#and feel like they stepped into a musical or something

[chancloud8]

Silly

Pairing: hyunjin x reader

Word count: 1,2k

Tags: tiiiiiny bit of angst (real tiny), fluff, talk of feelings

Summary: hyunjin panicked and you tell him how silly he is in a loving gentle way

a/n: just a short lil cute (i hope) and silly fic cause writers block sucks and I'm trying to get back into the zone <3

The house is quiet when you enter and you're immediately suspicious. Usually your boyfriend is downstairs in the living room by the time you get home and there's always some background noise, like the TV, soft music or the sound of pencils on paper. 

'Babe?' You call out as you take off your shoes. 'Jin? You home?' 

There's no answer. 

'Diva? Where are you girl?' You call out to your cat instead. 'Mommy's home.'

You listen carefully, waiting for the sound of Diva's paws or her soft meows, but it stays silent. 

'What the fuck,' you murmur, stepping further into the house.

The living room is empty, the TV screen is black and there's not a single trace of either your boyfriend or your cat anywhere. No pencils, sketchbooks, candy wrappers or cat toys. 

'Hello?' You call out again, tiptoeing to the glass doors that look out into the garden. 

When the garden is empty too, you slip off your coat and go upstairs. Darkness greets you again and an uneasy feeling grows in your belly. 

Did something happen? 

Your phone has been dead since four in the afternoon, but you had texted Hyunjin to let him know when you'd be home and that if he couldn't reach you he shouldn't panic. 

Did he panic anyways?

Your question is answered when you push open the door of the master bedroom and peek inside. The lights are off, but the TV is still playing one of Hyunjin's favorite K-drama's. The screen gives the room just enough light for you to see that there's an empty can of Ben & Jerry's on the bedside table. There's a bottle of wine too, but it's unopened. 

Diva is curled up on your pillow and her yellow eyes are looking at you with so much intelligence that you wish you could know what she was thinking. 

'He panicked, didn't he?' You whisper to your cat as you shake your head with silent laughter. 'Of course he did.'

Diva just blinks at you and drops her head on her paws again. 

You move to Hyunjin's side of the bed and sit down on the edge of the mattress. He's fast asleep, his chest moving up and down slow and steady as soft snores escape his lips. 

For a moment you contemplate letting him sleep, but if he really panicked about you being home late like you think he did, then the two of you need to have a little chat. 

‘Baby, wake up,’ you whisper, softly stroking his cheek with the back of your hand. ‘I'm home, baby.’ 

Hyunjin's nose twitches and his eyebrows furrow. You lean forward to press a soft kiss on his forehead and this time he mumbles something unrecognizable. 

‘Jinnieeee,’ you chuckle, stroking his cheek again. ‘Wakey, wakey.’

‘Hmmgh,’ Hyunjin mumbles again, shifting on the mattress. 

His eyes slowly open and you nearly coo at how adorable he looks, gazing up at you with sleepy eyes. He blinks a few times and then his eyes widen and he sits up so fast that your foreheads collide together. 

‘Babe, omygod, I'm so sorry,’ Hyunjin babbles. ‘Oh you have no idea how happy I am to see you.’ 

You rub your forehead with a grimace. ‘Yeah I think I get the idea.’ 

‘I'm sorry,’ Hyunjin pouts. ‘You startled me, I didn't think you'd come home.’ 

Your hand stills. Ah, there it is. 

‘What do you mean?’ you ask. 

A blush creeps up on Hyunjin's cheek ‘You were late.’ 

‘So?’ You raise your eyebrows. ‘Didn't you get my texts?’ 

Hyunjin looks down at his hands and mumbles something unrecognizable again. 

‘Baby?’ You grab his hands in yours and squeeze his fingers. ‘You didn't think I did that on purpose right?’ 

‘No, of course not,’ Hyunjin whispers, still not meeting your eyes. 

‘Then what is it? Why would you think I wouldn't come home?’ You bring his hands up to your mouth to press a kiss on his palm. 

‘It's silly,’ Hyunjin says. ‘Like, really silly.’ 

You chuckle softly and kiss his fingers. ‘You’re my silly man, so that’s nothing new.’ 

‘You’ll laugh at me,’ he pouts. 

You give him a look and let go of his hands to climb further into the bed. Hyunjin moves to make room for you and when you lay next to him you grab his chin between your thumb and forefinger. 

‘Jinnie, tell me what went through your head.’ 

He sighs and closes his eyes. ‘I thought maybe you were late cause you didn’t want to come home to me.’ 

‘Where’s this coming from? I texted you, didn’t I?’ you ask, caressing his cheek. 

‘I told you it was silly,’ Hyunjin glares at you, but his eyes soften again when you raise your brows at him. ‘I just-’ he licks his lips. ‘Sometimes I wonder why you’re even with me. You’re too good for me.’ 

‘If anyone’s too good in this relationship, it’s you,’ you whisper, leaning forward to press a kiss to his nose. ‘I’m with you because I love you, my silly silly man.’ You kiss his cheek. ‘I’m with you because you make me happy, there’s not a day that goes by that you don’t make me laugh.’ You kiss his other cheek. ‘I’m with you because you make me feel special, like I’m the most beautiful woman on the planet.’ 

‘You are,’ Hyunjin says. 

You shush him and kiss his forehead. 

‘I’m with you because you still make my heart go crazy every time I see you, everytime you smile and everytime you touch me. I can be me with you, I can be crazy, silly and an absolute nutt case and you still look at me with love in your eyes,’ you continue. ‘I’m with you because I can’t imagine my life without you.’ 

Hyunjin’s bottom lip starts to tremble and you kiss him softly. 

‘I’m with you because you’re beautiful inside and out, you’re sensitive and kind and honestly the best person I’ve ever met.’

‘Baby,’ Hyunjin whines. ‘Stop it or I’ll cry.’ 

You giggle and press a kiss on his chin this time. 

‘I promise you that I’ll never voluntarily leave you. Someone will have to take me kicking and screaming before I’ll even consider the horrendous idea of a life without you. And I won’t.’ 

Hyunjin’s arms curl around your waist and he pulls you on top of him. His eyes shine with tears and he smiles, a real smile. 

‘I still don’t think I deserve you, but I love you so fucking much Y/N,’ he whispers. ‘I can write a thousand songs about my love for you and I probably will. I’ll try and not be so silly next time you’re late.’

You laugh and cuddle further into his arms, burying your face into his chest and then his neck. ‘You do that, baby, both the song and the not being so silly. Although I do enjoy the fun kind of silly.’ 

‘The fun kind of silly,’ Hyunjin repeats slowly. 

‘Mhm,’ you hum, looking up at him. 

Suddenly a warm wetness surrounds your nose and you let out a surprised squeak as Hyunjin sucks on your nose. 

‘Like that?’ he laughs when he lets go. 

You make a face at him and wipe your nose on his shirt. ‘Uh, not really, but I’ll take it.’ 

‘Good,’ Hyunjin nods happily, pulling you closer. ‘I’m glad you’re home, baby.’ 

‘Me too, my love, me too.’

a/n: I opened google docs after seeing the escape m/v and fully intended to write something hyunchan, but ehh this came out instead haha. I'm very glad words finally came out of me again and I hope you enjoyed it <3 BIG SMOOCH

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[ivyues]

Cold Hands, Warm Hearts: Stray Kids’ reactions to their S/O always having cold hands

Bang Chan

The soft hum of music played in the background as you sat back on your boyfriend’s bed, scrolling absentmindedly on your phone while he worked on his laptop beside you.

Chris reached out absentmindedly, his fingers brushing against the back of your hand. His hand paused. Then, he touched your hand again, this time with more intent.

His brows furrowed as he turned to look at you. “Are you cold? Do you want me to turn the AC down? Or do you need a hoodie?” He was already shifting like he was about to get up and grab something for you.

You felt your face get warm. “Chris, stopstop, it’s fine—” you stammered, covering your face with your sleeves. “I’m not even that cold.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned back, watching you with amusement. “You sure?”

“I’m sure!” You peeked at him through your fingers, only to see the teasing glint in his eyes. “My hands are just always cold.”

He reached out again, this time taking your hand properly and wrapping his fingers around it. His grip was warm, steady, and familiar. “Well, even if you won’t take a hoodie, at least let me warm your hands for a bit.”

Your heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t even doing much – just holding your hand – but the way his thumb gently rubbed against your skin made it feel so much more intimate. You wanted to melt.

Trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped, you huffed. “You’re so annoying.”

Chan only grinned, his dimples appearing. “Yeah, yeah. But you love me.”

And, well… he wasn’t wrong.

Lee Know

“Tch.” Lee Know shook his head as he noticed you rubbing your hands together for warmth. But before you could defend yourself, he grabbed one of your hands, his warm fingers wrapping firmly around yours. Without a word, he shoved both of your hands into the pocket of his coat.

Surprised, you glanced up at him, but he was already looking ahead, a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks. “I swear, you’re a hassle,” he muttered, tugging you along with him as we walked.

“You’re the one who grabbed my hand,” you teased, enjoying the warmth that spread from where our hands were joined.

Lee Know scoffed, squeezing your fingers lightly. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to hear you complaining about having cold hands again.”

With that, he picked up the pace, his steps quicker than before. You stumbled slightly, trying to match his speed as he dragged you along.

“Minho, why are you walking so fast?!” you gasped, struggling to keep up.

“You were walking too slow before,” he said simply, glancing at me with a smirk. “And you're warming up this way.”

“I swear, you just like making me suffer,” you muttered under your breath as you tried to match his strides.

Lee Know let out an amused chuckle but didn’t slow down. If anything, he tugged you closer, ensuring that even as he sped up, our hands stayed firmly together in his pocket. The warmth of his hand, the way he stubbornly held onto me despite his teasing, made my heart race a bit faster.

Lee Know turned his head slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Nah,” he said, squeezing my fingers again, “I just like keeping you close.”

Changbin

“Binnie~” you cooed, snuggling closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

He chuckled at your tone, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you even closer. “What is it, baby?” he asked, amused.

“I just love you so much,” you said sweetly, peppering his cheek with soft kisses. Your fingers traced small his arm as you sighed dreamily. “You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

Changbin’s heart melted at your sudden burst of affection. He adored how cuddly and cute you could be, and he wouldn’t trade these moments for anything. “Aww, what’s gotten into you?” he teased, though he was clearly enjoying the attention.

“I just wanna love you,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around his torso. You nuzzled into his neck, your lips brushing against his skin as you whispered, “You’re so warm.”

And he was. That was the whole point. Because, unbeknownst to him, your hands were freezing.

You slowly slid your hands under his shirt, pressing your icy fingers against his warm back.

“AH—!” Changbin jolted, his entire body tensing as he let out a strangled yelp. “Y/N, what the—?!”

You burst into laughter, holding onto him as he squirmed. “I was cold!” you confessed between giggles. “And you’re so warm, Binnie~”

He whipped his head around to glare at you, but his pout only made you laugh harder. “Wah.. All that cuteness—just to attack me with your freezing hands?”

You pouted, batting your eyelashes innocently. “But I love you…”

Changbin groaned, but his ears were red, and you knew he secretly enjoyed your antics. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to warm you up without you sticking your hands up his shirt.

Hyunjin

The moment you stepped back into the room after washing your hands, you found Hyunjin sprawled across the couch, his limbs taking up the space. The soft glow of the room made his features look even more delicate. But the pout on his lips told you something’s up.

“Love,” he whined, stretching his arms. “Come here.”

You raised an eyebrow, walking closer. “What’s wrong?”

He let out a dramatic sigh and shifted to sit up, looking at you with those warm brown eyes that never fail to make your heart race. “My face feels puffy,” he mumbled. “And your hands are always cold. Can you put them on my face?”

A soft giggle escaped your lips as you shook your head at him, but your heart melted at the request. “You just want an excuse to be pampered, don’t you?”

Hyunjin grined but doesn’t deny it. Instead, he pat his cheeks with a finger. “Please?”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you stepped closer and placed your hands on either side of his face. The instant your cold fingers made contact with his warm skin, he shuddered dramatically, letting out a satisfied sigh.

“Ohhh, that’s nice,” he murmured, leaning into your touch. His lashes fluttered shut, and for a moment, he looked completely at peace.

You couldn't help but smile, your thumbs gently brushing against his soft skin. “You’re so dramatic.”

Hyunjin cracked one eye open, smirking. “And yet, you love me for it.”

You laughed, but he’s not wrong. Leaning down, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, and his arms immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

“Now you’re stuck,” he humed. “Gotta stay and keep my face cool.”

Han

Han had invited you out for a late-night stroll after practice, claiming he needed fresh air – and an excuse to see you, as he later admitted with a sheepish grin.

Walking beside him, you glanced at him curiously as he wordlessly pushed his sleeve down over his hand, wrapping it in the fabric until only his fingertips peeked out. Then, in an exaggeratedly careful manner, he reached his bundled-up hand out towards you.

You blinked. “What… are you doing?”

He didn’t meet your eyes, feigning nonchalance. “What do you mean? I’m just, y’know… offering my hand like a normal boyfriend.”

You stifled a giggle, eyes flickering to his sleeve-covered fingers. “Are you scared of my hands?”

“I am not scared,” he insisted immediately, though the slight pout on his lips told another story. “I’m just… preparing myself! Last time felt like grabbing an ice cube straight from the freezer. I have to take necessary precautions.”

Shaking your head fondly, you took his offered hand, feeling the warmth of his palm even through the fabric. Han let out a small, satisfied hum, as if proud of his clever solution. After a few moments of walking in silence, he finally glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“Not bad, right?” he murmured.

You squeezed his hand lightly, your cold fingers pressing against the soft material of his sleeve. “Not bad at all.”

Han grinned. “Good. Because I plan to keep holding your hand all night – and without dying.”

Felix

Felix had always been an affectionate person. But every time he tried to lace his fingers with yours, you always found a way to avoid it – adjusting your bag, fixing your sleeve, pretending to check your phone. At first, he thought it was a coincidence, but after months, he knew better.

And so, one evening, he decided to ask you.

"Baby… Can I ask you something?" His voice was soft, uncertain.

You turned to him, slightly caught off guard by his serious tone. "Of course."

"Why don’t you ever hold my hand?" He looked down, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. "I’ve tried so many times, but you always dodge it." His eyes flickered up to meet yours, warm and a little nervous. "If you don’t like it, you don’t have to, I promise. I just… wanted to know why."

Your stomach twisted with embarrassment. You hadn’t meant to make him feel rejected – it was the last thing you wanted.

"It’s not that I don’t want to," you admitted. "It’s just… my hands are always cold."

Felix blinked. "Cold?"

You nodded, rubbing your palms together. "Like, ridiculously cold. Ice cube levels. I just figured… it wouldn’t be pleasant for you." You hesitated before adding.

For a moment, Felix just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he reached for your hand.

"Felix—"

He took it in both of his, his warmth instantly wrapping around your fingers. He squeezed lightly, as if to reassure you.

"You weren’t making me uncomfortable," he said firmly. "I just want to hold your hand because it’s yours. I don’t care if it’s cold."

Seungmin

Seungmin lounged comfortably on the couch with you, his phone in one hand and a lazy smile tugging at his lips. Setting his phone down, he reached into his hoodie pocket.

“Ah, here,” he said simply, tossing something at you.

You barely managed to catch it, blinking down at the small, round object in your hands. It was a hand warmer, soft to the touch, with a cute puppy face printed on it. 

“Where did you—?”

“Just take it,” he interrupted, leaning his head back against the couch. “I swear, every time we go out, you’re always complaining about how cold your hands are. This way, I won’t have to hear it anymore.”

Despite his teasing tone, there was something undeniably fond in his expression, in the way he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, as if checking to see if you liked it.

Your heart did an embarrassing little flip. You turned the hand warmer over in your palm, unable to stop the small smile forming on your lips. “It’s a puppy,” you pointed out, amused.

“Yeah, well, you like cute things,” Seungmin shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “And you’re basically useless when your hands are cold, so it’s a win-win.”

You scoffed, tossing a cushion at him, which he dodged effortlessly. “You could’ve just admitted that you’re being nice to me.”

“Don’t get used to it.” But his voice was light, and the corners of his mouth twitched as if he was holding back a real smile. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Then, with a teasing glint in his eye, he added, “But don’t you dare forget it the next time we go out.”

I.N

It was freezing outside, and despite being bundled up, the cold still seeped through your fingers. Your boyfriend was sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, scrolling through his phone, completely unaware of the mischievous plan forming in your mind.

A smirk crept onto your lips as you slowly inched closer. You knew he hated the cold, and his reactions were always priceless. Silently, you slipped behind him and pressed your freezing fingers against the warm skin of his neck.

“AHH!” I.N practically yelped, his whole body jerking as he scrambled forward. He whipped around with wide eyes, hand clapping over his neck as he stared at you in betrayal. “Yah! Why would you do that?!”

You burst into laughter, clutching your stomach. His pout deepened, and he crossed his arms. “That was so mean,” he whined.

Still giggling, you reached out, but he flinched away dramatically. “No! I don’t trust you anymore,” he huffed, scooting further from you.

“Aww, come on,” you teased. But before you could get any closer, I.N lunged at you, pinning you down as his fingers found your sides.

“No—AH! Stop!” you squealed, writhing under his relentless tickles. You kicked your legs, trying to escape, but he showed no mercy.

“If you get to mess with me, then I get to mess with you,” he laughed as you gasped for breath.

“Okay! Okay! I won’t do it again!” you cried between giggles, tears forming in your eyes.

