back.

And the only taste he was left with—

Was bitter.

...

Regret clung to Rafayel like salt on skin—persistent, inescapable, a reminder of tides that had long since receded.

And he remembered—oh, how he remembered.

The scent of your skin, like the last breath of summer before the waves stole the warmth away. The way your hair moved with the wind, as if it carried secrets only the ocean knew. The way your voice curled around his name, a siren’s call that had once lured him home.

How you understood him without words, how you indulged his recklessness, how—for once—someone had seen him for more than his name, his face, his fortune.

He still knew your favorite color, the way your smile tilted just slightly to the left, how every imperfection only made you more devastatingly perfect in his eyes.

And he couldn’t forget.

He tried, but he was a drowning man, reaching for driftwood, for anything that could bring him back to shore. So, he watched from a distance, fingers hovering over your name on his screen, refreshing, searching. Checking where you were, who you were with, what you were doing.

Love makes fools of men. But obsession—obsession turns them into ghosts.

And when he had mapped the rhythm of your days, he found himself drifting into them. Hovering at the edges of your world, waiting for the perfect moment to pull you back into his gravity.

When it finally happened, he caught you off guard.

You were walking, earphones in, humming a tune under your breath, lost in a world where he no longer belonged.

His hand found your shoulder.

Startled, you swung your bag on instinct, and it hit him square in the arm. He winced, clutching it dramatically.

“Ow, cutie! First, you break my heart, and now you try to break my arm?” His grin was lopsided, but his eyes betrayed him—searching, desperate.

You barely spared him a glance before rolling your eyes, turning away.

“No—wait.” His fingers caught your wrist, hesitant but firm.

You turned back, leveling him with a stare. "What? Want to get hit again?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it faltered under the weight of your indifference. He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple.

"I would much rather prefer just to talk to you." His voice softened, no longer laced with teasing, but something closer to pleading.

Then, quieter—more deliberate—

“Y/N, take me back.”

You blinked. For a moment, silence stretched between you, the space between each breath vast as the horizon.

Then, you took a step back. And he felt the distance like an undertow, dragging him deeper.

“Absolutely not.”

There was no anger in your voice, no bitterness. Just finality, as gentle as a wave washing over forgotten footprints in the sand.

His throat bobbed. “…No?”

"You heard me."

His fingers twitched at his sides. “Cutie, please reconsider—”

“Oh god, don’t call me that.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing.

He hesitated, but then his gaze turned serious, the teasing stripped away. “I know I made mistakes—”

“You broke us, Rafayel.”

His breath caught. The truth of it cut through him like cold water, merciless and clear.

“Y/N.” His voice was lower now, quiet in a way that made the world around you feel too loud. “I know I ruined things, but you can’t tell me we weren’t great. You can’t tell me what we had wasn’t—”

“It was.” You interrupted, your expression unreadable. “Until it wasn’t.”

Something inside him cracked.

"I've moved on," you said simply, shifting your bag over your shoulder. And then, with a ghost of a smirk—mocking, cruel in its lightness—

"You should too, fishie."

It should have made him laugh. It should have made him tease you back, call you something equally ridiculous.

Instead, it felt like the tide pulling him under.

He said nothing, only watching you, searching your face for something—anything—that might mean he still had a chance.

And then you turned.

He caught your wrist again, more desperately this time. “Tell me,” he murmured, voice unsteady. “Do you want me to beg? Is that it? Do you want to see me on my knees?”

You looked at him then, really looked at him.

"I just want to see you out of my sight."

The words landed like crashing waves against stone.

His grip loosened, and you slipped away like water through his fingers.

"Have a great life, Rafayel."

And you walked away.

He should have followed. Should have thrown pride to the wind, should have fallen at your feet and begged like a desperate sailor praying to the sea.

But something in your voice—calm, unwavering—told him the storm had passed. And all that was left was the wreckage.

So he stood still.

And for the first time, he let you drift beyond his reach.

For now.

Sylus

A year had passed since you walked away from Sylus, but time had done nothing to erase the ache in your chest, nor the memory of how effortlessly you had disappeared from his life. You had left as silently as a forgotten dream, taking your heart with you, and leaving him behind to rot in the wreckage of his own actions. The decision had seemed like a balm in the moment, a clean cut. But as the days turned into months, the absence had become a ghost. It hovered in the corners of your mind, a constant reminder of the man you thought you knew, the man who had ruined you. And yet, despite it all, you had learned to live again.

You had rebuilt yourself, piece by broken piece. You embraced the ordinary—the quiet routine of your life, the peace that had once seemed so elusive when he was around. Your life was no longer tangled in the complexity of him. You began to explore things you never had the courage to before, tasting freedom in ways that filled you with pride. The world, without Sylus, was kinder—gentler. You smiled more, laughed more, and found comfort in the simplest of things: a cup of coffee on a rainy day, the soft rustle of leaves underfoot in autumn, the glow of a sunset you hadn’t shared with anyone. You had learned to live for yourself.

And yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, a part of you still wondered what he was doing.

The knock at your door shattered the quiet peace you had so carefully built.

You hadn’t expected visitors—especially not him.

Standing there, on the other side of the threshold, was the man who had once been your whole world, the man who had broken it. Sylus.

His appearance was jarring. His usual immaculate self was ruffled, as though the weight of the world had been wearing on him in ways he never allowed anyone to see. His sharp features were drawn, eyes darker than you remembered. There was something unfamiliar in the way he held himself—no longer the man who walked into a room like he owned it, but someone who had been worn down by the passage of time, by regret. And yet, his eyes, the same eyes that had once mesmerized you, still held that magnetic pull. Only this time, they were haunted.

“Sylus,” you breathed, the name slipping out of you before you could stop it.

There was a moment of tense silence, where neither of you moved. And then, his lips parted—just slightly—and a flicker of something like amusement touched his face.

“Missed me, kitten?” His voice was smooth, but there was an unfamiliar hesitation there, something raw in the way he spoke to you.

You couldn’t tell if he was still playing games, or if this was something else entirely. You studied him for a long moment, trying to read him, trying to figure out why, after everything, he still seemed so... familiar.

But you no longer cared.

The words came out before you even thought them. “What are you doing here?” Your voice was soft, there was no venom, no fury. Only confusion. And a quiet indifference that was worse than anything you could’ve said.

His gaze faltered for a second, but he quickly regained his composure, though his smirk was tighter than usual. “I thought you’d be more excited to see me.”

His words were like a knife to the gut, but you felt nothing—not anymore. It was like you had been hollowed out over time, and there was nothing left inside you to give.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes cool. “Ah, where are my manners?” You couldn’t help the sarcasm that slipped out, though it wasn’t playful—more a shield against the weight of his presence. “Oh, how I missed my favorite liar! The one who broke my heart and threw me away like a piece of trash.” You rolled your eyes, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.

The words should have stung, but somehow, you found relief in saying them out loud. For so long, you had kept the hurt buried beneath layers of careful silence, and now, here it was—raw, unapologetic.

Sylus’s face flickered, a faint shadow of hurt passing through his gaze before he regained his composure. “The kitten has grown some claws, I see.” His voice was flat, but there was a trace of something in it, something he was trying to mask.

He took a step closer, as if expecting you to let him in, but you quickly moved to block the door.

“Don’t,” you said simply.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised at your sudden resolve, but you didn’t care.

“You’re not welcome here,” you said, your tone final.

Sylus’s eyes softened for a split second, and in that brief moment, you saw the desperation that clawed at him. The weight of his regret that he never allowed to surface. “You’re hurting me, sweetie,” he said, though it was far from playful. It sounded like a plea.

Your heart didn’t twitch. It didn’t soften. It just felt... heavy.

“Good,” you muttered, looking him up and down, and for the first time, you saw him clearly—not the man you had once adored, but a man who had lost everything and had nothing left to offer.

Just then, a voice came from inside your home.

“Darling, what’s taking you so long?”

You didn’t need to look back to feel your partner’s arms slide around your waist from behind, their presence warm and secure, a reminder of the love you had found after him.

“Hmm, who���s this?” Your partner asked lazily, looking past you to the man who once consumed your every thought.

Sylus’s gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the newcomer, but you weren’t going to offer him any answers. Not anymore.

“He got the wrong address,” you replied evenly, your voice indifferent as you turned back to face Sylus, daring him to challenge your words.

And just like that, the man who once held your heart in his hands realized the weight of his own failure. The realization hit him like a tidal wave.

Sylus opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths, as if he were choking on his own grief.

You met his gaze, and for the first time, you felt no anger—only a quiet, final resolve. “I think it's time for you to leave, sir.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. His heart, once so certain and confident, now shattered under the weight of your indifference.

“Have a good night.” you whispered, the finality of the words slipping from your lips. And with that, you closed the door on him—on the man you once thought you could never escape.

Sylus stood there, staring at the wood that now separated you from him, as though hoping it would open again. But it wouldn’t.

He swallowed, hard. The man who had always prided himself on his control was now nothing more than a broken shell of his former self.

And it was all his doing.

For the first time in his life, Sylus had lost. And he had no one to blame but himself.

...

Sylus was not the kind of man who accepted defeat.

Not when you were so close, so painfully out of reach, like a forbidden fruit dangling just beyond his grasp.

He couldn't—no, he wouldn't—let you go so easily.

His mind clung to thoughts of you, obsessions blooming in every corner of his brain: your laughter, like the chiming of delicate bells, your playful words that always teased, always challenged him, your defiance that had once felt like the spark that kept him alive. You had been his equal, his match—two stars circling in an orbit of shared chaos and fire.

But now? Now you were slipping from him, dissolving into someone else’s arms, and that realization felt like a knife being twisted into his chest. He couldn't bear it. He could never bear it.

Bitterness seeped into his soul, a slow, insidious poison that clouded his thoughts. The feeling of helplessness was foreign to him, suffocating him in ways he had never known before. He had always been the one in control—always the one who commanded the world. And now you were gone, out of his reach, and it tore at him like a storm.

The thought of another touching you, breathing in your scent, seeing the soft glow of tenderness in your eyes—Sylus couldn't abide it. No. Not when he had once owned that gaze, that touch, that part of you that was his.

He needed one more chance.

Maybe it was for the peace of his mind, maybe it was his selfish longing, his desire to reclaim what he believed was his. Or maybe it was because he couldn't let go of the idea that you were a treasure meant for his eyes alone—his to hold, his to keep, like a rare, delicate jewel locked away.

And so, like the predator he was, Sylus followed you, carefully, subtly. With Mephisto keeping watch over you, it was easy to know where you'd be, when you'd be there.

Each time, he approached, his presence lingering just at the edges of your world—watching, waiting. But you rejected him. Rejected him with biting sarcasm, with icy silence that seemed to pierce his skin like a thousand knives.

It drove him mad.

The chase was maddening. The only thing that consumed him was the desire to have you in his arms once more, to feel the heat of your skin, the sweetness of your breath, the intimacy that he had once thought was infinite.

And then one evening, when he could no longer take the ache, he made his move.

You were walking home from work, the weight of the day pressing down on your shoulders. The quiet satisfaction of surviving the day was tempered by the exhaustion that clung to you. But as you turned the corner, a hand suddenly grasped your wrist, yanking you into a shadowed alley. Your heart pounded in your chest, a burst of adrenaline flooding your veins. You opened your mouth to scream, but before the sound could escape, a hand pressed over your lips.

"Relax. It's just me."

His voice—his damn voice—sounded like a lure, familiar and dangerous. Your body froze, not out of fear, but out of recognition. You knew it was Sylus, and despite everything, despite the years of hurt and betrayal, a twisted part of you felt… safe.

When he felt you relax, he let go. You spun around to face him, heart still hammering, but now tempered with anger.

"You’re crazy," you spat, your voice sharp and unforgiving. "What do you think you’re doing?"

His gaze, that unnerving mix of calm and intensity, bore into you. His expression was disturbingly relaxed, too casual for someone who had just dragged you into an alley against your will.

"Getting your attention," he said, his tone smooth, almost mocking. "Seems like it worked."

The words hit you like a slap. Your fists clenched, your anger bubbling over.

"You can’t just pull people into a dark alley, Sylus! You’re actually insane!" You jabbed your finger at his chest, each word punctuating the fury that burned through you.

Sylus didn’t flinch, though you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes.

"...I apologize," he said softly, his voice taking on a tenderness that was so unlike him. He reached out to touch your cheek, but his hand stopped halfway, as if he was still unsure whether he had the right.

The vulnerability in that simple motion—something so un-Sylus, so raw—stirred something inside you. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You sighed heavily, the weight of everything pressing down on you. "What do you want?" Your voice was laced with frustration, your patience wearing thin.

"I thought that would be obvious by now," he said, a faint smirk curling at his lips, the teasing edge still present despite the darkness in his eyes. "Guess you’re not as sharp as I thought, kitten."

The bastard. Even now, he played with you like a cat with its prey.

"I swear, I’m going to file for a restraining order against you," you muttered, your voice tinged with disbelief.

"You can try," Sylus responded smoothly, his words dripping with a dangerous calm. "But you know well enough that such things won’t stop me."

You clenched your fists, your resolve hardening. The walls you had so carefully built around your heart in the past year came crashing down in a flood of anger and pain. You had moved on, healed—didn’t he see that?

"I want you to come back to me," he said, his voice now serious, his gaze earnest, though still haunted by the traces of his past mistakes.

But you wouldn’t crack. Not now.

"Never in this lifetime," you said, the finality of your words a heavy hammer to his chest.

Sylus’s lips twisted into a small, bitter smile. "Then, in another?" His words were light, but they carried a weight that you both felt. It was his way of hiding the hurt, the pain that had followed him like a shadow.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you let the silence hang between you, thick and suffocating.

"I’ll pray that I never have to meet you again," you said softly, the words filled with a quiet kind of sorrow. "Not in this life, and not in the ones after."

And with that, you turned, walking away from him, leaving him shattered in the cold, empty alley.

Sylus watched you go, his chest tight with regret. His heart—something he had long kept locked away, something he had never truly allowed himself to feel—was breaking in ways he had never imagined. The storm inside him raged, but he couldn’t stop it.

You were gone, and this time, he knew—he knew—there would be no coming back.

Caleb

It’s been a year since you last saw Caleb.

Well, not really. Sometimes you caught glimpses of him in the crowd—just a silhouette, a shape that might be his. Your heart would catch in your throat, and for a fleeting moment, you’d swear it was him. But the figure would turn, and it would be a stranger. Your imagination had been cruel to you, conjuring up ghosts from your memories and stitching together faces from your longing. Perhaps it was just your mind showing you what you wished to see, like a cruel twist of fate reminding you of what had slipped through your fingers.

A year filled with growth. You learned to be soft with yourself, to breathe through the pain instead of suffocating in it. You allowed yourself to be bitter—let the sadness claw through your chest and the anger burn through your veins. You let yourself crumble, and when the dust settled, you gathered the fragments and made something beautiful from them. A mosaic of healing. You thanked the universe for the lesson, no matter how brutal it had been. Whether it was God, fate, or simply the chaos of life, you accepted it. You learned that you were the only constant in your own story—the one thing that would always remain when everyone else faded to whispers.

In those months, you blossomed. You breathed in the world with new lungs, filling your soul with every small moment that once went unnoticed. The way sunlight painted golden patterns on cracked sidewalks, the way the ocean waves whispered secrets to the shore, the taste of ripe fruit on a sweltering day. You poured your energy into your work, rebuilt neglected friendships, and found comfort in the warmth of those who remained. You taught yourself that it wasn’t your fault—none of it had been—and that loving him too much was never a mistake. Only, you needed to love yourself first.

And when you finally felt steady enough to open your heart again, love found you. They were calm where Caleb had been chaos, steady where Caleb had been a storm. A lighthouse guiding you back to yourself, reminding you that love wasn’t meant to break you. Their hands held you like you were fragile, but their love made you feel strong. You didn’t compare them—Caleb was a different life, a different story. But maybe that’s what you needed. You were happy, genuinely happy, for the first time in what felt like ages.

The train station buzzes around you like a hive of restless energy, travelers weaving past each other with hurried steps and heavy bags. Your lover has gone to grab snacks for the journey, leaving you alone on the worn wooden bench. The air smells of old books and fresh coffee, tinged with the metallic scent of steel tracks. You lean back, glancing at the faded timetable, feeling content in the hum of life moving around you.

And then, like a phantom stepping through the fog of memory, you see him. Caleb. The world seems to stop spinning, frozen in that singular moment. He’s standing on the opposite platform, hands shoved into his coat pockets, head bowed as if weighed down by the past. A bitter wind pulls at his hair, and for a second, he lifts his gaze. Your breath catches as his eyes meet yours, recognition dawning like sunlight cutting through rain. He hesitates, lips parting, and you see the flicker of regret, raw and unguarded.

The hurt surges up unexpectedly, but it’s quieter than it used to be, muted by time and acceptance. You don’t flinch when he takes a hesitant step forward, his mouth opening as if to call out to you. A thousand words hang between you—apologies, confessions, explanations—but none seem to find their way into the open. You see the yearning in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you as if trying to remember every detail he once took for granted.

Your lover appears at your side, offering a small smile as they hand you a paper bag filled with snacks. Their presence grounds you, pulls you back to reality from the haze of memory. Caleb sees them too, and the pain that flashes across his face is like a knife carving regret into his bones. You watch as he realizes what he’s lost—how you’ve moved on, how you’ve found happiness that doesn’t depend on him.

He lingers there, stranded on the other side of the tracks, unable to cross over to where you stand. You almost pity him—the way his shoulders sag, the way his jaw clenches to swallow whatever plea was forming. But the ache that once ruled you has softened, transformed into something quieter. You’re not angry anymore. You’re not shattered. You’ve built something new from the ruins he left behind.

Caleb lowers his gaze, as if surrendering to the weight of his own choices. And as the train pulls into the station, you take your lover’s hand, intertwining your fingers like roots that hold you steady. You feel Caleb’s stare on your back as you step onto the train, but you don’t look back. There’s nothing left to see—just the remnants of a past that no longer defines you.

As the train moves away, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. It’s not triumph, not victory—it’s closure, as quiet and gentle as a sunset slipping beneath the horizon. You made it out the other side. And that, more than anything, is the proof that you are whole again.

...

But the peace you felt wasn’t the same for Caleb. Seeing you again after what felt like a lifetime was like being thrown into the depths of the ocean—lungs burning, heart pounding, utterly helpless. He hadn’t known he was drowning until he saw you sitting there, your feet dangling off the edge of the bench, lips parted in a soft “o” of surprise. You looked at him with that same curiosity, that gentle tilt of your head, and it struck him just how far away you felt—like a dream that had slipped through his fingers.

It wasn’t his place to feel this way. Not anymore. But he couldn’t help the ache that gnawed at his ribs, nor the desperate urge to reach out and pull you into his arms, to whisper apologies into your skin until his words sunk into your bones. Yet even from a distance, he could see how your shoulders were relaxed, your gaze steady and unburdened, and it only made the chasm between you widen.

When another person’s hands found your own, threading fingers together with the ease of familiarity, his heart cracked open—raw and aching. It wasn’t his business. He shouldn’t care. But he did. Too much. More than he thought he still could.

He wanted to run after you, to say something—anything. But what would he even say? That he missed you so much it hurt? That he had spent a year convincing himself he’d made the right choice, only to realize how profoundly wrong he’d been? It all felt pointless now, tangled in regret and longing.

Endless scenarios crashed through his mind like waves against rock, and somewhere in that turmoil, he decided he needed to speak to you—one last time. He needed your attention on him, just once more.

He waited for you outside your workplace, nerves coiling tighter with every second that passed. He wondered if you’d be angry—if you’d tell him to leave and never come back. But when you appeared, you only offered a small, polite smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You looked at him with the calm detachment of someone who had long since made peace with the past.

“Hey...” he murmured, forcing a boyish grin that looked so out of place on his troubled face. He rubbed the back of his neck, as if trying to wring out the nerves clinging to him.

You smiled again—gentle, unbothered, and heartbreakingly kind. “Hi.” Your voice was soft, like a memory he couldn’t quite grasp, and it was that tenderness—free from bitterness—that made his chest ache. He had prepared himself for anger, for hurt laced in your words. Instead, you were kind. You always had been, like a flower that bent but never broke, even under the harshest of storms.

“I was wondering if we could talk,” he said finally, hesitating as if the words themselves might shatter.

You didn’t move, just nodded your head. “Talk, then.” Your tone was steady, as if he was just another passerby in your life, not the storm that once tore it apart.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke, words stumbling over one another. “I guess... I didn’t realize how much I missed you—until I saw you at the station. I just—” He took a shaky breath. “I wanted to know if you’d ever consider forgiving me. For how foolish I was. For being so... selfish.” His eyes, those familiar, pleading puppy eyes, bore into yours, searching for a sliver of the past warmth.

You glanced at him, and he saw the flicker of something unreadable in your gaze before you answered. “Forgiveness is too much to ask for,” you replied softly, but your voice held a quiet strength that hadn’t been there before. “But I’ve learned to accept what happened. You should too, Caleb.”

His hands clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to reach out. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to accept it.”

You gave a sad, wistful smile, the kind that hurt more than any cruel words could have. “That’s on you,” you whispered, eyes glistening with a tenderness that had nothing to do with him anymore. “I’m happy now. I’ve built something beautiful out of the pieces you left behind. And I won’t let you take that from me.”

He lowered his head, unable to meet your gaze. “I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered.

Your smile faded, replaced by a quiet, unyielding resolve. “Intentions don’t erase consequences. Live a life without further regrets, Caleb.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You turned and walked away, each step decisive and unwavering, leaving him rooted to the spot—drowning in the knowledge that you were truly, undeniably gone.

And Caleb just stood there, feeling the hollow ache where your love used to be, realizing far too late that he had destroyed the only good thing he’d ever known.

@rubyrubyruuu / @browneyedgirl22 / @valentine-n-ragnarok / @whimsiecat / @esylwen / @crimsonmarabou / @we-rice-boi / @mitchelbr1 / @animegamerfox / @chgumji / @jeondyy / @rafayelridesfisheatsfish

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere Eldritch being who has taken over your entire town.

TW. Dead Dove Do Not Eat Horror, confinement, isolation, death, Stockholm syndrome, yandere

You didn’t know when it had happened, but there was something very obviously wrong with your town.

It was the little things like the warped street signs, the inconsistent cracks in the sidewalk, and the way that the uncanny faces of people seemed to stare at you. It didn’t use to be like this, but you found yourself cautious about your new reality on the daily. You did try to leave and call for help, but there was some mysterious force cutting off your network. And when you did try to pack all your bags and high tail it out of there, you would end up just looping straight back on your street no matter what direction you drove in.

So now you made do with the fact that nothing was normal.

You sometimes wonder why whatever has infected all the people decided to leave you alone. Because there was no way it wasn’t a conscious decision. Your favorite flowers would start sprouting out of concrete walls and glass despite the fact it would be the middle of winter one day and a scorching summer the next. Not to mention, those flowers didn’t even grow here to begin with. It was a gesture. If it was meant to tempt or be kind, you weren’t sure. 

The town functioned like nothing was out of the ordinary, though. Well, at least it tried to puppet the barely real bodies of your community to do things they would daily. The grocery store always had food and figures milling about, and even though none of the products ever tasted quite right or had words in a real language, you could tell “it” was trying to keep things running for you.

You’d once tried to hide away in your house, thinking that it was somehow protecting you from whatever was out there. But all you did was make it angry. Constant thunderstorms that shook the ground, and hail that pounded on your roof and walls. When you continued to stay inside, that’s when it made things clear: it was letting you stay as you were. The house shifted dramatically, doors disappearing and walls bending in front of your eyes. 

