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lexawritex · 3 days ago

Text

—perfect escape

★ in which you find yourself waking up from a car crash after running away from a cheating partner. you meet a woman who changed your life for the better. soon you discover something about the reality you live in.

[heavily inspired by a filipino movie 'my perfect you']

sophia laforteza × fem!reader

7.5k words

⚠️ car crash, injuries, blood, swearing, angst, fluff

it was your girlfriend’s birthday. you got off early from work, your hands full of gifts—cake, balloons, flowers—emptying your wallet just to make her day special. you drove to your shared apartment, picturing her lounging on the couch, watching her favorite movie.

but when you stepped inside, the cake slipped from your grasp and crashed to the floor. petals from the bouquet scattered, the sound shattering the silence—and the two people clinging to each other.

your girlfriend, straddling a man you once called your best friend. shock and guilt painted their faces as they caught sight of you. she was half-naked, scrambling off him and rushing toward you, trying to explain, to reach you—but everything around you went silent. you couldn’t hear her words, nor his.

all you saw was betrayal, and anger burning in your chest.

“don’t fucking touch me,” you said through gritted teeth, anger simmering beneath your skin.

“yn, please, let me—”

“i saw enough. fucking leave me alone! we’re done!” you snapped, turning away, leaving behind years of love shattered by infidelity.

you slammed into your car, the engine roaring as you sped off before she could even knock on the window. your mind spiraled, tears blurring your vision as you cried out your pain on the empty highway.

you grabbed your phone, desperate for someone—your sister, your brother, anyone—but no one answered. frustration and heartbreak overwhelmed you, and you threw the phone out the window with a grunt of anger.

then, suddenly, a loud crash. your car veered off the road and tumbled into a ditch.

everything went black.

you could’ve died. but you didn’t.

instead, you woke up to a hard surface beneath you, a thin mattress and a rough makeshift pillow. cloths were wrapped around your head, hands, and torso. the room was shabby—wooden walls patched poorly, a tilted handmade table beside you with a basin of bloodied water and cloth resting on it.

you tried standing up and almost fell, but you caught yourself. limping, you made your way toward the doorway. the door was made of bamboo wood, looking fragile enough to break if you kicked it.

the glare of the sun stabbed your eyes as you stepped outside. you winced, blinking rapidly, letting your eyes adjust to the brightness. when you finally opened them, you were greeted by the sight of trees—countless trees stretching as far as you could see. a waterfall glistened in the distance, just within walking range.

your hearing returned slowly, the song of birds and the steady rush of the waterfall filling your ears. the air was different here—fresh, clean, and alive. it smelled like health itself, a sharp contrast to the city air you were used to.

you walked to the riverbank, noticing you were barefoot. dipping your feet into the cool water, you let out a relieved sigh as the refreshing chill touched your skin.

“enjoying yourself?” a soft voice asked.

you whipped your head around and saw the most beautiful woman you’d ever laid eyes on.

she noticed your stunned expression and giggled—a sound like music to your ears.

she walked closer and stopped a respectful distance away. she smelled like flowers... and fish?

the odd scent snapped you out of your daze, and you cleared your throat, scrunching your nose at the fishy smell.

she giggled again and wiggled a makeshift basket filled with fish.

“today’s lunch—fish,” she said, then walked past you to crouch by the water, washing the catch.

you looked at her and finally found your voice.

“where am i?” your voice was raspy and broken.

she looked up, smiling gently. “you’re in my home.”

you glanced around, realizing her house was the only one in sight.

“you live alone out here?”

“no,” she replied, eyes flicking to your bandages. “i live with daniel and carrie. they’re like my siblings, though we’re not related by blood.”

“how are you feeling? you looked pretty messed up when we found you,” she asked.

suddenly, everything came rushing back—the pain, the betrayal, the desperate need for comfort... then the crash.

you tensed, and she quickly stood, waving her hands in front of your face. the motion pulled you out of your haze, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“god…”

—

you watched as the woman gently removed your bandages, her hands careful not to cause you pain. the tenderness in her touch was a stark contrast to the chaos swirling inside you.

“we were on our way back from the village when we saw your car from a distance,” she began, finishing the bandage on your arm before sitting back down beside you on the bed.

“the crash looked pretty bad. honestly, it’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

you let out a heavy sigh and looked down at the bandages wrapped around you.

“thank you…”

she hummed softly and stood up.

your eyes followed her as she walked toward the doorway.

“i’ll be preparing lunch. you take a rest or something,” she said before disappearing.

you stayed seated and nodded. maybe sleep would help you forget the pain? you tried, but closing your eyes only invited the memories back. you huffed in frustration and sat up.

the quiet was suffocating, and silence only let your thoughts swirl and consume you. so you stood and walked out, looking around for the woman.

your eyes widened as a sudden realization hit you.

“i didn’t even get to ask her name…”

you found her in a makeshift shed, sheltering a small fireplace, probably used for cooking.

“i’m yn,” you called out.

she looked back at you, amused and slightly surprised by your presence.

“hi yn, i’m sophia,” she said with a warm smile.

“done resting?” she asked, turning back to her cooking.

“couldn’t rest. thoughts are restless,” you admitted, watching her move with calm purpose.

“must be some bad thoughts if you want to silence them,” she said softly.

you hummed in agreement, feeling a strange comfort in her presence despite the storm inside you.

when the food was ready, sophia brought you to a small table near the riverbank. the place was peaceful, the gentle sound of the flowing water creating the perfect backdrop for a calm lunch.

you thanked her quietly for the meal and watched as she ate with her bare hands. stunned for a moment, you soon followed suit, digging in with your own hands. surprisingly, the food was delicious, and you found yourself enjoying it more than you expected.

sophia watched you with a soft smile.

“so,” she started, making you look up.

“what’s your story, if you don’t mind me asking?” she said gently.

you swallowed your food and took a moment before answering.

“my ex cheated on me. i tried surprising her for her birthday, but turns out i was the one surprised—seeing her with my best friend.” you sighed, your chest tightening as the memory flooded back.

sophia listened silently, sympathy shining in her eyes as she nodded.

“i couldn’t handle it and just drove off. and here i am,” you finished, chuckling bitterly, biting your lip as tears threatened to spill.

your vision blurred as the tears welled up. sophia noticed immediately.

without a word, she stood and walked to the river, facing the waterfall. then, she screamed—raw and loud, her voice swallowed by the roar of the water.

you watched, stunned by her sudden outburst.

she breathed deeply, then turned back to you with a gentle smile. jogging over, she held out her hand.

“come on, let it all out.”

and so you did—shouting your anger, your pain, cursing your ex and your best friend, letting every bottled-up emotion spill free.

when the heaviness in your chest finally lifted, you sighed and washed your face in the cool river water. feeling refreshed, you stepped out and returned to sophia, who was now carrying a basket full of something you couldn’t quite name.

“how are you feeling?” she asked.

you smiled genuinely. “better.”

she nodded and handed you the basket. you looked inside, then back at her, curious.

“what’s this?”

she smiled and picked up another basket filled with what looked like animal feed.

“you said you didn’t want to think. so let’s do something to keep your mind busy. help me feed the animals,” she said, turning and walking off.

you followed her and spent the rest of the afternoon feeding two pigs and a dozen chickens, the simple task grounding you in the present, easing your restless mind.

with each step you took around the small pen, the weight in your chest felt a little less heavy. the sharp edges of pain and betrayal dulled, softened by the rhythm of this peaceful place and the gentle presence of sophia beside you.

you caught yourself smiling more often than not, the tension in your shoulders easing with every laugh that escaped your lips—soft, genuine, and unexpected after so long.

for the first time in days, your mind quieted. the memories that had haunted you felt distant, like shadows fading with the light of the afternoon sun.

sophia glanced at you, her eyes warm and encouraging. “see? sometimes, the best way to heal is to just be present. no thinking, no overanalyzing. just living.”

you nodded, feeling the truth in her words. the pain hadn’t disappeared, but it no longer controlled you. here, in this quiet corner of the world, you could breathe again.

when the sun dipped, casting a hue of pink and orange across the sky, you and sophia headed back to the small house nestled among the trees. as you approached, two new figures came into view — the daniel and carrie sophia had mentioned earlier.

daniel was a big guy, broad-shouldered and imposing at first glance, someone you’d imagine could beat you into a pulp without breaking a sweat. but as you got to know him, you quickly realized he had a soft heart and a surprisingly sharp, funny sense of humor that caught you off guard.

carrie was different. sharp-tongued and unapologetically blunt, she spoke her mind without hesitation. the first words she said when she saw you were, “oh, you’re alive.” you didn’t mind her rough edges; in fact, you found yourself amazed at how their contrasting personalities somehow managed to collide and coexist.

and then there was sophia — soft, gentle, and endlessly patient. she was like a saint in comparison, her calm presence a soothing balm to the chaos inside you.

together, they formed an unlikely family, and for the first time since the crash, you felt a flicker of belonging.

and before you knew it, days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months.

you felt like you belonged. this place had become your new home, your sanctuary—a world away from the hectic, suffocating pace of your busy office life in the city.

every morning, you’d accompany daniel to catch fish by the river, learning the rhythms of the water and the patience it demanded. then, you’d head out with carrie to harvest plants and herbs, her sharp wit and no-nonsense attitude balancing daniel’s gentle humor. the bond you formed with them was like the siblings you never had, filling the hollow ache inside you that had longed for family.

in the afternoons, you’d go to the village with sophia, walking through the lush paths and sharing quiet moments beneath the canopy of trees.

the connection between you and sophia grew stronger with each passing day.

and maybe, just maybe, you allowed yourself to believe it was becoming something more than friendship.

you didn’t know exactly when it happened—perhaps it was the way she cared for you with a tenderness different from what she showed her siblings, or the way her eyes held something deep and untold whenever they met yours.

whatever it was, it stirred something in you—a fragile hope that healing could lead to something new.

—

the sun hid behind the clouds, the air fresh and cool, and the river waters looked so inviting. without hesitation, you slipped out of your clothes, leaving only your undergarments, before plunging into the river. the cool water spread through your body, washing away tension and filling you with a deep sense of relaxation.

you swam to a nearby rock, leaning your back against its smooth surface and closing your eyes, letting yourself fully unwind.

“enjoying yourself?” a familiar voice broke the quiet.

you opened your eyes and smiled.

“deja vu?” you teased, glancing at sophia, who returned the smile.

“mind if i join you?” you gestured toward the water.

without hesitation, she began to undress, causing a flush to rise in your cheeks. you quickly looked away, heart pounding in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

you heard her squeal and the splash of water. looking up, you saw sophia swimming toward you, a big smile lighting up her face.

feeling mischievous, you flicked water at her. her jaw dropped, eyes wide with surprise, before a playful grin spread across her perfect lips. without hesitation, she splashed water back at you.

soon, the two of you were locked in a playful splashing war. laughing, you dove underwater and swam away. sophia let out a shout and chased after you. you swam to a rock, climbed up, and hopped to another nearby one.

sophia followed but froze when she saw you slip and fall back into the water. she watched anxiously as you surfaced, then laughed when you looked at her with a grin. her laughter bubbled up too, and she jumped in, swimming over to you. she slapped your arm playfully before inspecting you carefully for any injuries.

“i didn’t hurt myself,” you said, amused by her worried gaze.

but you felt it again—that fluttering in your chest, the flip in your stomach.

“you idiot, you could’ve hurt yourself,” sophia muttered, then looked up at you.

you two locked eyes for a moment before you cleared your throat and chuckled.

“i’m fine—I survived a car crash.”

sophia playfully punched your shoulder, making you laugh. she climbed onto a rock and sat down, and you followed, sitting beside her. your eyes wandered to where she was looking—an old bridge, covered in vines and nature’s embrace. you’d noticed it before but never knew its story.

“want to go there?” sophia asked, turning to you.

you climbed the hill toward the bridge, hesitating before stepping onto the weathered wood. sophia walked confidently, as if the old bridge was brand new.

she turned and beckoned you forward. gripping the rails tightly for balance, you took a step. she giggled at your nervousness and reached out her hand. you grabbed it, and she pulled you close—maybe too close—causing you to lose your balance and crash against her.

you heard her heartbeat quicken, from calm to fast. you pulled back, clearing your throat awkwardly. sophia looked away.

“scared of heights?” she asked, trying to ease the sudden tension between you.

“not really. just that the bridge looks like it’ll collapse if i breathed on it.” sophia giggled softly.

“it’s stood through many typhoons,” she added, stepping toward the center of the bridge. from there, she overlooked the small house nestled below and the river that wound through the land—the place she had made her home, her sanctuary.

you stood beside her, taking in the view. it was so different from everything you’d ever known, yet it felt comforting—like the escape you didn’t realize you needed.

“don’t you miss your family?” she asked suddenly, her voice gentle.

you turned to look at her—her perfect eyes, delicate nose, soft lips—her perfect everything.

you swallowed hard before speaking, “i do. i really do…”

sophia’s gaze softened as she noticed your voice falter.

“i lost my parents when i was young. it was just me and my older siblings,” you sighed, the memory heavy on your heart.

“then my grandfather died, and that’s when the inheritance came into play. it tore us apart. my brother left overseas, my sister got married, and i was left alone.” a tear slipped down your cheek.