I.N finally stopped, letting you catch your breath. He sat back with a triumphant smile

You glared at him playfully, rubbing your sides. “This isn’t over,” you muttered under your breath, already plotting your next move.

masterlist

[delilahsturniolo]

— ୨୧ nostalgia . . . m.s

in which . . . you spot your ex boyfriend matt at a party, and you decide to be a tease to piss him off on purpose

warnings . . . smut, unprotected sex, car sex, kissing, breast play, dirty talk, use of pet names, a little bit of praise, teasing, cursing.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

SO CLOSE TO WHAT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #15

you spot him the moment you walk in. matt. standing near the bar, laughing at something, his head tilting back just the way you remember. it’s been months, but the sight of him still sends a shiver down your spine. you weren’t expecting him to be here, but maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly why you came. your dress is shorter than necessary, your lips painted in the shade he used to smudge with his kisses. you glide through the room, pretending not to notice him, but you know he sees you. you can feel the weight of his stare tracing the curve of your bare shoulder, dipping lower.

you’re talking to someone. some guy whose name you won’t remember tomorrow…but matt is watching, and that’s the point. you laugh, tilting your head back just a little too much, letting your fingers trail along your collarbone, knowing exactly what it does to him. you sip your drink slow, licking the rim of the glass, and when you finally turn, meeting his eyes across the room, it’s electric.

matt’s next to you before you can blink, his voice low and rough. “you tryna start something?” you lift a shoulder, feigning innocence. “me? never.” but his hand is already at your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric, a silent challenge. the party hums around you, music pulsing, laughter ringing out, but it all fades as he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “if you keep teasing me like that, sweetheart, you know what’s gonna happen.” you smile, slow and sweet, because that’s exactly what you want.

his voice sends a thrill down your spine, but you don’t let it show. instead, you swirl your drink in your glass, pretending to think. “hmm. what’s gonna happen, matt?” your voice is all sugar and sin, and you know it drives him crazy. his fingers tighten at your waist, pulling you just a little closer, his body heat seeping into yours. you don’t resist. maybe you press into him just enough to make him feel it, the way your body remembers his. the way it still fits.

“you know exactly what,” he murmurs, eyes dark, locked onto yours. “but you like to play, don’t you?”you do. you always have. especially with him. you tilt your chin up, lips inches from his, close enough that his breath hitches. then you pull back, your fingers trailing down his chest like a whisper. “i have no idea what you mean.”

his jaw clenches, and you feel the tension crackling between you like a live wire. you wonder how long he’ll last before he snaps. before he forgets why you two ever walked away from each other in the first place. he exhales sharply, eyes flicking around the crowded room, then back to you. “come with me.”it’s not a request. it never is with him. but you’re not going to make it easy.

“why should i?” you tease, stepping back just a little, knowing he’ll follow. his fingers catch yours before you get too far, pulling you back against him, chest to chest. your breath catches, and for a second, neither of you move. it would be so easy—too easy—to give in right here, in the middle of the party, under the dim lights, with the bass thumping through the floor. “because,” he says, voice low and thick, “if you don’t, i’m gonna make you regret every second you wasted teasing me.”

your heart slams against your ribs, heat curling in your stomach. you smirk, lips inches from his. “make me, then.”

his eyes darken at your challenge, and for a moment, he just stares at you, jaw tight, fists clenching at his sides like he’s holding himself back. but you know better. you know he’s never been good at resisting you. just like you’ve never been good at resisting him. then, before you can even blink, his hand slides down to your wrist, fingers wrapping around it with just enough pressure to send a shiver down your spine. he leans in, so close that his lips brush against your ear, his voice thick with something that makes your stomach twist.

“let’s get out of here.”

you should say no. you should walk away. but instead, you let him pull you through the crowd, past the pulsing music and the flashing lights, past the people who don’t even notice the way he’s gripping your hand like he owns you. like he always has. the cool night air hit you as the two of you walked out, towards matt’s car. he opened the backseat, practically shoving you inside, climbing in himself and shutting the door. fuck, you knew you shouldn’t be doing this, matt was your ex. but, you really wanted to, you couldn’t resist him.

months of longing, simmering beneath the surface of your relationship, had finally reached a fever pitch. the quiet intimacy of the car, your hands, slick with sweat, moved over the contours of his body, tracing the perfect line of his jaw, the hard planes of his chest, the sculpted muscles taut beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. his eyes, dark pools reflecting the interior lights, were locked onto yours, a silent conversation of unspoken words and desires.

a low moan escaped your lips as his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer. his lips found the hollow of your neck, a trail of hungry kisses that sent shivers crawling down your spine. your own hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, tugging it open with a reckless abandon, reveling in the feel of his skin against yours. the rough texture of the fabric against your palms seemed to amplify the heat building between you. matt didn’t hesitate one bit to lift your silk dress.

the engine sputtered, a brief interruption that only heightened the urgency. matt’s hands moved lower, tracing the curve of your hip, the swell of your breasts, and the heat radiating from your core. a gasp escaped your lips as his fingers found the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

"i want you," matt murmured, his voice raspy with need.

"i want you too," you whispered back, your voice barely audible above the rhythmic drumming of the rain. your trembling hands found the worn fabric of his shirt, tugging on the hem of it. the rough texture of the fabric against your palms seemed to amplify the heat building between you.

"take it all off." you breathed, your eyes locked onto his.

matt smirked, a predatory glint in his eyes. "yeah? you want me to?"

"yes please.." you whispered, leaning into him, your body already pressing against his. matt immediately removed his shirt. a low growl rumbled from his chest as he began to slide your panties off of you. the cool night air brushed against your exposed skin, the contrast a stark reminder of the heat igniting between you. matt's fingers slipped between your legs, teasing the soft flesh of your inner thighs, a prelude to something more.

"oh god, matt.." you cried out as he nipped at your neck. the rain continued to fall, a silent witness to your escalating passion. his mouth found the soft curve of your neck, a trail of kisses leading down to the swell of your arousal. he pressed a kiss to your clit, a feather-light touch that sent a wave of pure pleasure through you. you arched into him, your body molding to his, a silent symphony of need. his lips, hungry and urgent, trailed down your stomach, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. his hands, masterful and knowing, explored every inch of your body, each touch igniting a fresh wave of desire. “shouldn’t have been such a tease, baby..” matt let the pet name slip out of his mouth, it was an old habit

he entered you slowly, his movements a rhythmic dance of pleasure and pain. your moans intertwined with the rhythmic drumming of the rain, a soundtrack to your shared passion. your body arched around him, every muscle tense with anticipation and need. his hands, working their magic, pressed against your hips, guiding his rhythm to match the pulse of your desire.

"fuck," you whispered, your body shuddering as he drove a deeper thrust into you. the world dissolved into a symphony of sensations, the only sounds the urgent rasp of your breaths and the throaty moans escaping your lips. your fingers dug into his shoulders, holding him tight, as you reached your peak, a wave of pure, searing pleasure crashing over you.

you clung to him, the heat of your bodies radiating outwards, melting the icy night air around you. he followed closely, his body shuddering with a release that mirrored your own. his seed spilled into you, a warm tide of pleasure that washed over you. a ragged sob escaped your lips as you collapsed against him.

exhausted but exhilarated, you clung to each other, the lingering heat of the moment clinging to the cool leather of the backseat. the rain continued to fall, a silent witness to the passionate encounter. the memory of this clandestine rendezvous, this stolen moment of pure, unadulterated desire, would forever be etched in your minds, a secret whispered in the dark heart of the night. the air was thick with the lingering scent of your combined heat and the sweet, salty taste of passion. “fuck, sweetheart.” matt kissed the top of your head, wiping the sweat off your forehead. “did so good.” he praised.

these moments between you two, were all so nostalgic.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

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💌: anddddd that’s a wrap for the writing marathon! thank u all sm for sticking around, i’m so shocked that i was able to write and post for 15 days straight!? my sleep schedule is going through it but it was all so worth it in the enddd i gained 300+ followers from this alone so thank you so truly much words can’t express my gratitude! anyway lots of special and new stuff coming soon yayyy i’m so happy and i would love to try doing this again in the future it was so fun! :)

[linoxpudding]

Accidental Kiss- Lee Know

summary: when your best friend kisses you and runs away to avoid confrontation

pairing: lee know x reader

genre: fluff, humor, friends-to-lovers

fic type: written + text

a/n: this was requested ♡

Masterlist

~°~

You had no business being in SKZ practice room, let alone attempting to learn their choreography, but when you stopped by to check on your best friend, Minho, and saw him dancing alone, curiosity got the best of you.

“Teach me,” you had said entering the practice room.

He had scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “You? Dance?”

You shoved his shoulder. “Shut up. I can learn.”

Minho smirked, stretching his arms. “Alright. Don’t cry when you trip over your own feet.”

You glared at him, but the moment you actually tried mimicking his movements, you realized he had a point.

You really sucked at this.

Minho was clearly holding back laughter, watching you struggle. “What exactly are you trying to do?”

“I don’t know!” you whined. “My body doesn’t move like yours does!”

“Clearly,” he teased, before guiding you. “Okay, let’s try this again. Hands here.” He gently adjusted your arms. “Foot placement here.” His fingers skimmed your waist as he corrected your stance.

You tried again, only to stumble forward. His reflexes kicked in immediately, catching you before you could fall.

"You're hopeless," Minho sighed, shaking his head as his hands found your shoulders, steadying you. "You have zero rhythm."

"Wow, thanks for the support," you huffed, rolling your eyes.

"I'm just stating facts," he said, smirking. "But lucky for you, I'm an excellent teacher."

He moved behind you, hands settling lightly on your waist as he guided your movements. "Step forward, then to the side. No, not that side—your other left," he instructed, his breath warm against your ear.

You groaned in frustration, but he only chuckled. "Relax. Just feel the music." His voice was softer now, more patient. His hands were still on you, correcting your posture, fingertips grazing your body.

Then, suddenly you were hyper-aware of how close you both were, or how his breath brushed against the side of your neck sending an unexpected shiver down your spine.

Your heartbeat stuttered.

This was just Minho. Your best friend. The one who never let you live anything down, who teased you relentlessly. And yet you could feel every inch of him pressed against you. The warmth of his touch. The low timbre of his voice as he whispered, “Just like that. Good.”

Your stomach flipped.

You turned, intending to throw a snarky remark his way in order to ignore this fluttering feeling in your stomach, but the moment your eyes met, everything shifted. Neither of you moved. Your noses were almost touching. The playful energy shifted, something heavier, unspoken, settling between you. His eyes flickered down to your lips, just for a second, but it was enough.

Your breath caught and Minho leaned in.

It was hesitant at first, almost as if he wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing. But when his lips met yours, it was soft, warm, and utterly breathtaking.

Then just as quickly as it happened, he pulled away. His eyes widened in horror at what he’d done.

Your brain short-circuited, body freezing in shock, but before you could even process what was happening, he bolted. Like, full-on grabbed his bag and practically sprinted out of the room.

“…Wait—”

You stood there, stunned. Mouth slightly open, heart racing, brain struggling to keep up. Your fingers ghosted over your mouth.

After a few minutes, once you felt more composed, you grabbed your phone and started texting him.

-------------------

Taglist:

@kaiyaba @lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @vietjeb @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @my-neurodivergent-world @shuuporanglinos

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 9.2: "The one with the wedding" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Something’s changed, you can feel it, and you can’t fight it. Frankie keeps his promise—he accompanies you to Harry's wedding. Surprisingly, your ex isn’t the focus of the night. Instead, it's the strange, new dynamic between you and your companion that ends up tangled up in your house. Part 2 of chapter 9. WC: 12.4k

A/N: Oh God... enjoy. Hope you like it—it really helped me a lot to write this chapter this week! Love you love youuuuuuu!! Don’t forget to share your thoughts in the comments, love reading them!!!If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! love you <3

The air inside the party was heavier, charged with warmth from too many bodies pressed together, energy buzzing against your skin. The lights had shifted since you last looked, dimmer now, streaks of blue and violet slicing through the dark like something alive. You stepped into it, absorbing the dizzying warmth of the room. Frankie wasn’t beside you anymore. You didn’t look for him. You didn’t let yourself.

A song was playing—something with a slow build, something from the two thousands. You didn’t recognize it, but it didn’t matter. You let the sound settle over you, let it fill the spaces between your ribs. Without thinking, you moved. Not a dance, not exactly, just the natural sway of a body finding its own rhythm. You let your eyes slip shut, your lips curving in something close to a smile.

And then, just for a moment, there was nothing heavy in your chest. No aching, no lingering weight. Maybe it was fleeting. Circumstantial. Maybe it was the red wine, or the champagne, or Frankie. Maybe it didn’t matter. Somewhere nearby, Harry was spinning Lisa under his arm, and the sight of it didn’t hit you like it did before. The thought sat there, light and untethered, and it felt—God, it felt so fucking good.

Your feet didn’t hurt this time. At least not yet. Right now, all you felt was motion, the firm thrum of music in your bones, and the sharp, electric clarity of being completely, wonderfully untangled from everything else.

And then, again, that warmth. That familiar pressure, retracing its path over your skin—your waist, the soft dip beneath your ribs. He liked to put his hands there. You’d noticed.

Your eyes fluttered open, and Frankie was beside you, balancing two glasses in one hand like it was second nature.

Under the neon lights, he looked like a decoy made especially for you.

He didn’t say anything at first, just extended one toward you, expectant. You took it without hesitation, lifting it to your nose, inhaling the faint bite of alcohol before glancing up at him through your lashes.

“It’s not poison,” he said, raising his voice just enough to cut through the music. “That’s in the past.”

“In the past,” you echoed, and took a sip, the fizzing liquid settling on your tongue before you swallowed. You stepped in closer, resting your free hand lightly on his shoulder. “That I do know. Your attacks are different now.”

Frankie exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Are you still at it? You sound almost... defeated.”

“I’m not. I’m just—curious.”

“That much I can tell.” He lifted his drink to his lips, tilting it back, his throat moving as he swallowed.

Your gaze followed the movement without thinking, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the way the lights shifted over the contours of his neck. A pulse flickered just beneath his skin, and for a ridiculous, fleeting second, you thought about sinking your teeth into it.

You exhaled, shaking off the thought, and lifted your chin. “Well, what are you waiting for? Show me those moves, or I’m going to start thinking you’re all talk.”

He looked at you then. Held your gaze. One, two, three seconds. And then, slowly, a smirk edged onto his lips—mischief, something else underneath it.

Without breaking eye contact, he lifted his glass and tipped the rest of his drink back in one smooth motion. You followed suit, feeling the sharp heat of it slide down your throat.

He peeled himself away from you, took your empty glass along with his, and set them on the nearest table.

Something curled inside you. Expectation. Anticipation. He was coming back, moving toward you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from absorbing him fully—the disheveled mess of his hair, the way his shirt clung to his shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell as he took those final, closing steps.

God, you wanted to touch him. You wanted to press your fingers into the mess of his curls, trail your hands down the solid plane of his torso, the soft belly right there, show him you weren’t afraid to. 

What the fuck.

What the fuck was happening to you?

His body crashed into yours, the force of it pushing you back a step, knocking you slightly off balance. But before you could even process the stumble, his hands were already on you, both palms firm around your waist, steadying you. And then he was moving again, feet shifting forward, pulling you along with him, deeper into the swell of bodies that didn’t notice you, too wrapped up in their own worlds, their own dramas, their own little universes.

Your hands found his chest, instinctively pressing against the warmth of him, feeling the solid weight of muscle beneath your fingertips. Frankie slid one hand upward, brushing from your elbow to your wrist, his touch slow, deliberate. He peeled your hand away from him, laced his fingers through yours, his grip warm.

“This music isn’t going to do us justice,” he murmured, the sound curling against your ear.

He was right—the song blaring through the speakers was all wrong. Too fast, too shrill, the beat frenzied in a way that didn’t suit this.

“That doesn’t matter,” you countered, tipping your chin up at him. “Or you can’t do it?”

Frankie exhaled sharply, something between a laugh and a scoff, and without warning, he let go of your hand. Instead, he grabbed you by the sides and, in one fluid motion, started moving with you, pulling a surprised laugh from your lips.

Somehow, you understood what he wanted without needing to be told. Your body responded to his, falling in sync, matching his rhythm. His hands framed you, adjusting you exactly where he wanted, where he needed. His hips led the way, and yours followed instinctively, as if this had always been muscle memory, as if you had been built to move like this with him.

A grin spread across your face, wide and unguarded, and when you looked up at him, you found his gaze already fixed on you, his dark eyes drinking you in, like he was enjoying this just as much as you were.

The scent of his cologne wrapped around you, seeping into your skin with every small shift between you. It made something stir in your chest, something reckless, something dangerous. Without thinking, you arched into him, pressing closer, as if there were any space left to close.

There wasn’t. Not anymore.

Then, his fingers curled around yours, firm, insistent. In one swift movement, he spun you, pulling you back against him, his arm sliding across the front of your body, locking you in place. Your head tipped against his shoulder, your breath catching for a fraction of a second. The sensation was dizzyingly familiar—how many times tonight had he positioned you like this, as if he wanted you pressed to him, as if his body was something for you to fall into?

His mouth skimmed your ear. “Does this meet your requirements?”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment before you tilted your head, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

“I’m on my back to you again,” you murmured. “I think that tells me something about the kind of man you are.”

His lips parted. “Don’t be a tease.”

“Why not?”

His hands flexed, fingers pressing into your ribs—not rough, not demanding, but enough to send heat coursing through your veins. Enough to make your pulse hitch. The pressure anchored you, shattered you, pieced you back together in the span of a heartbeat.

He turned you again, your body yielding to the unspoken command in his touch. But this time, you didn’t let him take the lead.

Your hands shot up, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer before he had the chance to do it himself. His breath stuttered, just slightly, just enough for you to notice. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, and you felt it—his hesitation, his control, the way he was holding something back.

A smile curled at your lips just as his hands found their way to your lower back, pressing, keeping you there. Like he had no intention of letting go.

You shut your eyes for a beat, as if the darkness behind your eyelids might offer you clarity, a sharp-edged thought, something to arm yourself with. But your mind was a useless, static-filled thing, buzzing in your ears, drowning beneath the erratic pulse in your throat. Whatever words you might have thrown at him had disappeared, leaving you unarmed, exposed.  

So you turned to the only thing left.  

You couldn't fight, but you could touch. You could bring your hands to the sides of his face, feel the heat of his skin under your palms, and close the space between you. You could press your lips to his, soft and deliberate, tilting your head just right, angling yourself toward that sliver of vulnerability in him you’d always known was there.  

Frankie exhaled sharply against your mouth—you had him. Right there, in your hands, in the way his lips moved against yours; not rushed, but desperate all the same.

You needed to stay in control. Not let yourself fall on the sword you were wielding. But he got closer, somehow, his hands sliding up your back, mapping bare skin with his fingertips. One settled at your waist, fingers pressing in like he needed proof that you were there. The other skimmed higher, threading through your hair, twisting a strand around his fingers, pulling—just enough to make your breath catch, to tip your head back, to drag a sound from you that you hadn’t meant to give.  

And he heard it. Of course, he did.  

His breath came harder now, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that burned through whatever restraint he'd tried to hold on to. And for all your careful control, you weren’t sure if you had him exactly where you wanted him—or if he had you. 