Come outside. Stop trying to resist.

Privacy was just another one of those far-out concepts now.

The thing, as you so liked to call it, had been more affectionate lately. You didn’t know exactly how to describe it, but it had started morphing all the “people” into more attractive versions of themselves. Or at least, what it thought of as attractive to humans. Their faces were more tangible now and less blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, but they were uncanny in a new way. Skin too smooth, too perfect in so many different ways. Symmetrical, full lips, pleasant expressions, soothing voices: all things that on paper would lure someone in, but it had alarm bells ringing in your head nearly all the time now.

“I don’t like this, you know,” You said one day as you sat in the diner. The room was stretched out wider than what it looked like on the outside, and the waitress had an unnaturally wide smile. Before you was a plate of… something. Your guess was pancakes.

“What do you mean?” Several voices asked at once. It came from all around, and the waitress’s mouth barely moved to match the words. 

“ I like you better when you aren’t trying so hard to be something you weren’t.”

There was a pause, and the building slowly unraveled into a jumbled mess of things that you could barely comprehend, the other patrons' faces and bodies melting away into linoleum floors. 

“You’re not human. You don’t have to be. I think I’d prefer that honestly,” You shrugged and poked at your food. From the corner of your eyes, a figure seemed to emerge from the mess of what used to be your favorite restaurant. It was a writhing mass of dark tendrils, reaching for anything nearby. You’re breath caught in your throat.

“Do you really mean that?”

The voice spoke, but there wasn’t any face to accompany it. It reverberated in the base of your spine, racing through your nerves like lightning. Your breath hitched, and you finally gathered enough courage to look at it. It was a mess of things you couldn’t quite make out, but it was almost comforting. 

“This is the first time I’ve actually seen you,” you admitted, a small laugh of disbelief caught in your throat. You couldn’t help but smile. It was the first time it had actually listened to you. 

The being twitched, pulsing as it slid over towards where you were sitting at the booth. It was the only thing that had stayed intact. For something so expressionless, you’d dare to say it seemed shy. 

From the inky mass, one tendril reached out for you, the air around it crackling. You stayed in place as it slid over your hand, and you felt the wonder and relief.

“Will you stay with me? I don’t want to force you, but I’m so alone… you’re the only one who doesn’t disappear when I’m near.”

You blinked as the mass filled the cracks between your hands, folding into the lines of your palms as if trying to memorize you. If it had a hand, you’d be holding it. If it had lips, yours would be slotting against them. If it had a heart, you were certain they’d be painted a similar shade of loneliness. 

You stood up and slowly approached it, holding out your arms as you leaned in, wrapped your arms around its slowly forming figure, and nodded in silence. 

[tottentz]

SOMEONE TO YOU ── zenless zone zero, sfw ౨ৎ⠀⠀or little things you do that make them fall in love again ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ gender neutral reader⠀/⠀ft. billy kid, nicole, anby, wise, belle, von lycaon, zhu yuan. ♡ˎˊ˗

— VON LYCAON ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you fix his clothes. it's nothing, really, you say, adjusting a crooked collar or smoothing a wrinkle. but to lycaon, who wrenches your hips flush to his own when you attempt to break away, it's as if you're unlocking a secret part of his world. the slight, almost imperceptible smile that graces his lips speaks volumes, and if you notice the wagging of his tail or his ears twiching, you never bring it up, instead, you giggle and remind him to be careful—lycaon knows it's not just about the clothes, as he yearns for an affinity but is terrified of the eternal menaces that endanger you and himself alike, but for now, lycaon can get used to the way you treat him as though he is the center of your universe simpers when he deliberately separates from your embrace by prying away and halting the intimate dance formerly initiated. 

— ANBY ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you watch movies with her. anby just adores those quiet evenings when you and she are nestled together, lost in the glow of a flickering screen. it doesn't matter if you understand the movie, or if it is not your favorite genre, she thrives on the way your eyes light up in the dark, a mirror to her own fascination, and in the same way, you always listen to everything she has to say about the film. anby does not know how to physically express her emotions, but she makes it up by pressing your head to her and feel what you often feel with you: safe, soothed — at home. the effect she has on you, it makes you think that maybe everything will be alright. and if you fall asleep, she smooth her palms up and down your sides. she's soothing you, even like this. does she even realize it, you wonder, is it just second nature for her? you don't need an answer right now.

— BILLY KID ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you praise him. he swears his abdomen houses clutters of butterflies who dance to the tempo of his non-existent palpitating heart, and his cranium is a ground of play for rampant imagery whenever he hears your voice. he revels in the way you celebrate his victories, no matter how small, and how you tease him with an affectionate grin after every misstep. your belief in him, wrapped in your energetic spirit, lights up his world with a spark that fuels his every move. and there's also you. his person. and he loves, and loves, and loves so endlessly you'd think he would give you the world and everything in the sky, if he could. and if he feels too embarrassed, he would gasp as if stumbling upon treasure before he clumsily grips at your shoulders with a child's enthusiasm. billy is sure to divulge his honest opinion. you, to him, were his one in a million.

— NICOLE ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you hold her. she will never admit it, but nicole finds a serene joy in the gentle, reassuring touch of your hands. it could be any part of her body, from the way you keep your hands warm for nicole when it's cold outside and come up behind her and rubs them up and down her arms. she can do it herself, obviously, but you don't stop, whether it's a supportive grip during a comission or a delicate caress in passing, you know it brings a soothing sense of closeness that she treasures. in private, however, she's so ironically fragile. you could hold her in the palm of your hand, present his broken pieces to the world and they'd still choose to be fooled. the leader of the odd-job agency the cunnin hares will never admit the times she falls asleep like that, cradled against you, soft in your arms.your touch is like a quiet promise that reassures her and makes her heart flutter with contentment, 

— WISE ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you lull him to sleep. when insomnia weaves its restless threads around him, it's your voice that becomes his sanctuary. you don't care if you have to be up at 4am. if you stir awake at an odd hour and finds him still up and restless, you'll always be wrapping around him before he can get a word out,a and it doesn't matter if he is working on the computer or watching the tv, you'll drag him back to bed so you'll press him snug to your warm chest as you hum in that soft, gravely tune that always helps him fall asleep. and in the morning, he is grateful to be woken up by you snoring next to him, and wise breaks into a smile at the sight, eyes baring crow's feet as his fingers rouse through your knotted locks, thumb prodding into your temple and stroking soothing lengths into the dimpled flesh. your presence becomes his most cherished remedy.

— BELLE ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you play fighting games with her. she always wins, anyway, but you know the way belle’s eyes sparkle with a fierce joy when you join her in the world of fighting games is worth the try. if only you knew she consistently were to be reduced to putty in your hands, an object to be used for your disposal, belle would allow such. to remain within contact for a second more, she’d do whatever it took. desire which set her heart aflame affirmed her certainty when deciding his aim for the future. she would remain by your side, sure to treasure everlasting memories crafted within your presence. she still hands out pieces of herself like there's enough to go around (there isn't). and when she lose( on purpose ), she since convinced herself that she has already won. content with the belief he had already acquired millions with you.

— ZHU YUAN ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you buy flowers for her. zhu yuan's heart flutters with a delicate joy whenever you present her with flowers, their vibrant colors a testament to your affection. she once mentioned how much she likes keeping fresh flowers, but since she is busy she would not have time to take care of them; and now the house never seems to run out of them, the vases always full with fresh sugar water and kept - you tend them for her. blemishes blind to her eye, she discerned only visage of an appeal, your charm far too bewitching to discourage her nursing of attraction towards you. she adores not just the flowers themselves, but the care you take in nurturing them, reflecting the same tenderness you offer her. regardless of how you had been perceived by peers or what grade you had been given, the way she viewed you was like no other.

. ࣪✦ ៸៸ tottentz ▐ © 2024 ､ ? 𓄹 ܵ ۪

[orphicsun]

—nepenthe

content: angst and comfort, reader is ambessa's servant, mentions of prostitution, vi's pitfighter era, make-out session, alcohol, two heartbroken people who honestly just need a hug, mentions of degrading names.

"nepenthe"

– an ancient greek word, nepenthe, is defined as a medicine for sorrow. it is a place, person, or thing, which can aid in forgetting your pain and suffering.

You sit alone, forehead resting on the surface of the bar. It’s stuffy, crowded with an outpour of Zaunites. The fight in the underground ring must’ve been over now. You sigh, tapping the shot glass against the bar. You try not to let tears gather in the corners of your eyes, free to fall down your cheeks, but it’s nearly hopeless. Being a servant to a high rank is one of the worst paths you could’ve taken. 

You remember the days you worked in Babette’s brothel. At least then, you didn’t fall in love with your clients. Why did you love Ambessa so much? Less like a wave and more of a tsunami, she enjoys crashing into you. You love it, too. Ambessa is a lioness, brave and fierce. You’re not a tiger or a panther, not even a common housecat. You’re a stray. 

Voices fill your ears from every angle, but the one that isn’t there, the one that you wish to be real repeats endlessly. 

“You’re nothing but a whore. Do you really think I’d ever make you my wife?” Her laugh that followed her harsh words rings in your head like a church bell. 

“You’re just another filthy Zaunite girl, and that’s what you’ll die as.” 

Your whole body trembled when she said that, as she dismissed you. It’s back to the brothels for you, and you wonder if there is anything more humiliating than going from living in a mansion with one of Noxia’s most respected commanders to back in your shabby house in the under city. You can’t dwell on the thought, though you want to. Someone next to you taps your shoulder, nearly causing you to snap. The voice is oddly familiar. 

“You look a little pathetic, you know. You didn’t even take the shot.” They say, words harsh but clearly a light tease. The voice is clearly a woman’s, though slurred in a drunken haze. You’ve heard it before, but from where? 

You force yourself to sit up and face your left, where the voice is coming from. There is an infamous face. Light freckles dotted over pale skin, and what used to be a reddish-pink hair is now stained a midnight black. The scar on her upper-lip shifts with her smile, though the expression doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“You can have it.” You mumble, eyes leaving hers. You should feel embarrassed to be moping around in a bar, but you don’t care. 

Vi sighs, feeling a twinge of sympathy for you. Regardless, she grabs the shot, tilting her head back as the vodka rushes down her throat. It’ll come back up later. 

“What’s your deal?” She asks, scooching closer to you. 

“Relationship issues.” You simply say, though the strain in your voice is clear. Relationship, if you could ever call it that. Serving to Ambessa’s every need and bending to her will was a dynamic, you were never her lover. You could never be a wife is a thought that lingers in your head and plagues you like an incoming pandemic, a disease that could wipe out towns. Vi seems to know, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, she leans in, patting your back in a soothing manner. 

“My place?” She offers into your ear, words like a poison stronger than alcohol or shimmer. You find yourself walking down the street, leaning on each other as she leads you to her small apartment. 

Inside, kisses are sloppy and taste more like a bottle of cheap vodka than anything pleasant. You desperately cup her face, fingers tangled in her hair. Her hands grab your waist and send a much-needed warmth up your spine. 

Perhaps if you stop to tell each other who you got your hearts trampled by, then there would be some comforting relations. Vi would tell you that you are more than a whore, and Ambessa would be lucky to have you. That you deserve more than to have to quiet down and be an obedient piece of property. You would tell Vi that she is sweet, deserves better than Caitlyn. But words aren’t exchanged, and that is what makes the kisses so desperate. 

You wish to speak it all with your tongue sucking on hers, and she is needy to vent out her frustrations by pushing you down onto her twin-sized bed, quickly following you down. Vi is warm, almost too warm that it burns you to love on her. 

You don’t even realize that you began crying until you’re wondering why Vi pulled away. She looks more concerned than turned on, wiping at your cheeks and leaning in to kiss them. 

“I’ll punch whoever did this to you.” She states, burying her face into your neck and softly kissing your beating pulse. You’re alive, and it’s a comfort to her. Vi’s breath on the surface of your skin warms you throughout, and you can feel her body. She is real. 

You’ll wonder why you’re in this woman’s bed in the morning, perhaps deciding to sneak out before she can even wake up. However, for now, you hold each other, letting your scents mix and your fingers intertwine until the sun rises over the horizon. 

[sunskisser]

chocolate-coated hearts | r.l.

୨ৎ series masterlist

barista!remus x shy!reader

summary: you go to a new cafe to order donuts for your friend, immediately enamoured with the barista

tw: nothing? reader takes literature as a major, also kind of has social anxiety

a/n: might make this a series! i’ve got a few ideas <3

An anxious sigh escapes you as you stand idly outside the cafe, peering inside through the mosaicked windows. It was jam-packed, people pushing past each other and snake-like queues forming throughout the space. You wriggle your phone out of your coat pocket and glance at the message that your friend, Madison, had sent in a half hour ago.

hey gorgeous!! mind picking up a few donuts for me at Beanie’s before you come over? a few of the pbj ones, and some chocolate ones too. thanks xx

She was expecting, and you went by whenever you could to help her out after her asshole of a boyfriend left.

Normally, you wouldn’t bother. You hated crowded places, and Beanie’s was the definition of crowded – an old-style cafe which had blown up overnight because of its scrumptious donuts and vintage aesthetic. But who were you to deny the cravings of the woman bearing your goddaughter?

You take a deep breath and push the creaky wooden door open, cringing at how the bell rang and signalled the whole cafe to your presence. But no one so much as looked up, busy trying to buy or sell food, or find a table.

You push your way through the sea of people, joining the queue in front of the counter. It was long, you noted, and would probably take another fifteen minutes or so until it was your turn to place an order. You fish out your crumpled book from your bag and turn it to the page you had stopped on yesterday. It was the second classic of the term – Pride and Prejudice. Taking literature as a major meant you spent more time reading than anything else, but you weren’t complaining.

As you read, you scribbled down plot points to take note of and quotes which meant something worth writing about. Your eyes stayed glued to the page, trying to work out hidden meanings and flowery language. Once you were back home, you’d have to compile all your analysis onto that worksheet Professor Ragnarsson had given out, write the 10-page long review, and then –

“Hey! Shut the damn book and order, will you?”

Your heart jumps in your chest at the sudden harsh tone. You close your book and whip your head around to see a middle-aged man glaring at you before peering down at his watch. “There’s a long queue, and we don’t have all day.”

The heat rushes to your cheeks as you open your mouth to apologise – but before you can say anything, you hear an oddly soothing voice from behind you. “Hey, don’t be a jerk. She didn’t know the counter was open.”

You glance back towards the counter, and you swear your heart stopped beating for a second. Angelic was an understatement to describe the man standing in front of you, tall and lanky and absolutely fucking beautiful.

His chestnut brown hair perfectly framed his pale face, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as he glanced at the rude customer behind you. There were pinkish scars tracing from above his eyebrows to right below his lips, but they looked golden under the orange light – he looked like some kind of heavenly being.

When his eyes dart back to you, his expression instantly softened, lips tilting upwards in a smile. You thought you would melt into a puddle right there and then just by gazing into his warm, honeyed eyes. “Hi, gorgeous. What can I get you?”

You blink, your mouth involuntarily falling open slightly. Gorgeous? Was he talking to you? Maybe he was referring to the man behind you.

His smile widens, and that does absolutely nothing to calm the feeling of your heart bouncing around in your stomach. “It’s okay if you can’t choose just yet, I know the number of options can be…” he chuckles, “overwhelming. Take all the time you need to decide.”

Oh my god, you thought. His laugh sounded musical, like the tender feeling of being enveloped in a warm embrace. You’d put it on a record player and play it on loop for hours if you could.

“Hurry the fuck up –”

“One more word from you and you won’t be getting your coffee today, buddy,” the godly-looking barista snapped in a slightly louder tone at the man behind you, face contorted in irritation.

You hear silent cursing behind you, a twinge of embarrassment turning you red. You quickly glance back up. “Sorry, hi, hello. I’ll um… I…” the words were on the tip of your tongue, but seemed to dissolve when he glanced at you with those agonisingly pretty eyes and kind smile.

Snap out of it, you internally curse as you open your mouth again. “I’ll get three peanut butter-jelly donuts, and four chocolate donuts.”

“Okay. Which chocolate ones?” he asks, tapping his tongs against the display dome with stacks of donuts. There really were a lot of options – chocolate sprinkles, belgian chocolate, chocolate glazed, double chocolate – your mind seemed to freeze up for a second. Which one would Madison want?

You quickly look behind you, seeing the man’s face twisted up in what looked like rage. It seemed to be taking him all his willpower not to lash out at you, and the customers behind him didn’t look much far off.

You turn back to the counter, eyes wide with panic as you feel the blood rush to your head. You had never been good at this; thinking and choosing on the spot. That’s why Subway was always a no-go for you, that’s why Madison had specifically told you what to get her – just that she hadn’t been specific enough. “I… I’m not sure. I think, um…”

“Hey, take it easy,” you look back up to see Remus giving you a reassuring smile, a slight hint of concern on his face. Your despair must have been embarrassingly evident, then. “It’s alright if you can’t choose. Do you want me to pick for you?”

You ought to have been humiliated, the way you immediately nodded and gave in to his offer. But he just gave you an easy smile and nodded, picking up one of each type and placing them in the box.

“Thank you,” you mumble sheepishly as you move to the payment counter, fishing in your bag for a wad of notes.

“Of course,” he grins, and it was so bright you thought it could probably light up the whole cafe. “That’ll be $15.90.”

As he waits for you to pay, he takes a quick look down and begins to brush crumbs off his apron. You look up at the wrong moment, eyes immediately fixing on the curves of his biceps visible through his T-shirt, and his slender fingers.

He glances back up at you, catching a glimpse of your flustered look and instantly smirking. You look away abashedly, counting the money and handing it to him.

The brush of your fingers against his calloused palm sent a jolting shock through you as you quickly pull back, not missing the way his smile widened as he cashed the money into the register.

“Thanks for visiting, sweetheart. Hope to see you again soon.”

You don’t reply, afraid you’d crumble into a blushing, gooey mess. Flashing him a brief, nervous smile, you pick up the box of donuts before turning around and heading straight for the exit. Sweetheart.

You huff as you open the door and step outside, pulling out your phone to complain to Madison all about the stupidly handsome barista at her favourite cafe. God, he really knew what he was doing.

[k9wa]

⟁ 7:14 PM ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — braiding his hair bc my brain is rotting and i miss him.

⚠︎ fluff, thats really it, mechanic!reader but its not really relevant, suggestive if you squint and cover one eye and hang upside down. gn reader, wc 860.

boothill's head was lulled back between a pair of soft, comfy thighs, eyes a content and lazy half lidded as he felt some familiar calloused and precise fingers detangling little pieces of his hair. the sun was almost down past the horizon, and the last few warm rays peeking out left the room hued a gentle orange colour, its two inhabitants bathing in it.. 

he felt a slight tug here and there as you worked your magic, taking the knots out of those long white locks with patient fingers.

“you have such pretty hair.”

you mused quietly, combing out another strand with your nails. boothill's lips tugged up lightly in a gentle smirk— a hint of pride washing over him. he was a bigger sucker for praise than he’d ever admit.

“well, it’s gotta look good if it’s gonna match th’rest of me.” he drawled, voice a low rumble filled with a certain ease that rarely surfaced— well, rarely with others, anyway. he received a playful tug of his hair in response.boothill leaned back a bit more, trying to catch a glimpse of your endearing focussed expression.

he was slowly melting against your deft fingertips, silently whirring internals mimicking the quiet purr of a cat as you twirled a piece around your finger. 

“can i braid it?” you asked simply, already sectioning out a few strands at the top. 

“do whatever you want, sugar.” he granted with a little shrug, smirk still playing on his lips. “reckon a braid’ll help keep it from flyin’ into my eyes so much.”

he felt the rhythmic crossing of each strand as you began to braid, every brush of your nails against his scalp sending a pleasant shiver right through his wires.

“y’know,” he opened, voice still that gravely tone you could never get enough of. “ain’t nobody else i’d sit still for like this.” he admitted, brashness taking a backseat to give way to a tenderness reserved for one person only.

“yeah?” you smiled a bit, continuing to braid. “just for me, huh?”

boothill couldn’t help but let out a scruff, throaty chuckle, vibrations running through his chest.“just for you, darlin’.” he echoed.

 “you’ve got a magic touch, i s’ppose,” his eyes shut briefly. “could get used to this.”

the melodic and methodic movements of your fingers were earnestly making him drowsy, a soothing lullaby that laced and weaved around him in the same patterns as his hair. 

“like being pampered?” you teased playfully, earning a chuckle from him.

“you just got a way of makin’ a man feel real special. that’s all.”

your fingers kept slowly crossing and twisting strands.

“you should let me curl it some day,” you suggested, amusing yourself with the thought of him dawning a bunch of puffy ringlets. “you’d look like ‘genti.”

boothill's low laughter echoed quietly in the room, a deep sound that harmonised with your own. 

“now that’d be somethin’ to see,” he admitted with a playful scoff. “ol’ boothill with curls bouncin’ around like some dandy.”

he shook his head as he pictured it, and you had to flick his cheek to remind him to look straight.

“i'd sport some curls if it meant i get to see you smilin’.”

you smiled fondly at that, taking a small hair tie and wrapping it around the tail of his braid.

“you’re sweeter than you let on.” you reached around to fix his bangs a little bit. 

“there.” you tilted his head up a bit to look at him, feigning shock. “well, ain’t you pretty?”

hearing his own southern drawl echoed back to him made the cowboy snort. “ain’t i just the belle of the ball now?”

boothill's hand instinctively reached back to feel your handiwork, prosthetic fingers tracing along the weaves of his hair.

“mighty fine job, sugar plum.” he commended, turning around to face you on his knees, hands sliding up your thighs until they met behind your back in a careful hug around your waist. he looked up at you— really looked at you, that mushy softness in him pushing out through the cracks you always left in his defences. 

“thanks, darlin’.” he said quietly, those red cruciform pupils locked in on your own. “means more’en you might know, you spendin’ your time fussin’ over me like this.”

the cyborg’s head fell comfortably down in your lsp, nuzzling into you.

“i think fussing over you is a full time job,” you teased lightly, a smile evident in your voice. “not that i mind.”

one of your hands traced the mechanical connections of his arm, all the way up until your fingers gave a gentle brush to his cheek.

boothill let out a breathy chuckle, some air fanning across your tummy. his fingers, a soothing and smooth cool metal, traced little shapes along your lower back.

“well, i reckon i oughta start payin’ you overtime for such dedication.” he quipped quietly, demeanour playful yet earnest as always.

“paying me to start might be better.” you gave a playful pinch to his cheek.  

“i got a few ideas for how i can pay ya,” he teased back, giving a little nip to your thigh.

⠀ MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[springtyme]

If you’re still looking for Steve requests, would you be willing to write Steve who’s sick asf but later has a date planned with R but when she sees him she obvs takes him home and takes care of him

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ♡

Steve Harrington x reader || Main masterlist || Steve playlist

summary: Your first date with Steve doesn’t end up going exactly as he had planned.

word count: 2k

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐) 𝐒𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐃𝐚𝐲

“You look like shit,” Robin says deadpanned, her arms crossed as she leans against the counter, her expression half-teasing, half-concerned. 

“Gee, thanks, Rob,”Steve replies, trying to sound normal, but failing miserably as fatigue and hoarseness clings to his voice like a thick fog. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling the heat radiating off his skin. The fluorescent lights in Family Video seem excessively bright today, and every time a customer opens the door, the sound of the bell makes his head throb and the rush of fresh air makes him shiver.