“ever since then… our relationship became one of strangers.”

sophia’s warm hand found yours, grounding you. you looked up at her, gratitude filling your voice.

“thank you for bringing me here… it… it really healed me. more than you know.”

sophia smiled, her eyes sparkling as the sun peeked from behind the clouds, casting a golden glow that kissed her skin. the sight stole your breath for a moment.

“beautiful…” you murmured.

her smile widened, her eyes curving into gentle crescents. your heart flipped.

“i should be thanking you for staying… even if it’s just for a little while,” she said, pulling you back from your reverie.

“i’ve never had someone like you in my life. ever. i almost believed i’d die a hopeless woman, but here you are—crashing into my life.”

she took your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours, and brought it to her chest, right over her heart.

“only you could make it beat this fast,” she whispered, “and i hope i’ll be the only one to make yours beat too.”

no words could ever describe the feeling blooming inside you—the way your heart seemed to explode with warmth, or how your stomach twisted in the most delightful way.

“you brought my heart to life, fixed whatever i believed was broken, and you make it go crazy—heck, i’d let you own it,” sophia giggled, pulling you close until your foreheads touched.

“then will you let me own it?” she asked softly.

you smiled, your voice steady but full of emotion. “with all of my heart, yes.”

her smile deepened as she closed the space between you, lips meeting yours in a gentle, tender kiss.

in that moment, you felt it—the fireworks bursting inside, confetti swirling in your mind, the drums of celebration pounding in your chest. every nerve in your body tingled, your heart racing, your lungs struggling for breath.

you pulled back slightly, breathless, but sophia wasted no time before crashing her lips to yours again. you giggled softly into the kiss, caught in the beautiful whirlwind of feeling alive.

—

the two of you stood in the center of the bridge, watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of pink and gold. sophia rested comfortably in your arms, her warmth a comforting contrast to the chilly dusk air.

“did you know bridges are like threads?" you asked

sophia looked up at you, then turned to face you fully, wrapping her arms around your neck.

“why a thread?” she asked curiously.

“my brother once told me that bridges are like threads. they sew together lands to be connected. that’s why he became an engineer—to build bridges and bring lands closer.” pride swelled in your chest as you remembered the day he graduated, the joy in his eyes.

sophia smiled warmly. “that’s sweet of him.”

“but distance is good too,” she said suddenly, making you raise an eyebrow.

“how so?” you asked, confusion flickering across your face.

she pressed a gentle kiss on your cheek before stepping back, putting a good distance between you.

“stay there!” she called, stopping far away.

you chuckled. “what are you doing, sophia?”

“they say distance makes the heart grow fonder. that’s why i like distance,” she explained with a playful grin.

you laughed and whined, “but i like being close!”

“why?”

“because i miss you already!” you confessed, your voice soft but sincere.

sophia laughed, her eyes sparkling. “see? that’s my point!”

“alright! you proved your point—now come back to me!” you whined.

she smiled and walked back into your arms. you pulled her close and pressed a tender kiss on her head, making her chuckle softly against you.

the moment felt perfect—simple, warm, and full of quiet joy.

the two of you retreated to the house, hands intertwined and giggles coming out of your mouths.

daniel looked at you both before a grin broke in his lips. he nudged at carrie who looked at you both and groaned, handing her blade to daniel who wore a smug grin.

"told you they'd end up dating." he said, looking at a defeated carrie who lost their bet.

"ok, ok. you win, you have my favorite blade. now stop gloating and call sophia to make dinner before they start fu--"

"language!"

—

the night ended with you two nestled in the bed, tangled in each other's arms. her bare skin flushed against yours as you hold her waist, keeping her balanced on top of you.

lips pressed against each other, sharing a passionate kiss. sophia leaned back to breathe, her hands cradled your face as she looked at you with sparkling eyes.

"you're so beautiful." you whispered. she smiled and pressed a kiss on your lips.

"you never failed to remind me so." you kissed her nose, igniting a giggle from her.

"ill never stop doing so." you responded before letting your lips crash again.

“yn!”

everything was black.

you heard shuffling nearby and the faint, rhythmic beeping of a machine.

beep.

then a sterile smell invaded your nose—the faint scent of iron, blood, and a familiar perfume.

“yn, dear.”

that voice.

your eyes fluttered open to a blinding white ceiling. blinking, you saw an unfamiliar masked face leaning over you.

a nurse?

your gaze drifted around the room until it landed on two familiar faces.

“oh god, yn—she’s awake!” a man exclaimed, relief flooding his voice as the nurse checked your pulse.

your brother and sister sat beside you, their expressions a mix of worry and overwhelming joy.

the world felt surreal, but seeing them there grounded you—a fragile thread connecting you back to everything you’d left behind.

you tried to speak, but no words came out. your vision blurred, and you felt wetness on your cheeks—tears escaping despite yourself.

the two figures beside you stood up. your sister leaned in, gently taking your hand in hers.

she sobbed, her voice trembling with guilt, “i’m so sorry! i should’ve answered your calls! i’m so sorry!”

your brother knelt beside the bed, resting his forehead against it.

“i never should’ve left. i shouldn’t have. i should’ve stayed with you. i… i’m such a horrible brother…” he cried.

the three of you remained there, the room heavy with sorrow. your siblings poured out their regrets and apologies, while you stayed silent, your voice lost to your injuries, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions.

when everything finally settled, you found yourself alone in the room with your sister. she gently showed you pictures of her grandchild, her voice soft as she spoke, while your brother was elsewhere, talking quietly with the doctor.

“i really am sorry. i should’ve visited more regularly… i… i don’t know… i’m really sorry, dear,” she said, her eyes filled with regret. you squeezed her hand gently in reassurance.

if there was one thing you were weak against, it was your siblings. they were the only family you had left, and you cherished them deeply.

“it’s… fi… fine… i man… aged on… my… own,” you managed to say in broken, fragile words. her eyes widened, and a small smile touched her lips.

“you always let us go too easily,” she said with a sigh. you smiled faintly.

“love you… too much,” you whispered, she caressed your head tenderly.

soon, your brother returned and sat beside your sister. guilt weighed heavily in his eyes, but you reached out and took his hand.

“i’m fine, don’t be guilty now,” you said softly. he shook his head.

“no. i’m the eldest. i should’ve been there to protect you—I… i got so caught up with my dreams that i… i forgot i had a family…”

he confessed, lowering his head in shame.

the room was thick with emotion, but in that moment, the fragile threads of family began to mend, slowly weaving you all back together.

after dinner, you settled back into your bed, your body immobile beneath the many bandages and stitches that restricted your movement. with little else to do, you caught up with your siblings, their familiar presence a comfort in the quiet room.

“so, how are things going with your girl?” your brother asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

you frowned, the weight of the memory pressing down on you.

“sole reason why i’m in this state,” you answered simply.

he choked on his drink, eyes wide. “i’m sorry—what?”

“she cheated on me. i stormed out, sped off, then crashed,” you explained, voice low.

your sister shook her head, muttering under her breath, “knew she was a bitch.”

you sighed, then your eyes suddenly widened as a thought struck you. you began scanning the room frantically, touching your bandages, the bed, everything around you.

“sophia… sophia…” you called out, desperation creeping into your voice.

“dear, who’s sophia?” your sister asked gently, concern knitting her brows.

you swallowed hard, the name feeling like a lifeline in the fog of your memories.

“i woke up in sophia’s house and— and i met her siblings, daniel and carrie… s/n, how am i here?” you asked, your eyes fixed on the bandages wrapped tightly around your body.

“i healed—i healed. so why do i have these bandages? why am i in a hospital?” tears welled up, blurring your vision.

your sister reached out, trying to soothe you, but the flood of emotions was too strong. your cries grew louder, desperation bleeding into your voice. “sophia… i left her there! bring me there!”

your brother jumped up, rushing out of the room to find a nurse and doctor, urgently explaining your distress.

the room felt suffocating as you sobbed, the ache of separation from sophia overwhelming you, your heart aching to be reunited with the place—and the person—that had begun to heal you.

you tried to sit up, your fingers fumbling at the iv drip attached to your arm. panic surged through you as you struggled to detach it, desperate to get to sophia.

“yn, please! calm down!” your sister pleaded, gently but firmly holding you down despite your protests.

“no, sophia! i have to get to her!” you cried, your voice trembling with urgency.

just then, nurses rushed into the room, carefully but firmly restraining you. the doctor followed closely behind, while your brother stood nearby, wrapping his arms around your sister in a silent gesture of comfort.

the doctor spoke softly, explaining what he was about to do. before you could resist further, he administered a sedative. your eyelids grew heavy, your struggles fading as sleep claimed you, the desperate need to reach sophia lingering in your fading thoughts.

“yn, it’s time for dinner!” sophia called out, peeking her head into the room.

you looked at her, momentarily dumbfounded, before her perfect smile grounded you. you smiled back and walked toward her, wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her in for a quick kiss.

“miss me already?” she teased, her voice light and playful.

“so much,” you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her soft lips.

after dinner, the four of you settled outside by a warm bonfire. you sat beside sophia, leaning your head on her shoulder as you watched daniel and carrie bicker good-naturedly.

you smiled softly. “i met my siblings.”

sophia glanced at you. “yeah?”

“they said they were sorry. they apologized. i forgave them,” you shared quietly.

she smiled warmly. “you have a soft heart for family.”

“they’re the only ones i have,” you replied, feeling the weight and warmth of those words in the quiet night.

“and you guys are like family too...” you added softly. sophia smiled and pressed a gentle kiss on your cheek.

daniel noticed and tossed a small pebble at your feet. sophia glanced at him, and he rolled his eyes at her. “ew.”

sophia mocked him playfully before turning back to you.

“come on, carrie. let’s leave these love birds alone,” daniel said, dragging carrie inside the house—leaving you two alone.

sophia watched them go with a smile, then turned to you, settling in your lap and wrapping her arms around your neck.

you looked up at her, smiling. “what are you up to now?”

“we’re alone,” sophia said, her tone hinting at something mischievous.

you chuckled and pulled her closer, your arms winding around her waist. your noses touched, and you teasingly rubbed yours against hers, igniting a soft giggle from sophia.

“i love you,” she whispered.

“i love you too,” you replied.

back in the hospital room, your brother watched as you smiled and mumbled incoherent words in your sleep, worry etched deep in his eyes. your sister sat nearby, holding back tears.

“god...” she let out a sob.

your brother turned to the doctor who had just entered, sharing a look of concern.

“the crash caused significant trauma to her head, making it difficult for her to separate reality from dreams,” the doctor explained.

"she may be suffering from dream-reality confusion disorder," the doctor explained gently. "it can be caused by stress and anxiety, and the trauma from the crash might have triggered it. don't worry, though—it can be managed and hopefully treated with therapy."

your brother sighed, glancing at you as you let out a soft laugh, clearly enjoying your dream. your sister sat beside you, gently rubbing your head.

“i will arrange for her to see a psychiatrist once she wakes up,” the doctor added.

your brother nodded as the doctor left, then looked back at you.

“it’s like when she was a baby... laughing in her dreams...” your sister said softly.

the room was heavy with both hope and worry, the fragile threads of healing slowly weaving through the night.

you woke up to your sister’s worried face hovering over you.

“hey, you okay?” she asked softly, helping you sit up.

you nodded and accepted the cup of water she handed you. as you took a sip, your thoughts drifted to sophia, and a smile spread across your lips.

“i think i met the one,” you said quietly.

your sister looked at you, surprised. “really?”

your brother glanced at her, and she gave him a silent ‘let it be’ look before turning back to you.

you nodded again, eyes dreamy. “yes. she’s perfect. she loves animals, she’s gentle—she’s an angel, a saint. she’s... perfect.”

“i miss her now,” you muttered, looking down.

“well, you’ll see her again, right?”

you smiled. “yes. you guys should meet her. you’ll love her!”

your sister nodded, letting you ramble on about your love for sophia and how perfect she was.

later, once she’d tucked you into bed and watched you fall asleep with a peaceful smile, she turned to your brother, who wore a look of concern.

“she’s really lost it,” he said quietly.

“i feel so bad,” she replied. “she looked so happy talking about this sophia person, and it feels like we’re taking away her happiness.”

"well, it's for her own good."

—

you sat in the observation room, a table separating you from an elderly woman—the psychiatrist your brother had arranged for you.

“hello, yn. how are you feeling?” she asked kindly.

“i’m okay,” you replied simply.

the woman nodded, a small smile touching her lips.

“that’s good. you can call me dr. park.”

you nodded in acknowledgment.

“do you remember why you were hospitalized?” she inquired.

“yes, i crashed,” you answered.

dr. park nodded thoughtfully. “and what do you remember after that incident?”

you looked down at your hands, recalling the memories that lingered.

“i woke up in sophia’s house. she healed my injuries and fed me,” you said softly.

the woman smiled, but it wasn’t a comforting smile.

“well, yn… you were rescued, yes, but not by sophia.”

confusion clouded your mind as you looked at her.

“a passing car happened to see your wreck and called an ambulance. that’s how you were rescued,” she explained.

you shook your head, laughing softly. “no, that’s not true. sophia rescued me.”