Frankie pulled back, his mouth slipping from yours with infuriating ease, a lazy, knowing smile settling on his lips. He didn’t let go of you completely—his fingers still tangled in your hair, keeping your head bowed, like he was admiring his own handiwork. The moment stretched until you let out a breath, your hands sliding back to his neck in some attempt at regaining control.

You were just about to say something—something halfhearted, a weak protest dressed up as wit—when the music changed. I Feel It Coming by The Weeknd.

Frankie hummed in approval. “Now we’re talking.”

He released your hair, his hands settling on you differently now, shifting with the rhythm, guiding you into it with him. Like it had never been a question, like it was inevitable. 

You followed his lead because what else could you do? You weren’t going to step away now, make up some flimsy excuse and disappear. That would be an admission, wouldn’t it? That all of this had an effect on you. That you could be pulled into him like the tide, no resistance. And from the way he was watching you, that knowing smirk carved into his face, he already suspected as much.

Then the lyrics came through the speakers, weaving their way into the space between you.

Tell me what you really like

Baby, I can take my time

We don’t ever have to fight

Just take it step by step

Your throat tightened. A slow, creeping warmth curled its way up your neck, not the pleasant kind but the kind that came with the quiet, unbearable realization of being seen. Really seen.

I can see it in your eyes

'cause they never tell me lies

I can feel that body shake

and the heat between your legs

You closed your eyes, willing the moment to dissolve into something less intense, less unbearable. But your breath hitched anyway, unsteady, shallow. Overloaded, overwhelmed. Just for a second, but it was enough.

And then you felt him again—his cheek pressed against yours. A quiet anchor. Your eyes fluttered open, your fingers curling at the nape of his neck, holding onto something tangible. You exhaled again, this time steadier, firmer.

Like you could pretend, for now, that you still had the upper hand.

You’ve been scared of love and what it did to you

You don’t have to run, I know what you’ve been through.

The lyrics blurred into background noise. Instead, you focused on your breathing, each inhale smoothing out the jagged edges of your pulse. Frankie’s body was solid against yours, unmovable. A wall you could lean on.

Without thinking, you let yourself sink into him, resting against the breadth of his shoulders, the warmth of his chest. His arms tightened around you, not possessive, not urgent—just encompassing. Holding you there as the music stretched on, your bodies swaying in time, your feet moving without effort, without thought.

You lost track of how long you stayed like that, how many verses passed before the spell was broken. Maybe the song had ended. Maybe it had been cut short. You weren’t sure. All you knew was that, suddenly, the air shifted.

A new beat crashed through the speakers, shaking you out of the hazy moment. Everybody by the Backstreet Boys. A sharp contrast, like being yanked from a dream before you were ready. And with it, the rest of the world reappeared—people you hadn’t noticed before, bodies moving in every direction, laughter spilling into the space you had occupied so quietly with Frankie.

He stepped back, just a little. When you met his gaze, he was smiling, but something deeper in his expression made your stomach tighten.

A sudden yell broke through the music. Both of you turned just in time to see Henry at the center of the room, shouting, his movements exaggerated as he threw himself into some half-choreographed dance. A group of men circled around him, clapping, hyping him up as he mimicked the mummy dance, his hands waving stiffly in front of him.

Frankie let out a short laugh. “We have to admit, he sure knows how to have a good time.”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Yeah.”

Your eyes stayed on Henry a second longer, watching his antics, his complete lack of self-consciousness. Then you turned to Frankie, and before you even realized you were going to say it, the words slipped out.

“I want to go home.”

Frankie didn’t question it. He just nodded. Then, with a quiet sort of care, he peeled his hands away from you, stepping back fully.

“I’ll hit the bathroom first,” he said. “Then we’ll go, okay?”

You nodded. “I’ll wait for you at our table.”

Frankie gave you one last glance before turning, disappearing into the crowd with unhurried steps. You exhaled, pressing your lips together as you turned on your heels, moving toward the table with a weight in your limbs that hadn't been there before.

When you sat down, another breath escaped you—longer this time, like you were letting the entire night spill out through your mouth. The music pulsed around you, loud, but the space beside you remained empty. Everyone else was still on the dance floor, their bodies jumping, twisting, losing themselves-

You stretched your legs out under the table, your gaze drifting to your shoes, the heels scuffed from hours of wear. Then, a shift in the air beside you caught your attention.

“Enjoying the night?”

You looked up. Harry had dropped into the seat next to you, his grin loose, his shirt untucked and rumpled. His cheeks were flushed, sweat beading along his hairline, and a pink boa hung lopsided around his neck, the feathers clinging to his skin.

“Where’s your guy?” he asked, voice warm, teasing.

“In the bathroom,” you said, a little louder than you’d intended, the alcohol softening your tongue. “We’re actually about to leave.”

Harry’s brows lifted, his expression exaggerated with the sluggish enthusiasm of someone too many drinks in.

“Already? So early?” The last word slurred slightly, stretching at the edges.

You frowned, the corners of your mouth twitching as you glanced toward the bar. What time was it?

“We have to get up early,” you answered, more for yourself than for him.

“Right, right.” He nodded as if he understood, though his heavy-lidded gaze suggested otherwise. “Well, again, thanks for coming. Honestly, I didn’t think you would. Thought it might be… awkward.”

You let out a short breath, not quite a laugh, not quite agreement. “Life goes on, I guess.”

Your eyes flicked toward the other side of the room, past the shifting bodies and flickering lights, toward the hallway leading to the bathrooms. Frankie was still gone.

“Yeah,” Harry murmured. “That’s right.”

Something about the way he said it sent a small, sharp doubt through your chest. You turned to him suddenly, searching his face, feeling the question settle at the tip of your tongue before you could stop it.

“Can I ask you something?”

Harry nodded, the movement a little loose, a little unfocused. He was drunk. You were drunk. But the question had already lodged itself in your throat, and you couldn’t swallow it back down.

“Why did you invite me?” you asked, your voice quieter now. “If you thought it might be awkward, why?”

He blinked at you, then smiled, like the answer was obvious. “Because it’s all good between us, isn’t it?”

You studied his face. The same face you used to trace with your fingertips, the same eyes that once felt like home. But now, looking at him, there was nothing. No rush of warmth, no nostalgia curling in your chest. Just the vague recognition of something.

“Actually, I’m not so sure about that.”

Harry exhaled, his posture tipping forward slightly. “I know I hurt you.”

You went very still.

“You know,” you said, the words pressing out of you before you could think better of them. “How much?”

His lips parted slightly, like he hadn’t expected the question, like maybe he thought whatever damage he’d caused had been inconsequential, forgettable. But then he smiled—an old, familiar smile, the kind that had once undone you completely—and met your gaze.

“Were you in love with me?” he asked. “I think I knew.”

Something twisted in your chest. Not pain, not exactly. Something colder, sharper. Disappointment, maybe. Or anger. Or both.

“You invited me to your wedding.”

“I knew you’d come.”

Your breath caught, your pulse stuttering. Your expression didn’t change, but something in your body must have shifted because he tilted his head slightly, watching you too closely, like he was trying to read you.

Before he could say anything else, your gaze flickered past him, drawn by movement across the room. Frankie. He was weaving between guests, making his way back toward you, and then—he saw.

He stopped short, his dark eyes landing on Harry, then shifting to you. A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face, but he didn’t come closer. Instead, he nodded once, a silent message. It’s fine. I’ll wait.

And something in you deflated, because no, it wasn’t fine. You wanted to tell him no, tell him to come now, to pull you out of this conversation before it unraveled any further. But Frankie just shifted his weight, slid his hands into his pockets, and watched. Giving you space.

The last thing you wanted.

“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” Harry said, pulling your attention back to him. His voice was softer now, coaxing. “It’s not like that. Look—”

His hand slid over yours, sweaty and familiar in a way that made your stomach twist, though not in the way it used to. You glanced down at the contact, at the weight of his fingers pressing lightly against your skin, before looking back up at him.

“I know you and I are good friends,” he continued. “And you understand that these things can’t always be controlled. I love Lisa. I do. That doesn’t mean I didn’t value what you and I had.”

Your throat felt tight. “I have to go,” you said, pulling your hand back.

But Harry only smiled, unbothered, like he was already a step ahead of you.

“I’m sure we’ll cross paths again. If the opportunity presents itself.”

Your brows knitted together. “Excuse me?”

You turned instinctively toward Frankie, your chest tightening with something close to urgency. Was he watching? Did he understand what was happening here? Across the room, Frankie was still looking at you, his gaze steady, assessing. But from that distance, you had no idea what, if anything, he was reading from this exchange.

Harry let out a quiet laugh, tilting his head at you. “You know what I mean.”

You stared at him, your pulse drumming against your skin.

“This is your wedding,” you said, disbelieving. “Your wife is right there—” You gestured vaguely toward the dance floor, where Lisa was spinning under someone’s arm, oblivious.

“I’m—I’m kidding,” Harry said quickly, shaking his head. “Relax.” Then, with a sigh that was just a little too performative, he leaned back in his chair. “See, this is exactly why you and I were never going to work out. You never knew how to take a joke.”

Your jaw tensed.

“Your jokes aren’t funny.”

“Oh, what, I don’t make you laugh anymore?” He teased, tilting his head at you, his smirk lazy, lopsided.

You let out a sharp breath, something between a scoff and a laugh, but there was no humor in it.

“You’re drunk and embarrassing yourself, Harry. That’s enough.”

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Pf, I bet that—”

“Let’s go home.”

Frankie’s voice cut through the noise, sending a jolt of relief down your spine. When you turned, he was standing behind Harry, his expression unreadable but serious, his hand extended toward you. Without hesitation, you took it, fingers slipping into his, pushing up from your seat without so much as a glance at the man beside you.

Frankie didn’t wait. He turned toward the exit, guiding you with him, and you followed, eager to put distance between yourself and whatever this conversation had been turning into.

But before you could get far, fingers curled around your arm, halting your steps.

You spun, pulse spiking, and found Harry looking at you with that same smug amusement, like this was all some inside joke you weren’t in on. His mouth parted slightly, like he was about to say something—something you were certain you didn’t want to hear—but before he could, Frankie moved.

Still holding your hand, he stepped closer to Harry, leaning in just enough that you could see the shift in his posture, the subtle tension in his shoulders. He murmured something low enough that you couldn’t make out the words over the thumping bass, but whatever he said, it landed.

Frankie's mouth was close to Harry’s ear, and whatever easy amusement had been stretched across Harry’s face vanished in an instant. His fingers slipped from your arm like he’d been burned.

You felt the curiosity tighten in your chest, a sharp pull. What had he said? What could have possibly warranted such an immediate shift? You barely had time to register the thought, and before you could begin to piece together an answer, Frankie was already guiding you away. 

He didn’t say anything. Just turned and started walking, pulling you with him.

You followed, quick-footed, your eyes fixed on the back of his neck, on the way the curls at his nape shifted as he moved. The music faded as you stepped into the wide hallway, plush and quiet. And your steps slowed, your grip in his loosening. He turned then, sensing it, looking at you. The lighting was soft, wall sconces casting a golden glow over everything, their reflection flickering in Frankie’s eyes. His expression was unreadable—brows drawn, mouth pressed into a firm line.

"Are you okay?" he asked, taking half a step closer, his hand still holding yours like he hadn't realized he was doing it. "What did he say to you?"

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing," Frankie said. "Don’t worry about it."

"Frankie."

"Yeah?"

He said it with a smirk, and just like that, the tension fractured. His attempt at seriousness was transparently bad, his lips twitching at the corners, the glint in his eyes giving him away. You tried to keep your expression flat, but it was impossible—your mouth betrayed you, stretching into a smile before a small laugh escaped.

Frankie’s restraint crumbled entirely. His smirk broke into a grin, wide and pleased, and somehow, it felt like the only thing in the world that mattered.

Frankie gave your hand a light squeeze, tilting his head toward the exit. A quiet gesture, like a nudge in the right direction.

"Come on," he said, shifting his weight, already prepared to move. "Tell me on the way."

But you didn’t move. Instead, you stood there, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips. You squeezed his hand in return, a subtle press of your fingers against his, before giving his arm a gentle tug—just enough to draw him in, close enough that you could see the question forming in his expression before he even voiced it.

His brows pulled together for half a second, barely noticeable. "What?"

"I have to go back inside," you said, your voice light, like the thought had just occurred to you. "Will you wait for me? Just a second."

His hesitation was immediate. “Uh… why?”

“Nothing,” you said too quickly, already retreating. “Call for a car. I’ll be back in a sec.” You pointed a finger at him, as if making him promise. “Wait here for me, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

And then you spun on your heels, your steps quick and light, not quite a run but close to it. You slipped back toward the entrance, ducking past a group of guests mid-conversation, their chatter faltering briefly as they registered your sudden movement.

Frankie remained where you’d left him, hands shifting to his hips, his expression unreadable. His gaze stayed fixed on the doorway you had just disappeared through, his mind already flipping through possibilities.

What the hell were you up to?

Had you gone back for Harry? Lisa? Did you forget something? Your bag? No, your shoulder—your bag was still there a second ago. So not that. Your phone? No, he was pretty sure he’d seen it in your hand earlier.

Then what?

After a few seconds of standing there, arms tense at his sides, Frankie exhaled sharply and pulled his phone from his pocket. His fingers moved over the screen, tapping through the app with an efficiency just slightly off from his usual pace. 

No, he couldn’t order a car yet. What if you didn’t come out? What if he had to go back for you?

He glanced back toward the entrance. Shifted his weight. Waited.  

One minute.  

Two minutes.  

By the third, his patience had started to thin, a restless energy creeping into his limbs. He ran a hand over his jaw, exhaling through his nose. Then, with a newfound sense of resolve, he took a step forward, heading toward the entrance. If you weren’t back yet, he’d go in and find you himself.  

But just as he neared the door, it swung open, and there you were, practically bursting through it. A grin stretched wide across your face, your steps quick, hurried—definitely running now.  

Frankie barely had time to process the scene before you zipped past him, a laugh tumbling from your lips. You had a paper bag clutched tightly in your arms, held close to your chest like something precious, and when you glanced up at him, your eyes crinkled at the corners, bright and alight with mischief.  

“Come on, come on,” you said breathlessly, urgency laced with amusement. Your heels clicked against the floor, the sound sharp against the quiet hum of the night.

For a beat, he just stared at you, then instinct took over.  

Without a second thought, Frankie moved. His stride quickened as he took off after you, falling into step just behind. When you reached the hotel doors, he was already there, reaching forward to pull one open before you could even slow down. The doorman gave him a questioning look, but Frankie barely noticed.  

Outside, you kept moving, your heels clicking against the pavement, a few hurried steps carrying you just past the hotel entrance before you finally came to a stop. Your breath came fast, your cheeks flushed, your whole body alight with the kind of exhilaration that made you feel a little untouchable.  

Frankie pulled up in front of you, chest rising and falling like he wasn’t quite sure if he should be amused or concerned. His hands settled on his hips, his head tilting slightly, that familiar furrow forming between his brows.  

“What exactly—”  

“I stole champagne!” you blurted out, eyes shining. “And wine!”  

Frankie’s mouth parted slightly before he let out a laugh, one of those short, incredulous ones that got caught in his chest. He glanced at the bag clutched against you, then back at your face, like he was still trying to understand what kind of person would be bold enough to rob an event of its alcohol supply and look this pleased about it.  

“What?” he said, half-laughing. “How?”  

You waved a hand like the details were unimportant.

“We’re not just leaving empty-handed. Where’s the car?” You cast a quick glance down the street, shifting on your feet, still buzzing with the thrill of it.  

Frankie sighed, shaking his head, but there was something almost affectionate in it. “Jesus.”  

“Come on,” you urged, already tugging at his sleeve.

Frankie didn’t move, standing there like he was still trying to process the absurdity of the situation.

“Haven't ordered yet.” Then, as if just remembering himself, he held out his hands and plucked the bag from your arms with practiced ease. He peeked inside. Four bottles.  

“Damn,” he murmured, eyebrows lifting. “You’ve got fast hands.”  

You giggled, the kind of breathless, slightly manic laughter that only came from getting away with something you absolutely should not have. A cool breeze swept over your bare arms, and a shiver ran through you just as—  

“Hey! Come back here!”  

The shout made you freeze. Your head snapped toward the hotel entrance, where Henry stood pointing an accusatory finger at you, his expression an almost comical mix of outrage and disbelief. Two other men flanked him, their faces still catching up to whatever chaos had just unfolded.  

Henry, however, had already reached full comprehension. His usually pristine suit was a disaster, smeared with something white and unidentifiable. His face, normally so composed, was equally streaked with whatever disaster had befallen him. His hair was wild, like someone had either yanked it or he’d been through something emotionally catastrophic.  

Your eyes widened. Then, without thinking, you let out a tiny, startled squeal, grabbed Frankie’s arm, and bolted. Laughter tore out of you as your feet hit the pavement, your body moving on pure adrenaline.  

Frankie barely hesitated before falling into step beside you, the bag of stolen goods bouncing in his grip.  

“You can’t take my Dom Pérignon!” Henry bellowed from behind, the sound of his footfalls closing in. “Come back here, you crazy bitch!”  

“I can do whatever I want, Henry, the world is free!” you called back over your shoulder, breathless and delighted.  

Frankie, despite running, turned his head slightly to glance at Henry, eyebrows pinched together in amused confusion.

“Your champagne is overrated anyway!” He said, voice loud and cutting through the night air. Then, as an afterthought: “You’ll never be a Backstreet Boy!”  

Henry skidded to a stop for half a second, rage visibly bubbling over. Then, with renewed fury, he surged forward, picking up speed.  

"Fuck!" Frankie swore under his breath, the laugh that had been creeping up his throat breaking free as he pushed himself faster.  

You stole a quick glance over your shoulder, your pulse hammering, your grin stretching so wide it made your cheeks ache.

Your feet pounded against the pavement, so quick they barely felt like they belonged to you. The rush of air lifted your hair, tugging it away from your face. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d run like this—maybe high school, maybe longer. 

Frankie ran beside you, his stride matching yours, never overtaking. His arms were locked tightly around the bag, the muffled clink of glass bottles rattling with every step.

You turned a corner, breath coming sharp, pulse hammering in your ears. Another few steps, then you cut across the street. Behind you, Henry had slowed, swiping at the streak of cream on his face, watching you with something like exasperation. His friends skidded to a stop beside him, breathing hard, hands braced on their knees.

“There! A cab, a cab!” You pointed, laughter spilling into your voice. Across the street, a yellow car approached, its neon sign glowing FREE against the windshield.