He had woken up feeling like a truck had run him over, his throat scratchy, head pounding, and every bone in his body aching. Had he woken up feeling like this on any other day, he would have called in sick; but if he did that, it would mean actually admitting that he was sick, and then he would have to call you and cancel your date later, which was absolutely out of the question. 

He had worked out the nerve to ask you out for so long that the idea of backing out now makes his stomach twist with anxiety. He doesn’t understand how he did it so easily in high school. Back then, talking to girls felt like second nature to him, but then he grew up, became less of an asshole and the glitz and glamour of ‘King Steve’ and teenage confidence faded into something far more complicated.

It also dosen’t help the one person he’s been crushing on for ages. Your laughter dances in his memory, a melody that both soothes and torments him. You’re smart, kind, and effortlessly cool; the kind of person who lights up a room without even trying.

Robin raises an eyebrow, the look on her face tells Steve that she isn’t convinced. “Seriously, Harrington, you should just call it a day and go home.”

“I’m fine,” he insists, despite the fact that his body is screaming at him to go home and curl up under a mountain of blankets. 

· · · · ·   

You stand in front of the mirror in the staff bathroom of the café, smoothing down the fabric of your outfit as you check your makeup one last time. Your shift ended a little while ago, but Steve is supposed to come by and pick you up soon after his own shift at Family Video. The anticipation of seeing him makes your heart flutter.

You’ve been replaying the moment Steve asked you out in your head—his slight stammer, the way he ran his fingers through his hair, clearly anxious yet hopeful. It was cute. You could still picture the way his eyes lit up when you said yes, how the corner of his mouth twitched into that adorable smile of his, bright and boyish. 

As you stand there putting on a layer of lip gloss, a soft knock on the door breaks you from your reverie. “Hey, I think your date is here!” Lin, your co-worker, call out, her voice laced with light-hearted mischief. You can hear the smile in her tone.

“Thanks, I’ll be right out!” you reply, capping the tube of gloss and throwing it into your purse, taking a final glance in the mirror before you step out of the bathroom.

As you walk into the main café area, your eyes immediately land on Steve. He’s leaning against the counter, one hand fiddling with his keys, his other holding a bouquet of pink lilies that stands out against the muted tones of the café. The sight makes you smile to yourself.

You navigate through the café, a calm kind of excitement bubbling in your stomach. He catches your eye just as you reach him, but as you get closer, your smile falters slightly. You can’t help but notice the slight paleness of his complexion and how the usual brightness of his honey brown eyes is dulled.

“Hey,” you say, trying to mask your concern with a playful tone as you glimpse the flowers. “Are those for me?”

“Uh, yeah,” he stammers, almost sheepish as he offers you the bouquet, “yeah, they are for you.”

You take the flowers, inhaling their sweet fragrance, and your heart swells. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

His smile is earnest, but you catch the hint of a wince as he shifts on his feet.

“Of course,” he replies, a little too quickly, and you immediately pick up on the way his voice cracks slightly.

You take a closer look at him, worry settling in your chest like a weight. “Steve, are you okay?”

He chuckles softly, attempting to brush it off. “Yeah… yeah, I’m great.”

You raise an eyebrow, not feeling fully convinced, but you smile as he leads you out of the café and into the mild autumn air. The moment you step outside, the sunset casts a warm golden light, painting the world in hues of orange and pink. But despite the beauty around you, your attention stays focused on him.

As you walk side by side towards his car, a comfortable silence falls between you, but it’s punctured by Steve’s occasional cough, each one making your heart sink a little more. 

“Steve,” you say gently, your voice dropping to a soft, yet serious tone. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He force a chuckle, his voice raspy and strained. “Yeah… I’m just a little under the weather. It’s nothing, really.” 

You don’t buy it for a second. You know him well enough to see the way his usually bright eyes are glazed over with fatigue. The way he keeps shivering, despite the mild autumn air. You can see the pale cast to his skin and the way his hand shakes as he reaches for the passenger door to let you into his car.  

“Steve, you’re sick,” you state, your tone firm, your hand reaching out to touch his forehead which is warm to the touch. 

He glances away, and you notice how he rubs a hand over his tired eyes as if trying to wipe away the exhaustion. “I didn’t want to cancel on you. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

Your heart flutters, but it’s quickly replaced by a surge of protectiveness. You take a step closer, tilting your head slightly to meet his gaze. “Steve, I appreciate that, but I really think you need rest.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but before he can say anything, you interject, “How about this: I take you home, and we can have a cozy night in instead? I can whip up some soup or something.”

The suggestion hangs in the air. You can see the internal struggle on his face—whether he should stick to the plan he’d anticipated or succumb to the reality of how he truly feels. Finally, he nods. “That does sound nice. But can I still take you out on a real date when I’m feeling better?” His voice is barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in his eyes reminds you how much he values your time together.

“Definitely,” you reply, your own smile returning. “Now come on, let’s get you home.” You put out your hand, gesturing for him to hand over his car keys. He hesitates for a moment, looking between you and the keys in his palm, but the warmth in your eyes encourages him. With a resigned sigh, he hands them over.

You slide into the driver’s seat, glancing over at him once you’re both settled in, and your heart squeezes at the sight. He’s leaning back against the headrest, eyelids drooping slightly as he battles against another wave of exhaustion.

“Want me to turn on some music?” you ask, trying to lighten the mood as you pull out of the parking lot.

“Sure, but maybe something a bit soft,” he replies, his voice still strained, though he offers you a small smile. You nod and switch on the radio, letting the soothing melodies fill the car as you drive through the quiet town.

Occasionally, you look over and check on him from the corner of your eye. He’s still pale, and you can see how he shivers slightly in his  seat. Guilt twists in your stomach at the thought that he’d pushed himself just to spend time with you.

The short drive feels like it takes ages, but you finally pull up in front of his house. Steve glances over at you, a hint of reluctance in his gaze. “You don’t...you really don’t have to do this, you know. I can just—”

“Steve, it’s happening. You’re not winning this argument today,” you cut him off playfully, adding a grin to soften your words. He chuckles weakly, appreciating the stubbornness in your tone.

After a second, he nods and climbs out of the car, the effort seeming to cost him. You rush around to help him, looping his arm around your shoulder for support as you lead him inside. Once inside, you help him settle onto the couch, fluffing a few pillows behind his back so he can lean comfortably. “You just sit tight,” you order gently. “I’ll get started on that soup.”

You head to the kitchen, happy to find enough ingredients for a simple chicken noodle. As you chop vegetables and toss everything into the pot, you can’t help but glance back toward the living room now and then.

After a while, the delicious aroma of simmering soup fills the air, a comforting weight that envelops the space. You serve it up in two bowls, bringing them back to the living room.

“Dinner is served,” you announce, adopting a playful tone as you hand him a bowl, the steam swirling up from the broth.

He takes it gratefully, voicing his gratitude before he takes a spoonful of the soup, the tension in his shoulders seems to ease just a bit. You take a seat next to him, and the two of you settle into a comfortable quiet, the sound of spoons clinking against the ceramic filling the space between you.

“See? Not such a bad idea, right?” you say, giving him a gentle smile as his eyes lock with yours. 

“Not at all,” he replies, his mouth curling into a genuine smile that somehow seems to illuminate the weariness in his eyes. “You might just be my new favorite person.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but your heart flutters nonetheless. “Just wait until I force you to watch a rom-com later.”

“Who doesn’t love a rom-com?” he laughs, but it’s cut short by a rough cough that rattles through him. You frown, reaching over to gently place your hand on his forehead again, your palm feeling the rise and fall of his fever.

“You still need to rest,” you remind him softly, and he nods, a hint of vulnerability crossing his features. He takes another sip of soup, his movements slower, as if savoring not just the meal, but the warmth radiating from your presence.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” he murmurs, looking at you with a depth of gratitude that sends your heart racing. “I really didn’t want to let you down.”

“Steve, you could never let me down,” you say earnestly. 

The sincerity in your voice hangs in the air between you, a thread of understanding weaving deeper into the fabric of your relationship. He finishes his soup, and as the bowls lay empty on the coffee table, he leans back a little more against the couch, closing his eyes.

You grab a blanket that is hanging over the armrest of the couch and drape it over the two of you, feeling the warmth radiating from his body touch yours. “I’ll stay here with you,” you whisper, brushing back a strand of hair from his forehead.

“Thank you,” he says with a contented sigh, he nestles in further, his hand finding yours on the couch. And as you sit together, the simplicity of sharing warmth, soup, and presence erases the worry as evening turns into night, the world outside fading away.

[bunny-1111]

I can hear the bells TN x reader

Theo Nott Oneshot.

...

There he was in all his glory, smile beaming, hair slicked back with that effortless elegance that made your heart flutter. A vision of what you’d always yearned for: Theodore Nott, standing at the altar, looking as if he’d just stepped out of your wildest daydreams.

You inhale deeply, the air thick with the scent of roses and whispered promises. This is it—you’re really getting married. It felt so surreal.

As you glance around the room, the soft glow of candlelight dances on the polished wood, casting a warm hue over the gathered friends and family, their smiles like sunshine piercing through clouds. Each face reflects the joy of the moment, but all you can focus on is him. Your heart pounds in your chest as you look down at your bouquet, a cascade of white peonies and deep crimson roses, the perfect contrast to your dress.

Finally, you lift your gaze, locking eyes with Theo. In that instant, the world falls away, and it's just the two of you. His deep-set eyes glimmer with unshed tears, his expression a mixture of awe and love. As you begin to recite your vows, emotion swells in your throat, choking you up. You can’t help but tear up as you promise him forever, your voice thick with emotion.

Theodore’s voice wavers as he speaks his vows to you, each word heavy with sincerity, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. It’s perfect; he is perfect.

“Now, you may kiss the bride,” a voice rings out, and you feel your heart leap as you lean into him. The kiss is electric, sweeping you off your feet and igniting a spark deep within. You melt into him, the world around you fading as the bells start to ring, echoing joyously through the air, a symphony to mark your union.

Chime, chime, chime.

You pull back, breathless and beaming, your hands entwined with his as you walk down the aisle, the bells ringing louder, enveloping you in their sweet sound.

But then—

“Shouldn’t they have stopped playing those bells by now?” you laugh, turning to Theo, whose smile is contagious.

He only grins, leaning in closer, but your vision starts to blur, and the sweet sound of the bells is still there, persistent, relentless.

Chime, chime, chime.

“Turn off the alarm, darling,” Theodore murmurs, sleep heavy in his voice as he turns over, arms wrapping around you tighter.

“Hmmm,” you respond, half-asleep, trying to shake the haze of slumber from your mind. The dream had to be real—the bell’s chime still reverberating in your ears, a lingering memory of what you had just experienced.

“Baby, the alarm,” Theodore repeats, his voice a gentle rumble as he leans over to turn it off. Reality crashes in, and you realise you’ve dreamt it all. It wasn’t wedding bells; it was your fucking alarm.

With a groan, you rub your eyes, staring at your surroundings—the familiarity of your room and the warmth of Theo beside you, warm and bare.

“What’s wrong?” he growls, pulling you back against his chest, his voice laced with sleep.

“No,” you whine, a small cry escaping as the weight of disappointment settles in your chest. You can almost feel the dream slipping away like sand through your fingers. It had been so perfect; you really thought it was real.

Theodore senses your distress, feeling your face scrunch against him. “Baby, what’s wrong?” His voice is soft, laced with sleepy concern.

“I was having the best dream—we were getting married and—” you begin, the memory washing over you like a warm tide, bittersweet and beautiful.

“Oh, hunny,” he coos, his voice soothing as he runs a hand through your hair. “Go back to sleep and dream on. It will happen, alright?” He tightens his hold around your waist, grounding you in the moment.

“Let’s just finish school first, alright? Go back to sleep,” he mumbles, his breath warm against your neck, pulling you closer as the remnants of your dream linger in the air.

You huff, shutting your eyes tightly, desperate to conjure the enchanting imagery of your wedding day once more. You long to drift back into that blissful dream.

[sundrlands]

‘significance’ j. sunderland x reader

minors dni

cw: light face slapping, light scent kink, sub/top j. sunderland x dom/bottom reader, oral, breath play if you squint, breeding kink, light spit play, dry humping. no depictions of specific characterizations in regards to the reader’s looks. reader has she/her pronouns.

summary: what happens when two deprived people meet by accident? a server and that odd man who’d always come to drink coffee every morning at 6am. from awkward conversation to a dinner that turned into rough, needy indulgence. it was easy, a deprived little thing like him… it was just too significant.

a/n: this is years after the events of sh— no mentioning of the events either. forgive me if this is all over the place… it’s definitely a long one. i kind of went wild while writing this one. there’s more smut than there is plot but nonetheless… i hope you enjoy my very first james sunderland fic.

there he goes again… that odd man… in the same spot he’d always sit in. the farthest table by the window with no one to accompany him besides himself.

james… that was his name. james sunderland.

he was kind enough to tell you this after the tenth time he’d come in. you didn’t have to ask or even tell him your own name… mostly because you didn’t know how to approach that level of conversation. you were just a server— giving the customers phony smiles, a ‘hi, how can i help you today?’ and the fakest kind of enthusiasm when any other would try to offer a joke out of curtesy.

yet something about him… his somber eyes— with light wash of rosy pink coloring the bags underneath them— that looked as if he was deep in thought… as if he were to be troubled by something… or someone from his past… the short stubble that grazed over his chin and upper lip, and his body language that seemed as if he never wanted to be bothered or probably never slept. his gaze always wandered around the diner, out the window or at the soft ripples within the mug he’d hold. sometimes… you found him staring at you, nervously looking away whenever your eyes connected. you never understood why though or what he could be thinking each time he looked at you, so you never asked or gave it much question.

james was just a stranger who came at the same time, almost every single day— six in the morning, as the sky still glowed its grey hues— not a minute early. not a minute late. the bell from the diner’s door ringing loud and brash with the thick of his boots stepping on every creaking, rotten floor board.

each time he’d come, you’d watch him to see if he’d do anything different. maybe he’d add in a sugar packet… two or three… or maybe he’d get a breakfast sandwich like mr.colemen always did— the trucker who you knew had a wife but still flirted with the older cook, ms.miles on tuesdays— or maybe he’d bring in someone he knew to occupy his time… he didn’t. it was the same each time. he’d arrive, ask for seating and sit— not wanting anything else but his coffee— black. no sugar. no cream, just like he liked it he said. he’d watch the steam from his cup vanish until it ran cold then take his sips that felt like a lifetime in between each one.

you couldn’t lie… you were fairly intrigued by him… it wasn’t as if you hadn’t had regulars come in just as much he does, if not more, but something about him seemed different… the expression he always wore… he always seemed so lost in thought yet… so attentive in his surroundings. something in you wanted to know who he was.

each time you gave him a cup of his favorite black coffee, you couldn’t help yourself but try to formulate conversation after he gave out his name… but he was always just so fucking vague… each sentence he spoke was watered down— that trickled slow like shallow water… simplistic and dry, running in a soothing hum.

it was pretty. the way he spoke.

you told him that too. a gentle, ‘you have a nice voice’ after he sung a sweet ‘thank you’ after setting the coffee down in front of his hands. he was awkward about it, like he hadn’t received a compliment like this one or a compliment at all. no words given other than that, having the conversation run flat and you walking away in regret thinking, ‘maybe that was too much’.

it only took one day when you had been off shift to see him sitting at a park bench, the one at the end of the town with his hands in his pockets, back slouched and those same somber eyes staring into the park’s pound to finally sit next to him and not feel the dynamic imbalance hit you like how it did in the diner.

“james!” your breath creating its soft clouds within the cold air as you softly spoke, vanishing as it rose.

“ah!” he hummed, “funny to see you here.” he looked at you… the blonde strands flowing against the wind, his attention fully on you instead of him quickly trying to look away. it was direct, like he stared from within your body… you didn’t expect a person like him to have such good eye contact… it almost made you nervous.

“no coffee today?” you replied, offering a smile.

“afraid not. im just on my lunch break… needed some fresh air.”

“may i ask where you work? hope that’s not improper of me to ask.” you laughed quietly, taking a real good look at him. he was almost like a statue… a rugged one. his lack of fashion sense…and his ability to hold so much expression all the while it being so bland and so cold.

he chuckled, shaking his head as he turned his head back towards the pond, “no… no it’s not ‘improper’. it’s just an office job. pretty boring id say.”

“fitting.” you replied, “not that you’re boring! just… seems like a occupation you’d have is all.”

“i wouldn’t say that you’re wrong even if you did say that.” giving yet another humming chuckle.

you stayed for the time he had to spare. the conversation going just as you thought it would… awkward but he was sweet nonetheless. though it was the way it was, his words flowed with every sentence he spoke, like the gentle stream of the pond in front of you both or the thick clouds that scattered in the grey sky. it took you just a few moments to notice how pretty that man was. he exuded such odd comfort… and warmth that made you want to keep talking to him. listen to anything he said even if it meant nothing or sounded humorously stupid.

“well.” he sighed, grunting as he stood, “id love to keep… talking, but i have to go back.”

you nodded, exchanging your goodbyes as you watched him walk down the park’s path until his body disappeared in the distance.

and so, from then on it had been easier to talk to him. finding any way to get to know more about the odd man who only drank black coffee and stared at you from time to time. it started just at your workplace, quick and steady back and forth talk then at the park, then offering a time to spend together on your off day for breakfast.

that was the first time he had something other than coffee. it was the first time you saw him smile more than once… not a faint one… a real one— seeing how his teeth jumbled at the bottom of his mouth or the harsh smile lines appear by the sides of his lips.

the more you looked, the more you conjured how pathetic of a man james really was. his life seemed so dull… just like the springs occasional showers and faded blue skies… but he was like the sweetness of june— the warmth within this man was little to none but still, he captivated you with his odd charm even if he tried or didn’t. you couldn’t help yourself but to think it was so easy to get him flustered, to have him smile whenever you showed interest in whatever he spoke about… like a lost puppy who finally got attention after being alone for so long.

a slip of a compliment flowed in almost every other sentence, seeing him stutter in his words, choking up a thank you whenever he could. it was amusing… like an addiction. sewing your way into his life was oh so significant. he considered you a ‘friend’ to put it lightly, one who obviously stared at you whenever you weren’t looking: like at the pier. you stood in front of him, hearing the crows sing and the water waves crash against the wood— he’d eye down your frame, seeing the way your clothes hugged your form… dissociating the world’s music around you both with an open mouth and twiddling fingers.

each time, you acted as if you hadn’t noticed and maybe you were just that good for him to not pick up on it whenever you failed to mention or question why he’d stare so goddamn much. it didn’t matter anyway, you liked it just as much as he liked staring at you.

he’d sit stiff, noting how erect his back would be whenever you placed your hand on his shoulder, a soft grip given as you both spoke about whatever. he’d clear his throat whenever you stood a little too close to him, rubbing the tapered part of his hair on the back of his head with a line of ‘uh’ and ‘ums’ in between each word he spoke.

god… this man was just so pathetic.

“why don’t we have dinner?” you smiled as you turned towards him, the bustling chatter amongst the passing people as you both walked down the same park you and him had your first real conversation.

“oh.” he chirped, a quiet laugh intertwined in his speech, “sure. where?”

“my house.” you answered confidently. through the few months of you being his ‘friend’, it only seemed right, so you told him. you wanted him in a place of vulnerability. to rule out every other being that’d pass by or surround you while in public. you just wanted it to be you and him. him and you. “if that’s fine by you. im not too bad of a cook.”

“your house?” his voice fell flat but it was nothing that worried you. the ring of his monotone voice was thick and with how he reacted to your small gestures, you knew he was more than willing to oblige. “you don’t mind me… coming to your house?”

you gave a little nod and he gave a gentle smirk. james didn’t know what could happen once the dinner would happen but he had no reason to disagree… or even want to. he grew accustomed to your company, more than any coworker he had that tried to gather him for night drinks after tough shifts… or even the women who were so abrupt in their interest in him… the thin pencil skirts and revealing blazers. he didn’t care.

a date was given. four days from then after his early ending shift. and so time flew. he hadn’t come to the diner at six in the morning like he did, he wasn’t even at the spots he’d sit during his breaks from work. a part of you had been worried if he tried to avoid you, wondering why you haven’t seen him since your request. he wasn’t good at texting— sending him a ‘hi’ would only result to him replying a ‘hey’ three days later. you almost didn’t buy the groceries you needed to prepare or an outfit that wasn’t too much but definitely would grasp his attention.

luckily you did.

it had been the day and it was five in the afternoon, the sun setting itself and the wind blowing more rapidly, flowing with the night’s usual atmosphere. james stood at your door with the address you gave him not too long after he agreed for the dinner you proposed. he just stared at it’s wood, his heart racing without his mind fully understanding why. he was a grown man but too afraid to see your face until this very moment. so he’d stay in the house longer than he needed to without going to the diner in the mornings. he’d stay in his cubicle on his lunch break, finishing any extra assignments he needed done for his boss.

moments spent with his feet planted on the ground before he gave three knocks at your door. he waited, only for a minute before you opened the door. you were dressed so nicely opposed to his work outfit still on and the light fragrance of the food fumigating in the air, hitting his nose.

“you’re here.” you spoke, relieved that he hadn’t stood you up. “come in.”

and so he did. small talk was given, complimenting your abode and trinkets you had scattered all about, admiring the personality your home gave opposed to his apartment that was just there… only the essentials, almost soulless. you thanked him of course, going on about little things as he listened before you finished all that needed to be done for dinner— it was pasta. simple and easy to not fuck up.

two plates placed with wine in crystal glasses and forks being spun. you connected over the flavor of the sauce and the warmth of the garlic bread that complimented the pasta. everything went smoothly, more than you thought it would’ve. easy conversation with the add in of knowing more about who james was… though he was his usual vague self.

you couldn’t pinpoint why he had been or what was truly on his mind. in certain instances, he’d drift off, his eyes wavering with a slow chew before ending his sentence with something mundane. your curiosity kept prodding with each question you gave— he didn’t show feeling of intrusion but he wrapped around certain topics leaving you needing more to be answered.

it felt like twenty one questions… moreso… him answering yours than you were with his but his composure and hospitality hadn’t changed from his kind and awkward demeanor he’d always give. it took awhile before you realized you had been digging in his chest like a crow on a rotting corpse before you covered your mouth with a soft, inaudible gasp.

“ive been blabbering…” you say, shyly laughing as you continued the last of what was left on your plate.

“no.” he responded, his voice trickling like soothing raindrops against a windowsill, “you’re just curious.”

“that i am.” your eyebrows raising as you sipped the bitter red liquid of your wine, “but you’ve had enough.”

he shook his head, wiping his mouth with a nearby napkin as he gulped, “i enjoy the conversation. i just have a lot in my past im not too fond of is all.” you noticed his eyes again… that troublesome look… the blank stare. whatever happened seemed to had never left him. james was like a puzzle piece… all scattered… some pieces missing so the full picture could never be seen or even admired.