“and where did she bring you?” dr. park asked, jotting notes on her pad.

“she brought me to her home, in the middle of the woods—there was even a waterfall and a river there!” you said, eyes lighting up.

dr. park nodded again, recording your words.

“and where is this place?”

“it was probably near the crash site—there was a small village too,” you added.

she nodded and looked at you. “do you know what the dream-reality confusion disorder is?” she asked, and you shook your head no.

“well, it’s a disorder where people under great stress or trauma struggle to separate dreams from reality. they confuse dreams as real-life experiences.”

“and what’s it got to do with me?” you asked.

“you might be experiencing it.”

you shook your head, frowning.

“no. sophia is real. i don’t have it—can we end this please?”

when the session ended, as per your request, you were escorted back to your room. your sister fed you gently while your brother spoke quietly with dr. park outside, the weight of your story hanging between them.

“she insists this sophia person is real, and that what she experienced in her dreams is true. i looked up the place where she crashed and the nearby areas—there were no waterfalls, rivers, or villages like she described, which further proves that she is indeed suffering from the disorder,” dr. park said as b/n nodded solemnly.

“she’ll need frequent therapy and your encouragement to follow through. so far, she’s very insistent, and if she’s not treated immediately, she might lose her grip on reality.”

b/n watched as you talked to your sister, mostly about sophia, his face etched with concern.

later, when you had fallen asleep and drifted into your dreams again, b/n spoke quietly to your sister.

“can you stop encouraging her?” he asked.

your sister looked at him, confused. “what?”

“you’re encouraging her—saying you’ll meet this sophia person and all that. her psychiatrist said if yn doesn’t get treated immediately, she could become derealized. do you want that for her?”

s/n sighed deeply and held her head in her hands.

“of course i don’t want that. i just want what’s best for her. but i feel so guilty taking away her happiness... i neglected her... you did too! we’re partly responsible for what happened to her,” she said, her voice heavy with remorse.

“i know. that’s why i’m doing this for her,” he said, pausing as your laughter echoed softly through the room.

your sister’s eyes welled up again, watching you laugh peacefully in your dreams.

sophia ran ahead as you chased her, mud clutched in your hands.

you both were on your way home after feeding the animals when sophia playfully pushed you into the mud. wide-eyed and jaw dropped, you scooped up a handful of mud and gave chase. her laughter and playful screams filled the air.

“yn! no! i’m sorry!” she pleaded, scrambling up a tree to escape.

you looked up at her with a grin. “come on, sophia!”

“no!” she yelled back.

you laughed, dropping the mud and raising your hands in surrender.

“alright, i won’t. you win.”

sophia eyed you suspiciously before climbing down—too soon.

you smudged her cheek with your mud-covered hand, making her squeal as you darted away, plunging into the river. she stood on the bank, yelling and smiling.

“yn! you!” she shouted, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

you laughed, washing the mud off as you heard a splash—sophia had jumped in after you. she playfully tugged you underwater, splashing as you surfaced, gasping for air and laughing.

“i’m sorry, okay!” you apologized, wiping your face.

your eyes met hers, and she pulled you close, wrapping her arms around your neck as yours instinctively circled her waist.

your lips met in a soft kiss, warmth spreading through your body despite the cool water.

the night air was cold, but inside the room where your dream unfolded, it was hot as you shared a steamy kiss.

sophia had long since removed her shirt, leaving only bare skin. her hands tugged at your shirt, urging you to remove it. soon, you were skin to skin, tangled in thin sheets.

“i love you so much, sophia,” you whispered, gazing into her starry eyes. her glossy, perfect lips curved into a smile.

“i love you too, yn.”

—

you sat facing dr. park again.

“daniel and carrie are like your non-biological siblings, you say?” she asked.

you nodded.

“and you say you and your siblings hadn’t been in contact since your grandfather’s death until now?” dr. park hummed thoughtfully as you nodded, connecting the dots.

“interesting...” she murmured.

“so, how would you describe your love life?” she asked gently.

dr. park watched you fall asleep, mumbling incoherent words and smiling, through the monitor. with your siblings’ permission, she had recorded your sleep to observe your behavior.

b/n, watching alongside, shook his head and sighed.

“her experiences in real life have somehow influenced her dreams,” dr. park began.

“firstly, she shared how down she was when the bond between you as siblings faded after your grandfather’s death. in her dreams, she meets two individuals, daniel and carrie, with whom she develops a sibling bond.”

your sister nodded, following along.

“secondly, she shared how her past relationship ended badly, and in her dreams, she meets a woman—perfect, as she describes her—and develops a relationship with her.”

dr. park sighed and gathered her thoughts.

“her dreams are a manifestation of her ideal world. the stress and trauma forced her brain to create an escape.”

“basically, she’s been bottling up all these emotions, and the fallout from her ex was the trigger—causing her to lose grip on reality and allowing her brain to preserve itself by creating a world where she isn’t hurt.”

—

b/n sat beside you as you stared out into the distance.

“yn,” he called softly.

you hummed in response and looked at him.

“remember what i said about how bridges are like threads?” he asked.

you nodded.

“yeah, i told sophia about it,” you said with a small smile.

he sighed, his lips forming a sad smile.

“maybe it’s time to cut that thread connecting you to sophia.”

your smile faded as you looked into his eyes.

“what do you mean?”

“i know how hurt you were when we didn’t talk to you for years and how your ex betrayed you. we’re very sorry you had to go through all of that alone,” he said, reaching out to take your hand.

“i understand why you had to escape, run away. but we can’t always run away, can we?” you looked at him, seeing tears welling in his eyes—something you hadn’t seen since your mother died.

“you’ve always been so strong, even as a small child,” he smiled, his voice cracking as he tried to hold back his emotions.

“and it pains me so much to see you running away, hiding in your dreams.” he placed a gentle hand on your head, rubbing your hair softly.

“i just want to see you be happy—not in your dreams, but here, in this world. and i will be with you, i promise. we will be with you.”

“so please, come back to us...”

you held your hands out, and he embraced you in a warm hug. tears fell as his warmth gave you the comfort you always sought when scared—the comfort you so desperately needed in those moments when it felt like the world had betrayed you.

—

you frequented your visits to the psychiatrist, following her advice and doing whatever she told you to do.

she said you were slowly getting better. your siblings agreed.

but sophia didn’t.

you were slowly forgetting the things you used to do.

daniel watched as you threw the spear in a flimsy, uncertain way. his eyes filled with confusion as you sucked in a breath and picked the spear back up.

“yn?”

he called softly. you looked up at him.

“yeah?” he took the spear from you, eyed a nearby fish, and with a steady hand, speared it, catching it effortlessly.

“you used to be good at this. what happened?” he asked.

you chuckled quietly. “i’m not. you’re the one who does the work. i only help carry the fish,” you said.

daniel looked puzzled, about to say something, but sophia cut him off as she grabbed your hand and pulled you along.

“come on, carrie needs us to cook!” she said, dragging you toward the kitchen.

you looked at her, confused, raising an eyebrow. “who?”

sophia stopped in her tracks and giggled. “silly! my sister, carrie! now, come on.”

you were genuinely confused. who was carrie again?

sophia pointed toward a girl in the distance, but the face was blurry, indistinct. “oh, carrie...” you muttered, but you couldn’t remember what she looked like.

her presence felt like a distant memory, fading just beyond your grasp.

—

“my psychiatrist said i’m slowly getting better,” you shared softly.

you and sophia stood on the bridge—the very same bridge where you had once confessed your feelings. thick, gray clouds covered the sky, blotting out the sunset’s warm hues. the heavy clouds hung low, casting a somber mood over the scene.

“that’s good,” sophia chimed, looking at you with a gentle smile. you gazed at her gorgeous face, but for a brief moment, her features blurred, catching you off-guard.

she noticed your sudden distraction and looked at you, puzzled.

“what’s wrong?” you shook your head, returning her smile. “just caught off guard by your beauty.”

she smiled back and playfully pushed you. “you charmer,” she giggled.

something in you felt heavy—maybe it was the realization that you were slowly forgetting her and everything surrounding her. you had learned to accept the treatment, and that acceptance meant letting go of the world you had created, accepting that sophia was a creation of your mind.

sophia noticed the look in your eyes. she pulled you into a gentle hug, resting her head against your chest.

“what’s wrong, love?” she asked softly, listening to the steady rhythm of your heart.

“i’m slowly getting better... and i’m slowly forgetting you,” you whispered.

sophia pulled back, concern clouding her eyes. “what are you saying?”

you looked at her and held her hands, flashing a sad smile. “i love you, sophia. i really do,” you said.

“but sadly, our love is something my mind created for me—to escape, to hide, to run away from the painful reality.” sophia smiled sadly, cradling your face in her hands.

“well, at least i gave you real love,” you chuckled softly. “yes, you did,” you nodded.

a tear slipped down sophia’s cheek as she leaned her forehead against yours.

“i’m glad,” she whispered.

“why?”

“because you grew strong enough to accept reality.” you smiled. yes, you did. accepting the truth was painful, but it was for your own good—even if it meant letting go of the memories that had helped you emerge from darkness.

“and now, i want you to forget us—me, daniel, and carrie. everything. move on. wake up. live your life,” she said gently. you nodded, tears rolling down your face.

“i love you so much,” she whispered, pressing a tender kiss on your lips.

you sighed and let yourself be swept into a passionate kiss of goodbye.

when you pulled away, a cry escaped you. sophia looked at you with a sad smile, tears adorning her cheeks, making her eyes shine like diamonds.

then it happened again—her perfect features blurred. you cried, reaching out a hand.

“goodbye, yn.”

suddenly, you couldn’t remember what she looked like. you fell to your knees and wept. the figure of a woman looked down at you before the fog swallowed her, leaving you alone on the bridge. you cried out, wailing until your voice muffled and the sharp sound of something snapping rang in your ears.

“yn!”

you woke with a gasp. you sat up and looked around, spotting your sister sitting by your bed, concern etched across her face.

“dear, what happened? you were crying,” she asked, gently rubbing your arm.

“i... i had a dream... a really sad one... like i was saying goodbye and a bridge falling apart,” you said, recalling the dream though the memory felt foggy. like something you always knew existed but couldn't quite pinpoint what.

—

“ms. yn, the client is waiting for you outside,” your assistant informed you, and you nodded.

you opened your office door and were greeted by the sight of an angel’s beauty. her eyes, nose, lips—everything was perfect. then you felt it: the flutter in your chest, the flip in your stomach, and a lingering feeling of something familiar deep in your heart, like you’d seen her somewhere before.

the woman smiled at you as your eyes met. pulling yourself out of the stunned haze, you cleared your throat and stepped aside to let her enter.

your gaze followed her as you gestured for her to sit. you settled into your seat, composing yourself.

“it’s an honor for us to be collaborating with you,” you said to the woman before you. she was the representative of the company your firm was partnering with.

she smiled again, her beauty almost blinding. something about her smile stirred that same feeling of familiarity in your stomach.

then she spoke, her voice smooth and soothing—like it had spoken to you before, like it had whispered sweet nothings in your ear, stirring memories just beyond reach.

“it’s nice meeting you, ms. l/n. i’m sophia laforteza.”

330 notes · View notes

jinjoohaa · 2 days ago

Text

Warm enough?

CW: Kidnapping (mistaken identity), dubcon, smut, fear play, fingering, light degradation, teasing, power dynamics, older man x younger woman, filthy talk, emotional tension. 18+ only.

You were just walking.

AirPods in, volume turned up, humming along to some upbeat trash-pop that made you feel like you had your shit together—even if your hair was a mess and your stomach was growling. It had been a long day. Midterms, missed breakfast, one lukewarm coffee in the afternoon. You were finally heading home on the empty back road you always took when you didn’t want to see anyone.

Safe, quiet, predictable.

Right until you felt a heavy arm snake around your waist and a massive, gloved hand clamp over your mouth.

You jerked, eyes wide, the scream muffled against a calloused palm.

"Quit movin’," a deep, gravelled voice rumbled in your ear. "Tch. Fuckin’ hell. Why do they always squirm."

You tried to twist free, kicking back at him, but the bastard only grunted and hauled you like a damn potato sack over his shoulder.

Your phone hit the pavement. One AirPod popped out and skittered into the gutter.

"HEY!" you yelled once his hand moved. "You gorilla-ass freak—put me the fuck down before I end you—"

"Shut up," he snapped, tossing you into the backseat of a black car like you weighed nothing. "God, you’re already loud."

“You kidnapped the wrong bitch if you thought I’d go down quiet.”

"Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t think at all when I’m working."

He slammed the door and circled to the driver’s side, completely unfazed by your kicks against the window. You scrambled up, heart racing.

“You’re so dead. Do you know what I—”

“Don’t care.” He started the car like this was just his morning commute. “You don’t shut it, I will gag you. And trust me, I’ve got real good tools for that.”

You shoved at the door. Locked. Of course. “You’re gonna regret this! You fucking freak!”

“I’m regrettin’ it already,” he muttered.

The next few hours were a blur of rough curses and rapid turns. You had no clue where he was taking you, only that he was confident and fast, and you didn’t dare try jumping out when he slowed. His eyes—sharp and dead—flicked to you every time you opened your mouth.

And you kept opening it.