You threw out an arm, signaling it to stop, and it did—brakes sighing as it pulled up beside you.

Henry said something, gesturing in your direction, but his voice was lost to the blood rushing in your ears. You met his gaze briefly, a teasing smile lingering at your lips, before pulling open the back door.

You motioned for Frankie to get in first, and he did, the bag still clutched against his chest. You slid in after him, shutting the door behind you.

The driver glanced at you in the rearview mirror, waiting. You gave him your address, voice still uneven with breath.

Frankie tipped his head back against the seat, eyes slipping shut for just a second. His chest rose and fell deeply, his face still flushed from the run. The cab lurched forward, merging into the current of traffic, city lights washing over the windshield in streaks of gold and blue.

"You almost got my ass kicked," he said, eyes closed, mouth tilted in a half-smile.

"You didn’t have to say all that to him," you shot back, laughter still catching in your breath.  

"No, but if they caught up to us, who were they going to take it out on?" He cracked one eye open, looking at you like the answer was obvious.  

"Fair point."  

He turned his head fully now, watching you, his gaze dark and sharp, like polished obsidian.

"What the hell did Henry have on him?"  

You hesitated, biting your bottom lip, knowing how ridiculous it was going to sound.

"I threw pie at him."  

Frankie blinked. "Pie."  

"Lemon pie," you clarified, the words tipping into laughter. "He was waiting for a drink and I came out from behind the bar. He saw me. I tried to make up some bullshit excuse, but he wasn’t buying it. So…I threw the pie at him. And then I ran."  

For a second, Frankie just stared at you, and then he burst out laughing, his head tipping back against the seat. The sound rolled through his chest, deep and warm, until you felt it in yours too, something unspooling between you in the dim glow of the passing streetlights.

You pushed the door shut behind you, exhaling as the tension in your shoulders eased. The quiet hum of your apartment settled around you like a second skin. Frankie made his way into the kitchen, setting the bag down on the counter. One by one, he pulled out the bottles, arranging them in a neat little lineup, the glass clinking softly against the marble surface.  

Mr. Darcy let out a meow, lying on the floor without moving, clearly in a relaxed state.

Bracing yourself against the wall, you slipped off your heels, letting them drop carelessly to the floor before padding barefoot toward the couch. You sank into the cushions, head tipping back, eyes slipping shut.  

"I'm so tired. What time is it?"  

"Twenty past twelve," Frankie said, his voice drifting closer. You cracked one eye open just as he moved past you, his legs brushing yours before he settled onto the couch beside you. He glanced at his phone, then locked it with a sigh, tilting his head back against the cushions. "I could've sworn it was like 2 am."  

"Exactly," you said, stretching your arms above your head. "Which means we need a glass of wine."  

Without hesitation, you pushed yourself up. Frankie huffed out a quiet laugh, watching you with something like amusement.  

"I thought you didn’t want a hangover."  

"I'm fine," you insisted, making your way into the kitchen. "I’m still not at the point I want to be, you know? That perfect middle ground—buzzed, happy, warm." You reached for the cupboard, fingers grazing the cool glass as you pulled out two wine glasses. "You want one, don’t you?"  

"Yes, ma’am."  

You set the glasses down in front of you, picking up the bottle of wine, rolling it in your hands to read the label.  

"Ornellaia. Tenuta dell'Ornellaia. Bolgheri. 2002." You glanced up at him with a smirk. "Fancy, whatever that means."  

You uncorked the bottle, filling each glass just enough, then lifted one to your nose, inhaling deeply. Across the room, Frankie watched you with the kind of expression that made it seem like you were amusing to him in ways he hadn’t quite figured out yet.  

"I'm afraid you're a criminal," he said.  

You snorted, crossing the room toward him with both glasses in hand.  

"As Fiona Apple put it, it’s a sad, sad, sad world."

You sank into the couch beside him, pressing a glass into his hand. His fingers brushed against yours—just a flicker of warmth, fleeting and barely there—but still, it sent a spark up your arm. You ignored it. Or pretended to.

Frankie took the glass without a word, swirling the deep red liquid in slow, practiced circles. He lifted it to his nose, inhaling, then took a sip, letting the flavor settle on his tongue before swallowing. His expression didn’t shift much, but there was something thoughtful in the way he tilted his head, processing.

"I hate it when insufferable people have good taste," he said, face utterly serious.

A laugh burst out of you before you could stop it. "Look at you. Ooh la la la."

He clicked his tongue in mock disapproval, then leaned forward just enough to set the glass down on the coffee table. In one smooth, unhurried motion, he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the armchair nearby. Then he shifted back into the couch, settling deeper, his posture easy, unguarded—legs spread, arms resting lazily at his sides.

Your gaze drifted over him without meaning to, tracing the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders, the relaxed angle of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows that never seemed to disappear completely. You let your eyes wander, cataloging every detail like you might need them later.

The white shirt clung to him in a way that felt almost unfair. It wasn’t tight, not exactly, but it fit him just right—draping over his frame like it had been tailored with only him in mind. The fabric stretched slightly across his chest, shifting with each breath, and where it met the waistband of his pants, it pulled just enough to hint at the shape beneath. His pants were much the same, fitting him comfortably, though in the way he was sitting—leaned back, legs spread, completely at ease—some things stood out more than others.  

Your gaze drifted lower, to the solid line of his thighs, then up again, tracing the broad plane of his stomach. He looked… comfortable. So much so that for a second, you had the ridiculous urge to stretch out and rest your head there, let yourself sink into the warmth of him.  

Instead, you said, “I like your outfit.”  

Your eyes were still fixed somewhere around his torso, your body tilted subtly toward him, one arm slung over the back of the couch, your legs tucked neatly beneath you. Whether you were leaning into him consciously or unconsciously, you weren’t sure. It didn’t really matter.  

Frankie glanced down at himself, then back at you. “Thanks. You gave me an excuse to wear it.”  

“It looks great on you.”  

He studied you for a beat, then exhaled through his nose.

“I bought it a while back. Most expensive shit I’ve ever paid for in clothes.” He stretched his arms out along the couch, grazing yours, the movement making his shirt pull ever so slightly at the seams. “So it better look good, right?” He shot you a crooked grin.  

“That’s right.” You took a small sip of wine, your lips curving. “Lucky for you, I didn’t get any blood on it.”  

Frankie let out a quiet laugh, his head tipping back, his chest rising and falling. 

Your eyes caught on the movement of his throat, the way his Adam’s apple shifted when he swallowed.

“Do you want to see my list?” you asked, dragging your gaze back up to his face. “I’ve added a couple of things.”

He turned his head toward you, dark eyes curious. “Yeah? What?”

Without answering, you set your glass down on the coffee table and pushed yourself up, padding across the room in search of your journal. It was right where you’d left it—tucked neatly against the framed photo of Mr. Darcy and Santi on the bookshelf by the window. You grabbed it and made your way back, settling in next to Frankie again. This time, when you curled your legs beneath you, your back fit neatly into the space between his arm, stretched across the couch, and the solid warmth of his shoulder.

You held the open journal out to him. “Here. Take a look.”

Frankie hesitated, glancing at you. “May I?”

You rolled your eyes. “Like you asked last time. Yes. You can.”

A smirk tugged at his mouth as he took the journal from your hands, already flipped to the right page. He read through the list carefully, his gaze steady, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the paper. Maybe he was genuinely paying attention, or maybe the wine was making it harder for him to focus.

His eyes landed on one item in particular. “Have a New Year’s kiss. Just like Harry and Sally—but less romantic?” He glanced at you, one brow lifted.

You nodded. “Less romantic. Too much pressure.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, then frowned slightly. “Who’s Sally? Is Harry—wait. Is he that Harry? Harry? The one from the wedding?”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

“No, it’s a movie. When Harry Met Sally.” You turned your head, watching his face for recognition. There was none. “The one with Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan.”

Frankie blinked at you. “Um, Tom Hanks?”

Your expression twisted in confusion. “What?”

“The one with the bookstores?” Frankie asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

You let out an exaggerated sigh, clicking your tongue. “That’s You’ve Got Mail.”

His lips twitched, the hint of a smile forming. “Didn’t realize I was talking to a rom-com scholar.”

“Didn't you ever see When Harry Met Sally?”

Frankie’s smile stretched wider, something lazy and amused settling in his expression. “Clearly not, sweetheart.”

He shifted, reaching down for his wine glass. Lifting it to his lips, he took a slow sip, then settled back into the couch. His gaze found yours again, dark, something unreadable flickering behind it.

“We can watch it if you want,” he said, his tone quieter now.

“Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah. But not now. I don’t think I can focus on anything that lasts more than an hour.”

You tilted your head at him, a teasing glint in your eye. “You say that to all your girlfriends?”

The laugh that burst out of him was sudden, cracking through his chest. His head tipped back for a second, the sound filling the small space between you.

“Okay,” you said, your own smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I’ll hold you to that promise. But in the meantime—yes. A New Year’s kiss. Not much more context than that.”

Frankie nodded. “Less romantic.”

“Exactly. I don’t need it to mean anything. Just a kiss.”

“Like kissing a stranger in a club? You could kill two birds with one stone and cross kiss a stranger and New Year’s kiss off your list at the same time.”

You shook your head, lifting your glass. “No, no. Those are two completely different things, Francisco.” You took a sip, savoring the wine.

“Well, I’m no stranger. But I can help you with New Year’s.”

You blinked. “Um?”

He shrugged, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

“I can kiss you on New Year’s if you want.” He said it so simply, so matter-of-fact, that it almost sounded like a business arrangement.

A smile tugged at your lips, inevitable. “You’d do that?”

“We were kissing an hour ago, weren’t we? Why wouldn’t I? I don’t see the problem.”

You hummed, nodding absently, your eyes dipping to your glass. He had a point. You took a sip, then glanced back at him.

“That’s true. But we’d have to be in the same place that night.”

“That can be arranged.”

You let out a breath, tilting your head. “Right.”

Frankie watched you. “Now, if you want to kiss a stranger, that’s as simple as a night out, don’t you think?”

You opened your mouth to reply but realized, suddenly, that he was closer than you’d thought. The space between you had shrunk, or maybe it had never been that wide to begin with. You shifted in your seat, tucking your knees to your chest, settling deeper into the warm space between his arm and his body.

“That’s true,” you admitted.

He tipped his head slightly. “Does it have to be any stranger?”

“Well, not any stranger,” you said, considering. “A decent stranger. Not a dangerous one.” You took another sip, then added, “I talked to Emma yesterday. She said we could go out when she comes to Austin—she has a good eye for strangers.”

Frankie let out a low laugh. “She senses vibes?”

“Exactly.” You grinned. “You can come too, if you want. I don’t know if you like those kinds of places.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you, like he was actually thinking it over. “

Do you want me to come with you?”

“If you don’t want to, it’s okay,” you said, too quickly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He huffed, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah, I’ll go with you.” He lifted his glass, taking a sip before adding, “That way, if you need someone to pull some asshole off your back, you can use me.”

You laughed, softer this time, warmth pooling in your chest. “I'd like that.”

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, the kind that settled easily between two people with no urgency to fill it. Your eyes lingered on the page in your lap, the list of things you’d scrawled down, while Frankie lifted his glass to his lips again, tilting his head back slightly as he drank.  

After a moment, he asked, “Why is it so important to kiss a stranger, though?” 

You let out a breath, shifting your legs, stretching them out a little more comfortably.

“I don’t know. It’s not like it’s some grand, life-changing thing. It’s just one of those little experiences I’ve never had. I’ve never felt confident enough to just—go up to someone and kiss them. I think I’m too much of a romantic for it.” You laughed, shaking your head at yourself.  

“Ah, I get it. Like an act of liberation or something, right?”  

“You could call it that.” You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.  

He hummed in response, a low, quiet sound, and for some reason, the warmth of it lingered in your ear.  

From the corner of your eye, you saw Mr. Darcy stir from his spot on the floor, stretching lazily before padding off toward his food bowl in the kitchen. You watched him go for a few seconds, then exhaled, a thought tugging at the edges of your mind.  

“Actually,” you said, breaking the quiet, “I almost did it. A couple of years ago.”  

Frankie’s eyebrows pulled together. “What?”  

“Kissing a stranger,” you clarified.

“Oh, when?”

“A few years ago. Emma and I went with another friend to a Halloween party downtown. It was a great night, mostly. But at some point, I lost them in the crowd and spent forever trying to find them.” You let out a quiet laugh, the memory coming back to you in pieces, hazy at the edges. “I was drunk, obviously. Somehow, I ended up going through a door, thinking it led to a patio or something. And then the door shut behind me, and I realized it didn’t open from the outside.”

Frankie tipped his glass toward his mouth, watching you over the rim.

“I panicked. And then this guy scared the shit out of me.” You shake your head, remembering the jolt of it, the way your breath had caught. “Turns out he’d come up earlier and wedged something in the door to keep it from locking. And I—totally oblivious, completely useless—ruined his plan.”

Frankie laughed, setting his drink down.

“It was actually a terrace,” you went on, “not a patio or anything. And my friends were nowhere to be found. I tried calling them. No answer. He tried calling his friends too, I think.” You exhaled another laugh, quieter this time. “He was dressed as Zorro.”

He smirked. “Sexy.”

You grinned. “Yeah, but no hat.”

“He can be forgiven.”

“We were stuck there for at least an hour and a half. Maybe longer. Just talking. Flirting.” Your voice had softened, slowed. “I told him a lot about my life. And I wanted to kiss him. Really badly.” You hesitated, then admitted, “But I didn’t.”

Frankie’s eyes flickered over you. His voice was quieter now. “Why didn’t you?”

Your hand drifted to Frankie’s torso, fingertips tracing absent-minded patterns over the fabric of his shirt. You toyed with one of the buttons, turning it between your fingers as if the movement might help pull the memory into sharper focus. He didn’t pull away. If anything, he seemed content to let you linger there.  

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I didn’t. And before I could even think about it, a security guard showed up and—well, that was it. He told us we had to leave. And then he asked for my number.” You exhaled. “And I panicked. I was tipsy, nervous, trying to process the whole situation, and then out of nowhere, Emma came barreling toward me, screaming my name. So I ran.”  

Frankie’s mouth twitched at the corner. “You ran.”  

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Full-on ran. Didn’t even ask his name. Didn’t give him mine. Nothing.” You pressed your lips together, the weight of the ridiculousness settling in. “So, somewhere out there, there’s a guy who knows way too much about my life but has no idea what to call me.”  

“You should’ve looked him up. Put up a sign or something. ‘El Zorro Wanted.’”  

You laughed. “Right. And what, just hope he rides in on a horse to claim me?”  

Frankie grinned. “Would’ve been romantic.”

“Yes, if somewhat unrealistic.” You pressed a finger against his belly, just lightly. “But I know I’d recognize him if I saw him.”  

Frankie laughed, tipping his head back slightly. “Oh, you think so?”  

“Yes, I think so.”  

Before he could respond, Mr. Darcy meowed from the kitchen, his voice sharp and insistent. You glanced over and saw him sitting upright next to his water dish, his eyes wide with the kind of urgency you had come to recognize immediately.  

You sighed, detangling yourself from Frankie’s warmth and standing up. He watched you go, and when you reached for your empty glass, he handed you his without a word. You took it carefully, fingers brushing his for a brief second before you turned and walked toward the kitchen.  

There, you placed the glasses on the counter and crouched down beside Darcy, who was still stationed by his dishes, staring at you with clear disapproval. Floating in his water bowl was a single, tragic piece of food—utterly unacceptable, in his opinion. You already knew what he wanted before he so much as twitched an ear.  

“Okay, okay,” you murmured, swapping out the water for fresh. When you set the dish back down, he inspected it briefly before brushing his head against your hand. You smoothed your fingers over the soft fur between his ears, a silent apology for the offense.  

From the living room, the sound of the television clicking on drew your attention. You glanced back to see Frankie, remote in hand as he navigated YouTube. He looked focused, his eyes fixed on the screen while his thumb moved over the buttons at a measured pace.  

A few moments later, the speakers crackled to life. First, the sound of voices and laughter. Then, a melody—light and happy. 

This Must Be the Place, by Talking Heads.

Frankie moved first. His shoulders bounced to the rhythm, his eyes squeezed shut, his face twisted in exaggerated concentration, like he was feeling the music with his whole body. You laughed at the sight of him, the unabashed joy of it, the way he gave himself over so completely. Before you could react, he reached for your hand, fingers curling around yours as he pulled you into a messy twirl. The movement sent a dizzy sort of delight through you, spinning your balance just enough to make you stumble forward with a breathless laugh.

His hands found your waist, feather-light at first, just a teasing brush that made you squirm as he tickled at your sides.

“Francisco!” you yelped, half laughing, half breathless, trying to swat him away, but he only grinned, pulling you closer, setting the rhythm for you both.

It took only seconds for your body to sync with his. Bare feet against the floor, moving in tandem, your laughter tangling with the music as you mirrored his steps. He danced like a drunk man at a party—goofy and unselfconscious, his hips swaying exaggeratedly, arms lifting at just the right moments. And you, tipsy and delighted, couldn’t help but match his energy, your body light and free, your head tilting back as giggles tumbled out of you.

He spun you again, this time with a little more flair, his grip firm as he turned you effortlessly, sending a rush of dizziness through your limbs. The music swelled, bright and glittering, filling the space like drops of color spilling onto the floor.

Frankie laughed—really laughed—before pulling you back into him, your body colliding softly with his, breath warm against your temple. His hands settled at your waist, grounding you, his chest rising and falling against your back as the song played on, wrapping you both in its golden haze.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, your hands drifted up his chest, fingers trailing over the fabric stretched across his shoulders. Your arms looped around his neck, fingertips slipping into the curls at his nape, twisting there, just slightly, just enough to make him shiver. His breath hitched—so faint you might have imagined it.  

He was watching you, his mouth curved at one side, that lazy, knowing smile playing at his lips, and maybe it was the way he was looking at you, or the warmth of the room, or the hum still alive in your body from dancing—but you didn’t think too much about it.  

You rose onto the tip of your feet and kissed him.  

It surprised him—you could feel the way his body tensed, the way his breath caught—but he didn’t pull away. He didn’t hesitate. If anything, he reacted in the opposite direction entirely. His hands locked around you, one gripping your waist, the other pressing firm against the small of your back, dragging you in until there was nothing left between you but heat and breath and the sharp, electric rush of contact.  