“don’t we all…” pursing your lips as you set your glass down, “…but that’s the beauty of life, yes? it’s shitty… things come and go. regret… wrapped in solace. but that only means you can make happier memories.” trying to be positive to remove anything he had stored in thought.

you saw his shoulders relax from its usual tension, his eyes finding their way towards yours with a thick silence being transferred between you two. “yeah.” he spoke, breaking the silence momentarily before it fell back. the white noise… the gentle buzz cradled your eardrums, sitting like a stone in both of your seats.

the contact between your eyes spoke a million words… ones that haven’t been spoken out loud— it was of interest, undeniable lust. from his constant gaze from when you once were strangers… his usual order of coffee, to the moments you spent together in numerous places to now. those pretty light eyes shook as they bounced from each part of what your body showed at the table. they were quick… hungry… without any hesitancy. he dared not to look away, enjoying the visual of your being in a place with no one around, just you both.

as for you… the feeling of his eyes felt like fire caressing your skin… as if his wherever his pupils directed themselves, you could feel. it felt like fingertips gliding underneath the fabric of your clothes… just as when he ate… the way his lips latched onto the silver of his fork— the unintentional sensual gesture as he slid it from his mouth and chewed. the coat of spit that was left across it, and the delicate way he held onto the spine of the wine glass. you wanted to replace the flavor of your homemade sauce with the flower of your labia… to feel the latch of his lips against your breast or on the sides of your neck. the way he ate gave you an intense feeling of need… greed… swelling indulgence. not to mention his goddamn voice… the voice you were already so found over— the subtle cracks and dips between certain vowels… how deep it was… how gentle it felt amongst the silence.

“james..?” you questioned, tilting your head slightly, almost in a trance by the tone of your voice.

he gulped roughly, already sensing whatever you were going to say by the look you gave. “yes?”

“may i kiss you?” the words flowing softly within a sigh, holding your breath as you waited for his answer.

he just stared at you, eyes blinking like a cat in comfort as he continued to stare. moments past… which felt like hours before he nodded.

you stood from your seat, his attentiveness not failing to follow you in whichever way you went, slowly walking towards him with your hand sliding against the rough stubble on his face. he exhaled through his nose, his eyes shutting closed, his body melting into your touch as if he longed for such embrace. he hummed… the vibration flickering against the tips of your fingers before you felt the warm air of his exhale against your lips. slowly you leaned, shaky breaths with a soft press of the lips.

his lips were so soft yet stiff, a long press, occupying the other side of his face with yet another hand, pulling his face closer to yours as you deepened it. james let you lead, his rough calloused hand grazing against your wrist with a gentle grip, simultaneously pulling you closer to his embrace.

at the touch of his lips, you felt yourself get jolted with pleasure in between your legs, the softness rushing to a hungered one— his lips opening, allowing your tongue to push through and taste the sweetness of his of spit. his mouth was warm and the muscle of his tongue slid into yours as spit started to slide down his chin… quickening breaths and an even louder hum than he ever gave.

with the sharp sound of the chair scraping against the floorboards, he scooted back, you unconsciously sitting onto his lap just to feel the growing bulge against his work pants. you sat right on it, feeling it press against your clothed cunt with a groan that wrapped around your tongue and down your throat. he felt big, and the throb of it excited you, having your hips think on its own with a heavy yet slow rut.

the hands that held onto your wrist fell at your hips, the tightness of his fingers digging into you as if he’d never want you to leave from his touch. your bodies molded into one, your breasts pressing against his heaving chest with your hands now gripping the back of his neck.

at release, your forehead pressed against his… his deep gasps sounding pathetic and irregular, lips ajar, trying to savor the feeling of your lips that were once on his. the creek of the chair upon your slow grinds were loud and obnoxious but that didn’t stop you from adding on more friction, loving the feeling of his hardening cock against you.

“let me… do what i want to you… let me make you feel good.” you whispered against his lips, feeling your words being sucked from his quickening gasps.

“please.” he whined… a sound you’d never heard before from a man, let alone one of business. his willingness in the subtle acceptance of him submitting to you had your mind fill with haze. the glisten of his eyes pleaded for something… anything… like he had never been touched before. “please…”

his face leaned in the crook of your neck, his nose nudging against the warmth of your skin, sharp inhales, devouring the perfume that coated it. light peppering kisses lining up and down, all along the side of your jaw. a smile crept up on your lips… you knew just from the sight of him that he was just a pathetic little thing. and with the way he acted just from a kiss… how hard he got with you sitting on his lap, you knew that whatever you did he’d grant you a reaction that would be better than any man has ever gave you or will give you.

you gripped the back of his head, a drunken stare as his lips still purse from the abrupt release of his kiss. “wait.” you breathed, pressing your finger in the center of his lips. he was so tantalizing… his eyes drooped with anticipation, knowing that since he has you now… his self control was little to none.

at the side of you finger, he kissed it, holding onto your wrist as you placed another finger against his lips. you watched and he watched you— his mouth slowly opening and guiding his fingers against his tongue. with hallowed cheeks he began to suck, bobbing his cute head down to the knuckle. curling your fingers, you felt his tongue slither in between, spit messily sliding down your palm and arm.

“good boy..” you praised, your voice in sync with the sounds of his sucks— a deeper whine trembling against your fingers at the sudden pet name.

you grinned, cocking an eyebrow at his reaction. he liked that? you thought. seems fitting.

sliding your fingers from his mouth, you gripped his chin, a gentle press given, “watch me.” you whisper and with a pull at your top, he watched. his eyes directing themselves at your breasts with an even quicker and excited exhale exuding from his whining lips. eyebrows furrowing at the need to touch, his hands hesitantly removing from your hips and curling, waiting for the okay to be able to grope them upon your request. unclasping your bra, they drooped prettily in his face, letting whatever you took off hit the floor beside the chair.

“come on pretty boy… touch them.” you slurred, your voice seductive, teasing him, watching how his eyes never left, just opening at the sight of your bare breasts. “i know you want to.”

he sighed, one that was pent up and riddled with eagerness. “oh my god…” his voice shook. james was driven by the lustrous nature of your body. captivating by the sounds that fell from your lips and the commands you spewed— each word directed itself at his cock, feeling it twitch and tighten at his pants. the way you were entranced by his eyes as he was with yours, looking up at them with admiration, need and desire that festered throughout his body, making him burn at the touch.

doe and gentle with a sweet song flowing in the disguise of a moan he sung. the single free strands laying against his skin, complimenting with the reds that blossomed at his cheeks.

‘i want her… i need her… all of her… i want it. i want it. i want it. i want it.’ he chanted in his brain— feeling as if he was going to pass out at how hard he was breathing— his hot mouth curling at the warm bud of your breast, tongue flicking at it’s hardened tip, pulling back with the gentle graze of his teeth until a pop was heard, pressing a series of kisses around your breasts.

you were drunk off the man. that poor pathetic odd man. his body calling for more… groping your breasts with vigor, feeling the shortness of his nails digging and molding them to his liking… and the little broken noises he made, so soft and sweet, higher than his usual tone. a fleeting glint of mischief glistened in your eyes, letting out a chuckle.

“that’s it…” your voice trailed, lifting your hips, starting to bounce on his lap, granting a broken moan to feather against your nipple.

“god… fucking dammit..” he exhaled, gritting his teeth as his body sunk into the chair, his feet planted harsher on the floorboards, bucking his hips upward, feeling the weight of you created more friction, his swelling cock pulsating. “don’t stop… please.” he whined, eyes squinted as drool fell from the side of his trembling lips.

your hands running in his warm blonde strands, “that’s a good boy.” you tightened your gasp, pulling it with a yank. he blinked slowly with a coo, “you like it when i bounce on it?” you teased.

he nods. his poor hips already tiring out, them stuttering at every upwards thrust. “yes ma’am… fuck it feels… it feels so good.”

planting your hands at his chest, you felt the fast pace of his heart, running your palms up his body until your fingers wrapped around his slender neck— each digit falling into his skin, hearing his strain. “poor baby… you wanna feel more don’t you?” you grunted, his head tilted back with your face hovering his. with a slight cock of your hand, it collided with the softness of his cheek, a loud yelping moan bouncing along the dining room walls.

“fu… fuck…” he stuttered, his lips almost at pout.

no woman had ever treated him this way, so rough and teasing and you hadn’t even fucked him yet. his nerves was heightened as his cheek burned with the faint remnants of your palm. never did he think he’d enjoy something like this, in fact… he was left speechless. the sight of his eyes looking more pleasing than they already looked. they never looked away from you, wanting to get every expression you gave… watching your lips as they continued to taunt him, needing to see the way your breasts bounced as you continued to rut against his lap above his pants.

“oh?” you chirped, noticing the deepening submission in his glare. “you liked that didn’t you?” your hips now stopping in its place.

weakly, he laughed, “i do.” his voice still so sultry and deep.

leaning closer to his face, your lips feathered his, exchanging breaths with shared smiles, “go on your knees and take it out for me.” your other hand sliding down slow until it cupped his bulge. removing yourself from his lap, now standing.

he lifted himself off the chair, taking off his bottoms and boxers. there he sat, like an obedient little thing, on his knees— his thick dick laying and jerking at every throb as it laid so delicately against his thigh— staring up at you adoringly with gleaming eyes, as if he had been admiring a star.

it wasn’t as if you necessarily thought about what he looked like underneath his boxers, but the sight of it made your eyes sparkle— it was so thick and long, it made your mouth water.

“james…” shocked and even more turned on at how pretty his dick was. the light graze of his brown pubes looking well kept. “fuck it’s so pretty.” running your finger down its side, hearing the most pathetic moan fall from his lips— his fists balling at the sudden touch. “needy little thing you are.”

it was cute. from the little slap you gave him and the way he wanted you to have your way, it only fed into the desire to treat this boy with some excitement. that dull life he had was now changed as thoughts puddled at your brain seeing this man look so weak as you stood to look at him.

“such a pathetic… pretty man.” you cooed, tilting your head, “and look at your dick.” his eyes dropping to watch it leak and pool at the flesh of his thigh. “it’s excited for me isn’t it?”

his fingers wrapping around his shaft, needing some type of friction… it was starting to get painful with how long it hadn’t been touched bare. whenever he was turned on in the comfort of his home, he’d jerk himself off until he fell asleep. over and over again until his wrist burned and his throat dried. he had no self control and with you around, he could cum just from your voice.

“take your hand off.”

“god i just…” he whimpered.

“mmh mmh.” your head shook, as you bent down, “hands off. i tell you when you can and can’t, do you understand?” placing your finger underneath his chin to raise it, seeing gentle plea in his eyes.

“yes ma’am.”

he felt belittled, unable to control his own person. a quick shiver fell down his spine, leaning closer into your embrace… just the soft touch of your finger gave him a bolt of pleasure. knowing if he touched himself, you’d slap him in retaliation. oh how he so desperately wanted that.

you unzipped your pants, stepping out from them, alongside your panties, already dripping against the inner of your thigh. placing a palm at the top of his head, your fingers gripped tight, angling yourself in front of his face.

he gulped roughly, staring at the swelling of your clit. “lick it.” without hesitation, his face fell in between your legs, his curved nose nudging against your clit as he inhaled, lapping his tongue in between the folds of your pussy.

the scent of it drove him wild— eyes rolling back as he continued to inhale, loud enough for you to hear. he smothered himself, the muscle of his tongue thickening with his lips latching it just to get the taste of you fully.

you were taken aback at how skilled his tongue was, how his nose stimulated your clit so lovingly with each bob of his head. obnoxious sucks radiated in the air with his fingers clasping against your thighs, hard enough to hurt.

moans trickled from your throat, gasping on the thick of the air, guiding him with the hand that gripped his hair. his tongue plunged deeply into your pussy, feeling his mold his muscle inside of your fleshy walls, thrusting his head to fuck your opening.

you felt yourself already needing to cum and that has never happened before. at least not this quick. the softness of his lips sucked so roughly and his tongue flicked so fast, your knees buckled inward, unable to keep up with the pace of his mouth.

“james…” your moans heightening in volume, your chest deepening after every breath you took, “your fucking mouth…”

his hair, all tattered and messy, with his eyes reddened from it almost tearing up because of the lack of air he was given, not stopping for a second as he drank in your arousal and your moans. a tingling sensation bounced off his body, circling through each part of his limbs.

the sounds of his sucks almost overpowering your moans itself, as he felt your meaty pussy flutter in and out his mouth loving how full you made his mouth.

“i can’t stop,” he gasped against your cunt, “it’s just so good… i love it, i fucking love it. fuck… fuck…” nothing in this man’s brain could made him stop. it was like he pushed himself in between your legs like he wanted to be apart of you— keeping his strength in his neck to keep his same motion.

removing himself to breathe, he gathered spit, directing at your clit and watching it drip before catching it in his mouth, rolling his tongue along the hood of your clit before latching on with hallowing cheeks. sucking in air, your body curled forward, feeling two of his fingers slide in the opening of your pussy. they curved as they started with long strides.

that ‘odd’ man surely knew how to please a cunt. fingers picking up its pace with the loud wet sounds interweaving the moans you both sung. “yes… yes… james…” you panted, his wrist steadying, feeling you leak against and down his knuckles. your walls clamping on his fingers like a heartbeat.

“im gonna..” you announced, your body trembling more than you could even control, your legs giving out with him quickly holding you up as much as he could— his face deepening in your cunt, grunting as he felt you cum against his tongue.

“mmmhm” he hummed over and over again, feeling you shudder against his face.

falling to your knees, your face was angled with his— his mouth wet all from his nose down to his chin. the sight of you, trying to compose yourself from the orgasm you had made him feel dizzy. “feel good?” he whispered, trailing your face from where it hung low, catching your lips. you could taste yourself on his lips, running your tongue at the flesh of his bottom, sucking it in your mouth with small nips before pulling back.

forming spit in your mouth, you held onto his cock, an immediate grunt rupturing from his throat, letting the spit falling down at his tip. brushing your thumb over it, lathering your spit down to his shaft.

“tighter… please…” he mumbled, foreheads now pressing as he watched your hand wrap around his throbbing and slightly veiny shaft, rolling your wrist in circular and jagged movements. tighter you held, hearing the sound of his throaty moans.

“like this?” you breath, quickening your pace. he deserved it.

lifting the bottom of his shirt, he placed the cloth in his mouth, seeing the light spread of hair that tracked up his navel and a hollowing abdomen at every whine he let out. “yes..” he gritted through his teeth.

his precum swaying around from the vigorous speed that continued to grow. he held his breath, brows knitted, body tense at the rhythmic pattern, veins channeling on your forearm with your fingers glazing against the underside of his tip. “look at me.” you whispered, his eyes slowly traveled up your body until they locked with yours.

you spoke of lust in both your gazes, hearing the wetness of his spit coated cock at every pump, hunger radiating in you both like you desperately needed this— shameless and passionate intimacy.

your body yearned to feel him inside and the way he stared at you— the burning sensation it brought you— made it difficult for you. you wanted to feel him stretch your cunt. pushing him back by the press of your palm against your shoulder, he lay. hovering over him, wrapping your leg over his waist before angling yourself over him.

slowly you slid down on him, never feeling something as big as his. even just from the tip, you felt yourself gasp heavily as you kept lowering yourself down onto him. “fuck you’re so… big…”

james continued his whines, eyes closing tight, his body shuttered… you were so warm, your fleshy walls holding him so comfortably. bodies slowly enveloping on another as he tried to talk to your body with his hands— sliding against your thighs, up your waist and momentarily on your breasts.

“you….” he breathed, it hitching as he mindlessly held his breath, with you pushing more of him into you— textured and wet, with a heartbeat that cradled the shaft of his cock. “your pussy is sucking me in…” he groaned, his ass tensing.

all of you. the sight of it all, each movement you made. fuck, didn’t you drive him insane. at this moment, he knew he couldn’t hold back any longer.

your pussy gripped his cock, deeper it went, as if your grip was unable to let him go. each moan you let out, your pussy clammed and mimicked each word as it pulsated against him.

he couldn’t stay still, whimpering as you started to lightly bounce against him— hands planted on his chest with a slight roll of your hips. you couldn’t believe how good he felt inside of you, how full he made you. with you already cumming, it was hard to keep yourself steady, feeling yourself break down each time you lowered yourself.

pressing his hand on your back, he turned you both, now with you on your back laid against the floor, “let me pleasure you… please.” he begged, both hands placed on the sides of your head.

“fuck me like the good boy you are…”

and with that, it was as if a switch had been turned on in his brain. using one hand to grasp your thigh, “like this?” he breathed, his words as slow as his thrusts, his drowsy-like eyes running up against your face. gritting his teeth, sucking on the cool yet hot air, eyebrows knitting together. he placed his forehead against yours, your hand now sliding up to his neck— the pads of your fingers and thumb pressing down the sides of it, slowly tightening your grip. with struggling breaths, his hips continuing his rhythmic thrust yet trying to find the spot, the spot that will lead you into ecstasy.

the hand that held your thigh pressed it down further, his knees fixing itself at a better position, now his groin aiming downwards. his thrust now falling into slow, hungry pounds, his balls hitting just above your asshole. “does it feel good here…?” leaning down as he pressed wet kisses at the edge of your lips.

all you could give were responding moans, your body overstimulated by every movement he made.

each inward thrust, you could hear skin slapping against one another, your breasts mashing into each other. lips trailing down to your cheek, then to your ear, his tongue running at the side of your ear then switching to the next, groaning a series of ‘fucks’ and your name as the thrust started to increase in intensity. they were once slow, now holding more power, grunting at each inward hit. “god. your… pussy… feels… so…. soo fucking… so goood…” each word ending in a hitch.

his voice now holding a deeper, grosser tone, more animalistic as he grew pussy drunk at how you wrapped around him.

he enveloped your lips, inhaling and capturing your tongue in his mouth, sucking on its pink muscle, bobbing his head and swallowing any ounce of spit that rolled down to the back of his throat. your tongue slipped from his mouth, pressing a long kiss against his lips once more.

your mind transversed across what could possible be the gates of fucking heaven at this point. each twist and turn of his hips hitting spots your fingers could possible never do, your damp walls clamping around his girthy cock—greedily needing to paint your insides with his cum, over and over again if he could.

"it feels good, it's so good...." you trailed off, lips pressing together as you muffled a few moans of satisfaction that sounded nearly like his name—the tip of his relentless cock hitting sweet, sweet spots with each charging pound. your hands removing themselves, now dragging and scratching into his back, tugging the flesh leaving continuous marks onto his skin— causing him to wince in blissful pain.

the reverberating sounds of your name rolling off his tongue along with the desperate whines and groans of pleasure only elevated your lust "you're obsessed with my pussy," you whined, head thrown back at the intense plunges against your favored spot.

your promiscuous ways dragging him down in the mud, wanting to rut and fuck you like an untrained animal. that alluring voice of yours, cracking into a moan after you tried so desperately to tease him.

your concaving walls collapsing at his cock, walls with a flowery texture that ran against the pulsating veins of his dick. your wails rushing to his dick alongside your suction— with each inhale making its grasp tighter than before. your folds clasping at the sides of his shaft at every pull.

he place a thumb so kindly pressed at your slippery clit. circling it slow, with rougher presses at each thrust, it’s hood pushing back, feeling your wet, exposed bud nudge at the skin of his thumb. each run around, he could hear it, how your slick found it’s way all the way to your clit, making it harder for his thumb to be held in place.

his body loosened, with his hips now controlled, it’s speed rising with a longer pull and harder pound, body muggy with a thin layer of sweat, with your face buried in the inner corner of his neck.

“i don’t ever want to stop fucking you… your pussy is too good.” his voice ridged and strained.

rhythmical slaps of wet skin colliding as his balls felt a sharp sensation each time it bounced against the sweetness of your hole. your pussy’s heartbeat causing his eyes to roll, holding his breath and letting it out shakily.

“fuck me just like that james… just like that.” your eyes widening with your legs wrapping around his waist. “im close!”

“i don’t want to stop fucking you… i wish i could fuck you nonstop… i want to keep going…” his chest madly rattling against his ribcage.

shivers cascading through your arms as they gripped his hair firmly once again. your beings were joined in such an impassioned, fervid act of lustful ignited bursting flames out of your bodies. “can i..." he breathed out, voice hoarse, “can i breed you… please… please..”

the walls echoed sounds of your repeated pleasure lamentations followed by his needy words and melting into the increasing melody of skin against skin, lead you over the hill, "cum inside! do it baby…" you uttered directly into his eyes, the familiar knot forming at the pit of your abdomen, convusling cunt tightening around his sliding shaft with each thrust.

he couldn’t stop himself, feeling you cum on his cock made him bury himself further inside, hot spurts of his own cum filling you with rolling eyes and harsh gasps. glazed spit lips, bodies trembling from their high, and strained moans.

his arms snake around your body, cum oozing down his balls and thigh. “fuck….” his body not even finished with his high, slow thrust to chase after the leftover high you both breathed out.

“god james… who wouldn’t known you fucked so well…”

laid out on the floor, you both tried to catch your breaths. the contrast between every moment of you knowing one another to now, fucking each other like your life depended on it, you couldn’t help but laugh.

how significant is it to have a simple man— attractive at that— with his usual order of black coffee in your house, fucking you without a care in the world.

you knew… this wouldn’t be the last time.

[lulujeno]

crush culture — lee jeno ᡣ𐭩

summary : liking jeno was a mistake. kissing him didn't make it any better.

warnings : mentions of alcohol/drinking, kissing, cusswords, angst!! (this does not portray how the idols are irl, all the things here are written to match the song crush culture by conan gray!!)

wc : 6.3k

a/n : reader uses she/her pronouns !! jerk!jeno and bestfriend!mark :D thank u for 100+ followers ~~ cant believe i managed to pull out more than 5k words out of my ass >< my finals are currently happening so that's why i've been ia for soooo long :( i promise when i'm done i'll be clearing out both my drafts and requests ^^

Seeing your best friend, Belle, flirt with Jeno on your couch hit harder than you ever expected. The way they leaned into each other, laughter spilling from their lips like a sweet melody, made your stomach churn in a way that felt foreign and unwelcome. You had no right to feel this way, not when you knew about her crush on him. You had even agreed to be her wingman tonight, setting up this moment so she could finally have her chance. But somehow, along the way, you fell for him too, your heart weaving itself into a tapestry of unspoken feelings and bitter regret.

You should feel happy for her, after all her efforts to catch his attention, but the tight knot in your chest made it impossible to be anything but miserable. “It’s fine. Be happy. It’s your birthday, after all,” you whispered under your breath, trying to convince yourself. The words felt heavy, lacking the enthusiasm they were meant to carry. You exhaled a shaky breath before heading to the kitchen, desperate to escape the sight of them together.

The kitchen was warm, filled with the faint scent of alcohol and fruity punch hanging in the air like an unwelcoming fog. Mark stood by the counter, effortlessly mixing drinks with an ease that told you he’d done this a hundred times before. He glanced up as you entered, and a flicker of concern passed over his face when he caught sight of your downcast expression. He flicked his eyes toward the living room, and you knew he had noticed. Most of your friends knew about your crush on Jeno. It wasn’t something you talked about much, but the way your eyes lingered on him said enough.

“You okay?” Mark asked, his voice low, but the concern was clear, filling the space between you like a fragile glass.

You could only shrug, unsure of how to explain the whirlpool of emotions churning within your chest. It felt too complicated to articulate.

Without a word, he whipped up a drink, something colourful and sweet, and handed it to you. The condensation from the glass cooled your palm, but it did little to soothe the fire raging inside. The drink looked vibrant, but you could already tell it was just a disguise for the hollowness you felt.

“She’s kind of a bitch for doing that in front of you,” Mark muttered, glancing back at the couch, his fingers absentmindedly wiping down the counter. His words hung in the air like a lifebuoy tossed your way, and for a moment, it felt like they were offering you a chance to vent, to express all the things you were holding back. But you shook your head, pushing the thoughts down.

“Not really,” you sighed, taking a sip of the drink. The sweetness coated your tongue, but it tasted like nothing, a mere distraction. “I’m the bitch here. Liking the same guy as my best friend, after she tells me she likes him, that kind of thing breaks girl code.”