“This car smells like mildew and masculinity issues.”

“...You look like you eat raw meat for breakfast.”

“You ever heard of moisturizer? Or is being ugly part of the job?”

At the third insult, he sighed like a disappointed parent and pulled a thick piece of cloth from the glove box.

“No—don’t you—DON’T—"

He stuffed it in your mouth with zero ceremony, tying it behind your head like a gift bow. “There. Peace and fuckin’ quiet.”

Your glare could’ve set him on fire.

He didn’t flinch. “I miss the kids who cried. You? You just won’t shut up.”

He kept you tied to a chair in what looked like a storage room for the next several hours.

He tried to feed you once. Took the gag off. Brought over what looked like cold noodles.

“Eat.”

“Go to hell.”

His brow twitched. “You really wanna die, huh?”

“I’d rather die than eat your half-assed garbage.”

“Suit yourself.” He shoved the bowl into a bin with a clatter. “Starve then.”

Later, he paced the room like he was trying to burn off the irritation you caused just by breathing.

“Thought you’d be more scared,” he said at one point.

“You thought wrong,” you sneered.

"Should’ve figured. Smart mouth like yours? Bet you grew up with too much attention. Or not enough. Couldn’t shut up for five minutes if your life depended on it."

“Would’ve been quieter if you weren’t a fucking prick.”

His jaw clenched. For a second, you swore he was gonna haul you up and slam you against the wall. Instead, he just chuckled dryly and turned away.

“You’ve got some nerve. Might actually be fun breakin’ you down.”

You ignored the weird flutter that gave you.

When he finally got on the phone—out of your earshot—you only caught snippets through the wall.

“Yeah... got her... no, didn’t check... what the fuck do you mean that’s not her?... She had the file’s hair, features, whatever... What? You’re kidding me.”

The next time he came back into the room, he was rubbing the back of his neck like he had a migraine.

“You lucky bitch.”

“What?”

“Shiu’s coming to get you.”

“And who the hell is that—?”

“You’ll see. Try not to bite him too. Or do. Whatever.”

Shiu showed up ten minutes later, perfectly put together in a sleek coat, pressed shirt, and not a single hair out of place.

The contrast between him and Toji—hulking, disheveled, arms crossed like he’d rather punch the wall than be part of this—was staggering.

Shiu blinked at you.

"...Who the hell is this?"

You froze.

Toji exhaled through his nose. “The girl. Obviously.”

Shiu’s lips flattened. “Toji. That’s not the girl.”

A long pause.

Toji turned his head slowly toward you. His eyes narrowed. “...You serious?”

Shiu tilted his head, something almost like pity in his gaze. “This one’s not even close.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake—” Toji turned, walked a few feet, and kicked the wall. “I knew something felt off—mouthy little brat...”

“You kidnapped the wrong person?” you yelled.

“Shut up,” Toji snarled. “You looked close enough, alright? Got the pic this morning—blurry as shit.”

Shiu sighed. “I apologize for the… inconvenience.” He crouched beside you, undoing the ropes around your wrists. “Are you hurt?”

“Only emotionally. And maybe spiritually. I’ve been in a dusty room with that ogre for twelve hours.”

Toji flipped you off.

Shiu chuckled softly, then said, “I can take you to eat. At least.”

You stared at him. “Oh, now I get food?”

“Yes. Anything you’d like.”

You cleared your throat. “I have a list.”

Shiu raised a brow. “A list?”

You held up your fingers. “I want Pasta. Smashed burger. Chocolate milkshake. Fries. Ice cream—chocolate, and vanilla. Oh, and a side of vengeance.”

Toji muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “spoiled little gremlin.”

Shiu helped you up. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“You better. I’ve been starving all day because that man is an uncultured ape.”

Toji gave you a smirk, stepping past Shiu as he made for the door. “Whatever. I’ll go get the real one.”

You throw the cloth at his back. “Hope she kicks your ass.”

“Hope you choke on your fries.”

You flipped him off as you walked out with Shiu.

Shiu was true to his word.

He took you to a sleek, dimly lit rooftop restaurant—not some greasy hole-in-the-wall. He must've felt bad. Or maybe just embarrassed by Toji's mistake. Either way, you weren’t complaining.

“Order whatever you like,” he said, offering the menu with a mild smile as you sat across from him, still damp from being half-kidnapped.

You didn’t hesitate. “I want pasta. Extra cheesy. And a double patty burger. Extra cheese. Fries. Large. A Chocolate milkshake. And blueberry cheesecake.”

He didn’t flinch. “Drinks?”

“Obviously. Tequila shots.”

He paused. “You sure?”

“You kidnapped me.”

“Toji kidnapped you.”

“You work with him.”

“…Fair point.” He flagged the waiter. “Get her whatever she wants.”

The food came quickly. You ate like you hadn’t tasted joy in weeks. Shiu watched silently, arms folded on the table, a glass of red wine untouched at his elbow.

“You’re quiet,” you said between mouthfuls. “What, cat got your tongue?”

“I’m just… fascinated,” he said flatly.

“By what?”

“You. The amount of food you’ve consumed in ten minutes.”

You rolled your eyes at him, then downed another tequila shot. The warmth hit your chest like fire.

Another round.

And another.

Until the edges of the restaurant softened and your limbs got heavy, eyelids drooping.

Shiu’s voice came faintly from across the table. “What’s your address?”

You blinked at him slowly, lips parted.

Then slumped forward, cheek hitting the table.

“Shit,” you heard him mutter.

He didn’t intend to carry you.

But the rain started just as he was walking you to the car.

Not a drizzle. A storm. The kind that soaked you both in seconds. His coat was useless, the umbrella in the trunk forgotten as thunder cracked across the sky. Your unconscious body hung limply against him, breath soft against his chest, and he cursed under his breath as the fabric of your shirt clung to you.

"You're going to get sick," he muttered, unlocking the door one-handed and carefully settling you into the passenger seat.

"Tell me your address, kid."

You replied something incoherent.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. “Alright. My place it is.”

He laid you on his bed like you were glass.

And then just… stood there.

You were drenched. Hair stuck to your face. Shirt nearly see-through. Shorts riding up. And cold—your body still trembling slightly, even unconscious.

“I’m not doing this,” he told himself, dragging a palm down his face. “I’m not that guy.”

But then you whimpered again, shifting, your teeth faintly chattering. And his conscience overpowered his pride.

He grabbed one of his soft, oversized black t-shirts from a drawer. Closed his eyes. Swore like a sinner in church as he carefully peeled off your wet clothes.

Hands careful. Gentle.

Not looking. Not touching more than needed.

When you were finally dry, dressed in his t-shirt that swallowed your frame, he exhaled and tossed your clothes into the dryer.

The rain continued to pound outside, and you slept like the dead, curled up in his duvet, skin warm and safe now.

He didn’t look at you when he changed into a towel and moved around the room, searching for dry sweats. His back was to the bed when you finally stirred.

Your lashes fluttered.

Eyes opened halfway.

You blinked—slowly—taking in the unfamiliar ceiling, the scent of soap and cologne that didn’t belong to you.

Then your gaze landed on the tall man standing in front of a closet, steam from the shower still clinging to his skin.

Only a towel hung low on his hips.

And nothing else.

You blinked again. “...What the fuck?”

He turned, startled. Paused. Saw you staring.

You threw the blanket off and sat up. Looked down.

You were wearing a shirt that clearly wasn’t yours.

And… nothing underneath.

“What the fuck—?”

"Listen, kid. It's not what you think."

"You bastard, what did you do to me?"

Shiu lifted both hands, voice calm. “You were shivering. You passed out. You wouldn’t wake up. Your clothes were soaked. You could’ve gone hypothermic—”

“So you fucked me?!”

"I didn't fuck you."

"Then you stripped me?"

“You’re wearing a shirt.”

“Your shirt!”

He sighed. “Do you want your wet clothes back? Or another round of tequila and hypothermia?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Huffed.

"...Still creepy."

He turned back around. “You’ve been unconscious for three hours. I haven’t touched you.”

“You’re wearing a towel.”

“You’re wearing my tshirt. What’s your point?”

You folded your arms, lips pursed. “You’re weirdly calm about having a half-naked hostage in your bed.”

“You’re not a hostage anymore.”

“Tell that to the trauma.”

He finally turned, towel still secure, brow arched. “Do you always run your mouth when you’re drunk?”

“I’m sober now.”

“Pity.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why, you liked me better when I wasn’t yelling at you?”

He smirked, eyes dragging down to your exposed thigh where the shirt had ridden up. “No. I just liked the silence.”

Your stomach flipped.

There it was. The shift. Subtle. Dangerous.

You yanked the blanket back over you, glaring at him. “Don’t flirt with me. I still remember the part where your co-worker tied me up.”

“That was Toji. I rescued you.”

“After the kidnapping.”

“Technicality.”

He moved toward the dresser, back to you again, muscles shifting under damp skin.

You watched in spite of yourself.

Then mumbled, “This shirt smells like you.”

“I know.”

You swallowed.

“…Why didn’t you just drop me at a hotel?”

“Too much trouble.”

“Why didn’t you just let me shiver?”

He paused. “That… would’ve been cruel.”

You blinked at him. “So you do have a conscience.”

“No,” he said, turning to meet your eyes again. “I just hate owing anyone anything. Now we’re even.”

“You think we’re even?”

“You got free food. A warm bed. My favorite shirt.”

You snorted. “Fine. Next time I get kidnapped, I’ll ask for you.”

“Don’t. I’m not babysitting again.”

You didn’t respond. Just stared at him, the tension between you growing thicker by the second.

Then your voice dropped.

“…If I asked for another drink right now, would you say no?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stepped toward the bed, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.

“No,” he murmured, voice low.

“Then why aren’t you moving?”

“Because you’re in my bed, wearing my shirt,” he said softly, “and if I stay here any longer, I’ll want to take it off.”

Your breath caught.

You didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

He walked away.

The tension crackled like static.

Your breath hitched.

The moment he turned away with that comment—that smooth, low warning wrapped in indifference—you felt it everywhere. A flush bloomed hot on your cheeks, neck, even down between your thighs.

And then your mouth tried to fight the heat rising through your chest.

“Wh—what’s that supposed to mean?” you stammered, pulling the blanket tighter around you, fingers gripping it like a shield. “I… you—shouldn’t say stuff like that, perv.”

He didn’t even flinch. Just strolled over to a cabinet, towel slung low on his hips, and pulled out a glass. His voice came soft, almost bored.

“Stuff like what?” He glanced at you over his shoulder. “I’m not the one calling strangers pervs while naked in their bed.”

“I’m not naked.” You sounded scandalized.

He turned, finally, one eyebrow quirked. “No? That shirt’s barely covering your ass. Want me to check?”

“Don’t you dare—!”

He stepped closer.

You instinctively pulled the blanket tighter, but your eyes didn’t leave his chest—your vision catching on the light trail of hair down his torso, on the sharp lines of his hips as the towel shifted just a bit too low.

Your mouth worked, trying to form words.

“But—but you—why are you even wearing a towel still? Can’t you put on some pants like a normal adult?”

His voice was smooth, slow. “Does it bother you?”

“No—yes—I mean—” You cut yourself off, flustered, heartbeat thudding like mad in your ears. “I’ve just been through a lot today, and now there’s a half-naked man teasing me in a bedroom that isn’t mine.”

Shiu poured himself a drink. “So dramatic. You act like you didn’t try to bite Toji.”

“He gagged me.”

“You deserved it.”

“I insulted him.”

“My point exactly.”

He took a sip, and then sat at the edge of the bed. Not too close—but close enough that you felt the warmth of him seep through the air. The towel still held firm, but barely. He was bone-dry now. You weren’t.

You pulled the covers tighter, avoiding eye contact.

“Calm down,” he said, setting the glass aside. “I’m not gonna jump you.”

Your voice came out small. “You said you wanted to take the shirt off.”

“Did I?” He blinked slowly. “Hm. Must’ve slipped out.”

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Your lips pressed into a tight line, face burning.

Then—you looked at him from under your lashes. Your voice dropped just a notch, soft and slow.

“Well… next time you say something like that, try not to sound so disappointed. Makes it feel like a threat when it could’ve been an offer.”

Silence.

It hit him like a slap. Not loud. Not explosive.

But it landed.

You saw it—the shift. His lips parted just slightly, eyes narrowing in a way that was no longer amused. Not teasing. More like…

Curious.

Dangerous.

He tilted his head, slow.

“You sure you’re sober?”

You shrugged, gaze still on his mouth. “Sober enough to know when I’m not being taken seriously.”

“Hm.”

He leaned back on one palm, gaze dragging down your figure beneath the blanket, even though most of you was hidden.

“I didn’t expect that from you,” he murmured.

“Didn’t expect what?”

“That mouth.” His voice was barely audible now. “So full of attitude, but sharp when it matters.”

You licked your lips. “Disappointed again?”

“No,” he said softly. “Not even a little.”

There was a long pause. A pull in the air, heavy, slow. His eyes flicked to the blanket again.

“I bet you’re warm under there,” he said casually, tone conversational. “Sweating, maybe. Flushed. Not just from the tequila, though.”

You glared. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow. “Then why haven’t you moved? You keep holding that blanket like it’s gonna save your soul.”