His mouth opened under yours, the kiss deepening so effortlessly it made your head spin. You tilted your chin, parting your lips just slightly, and then his tongue was there, teasing the seam of your mouth. The first taste of him sent a spark up your spine, something hot and liquid pooling low in your stomach. A sound slipped from your throat—small, needy, completely unintentional.  

That seemed to tip something over the edge.  

Frankie exhaled sharply, his hands gripping harder, his kiss turning feverish, hungry. He moved forward, walking you back step by step until your shoulders hit the wall, his body pressing into yours. His fingers dragged down your spine, lower, lower—until his palm cupped your ass, his grip firm, hard, his thumb pressing into the curve of your hip.  

You gasped against his mouth, your pulse hammering, your skin burning everywhere he touched you. It wasn’t enough. It was suddenly, overwhelmingly not enough. The need was blooming fast inside you, hot and insistent, demanding more.  

Frankie’s mouth left yours only to drag along your jaw, his lips brushing over sensitive skin before he latched onto the curve of your neck. His kisses were warm, wet, his breath hot as he worked his way down, open-mouthed and eager, sucking just enough to make you shudder, biting just enough to make your pulse spike.  

Your breathing turned ragged, uneven, and when you reached for him, your hands trembled slightly, fingers slipping into his hair like you’d been aching to do all night. The curls twisted between your fingers, thick and soft, and when you tugged, just a little, Frankie let out a sound against your throat, something rough and needy that sent heat flooding through your limbs.  

Then he pulled back, just enough to look at you. His face was flushed, his lips parted, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. His eyes—god, his eyes—were darker than you’d ever seen them, blown-out with something raw and desperate, something barely held together. He looked wrecked.  

You barely had time to take him in before he was kissing you again, fast, consuming, like he couldn’t stand the space between you any longer. His tongue slid against yours, stroking deep, and you gasped into his mouth, the sensation making your stomach twist tight with heat.  

His grip on you was unrelenting. One hand still cupped your ass, kneading as he pulled you closer, while the other squeezed your waist, fingers digging into your skin as if to keep you exactly where he wanted you. Then, with a slow, agonizing drag, his hand moved higher, following the curve of your body, grazing over your ribs before settling at your shoulder.  

And then—without a word, without warning—he hooked his fingers under the thin strap of your dress and pulled it down.  

The fabric slipped easily, pooling at your waist in a whisper of movement, leaving you exposed, bare against him. Your breath caught as your breasts brushed against his shirt, the contrast of heat and fabric making you shiver. Frankie groaned, his head dipping back to your throat, mouth trailing lower, lips skimming over your collarbone as his fingers drifted down to your cleavage.  

A moan spilled from you before you could stop it, your back arching, your fingers tightening in his hair, tugging hard. Frankie exhaled sharply at the sensation, his hands moving over you with something just short of desperation, like he was memorizing the shape of you, like he couldn’t stand not touching you.

Frankie’s grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into the curve of your ass as his other hand slid to your hip. Then, with a fluid, practiced motion, he lifted you, pressing you against the wall with his body, holding you there with nothing but strength and urgency. Your legs locked around his waist instinctively, your dress riding up over your thighs as you moved.  

And then—you felt him. Hard, unyielding beneath you, pressing against the thin barrier of your underwear, sending a pulse of heat through you so intense it stole the air from your lungs.  

Your eyes fluttered shut as your hands found his face, fingers splayed along his jaw, tracing the shape of him before dragging him back to you. You kissed him like you needed it to live, mouths crashing together, breathless and messy, all tongue and heat and want.  

He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your chest, and then suddenly, he was peeling you away from the wall, holding you effortlessly as he walked. The motion sent a fresh wave of friction between your legs, a sensation so deliciously torturous that a sigh slipped from you.

Your mind swam—desire and alcohol tangling together, clouding your senses, making everything feel heightened, electric. Every inch of you was aware of him, of his hands gripping you firmly, of the way his breath came ragged against your skin, of the sheer heat radiating off his body.  

You didn’t realize where he’d taken you until your eyes blinked open and your mouth broke from his. The room was dark, the air thick with the weight of what was about to happen. Frankie nudged the door shut with his foot before carrying you to the bed, lowering you onto the mattress with a care that sent something hot and unbearable curling in your stomach.  

Your chest rose and fell in deep, uneven breaths, your skin buzzing, your nipples pebbling as a shiver passed through you. Above you, he stood at the edge of the bed, his gaze heavy, raking over you like he was committing you to memory. His lips were parted, his hair a mess from where your fingers had been, his entire body taut with restraint.

The light in your bedroom was soft, a muted glow spilling through the window, casting everything in pale blue and silver. Frankie lingered above you, his gaze locked onto yours, something unreadable shifting behind his eyes—hesitation, maybe, or something heavier.

But then you sat up, just slightly, your body tilting toward him, pulling back just enough to give him space, to show him he could reach for you again.  

And he did.  

His hands found your hips first, thumbs pressing into the curve of your waist, grounding himself in the warmth of you. Then, as if drawn by gravity, you fell back against the mattress, offering yourself up like an invitation. 

Frankie moved, positioning himself over you, his weight settling between your legs as his mouth descended to your neck. His lips were warm, teasing, a soft drag over your pulse before opening against your skin, kissing, tasting. You gasped when his teeth scraped along your collarbone, a gentle bite soothed by the heat of his tongue as he moved lower.  

Lower.  

Your breath hitched when he reached your chest, his mouth ghosting over the swell of your breast before closing around your nipple. His lips sealed over you, sucking with just enough pressure to send a sharp pulse of pleasure straight through your stomach. A quiet, aching sound slipped from your throat, and when his tongue flicked against you, a fresh wave of heat shot between your legs.  

Frankie groaned, the sound vibrating through your skin, and you felt the way his body reacted—the way his grip on you tightened, the way his fingers curled against your ribs as he sucked harder, the way his hips rolled just slightly against yours, pressing, teasing.  

And then—his leg.  

One of his thighs slotted between yours, the fabric rough against the thin lace of your underwear, pressing exactly where you needed him most. Your back arched instinctively, a shudder ripping through you as you moved against him, chasing the friction, chasing him.  

His mouth never left you, his hands never stopped mapping you out, like he was determined to unravel you completely.

The hunger in you was unbearable. It twisted deep in your stomach, pulsing in time with the frantic rhythm of your heart. For a fleeting, ridiculous moment, you thought it might break free from your chest entirely.

And then you snapped.

Your hands found Frankie’s shoulders, fingers digging in, pushing him back with a force that surprised even you. A soft, wet pop sounded as his mouth pulled away from your skin, his lips flushed, his breath coming out in a rough exhale.

You didn’t give either of you a moment to think. You pressed harder, guiding him onto his back until he was lying beneath you, sprawled out on your bed, chest rising and falling in uneven waves. His eyes flickered up to yours and before he could say a word, you climbed over him, knees settling on either side of his hips, palms pressed flat against his chest.

He was firm beneath you—solid, unrelenting, there—and for a second, you just felt it, the heat of him seeping through layers of fabric, the pressure of his body beneath yours.

Frankie let his head tip back slightly, his throat exposed, his breath catching in his chest. And your gaze dropped, drawn to the place you’d been watching all night, the place that had tempted you again and again.

Without hesitation, you leaned down and latched your mouth onto his neck.

You bit—just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath, his hands twitching at your waist. You kissed him there, tongue dragging over the mark you left, mouth moving against his skin like you wanted to devour him whole, like you could eat him alive and it still wouldn’t be enough.

And then, as if possessed by something outside of yourself, your hips moved.

Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was both. But the moment you felt him—hard beneath you, pressing exactly where you needed him—it became impossible to stop.

You rocked against him, chasing the friction, the feeling, the unbearable, pulsing ache. And Frankie watched you, his eyes locked onto the place where your bodies met, his fingers gripping your waist, urging you on, helping you, pressing you harder against him.

His mouth parted like he was about to say something, but then—he sat up.

One hand braced against the mattress behind him, the other sliding up your side. His lips found your chest again, hungry, impatient, and he took your breast into his mouth, sucking, licking, dragging his tongue across sensitive skin as your movements turned frantic, desperate.

Heat built between you, unbearable and intoxicating, a tension so thick it felt like you might shatter under the weight of it. And god, you wanted to shatter.

“Francisco,” you murmured, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as the air between you seemed to crackle. 

He pulled back, his face raw, his expression one of devastation. His eyes locked with yours, something passing between you—something unspoken, heavy, like a secret he hadn’t meant to reveal, or a confession that had slipped out before he could stop it.  

A soft sigh escaped his lips, and then his hands—those hands that had been so sure, so confident before—settled on your hips as if trying to keep you from moving. Trying to stop something that neither of you were sure you wanted to stop.  

“Baby,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, a murmur that almost didn’t reach your ears. “No.” 

You froze, your body stilling, confusion rising in you. Your chest ached, your pulse fluttering unsteadily as you tried to understand what he meant. Had you even heard him? His words felt distant, muffled by the weight of everything else that pressed down on you.  

And then, before you could gather yourself, his hands lifted you—effortlessly, as if you were nothing more than a feather in his grasp—and pulled you off of him, placing you beside him on the bed.  

You blinked, disoriented, vulnerable, your heart thundering against your ribcage. You tried to focus, to find words, but all you could manage was his name, your voice thin, fragile, barely more than a breath.  

“Frankie,” you said, a quiet plea.  

He turned his face toward you, and the look in his eyes made something cold and painful twist in your stomach.

“We can't,” he said, almost too softly, his voice cracking like a broken thing.  

He leaned in closer, but then, just as quickly, he pulled away, retreating to the edge of the bed, his back to you.  

Your body felt like it was on fire as you sat up, knees pressing into the bed, hands reaching out for him, desperate to bridge the space that had grown between you. You touched his back, fingertips brushing his skin.  

He jerked away like your touch had scorched him, a visible flinch, like he couldn’t bear the heat of your skin against his.  

“Frankie.”

“We can't,” he repeated, his words barely audible.  

“Why?” 

“I can’t,” he said, turning his head just enough for his gaze to meet yours. There was something in his eyes—something deeper than confusion, maybe regret, maybe guilt. His jaw tightened, and the words seemed to choke him. “I-I can’t.”  

"That's not—" 

"I shouldn't. We shouldn't."

"Why?" The question slipped from you, quieter than you'd intended, almost lost in the space between the two of you. But it rang in your ears, your breath stilling as you waited for him to answer. You were stunned by the sudden distance, the barrier he'd just put up between you.

He exhaled sharply, staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed on something you couldn't see, something distant. When he finally turned back to you, there was an edge in his gaze, something that wasn’t quite regret but more like hesitation, like he was struggling to keep his thoughts in order. 

"We're drunk, baby. You're going to regret it in the morning."

"That's not true," you said, but the words felt fragile, like you were trying to convince yourself as much as him. Your heart was beating erratically, a mix of frustration and desire coiling tightly in your chest.

"It is."

"Are you going to regret it in the morning?" you pressed, your voice thinner now.

He looked at you for a beat, silent, like he was trying to decide whether to lie, whether to say something easier. Then, almost reluctantly, he shook his head.

"No."

Your hand moved instinctively, reaching for him again, your fingers brushing his back. He didn’t pull away this time. 

"Frankie—"

"You don’t really want this."

"I do."

He shook his head again, his brow furrowing as he looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place.

"No. It’s been a complicated night, and we’ve had too much wine."

"This has nothing to do with the night, or the wedding, or anything." 

He sighed, a deep, frustrated sound, and closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened again, there was a kind of resignation in them.

"You’re Santi’s sister," he blurted, and as soon as the words left his mouth, you felt something inside you snap—an illusion.

Frankie’s eyes locked with yours, but there was something pained in his gaze now, something that made your chest tighten. The way he looked at you—it was as if your mere presence in that moment, sitting in front of him, bare and vulnerable, hurt him more than it should have. 

"That didn’t seem to bother you before," you said, your voice firm, holding steady despite the twist of anger in your stomach. "You’ve done worse things to me than this. You never cared that Santiago was my brother."

"This is different."

You stared at the ground, your heart sinking as the words echoed in your mind. Different. It wasn’t a word you wanted to hear. It didn’t make any of this easier to understand. 

"Okay," you whispered finally, your voice soft, resigned. You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you believed yourself.

“I should go,” he said, turning away from you, pressing the heels of his hands against his face like he could wipe away whatever had just passed between you.

You didn’t mean to make a sound, but one escaped anyway—something caught between a sigh and a whimper. Frankie turned at once, his gaze finding yours and holding it, his dark eyes scanning your face like he was trying to decipher something written there in a language he half-understood. For a moment, he just looked. And then he moved.

He stepped toward you, reaching for your dress. His fingers pulled the strap back over your shoulder, smoothing the fabric into place like it mattered, like it made a difference. Like it wasn’t already too late for that.

“I don’t want you to leave.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and you saw the way they landed.

Maybe it was just exhaustion, or the alcohol swimming in both your systems, making everything feel softer and sadder than it really was.

After a beat, he nodded, the motion almost imperceptible. “Okay.”

He took a step back, then another, eyes still on you as he pulled off his shoes and let them drop to the floor. You sat up, watching him with a quiet kind of curiosity, the crease between your brows deepening. And then you understood.

You exhaled, sinking back onto the bed, shifting just enough to make space. A moment later, the mattress dipped under his weight.

You turned your head, finding him beside you, his face illuminated only by the faint glow filtering through the window. He was looking at you the way he always did—like he saw something you didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“No,” he said. “Don’t be. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

You swallowed. “I like being with you.”

His lips parted, just slightly. “I like being with you too.”

For a second, you hesitated. Then, spurred by the lingering hum of wine in your blood, you reached out, your fingers grazing the sharp line of his jaw. His breath hitched, but he didn’t move away.

You let your eyes slip shut.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @jokesonthem @brittmb115 @sukivenue @awkwardmebaby @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @suzysface @picketniffler @gaypoetsblog @merz-8 @doblasftcisco @ultra-nina-bella @satanxklaus @readingiskeepingmegoing @copperhalfcent @ashhlsstuff @sunfairyy

[hsnlv]

🧸ྀི - jaeyun and his (cute) jealousy issues?

pairing: husband!jake x wife!reader • pls mind the fact that this is an actual (almost) teeth-rotting fluff!

a/n: im actually tooo lazy to make a proper layout for this one but enjoy it regardless! reblogs and comments are highly appreciated 🎀here’s my masterlist!🎀

—

you honestly have no idea what is going on with your husband lately.

jake’s usually the most easygoing, playful person you know — the kind of guy who laughs at his own jokes and kisses you on the forehead whenever he walks past. but lately? he’s been a walking storm cloud, and you’re starting to feel like you’re married to a grumpy old man instead of the golden retriever boy you fell in love with.

it started small — sighs when you took a little longer getting the baby to sleep, huffs when you missed dinner because the baby needed you. then it got worse. now, he snaps over everything.

tonight is no different.

“it’s just laundry, jake,” you sigh, leaning against the armrest of the couch as he paces like he’s on a mission to wear a hole in the carpet.

“just laundry?” he scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “the whole load smells like mildew now! that’s like… five shirts! gone!”

“you have fifty more in the closet,” you deadpan.

he opens his mouth to argue, then closes it with a glare.

you watch him, eyes narrowing. this isn’t about laundry. you’re sure of it. he’s been like this for weeks — tense, restless, snappy over the tiniest things. and every time you ask, he just mumbles “i’m fine” and stomps off like a teenager grounded from his xbox.

you’re tired of it.

“jake,” you say carefully, sitting up straighter. “can you please tell me what’s going on with you? you’ve been weird for days.”

“i’m not weird.”

“you’re literally brooding.”

“i’m not brooding.”

“you’re pacing dramatically and sighing like you’re in a sad music video.”

“i’m not—” he stops mid-step, glaring at you again. “i’m not brooding.”

you stare him down, crossing your arms.

“jaeyun.”

his jaw clenches.

“it’s nothing,” he mutters, turning away.

“jake,” you try again, voice softer now. “i’m your wife. talk to me.”

he doesn’t respond.

you sigh, running a hand through your hair. okay. plan b it is.

“if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” you say slowly, “i’m going to assume it’s something ridiculous.”

he snorts. “yeah, sure.”

“like… you’re mad because i finished the last of the cereal.”

“what? no.”

“or because i didn’t let you buy that life-sized iron man figure last week.”

“hey, that would’ve been cool.”

“or,” you pause dramatically, “you’re jealous of the baby.”

silence.

jake freezes.

your eyes widen.

oh. my. god.

“…you’re jealous of the baby?” you whisper, half in shock, half on the verge of laughing.

“no,” he says quickly — too quickly.

you gasp. “you are!”

“i’m not jealous of our kid!” he protests, turning red.

you stand up slowly, like you’re piecing together the biggest mystery of the century.

“oh my god. that’s why you’re acting like this? because i pamper her too much?”

he groans, dragging his hands down his face.

“it’s not — i didn’t mean —” he stumbles over his words, looking mortified.

you can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of you.

“jake,” you giggle, stepping closer to him. “are you seriously mad because i give the baby more attention than you?”

he groans louder, tipping his head back like he’s praying for the earth to swallow him whole.

“you do, though!” he finally bursts out, voice high-pitched and frustrated. “you kiss her all the time! you hold her, cuddle her, play with her — and i’m just… here! i get, like, one kiss a day now, and even that’s a forehead kiss while you’re half asleep!”

he’s full-on pouting now, looking like a kicked puppy.

you bite your lip, trying so hard not to laugh again.

“jaeyun,” you whisper, stepping closer to cup his cheeks. his face is warm under your hands. “are you seriously telling me you’re jealous of our three-month-old daughter?”

“i’m not jealous,” he grumbles, but his voice cracks. “i just… miss you. i miss when you looked at me the way you look at her. i miss cuddling without a baby monitor going off. i miss being the one you kiss all the time.”

your heart squeezes so hard it almost hurts.

you stare at him, his brows furrowed, lips downturned in the saddest little frown — and you realize he’s not even mad. he’s just hurt.

“oh, jaeyun,” you whisper, your voice softening. you pull him into a hug, feeling him melt into you instantly.

“i love you,” you murmur into his shoulder, holding him tight. “so much. you’re not in second place. you’re my first everything — first love, first choice, first home. you’re my person. and yeah, i’m obsessed with our baby, but that doesn’t mean i stopped being obsessed with you.”

he doesn’t say anything for a second — just squeezes you tighter, his face buried in your neck.