Mark furrowed his eyebrows, his confusion evident. “Girl code? Really?” He scoffed softly, shaking his head. “Come on, Belle falls for every guy who looks her way. Everyone knows that. Besides, you actually have a better shot, Jeno knows you, trusts you. You should go for it.”

You nearly choked on your drink, laughter bubbling up despite your mood. “Yeah, and get a reputation for stealing my friends’ crushes? No thanks, Mark. I’ll pass.” You handed him the empty glass, watching as he refilled it, his movements swift and practiced. The glint of the alcohol under the dim kitchen lights reflected how your emotions felt; messy and swirling, a whirlpool threatening to pull you under.

Mark sighed, exasperated. “It’s your party. Don’t let them get in your head. Go have some fun.” He handed you the new drink with a smile, but before you could take another sip, he added, “And don’t drink too much. You can’t handle it, and we both know it.”

But after two glasses, fun was the last thing you felt. The sight of Jeno and Belle still played in your mind, a vivid loop that made the alcohol churn uncomfortably in your stomach. You tried to find Belle in the crowded room, but she was nowhere to be seen. After asking around and realising Jeno wasn’t there either, the pit in your stomach grew deeper. You knew what that probably meant.

You found yourself wandering back to the kitchen, your mind foggy but determined to drown out the ache with another drink. Mark raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised to see you again. When you asked for yet another glass, he sighed deeply, a mixture of concern and frustration in his expression.

“This is your last one,” he warned, handing you the drink reluctantly. “You can’t handle much. I don’t want to have to carry you out of your own party.”

But Mark’s warning felt like a distant echo in your ears. By the time you were begging for a fourth drink, all caution had slipped away, and you couldn’t care less about the consequences. The music in the living room was thumping, laughter echoing like a cruel reminder of your current situation, and all you could feel was the weight of everything you couldn’t have — Jeno, your peace, the ability to not care.

“I already told you, no more drinks. You’re cut off,” Mark said, frustration clear in his voice. “I’ll get you some water instead.”

As he turned to open the fridge, you took your chance. The cold metal of a beer can brushed against your fingertips as you snatched it from the counter. You were so focused on your mission to drown out the pain that you didn’t notice Mark turning back toward you.

“y/n,” he snapped, his tone stern, “let go of the can. You’re going to regret this.”

You raised the can to your lips, but Mark was quicker. His hand reached out to grab it from you, and in the struggle, the can slipped from your grasp. The beer splashed everywhere — over your shirt, dripping down your arms, and pooling on the floor. The cold liquid seeped through your clothes, clinging to your skin, making you gasp at the sudden chill. Mark groaned, grabbing a napkin from the counter as you stood there, drenched, with a look of defiance still written across your face.

Undeterred, you tried to tilt the can toward your mouth, desperate to drink whatever was left inside, despite the mess. “Come on, y/n, you’re making this harder than it needs to be,” Mark sighed, exasperation laced in his tone as he managed to pry the can away for good this time.

The alcohol-soaked shirt clung to your body, the sticky sensation uncomfortable, but you were too far gone to care. The frustration bubbling inside wasn’t going to be soothed by just a drink anymore. You were angry, angry at Belle, at Jeno, at the fact that you had let yourself feel anything at all.

Before you could make another move, a strong hand wrapped around your wrist, prying you away from the counter. You froze, looking up into the familiar dark eyes you’d been avoiding all night — Jeno.

The world felt like it stopped as Jeno glanced from you to Mark, his brows furrowed in mild concern. “Help me out here, Jen. She’s had too much already, and she won’t listen to me,” Mark said, his voice weary but relieved that someone else could take over.

Jeno’s gaze softened as he looked down at your soaked shirt, a mixture of amusement and concern crossing his face. He let out a small sigh, his grip gentle but firm as he took the can from your hand and replaced it with a bottle of water. “You’re done with the drinks for tonight, okay?” he said softly, his voice holding the same care you’d heard earlier.

Before you could protest, Jeno wrapped his arm around you, guiding you out of the kitchen, away from the noise and the eyes of your curious friends. The walk to your room was a blur, but the warmth of his hand on your waist kept you grounded, even as the alcohol swirled in your system.

The sight of Belle sobbing into someone’s shoulder as you passed through the hallway barely registered in your hazy mind. You were too focused on the warmth of Jeno’s presence beside you, the way his touch lingered longer than necessary, as if he was anchoring you.

Once in your room, Jeno gently guided you to sit on the edge of your bed, his touch careful as if he was afraid you might fall over. His eyes roamed over your beer-soaked clothes, a soft chuckle escaping him. “You’re a mess,” he teased, though his voice held no judgment. If anything, it was laced with concern, the kind of worry that felt warm and comforting instead of scolding.

You glanced down at yourself, wincing as you finally took in the state of your shirt. The beer stains were obvious now, dark patches clinging to the fabric and sticking to your skin in an uncomfortable way. You grimaced, the sticky sensation making you feel even more self-conscious. The alcohol had dulled the sharpness of your embarrassment, but not entirely. A faint blush crept up your cheeks as you mumbled, “I should change…”

You attempted to push yourself off the bed, but your limbs were heavy, sluggish from the alcohol coursing through your system. Your balance wavered, and you nearly stumbled forward before Jeno’s hand gently pressed on your shoulder, keeping you steady.

Without saying a word, he crossed the room to your closet, rummaging through the clothes until he found one of your oversized t-shirts. He walked back to you with that same quiet focus, kneeling down to your level, holding the clean shirt in his hands. His gaze met yours for a moment, and something in his expression made your heart skip a beat.

“Here,” Jeno said softly, his voice just above a whisper. “Let me help.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers reached for the hem of your beer-stained shirt. He moved slowly, giving you plenty of time to object, to stop him. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The closeness of him, the way his eyes held nothing but tenderness. It was like the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving just the two of you in this charged, intimate bubble.

Jeno’s hands were careful as he lifted the fabric, peeling it away from your sticky skin with a precision that made your pulse quicken. The cool air hit you, contrasting the warmth of his touch. Every time his fingers brushed your arms, it sent shivers through you. It wasn’t overtly intimate, but the care he took in making sure you were comfortable made the moment feel far more meaningful than it should have.

Once your shirt was off, he handed you the fresh one, his eyes deliberately focused anywhere but your body, giving you the privacy to finish. You quickly pulled the oversized shirt over your head, feeling the soft cotton fabric glide down. Your cheeks burned, not from the alcohol, but from the way Jeno’s thoughtfulness had disarmed you, leaving your heart racing in its wake.

When you were finally settled in your clean shirt, Jeno took a step back, his hands awkwardly fumbling at his sides, unsure of what to do next. “Better?” he asked, his voice quiet but sincere.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. The warmth pooling in your chest wasn’t just from the remnants of alcohol, but from the way Jeno had cared for you, so gentle and attentive. The kindness in his actions made your emotions swirl even more intensely.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the air between you heavy with something unspoken. The room felt smaller with Jeno in it, the atmosphere charged with a new kind of tension. It wasn’t uncomfortable though. If anything, it felt safe. Like he was there to make sure you were okay, to take care of you, in a way that made your heart feel lighter despite the whirlwind of the night.

Jeno’s eyes flicked from the bed to you, a soft concern still lacing his gaze. “You should get some rest. It’s been a long night.”

You climbed under the covers, feeling the exhaustion settling into your bones now that the noise of the party was long behind you. As you laid down, Jeno lingered by your side for a moment, his hand briefly brushing your shoulder before he moved to sit at your desk. His presence filled the room, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Jeno?” your voice came out as a soft murmur, barely loud enough to reach him, but he turned to you right away.

“Yeah?”

You hesitated for a moment before whispering, “Thanks… for everything.”

A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips, the soft light in your room making his features look even kinder than usual. “Get some sleep, y/n. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

You closed your eyes for a brief second, trying to process what was happening. Jeno was in your room. The Jeno. The one who was always surrounded by friends, admired by so many. The same Jeno your best friend had been talking about for months, and the one you, slowly but surely, had found yourself falling for.

The alcohol still buzzed in your veins, loosening your inhibitions just enough to make you bolder than usual. This was your chance, maybe Mark had been right all along. Jeno was here, with you, taking care of you in ways that felt like more than just friendly concern. Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t imagining the way he stayed close tonight, the way his eyes lingered a little longer.

It was now or never.

The air in the room felt heavy, thick with unspoken words and lingering tension. Jeno sat at your desk, his steady gaze unreadable as you shifted under the covers, a mix of nervousness and warmth blooming in your chest. The alcohol had numbed your inhibitions, but the electricity between you both was impossible to ignore.

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to ground yourself in the fabric, though it did little to help. “It’s cold,” you mumbled, barely audible, your voice betraying the hint of vulnerability you didn’t want to show. In truth, the room was a bit chilly, but more than anything, you longed for his presence next to you. The space between you felt far too wide, like an unspoken barrier you didn’t know how to cross without risking everything.

Jeno’s eyes flickered toward you, his hesitation lingering in the silence that stretched between you. After a beat, he stood up from the desk, his movements slow and deliberate, as if carefully weighing each step. Your breath hitched as he approached, and your heart pounded in your chest, anticipation curling in your stomach.

Wordlessly, Jeno slid under the covers beside you, his warmth instantly chasing away the cold. His scent, a comforting mix of cologne and something undeniably him, wrapped around you, making your head spin. Instinctively, you leaned into him, your head finding its place against his chest. His arm moved naturally around you, pulling you closer, and you melted into the embrace, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek.

With Jeno’s warmth cocooning you, the outside world felt like a distant dream. The party’s once-loud music had faded into a faint murmur, barely audible over the sound of his steady breathing. Every now and then, his breath grazed your hair, sending tiny shivers down your spine. You stayed perfectly still, afraid that even the slightest movement would break this fragile moment, this perfect stillness.

“Is it still cold?” Jeno’s voice was low, a gentle murmur that seemed to sink into your very bones.

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you pressed yourself closer to him, allowing the exhaustion of the night to wash over you. “Not anymore,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. His arm tightened around you in response, as if silently saying that he wasn’t going anywhere. That, even just for tonight, you had him.

The soft light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room, its dim shadows creating a cozy, intimate space that felt removed from reality. The world beyond your bedroom door seemed to slow, leaving only the two of you in this quiet bubble, suspended in time. You found yourself wishing that you could capture this feeling forever, keep this warmth and peace bottled up in your heart.

Jeno’s hand rested on your waist, his fingers moving in slow, absentminded circles over the fabric of your shirt. His touch was so gentle, so careful, that it sent little sparks dancing across your skin. It wasn’t just the alcohol making you dizzy; it was the tenderness in every brush of his fingers, the way he held you like you were something delicate.

“You’re always running around, taking care of everyone,” he murmured softly, his words carrying a weight that tugged at your heart. “Who takes care of you, y/n?”

His question hung in the air, the raw sincerity in his voice cutting through you. A lump formed in your throat, and you blinked rapidly to keep the sudden tears at bay. You hadn’t expected him to say something like that. Who did take care of you? For as long as you could remember, you were the one who held everything together, the one who put everyone else’s needs before your own. But in this moment, with Jeno’s arms wrapped around you, it felt like someone was finally seeing past all of that—seeing you.

“I… I don’t know,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you admitted the truth aloud. “I guess I’m just used to it.”

Jeno shifted beside you, his body pressing closer, his breath now warm against your ear. “You deserve more than that,” he said softly, his voice low and earnest, each word landing like a promise. “You deserve someone who’ll take care of you, too.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you swallowed hard, trying to hold back the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. His words felt too good, too perfect, and a part of you was afraid to believe them. Afraid to believe that someone like Jeno could really see you like that, could want to take care of you.

Still, in this moment, wrapped in his warmth, you allowed yourself to pretend — to imagine, if only for tonight, that this could be your reality. That Jeno could be yours.

His thumb traced another slow circle on your side, his touch so gentle it was almost hypnotic. “I don’t want you to forget tonight,” he whispered, his voice even quieter now, like he was sharing a secret meant just for you.

You turned in his arms, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes locked with his. There was something in his gaze, something soft and unspoken, that made your heart race. His face was inches from yours, his breath warm on your skin, and for a brief moment, time seemed to stop altogether.

You swallowed, the words escaping you before you could think twice. “What if I do?”

For a moment, Jeno’s expression darkened, his gaze flicking down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. Then, in a movement so gentle it felt like a dream, he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. The contact sent a shiver through you, your whole body reacting to the warmth of his touch.

“Then I’ll remind you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice barely above a whisper.

The night blurred into a series of quiet moments. Soft touches, shared whispers, and a closeness that felt too tender, too fragile to belong to the real world. You could have stayed in that moment forever, tangled in Jeno’s warmth, pretending that the world outside didn’t exist.

But, as always, reality had a way of creeping back in.

Jeno’s phone buzzed on the desk beside him, the soft vibrations shattering the stillness. He sighed, his arm loosening from around you as he reached for the phone, the glow of the screen illuminating his face. You watched as his brows furrowed, his expression tense as he scrolled through the dozens of missed calls and messages.

“Shit,” he muttered, sitting up, his warmth slipping away from you entirely.

The cold rushed in immediately, filling the space where Jeno had been, and your heart sank. You knew what was coming next.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, already knowing the answer but dreading hearing it aloud.

Jeno ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the set of his jaw. “The guys… They’ve been calling me nonstop. I told them I’d leave with them, they’re my only ride home.” His voice was tinged with regret, but beneath it, you could sense the guilt.

You forced a smile, trying to mask the disappointment that was tightening in your chest. “It’s fine,” you lied, propping yourself up on your elbow. “You should go.”

Jeno glanced down at his phone again, then back at you, his jaw tightening as he hesitated. “I don’t want to leave you alone,” he said quietly, his voice thick with the conflict swirling inside him.

You shook your head, the ache in your chest growing. “I’ll be okay,” you whispered, your words feeling hollow. “Really. Go.”

For a fleeting moment, you held onto the hope that Jeno might stay. The way he looked at you, his eyes searching your face with an intensity that made your heart race, felt like a promise unspoken. But then the phone buzzed again, shattering the delicate moment. You watched as his resolve shifted, the warmth in his gaze giving way to a distant sadness.

With a heavy sigh, he rose from the bed, the fabric of the moment tearing slightly as he slipped his phone into his pocket. The air around you felt colder, thick with unspoken words and lingering emotions, as if the very room held its breath. Just before he reached the door, he hesitated, turning back to you one last time. His eyes softened as they met yours, and he stepped back toward the bed, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips. It was soft and lingering, yet it carried the weight of finality.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” he whispered, his breath brushing against your skin, leaving a warmth that contrasted the chill that enveloped you after he left.

And then, he was gone.

The weekend stretched endlessly, an expanse of silence that felt like an aching void where his presence had been. No calls. No texts. Just the stark absence of his warmth and the echo of the night you had shared. With each passing hour, the memory of Jeno’s embrace faded, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts and an unsettling sense of regret.

You spent the next two days trapped in a loop of memories, replaying every moment over and over. The way he looked at you with such intensity, the way he held you close, the sincerity in his voice when he told you that you deserved better. You ached to reach out to him, to check if he still remembered the fleeting magic of that night. But every time you reached for your phone, a wave of fear stopped you cold. The thought of his response, what he might say or, worse, what he might not say, paralyzed you.

By the time Monday rolled around, you had convinced yourself that maybe it was better this way. Pretending nothing had happened would be the safest path. After all, he would slip back into his life with friends, back to the way things were before, and you would have to bear the weight of your choices alone.

As you stepped through the school doors, you immediately felt the weight of stares bearing down on you. Whispers trailed you down the hall like a shadow, and you quickly pieced together the rumors that had spread like wildfire. Word had gotten out about you and Jeno, and Belle had undoubtedly heard every detail.

It wasn’t long before she found you. Standing by your locker, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, her glare twisted your stomach into knots.

“I can’t believe you, Y/N,” Belle hissed, her voice sharp and full of venom. “You promised me you’d be there for me. You said you’d help me with Jeno, and instead, you—” She cut herself off, her voice trembling with barely contained fury.

You swallowed hard, guilt and shame coiling tightly in your chest. “Belle, I—”

“No,” she interrupted, her eyes flashing with hurt. “Don’t. Don’t act like you didn’t know. Everyone’s talking about how you left the party together. You think I didn’t see the way he looks at you?”

Your heart plummeted, a heavy weight in your stomach. You longed to explain, to articulate that it hadn’t been what it looked like, that you hadn’t intended for any of it to happen. But deep down, you knew the truth: you had crossed a line, and no amount of explanation would erase the breach of trust.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

“It’s not fair. I was so close to having him, Y/N. I was right there, and then you had to ruin it for me.” Belle’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but her expression hardened like ice. “You’re a liar. You promised to help,” she spat coldly, turning away from you. “You’re no better than the rest of them. Maybe you should’ve tried harder not to ruin everything.”

And just like that, she walked away, leaving you with the sharp sting of her betrayal echoing in the silence behind her.

You stood there, frozen, as the world around you faded into a blurry haze of whispers and judgmental stares. The hallway stretched out longer than usual, each step feeling like an uphill battle against the suffocating air thick with unspoken words. You could almost see the rumours swirling like storm clouds, brewing around you as classmates shot knowing glances. Some gleeful, others disdainful, while they whispered behind your back, oblivious to the truth.

You made it through the day by shrinking into yourself, avoiding everyone as if they were fragments of glass waiting to cut you. Each laugh from a group nearby felt like a mockery, reminding you of how the moments you shared with Jeno now felt like scattered shards, impossible to clean up without inflicting wounds on your heart. Every time you caught a glimpse of him in the halls, your chest tightened as his eyes flicked toward you for just a fleeting second before looking away, as if that one shared night had evaporated into thin air. Maybe it had for him.

The days following that night passed under a strange, silent agreement between you and Jeno. Neither of you acknowledged what had happened. No messages. No lingering glances. No awkward conversations. It was as if you had both silently decided that pretending it hadn’t meant anything was the easiest way to cope. But you couldn't shake the feeling that, to him, it truly hadn’t.

At school, Jeno slipped seamlessly back into the rhythm of his life, surrounded by his friends, laughter pouring from their mouths as if nothing had changed. He blended effortlessly into the crowd of popular kids, exuding an air of confidence that was painfully absent in you. Later, you overheard snippets of their conversations, casual, dismissive remarks. “She’s not worth it, man. You could do way better,” Haechan chuckled, as if your very existence was a punchline. Jeno merely shrugged, his indifference cutting deeper than any blade. “It was nothing.”

The words pierced through your carefully constructed defences, more painful than you could have anticipated. They shouldn’t have stung; after all, you had spent the entire weekend convincing yourself that you didn’t care, that it was just a fleeting moment. But those three words echoed in your mind, a relentless mantra: It was nothing.

Still, you played your part. Whenever you passed him in the halls or found yourself near his group during lunch, you donned a mask of indifference so convincingly that you almost started to believe it yourself. You laughed with your other friends, pretended to focus in class, and convinced yourself that forgetting was the best option. You were adept at pretending, had to be, but that night continued to linger, haunting you like a bittersweet melody you couldn't silence.

The only person who seemed to peel back your façade was Mark. You never spoke about that night directly, but he could read between the lines. He noticed the way your gaze avoided Jeno, how your laughter felt forced, and how your smile no longer reached your eyes.

One afternoon, when the weight of everything felt too heavy to bear, you found yourself gravitating toward Mark. He sat on the grass at the edge of the soccer field, scribbling furiously in his notebook. You dropped down beside him, the warmth of the sun contrasting with the cold ache in your chest. He looked up, brow raised, but he didn’t say anything right away, giving you space to breathe.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” you finally admitted, staring into the distance as the horizon blurred with your emotions.

Mark closed his notebook, shifting his full attention to you. “Want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling inside you. “Not really. Just… everything’s a mess.”

He didn’t press you, but his unwavering gaze bore into you, his concern palpable. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I can tell you’re not okay.”

The tightness in your chest intensified at his words, and you forced a laugh that felt hollow. “It’s not a big deal. I barely even remember that night, anyway.”

Mark didn’t buy it. He never did. “You don’t have to lie to me. But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay too.”

The silence stretched between you, filled with all the unsaid things that hung heavy in the air. You stared at the ground, fighting the emotions that threatened to spill over.

“Jeno didn’t say anything, did he?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could hold it back.

Mark sighed, leaning back on his hands. “He’s pretending it never happened, too. His friends… Well, they’re being assholes, like always. Told him he could do better. You know how they are.”

You nodded, the weight of disappointment sinking deeper into your bones. Of course they would say that. Of course Jeno would follow their lead. It was easier to dismiss the connection you had shared, to act like you hadn’t been wrapped up in each other, sharing warmth and vulnerability in a way that felt almost sacred.

Sensing your shift in mood, Mark nudged your shoulder lightly, offering a small smile. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend to understand what’s going on in Jeno’s head. But you deserve better than this, better than being some secret he feels like he has to hide.”

His words wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, yet they only amplified the ache in your heart. You wished it didn’t hurt so much, wished you could just move on like Jeno seemed to. But the truth was, that night had meant something to you. Even if you shouldn’t have felt that way, even if you tried to convince yourself otherwise, it did.

It wasn’t just the gossip or the whispers that hurt; it was the entire situation. The reality that you had gotten swept up in something so fleeting, yet so consuming. You felt like you were living on a stage, where every move was scrutinised, turned into something larger than life. Belle, Jeno, his friends; they were all part of that act, and now, so were you. You thought back to the party, to the fragile intimacy you had shared with Jeno, the way you had intertwined your lives for a moment. But the harsh reality was that it hadn’t been real. Not for him.

When you got home, you collapsed onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling, its familiar texture suddenly feeling foreign and oppressive. The quiet of your room suffocated you, amplifying the echoes of whispers and judgment that had followed you all day. It should have been a relief to escape the chaos, but instead, it was a stark reminder of how alone you felt. Gone were the masks and the laughter; all that remained was the haunting silence, thick with unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

Your phone buzzed, and for a fleeting moment, hope flickered inside you. Maybe it was Jeno, maybe he finally had something to say, something that could bridge the chasm that had formed between you two. But as you glanced down, the screen illuminated a message from Mark instead.

Mark: How you holding up?

You stared at the words, the glow of the screen casting a pale light over your uncertainty. Mark had always been the one to see beyond your carefully constructed façade, the only person who didn’t press for answers you weren’t ready to give. His concern was palpable even through the digital barrier, but the weight of your own feelings made it hard to respond.

You: I don’t know.

The reply felt painfully inadequate, a thin veil over the storm churning inside you. You tossed your phone aside, pulling your knees up to your chest, as if trying to protect your heart from the world outside. What did you even want at this point? Jeno wasn’t coming back to fix things, and Belle was probably rehearsing her next round of accusations. You felt caught in a strange, uncomfortable limbo, yearning to forget while being unable to erase the vivid memories of that night.

In the days that followed, you had tried to convince yourself the night with Jeno was nothing more than a fleeting mistake, a moment spurred by alcohol and the warmth of the moment. But now, as the realization washed over you, it became painfully clear: you had wanted it to mean something more. You craved the way he looked at you that night—not with the haze of drunken affection, but with something deeper, something that could fill the void you felt inside.

But he didn’t. He never would.

You remained motionless on your bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, feeling the silence stretch around you like a shroud. Your phone buzzed again, probably Mark checking in, but you couldn’t muster the energy to respond. The weight of your decisions pressed heavily on your chest, reminding you of the loss that had settled in your heart.