“Maybe I just don’t want you to see something you can’t handle.”

That landed again. Harder this time.

He laughed, soft and low in his throat.

“God,” he muttered. “You’ve got a fuckin’ attitude for someone I rescued.”

“I never asked for it.”

“No, but you didn’t exactly fight when I brought you here either.”

“I was unconscious.”

“Semantics.”

You opened your mouth to fire back—but paused when his fingers brushed your ankle.

Bare.

He’d found the edge of the blanket. Lifted it just a few inches.

You stiffened. “Don’t.”

“Relax,” he said, voice too damn calm. “Just wanted to see if you’re trembling again. Can’t have you catching a cold, right?”

But that wasn’t why he did it.

He was testing you.

And your body betrayed you—your thigh twitching, a shiver not from cold but from heat skimming along your spine.

His thumb ghosted along your ankle bone. Just once.

“Thought so,” he said, pulling away.

You swallowed.

“You’re playing with fire,” you whispered.

He smiled, slow. Unbothered. “So are you.”

Then—

You leaned back, licking your lips again.

“Well,” you murmured, curling under the blanket, heart racing, “I hope you sleep with that towel tied tight.”

He stood up slowly, smirk widening.

“I don’t plan to sleep much.”

And then he walked out of the room.

Left you there with your racing heart, your soaked thighs, and his shirt clinging to you like second skin.

You didn’t sleep either.

Not with the sound of the door clicking shut and the image of him—just a towel—seared behind your eyelids like sin.

You tossed.

Turned.

Pulled the blanket tighter.

Nothing worked.

That damn man had infected your thoughts. That older, smug, calm bastard with the sharp jaw and sharper tongue who acted like he couldn’t care less—and still put you in his shirt, still brought you food, still looked at you like he knew things you hadn’t even admitted to yourself.

Tch.

Why was it so warm when he was near? Why did he smell like expensive cologne and a single you want to commit?

The storm outside hadn’t let up. Rain slammed against the windows, wind howling like some cursed beast. You curled tighter under the covers, but the cold still crept in—little shivers climbing up your spine, down your thighs.

You just needed warmth. That was all.

Just a little warmth.

Your feet touched the floor before you could stop yourself.

You wandered out of his room, blanket clutched around you like a cloak, bare feet padding soft against the cool floor until you stopped in front of another door.

Barely open.

Light from the hallway poured across the wooden floor, a stripe of gold slicing through the dark inside.

You pushed it open.

He was asleep—sprawled across the bed. One arm thrown over his face, the other resting low on his stomach. His towel was gone now. Replaced by loose sleep pants hanging dangerously low, hips exposed, one leg bent just enough for you to see the muscle, the curve of his waist. His chest was bare, rising and falling slow.

You weren’t even sure if he snored.

Of course he didn’t.

The bastard was perfect even in his sleep.

It’s just for warmth, you told yourself again.

Just warmth. Nothing more.

You crept inside, heart hammering, slipping into the farthest side of the bed like a criminal. Staying by the edge. You didn’t even lift the blanket he was under—just pulled your own around you tighter and curled toward the wall, facing away from him.

His bed was so warm.

So was his body.

You sighed, eyelids getting heavy.

You didn’t even realize you were falling asleep until—

A hand. On your waist.

You flinched.

Wide awake now. Breath caught in your throat.

“What,” his voice rasped behind you, slow and deep and not sleepy at all, “are you doing?”

His palm tightened slightly—just enough for you to feel the press of his fingers through the thin blanket. Just enough to make your thighs twitch.

You cleared your throat. “I—I couldn’t sleep.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“It was cold. The rain. I just—needed warmth.”

A pause. Then, low and flat—

“You couldn’t just ask for a space heater?”

“Do you even have one?”

“No.” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “Didn’t think I’d need one.”

You shifted slightly, pulling the blanket higher. “I wasn’t gonna—disturb you. You were asleep.”

“Was I?”

Your breath caught again.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you whispered.

“I’m not the one crawling into people’s beds.”

You rolled your eyes. “You didn’t complain.”

“I didn’t have time to complain.”

His hand moved lower, dragging slow across your waist, settling on the dip of your hip. “You always sleep this tense? Or is it just when you're pressed up against older men who make you nervous?”

“I’m not pressed up against anything,” you muttered, voice hitching as you tried to keep still.

“You will be if you keep wiggling like that.”

“I’m not—wiggling.”

He chuckled. “Sure, sweetheart.”

You hated the way your skin tingled from that one word.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What should I call you, then? Trouble? Brat? Mouthy little thing who says no but keeps ending up exactly where she shouldn’t be?”

You squeezed your thighs together under the blanket. God.

His hand was still on your hip. Still warm. Still there.

And then—

“I should kick you out.”

“Then do it.”

“You’d pout.”

“You wish.”

“You’d stand in the hallway shivering in my shirt like a pathetic little stray.”

Your breath faltered. “Asshole.”

His hand moved again.

Not off you.

Down.

Low. Lower. Grazing your lower stomach now.

“I can feel you shaking,” he murmured. “Still cold?”

You didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

You hated how your voice would betray you.

He leaned in then, the heat of his chest brushing your back, lips right beside your ear.

“Or maybe it’s not the rain making you tremble.”

Your breath caught entirely.

His voice was honey and poison, silky and cruel.

“You came to me, sweetheart.”

You swallowed.

“And now,” he added, fingertips brushing the hem of the shirt you wore—his shirt—“you’re in my bed, in my clothes, lying right beside me, breathing like you want me to do something about it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No,” he said slowly, “but you didn’t say stop either.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

Then, still teasing, still cruel—

“Want me to help you fall asleep?” His hand slipped just under the shirt now. “Just a little? No touching. Not really. Just warmth. That’s what you wanted, right?”

Your eyes fluttered shut.

“Tell me no,” he whispered.

And you didn’t.

His fingers grazed your skin—just under the hem of the shirt—barely brushing, barely there, but burning like fire.

“Still cold?” he murmured near your ear, his breath warm and even. You felt it drift down your neck, across your shoulder. “You’re shivering.”

“I-I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely a whisper.

“No,” he hummed, dragging his fingertips higher, over your stomach, the shirt riding up with each second, “you’re not. Still tense. Still freezing.”

You swallowed hard. His hand moved up, grazing your ribs—then higher, cupping your breast beneath the shirt like he’d done it a hundred times.

Your breath caught.

“You’re cold here too,” he murmured, thumbing your nipple slow. “Need to get you warm everywhere, don’t I?”

Your hips shifted.

You didn’t even realize how tightly your thighs were pressed together.

“You’re not saying no,” he said, fingers rubbing your nipple now—slow circles, featherlight pressure that made your back arch despite yourself.

“I-I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” he asked, voice composed but wicked. “Didn’t ask me to stop? Or didn’t think this would happen when you crawled into bed with a man like me?”

His hand slid down again, gliding across your stomach, dipping into the waistband of your panties now.

You gasped.

“Look at that,” he muttered, smirking, “you’re warm down here already. But still trembling.”

His finger pressed lower—right between your folds, teasing you through the slick mess he found waiting.

“You were gonna sleep like this? Dripping and needy?”

You buried your face in the pillow, mortified.

“Might as well help you out, yeah?” he added softly. “Can’t have you cold and fussy all night.”

He rubbed slow, lazy circles over your clit, two fingers sliding between your folds while the heel of his palm kept pressing right there, exactly where you needed.

You choked out a moan.

“Just getting you warm,” he mocked, voice low. “That’s what you said.”

“Y-you—ah—you’re—”

He pinched your nipple again, harder this time, and your hips jumped.

“That mouth of yours,” he muttered, voice tightening just a little. “So fucking loud earlier. Couldn’t shut the hell up. And now?”

You were panting, biting back more sounds.

He pushed two fingers inside you—slow, deep, curling up. You let out a broken whimper.

“Now look at you. Fucking soaking my hand.”

“Shiu—”

His name left your mouth like a plea. Like a confession.

“You always get like this?” he asked, curling his fingers again while the pad of his thumb rubbed your clit. “Mouthy brat until someone gets their fingers in you?”

“F-fuck—”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He pumped slowly, rhythm deliberate, unhurried. You were unraveling against him, thighs quivering.

“See?” he whispered. “You’re so warm now. All that attitude’s melting off you.”

He kissed behind your ear.

Soft.

Cruel.

“You gonna thank me?” he asked, voice low. “Or should I keep going until you’re crying from how warm and full you feel?”

“Please,” you gasped, hips rocking into his hand now, chasing the high.

“Please what?”

“Don’t stop—”

He chuckled. “Tch. That mouth’s real sweet when it’s begging.”

You moaned again, louder this time.

“I should gag you with your own panties next time. Bet you'd cum even faster.”

You cried out—your body tightening, unraveling, all heat and slick and shame.

And his fingers never stopped.

Not until you were shaking for a different reason entirely.

Your body trembled under the weight of your release, legs still parted around his hand, your slick coating his fingers as he slowly pulled them out. You were gasping into the pillow, throat hoarse from moans you didn’t realize had been that loud.

He leaned in again, his breath ghosting over your ear.

“Feeling warm now?” he asked lowly, fingers lazily dragging up between your folds, spreading the mess you’d made.

You didn’t respond.

Couldn’t.

Your brain was still foggy, skin burning hot, but you shook your head weakly.

Shiu’s smirk returned.

“Still cold, huh?” he said, licking his fingers clean with slow, deliberate ease, like he was tasting fine wine. “Maybe you need something hotter.”

Your breath caught.

“Wanna try that?” he asked, fingers now pulling your soaked panties down your legs, inch by inch. “Wanna feel something even warmer?”

You nodded, cheeks flushed, thighs still trembling.

He tsked.

“Such a good girl all of a sudden,” he murmured, flipping you gently onto your back.

Your shirt had ridden up past your chest, exposing your breasts—nipples stiff, marked with his fingerprints. Your thighs were wet, spread, waiting.

“I should’ve fucked that bratty mouth shut hours ago,” he said calmly, tugging the pants down from his hips just enough to free himself.

Your eyes widened.

You could see all of him now—long, thick, already hard.

He chuckled at the look on your face. “Don’t look so surprised. You asked for warm.”

He lined himself up, not rushing, just dragging the tip through your folds, pressing it against your overstimulated clit until you squirmed.

"Still twitching from those fingers," he noted, amused. "Bet you’ll sob once I’m in."

And then—slow, merciless—he pushed in.

You gasped, your hands flying up to grip the sheets. He was thick, hot, stretching you open with no resistance. Your body, already slick and aching, took him in inch by inch.

“There we go,” he sighed, hips finally flush against yours. “So tight after all that. Gripping my cock so tight.”

You moaned again, one leg wrapping weakly around his waist.

Shiu groaned under his breath, leaning in close, his chest brushing your breasts, his hand sliding up to hold your jaw.

“That’s it, pretty,” he whispered, voice low and dangerous. “Let me fuck the cold right outta you.”

And he moved.

Slow at first, deep—then faster. Harder.

Your body jerked with each thrust. The headboard tapped the wall, your moans rising again, louder, more shameless.

His hand found your breast, squeezing, thumb flicking your nipple.

He slammed into you harder.

You whined, head thrown back.

“Shiu—too much—”

“Too much? Didn’t seem like too much when you were rubbing up on me like a needy little tease.”

He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, fucking into you deeper, pace brutal and perfect.

“That mouth gave me hell,” he panted against your ear. “Now it’s just begging. Moaning like a good little girl who knows her place.”

You keened under him, body shaking again, and he felt it.

“Ohh,” he laughed darkly, “you’re gonna cum again?”

“No—I can’t—”

“You will.”

He snapped his hips even harder, grinding into you at the end of every thrust. Your back arched off the bed.

“Cum on this cock,” he growled, voice finally rough. “Show me how warm you got from me.”

And then it hit.

You came again—loud, shameless, your walls clenching around him like a vice. Shiu cursed, buried himself deep, and stilled.

A thick, hot wave filled you seconds later—his release, raw and endless. He groaned in satisfaction.

“Fuck,” he muttered, still inside you, still hard. “Now you’re warm.”

You didn’t even know when you passed out—your body must’ve given in. But what roused you now wasn’t sleep... it was warmth.

Wet warmth.

A cloth, soft and damp, moving slowly between your legs. The tenderness of it made your skin twitch. His fingers were steady, sliding delicately over the mess he left inside you. The towel grazed your folds, and you could feel the ghost of his earlier touches all over again.

You stirred with a little noise, eyes cracking open.

And there he was—Shiu, crouched beside the bed, holding the cloth and smiling faintly, like he was just wiping crumbs from your chin.

“Morning,” he said casually, patting your thigh, then your head like you were some sleepy kitten. “Let’s eat something, yeah?”

No mention of last night. Not even a hint in his voice. The same calm, smooth-talking devil.

He didn’t even wait for your answer. Just left you there to dress while he moved into the kitchen, unfazed, like he hadn’t fingered you into delirium and fucked the cold right out of your body hours ago.

After some quiet bites of toast and lukewarm coffee, you’d murmured your address.

And now, silence filled the car. You hadn’t said a word. Just stared out the window, arms crossed.