“i’m still mad about the laundry,” he mumbles.

you snort.

“you’ll live.”

he laughs, finally, and the sound is so warm and familiar that it makes your heart swell.

and from that moment on, jake doesn’t even try to hide how clingy he is.

he follows you around the house like a lost puppy, wrapping his arms around your waist whenever you’re cooking or cleaning. if you’re sitting down, he’s immediately in your lap — or pulling you into his. he whines when you get up, pouts when you leave the room, and steals every possible kiss he can.

“jaeyun, i have to go check on the baby,” you giggle as he tugs you back onto the couch for the third time that afternoon.

“she’s sleeping,” he huffs, nuzzling into your neck. “she gets you all day. i get you now.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

“yeah, but you love me.”

“unfortunately.”

he gasps dramatically. “take that back!”

“make me.”

he tackles you onto the couch, smothering you with kisses until you’re both breathless with laughter.

and honestly? you wouldn’t have it any other way.

©️ all rights reserved | hsnlv | 2025

[fangdokja]

♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 1,070

The first time you realized you were different, you were eight years old.

Your classmate had shoved you down during recess, the sting of gravel biting into your palms, tiny rivers of red threading through scraped skin. You should’ve cried. Should’ve screamed. Should’ve gone running to the teacher, a wail of injustice trembling on your lips.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you stared at your own blood, transfixed by the sting, by the heat pooling low in your stomach. It didn’t hurt the way you thought it should. It didn’t burn, didn’t ache—not in the way you’d seen on other kids’ faces when they fell and skinned their knees. No, this was something else, something deeper. It coiled around your ribs, settled in your bones, whispered to you in a language you wouldn’t understand for years.

Now you do.

Masochist.

Not the soft kind. Not the playful, safe-word-riddled fantasy people read about in their cheap romance novels. You crave something filthier. Something that strips you down, shatters you, molds you into something new in the hands of someone stronger, crueler, meaner than you. You crave humiliation, the sick thrill of being used, the feeling of being nothing more than a body, a plaything, a helpless, desperate thing waiting to be ruined.

But no one would ever know.

Your face is blank. Your voice is flat. People mistake your silence for apathy, for distance, never realizing that, beneath it, something writhes, something dark and unspeakable. You never let it slip. Never let anyone see the way your breath catches at a sharp tone, the way your pulse quickens when someone grips your wrist just a little too tightly.

Until him.

Your bully. Your nightmare. The monster who haunts your every step.

He’s everything you should fear—tall, broad, with a reputation that makes people lower their gazes when he walks by. A graduating senior with nothing to lose and a penchant for making your life hell. He doesn’t just torment you; he fixates. You don’t know why. You don’t know what he sees in you that makes him so relentless, so cruel.

“You got that dead-fish look again.”

His voice scrapes down your spine, dragging you back to the present. You blink up at him, caged between his arms, his body a wall of heat and malice.

“Aw, don’t tell me you like it?”

Your stomach twists. He doesn’t know. He can’t know. You force your face to remain blank, your voice steady. “Like what?”

His grin widens. “Getting bullied.”

Your breath stutters. His eyes catch it. His fingers twitch, as if he wants to grab you right then and there. He always sees too much. Always knows too well.

His hands slam against the wall beside your head, bracketing you in. You should shrink away. Should try to push past him. But you don’t.

“You’re annoying.”

He hums, head tilting, considering you. Then, suddenly, he grabs your chin, his grip just shy of bruising, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“And you’re a little liar.”

Something inside you fractures.

✦✧✦✧

You should’ve known better than to let him get you alone.

The party is loud, suffocating. You hadn’t wanted to come, but your roommate had insisted. And now you’re here, trapped in a stranger’s bedroom, the bass of the music downstairs rattling through the floor, your breath shallow as he looms over you.

He’s drunk. Not sloppy, not swaying—no, this is worse. This is the kind of drunk that makes him more dangerous, more unfiltered. More him.

“You ever wonder why I fuck with you so much?” he muses, stepping closer, backing you toward the mattress. “Why I always have to remind you where you stand?”

Your throat tightens. “I don’t care.”

He clicks his tongue. “Yeah? Then why are you shaking?”

His fingers graze your arm, raising goosebumps in their wake. You try to shove him away, but he catches your wrist easily, twisting it behind your back, pulling you against his chest.

Your stomach clenches. He’s so much bigger. So much stronger. The scent of him—smoke, sweat, something darker, something male—fills your lungs, makes your head light, makes your pulse race.

He dips his head, his breath hot against your ear. “Tell me to stop.”

You should. You should shove him, slap him, scream.

But you don’t.

His grip tightens. His other hand slides under your shirt, fingers dragging over the bare skin of your waist, pressing, kneading, claiming. “See?” His voice is thick with satisfaction. “You like this.”

Your face burns. “I don’t—”

He shoves you onto the bed, forcing you down, your face against the mattress. “Liar.”

Your breath stutters. Your hands claw at the sheets, but he’s already on you, his weight pressing you down, his hands wrenching your legs apart.

“You always act so tough,” he murmurs, his voice a dark promise. “Always act like you don’t care. But this—” his palm cracks against your ass, sharp and loud, making you jolt—“this is what you really want, isn’t it?”

You bite down on your lip, mortification curling hot in your stomach. He’s so cruel, so demeaning, spitting out each word like it’s something disgusting, something filthy.

And yet, it only makes you burn hotter.

Then he’s pressing in, thick, unrelenting, stretching you wide. A sharp gasp tears from your throat, your body tensing, struggling to take him.

He groans, his hands clamping down on your hips. “Fuck—you were made for this.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. He’s too deep, too thick, stuffing you full in a way that feels impossible. You can barely breathe, your walls clenching helplessly around him.

“You feel that?” His voice is rough, almost slurred with pleasure. “How you’re sucking me in? Fucking desperate.”

Your nails dig into the sheets. Shame burns at your throat, at the way your body betrays you.

He laughs, low and mean, rutting into you harder. “Gonna fuck that dead-fish look right off your face.”

Your mouth falls open, a choked noise escaping. He’s relentless, his thrusts brutal, using you like a toy, like a thing made for him.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growls, his pace turning frantic. “Make sure you never forget who you fucking belong to.”

And the worst part?

You want it.

You want it so badly it makes your head spin, makes your body tremble, makes you break apart completely under him.

You were always meant to be his.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

♡ List of Fandoms and Characters.

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

Ace Attorney: N/A

Arcane: N/A

Blue Lock: Michael Kaiser, Shidou Ryusei, Yoichi Isagi

Boku no Hero Academia: Dabi, Katsuki Bakugo

Brutal: Satsujin Kansatsukan no Kokuhaku: N/A

Death Note: N/A

Demon Slayer: Sanemi Shinazugawa

DC: Damian Wayne

Dishonored Series: N/A

Genshin Impact: Childe, Scaramouche

Haikyuu!!: Hajime Iwaizumi, Yūji Terushima

Honkai Star Rail: Blade, Boothill

How to Live as an Illegal Healer: N/A

Hunter x Hunter: Uvogin

I'm Not That Kind of Talent: N/A

Jujutsu Kaisen: Naoya Zen'in, Ryōmen Sukuna

Kill The Hero: Park Yong-Wan

Love and Deepspace: N/A

Mobile Legends: Bang Bang: N/A

MONSTER: N/A

Naruto Shippuden: Hidan, Zabuza Momochi

One Punch Man: Suiryu

Reverend Insanity: N/A

TOUCHSTARVED: Vere

Undertale Multiverse (Human AU): Bill! Sans, Dust! Sans, Fresh! Sans, Ink! Sans, Killer! Sans, Nightmare! Sans, Shattered Dream! Sans, Underfell! Papyrus, Underfell! Sans, Undertale! Chara

Wuthering Waves: Scar

Your Throne: N/A

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood. Thank you.

Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld , @yanderedrabbles

Test-Phase TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @imnotabot28 , @han11dh

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6 [you are here]. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

Test-Phase TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”:

♡ Book 7. Corpus Delicti (CD): Donum Mortis.

[ariichive]

JAGGED.ೃ࿔

caleb’s jealousy was uncontrollable and never goes away as quick as it comes.

cw: fem reader, not entirely smut but still gonna tag as 18+ mdni, jealousy, choking, possessiveness, teasing, gagging, kissing, marking, mullet caleb, biting, threats, violence, pet names, stripping, yandere, established relationship, stalking, manipulation, you both have a few screws loose... not proofread rip wc: 2.1k

whenever you returned home to caleb, he was always there with a warm smile and an even warmer embrace.

no matter how long you’d been gone—an hour, a day, a week—he greeted you like you’d been away for years.

the familiarity was gone today, it just felt cold and unwelcoming; something that has never happened before.

something was wrong. unsettlingly so.

"caleb?" you called out for him, only to receive no answer. he had to be here; he never left without telling you when he'd be back.

your heartbeat quickened as you stepped further inside, locking the door behind you out of habit. the air felt off—not in the way of an intruder, but in the absence of something vital. of him.

you called again, voice softer this time, hesitant. still, nothing.

the only light was from the pretty moonlight seeping in through the window, leaving your vision a bit distorted. you managed to find your way to the bedroom, making sure to be quiet in case he was sleeping or was listening to music.

the tension was thick as you seen a familiar silhouette sitting at the edge of the bed; your heartbeat didn't slow down or feel the usual comfort it did when you seen him.

"caleb, i was calling for you... are you okay?" you eyed him cautiously, shadows casting against his features. he didn't answer you, but the quiet hum he let out made it known he was listening.

"is everything okay..?" you tried once more to get him to talk.

"y'know, dear, it's so hard to stay mad at you. especially when you call my name so sweetly... like i couldn't ruin you any chance i get."

you gulped and took a cautious step back.

"what... what are you talking about?" you forced out, your voice smaller than you wanted it to be.

caleb tilted his head, finally moving—finally looking at you. his eyes, usually so full of warmth, were unreadable in the darkness.

"you’ve been careless," he murmured, tapping his fingers against his thigh like he was trying to keep himself in check. "running around, not paying attention, letting your guard down... do you know how easy it would be for something to happen to you?"

he didn't give you the chance to answer him. "i followed you. i followed you that entire time you were gone."

he turned towards you, allowing you to finally see his facial expression. a simple, blank smile with dark eyes.

"you didn't notice... you didn't notice me following you or the looks you got from other men." he let out a humorless laugh.

“you never even looked around,” he continued, his voice low and unsettling. “too busy, too trusting... always so trusting of them.” he tilted his head again, and the way he said them made your skin crawl.

you took another step back, your eyes darting to the door, to the window, anywhere but his face. you wanted to run.

"it was just an errand run...i don't think anyone was-"

“do you really think they weren’t looking at you?” he asked, his smile never fading. “that they weren’t admiring you? wanting you?” his laugh echoed again, sharp and bitter. "it was pitiful to watch those meaningless people look at you that way."

now, he stood up, extending to his full height. "caleb, you're being delusional." it wasn't the first time he's been jealous, just never to this extent.

"delusional?" he echoed, his voice dangerously soft, and the way he said it made your skin crawl. his smile stretched just a little wider, like a predator savoring the moment before pouncing.

"you think i’m delusional?" he repeated, stepping toward you again, his eyes never leaving yours. “you think they—those strangers—are any better for you than i am?”

you instinctively took another step back, your heart racing in your chest, the fear seeping deeper into your bones. you needed to get away.

"they don’t see you like I do," caleb continued, his voice low, the edge in it sharper now. "they don’t know you like I do. they don’t care about you the way I do." his eyes darkened. "you belong to me."

you flinched at his words, your hands trembling as you tried to push the panic down

"caleb," you whispered, your voice shaking now. "you’re not thinking clearly. please, just—!"

but he was already taking another step toward you, his eyes wild now, the control slipping away as his anger simmered to the surface.

you tried, truly, to bolt to the door as quick as possible.

caleb’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist with terrifying speed, pulling you back with an iron grip that made your breath catch in your throat.

"where do you think you're going?" his voice was low, dangerously calm. it was the kind of calm that made your skin prickle, a warning that sent every instinct inside you screaming.

you tried to twist free, but his hold only tightened, his fingers digging into your skin. your pulse raced in panic, your mind screaming for escape.

"y-you need space to clear your head, i... i can sleep on the couch." your words seemed to only anger him more.

caleb's grip on your wrist tightened and his eyes darkened, lips curling into a twisted sneer. "you think you can just leave like that?" he spat, his voice low and full of venom. "you think i’ll just let you sleep somewhere that's not beside me?"

you could feel the air between you both growing thicker, charged with a dangerous energy that made the room feel suffocating. your mind raced, grasping for anything—anything—that might calm him down, that might give you a chance to slip away.

his hand that was holding onto your wrist traveled up your body, rubbing into your skin gently. when he got to your collarbone, he increased the pressure, surely trying to leave a mark.

he leaned in closer, his breath hot on your face, and for a moment, you thought he might kiss you—but instead, he bit your lip.

the unexpected pain caused you to whimper and flinch away from him.

his hand slid further up your neck, and the pressure on your collarbone only intensified. it was suffocating, the way his touch had gone from gentle to possessive, to painful. you tried to move away, but his grip was unrelenting.

“i’ve been patient,” caleb continued, his voice low and rough, a mix of frustration and something darker. “but you’re making this so hard. you’re making me prove to you how much you need me. how much i need you.”

he paused for a second, and that's when you felt something cold wrap around your neck: the silver necklace you gifted him in childhood.

the action caused your heart to speed up. “you look gorgeous marked by me,” he whispered gently as he placed his forehead against yours.

with a cautious approach, you wrapped your arms around him and tried to calm your breathing, hoping he was finally calming down.

well, your actions seemed to only make things worse.

“y-you’re still so sweet, so soft, even after i treat you like this?” there was a vulnerability in his eyes that immediately hardened.

his body tensed against yours, his nails digging into your back ever so slightly. “you’re too good to me,” he murmured, almost to himself. his voice wavered, filled with something unsteady, something desperate. “too good.”

his forehead was still pressed to yours, but his eyes had darkened again, flickering with a storm of emotions. “you should hate me right now,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "you should be afraid of me."

he pulled back just enough to search your face, his gaze burning into yours, as if trying to understand why you weren’t running. why you weren’t screaming.

his hands slid down your arms, then back up, his touch almost reverent. "but you're still here," he murmured, his head tilting slightly. “even after all this. why?”

you swallowed thickly, trying to steady your voice. "because i love you, caleb."

the thin string keeping him together snapped.

he quickly lifted you, your legs wrapping around his torso. he threw you onto the bed, crawling on top of you. "i love you too, so much." he used the chain around your neck to lift your head to the same level as his.

your breath hitched as the cool metal of the necklace pressed into your skin, restricting your movement just enough to make your pulse race with something between fear and disbelief. caleb’s face was dangerously close, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a feverish intensity.

“you have no idea,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion, “just how much i need you.”

his grip on the chain tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that you were completely at his mercy. his free hand trailed along your jaw, his touch achingly gentle compared to the rough way he handled you moments before.

his lips found yours in an intense kiss, the hand wrapped around the necklace moved to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, his other hand moving to the buttons on your blouse.

he paused for a second, looking into your eyes, "are you okay?"

you nodded and pulled him back into a kiss, your own hand tugging at his shirt that barely concealed his toned body. he sent you a small smile as he took off the article of clothing.

your blouse slipped from your shoulders, and he took his time, pressing his lips to every inch of newly exposed skin as if committing each spot to memory. "so perfect," he murmured against you, his breath warm, his voice filled with something raw. "all mine."

when you let out a particular whine when he reached your sensitive spot, he moaned and bit down harder. he glanced up at your face, noticing you were biting your lip, tearing at the fragile skin.

his brow furrowed as he brought two fingers up to your mouth, gently shoving them down your throat. "only i can bite your pretty lips, okay?"

you whined around his fingers as he continued marking up your chest and neck.

his fingers pressed down just enough to make you gasp, your teeth and tongue brushing against his skin as he watched you with dark, lidded eyes. "that's it," he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. "bite me, sweetheart."

your body trembled beneath him as he continued his slow, deliberate assault on your skin, his lips trailing lower, teeth grazing sensitive spots just to feel the way you reacted. every sound you made only seemed to spur him on, his grip on you tightening with every little whimper and whine that left your lips.

he pulled his fingers from your mouth, dragging them down your chin, smearing the spit along your jaw before cupping your cheek. "you're so beautiful like this," he whispered, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, soothing over where you'd bitten too hard. "mine to love, mine to take care of."

you tugged on his hair, the grown-out mullet soft in your hands, making him let out a whine of your name.

his reaction sent a shiver down your spine, the sound so raw and desperate that it made your grip tighten instinctively. caleb's breathing grew heavier, his lips parting as he looked down at you with a mixture of adoration and hunger.

"you know what you do to me, don't you?" he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. his hands slid down your sides, fingers squeezing at your hips before settling there, holding you in place. "you drive me insane."

you smirked slightly, tugging at his hair once more just to hear that sweet sound again. "good," you teased, voice breathy, "it's only fair."

"'s not nice to tease, pipsqueak."

"what are you gonna do about it?" you taunted, fingers still tangled in his hair, giving another playful tug.

his grip on your hips tightened, and in a swift movement, he flipped you beneath him, pinning you against the mattress. his hands caged you in, his weight pressing into you just enough to make your breath hitch.

"oh, sweetheart," he purred, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "you really wanna test me tonight, huh?"

your heart pounded in anticipation, but you held your ground, looking up at him with a teasing smile. "maybe."

caleb chuckled, low and husky, his breath fanning against your skin. "guess i’ll just have to remind you who’s in charge then, won’t i?"

before you could respond, his lips were on yours again, stealing every word, every breath, until all you could think about was him.

bonus:

as you lay in his arms, you couldn't help the nagging thought at the back of your mind. "hey, caleb?"

he hummed in response, pulling you closer to his chest. "you... you really followed me the entire day?"

"yeah, it's a cute little pastime. get to see you window shop and stuff," he said with no shame whatsoever. "what kinda boyfriend would i be if i let you out alone?"

"a normal one."

he let out a small laugh, "go to sleep, [name]. we can't have you ruining your sleep schedule. need me to tell you a story?"

[scoupsakakitty]

Could you write a woozi x female reader where his song “Ruby” was written about reader, since she has red hair? Thank you!!