You had lost your best friend, sacrificed your bond with Belle for something ephemeral, and now, you were left to pick up the pieces alone. And maybe that was what hurt the most. The realization that in the end, none of it had felt real. Not the intimate moments shared with Jeno, not the friendship you had thought you could count on with Belle. Everything felt built on a shaky foundation, fragile and destined to crumble.

As you lay there, you reached for your phone, hoping to drown out the noise in your head with music. You scrolled through your playlist, searching for anything that could take you away from this moment. And then it started, the familiar notes of Crush Culture by Conan Gray filled the room, wrapping around you like a bittersweet embrace.

With each lyric, you felt a rush of recognition that hit you like a truck. Crush culture makes me wanna spill my guts out. The words resonated deeply, echoing the tumult of emotions swirling inside you. It was as if Conan had taken the scattered pieces of your heart and crafted them into a song, pulling at the very strings of your soul.

The lines about fleeting moments, unreciprocated feelings, and the pain of wanting something that was never truly yours surged through you. You closed your eyes, allowing the music to wash over you, each note igniting memories of that night with Jeno. The way he held you, the laughter you shared, the promises whispered in the dark. But with each line, the weight of reality crashed down harder, reminding you of the distance that had grown between you since then.

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, the catharsis almost overwhelming as the song played on. You could feel every word burrowing into your heart, every melody capturing the longing you tried to hide. This wasn’t just about Jeno; it was about everything you had lost, everything you had poured into moments that turned out to be nothing but illusions.

And in that moment, you felt a fragile clarity. You might be lost now, but you wouldn’t stay that way forever. The lyrics continued to echo around you, each syllable a promise that you would find a way through the pain, that you could reclaim your voice, your heart, and maybe, just maybe, discover what it meant to feel whole again.

As the song faded into silence, you lay back against your pillows, allowing the tears to flow freely. It was time to face the truth, to embrace the chaos of your emotions, and to start piecing together a new beginning. And with that thought, you closed your eyes, a flicker of hope igniting within you. A hope that lingered long after the last notes faded away.

[ceoofglytchell]

Bittersweet

Summary: A few days after Rooks Rest Aegon awakes craving for comfort, hoping to find his mother at his bedside to soothe his pain, but he finds you caring for him instead.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Maid!Reader

Word count: 1603 words

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort (a little), talks of Aegon’s injuries, mild thoughts of wanting to die, no mention of Y/N

Notes: My first fanfic yayyyyy 🥳💛 Feedback and criticism is always appreciated! English is not my native language btw.

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Aegon awoke to the faint chime of birds, the distant tolling of bells on the hour, and footsteps on the cold stone floor of the Red Keep, which sounded very close to where he was laying in his bed.

His fingers twitched in the direction he could hear the footsteps and he blinked his eyes open, but all he saw at first was blurry and dark. However, it was only his right eye that he could see out of, his left eye instead was crusted over and would not even open no matter how hard he tried.

A cold breeze brushed his bare shoulder, which was half wrapped in bandages, and another faint rustle sounded to his left.

The king tried to turn his head in that direction to see who the person was in his chambers while he was still overcome by sleep and weakened by his injuries, but as soon as the left side of his face hit the pillow he winced and a whimper of pain escaped him. His wounds were still fresh, too fresh to move in any way without causing him pain.

A whisper - or was it just a muffled voice? - sounded from right next to him and he blinked again, hoping that his good eye would finally adjust to the surroundings and the light and he could finally catch a glimpse of the person bustling around beside him.

Aegon wondered who it was that was coming to visit him.

Part of him wanted it to be his mother. He wished to see her face, to see her finally look at him with something other than contempt and disgust, but with the motherly care he had always longed for but never received. However, the small rational part of him already said that it was probably one of the maesters, changing his bandages or giving him more Milk of the Poppy.

What he had not expected, however, was to see someone he had never seen before, a new face - you.

Dressed in the dark, simple robes of a maid, with long, wavy hair flowing down your shoulders, you stood bent over a table, reading the text that Maester Orwyle had written about the king's injuries.

Even just standing there and reading, with the rays of sunlight falling into the chambers through the open windows of the balcony caressing your face, you were breathtaking. If he didn't know better, he would think you were a spitting image of the Maiden.

"Water...please," he croaked, his throat so dry he thought he was going to choke. He just wished that everything would go back to how it was.

Your gaze immediately turned to him and an expression of compassion appeared on your delicate face.

You had known him for years, watching him from afar and dreaming about him. You had seen him avoid his sister-wife, sneak out into the city to have fun with whores and drown himself in alcohol, while you hoped that his amethyst colored eyes would fall on you one day.

That dream had now come true...but at what cost?

"Of course, Your Grace. One moment." Your voice was sweet as honey and as soft as a blanket he wanted to hide under.

With his vision still slightly cloudy, the wounded king watched as you quickly hurried to a small table and returned with a small cup that he recognized as it was how he had been given his medicine for the past few days, but he was grateful for it as the pain of his burns would otherwise become unbearable.

One wrong move and he would be doubled over in pain again, crying out for help.

"Here, slowly." You carefully brought the small cup of water to his lips as you leaned down towards him and he took the opportunity to get a better look at you, while letting the cold liquid soothe the dryness in his throat.

Aegon would never have thought a mere servant could be so pretty.

He had seen beautiful ladies of noble birth, beautiful dancers and sometimes beautiful whores, but you were nothing like that and yet you made his heart beat faster. Who were you?

As you let the cup sink again and then placed it on his nightstand next to the bed, you gave him the hint of a smile.

Before, he wouldn't have noticed, his gaze would have remained on other parts of your body that would have made his thoughts circle, but now after everything that had happened, he began to pay attention to little things.

He hadn't seen his brother's betrayal coming due to his ignorance and his blind trust in his close blood. That would not happen a second time.

"How are you this morning?" the maid asked him in a gentle voice before you sat down in the chair that was next to his left side of the bed and examined him with curious eyes.

He found that he liked your gaze and the way you spoke. If only you had met before all this... before he became a burnt and disgusting cripple.

A slight chuckle escaped him at your question, but it immediately turned into another coughing fit, which made his chest burn and he felt as if he were on fire again, when the wounds were already healing.

In fact, a scab was slowly starting to form, but with it came the pus and the itching, and he was certainly not looking forward to that. No, actually he would rather die. Anything was better than this.

"According to the circumstances," he finally answered you, whereupon your brows furrowed in confusion.

"What does that mean?"

By the gods, you were so gentle, soft-spoken, and patient as you looked at him with those big doe eyes of yours, waiting for him to tell you how he truly felt.

You would probably jump up and go fetch the maesters if he even hinted that he was in any pain. If only you had met him earlier, before all this.

"What do you think?" He probably sounded a little too dismissive, as your gaze left him for a split second and you looked instead at your lap, which was covered by a dirty brown apron tied around your waist.

You would be better off not to deal with him or being here to tend to him. He didn't deserve your gentle hands and kind smile, even if he craved it and the comfort that came with it.

"I think you are not well, my king. I think you are in pain," you finally answered him, running your palms over your knees as if they were clammy with nervousness.

But why should you be nervous? Had he given you any reason to be?

Aegon had rarely felt so conflicted, because on the one hand he wanted you to leave and never come back so that the Stranger's shadow would not fall over you and your family - if you had one - but at the same time he wanted to be closer to you, to feel your warmth and to feel how you cared for him.

How soft your skin would be if he ran his hands over it, your lips... he was loosing himself in you and he couldn't do anything about it. Well, he had nothing better to do anyway in the state he was in.

"Yes... Yes, I am in pain."

"Should I get Maester Orwyle?" you asked, already jumping up to your feet, ready to run out of the room to get help. You were too good for this world, it seemed.

"No!" Aegon tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his side, forcing him to fall back onto his pillows, gasping and whimpering. "No maesters, please... just you."

You blinked in confusion and looked at him for a moment like a lost puppy - or like Sunfyre when he wanted to cuddle - your hand already hovering over the bronze doorknob, but instead of leaving, you listened to him and came back.

Aegon had expected you to sit back down on the chair, but certainly not that you would sit down next to him on the bed and brush a silver strand of hair from his forehead.

The contact of your fingertips on his pale skin caused any tension to leave his body and his eyelids fluttered at the gentle contact. You were so perfect it was unnatural.

Were you even real? Or were you just a fragment of his imagination?

He knew naught and perhaps he did not even wish to find out either.

The mattress was soft as you settled down next to him. You didn't lie down, because that would certainly be crossing a line, but you sat by his side and looked down at his weak form.

He looked so helpless. Helpless, vulnerable and... somehow also very lonely and sad. You didn't want him to be sad and in any kind of pain, no, it was his smile that you wanted to see, but this time it would be directed at you.

Perhaps you wouldn't see it today, let alone tomorrow or next week, but someday. Some day he would smile at you honestly and happily and you would return it.

But for that to happen, his wounds would have to heal and the war would have to be won - or he would have to flee to some other place instead where things would be better.

You wished that for him, genuinely.

"Shhh, don't worry. I will take care of you, Aegon."

His hand found yours and the corners of his lips twitched into a small, grateful smile. Perhaps all of this was not so bad.

How bittersweet life could be sometimes.

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[atlasthegreatest]

Sweet Beginings / Kim Minjeong x Female Reader

In the heart of winter, Kim Minjeong, discovers a charming bakery owned by Bae Y/n, an introverted pastry chef with a passion for creating delightful treats. As Minjeong visits the bakery more frequently, a warm and gentle connection begins to blossom between them.

Word count: 5239

It was early December, and the first snow had blanketed the city in a soft, glittering layer of white. The little bakery on the corner of the street stood warm and inviting against the cold, its windows fogged up from the heat of the ovens inside. Every morning, Minjeong made her way to this bakery, drawn by the promise of fresh pastries and the soft, quiet atmosphere that it provided. The introverted pastry chef, whose name she still didn’t know, always worked diligently in the back, rarely venturing out to the front except to restock the display case.

Today, Minjeong stepped inside, brushing snowflakes off her jacket and breathing in the comforting scent of vanilla, cinnamon, and freshly baked bread. The bell above the door chimed softly, and from the back, the chef glanced over. Her eyes, warm and dark, flicked over to her for a moment before she returned to her work. Minjeong had noticed her before, and though she was naturally reserved, something about the chef intrigued her.

As she approached the counter, she noticed a new pastry on display — a delicate-looking almond croissant with powdered sugar dusted on top. It looked like it had just come out of the oven, and she felt her heart skip a beat at the sight.

The chef must have noticed her lingering by the display because she appeared suddenly, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron.

“Would you like to try it?” she asked, her voice soft but steady.

Startled, Minjeong looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time. Up close, she was even more attractive than she’d realized, with soft brown hair falling over her shoulders and a gentle expression that made her feel unexpectedly shy.

“Oh…yes,” she replied, a little taken aback. “It looks delicious.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of the chef’s lips as she placed the croissant on a small plate and handed it to her. “It’s one of my new recipes. I hope you like it.”

Minjeong took a small bite, and her eyes lit up immediately. The croissant was buttery and flaky, with a subtle almond flavor that was perfectly balanced. She couldn’t help but smile, the sweetness lingering on her tongue.

“This is amazing,” she murmured, feeling the warmth spread through her despite the cold weather outside.

The chef’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she seemed genuinely pleased. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

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Over the next few days, Minjeong found herself visiting the bakery more frequently. She discovered her name was Y/n, and she was as introverted as she was. Their interactions were brief but comforting; they shared the same quiet appreciation for the little things — the warmth of freshly baked bread, the beauty of the snow falling outside, and the joy of creating something with their hands.

One afternoon, as the snow piled higher outside, a storm hit the city of Seol, forcing most shops to close early. Minjeong, who had lingered a bit longer in the bakery, looked out the window with a sigh. She hadn’t brought her umbrella, and it was clear that walking home in the storm would be miserable.

“Would you like some tea while you wait?” Y/n’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, as she gestured to the small table by the window.

Minjeong blinked in surprise but nodded, feeling a flutter of excitement. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

As she sipped the warm tea, Y/n sat across from her, her expression as calm as ever but with a hint of nervousness in her eyes. They talked about little things — favorite pastries, winter memories, how she’d learned to bake from her grandmother. Y/n’s voice was soothing, and Minjeong found herself relaxing, laughing softly at her stories, even sharing a few of her own.

For the first time in a long while, she felt seen and understood. They stayed there until the snow finally began to slow, their words filling the quiet space between them. And when she finally rose to leave, Y/n walked her to the door, hesitating for a moment.

“Come by again soon,” she said, her voice a little softer than usual. “I’ll make you something special.”

With a shy smile, Minjeong nodded, her cheeks rosy from more than just the cold. She walked out into the night, her heart lighter and warmer than it had been in a long time. The thought of seeing Y/n again filled her with a quiet happiness that stayed with her all the way home.

And so, in the quiet little bakery where the world seemed to slow down, a gentle romance began to bloom, as soft and slow as the falling snow outside.

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As December stretched on, Minjeong found herself looking forward to her visits to the little bakery more and more. Each day, she’d walk in, greeted by the scent of fresh bread and the warm glow of the lights, and each day, Y/n would have a new creation waiting for her — something she’d made just for her to try. It was their silent ritual, and as the days grew colder, her heart grew warmer.

One evening, after a particularly busy day, she arrived at the bakery just before closing. Snowflakes clung to her hair and her cheeks were flushed from the cold. Y/n was at the counter, wiping it down, and she looked up as she entered, her eyes lighting up in that subtle way she’d come to recognize.

“Just in time,” Y/n said, setting down the cloth and motioning Minjeong toward the counter. “I saved something special for you.”

Curious, Minjeong watched as she reached into the display case and brought out a small, beautifully crafted tart. The filling was a pale shade of pink, with a sprinkling of dried rose petals on top. She could smell the delicate hint of strawberry and vanilla, and her mouth watered.

“It’s a strawberry rose tart,” Y/n explained, a bit shyly. “I thought… you might like it.”

Minjeong’s eyes softened. She knew this was no ordinary tart; it was one Y/n put thought into, a tiny gesture of affection disguised as a pastry. With a grateful smile, she picked it up, taking a small bite. The flavor was heavenly, delicate, and sweet, and she couldn’t help but close her eyes as she savored it.

When she opened them, Y/n was watching her, her gaze tender and a little vulnerable. Minjeong felt a warmth blossom in her chest, one that had little to do with the tart.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, not breaking eye contact.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away. It was just the two of them, standing in the quiet bakery, the snow falling softly outside, and an unspoken feeling lingering between them.

Before she could say anything else, Y/n cleared her throat, breaking the silence. “Would you, um, like to come by after hours sometimes? I could teach you how to bake something… if you’re interested.”

Minjeong’s heart skipped a beat. She had always enjoyed baking, though she’d never considered herself particularly skilled. But the idea of learning from Y/n, of spending time with her in the quiet hours, felt like a small dream come true.

“I’d love that,” she replied, her voice soft but sure.

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They planned to meet the following Friday evening, once the bakery had closed for the night. Minjeong spent the rest of the week in a flurry of excitement, hardly able to focus on anything else. She found herself daydreaming about Y/n’s gentle smile, her calm presence, and the way she seemed to understand her without words.

When Friday arrived, Minjeong could hardly contain her nerves. She walked to the bakery in the crisp winter air, clutching her scarf around her neck as her breath puffed in little clouds in front of her. The streets were quiet, and the snow made everything feel almost magical.

Y/n was waiting for her inside, setting out ingredients on the counter. She looked up as Minjeong entered, and for a brief moment, her face lit up with a smile that made Minjeong’s heart race.

“Ready?” Y/n asked, her voice warm.

Minjeong nodded, stepping forward to stand beside her. Y/n walked her through the steps, showing her how to knead the dough, how to carefully fold in the ingredients, and how to shape the pastry just right. Her hands moved with practiced ease, and Minjeong couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at her skill.

As they worked, their hands would occasionally brush, sending a spark through her that she tried to ignore. But Y/n seemed to feel it too; Minjeong could see it in the slight pink tinge on her cheeks, the way her gaze lingered on her a little longer than usual.

After a while, they had a tray of pastries ready for the oven. As they waited, they sat together by the window, sipping tea and watching the snow fall outside. The silence between them was comfortable, and Minjeong felt a sense of peace that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Thank you for this,” she said quietly, glancing at the chief. “It means a lot to me.”

Y/n looked at her, his expression gentle. “I’m glad. You… you’ve been the highlight of my days, Minjeong.”

Her heart fluttered at Y/n’s words, and Minjeong felt her cheeks grow warm. For a moment, she was lost in Y/n’s gaze, the softness in her eyes mirroring the way she felt. She didn’t need grand gestures or declarations; this quiet, unspoken connection was enough.

When the pastries were finally ready, they pulled them out of the oven, laughing together as they admired their work. Y/n handed her one, and as she took a bite, the flavors exploded on her tongue — sweet, warm, and perfect.

They stood there in the dim light, sharing pastries and soft laughter, their fingers brushing now and then. And as the snow continued to fall outside, Minjeong realized that, somewhere along the way, she’d fallen in love with the quiet warmth of this little bakery — and the gentle, kindhearted pastry chef who had filled her winter days with sweetness and light.

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The following weekend, Minjeong couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she walked to the bakery. She’d been so wrapped up in her blossoming feelings for Y/n that she’d accidentally let it slip to her members. Of course, they’d pounced on the story, pressing her for every detail, from Y/n’s shy smiles to the warmth of the bakery during those snowy evenings. Eventually, they convinced her to let them tag along.

“It’s not a date, right?” Giselle had said with a mischievous grin. “Just three girls, supporting their favorite girl!”

Minjeong had tried to protest, but she knew her members well enough to realize there was no stopping them. Now, bundled in scarves and coats, the four girls made their way to the bakery, laughing as they stumbled through the snow.

When they stepped inside, Y/n looked up from behind the counter. Her gaze softened as she saw Minjeong, but her eyes widened slightly at the sight of her friends. She looked a little nervous, but she quickly composed herself, giving a small, polite smile.

Minjeong could feel her cheeks heating up as she introduced them. “ Y/n, these are my friends — Giselle, Karina, and Ningning.”

The three girls exchanged knowing glances before offering Y/n warm greetings.

“It smells amazing in here,” Ningning said, inhaling deeply as she eyed the pastries in the display case.

Y/n relaxed a bit, nodding. “Thank you. We have some fresh blueberry scones and almond croissants if you’d like to try them.”

As she carefully set out the pastries on a plate, Karina leaned in close to Minjeong, whispering with a smirk, “I can see why you’re spending so much time here.”

Minjeong nudged her friend, trying to suppress a smile. She stole a glance at Y/n, who seemed focused on arranging the pastries, but she noticed the faint pink on Y/n’s cheeks.

They all settled at a small table by the window, each savoring the warm treats as the snow continued to fall outside. Minjeong felt a mix of nerves and excitement, hoping her friends wouldn’t embarrass her too much.

“So, Y/n,” Giselle said casually, flashing the chief a friendly smile, “Minjeong tells us she’s been learning to bake here. What’s she been working on?”

Y/n’s face softened as she looked at Minjeong. “She’s a fast learner. Last week, she helped me make strawberry tarts, and they turned out well.”

Minjeong’s cheeks turned pink, and she gave a shy smile. “Only because you helped me.”

Ningning leaned over the table, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Ooh, can we see you two bake together? I bet Minjeong-unnie would be adorable in an apron.”

Y/n looked taken aback but nodded, her eyes glancing at Minjeong as if checking for her comfort. “I’d be happy to show you a few things… if Minjeong doesn’t mind.”

Minjeong gave a small, encouraging nod, feeling the warmth spread through her. She felt a tinge of nervousness but also a quiet excitement at the thought of sharing this part of her life with both Y/n and her friends.

As they made their way to the back of the bakery, Y/n handed her an apron, her fingers brushing against Mnjeong’s. Minjeong felt a spark from the simple touch, and her heart skipped a beat. She tied the apron around herself, noticing how Giselle, Karina, and Ningning were watching the two of them with barely contained grins.

Y/n began demonstrating the process of making a classic chocolate éclair, her hands moving with practiced ease. She explained each step, showing them how to mix the ingredients, pipe the dough, and fill the éclairs with a smooth, velvety chocolate cream.

At one point, as Minjeong carefully piped filling into the pastry, Y/n stood close behind her, guiding her hands. Minjeong could feel her presence, warm and reassuring, and her heart raced as Y/n’s fingers lightly covered hers.

“Like this,” Y/n murmured, her breath warm against Minjeong’s ear.

Her friends exchanged looks, their faces lighting up with barely suppressed giggles, but Minjeong ignored them, too focused on the way Y/n’s gentle touch sent a shiver down her spine.

Once the éclairs were done, they all gathered around to try them. Minjeong felt a rush of pride as her friends took bites and sighed in satisfaction.

“Minjeong-ah, this is amazing!” Karina said, beaming. “You two make a good team.”

Minjeong met Y/n’s eyes, her heart fluttering at the way she was smiling at her. “Thank you,” she murmured, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the pastries.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in laughter and conversation, the small bakery filled with a cozy warmth that seemed to chase away the cold of winter. Y/n’s shy nature softened around her friends, and she joined in their jokes, even laughing at Ningning’s dramatic retelling of how Minjeong had blushed the first time she’d tasted one of her pastries.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow through the windows, Y/n excused herself to box up a few pastries for the girls to take home. As she handed the box to Minjeong, her gaze lingered, her voice soft.

“I hope you’ll come back soon… with or without your friends,” Y/n said, her smile shy but full of warmth.

Minjeong’s heart fluttered, and she nodded, holding Y/n’s gaze for a long moment. “I’d love to.”

Outside, as they walked away from the bakery, her friends wasted no time in bombarding her with excited questions and teasing comments. Minjeong tried to brush them off, but she couldn’t hide the smile that lingered on her lips.

“Minjeongie and the sweet pastry chef,” Giselle teased, nudging her. “It’s like something out of a romance movie.”

“Can we come back next time?” Ningning chimed in, giggling. “I need more of those éclairs!”

Minjeong laughed, feeling a warmth that kept her company even as the winter chill settled around them. She thought of Y/n’s shy smile, the way she’d watched her with such quiet affection, and the way she’d made her winter days a little brighter, a little warmer.

As she looked back at the bakery, its lights glowing softly against the darkening sky, she realized that she was already looking forward to her next visit. And this time, she hoped it would be just the two of them, sharing the quiet warmth of their little corner of the world.

—————————

The days grew shorter, and the air turned crisp and chilly as winter settled into the city. Minjeong kept returning to the bakery, each visit filling her heart with warmth and quiet joy. She and Y/n fell into a gentle rhythm, their unspoken connection growing stronger with each shared pastry and lingering glance.

One snowy evening, after Minjeong’s band rehearsal, she made her way to the bakery as usual. She found Y/n tidying up, wiping down the counters in the soft glow of the lights. The bakery was empty, and the gentle hum of the heater added a cozy warmth to the room. The sight of her working alone, calm and focused, always brought Minjeong a sense of peace.

Hearing the door chime, Y/n looked up, and her face lit up with a shy smile when she saw her. “You’re here early today.”

Minjeong shrugged off her scarf, smiling back. “I couldn’t wait.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she immediately felt her cheeks warm. Y/n’s smile softened, and she motioned her to a seat at the counter. She noticed that she’d already set out a small plate with a freshly baked cinnamon roll, still warm and gooey.

“For you,” Y/n said, her voice gentle. “I thought you might like something sweet after a long day.”