You were barely processing the scenery when the back door opened and in slid him—Toji.

He sprawled out in the backseat like he owned the damn car, one leg propped up, eyeing you with a half-lidded grin.

“Well, well,” Toji drawled. “The brat’s all quiet now. What, you finally got house-trained?”

You glared forward, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

Shiu chuckled lightly, keeping one hand on the wheel.

“She needed some… warming up,” he said, voice like velvet and smirking at the windshield.

Toji let out a bark of a laugh. “Tch. Figured. You got that look like you had your fill last night.”

You flinched.

Shiu didn’t even blink. “She was cold. I fixed that.”

Toji leaned forward just enough to let his eyes catch yours in the rearview mirror. “Damn, you really shut her up. Didn’t think it was possible.”

Before you could open your mouth, Toji tapped Shiu’s shoulder and gestured something low about the next job, slipping into conversation like none of this was abnormal.

When it was time for him to get out, he opened the door but not before flicking your forehead with his fingers—hard enough to sting.

“Later, princess,” he snorted, then sauntered off.

You rubbed your forehead, still silent, still stewing.

Shiu kept driving like it was a regular Thursday. The rain had eased, leaving streaks on the windows.

Your house came into view, and he pulled up with a smooth stop. Didn’t even put the car in park—just leaned his elbow on the wheel and looked at you with that same unreadable calm.

“Here,” he said.

You unbuckled, still not speaking.

Still pissed.

Still flushed.

Still aching in a way that had nothing to do with your body and everything to do with the smug prick who acted like you were just another day’s job.

You grabbed the handle—but stopped.

“Y’know what?” you muttered, voice small but angry. “You’re a fucking dickhead.”

That got him.

Shiu’s hand reached out fast—faster than you expected—and wrapped around your wrist, pulling you back slightly before you could get out.

“Mm,” he hummed. “What’s with the attitude, princess?”

You finally looked at him—really looked.

Your eyes were wet, red around the edges, and your mouth trembled slightly. Not from sadness.

From frustration. Confusion. Want.

You hated how calm he looked. Hated that smug glint in his eyes. Hated that last night meant something to you and maybe nothing to him.

He just chuckled.

That low, knowing sound that made your stomach tighten.

Then he reached into the console and pulled out a slim black card, tucking it into your hand.

“Next time you feel cold,” he murmured, voice dropping low as he leaned in, close enough for your breath to hitch, “call me.”

His lips brushed near your ear.

“I’ll come stuff you full of heat until you pass out.”

You blinked.

Mouth parted.

Brain fried.

And Shiu? He just smiled, lazy and smug, eyes dipping to your stunned face one last time.

“Maybe then you’ll learn to keep that bratty little mouth busy.”

He let go.

Sat back.

And just like that, the door was open, the rain had stopped, and then he left you standing on the curb with your heart pounding, thighs clenched, and his card burning in your palm like a fucking brand.

A friend of mine requested something with Shiu Kong. So Here you go, enjoy it 🩷

Comment down to get tagged when i post any JJK content. Also I started a backup account in case something happens to my current one - just to be safe lol, So if y'all are interested, @jinjoohaa-blog - do follow !

This is an 18+ blog. If you're a minor, do not interact or follow — you will be blocked. If your age isn't in your bio, I’ll assume you're underage.

taglist : @sukunasbigtiddiewifey @savagecatsuga @nina-from-317 @sparkling-obsidian @ssstingrayyyyyyyy @pota-hoe @shiroonii @odysseusmom @thekkatherineblogg @dinokens-blog @dontcallmedoc @bunny-wunni @fairygardenprincesss @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh @styrofoamplat3s @emoedgylord

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bluebutterflytattooed · 3 days ago

Text

GAME ON

rugby!sevika x college roommate reader

CHAPTER SIX

chapter warnings: lesbian sex😼 (fingering, r!receiving)

Thanksgiving break had been fun, but you were happy to be back in Boston, settling into the familiar routine of dorm life. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed the tiny space you shared with Sevika until you were standing in the middle of the room, unpacking your neatly folded clothes and carefully placing them back into your dresser. The air smelled faintly of cherries and vanilla again, a scent that had started to feel like home.

You had just finished putting away your many toiletries when the door swung open.

"Well, well, well," Sevika's deep, teasing voice filled the room as she stepped inside.

You immediately turned, clocking the smug look on your roommate’s face. Sevika leaned casually against the door, arms crossed over her chest, her hair still damp from the rain outside. She had a lazy smirk pulling at the corner of her lips, and you knew exactly why.

Sevika had not forgotten about the Instagram incident.

You groaned, already exasperated. "Don't."

"Oh, I absolutely will," Sevika said, dropping her bag onto the floor. "I mean, I was minding my own business over break, just casually lifting weights at the gym, and then suddenly… like." She mimicked the motion dramatically. "From little Miss Y/N herself. On an ab pic. From a year ago."

You feltface your face heat up immediately. "It was an accident!"

"Mm-hmm," Sevika hummed, stepping closer, that smirk growing. "And then, mysteriously, I got a text from you saying it must've been a ghost."

You turned back to your suitcase, pretending to be very busy folding a sweater. "It was a ghost. My phone's haunted. Very tragic, really."

Sevika chuckled, stepping even closer until she was just behind you, so close you could feel the heat of her body against your skin. "You know, if you wanted to see them so badly, you could've just asked."

You let out a strangled sound and whipped around. "I did not want—"

Sevika tilted her head, her eyes glittering with amusement. "So you didn’t like what you saw?"

You opened your mouth, then shut it. There was no winning this argument. "I hate you."

Sevika snickered. "No, you don’t."

You both stood there for a moment, the playful tension buzzing between them, before Sevika finally pulled back and threw herself onto her bed. "Anyway," she said, stretching her long limbs over the blankets, "I missed annoying you. Welcome back, roomie."

Despite yourself and your irritation at the woman, you smiled. "I missed you too."

Sevika grinned, seeming satisfied with that. "Oh, by the way, my birthday’s next week."

You perked up. "Oh, really? What day?"

"The second," Sevika said, propping herself up on her elbows. "Gonna shower me with gifts and adoration?"

You rolled your eyes but made a mental note. You hadn’t even thought about Sevika’s birthday, but now that you knew, you were going to make sure that you found something perfect.

Sevika yawned and sat up. "Alright, unpacking is boring. Time to change."

You froze.

Sevika, of course, had no shame. She stood, reached for the hem of her hoodie, and peeled it off in one smooth motion, revealing a black sports bra underneath that showed off her sculpted arms and abs that you’d stared at a bit too much on your phone screen. Then, she hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her sweatpants and shimmied them down, leaving her in nothing but tight boxer briefs.

You were not staring.

Except you so obviously were.

For a second, all you could do was stand there like an idiot while Sevika stretched her arms over her head, completely unbothered, her toned stomach flexing slightly. It wasn’t fair.

Sevika definitely knew what she was doing.

"You okay over there?" Sevika asked, voice laced with amusement as she pulled a t-shirt over her head.

You tore your gaze away and turned back to your suitcase, trying to act normal. "Yeah! Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be?"

Sevika chuckled as she pulled on a pair of baggy sweats. "No reason."

You didn’t turn around until you were sure Sevika was fully clothed again. Even then, your heart was hammering embarrassingly fast in your chest.

You really needed to get it together.

—--------------------------------------------------------

Sevika didn’t really care about birthdays. They had never been a big deal to her. Growing up, her family would throw some extravagant party with too many guests, half of whom she didn’t even know. She'd get expensive gifts—things she never asked for, things her parents thought she should want. It was always an impersonal event, just another day, just another reminder of expectations placed on her.

So when she walked into her dorm room after her morning workout, she wasn’t expecting much. Maybe a casual "happy birthday" from her roomate, and that would be it.

She definitely wasn’t expecting the sight in front of her.

The dorm had been transformed. There were streamers in blue and yellow—her team’s colors—strung up along the walls. A small "Happy Birthday!" banner hung above her bed. The desk had a neatly wrapped pile of gifts stacked on it, and the scent of chocolate filled the air.

And then there was you.

You stood in the middle of it all, wearing a denim mini skirt and a snug white Brandy Melville t-shirt that hugged your body in a way that should be illegal. Your shiny hair was done up just slightly, a few strands framing your bright eyes, and your cherry-vanilla perfume filled the room.

You looked insanely pretty.

"Happy birthday!" You beamed, holding out a homemade chocolate cake with candles in it. "I, um… I made this myself, so no promises that it’s amazing, but I really tried."

Sevika blinked, completely stunned. For a moment, she just stared, taking in everything—the decorations, the cake, the effort you had put into all of this.

"You did all this?" Sevika finally asked, voice softer than usual.

You nodded, looking slightly shy. "Yeah. I just thought… birthdays should be special, you know? And since you’re not with your family, I wanted to make sure you felt celebrated."

Sevika felt something tighten in her chest.

She didn’t know what to say. No one had ever done anything like this for her. Not her parents, not her teammates. Not anyone.

You seemed to take her silence the wrong way because you quickly added, "I mean, if it’s too much or if you’re not really into birthdays—"

Sevika cut you off by setting down her gym bag and walking over, taking the cake carefully from your hands and setting it on the desk. Then, before she could second-guess herself, she pulled you into a bone-crushingly tight hug.

You let out a surprised squeak but quickly melted into it, your arms wrapping around Sevika’s waist.

Sevika held you for a moment, inhaling the familiar scent of cherries and vanilla, feeling the warmth of your body pressed against her own.

"Thank you," Sevika murmured, her voice quiet but sincere.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at her. "You’re welcome. You should make a wish before you blow out the candles."

Sevika smirked. "What if I already got what I wanted?"

You rolled her eyes at how cheesy she was, but Sevika could see the faint pink tinge on your cheeks. "Just make a wish," you insisted.

Sevika huffed out a small laugh before turning to the cake. She closed her eyes for a brief second, pretending to think of a wish, then blew out the candles.

After you cut into the cake and Sevika confirmed that it was actually really good ("You seriously made this? Are you a secret chef or something?"), you gestured toward the stack of presents.

"I got you some things," you said, biting your lip. "I hope you like them."

Sevika wasn’t used to opening gifts, but she sat down on her bed and took the first one that you handed her.

Inside was a black leather strap for her guitar, simple but high quality. She ran her fingers over it, knowing immediately that it was something she’d actually use.

"This is awesome," Sevika admitted. "I needed a new one."

You beamed. "I figured, since your old one looks kinda worn out."

The next gift was a set of CDs—Frank Ocean and Kendrick Lamar. Sevika let out a small laugh, glancing at you.

"You remembered?"

"Of course," You said. "We talked about music that night I helped you with homework, remember?"

Sevika definitely remembered that night. She had spent half of it trying to distract herself from how good you looked in tiny pajama shorts.

She shook the thought away and opened the next present. It was a hoodie—black, oversized, and featuring the logo of her favorite rugby team.

"Damn," Sevika said, genuinely impressed. "This is perfect."

You grinned. "I thought you might like it."

The final gift was an envelope. Sevika raised an eyebrow and opened it, pulling out a single ticket.

"A ticket to your dance showcase?" Sevika asked, looking at you.

You nodded, suddenly looking a little nervous. "Yeah. I just… I want you to come. If you want to."

Sevika stared at the ticket, something unfamiliar twisting inside her.

She had never been invited to something like this before—not in a way that actually mattered. She was usually the entertainment, the person showing off for other people to clap and cheer at and admire.

She looked back at you, who was watching her carefully, waiting for her reaction.

Sevika swallowed and nodded. "I’ll be there."

Your whole face lit up.

Sevika suddenly had the thought that maybe this was the best birthday she’d ever had.

—---------------------------------------------

You had never been this nervous before a performance.

You had danced in front of audiences your entire life—small recitals as a child, competitions in high school, and now, performing as part of your college’s varsity dance team. The stage was nothing new to you. The adrenaline, the rush of music filling your veins, the focus that came with movement—it was all familiar.

But this performance felt different.

Because Sevika was watching.

As you stood backstage, stretching out your limbs, you tried not to think about the fact that Sevika was out there in the audience. That somewhere, past the bright stage lights and rows of seats, Sevika was sitting, probably with her usual cool, unreadable expression.

Or maybe not. Maybe she’d be watching intently, those dark eyes focused only on you. Maybe she’d see every movement, every sharp yet fluid motion, and—

Stop.

You took a deep breath and shook out your hands, trying to push the thoughts away. You had a performance to focus on.

The lights dimmed, the murmurs of the audience fading into silence. The music started—soft at first, just the hum of a piano, and then it swelled, filling the theater.

You stepped onto the stage.

And then, you danced.

Your body moved effortlessly, every step precise yet full of emotion. The routine was contemporary—fluid, expressive, grounded in storytelling. It wasn’t flashy, it wasn’t about big tricks or showy movements. It was about the feeling behind it.

You lost yourself in the music, in the movement, in the rhythm of your breath matching your heartbeat and the way your limbs extended and curved in time with the beat. You weren’t thinking anymore. You weren’t worried. You were just dancing.

And in the audience, Sevika was completely in awe.

She had known you were a dancer, obviously. But watching you now, really watching you, was something else entirely.

You were mesmerizing.