Ruby | idol!Woozi x Reader | fluff

Woozi sat quietly in his studio, the soft hum of his piano filling the space. The air was thick with a feeling of longing, a sort of ache that had been with him for months. His fingers grazed the keys, his mind replaying the memories of her. Y/N. Ruby. The girl with the hair as red as the setting sun, a color so vivid, it had left an imprint on his heart.

It had been almost a year since they first met, and in that time, she had become his muse, his inspiration, the spark that lit up his world. He’d written countless songs for Seventeen, pouring his heart and soul into them, but none had come close to expressing what he felt for her. Not until "Ruby."

Every note in the song was like a whisper of how he felt when he saw her—how her presence made everything brighter, how the warmth of her smile melted away his insecurities. He’d watched her from afar for months, unsure of how to put his feelings into words, unsure of whether she felt the same. But when he wrote "Ruby," everything fell into place.

The song wasn’t just a love song. It was his confession, a promise wrapped in melody. A secret he had been keeping from her, hoping one day she’d hear it and know that it was always meant for her.

"Ruby, your smile is a fire that never dies," he had written, the words flowing easily as if they were already waiting to be spoken. He had to get it right. He had to make her understand. His fingers trembled slightly as he played the opening chords, the tune both familiar and strange. It was a piece of his heart, laid bare for the world to hear.

But that night, as Woozi sat in the dimly lit room, the studio felt more lonely than it ever had before. He thought about her—the way she laughed when she was excited, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about things she loved, the way her hair shimmered in the sunlight, like a crown of fire. He had never told her how deeply he cared, and as the days passed, the fear of rejection gnawed at him.

He closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him. He imagined her walking into the room, her presence filling the space like the sun breaking through the clouds. What would it be like, he wondered, to tell her the truth? To hold her hand and say that he had written a song for her? That she was the "Ruby" in his life, the one who made everything shine.

Just then, he heard a knock on the door. His heart skipped a beat as he opened his eyes, realizing he hadn’t been alone for long. It was her—Y/N, standing in the doorway with that warm smile that could light up the darkest of rooms.

"Hey," she said softly, her voice a sweet melody he had grown addicted to.

"Hey," he replied, his voice a little shaky. His heart raced. "I didn’t expect you to come by tonight."

Y/N stepped inside, her red hair catching the light, making her look like a vision straight out of a dream. She had always been beautiful, but tonight, she seemed almost unreal, like a piece of art.

"I was thinking about you," she said, walking toward him. "I heard you were working on something new. What is it?"

Woozi’s eyes darted nervously to the piano. The song he had written was for her, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to let her hear it. Not yet. Not before he knew if she felt the same way.

"Well, it’s just a little something I’ve been working on," he said quietly, trying to play it cool. "It’s not finished, though."

But Y/N, as perceptive as ever, tilted her head and smiled knowingly. "I know you, Woozi. You always finish your songs. You’re just afraid of sharing them."

His heart clenched. She knew him so well. Maybe it was time. Maybe it was time to let her in.

"Okay," he said softly, his fingers brushing over the keys. He hesitated for a moment, his breath caught in his throat, but then he began to play.

The familiar chords of "Ruby" filled the room, the melody floating through the air, soft and haunting. Y/N watched him closely, her eyes filled with curiosity. As he played, his heart beat louder in his chest, every note an echo of the feelings he had kept hidden for so long.

When he finished, there was silence. Y/N stood still, her eyes wide, as if she were processing everything at once.

"It’s… it’s beautiful," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Who’s it about?"

Woozi took a deep breath, his heart thundering in his chest. He looked at her, his gaze unwavering, and finally said the words he had been holding back for so long.

"It’s about you, Y/N. It’s always been about you."

Y/N’s eyes softened, and a smile tugged at her lips. "Me?"

"Yeah," Woozi replied, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re Ruby. The one who brightens everything. The one who makes me feel alive."

A wave of emotion washed over him as he spoke, and for the first time, he didn’t feel afraid. He didn’t feel like he was hiding anymore.

Y/N stepped closer, her hands gently cupping his face. "Woozi," she whispered, her eyes searching his. "I’ve always known. I just didn’t know how to tell you."

And in that moment, Woozi realized that the song wasn’t just his confession. It was theirs. A love story written in notes and chords, a secret finally shared.

With a soft sigh, he closed the distance between them, and for the first time, he kissed her—his Ruby.

[lazysoulwriter]

not today, lando, not today. - lando norris.

----

Lando had been a cocky little shit all day. Not in a mean way, just in that insufferably smug, teasing way of his—full of himself, playful, with that infuriating smirk that made you want to roll your eyes every five minutes.

He had mocked you at breakfast, laughed when you almost dropped your phone in the pool, made fun of your music taste while driving, and then absolutely destroyed you in every game you played together, just to rub it in your face afterward.

And you? You didn’t argue. Didn’t snap back. Didn’t even give him the look.

You just let him be.

But now, in the dim light of your bedroom, it was your turn to play.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, Lando barely looked up from his phone. But then you let the towel drop, revealing your delicate, baby pink lace lingerie, and suddenly, he was very, very attentive.

His breath hitched.

Already in bed, wearing nothing but sweatpants, he sat up instantly, eyes dragging over your body like you were the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen.

— Fuck... — he muttered, reaching out to touch your waist.

You took a step back.

— No.

Lando blinked.

— What?

— You heard me. No.

Your voice was soft but firm, and the confusion on his face was almost amusing. His brows knitted together as he tried to figure out if you were messing with him.

— But, baby... — He tried again, reaching for your wrist, only for you to pull it away. — What did I do?

You crossed your arms, tilting your head slightly with an almost smug smile.

— You were an asshole all day, Lando.

— No, I wasn’t! — he defended himself immediately, then hesitated. — Okay, maybe a little bit. But you didn’t even say anything!

— Exactly. I saved it for now.

The panic in his eyes was delicious.

— Oh, no, baby, come on… — He crawled to the edge of the bed, desperate to pull you closer, but you dodged him, walking over to the mirror to let your hair down, acting as if he weren’t even there.

— You should’ve thought about that before being an insufferable little shit all day.

Lando groaned, running a hand down his face.

— Okay, okay, I was a dick. I’m sorry, alright? I swear—

— No.

The word was firm, and yet, laced with something so teasing, so damn tempting, that he shivered. His eyes darkened as he watched you turn toward him, leaning against the dresser, your posture relaxed despite the tension in the air.

— I’m gonna lose my mind — he groaned, gripping the sheets. — You look so hot, and I can’t even touch you?

You laughed, finally walking toward him, stopping right in front of where he sat on the bed. His eyes roamed slowly, drinking in every detail of the lace, the soft curves of your body, the way your lips curled into that victorious little smile.

— Goodnight, baby — you whispered, leaning in just enough for your lips to almost touch his… and then you pulled away, moving to your side of the bed.

Lando cursed under his breath, falling back onto the mattress with a frustrated sigh.

— I hate this — he grumbled, turning to face you in the dark. — But I also love it.

You smiled against your pillow, feeling the heat of his stare on your skin.

He might’ve been a cocky little shit all day, but right now? Right now, he was just a desperate man in your bed.

And nothing was sweeter than that.

----

[lvnleah]

the ears tour | our little love.

could be the last roo fic for a bit because im struggling writing her so so much. If anyone has any ideas please send them in <33

You had been to Wembley before. You had sat in the stands, wearing your tiny England shirt with Mead on the back, watching Beth play on one of the biggest stages. You cheered when Beth scored, jumped up and down when Viv made the perfect pass while playing for the Netherlands, and clapped along as the whole stadium sang Sweet Caroline after the match. 

But this was different.

Tonight, Wembley wasn’t a football stadium. It was something else entirely. The air buzzed with excitement, people shimmered in glitter and sequins, and everywhere she looked, arms were stacked with friendship bracelets. You gripped Viv’s hand tightly as they stepped out of the car, eyes wide.

Viv squeezed her hand. “Excited?”

You nodded excitedly. “Yeah! We’re seeing Taylor Swift, Mamma! Look at my cowboy boots too!”

Viv looked down at your boots—pink, covered in tiny white stars, the ones Monkey had given you for your birthday. You had insisted on wearing them, even though Beth warned you they might make your feet sore after a while.

Viv grinned. “Monkey made a good choice, huh?” she said, reaching down to adjust them just slightly. “They look perfect.”

Beth chuckled, taking your free hand. “They’re gonna be great for dancing. You ready to sing your heart out?”

You nodded so hard your braids bounced. “Yes!”

The closer you got to the stadium, the louder everything became. People were singing already, trading friendship bracelets, and you felt like your heart might pop out of your chest from excitement.

Inside, the stadium felt even bigger than when it was set up for football. The last time you were here, the grass was green, and the seats were filled with fans in football kits. Now, the stage stretched out in front of you, screens glowing, lights flashing in different colours.

You tugged on Viv’s sleeve. “Mamma, where’s the pitch?”

Beth scooped you up onto her hip as you admired the stage from the box you were in, “It’s under the stage, munchkin.”

“Oh…” you mumbled, “So it’s not disappeared then? ‘Cus we need it for you and Mamma to play on!”

Viv laughed, “No Roo, it’s not disappeared, don’t worry. It’ll be back the next time we’re here for football.”

“That’s good then!” You smiled. “I don't want the pitch to leave.”

With a little help from Beth, you spent the time before the concert swapping bracelets with other people around you. Every time you got a new one, you held it up proudly to Beth and Viv.

“Look! This one says Enchanted, Mummy you like that song!”

Beth ruffled your hair. “I do, it’s a good one isn’t it?”

Viv laughed. “You’re gonna have more bracelets than arms at this rate, Roo.”

A little while later, the lights dimmed and the entire stadium erupted into cheers. Your heart leapt into your throat as the music started, and suddenly, it was real—Taylor Swift was right there, and the whole crowd was singing along.

You screamed the lyrics, dancing in your boots, twirling when Viv spun you around. It felt like magic.

At one point, your legs got tired, and Viv lifted you onto her shoulders. Up there, you felt like you could see everything way better. The stage, the crowd, the way Beth laughed up at you, shaking her head as you waved your hands in the air.

Beth pulled out her phone, recording you. “You’re gonna love watching this back, Roo.”

But you didn’t care about videos right now. Right now, all you cared about was this.

The music, the lights, the way Viv held onto your legs so you wouldn’t fall. The way Beth grinned at you.

It was the best night ever.

But even the best nights had to slow down eventually.

Your voice was hoarse, your feet were sore, and no matter how hard you tried to fight it, your eyelids started to feel heavy.

Then, the soft notes of Never Grow Up filled the stadium, and suddenly, everything felt warm.

Viv felt it before you did.

Before you could even wobble, she lifted you down, settling you in her lap.

“I think she’s done for the night,” Viv murmured, rubbing slow circles on your back.

“I’m not…sleepy,” you mumbled, but even as you spoke, your head was already drooping onto Viv’s shoulder.

Beth smiled, tucking a loose curl behind your ear. “Of course not, Roo.”

Viv pressed a kiss to your forehead. “It’s okay, kleine. Go to sleep.”

You curled into Viv’s chest, letting your eyes slip closed.

Warm, safe, and happy, lulled by Taylor’s voice and the hum of the crowd, you drifted off.

You didn’t see the rest of the concert, but you didn’t need to.

You would definitely remember this forever.

[gojover]

“kiss me.”

those two words are already enough to make iwaizumi’s poor, alcohol-muddled brain come to a screeching halt. he gapes at you, unsure if he’s heard you correctly.

“iwaizumi,” you say, “i know this is sudden and weird and strange, but i need you to kiss me, like, right now.”

he blinks at you, hard. “you’re drunk,” he states, though his own words are slightly slurred.

“i am,” you confirm, nodding. “but that’s not the point.”

he squints, trying to piece together whatever mess you’ve roped him into this time. the party is still raging behind you, music thumping through the walls, but here in the dimly lit hallway, it’s just you—flushed and desperate, fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve.

“what exactly is the point, then?” he asks warily.

you glance over your shoulder, then back at him, urgency clear in your expression. “that guy over there won’t leave me alone.”

iwaizumi frowns instantly, body tensing. “who?” 

“not important. what’s important is that you kiss me so he gets the message.”

his stomach does a weird flip, and he can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the fact that you’re looking at him like you’re actually considering—like it’s not just some convenient excuse.

“c’mon, iwa.” your voice drops into something softer, almost teasing, but still urgent. “it’s not like you haven’t thought about it.”

his brain short-circuits for the second time tonight.

before he can respond, you’re tugging at his shirt, and suddenly, your lips are on his—warm, and tasting faintly of whatever cheap cocktail you’ve been nursing all night.

iwaizumi stiffens at first, hands hovering uncertainly in the air, brain scrambling to catch up. he’s drunk, sure, but not drunk enough to miss the fact that this is you—his best friend barring oikawa, the person he’s known for years, the one person who shouldn’t be kissing him like this.

but you are.

and worse? he’s kissing you back.

your fingers twist into the front of his shirt, tugging him closer, and a little noise escapes the back of his throat before he can stop it. his hands finally move, one settling hesitantly at your waist while the other cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. you smell like your shampoo, the same scent he’s gotten whiffs of on his hoodies after you’ve stolen them, and everything is too much.

he pulls back slightly, breathing hard. “you—” his voice cracks, so he swallows and tries again. “you sure that guy’s even looking?”

you blink up at him, dazed. “huh?” 

“i mean, if you were just trying to make a point—”

“oh. oh!” you glance over your shoulder, looking a little lost, then turn back to him with a sheepish grin. “yeah. i forgot about that.”

he lets out a rough, incredulous laugh. “you forgot?”

you nod, still gripping his shirt. your thumb brushes against the skin at his collarbone, and his stomach flips again.

“wow,” you say, quieter. “you kiss really well.”

iwaizumi lets loose a breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. his heart is pounding, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands anymore—if he should step away and put distance between you, or if he should just pull you back in, consequences be damned.

you must notice the hesitation because you’re much closer, now, tipping your chin up and whispering, “we can stop if you want.”

it doesn’t feel like you want to stop. and god help him, he doesn’t want to stop either.

his fingers tighten at your waist. “you’re gonna regret this in the morning.”

you smile, all soft and lazy. “guess we’ll find out.”

#3. a breathy demand, “kiss me”, and what the other person does in response.

[riddlesrizzler]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙬𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙁𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧

summary: On her big night, a dancer’s performance shines brighter with the love and support of her boxer boyfriend

characters: boxer! mattheo. ballet! reader

warnings: mentions of bruising and scars.

word count: 1.2k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The stage lights burned hot against your skin, casting an ethereal glow over your tutu as you stood in position, heart thrumming like the wings of a swan you were about to become. The air hummed with anticipation, the quiet murmur of the audience beyond the curtain almost drowned out by the pounding of your pulse.

This was it. Opening night.

You had spent months preparing for this moment, every plié, every fouetté, every aching muscle leading up to the role of a lifetime: Odette, the Swan Queen. It had been a dream since childhood, and now it was real. Your name was printed at the top of the program, your silhouette graced posters outside the theater. You had worked for this. You had earned this.

And yet, a flicker of nervous energy danced through you, setting through your fingers as they tremble, clutching the edge of your costume.

What if I fail?

"Breathe," you whisper to yourself, inhaling deeply, just as your ballet mistress had always told you. "You're ready for this."

The soft rustle of movement caught your attention, and when you turned, your breath hitched in your throat.

Mattheo.

He stood near the wings, barely inside the backstage area, looking completely out of place amid the sea of dancers and stagehands. He was all hard lines and rough edges, broad shoulders draped in a dark black hoodie that did little to conceal the sheer power beneath. His knuckles were bruised, wrapped in tape from his latest fight, and faint scars traced his jawline like stories of battles he never spoke about. His dark curls were tousled, like he'd run his hands through them a hundred times, and his stormy eyes looked onto yours the second you looked at him.

He held a bouquet of white roses.

Your heart clenched.

"You came," you breathed, stepping towards him.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes like it should have been obvious. "Of course I came. You think I'd miss this?"

Your lips parted, but before you could say anything, he reached for your hand, fingers rough but gentle as they closed around yours. His thumb brushed over your wrist, feeling the quickened pulse there.

"Nervous?" he murmured.

You nodded, exhaling shakily. "A little"

He studied you for a long moment, then, without warning, he lifted your joined hands and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. The sensation was featherlight, a stark contrast to the violence he carried in his fists.

"You're gonna be perfect," he said, his voice low and certain. "You always are."

Warmth spread through you, chasing away the last lingering traces of doubt. You smiled, giving his fingers a squeeze before the call for places rang through the backstage area.

"I have to go," you whispered.

He nodded, stepping back but letting go just yet. "I'll be right out there."

With one last lingering glance, you turned and slipped onto the stage, stepping into the light, into the role you were meant to play.

—

The performance was a blur of motion and music. You became Odette, lost in the grace and tragedy of the Swan Queen's story. The world outside the stage ceased to exist; there was only the dance, the swell of Tchaikovsky’s score, and the aching beauty of the tale you wove with every movement.

And yet- you felt him.

Even in the vast theater, even with the hundreds of eyes watching you, you knew exactly where Mattheo was.

He was in the front row, watching with an intensity that set your skin aflame. He had never been one for the arts, had never understood your world of pirouettes and pliés, but tonight- tonight, he saw you. Not just as a dancer, not just as his delicate girl who patched up his knuckles after every brutal match, but as something untouchable, something breathtaking.

You danced for him.

—

By the time the final notes rang through the theater and the stage faded to black, your chest heaved with exertion, sweat glistening on your skin. The silence hung for a single, suspended moment.

Then- applause.

Thundering, deafening applause erupted from the audience, washing over you like a wave. You blinked, chest tightening as the realization hit you.

You had done it.

The curtain call was a blur of people. Bouquets were handed to you, cheers filled the air, and then before you even had a chance to process it all, you were rushing off the stage, heart hammering against your ribs.

You barely made it past the wings before Mattheo was there, his arms wrapping around you.

You gasped as he lifted you clear off the ground, spinning you effortlessly, crushing you to his chest. His grip was strong, unyielding, he like never wanted to let go.

"You were unbelievable," he muttered against you temple.

You laughed breathlessly, hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie as he set you back down. "You think so?"

He huffed. "I know so." Then, with a smirk, "Might've broken a guy's nose for talking during your solo."

You stared at him, wide-eyed. "Mattheo-"

"Kidding," he grinned, but you weren't entirely convinced.

Before you could protest, he shoved the bouquet of white roses into your arms, his usual scowl softening. "These are for you. Thought they fit."

Your fingers tightened around the stems as emotion welled in your throat. White roses. The symbol of new beginnings, of purity and admiration.