Minjeong took a bite, the sweet and spicy flavors melting on her tongue, and sighed in contentment. Y/n watched her with a soft expression as if the simple act of her enjoying her food was enough to make her day.

They fell into easy conversation, talking about small things — the first heavy snowfall, her band’s holiday plans, a new recipe he was working on. But as they talked, Minjeong noticed that Y/n seemed quieter than usual, glancing at her thoughtfully before looking away, as if she had something on her mind.

After a moment of silence, Y/n took a breath, seeming to gather her courage. “Minjeong… there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

Minjeong’s heart fluttered as she looked up, her curiosity piqued. “What is it?”

Y/n fidgeted slightly, her fingers nervously tapping the edge of the counter. She looked down, then met her eyes with a gentle intensity that made her breath catch.

“Would you… maybe want to go out with me sometime?” Y/n’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, but her gaze held hers steadily. “Just the two of us. Somewhere outside the bakery.”

Minjeong’s heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, she could hardly believe what she’d heard. She’d imagined this moment in daydreams, but hearing Y/n ask made her feel a warmth that spread through her entire chest.

“I… yes,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, but her smile was radiant. “I’d love to.”

Y/n’s face brightened with relief and a hint of surprise as if she hadn’t fully expected her to agree. The chef let out a small, soft laugh, one that sounded like pure happiness. “Really? I wasn’t sure if…”

Minjeong shook her head, her laugh bubbling up, light and carefree. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

They both laughed softly, the tension between them melting away, replaced by a shared excitement. Y/n relaxed a shy but happy smile on her face.

“How about this Saturday?” Y/n asked, her eyes filled with gentle anticipation. “I know a little coffee shop nearby that has the best hot chocolate and a view of the park. We could go for a walk after if it’s not too cold.”

Minjeong’s heart melted at the thought — something simple and cozy, just the two of them. It sounded perfect.

“Saturday sounds perfect,” she said, her smile widening.

They shared a look, full of warmth and affection, and Minjeong felt a flutter of excitement in her chest, a promise of something sweet and new.

As she left the bakery that night, snowflakes swirling around her, Minjeong felt as though she were floating. For the first time, she looked forward to the weekend with nervous, giddy anticipation, knowing that soon, she’d be sharing something special with Y/n outside of their little bakery sanctuary.

——————————

Saturday couldn’t come quickly enough. Minjeong spent the days leading up to it with a mix of excitement and nerves, her thoughts drifting to Y/n whenever she had a quiet moment. She’d never been one to get overly anxious about dates, but something about the chef felt different. There was a gentleness to her presence, a quiet kind of warmth that made Minjeong feel at ease — and that only made her more eager to see what this date might bring.

When Saturday finally arrived, she dressed warmly in a cozy, oversized coat and a knit hat. Her friends fussed over her at the dorm, Karina making sure her hair was just right under the hat, while Ningning gave her a quick pep talk.

“You look adorable,” Giselle declared, giving her a thumbs up. “She’s going to be so nervous when she sees you.”

“Just be yourself,” Karina added, her voice warm and encouraging. “She already likes you for exactly that.”

Minjeong smiled, her cheeks pink from both their compliments and the thought of seeing Y/n. She thanked them and headed out, feeling the chill of the winter air bite her cheeks as she made her way to the little coffee shop where they’d planned to meet.

When she arrived, she spotted Y/n standing outside, looking around nervously. She was bundled up in a thick scarf and a dark coat, and when she noticed her, her face broke into a shy smile. Minjeong could see a hint of relief and happiness in Y/n’s eyes, and her heart melted at the sight.

“Hi,” she greeted, her smile mirroring Y/n’s.

“Hi,” Y/n replied, a touch of pink coloring her cheeks. “You look… nice.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, feeling a flutter of warmth as she took in her presence. “So do you.”

They both laughed, the tension easing as they exchanged shy glances. Y/n opened the door, and they stepped into the cozy warmth of the coffee shop. It was a charming place, with soft lighting, walls lined with bookshelves, and the comforting aroma of coffee and chocolate filling the air. They found a small table by the window, where they could watch the snow-covered park across the street.

After ordering two steaming cups of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream, they settled in, the quiet buzz of the coffee shop adding to the intimate atmosphere. Minjeong wrapped her hands around her cup, enjoying the warmth, and stole a glance at Y/n, who was looking at her with a soft, almost reverent expression.

“So,” Y/n said, breaking the comfortable silence, “how was your week?”

Minjeong smiled, feeling the conversation flow easily as they shared little stories from their days — her band rehearsals, Y/n’s latest bakery experiments, and a particularly humorous story about her accidentally adding salt instead of sugar to a batch of cookies.

“I thought it might be interesting at first,” Y/n said, chuckling. “Turns out, salty chocolate chip cookies aren’t a new trend waiting to happen.”

Minjeong laughed, picturing Y/n in the kitchen with her carefully organized ingredients, and how horrified she must have been to make such a mistake. It was so easy to talk to her, to share these quiet moments where everything felt simple and genuine.

As their hot chocolate dwindled, Y/n glanced outside and nodded toward the park. “Would you like to go for a walk? It’s stopped snowing, and… I thought it might be nice.”

“I’d love to,” Minjeong replied, her smile growing. The idea of strolling through the snowy park with Y/n felt like a scene out of a fairytale.

They bundled up and stepped back out into the cold, their breaths visible in the air as they walked side by side. The park was peaceful, the ground blanketed in untouched snow, and the world seemed still, as though it were just the two of them. Their footsteps crunched softly on the path, and Minjeong noticed how close they were walking, her arm occasionally brushing against Y/n’s.

They paused near a frozen lake, and Minjeong looked out at the serene scene. She felt Y/n’s gaze on her, and when she looked back at the woman, she seemed to be gathering her thoughts, a hint of nervousness in her expression.

“Minjeong,” Y/n began, her voice barely above a whisper, “I… I’ve never really done this before. The whole… dating thing.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she let out a small, nervous laugh. “I mean, I spend most of my time in a kitchen, and… I’m usually not very good at talking to people.”

Minjeong smiled softly, touched by her honesty. “Me neither. It’s different being with you, though… it feels comfortable.”

Y/n’s expression softened, her eyes holding Minjeong’s with a quiet intensity. “I feel the same way. You… you make me feel at ease. Like, I can be myself.”

They stood in silence for a moment, and then Y/n reached out, her gloved hand hesitantly brushing against the idol. Minjeong felt a spark, even through the layers of fabric, and instinctively, she slipped her hand into Y/n’s, their fingers interlacing.

Y/n looked down at their joined hands, her cheeks turning an even deeper shade of pink, and Minjeong felt her heart swell with a warmth that chased away the winter chill. They continued their walk, hand in hand, each step bringing them closer in ways words couldn’t.

————————-

After a while, they returned to the coffee shop, ordering another round of drinks to warm up. They sat by the window once again, this time sitting a little closer, their hands still intertwined on the table.

As the sky began to darken, Minjeong looked at Y/n, her heart full. “Thank you… for today. This was perfect.”

Y/n smiled, her eyes filled with warmth. “I was worried I’d be too nervous to even talk, but… you make it so easy.”

The woman hesitated, then reached over, brushing a stray strand of hair from Minjeong’s face. Her touch was gentle, lingering for just a second longer than necessary. Minjeong looked up at Y/n, her heart racing, and for a moment, everything around them faded away.

“I’m really glad I met you, Minjeong,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Minjeong smiled, her heart swelling with a joy she hadn’t felt in a long time. “I’m glad I met you too, Y/n.”

They sat together in the cozy warmth of the coffee shop as the night fell, sharing quiet words, soft laughter, and shy glances that held promises of more moments like this to come. As they finally left, walking through the snowy streets hand in hand, Minjeong knew that this was only the beginning of something beautiful, that felt just right.

Bonus chapter:

The winter chill had settled deep into the city, the streets blanketed in a soft layer of snow that sparkled under the streetlights. Minjeong and Y/n had spent the past few weeks finding cozy corners of the city to explore together — from late-night strolls through the park to quiet afternoons in local cafes. Their connection had grown effortlessly, with each shared laugh and lingering touch deepening the warmth between them.

Tonight, they’d decided to meet at a small, tucked-away garden park that Y/n had discovered years ago. Under the cover of winter, the park was almost empty, transformed into a serene wonderland of snow-covered trees and twinkling lights. A nearby fountain had frozen over, its icicles casting a soft glow in the moonlight.

They walked side by side, their breaths visible in the crisp air, their gloved hands brushing occasionally as they wandered through the quiet landscape.

“This place is beautiful,” Minjeong said softly, gazing around in awe.

“I thought you’d like it,” Y/n replied, her voice warm and fond. “It feels like a little world of its own, doesn’t it?”

Minjeong nodded, her cheeks flushed both from the cold and from Y/n’s words. There was something magical about being here, just the two of them as if they were sharing a secret that belonged only to them.

They reached a bench nestled beneath a tree that was strung with fairy lights, casting a gentle glow around them. Without a word, they both sat down, the silence between them comfortable and full of unspoken feelings.

Minjeong looked up at Y/n, catching her watching her with that same gentle gaze that had become so familiar. “Thank you… for always bringing me to the nicest places,” she murmured, feeling her heart beat a little faster.

Y/n smiled shyly, glancing down at their joined hands. “It’s easy to find nice places when… when I’m with you.”

Her voice was soft and vulnerable, and Minjeong felt a rush of affection as Y/n looked back up, her eyes searching hers. She wanted to say something, to tell her how much these moments with her meant to her, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she simply looked at Y/n, her gaze filled with everything she couldn’t say out loud.

They stayed like that, caught in each other’s eyes, until Y/n shifted slightly, her gloved hand moving to gently cup her cheek. Minjeong felt her breath hitch at the tenderness of Y/n’s touch, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

“Minjeong…” Y/n whispered, her voice barely audible, as if she were afraid to break the spell of the moment.

“Yes?” she replied, her voice a soft murmur.

Y/n then leaned in slowly, giving Minjeong every chance to pull away, but she stayed perfectly still, her eyes fluttering closed as she drew nearer. She felt the warmth of Y/n’s breath against her lips, and then, softly, tenderly, her lips brushed against hers.

The kiss was gentle, almost tentative, as though both of them were savoring every second. Minjeong felt herself melting into it, her hands finding their way to Y/n’s scarf as she pulled her closer. It was sweet and unhurried, filled with all the feelings that had been building between them, a quiet confession wrapped in warmth.

When they finally pulled back, their foreheads resting together, Minjeong opened her eyes to find Y/n gazing at her with an expression so full of affection that her heart swelled.

“Minjeong…” she said again, her voice soft and full of wonder. “I… I like you.”

She smiled, her cheeks pink as she whispered, “I like you too, Y/n.”

Y/n let out a small, breathless laugh, looking relieved and overjoyed all at once. They sat there for a moment, wrapped in each other’s warmth, as the quiet snow fell around them, casting a soft blanket over the world.

As they got up to leave, their hands still entwined, Minjeong stole another glance at Y/n, feeling an overwhelming sense of happiness. She knew that this was only the beginning of their story, but for now, she felt content, holding onto the memory of their first kiss — a moment she would cherish forever, filled with the sweetness of winter and the warmth of love.

[moonstruckme]

Hi so sorry I was t clear in my earlier request! Emt!marauders and reader in an established relationship who’s anxious about either being poorly or being injured - perhaps she breaks a bone and it’s the first time she’s done so? So not only is she hurting but she’s nervous?

No worries lovely, thank you for your request!!

cw: broken bone, nothing graphic, I'm not very happy with this but I can't figure out how to fix it so here you go sorry <3

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

It’s one of those mind-numbing, paperwork-filled days that makes James feel unproductive and twitchy and makes him forget the fact that no one calling them about severe injuries or death is, in an objective sense, a good thing. He’s moved outside to the ambulance to try and get some sun while he works, and his boyfriends have followed. Sirius is tapping his pen aimlessly on a half-filled out form while Remus is diligently working through his pile, when they’re all gratefully distracted by Remus’ phone ringing. 

“Hello?” 

James catches the way his boyfriend’s expression tenses upon answering, and Sirius looks up when his voice turns gentle and soothing. Ironically, Remus’ calmest tone is an alarm bell for them both. 

“No, don’t worry about it, lovely. What’s going on?” 

“Put her on speaker,” Sirius whisper-shouts. 

Remus waves him off with a hand, brows sewing together as he cradles the phone close to his cheek. “Okay.” He starts moving with hurried steps towards the front of the ambulance. James’ stomach hollows out, and he and Sirius hop down and start closing the rear doors. “Okay, where are you now?” 

James steals his chance to ride up front with Remus, forcing Sirius to ride in the back. The other boy shoots him a sharp, half-hearted glare before shutting himself in. 

“Alright,” says Remus, still in that measured tone. “Just take a breath, sweetheart. We’re coming to get you. I’m passing the phone to James so I can drive, okay?” James holds his hand out eagerly. Sirius has all but jammed his face into the window connecting the driver’s compartment to the back. She’s crying, Remus mouths to them both. “Okay. Love you.” 

Remus doesn’t so much release the phone as James snatches it away. “Hi, angel,” he says, squeezing his boyfriend’s fingers in belated apology. “You alright?” 

There’s a shaky breath on the other end of the line, like you’re trying to do as Remus said and steady yourself. James finds that his heart trembles with it. “I’m okay,” you reply tightly. “I, um, I fell off my bike, and I think I’ve really hurt my wrist.” 

Panic laces your words, and James feels like his own blood is moving quicker just at the sound of it. He leans close to the window so Sirius can hear, doing his best to make his own voice easy and cheering. “Aw, that’s shit. But no worries, yeah? We’ll be there soon to help with that. You’re not still in the road, are you?” 

“No, I’m in the grass.” Another big inhale. “I moved my bike out of the way, too.” 

He finds himself nodding encouragingly as if you’ll sense it through the phone. “Good idea.” 

“I’m worried it might be broken.” 

“Your bike or your wrist?” 

“My wrist.” Your voice wobbles. A low pitying sound comes from the back of Sirius’ throat. 

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” James reassures you. “If it is, we’ll deal with it. We see that sort of thing all the time, you know? Just sit tight, we’ll worry about it when we get there.” 

He keeps you on the phone up until they can see you down the street. Sirius hops out of the back while they’re still rolling, causing Remus to sigh and mutter something about accident-happy partners. 

“My poor darling,” Sirius croons, keeping one eye on the arm you’re holding in your lap as he kisses a path down your nose to your lips. “I knew this fucking bike was out to get you.” 

“It’s my fault, I took the turn too fast,” you say. Your eyes move past him as James and Remus start toward you, guilt making its way into your expression. “Sorry for calling you all at work. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Remus tsks. “I already told you it’s fine. And this is exactly the sort of thing you should call our work for.” 

James nods his agreement vehemently. He crouches in front of you, holding out his hands. “Can I have a look?” 

Tentatively, almost warily, you give him your arm. 

“You scraped up your leg pretty badly,” Sirius notes, brushing some gravel away from your knee. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” 

“Not really, just my hands and my—ah!” You hiss in through your teeth, tears springing to your eyes as James palpates your wrist. He stops. 

“Sorry, angel.” He leans down to kiss your knuckles lightly. “Yeah, I think your distal radius is fractured.” 

Though he’s careful not to move your wrist or touch it any more, you look even closer to tears. 

“What does that mean?” you ask tremulously. 

“Only that there’s some kind of fracture in the big bone here,” Remus explains, running his finger gently over your forearm. “It’s a good sign that there’s nothing poking out. It could be small yet, but we won’t know until we get an x-ray.” 

You nod, looking largely uncomforted. “And so what do we do?” 

“You don’t do anything, gorgeous.” Sirius pecks you on the cheek. “You only need to sit pretty while we get you all cleaned up and in a splint, and then we’ll take you to the hospital to get that x-ray. Sound doable?” 

You hesitate for a handful of seconds. “Yeah,” you say, but your voice is tightening and your face pinching with nerves. James rubs his thumb over the unhurt part of your forearm. You let out a stilted little laugh, blinking hard. “Sorry, I’ve just never broken anything before.” 

“It’s alright,” Remus soothes. “It makes sense to be nervous, but we know how to handle this. You’ll be fine.” 

You nod with more conviction this time. “Okay,” you exhale. 

“That’s it, love. Take a couple more breaths like that.” 

You do. When you’re finished, your expression is more even. “Is it going to hurt?” 

“A little bit, probably,” James says honestly. “But not nearly as bad as when it happened and not for long.” 

You chew your lip, and Sirius smears a kiss across your temple. “We’re gonna take good care of you, sweetheart.” 

“I know,” you say in a small voice. “Could someone maybe hold my hand?” 

All three of them melt, but Remus volunteers before either of the other two can. “Yeah,” he says, scooting closer to you and picking up your good hand. “I can do that, lovely. Squeeze if you need to, alright?” 

Sirius brought the splint down from the ambulance with him, so he and James ready that while you lean your head on Remus’ shoulder and he draws slow patterns into the back of your hand. You’re suddenly calmer than you have been since they got you on the phone. They get the gravel out of your palm before splinting your wrist, and you don’t seem to mind the process so much with one of your boyfriends pressing his lips to your hair and the other two praising you amply after every adjustment. 

In fact, by the time they’ve cleaned all your cuts and Sirius is bandaging your thigh, James thinks you might have found a silver lining to your injuries. 

[littlefireball]

Hi I'd like to request something for the 500 follower event. Is it possible to do a dilf yunho × reader where reader has to babysit his kid. Reader is a broke college student that is desperate for any job that pays. She happens to see a listing for a babysitter even though she doesn't have experience. She takes the job any way. I'm bad with details but I would like smut in it. I would also like some tension between reader and dad yunho even though they don't vocalize their feelings. But he definitely finds her attractive when they first meet. That's all! Thank you

ʏʜ|[ᴍ]|ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱɪɴɢ ʟɪɴᴇ

ᴅɪʟꜰ ʏᴜɴʜᴏ x ʙᴀʙʏꜱɪᴛᴛᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ʏᴜɴʜᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴ ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ (ʏᴜɴʜᴏ: ᴇᴀʀʟʏ 30ꜱ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ: ᴇᴀʀʟʏ 20ꜱ)|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ|ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ|ᴡᴀʟʟ ꜱᴇx (ɪ'ᴍ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴀᴢʏ ᴛᴏ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀʟʟ)

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4.2ᴋ

(a/n: sorry for being late)

"A babysitter, huh?" Y/N pondered as you scanned the job advertisement. As a cash-strapped college student, any paycheck was a lifeline, so you decided to go for it, despite your lack of experience.

You never thought that you would be hired. The employer is a thirty-something single dad with a daughter who is more than four years old. You made your way to the address provided in the message and found yourself standing at his doorstep.

The sound of the door bell echoed as you fidgeted nervously, waiting for an answer. The thrill of being hired still lingered, though a shadow of uncertainty loomed over you—why had he chosen you? Suddenly, the door swung open, and there stood a tall, muscular man, his sharp jawline highlighted a serious, almost intimidating expression.

"You must be the babysitter, Y/N right?" He said, sizing you up with a critical glance.. 

"Yes, I am," you replied, trying to sound confident despite the butterflies in your stomach. He ushered you inside, and you followed him into a sprawling penthouse apartment. The high ceilings and pristine white walls were a stark contrast to your cozy one-bedroom.

"My daughter is asleep in her room," Yunho said with his low voice, leading you to the child's room. "I need you to watch her while I'm away for the night." 

"Alright." You nodded, still nervous. "Any special instructions?" 

"Just make sure she stays in bed," He said, gesturing towards the little girl in the room. "Her name is Aurora." 

"Aurora…what a pretty name." You moved closer to her bed, admiring her soft, peaceful features. She looked like an angel, her small hand clutching a plush toy close to her chest. 

Yunho followed close behind, the click of his footsteps muffled by the thick carpeted floor. He stood by the bedroom door, his gaze never leaving you, as if assessing your every move. The intense scrutiny made you want to squirm, but you maintain your composure, focusing all your attention on the tiny girl. 

"Anything else?" You inquired. 

"No," Yunho said curtly, his eyes still drilling into you. "Just put her to sleep and make sure she doesn't get out of bed. I shouldn't be gone for more than a few hours." You nodded silently.

"I'll be in my office if you need me," He nodded, turning to leave but pausing briefly at the door to look back at you with those intense eyes. "And Y/N?"

You looked up at him, startled. "Yes?" 

He hesitated for a moment, a flicker of something almost like concern passing over his features, before he nodded in dismissal. "Nothing, just…take good care of my daughter." 

You nodded with a smile and he went back to his room. He watched you from the hallway outside Aurora's room, his expression stoic and almost unreadable. He observed intently as you softly caressed Aurora's cheeks and gently brushed her hair. He noted how delicately you handled his precious daughter, how your touch seemed so natural and soothing. 

Yunho's gaze moved to a collection of framed photos that stood on a nearby table. They were photos of him and his late wife, a beautiful woman with a warm smile that radiated affection. 

As he looked at the photos, he couldn't help but draw comparisons between you and her. The way you tilted your head, the way you smiled, the way you talked to Aurora – it all reminded him of her. It was uncanny. 

He was taken aback when he stumbled upon your application. You resembled her in her youth, just as he remembered from their first encounter. The urge to bring you on board was irresistible, even in the absence of experience. A thought flickered in his mind—perhaps, just perhaps, fate had conspired to reunite him with her once more.

But a sense of melancholia washed over him at the same time. This wasn't right. You were just a babysitter. He had no right to feel this way, to see you as a replacement for his lost love. 

He took a deep breath, trying to shake off these confusing feelings. 

—---

This job isn't as challenging as you imagined, perhaps due to the presence of a little angel. Aurora, unlike her father, is perpetually cheerful, her smile lighting up the room as she eagerly shares her delightful school adventures. Who could resist such an adorable girl? Aurora thrived on your attention, often taking your hand to invite you into her world of toys or to share her favorite stories. Each time you interacted with her, her bright smile seemed to shine even more brilliantly.

The stark difference between her and her father creates an unspoken rule: you always steal a glance at him. Curiosity gnaws at you, wondering if he might crack a smile. His expression is perpetually serious, leaving you anxious about whether you've upset him. Yet, as time passes, you realize that his demeanor is simply a reflection of his serious nature. Initially, it feels a bit unsettling, but you gradually acclimate to it. Your eyes are drawn to him, almost as if an invisible force compels you to look, turning it into a familiar habit.

As you cared for his daughter, you found yourself stealing glances at Yunho. Your eyes would linger on him, taking in his tall, muscular frame and his strong, chiseled features.

Despite your best efforts to resist, you couldn't help the growing attraction you felt towards him. His commanding presence, the intense look in his eyes, and his deep, melodic voice all stirred something within you. It was a confusing mix of curiosity and desire, and you weren't sure how to handle it.

Every time Yunho looked at you with his sharp gaze, your heart would skip a beat. You couldn't shake off the feeling that he was assessing you, trying to decipher your thoughts. There was something about the way he looked at you, a combination of intensity and curiosity, that left you slightly unnerved but also intrigued.

You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, but they seemed to intensify every time he was near. You found yourself wondering what it would be like to be closer to him, to have his full attention focused solely on you.

Your feelings were complicated, conflicted. On one hand, you knew it was inappropriate to feel this way towards the man who had hired you merely to watch over his daughter. But on the other hand, you couldn't deny the attraction you felt, the way your body responded to him in a maddening way.

You both remained quiet, exchanging only fleeting looks filled with unspoken words. Yet, Aurora caught the slight exchange of glances between you and her father. Her bright eyes sparkled with mischief as she made up her mind to playfully poke fun at you.