Your body moved like it was made for this—like you could bend time and gravity to your will. The way you glided across the stage, the way your hair followed the motion of your turns, the way every movement felt intentional—it was stunning.

Sevika sat forward in her seat, completely captivated.

She had always thought you were beautiful, but this—this was something else.

By the time the final note played and you struck your last pose, Sevika realized she had been holding her breath.

The theater erupted into applause, and Sevika clapped along with the crowd, but all she could focus on was you.

After the show, you changed out of your simple costume and stepped out into the crisp night air, your heart still racing.

You spotted Sevika instantly.

She was leaning against a lamppost outside the theater, hands in the pockets of her hoodie, the hoodie you’d bought her, looking like she owned the world. When she saw you, she didn’t pull her usual smirk, she smiled instead.

"Damn," Sevika said as you walked up to her. "That was insane."

You felt your cheeks warm. "You think so?"

Sevika scoffed. "That was the most impressive thing I’ve ever seen. You were—" She exhaled, shaking her head slightly, like she couldn’t even find the right words. "I couldn’t take my eyes off you."

Your heart did a full-on flip.

"Thanks," you murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "That, um… means a lot."

Sevika studied you for a moment, then tilted her head. "C’mon. Let’s get ice cream."

You blinked. "Ice cream?"

Sevika shrugged. "Yeah. My treat."

You couldn’t help but smile. "Alright."

You ended up at a small ice cream shop near campus, one that was still open late. The neon glow of the menu illuminated your face as you studied the flavors.

"I’ll get a vanilla cone," you decided, looking up at the cashier.

Sevika raised an eyebrow. "Of course you would."

You crossed your arms. "And what’s that supposed to mean?"

Sevika smirked. "You just have major vanilla vibes. Cause you’re basic.” She teased.

Your face burned, but you refused to give Sevika the satisfaction of seeing you irritated. "And what are you getting?"

Sevika turned to the cashier. "Chocolate, in a cup."

You snorted. "How predictable."

Sevika rolled her eyes but smirked anyway. "Says the girl who just ordered vanilla."

Once you had your ice cream, you and your roommate took a seat at one of the outdoor tables. The city was quiet, a gentle autumn breeze rolling through the streets.

For a while, you both just ate in comfortable silence. But there was something in the air between them, something different.

Sevika finally broke the quiet. "So… was that your last step?"

You froze, your spoon hovering over the ice cream.

"What?" you asked, feigning innocence.

Sevika leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the table. "The plan. You know, the one where you’re trying to make me fall for you."

Your breath caught in your throat. You opened your mouth, then closed it.

"How—"

Sevika smirked. "You and your little partners-in-crime aren’t exactly stealthy. I heard you guys that night after the Canes and face masks."

You wanted to sink into the earth and die.

Your face must have shown it because Sevika let out a soft chuckle. "Relax, Y/N. It was cute."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "This is so embarrassing."

Sevika reached across the table and gently pulled your hands away.

"It worked," Sevika said, her voice softer now.

Your breath hitched again. You looked up at Sevika, eyes wide.

Sevika held your gaze. "I’m already gone for you."

And then, before you could even process those words, Sevika leaned in and kissed you.

It was soft at first—gentle and tentative, like Sevika was giving you a moment to pull away if you wanted to.

But you didn’t want to.

You leaned into it, your heart racing, your lips moving against Sevika’s like it was the most natural thing in the world. You could feel a scar rough on her lip, taste the chocolate in her mouth. Sevika’s hand cupped your jaw, her thumb brushing against your cheek. By the time she pulled away, you were breathless.

Sevika smirked, her lips still close to yours.

"So," she murmured, "what’s your next step?"

You let out a soft laugh, still dazed.

"Honestly?" you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I think I’m out of steps."

—------------------------------------

The air in the dorm felt charged with electricity.

Even as you stepped out of the bathroom, warm steam curling around you, you could feel it—something different lingering between you and Sevika. Maybe it was the kiss earlier that night, or maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about it. About Sevika’s lips on yours, about the way Sevika had whispered, I’m already gone for you.

You clutched the edge of your pink towel, tightening it around your body as you padded barefoot into the room. Sevika was sprawled across her bed, propped up against the headboard, her phone in one hand, scrolling aimlessly. She was wearing her usual nighttime outfit—a white wife beater and blue boxers, the fabric riding up just enough to reveal the sharp cut of her hip bones, and, a very lethal strike: a happy trail right below her navel.

You could feel Sevika’s eyes on you.

You tried to act natural, walking over to your dresser, but you felt so hyper aware of yourself. Of Sevika. Of the way the air sizzled between you both, unspoken words crackling in the silence.

"Good shower?" Sevika asked casually, though her voice was a little rougher than usual.

You hummed in response, pulling out a pair of pajama shorts—pink, ruffled, soft, the kind that barely covered anything. You grabbed a white tank top to match and turned back toward Sevika.

"Don’t look," you warned.

Sevika smirked. "No promises."

You rolled your eyes, but your heart pounded. You slipped your towel off and quickly changed, acutely aware of how bare you were in the tank top and shorts. She never used to think twice about what you wore in their dorm, but after that kiss… after the way Sevika looked at you now…

It was different.

You turned back around and saw Sevika not even pretending to be looking at her phone. She was watching you like a hawk.

"What?" you asked, feigning innocence, even as your skin burned under your roommates gaze.

Sevika just gave you a lazy, lopsided grin. "Nothing."

Liar.

You swallowed, trying to push past the tension. "Wanna watch a movie?"

Sevika arched a brow. "With me?"

"No, with the ghost that haunts this dorm," you deadpanned.

Sevika chuckled. "Alright, smartass. What are we watching?"

You grabbed your laptop and climbed into Sevika’s bed without thinking. You always did this when you watched movies with other people. It was normal. Totally normal.

Except, this time, Sevika looked at you like you were a challenge.

"Come here often?" Sevika teased as you settled against the pillows. She had only two in her bed, as opposed to the pile of pillows in your own.

"Shut up," you muttered, opening Netflix.

You scrolled through the options before pausing on a horror movie.

Sevika glanced at the screen. "You sure? I thought you were scared of—"

"I'm not scared!" you said quickly.

Sevika smirked like she knew exactly what was going to happen.

"Alright, pretty. Whatever you say."

Your stomach flipped at the nickname, but you ignored it and hit play.

—-----------------------------------------------

The movie had barely started before you regretted your choice.

The tension was unbearable. The eerie music, the dim lighting in their dorm, the fact that Sevika was right there, warm and solid and so incredibly smug every time you tensed up—

It was a problem.

Halfway through, the first big jump scare hit, and you yelped, instinctively burying your face in Sevika’s shoulder.

Sevika laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

"Oh, you’re totally not scared, huh?" she teased, voice thick with amusement.

"Shut up," you mumbled into Sevika’s shoulder. But you didn’t move away.

You felt safe there.

Sevika took full advantage of the moment, just as she’d been intending to for the whole movie, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling your body tight against hers.

"See?" Sevika murmured, lips near your ear. "Told you horror movies were a bad idea."

You could barely think. The warmth of Sevika’s body, the scent of her—a mix of fresh laundry and something undeniably her—was scrambling your poor brain.

"Shut up," you repeated, but softer this time.

Sevika chuckled, fingers grazing your bare waist, absentmindedly tracing little circles against your skin.

You shivered. Sevika noticed.

And then, before you could second-guess herself, you tilted your face up toward Sevika.

Your eyes met hers, and her gaze darkened in an instant.

You didn’t know who leaned in first, but suddenly, your lips were crashing together.

It was nothing like the first kiss. That one had been soft, hesitant, careful.

This?

This was desperate. Like you were starved animals trying to devour each other.

Sevika’s hands gripped your waist, pulling you into her lap, and you let her. You let yourself drown in the feeling of Sevika’s lips moving against yours, of the way Sevika’s hands gripped you like you were something precious and fragile but also wanted.

You tangled your fingers in Sevika’s hair, pulling her closer, and Sevika groaned into the kiss. That sound sent a shockwave through your entire body. You didn’t even realize how breathless you were until Sevika pulled away slightly, resting her forehead against yours.

"You drive me crazy," Sevika murmured, voice hoarse.

You swallowed hard, your hands still tangled in Sevika’s hair.

"Good," you whispered back.

Sevika let out a quiet chuckle before leaning in again, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your lips.

And then, without warning, Sevika grabbed the laptop and slammed it shut.

You blinked. "Uh-"

"No more horror movie," Sevika said simply, wrapping both arms around you and pulling you fully against her broad chest. You felt her breasts pressed against you, and your mind began to run wild.

You let out a tiny squeak. "You can’t just—"

"Shhh." Sevika smirked, adjusting the blankets around them. "Go to sleep."

You huffed, but you didn’t move. Didn’t want to move.

Instead, you let your head rest against Sevika’s shoulder, the sound of her heartbeat steady and strong beneath your ear. The muscle of her arm around you, combined with the metal of her fingers tracing circles on your back, was like a lullaby.

You sighed softly.

"Next time, no horror movies. You don’t do great with them." Sevika murmured.

Sevika pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

"Whatever you want, baby."

You definitely didn’t fall asleep smiling.

Not at all.

—-------------------------------------------

The dorm was quiet except for the soft hum of the heating system and the faint, steady sound of Sevika’s breathing.

You had fallen asleep against her, fully on top of her, chests pressed together, somewhere between the last kiss and the warm, sleepy haze that had settled over you both.

You were tucked against Sevika’s chest, legs tangled with hers, your cheek resting against the fabric of Sevika’s wife beater. Sevika had her metal arm slung protectively around your waist, fingers resting just above the waistband of your pajama shorts, holding you close like she never wanted to let go.

And you?

You were dreaming.

But it wasn’t just any dream.

It was that kind of dream.

The kind that burned through your subconscious, leaving you restless even in sleep.

The kind where Sevika’s hands were on you. Where Sevika’s voice was low, commanding. Where Sevika touched you the way you secretly wanted her to. The kind where you were moaning Sevika’s name.

You woke up gasping for air like you’d been drowning. Your entire body was flushed, burning, aching. You barely had time to register reality before you felt Sevika shift beneath you.

A sleepy groan rumbled from Sevika’s chest as she stirred. "Mmm…Y/N? You okay?"

You sucked in a sharp breath.

You were so not okay

Sevika’s voice was husky, thick with sleep, and way too attractive for your already horny state.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, willing yourself to calm down.

But then you felt it—the way Sevika’s arm was still wrapped around you, the way her huge hand had slipped a little lower in her sleep, fingers brushing against the soft skin where your hip met your waist.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

"Uh," you squeaked.

Sevika let out a quiet chuckle, voice still heavy with sleep. "You sound flustered."

You groaned, hiding your face against her body, your head almost pressed between her tits. "I hate you."

Sevika laughed again, fully awake now. "You’re literally laying on top of me and you’re blushing. What’s up?"

You didn’t answer.

Because how were you supposed to answer? Oh, I just had a very detailed, very hot dream about you pinning me against the wall and whispering filthy things in my ear. No big deal.

Sevika shifted again, sitting up slightly, her other arm propping her up. "C’mon."

You groaned again. "Go back to sleep."

"Not until you tell me what’s got you all squirmy."

"I am not squirmy!"

Sevika smirked. "You totally are."

You huffed out a breath, still refusing to look at her.

Sevika let the silence hang for a second before speaking again, this time in that low, teasing voice that made your entire body betray you.

"You had a dream, didn’t you?"

You froze.

Sevika's smirk widened. "You did, didn’t you?"

You felt Sevika’s fingers gently tracing over the curve of your hip, barely there, like she was testing the waters.

"Tell me about it," Sevika murmured.

You squeezed your eyes shut. "No."

Sevika laughed, fingers still moving in slow, torturous little patterns against your bare skin.

"Come on, baby," Sevika whispered, right against your ear. "Was it about me?"

You let out a shaky breath.

Sevika grinned. "Oh, it was about me."

You finally snapped. You shoved Sevika’s chest lightly, glaring at her. "You’re so annoying."

Sevika laughed but caught your wrists easily, flipping them so that she was hovering over you now, arms bracing on either side of your head.

Your breath hitched.

Sevika’s wild smirk softened, just slightly. "Tell me."

You swallowed hard, trapped beneath her, heart hammering.

And then, very quietly, you admitted, "It was… a lot."

Sevika’s gaze sharpened."Oh?"

You felt everything inside you short-circuit.

"I—it was just—" you stammered, but Sevika leaned in, cutting off your words with a hard kiss, like she was trying to devour you. You melted into it. You didn’t resist. Didn’t hesitate. You just kissed Sevika back, arms sliding around her neck, fingers tangling into her messy hair.

Sevika let out a quiet, satisfied hum and deepened the kiss, one hand grasping your hip, pulling you closer.

It was slow. It was nearly unbearable.

Sevika was taking her time, savoring it, savoring you.

When she finally pulled away, you were breathless.

Sevika, still hovering over you, brushed your knuckles against your cheek and smirked. "I think I’d like to hear more about that dream. What’d I do in it, huh?"