You met his gaze, seeing something raw and unspoken in the depths of his dark eyes.

"Thank you," you murmured, voice trembling.

He shrugged, looking almost shy, which was rare for him. Then, before you could think, before you could dwell on it- you kissed him.

It was quick, just a soft press of your lips against his, but it sent electricity racing through your veins. When you pulled back, you saw the way his eyes darkened, the way his fingers twitched to pull you closer.

"You're mine, Swan," he muttered, voice rough as his forehead rests on yours.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. "And you're mine, Fighter."

Mattheo smirked, brushing a thumb over your cheek before tilting his head toward the exit. "Come on, I'm taking you to dinner. You deserve the world after that."

You laughed, allowing him to lace his fingers through yours as he led you away from the stage, away from the cheers and the lights. because no matter how much you loved the ballet, no matter how much you belonged in that world-

You would always find your way back to him.

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

I’m a flower, you’re the bee.

Summary: you and Spencer celebrate a year together, and he surprises you in the most sweetest way…

A/N: short but sweet 🥹

BYR(b4 you Reid): just pure cuteness

you never thought this would be your life, being with someone like Spencer Reid. A man who was gentle, who listened to you with his whole heart, and who never made you feel small.

Before him, calmness seemed like something only other people had found. But with Spencer, it was real. Calm wrapped around you like a soft breeze. Every moment with him felt like a sigh of relief.

“Are you ready, dear?” Spencer asked. You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the white sundress that hugged your figure. Through the reflection, you caught his eyes, his expression was soft and warm.

“Almost.” You answered with a smile.

He nodded, stepping closer. He didn’t need to ask, or even take a second guess, he already knew what was missing. The delicate gold necklace he gave you six months ago rested on the vanity.

He picked it up and brushed your hair aside, the cool chain skimming your skin as he clasped it. “This dress is beautiful on you.” He murmured, his eyes trailing over you.

“Thank you.” You replied, your voice softer now. “I wasn’t sure about it.”

“I’m glad you wore it.” He said simply. His fingers lingered for a moment before his hands dropped to his sides.

Turning to face him, your hands found his chest. “This shirt.” You teased, your fingers playing with the buttons. “It’s lovely, whoever picked it out has really good taste.”

“Yeah, it was this beautiful lady.” Spencer smirked. “Beautiful?”

“Very.”

His hands rested on your waist, the warmth of his touch sending a pleasant shiver through you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, swaying gently together.

“As much as I’d love to stay like this.” You murmured, “I think we have somewhere to be.”

“Right.” He chuckled. “But when we get back…”

“Then we can pick up where we left off.” You finished for him, grinning.

You both reluctantly pulled away, Spencer grabbing his coat and keys while you reached for your purse. As always, he opened the door for you, offering his hand as you stepped outside.

He never told you where you were going, and honestly, you didn’t mind. Spencer’s surprises were always worth the wait.

The car ride was peaceful. Your favorite music played softly in the background.

Your fingers laced through his as he drove, his thumb brushing over your skin. You never used to crave touch, but with Spencer, it was different. You wanted to be close to him, to feel him. And he was the same way.

“Where are you taking me?” you asked, your curiosity getting the best of you as you passed by countless of restaurants and parks.

“I'm not going to tell you.” he replied, squeezing your hand. “But we are almost there.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Alright but if this involves skydiving or any sort of jumping from anything, I’m out.”

He laughed shaking his head. “No Skydiving, or jumping out of anything. I promise.”

Minutes later, Spencer pulled onto a gravel path leading to a ranch. Fields of green stretched out before you, the air fresh and crisp.

Your eyes lit up as you noticed a table set up in the distance, draped in white and elegant dinnerware.

You hadn’t even noticed Spencer had opened the car door waiting for you to take his hand. “Spencer.” you gasp stepping out.

The both of you walked hand in hand up to the set up, there was a singular glass rose in the middle of the table, and you grabbed it.

“It’s a forever rose, a testament to the love I will forever have for you.”

You looked at Spencer, your cheeks flushed. He was always sweet, but this was different.

“I love you so much,” you say, wrapping your arms around him. His hands instinctively find your waist, just as they always do.

“Do you like it?” He asked, searching your eyes. “Baby, this is perfect. I love it.” You smiled as you cupped his cheek, tears welling in your eyes.

“Good.” He murmured, as he leaned down leaving a gentle kiss on your nose. “Shall we?”

He moved toward the chair, pulling it out. Always the gentleman.

You sat and watched him make his way toward the other one. You hadn’t even realized that there was a chef and a server there with you guys until the server came up and filled your glass with red wine.

“How long did this take to plan?” You ask, sipping from your glass. “A while.” He admitted “But it was worth every second.”

Your heart swelled. “When did you even find the time?”

“On the jet. After cases. While you were asleep.” He listed with a grin.

You laughed. “And I didn’t suspect a thing.”

He nodded. “That was the goal.”

Your hand reached across the table for his, you loved everything he had done but honestly you couldn’t wait to go home and show him just how grateful you are for him.

Dinner passed in a blur of laughter and soft touches. You found yourself just admiring him, admiring the way the golden light hit his face, how his smile reached his eyes.

God you were so in love.

“I love you.” You said, the words tumbling from your lips without a second thought. “I love you more.” He replied, his fingers tracing slow circles on your hand.

The distance was too much. Spencer had moved closer to you, pulling his chair next to yours. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, and you leaned into him.

You’d been through so much before him. A life filled with chaos, uncertainty, and noise. Spencer had too, and it never failed to amaze you how two people with so much pain could become each other's sanctuary, showing one another peace they never had.

In a world that could be so dark, you guys were each other's light.

“Spence.” You murmured, your lips brushing his ear. “I’m ready to go home.”

He grinned. “I can take us there.”

The drive back was filled with soft laughter and stolen glances. But when you reached your apartment, Spencer paused, a spark of excitement flickering in his eyes.

“One more surprise.” He said, cutting the engine.

“Spencer.” You protested, though your smile betrayed you. “You already did so much.”

“There’s always room for more when it comes to you.”

You shook your head fondly, and he came to your side opening your door. Hand in hand you made your way to your home, you unlocked it and walked inside.

The apartment looked the same, nothing out of place. Then Spencer disappeared into the guest room, returning moments later with something small tucked in his arms.

“Are you ready?”

You nodded eagerly. And when he reveled the tiny kitten, your heart nearly burst.

“Spencer.” You gasped, taking the little baby into your arms. Tears welled in your eyes. You’d talked about getting a pet for months, but Spencer had always hesitated.

“He’s a boy.” Spencer said softly, watching the way you cradled the kitten like he was a baby you had just given birth to.

“Spencer.” You whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I’m so happy.”

“Don’t cry.” He chuckled, wiping your tears with the pad of his thumb.

“I can’t help it.”

“What are you going to name him?” He asked, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Cheese.” You said without thinking.

“Cheese?”

You grinned. “It fits.”

Spencer laughed, the sound full and warm. “Okay, Cheese it is.”

You kissed the top of the kittens head, before leaning up to kiss Spencer’s lips. “Today was perfect.” You whispered.

“Anything for you.” He murmured, wrapping his arms around you.

And as you held your new kitten and curled into Spencer’s embrace, all you could think about was how lucky you are. How, after everything you’d endured, you found him.

You’d go through it all again thousand times over, as long as, in the end, it was Spencer waiting for you…

Hope you guys love this<3 thank you to all that leave comments, and reposts. I appreciate it so much! xoxo

Read more of my writings here<3

Tag list

@alastorssimp @sleepysongbirdsings @khxna

~ tag list is open~

[callikari]

ABOUT YOU ─── && he saved me, in every way a person can be saved.

이희승 ──── angst ,, wc :: 3.9k ❤︎ drowning, class divide, themes of loss and grief, heartbreak, kissing

more like this

the first time you met lee heeseung, he was standing at the very edge of the ship, arms wide open, laughing into the wind.

“you’re insane,” you remarked, though your voice lacked the sharpness you intended. something about him—the way he smiled so freely—made you hesitate.

he turned, dark eyes meeting yours, sparkling under the golden glow of the setting sun. “nah,” he said, grinning. “just feels good to be alive.”

alive. you couldn’t remember the last time you truly felt that way.

your life had been perfectly curated—an existence wrapped in lace and pearls, suffocating under the weight of wealth and expectations. you were engaged to a man you did not love, chosen for you by your family to ensure financial security and a pristine reputation. the titanic was supposed to be your journey toward that future, but the closer you got, the more you realized you wanted to run.

and then there was heeseung.

wild and reckless, he smelled of salt and freedom. his clothes didn’t fit quite right, his laughter carried no restraint. he didn’t belong to your world of calculated gestures and cold affluence. instead, he existed in the spaces between—untamed, unpredictable, alive.

“come on, princess,” he teased, holding out a hand. “live a little.”

hesitantly, you placed your hand in his. it was warm, rough with callouses. foreign, yet grounding.

and with that, heeseung changed everything.

he took you to the parts of the ship you’d never dared to venture—the third-class decks, where music and laughter filled the air, where people danced as if the world was theirs.

“this is living,” heeseung said, spinning you into his arms as the violinist played a spirited tune.

you laughed, breathless, trying to match his steps but stumbling in your expensive shoes. he caught you effortlessly, hands firm at your waist.

“you’re terrible at this,” he teased, eyes twinkling.

“then teach me,” you challenged, gripping his arms for balance.

so he did.

with every step, every spin, you felt the weight of your old life slipping away. the constraints of your engagement, the expectations, the suffocating future ahead—it all melted under the warmth of heeseung’s touch.

when the song ended, you found yourself breathless, not from the dancing but from the way he looked at you. like you were real.

“i’ve never met someone like you,” you murmured.

heeseung tilted his head, considering you. “that’s funny,” he said softly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “because i’ve never met someone like you either.”

and for the first time in your life, you thought—maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to be who the world had shaped you into. maybe you wanted to be the girl he saw.

on your last night together, heeseung took you to the bow of the ship, where the sky stretched endless above the dark sea.

“close your eyes,” he whispered, standing behind you.

you hesitated, but his hands were gentle as they rested on your waist, steadying you.

“trust me.”

so you closed your eyes.

“now,” he murmured, voice warm against your ear, “spread your arms.”

slowly, you lifted them, feeling the wind rush against your skin, the world melting away beneath you.

“you’re flying,” heeseung whispered.

and for the first time, you believed it.

you turned to face him, heart hammering against your ribs. heeseung’s gaze was soft, searching, as if memorizing every inch of you.

“i think,” you whispered, “you were put on this earth to ruin me.”

heeseung smiled, but it was tinged with something sad, something knowing.

“or maybe,” he said, brushing his fingers against your cheek, “i was put here to save you.”

and then—his lips met yours.

it was not the kiss of a gentleman from your world. not practiced, not rehearsed. it was raw, urgent, desperate in the way that made your knees weak, your hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if letting go would shatter you completely.

when he pulled away, foreheads touching, you whispered, “run away with me.”

heeseung exhaled sharply, pressing his lips to your knuckles. “you don’t mean that.”

“i do.”

he hesitated, searching your eyes, and for a moment, you thought he would say yes.

but fate had other plans.

it happened too fast.

the iceberg. the chaos. the desperate screams echoing into the night.

water swallowed the lower decks, creeping up the grand staircases, pulling the ship into its cold embrace.

heeseung found you amidst the madness, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the panicked crowd.

“stay with me,” he said, voice firm despite the terror in his eyes.

but the world was cruel, and the sea showed no mercy.

when the ship broke in half, you plunged into the freezing abyss, the breath stolen from your lungs as the ocean dragged you under.

you would have drowned—if not for him.

heeseung pulled you up, his grip the only thing anchoring you to life. somehow, in the wreckage, he managed to find a floating door, pushing you onto it.

“come on,” you choked, reaching for him. “there’s room.”

he tried, but the moment he climbed on, the wood tilted dangerously.

heeseung shook his head, forcing a grin. “looks like it’s just you, princess.”

“no,” you gasped, gripping his hand. “we’ll find another way. you have to stay with me.”

but you were losing him.

his skin was pale, lips tinged blue, eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion.

“listen to me,” he whispered, squeezing your fingers weakly. “you’re going to survive this.”

“not without you,” you cried, tears mixing with the freezing ocean spray.

heeseung smiled, the saddest one you’d ever seen. “you have a whole life ahead of you.”

“so do you,” you begged. “please, heeseung—”

but he was slipping.

you felt his fingers go slack, his body floating gently away.

“no,” you sobbed, reaching out, but the current was already pulling him beyond your grasp.

gone.

the world blurred, the screams fading into the howling wind.

somewhere in the distance, a lifeboat called for survivors.

you wanted to let go, to sink into the abyss with him.

but heeseung’s voice echoed in your mind—

“live for me.”

so you did.

years later, when people asked about that night, you never spoke of him.

he belonged to you alone, a memory untouched by time.

but on quiet nights, when the world was still, you would close your eyes and hear his laughter in the wind, feel the warmth of his hand in yours.

and sometimes, when the waves whispered secrets to the shore, you would say his name.

“but now you know there was a man named lee heeseung, and that he saved me, in every way that a person can be saved.”

and maybe, just maybe—somewhere beyond the stars, heeseung was still laughing, arms wide open, waiting for you to fly again.

taglist — @ash-engen @cheruphic @jungwonbropls @chrrific

© callikari — all rights reserved

[dorabellingham]

You came

warning: none

characters: jobe x reader

summary: when he invites you to go to a game for the first time but doesn't think you're going

may contain spelling and translation errors!

Jobe had never been the nervous type for a game. Since he was little, he always knew that soccer was his place, that being on the field was natural for him. But on that specific summer night, when he was in the Sunderland locker room getting ready to enter the field, he felt something different. A chill in the stomach that had nothing to do with the pressure of the game and everything to do with the possibility of seeing a specific person in the stands.

You.

He had invited, of course, but without high expectations. Until then, what you had was something undefined. He liked you. A lot. But at the same time, you always seemed to keep a certain distance, a barrier between you that Jobe was still not sure how to overcome. Inviting you to one of your games was a way to try to see how far you would go. But he never expected you to really accept.

When he stepped on the lawn for the heating, he disguised as much as he could, but his eyes were restless, automatically looking for the stands, trying to find any sign of you. The stadium was gigantic, full of excited fans, and he was already convincing himself that you hadn't come when, suddenly, something familiar caught his attention.

Near the lawn, not so far from the reserve bank, there you were.

Wearing a jacket that he was almost sure wasn't yours, probably from a friend or borrowed by someone from the club, with your hair down and a serene expression, as if it were just another normal event. But Jobe knew it wasn't. For you to be there, something had changed.

For a moment, he was stuck. He felt something hot rise to his chest, a mixture of surprise and happiness. You really came.

A push on the shoulder brought him back to reality.

-What's up, bro?

One of the teammates asked, realising his gaze fixed.

Shirt 7 blinked, disguising the smile that threatened to appear.

-Nothing, nothing...

But that was all.

The warm-up continued, and he forced himself to focus on the game. However, before returning to the locker room for the last conversation with the coach, he looked one last time in his direction.

And you were looking back.

It was fast, but enough for him to see the little smile you sketched before looking away.

The game had been intense, but Jobe almost didn't feel the time pass. His body was exhausted, his muscles burning from the effort, his shirt glued to his skin by sweat, but none of it mattered. Not when, in the back of your mind, a single thing throbbed strongly: you were there.

Throughout the game, he tried not to think too much about you, but whenever he could, between one move and another, his eyes instinctively ran to the side of the field, as if his body knew exactly where to look for it. You were still there, watching, present, and that made you feel different, almost invincible.

When the final whistle sounded, it still took him a few seconds to process everything. Sunderland had won, the fans vibrated, and the players hugged each other in celebration. But he couldn't hold on much to the team's euphoria. His eyes ran to the side of the lawn, and that's where he saw her once again.

You were still in the same place, now more visible, because some people had already begun to leave the stands. His gaze met his before he could even think about how to react. And then, you smiled.

It was a small, discreet, but real smile.

Jobe felt his chest heat up and looked away, swallowing drily. He didn't know exactly why it affected him so much, but he knew he needed to see her up close.

The locker room was a chaos of celebration, the teammates talking loudly, the music playing, but the boy hurried into the shower, changed his clothes anyway, and left before everyone else. His heart beat fast as he crossed the tunnel that gave access to the outside of the field, his eyes attentive to every face that passed. And then, he finally saw her up close that night.

You were leaning against one of the tunnel walls, with your arms crossed, as if you had all the time in the world. When he saw him approaching, he uncrossed his arms and fixed the jacket he was wearing, an unconscious habit that he had already noticed in you.

Jobe slowed down his steps when he got close, stopping a few centimetres from you. His hair was still wet from the hurried bath, a few drops running down the back of his neck, and his breathing was still a little accelerated.

-You came.

His voice came out lower than I expected.

You smiled from the corner.

-Of course I came. I wasn't going to miss it.

Jobe let out a low laugh and shook his head, trying to process that. He wanted to ask so many things, he wanted to know what had made you accept the invitation, he wanted to understand if it meant something. But, at the same time, I just wanted to enjoy that moment.

-Did you like the game?

He asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

-It was amazing. -You answered, sincere. -You played very well.

He felt his chest inflate with pride, and, without thinking too much, took another step towards you.

-Good to know that I impressed you.

You let out a chuckle, tilting your head back to take a better look at him.

-Don't get excited, Bellingham.

He laughed, and then, before he could control himself, he raised his hand and gently touched your face, his thumb brushing against the hot skin of your cheek. You were slightly tense for a second, surprised, but you didn't back down. In fact, his eyes shone a little more under the dim lighting of the tunnel.

-I'm very happy you came., Y/n.

He admitted, his voice is lower and hoarse now.

-I know, Jobe. But I'm happier for being here with you.

You murmured, and then, without warning, leaned in his direction.

The kiss happened without haste, without the euphoria of a first desperate touch, but with the certainty that that moment was happening at the right time. Jobe's lips were still a little warm from the intensity of the game, and yours were soft, curious, moulding to hin in a way that made his heart speed up more than any race on the field.

For a moment, the world disappeared. The tunnel, the distant noise of the players still celebrating, the fans who began to empty the stadium. Nothing mattered except that kiss and the certainty that something between you had changed forever.

Hi, I'm opening the question box for requests again, if you want to ask for any, feel free!

This time I'm open to trying to write with more players and maybe even F1 drivers :)