"Y/N?" she said, her voice filled with a mischievous tone, "You like Papa, right?" You were taken aback by her sudden question, your cheeks flushing slightly. You tried to brush it off, but Aurora was determined to get a reaction out of you.

"C'mon, you can tell me," she said with a cheeky grin. "My Papa is handsome and it is normal you like him." 

"I'm not..!When did you learn this?huh?" You tried to steer the conversation away, but she wouldn't let up. She seemed to delight in the idea of a romance between you and her father, even if it was just a harmless tease. 

"Don't lie~~ I know that~" 

"Ah!You spoiled kid." you pretended to be angry but you couldn't hold back the smile. "Stop it. You're just imagining things." 

"No~~"

"YES!" You pulled her onto your laps and held her firmly. "Don't say it in front of your father." 

"Why not??"

Your Papa is just really tired, okay? So let him be. You stammered, trying to come up with a reason for her to back off. "And look, it's already 9 PM. Time for you to hit the hay."

"Ah no~ You still haven't answered me~" She whined, clearly not satisfied.

"Absolutely not. Your dad is on his way home. Do you really want him to catch you awake and give you a lecture?"

"No way!! Papa is scary." She quickly broke free from your hold and dashed back to her bed. "Y/N, please don't tell Papa I'm still awake."

You shook your head, a soft sigh escaping your lips as a light chuckle followed. Stepping into her room, you carefully tucked her in and turned off the light. "Sleep well, sweetheart." you whispered, gently closing the door behind you, finally exhaling the breath you hadn't noticed you were holding.

As you turned around, your heart skipped a beat as you saw Yunho coming back from work, loosening his tie and shirt. "She's sleeping?" 

"Ye…yes." A hesitant smile crept across your face as you nodded, your eyes glued to him, unable to look away. His delicate fingers danced down the line of buttons, unfastening them slowly, deliberately. With a flick of his wrist, he pushed the tie aside, tilting his head slightly as he stretched. You felt a lump in your throat, your heart pounding wildly as the fabric of his shirt slipped to reveal his collarbone.

The room felt unbearably silent as you stood there, caught in Yunho's gaze. It seemed as if time had stopped, with only the sound of your own beating heart filling the air.

Yunho's expression was unreadable. He didn't smile or sneer, just held your gaze with a steady intensity that made your heart flutter.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice deep and melodic. "Enjoying the view?"

Your cheeks flushed even deeper at his comment. He caught you red-handed, and now he was teasing you about it. You tried to come up with a witty reply, but your mind was blank, consumed by the mixture of embarrassment and attraction you felt.

"I...I wasn't-" you stuttered, trying to compose yourself. "I was just-"

Yunho raised an eyebrow, his expression amused, as if he was enjoying your flustered state. "Just what? Admiring the wallpaper?"

"I... I was just lost in thought," you finally managed to say, your voice slightly shaky.

Yunho leaned against the doorframe, his intense gaze still fixed on you. "You seem to get lost in thought a lot," he remarked, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

You felt your heart flutter at his response. It was as if he was aware of the effect he had on you, and he was enjoying every moment of it.

You tried to regain your composure, straightening your shoulders and clearing your throat. "I... I should probably check on Aurora," you said, desperate to escape the intensity of his gaze.

Yunho chuckled softly, a low, melodic sound that sent chills down your spine. "She's already asleep. Doesn't she?"

"I…I guess…?But it…it's better for me to check…"

"Hm?No worries…she's a deep sleeper. You should know that…" Yunho mused, stepping closer to you. He took a look at your face…you really looked like his lost love…but you were different. 

You lack her level of maturity; instead, you possess a certain innocence that stems from your limited experiences in life. You constantly attempt to conceal the yearnings that simmer within you, yet the harder you try to suppress them, the more they reveal themselves. A mere accidental brush of hands sends a flush to your cheeks. The way your body quivers slightly and your face warms ignites a deep desire within him once more.

His emotions for you might be intertwined with memories of a past love, yet what truly matters is the newness you introduce into his life. Each time he reflects on how tenderly you cared for Aurora, a wave of warmth washes over his heart. He yearns to hold onto that feeling indefinitely.

Yunho raised a hand, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, but it sent shivers down your spine. His thumb traced the outline of your lips, the touch electric and intimate. "Now there's no one here…how convenient.."

You looked at him, realization dawning. Without Aurora around, it meant that you would be spending the entire night with him. Your heartrate quickened at the thought, a strange, flustered sensation settling in your chest.

He leaned closer, his face just a few inches from yours. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, the scent of his cologne enveloping you in a heady cloud. His eyes searched yours, as if looking for something, some hint of hesitation or resistance. But he found none.

"That gives me all sorts of ideas," he said, his voice low and smooth. "Ideas that involve spending the night together…doing something other than work." He lifted his other hand, gently caressing your cheek with his knuckles. "And I think we both know what that's something is…" He murmured, his eyes locked onto yours, a hint of desire in his gaze. 

His mouth hovered over yours, the space between you almost non-existent. You could feel his body pressing against you, the heat from his skin seeping through your clothes. It was all too much, the intensity, the proximity, the overwhelming connection between you.

"But," he continued, his thumb tracing the contour of your lips. "I don't want to make any assumptions. I want to hear it from you…tell me dear, what do you want to do with your free night today? With me?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. You met his gaze, your mind racing with a million different thoughts and feelings. But there was something undeniable growing between you, a force almost too powerful to ignore.

You wet your lips nervously, your eyes flickering from his gaze to his mouth and back again. Your heart thrummed in your chest, your body trembling slightly with the intensity of the moment.

"I...I want you," you whispered, your voice trembling with desire. "All of you."

"More specifically…how do you want me to claim you? Where do you want me to claim you?" 

"I…guess…the…the bed…?"

"Ah, the bed." His eyes darkened with lust at your unexpected response. "I like the way you think…" But then, he took a step back, a coy grin on his face. "But why stop at the bed? I've got the whole house…and all night." 

"I…I…" You stammered, unable to form a sentence as your brain blank. He chuckled at your blush, finding it amusing. "What do you say we make the most of your free time…and have some fun together?" His hands were still firmly on your hips, squeezing them from time to time. "After all, the possibilities are…endless," 

He nipped at your earlobe, sending a shudder through your body. "And I'm eager to explore all of them with you," 

"Yunho…I want you…" 

Yunho's eyes darkened at your words, a low growl escaping from his throat. He pushed you back against the wall, his body pressed flush against yours, almost trapping you in place.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice low and rough with desire. "Once we cross this line, there's no going back."

You met his gaze, your heart hammering in your chest. You knew what he was implying, what he was asking. And despite the risk, the danger, you wanted it. You wanted him.

Your hands found their way to his chest once more, your grip tight and desperate.

"I'm sure," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation. "Please, Yunho. I need you."

Once you finished your words, his lips collided with yours in a passionate, commanding kiss, ignited by the fervor of your words and the rising heat that enveloped you both.

"Fuck..the things I'm going to do to you.

As the kiss deepened, his hands moved lower, trailing down your sides and resting on your hips. With a firm grip, he lifted you effortlessly, pressing you back against the wall. "Hold onto me," The sudden change in positioning made you gasp into the kiss, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist."And don't let go," he adds, his eyes locking onto yours. "I'm about to take you on a ride you won't forget.

He took advantage of your momentary distraction, his mouth moving from yours to your neck, nipping and biting at the sensitive flesh. You moaned softly, feeling his teeth graze the column of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. He moved lower, his lips tracing a path of kisses along your collarbone, his hands roaming across your back, exploring every inch of you.

You felt your body respond to his touch, your heart racing and your breath coming in ragged gasps. He seemed to sense your need, his touch growing rougher, more possessive.

Yunho's hands moved to the hem of your shirt, his fingers teasing the soft skin of your stomach as he pulled it up and over your head.

He took a moment to admire the sight of you, your chest heaving as you struggled to regain control of your breath. His eyes roved over your half-naked body, drinking you in with a look of unbridled desire.

"So beautiful…" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He couldn't seem to look away, his gaze burning with need.

Yunho's gaze never left yours as he hooked a finger through the elastic of your panties, pulling them down with one swift motion. 

His eyes raked over your nearly naked body, taking in every curve and contour. He let out a low, guttural sound of appreciation, his hands moving to your hips, his grip tight as they traced small circles on your skin.

"Perfect..." he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Just absolutely perfect."

Yunho pressed himself against you, his body flush against yours, his breathing ragged and thick with desire. His lips found yours, his kiss rough and possessive, claiming you as his own. He positioned himself between your legs after pulling out his cock, his hardness against your thigh, teasing and tantalizing. 

"Are you ready for this, dear?" He whispered against your ear, his words rough with need. "For me?"

You nodded, unable to form words, only able to feel the heat and desire coursing through you. Yunho noticed your silence and pulled back slightly, his eyes searching your face. 

"Use your words, dear. I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you want." 

Your cheeks grew red, but you forced yourself to speak. "I...I want you, Yunho. I want this."

The moment the words left your mouth, Yunho smirked, his eyes darkening with an intense hunger. "That's what I wanted to hear."

His hands found your hips once more, shifting your position slightly to fit himself between your legs even more snugly. You could feel the heat and friction between you, the anticipation building with each passing moment. 

With a swift motion, he pressed himself against you, his hardness pressing at your entrance, a subtle warning of what was to come. His eyes met yours, the intensity in his gaze making your heart race. 

"Let me in, dear." He murmured, the words barely more than a guttural growl. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with your own. "Let me make you mine." 

You nodded, your voice caught in your throat, unable to speak through the intensity of the moment. Yunho took your wordless response as the answer he was looking for, and with a swift, smooth motion, he surged forwards.

The heat and friction was almost overwhelming, and you gasped, your body arching involuntarily as he filled you, as if fitting exactly where he was supposed to go. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, then began to move, slowly and deliberately, pulling you close to him with the grip he had on your hips.

He groaned, feeling your tight heat clench around him, your body responding to his, as if made for him, and only him. His lips found your neck again, biting and kissing the sensitive flesh. 

"You're so good for me, so good," he murmured against your skin. "So tight, so perfect." He punctuated each word with a deeper thrust, driving himself further into you. 

"All mine." He growled the words, the sound deep and territorial, marking you as his for all to know. You were his, and he was yours. And in that moment, nothing else mattered but the feel of his body, the way he made you feel. It was pure, unbridled ecstasy. You belonged to him, and he belonged to you. And there was no turning back. You were his, and he would be yours. Always. Forever. Until the end of time.

Yunho was quick with his movements, his body a symphony of action. He was a flurry of motion, his hips rolling into yours with a practiced and fluid motion. He set a punishing rhythm, his pace demanding and relentless. His hands gripped you tightly, your body moved and molded to his desires, his wants. 

"You're mine, darling," He quickened his pace, his movements becoming more urgent. "Mine to claim, mine to possess. Say it. Say it for me." 

"I'm yours…oh gosh…I am…fuck…"

You writhe and squirm under his touch, your body responding to his every move. Your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending in your body alight with an intensity of sensation you had never experienced before.

He picked up the pace, his hips moving faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He leaned down, capturing your lips in another kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you. He moved his mouth to your neck, kissing and biting, leaving behind marks to show that you were his.

He changed the angle of his hips, seeking a deeper connection, as if trying to make you a part of him, to make you one with him. The way his cock battered your spot and rubbed along your wall made you insane, the urgency of release reaching the peak. 

"Close…close…fuck…yunho"

"I'm here. I've got you." He murmurs, his words as sweet as honey yet his tone holding an edge, as he knew this would overpower you.

"Let go. Give yourself to me."

The heat was growing, overwhelming every sense, as you could feel it taking control. 

His lips brushed your neck, kissing it softly, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered again, "Let go for me. Say my name." he commanded.

You felt so vulnerable yet safe in his arms, you surrendered. Giving him more power and control of this moment. His power over you took over your mind and soul, your own thoughts were lost, replaced with his presence.

Your release was intense, an explosion of pleasure that shook your entire body. 

Yunho's name escaped your lips like a prayer, the words leaving your mouth in a cry of ecstasy. He held you tight, his arms wrapped around you as you rode out the wave of pleasure. He whispered words of comfort and reassurance, his voice soft and tender, as he held you in the aftermath.

"You're incredible," he murmured, his lips brushing your hair. "You're so beautiful. So good for me." He rained kisses on your face, your neck, your shoulder, his touch gentle and possessive all rolled into one. 

"Yu…yunho…"

"Shh…don't be too loud…" He smirked, dropping a kiss on the mark he made. "We're not done yet…" His cock twitched as your wall squeezed hard, his pre-cum soaking your depth and creaming your velvet wall. "I'm still not cumming…" He pushed his length deep until you couldn't take it, your breath catching in your throat, struggling to adjust the overwhelmed pleasure. 

"We still have a long night…" 

—---

Yunho gently shook Aurora awake, running his fingers through her hair. 

"Morning, sweetie," he said softly. 

"Mmm, morning, Papa…" Aurora yawned, rubbing her eyes as she fought to wake up. "Where's y/n? Isn't she supposed to wake me up?" 

"Oh, she's still sleeping because she's really tired. So it's Papa's job to wake you up." 

"Hm... okay... can I see her?" 

"Nope. Let her sleep a bit longer, alright? You can hang out with her after school." 

"Alright..." She pouted a little. "Papa?" 

"Yeah, what's up?" 

"Did we have an earthquake last night?" 

"Huh? No way. Why do you think that?" 

"Hm?? Then why did I feel the wall shaking?" Yunho's eyes widened, momentarily caught off guard. But he quickly composed himself and came up with an excuse. 

"Maybe your bed is just a bit wobbly…?" 

"Maybe? But I also heard y/n yelling. Is she okay?" 

"No, no, no! She's perfectly fine. Just a little tired. There was no earthquake, no one got hurt, and no one yelled." Yunho rushed through his words, clearly a bit anxious. "Let's get ready for school, okay? Sounds good? Haha."

Aurora squinted, sensing that her dad was keeping something from her, but she just couldn't figure out what it was.  

"Papa, you can't pull a fast one on me, alright?"  

"Haha. I'm not lying. When have I ever lied to you?"  Yunho forced a smile, his ears were blushing due to embarrassment. Maybe he should find a more private place next time…no he should do it when Aurora isn't here. Hmm…maybe it's time to bring her to her grandparents for a week. 

He thought. 

tag list: @angelsaway, @yeosangcutie0615, @monsta-x-jagi, @sunnysidesins

[tinyproprodigy]

"Finally in your arms." Satoru Gojo x reader (m/f/nb/everyone)

𖤐 ִֶָ 𓂃 🧷

The sun was setting as Gojo waved off his students with an exaggerated stretch and a dramatic yawn. “You’re free for the day! Go cause some trouble—or not. Just don’t text me.” Itadori looked particularly betrayed, standing there with his movie ticket clutched in hand. “But I thought we were—”

“Change of plans, kid!” Gojo interrupted cheerfully, herding them all out the door. “Gotta prioritize the important things in life.” He shut the door before they could argue, grinning smugly. He’d made sure of his priorities today. You were finally back, and he wasn’t about to share a single moment of your time.

He waited for your arrival impatiently while checking his watch every five minutes. When he heard the buzzing sound of the door bell, he immediately open the door, seeing your figure after a long time

"You're here~"

When you arrived, suitcase still in hand, he barely let you finish saying hello before he insisted you crash at his place for the night.

he led you to the couch and had you sit down next to him. His expression become more serious but still holding a hint of excitement. There was a small smile on his face as he look at you. "You should have visited more often. I was getting bored, you know?"

"visits instead of sleeping over, right Satoru?" you tease, moving to stand up belfre he pushes you back down to sit “You’ll be more comfortable here! Besides, I missed you,” he said with a pout. Not long after showering (with a lot of effort to get the leech off you), you found yourself lounging on his couch, wrapped in the softest blanket he owned, with his head nestled against your stomach.

After a while of watching the second movie out of five you turn to him. “Y’know,” you teased, running your fingers through his snowy hair, “I think you orchestrated this whole thing just to be pampered.”

“Who, me?” he mumbled, the smugness in his voice undermined by the way his eyes fluttered shut as your nails lightly scratched his scalp. His long limbs sprawled out lazily, but his grip on your waist was firm, as if you might vanish again.

“Sure, sure,” you said with a laugh, watching his lashes flutter again. The warmth of the blanket, the quiet hum of the TV, and the soothing scent of your shampoo all conspired against him. Despite his best efforts, his breaths evened out, his body melting further into yours.

Smiling down at him, you whispered, “Guess I win this round, huh?” But he didn’t answer. Gojo was already fast asleep, his face relaxed and peaceful in a way that made your heart ache. You tightened the blanket around you both, feeling the soft rise and fall of his chest as you pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Gojo was already fast asleep, his face relaxed and peaceful in a way that made your heart ache. He looked so different like this—soft, unguarded, and free of the usual playful arrogance that he wore like armor. You tightened the blanket around you both, feeling the soft rise and fall of his chest against your stomach as you pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Your gaze lingered on his features, tracing the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, and the faint shadows under his eyes. He looked so utterly at peace, as though every burden he carried had melted away in your arms. You felt a pang of guilt settle in your chest, heavy and undeniable. You’d been away too long—too far from him, leaving him to fend for himself in a world that never stopped asking for more from him.

You reached up, brushing a thumb gently across his cheek. His skin was warm under your touch, and he shifted slightly, his breath hitching for a moment before settling back into steady rhythm. “I’m sorry,” you murmured softly, your voice barely audible over the hum of the TV. It wasn’t just an apology for being away; it was a promise to do better, to be here for him the way he always seemed to be for everyone else.

As you watched him sleep, a strange clarity washed over you. You’d always heard people talk about weakness—how it wasn’t just about your own shortcomings, but about the things, or the people, that could bring you to your knees. You’d never understood that before, not really. But now, as you looked down at him, you knew.

Gojo wasn’t a weakness in the way the world defined it, but he was your weakness. The one person who could make you question everything, who could make you feel vulnerable in a way nothing else could. And as terrifying as that realization was, it was also strangely comforting.

You ran your fingers through his hair one more time, letting your touch linger as a silent promise to give him more of what he deserved—more time, more care, more of you. For now, though, you held him close, the weight of his trust settling over you like a second blanket. Whatever tomorrow brought, you’d face it together.

𖤐 ִֶָ 𓂃 🧷

Got this prompt from a prompt list on Tumblr (HAD to write this one out, especially after I took the most godly shower and skincare routine was done. Sniff me. No fr sniff me right now.)

© property of @tinyproprodigy . please don't claim, copynpaste or translate my work on this and / or any other platforms.

[woso-story]

Kika's Little Shadow

Kika Nazareth x Mila

Mila had always been the heart and soul of the FC Barcelona women’s team. The little ball of energy was a frequent visitor at the club’s facilities, where she spent her time running around, playing with her tias, and plotting playful antics with her “sisters” Esmee and Kika. Everyone adored her; she was the team’s unofficial mascot, bringing joy and laughter wherever she went.

That morning, the team was in the gym, training and working through their routines. Mila sat near her mothers, playing on her colorful playmat. But sitting still for too long was simply not in her nature. Her sharp eyes scanned the gym, looking for Esmee—and by extension, Kika, since the two were rarely apart. She quickly spotted Esmee on the other side of the room, but something was off. Kika was nowhere to be seen.

Curious and a little concerned, Mila got up and wandered over to Ingrid, tugging on her shorts. Ingrid looked down at her daughter and smiled. “What’s wrong, mi amor?” she asked, crouching to Mila’s level.

Mila looked up at her mother with wide, questioning eyes. “Where’s Kika?”

Ingrid’s expression shifted slightly, something unreadable in her eyes. She took Mila’s small hand and led her a few steps away, then sat down on the floor, placing Mila in her lap. “Kika’s not here today, baby,” Ingrid said softly.

“Why?” Mila pressed, her tiny brows furrowed in worry.

Ingrid hesitated for a second before gently explaining, “Kika got hurt. She’s at the doctor right now.”

Mila’s eyes went even wider. “Hurt?” she repeated, clearly distressed. “Where? What happened? Is she okay? When will she be back?”

Ingrid let out a soft chuckle and placed a reassuring hand on Mila’s back. “Slow down, pequena,” she soothed. “She’ll be back this afternoon, but she won’t be playing for a while.”

That stopped Mila’s barrage of questions. She was deep in thought for the rest of the morning, unusually quiet. Even at lunch, when Mapi asked her what she wanted to eat, she simply shook her head and mumbled that she wasn’t hungry. That set off alarm bells for both Ingrid and Mapi—Mila never turned down food. Eventually, they managed to coax her into eating a little, but her mind was clearly elsewhere.

When the team moved outside to the field, Mila sat on the sidelines on her playmat, still subdued. But then, from the corner of her eye, she spotted someone approaching. It took her only a second to recognize the figure walking with crutches.

“KIKA!” she shouted and bolted toward her at full speed.

Just before she reached her, strong arms lifted her into the air. “Whoa, slow down, princesa,” Ingrid said, holding Mila against her hip. “You need to be careful with Kika right now.”

Mila whined, squirming to get free, but Ingrid held firm until Mila gave a small nod of understanding. Only then did Ingrid set her down, and Mila immediately walked up to Kika. “Where are you hurt?” she asked seriously.

Kika lifted her left foot, showing off the medical boot. “Here,” she said with a playful grimace.

Mila’s little face scrunched up in concern before she wrapped her arms around Kika’s right leg in a careful hug. “Get better soon, Kika,” she whispered.

As the team resumed training, Kika followed Mila to her playmat and plopped down beside her with a dramatic sigh. “Guess I’ll just have to play with you instead,” she said with a wink.

Mila studied her for a moment. “I’ll get you a chair,” she decided, already pushing to stand.

Kika waved her off. “Nah, I’m good right here.” And before Mila could protest, Kika tossed her crutches aside and settled in.

The two spent the next hour playing, chatting, and laughing. Kika told Mila stories about her childhood, about how she used to get into trouble with her own siblings, and how she once climbed a tree so high that she had to be rescued by her father. Mila giggled, wide-eyed, and swore she would never climb trees that high.

But when training ended and it was time to leave, Mila refused to budge from Kika’s side. Mapi eventually scooped her up, whispering soothing words as Mila burst into tears.

Kika, with the help of Alexia and Frido, hobbled over and ruffled Mila’s curls. “Hey, don’t cry, Mila. I’ll be here tomorrow, and you can be my little helper while I get better, okay?”

Mila sniffled, considering the offer. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

From that day on, Mila became Kika’s personal assistant. She fetched anything Kika needed, fiercely guarded her injured foot, and refused to let anyone get too close in case they hurt her even more. During games, Mila stuck to Kika like glue, earning the nickname “Kika’s little shadow.”

Even during team meetings, Mila sat beside Kika, nodding along as if she truly understood everything being discussed. The players loved having her around, and Mila, in turn, loved feeling like she was helping her team. When Kika had a particularly rough day, Mila would cheer her up with silly faces, random dances, or surprise cuddles.

Weeks passed, and with Mila’s unwavering support, Kika’s recovery progressed smoothly. One afternoon, as they sat together watching the team train, Kika leaned down and whispered, “You know, I think you might just be the best little helper in the world.”

Mila beamed with pride, her small hands clasped together. “That’s because I love you, Kika.”

Kika felt a warmth spread in her chest, and she gently pulled Mila into a hug. “I love you too, peque.”

And even on Kika’s toughest days, Mila made sure that no matter what, there was always a reason to smile.