You swallowed hard. “Well, um…” She raised an eyebrow at you, her metal fingers tight against your hip. “You had me against the wall, and you were kissing my neck…” A cruel, mischievous smirk overtook your roommates face. She lowered her head down, pressing her lips against your neck, sometimes soft, sometimes so hard you could feel her teeth nipping at your skin. Your heartbeat quickened. “And, um, I could feel your hands wandering all over me, on my chest…”

“Yeah? Like this?” Sevika whispered against your neck as her metal hand wandered upwards and snuck under your shirt, steel fingers ghosting over your nipple. Your back arched up into her touch the slightest bit, a tiny gasp leaving your lips. Urged on by that, Sevika rubbed her metal finger over your perked nipple before pinching at it.

“Fuck…” You groaned. “Yeah, like that.” She peeled off your shirt, exposing your body to her hungry eyes. Her kisses trailed down from your neck to your chest, leaving dark hickeys all over your tits, before taking your untouched nipple into her hot mouth. “Sev…” Small moans filled your dorm, further fueling Sevika as she bit lightly down on your nipple before kissing you hard.

“What else did you dream about?” She asked, her voice so low that she sounded like pure sin. The cold metal of her hand grabbed at your tit, hard and needy. “Was I fucking you with my tongue? Hm? Or were my fingers so deep in you that you could feel me in your guts? What was it?”

You moaned just from the words leaving her mouth, and then from the kisses she pressed to your neck. “It was- mm- both. Fuck, Sev, I need you.” With that, she lost the little restraint she still had. Her metal hand ghosted down your body, her fingertips brushing against your ribs, your waist, your hips, before settling on your thigh and practically ripping your pajama shorts off. If you went one more minute without her fingers where you needed them to be, you would’ve started screaming.

“Be patient,” she tutted. It’s like she could read your mind. Her hand moved to rest between your legs, and then her real, flesh fingers were right against your cunt. They moved in slow strokes around your clit at first, teasing you and smiling about it. Soft whimpers left your lips and your hips rose against the touch. Finally, one of her thick, strong fingers dipped inside of you. Your head fell back and a moan was ripped from you, much louder than it should’ve been, knowing that there were other dorms on either side of you. You threw one arm over your mouth, biting down on your own flesh to muffle the noises that fell from your lips, while your other hand went to claw at Sevika’s muscled back. She let you adjust before moving her finger, slowly curling it inside of you as you moved beneath her, your hips rising and falling.

“More,” You pled with her. She silently obliged and you felt another finger press into your wet heat. You cried out, biting into your arm with an attempt to keep yourself silent.

“Mm, let me hear you. Wanna hear you,” Sevika murmured into your ear, her eyes half-lidded and gaze heavy. Her eyes were alight with arousal just from watching you. You lifted your arm from your mouth.

Sevika moved her fingers at a slow pace to start, filling you up and dragging small sounds from your mouth, sounds you never thought you could make. Your moans and the sounds of your wet pussy filled the room. How much practice had she had with things like this? How many girls had she been above before you? Looking down at them with starving eyes?

“You’re so pretty,” She rasped, her voice laced with need. With the need for you. You felt your eyes widen as you stared up at her. You moaned much louder than you should’ve as she curled her fingers, hitting a spot you didn’t even know existed. You arched your back, needing to be as full as possible.

“Sevika,” her name fell from your lips in a soft whisper. “Sevika, please.” You whimpered, much to your embarrassment. The pace of her fingers picked up, and when you felt her begin to rub circles on your swollen, sensitive clit, you let out a ragged cry of pleasure and your eyes rolled back in your head for a moment. Your thighs were slick with your own arousal, Sevika’s fingers must’ve been soaked. You accidentally tugged at her hair when she curled her fingers just perfectly again, and this time she groaned.

“Shit, do that again,” She said, the words being less of a question and more of a request. So you did. You pulled at her hair again, and she drove her fingers deeper into you, pressing her thumb harder against your clit. You cried out in intense pleasure. “R’you close?” She whispered against your neck.

You nodded at her, your eyes practically tearing up. She smiled softly at you, and once again, her fingers began to move at an impossibly fast pace. You could feel heat and pressure building quickly in the pit of your stomach, the space between your thighs likely soaking the couch beneath you. “Holy fuck, Sevika,” You moaned.

“Mhmm,” She said, her voice practically a purr. “Come for me,” The tone of her voice delivering a request is what sent you over the edge. You came all over her fingers with your legs shaking, your entire body tensing and your eyes rolling back. You bit back what could very have been a scream, your head tipping back and your back arching. Color washed over the backs of your eyelids, and your skin felt like it had been lit aflame. Your fingers were pulling hard at Sevika’s hair, but the waves of pleasure rolling through your body made you feel numb to any thoughts. You were hot and cold all at once, your skin peppered with goose bumps as well as damp with sweat.

“Fuck,” You moaned as you came down from a euphoric high, your eyes settling on Sevika. Her mouth was slightly open, her free hand gripping your thigh like it was a lifeline. Her eyes were hooded and staring at you like she wanted to devour you. She’d always had a haunting look to her eyes, but when they’re trained on you and filled with an animalistic hunger, they become enchanting.

“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever fucking seen,” Sevika murmered as she pulled her fingers out of your cunt with an embarrassingly loud squelching nouse.

Your face flushed at the compliment, but you had no idea what to say in response. All air had been ripped from your lungs.

“Need t’taste you,” Her voice lowered again as she suddenly gripped both your thighs and threw them over her shoulders.

“Sevika!” You yelped, still aching from your orgasm. She ignored your cries.

That night, you learned that Sevika was as good with her tongue as she was with her hands.

——————————————————————————

y’know that thing i said about regular updates… oopsie!

ummm anyways here’s a smut filled chapter for you guys in honor of pride month! i hope it makes up for yet another late update.

has anyone else been reading the orca!vi fics by @applejusue because they’re my favorite thing ever atm.

as always, please leave questions and requests for me! and honor this pride month by kissing lots of girls 🙂‍↕️

lots of love, blue🦋

tag list: @vahnilla @elliesngirl @naniiiii12 @liztreez @eriiwaiii2 @elliesgffrfr @nymanas @yashirawr @leeidk87 @imvioletscupcake @caffeine-pup @too-x @vxtanne31 @pipirka827363829 @sleepycrybbylaiah @rosebg @sevikasrightboob @deliciouslydeviantsatan @nerdyjeansblog @mewl3tte @blanladelulu @violetsforroses98 @peskylez @barelykiramman @pramspams @mystiqueonfleek007 @madzorwhatever @bealindaa @koralinebox @justhereforvibesxd @jizzuo308 @shxdy0ariia @lia-winther @relrifda

#rugby sevika supremacy #sevika x fem reader #sevika please #sevika fluff #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #sevika i love you #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #sevika #sevika supremacy #wlw smut #wlw nsft #author #arcane #wlw author

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whisperedmeg · 3 days ago

Text

VERBAL IMPULSE ―.✦ s.r. soft animal series ∘ part vii

pairing: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader

summary: a first cheesesteak, a slip of the word boyfriend, and a thousand miles of want unraveled one breath at a time.

genre: smut, fluff

w/c: 2.3k

tags/warnings: post-prison spencer, cavity-inducing sugary sweet fluff, singular use of “y/n” but it was necessary I swear, reader mentions being in her thirties (near spencer’s age) but you can ignore that if you’d prefer to imagine her younger/older, second half is basically porn with(out) a plot - phone sex, mutual masturbation, spencer talks reader through it, spencer calls reader good girl/angel. 18+ MDNI

a/n: i am genuinely obsessed with them you guys. I can’t even pretend I’m not. this chapter is so cute and steamy and AHH I just hope you all love reading it as much as I loved writing it. buckle up tho because part 8 is gonna be a roller coaster. as always, appreciate all comments/likes/reblogs more than I can even express! 🫶🏼

series masterlist

When I told Spencer I was taking him to the best hidden gem in DC, I don’t think this was what he pictured.

The place didn’t look like much from the outside — just a half-sunk storefront squeezed between a laundromat and a vape shop, with a flickering neon sign that said “GENO’S BUT NOT THAT ONE.” The “O” was permanently burnt out.

Spencer stared at it like I’d dragged him to the edge of a portal to another dimension. “This is… charming,” he said slowly, blinking at the graffiti-scuffed windows.

I grinned, tugging his sleeve. “Don’t let the vibe scare you. It’s the best cheesesteak you can find outside of Philadelphia. Swear on my life.”

“I’ve never had a cheesesteak,” he said, like it was a confession.

I stopped cold on the sidewalk and turned to face him. “You’ve what?”

He shifted awkwardly. “I’ve read about them.”

“Spencer,” I said, clutching my chest in mock offense. “This is the most serious thing you’ve ever said to me. More serious than quantum physics or being framed for murder by a serial killer”

He laughed, eyes creasing at the corners.

Inside, it smelled like heaven and heart disease — grilled onions, hot beef, grease seeping into paper napkins. The woman behind the counter gave me a nod of recognition, and I waved as I slid into the corner booth that was always just a little too sticky.

Spencer sat across from me, peering cautiously at the menu, which was just a black letterboard with six options and a lot of personality. “What do I order?”

“I’ll do it,” I said. “You’ll panic and ask for a salad.”

He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again and smiled. “Fair.”

I went up to the counter and brought us back two cheesesteaks — one classic with onions and whiz, one with provolone and hot peppers — and watched his face transform as he took the first bite. Eyes wide. Cheeks pink. He didn’t speak for a full thirty seconds.

“Oh my god,” he finally mumbled around a mouthful. “This is life changing.”

“I know,” I said smugly. “You’re welcome.”

He pointed his cheesesteak at me like a gavel. “You could’ve led with this when we first met. ‘Hi, I’m Y/N. I know where the best cheesesteak in DC is.’ I would’ve proposed on the spot.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s all it takes?”

“Apparently.”

We were still laughing when the front door chimed, and a familiar voice called my name.

I turned to see Camille — one of my closest friends since undergrad — weaving through the tables with her usual chaotic energy, curly dark hair pulled up into a messy bun, sandals slapping against the laminate tile. She stopped when she saw Spencer.

“Ooooh,” she said, eyes gleaming. “Is this the boy?”

Spencer immediately stood, ever polite, even though his hands were full of cheesesteak and he had melted cheese on his thumb. “Hi,” he said nervously. “I’m Spencer.”

Camille looked him up and down like he was a rescue puppy she was trying to assess for adoptability. “So you’re the genius prison boyfriend.”

I groaned. “Camille.”

As if the ‘prison’ label wasn’t bad enough, the term ‘boyfriend’ just had to be thrown out into the open, too, before we’d had any sort of formal conversation to indicate I was allowed to call him that. It was a little silly at this point, to not even know if Spencer was technically my boyfriend considering that we spent every night we could together and said “I love you” like, 17 times a day — not to mention we were both well into our thirties and past the age where a multi-month talking stage would be acceptable — but still. I shot her daggers with my eyes and hid mortified behind my soda cup.

“What? That’s what you called him. In your texts.”

Spencer blinked. “You… called me your prison boyfriend?”

“Okay,” I said, raising a hand in defense. “Context is important. Camille said it first as a joke, I just went along with it.”

But Spencer was grinning now, delight creeping into his voice. “No, no, I like it. It’s accurate. Very specific branding.”

Camille plopped herself down at the edge of the booth and stole one of my fries. “So, Spencer. What are your intentions here?”

I groaned again.

Spencer, to his eternal credit, didn’t flinch. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “she just introduced me to cheesesteaks, which I think makes this pretty serious. Also I’m wildly in love with her, but I’m not sure if we’re announcing that in sandwich shops.”

I choked. Camille’s eyes shot wide.

He froze.

“I mean—” he began, clearly scrambling. “I didn’t mean to just blurt it out. Not that I don’t mean it — I do. I mean, you already know I love you. We say it all the time now, so I just—was that okay? Should I not have said it in front of—?”

I reached for his hand across the table and squeezed. “Spence. It’s okay.”

He looked at me, worried, searching. “Too much?”

“Not enough,” I murmured. “Say it again.”

His gaze softened. “I love you.”

I smiled. “I love you, too.”

Camille made a gagging noise and threw a napkin at me. “Gross. I love it. Now someone please give me a bite of their cheesesteak before I start sobbing.”

—

We spent the rest of the afternoon in that little corner booth — eating, talking, laughing. Camille and Spencer bonded over obscure jazz albums and neurodivergent tendencies. He told her about a case once solved with a single strand of dog hair. She told him about the time I got so mad at a CVS self-checkout stand that I left my snacks and Midol on the floor and walked out.

Later, as we walked back to my place, Spencer slipped his hand into mine.

“I liked today,” he said. “Thank you for showing me your world.”

“You fit in better than you think,” I said.

He bumped my shoulder lightly. “You mean as your boyfriend?”

My heart fluttered. “Oh. Is that what you are?”

“I hope so,” he said. “Unless I just embarrassed myself for no reason in front of your friend.”

I laughed, leaning in. “You’re definitely my boyfriend.”

“Good,” he said, kissing my temple. “I’m kind of obsessed with you, you know.”

And I was kind of obsessed with him, too.

—

It had been a few weeks since our cheesesteak date and the accidental boyfriend slip, and in that time, life had started to stretch into something that felt almost like a rhythm. Spencer was back to work full-time, and we were both still figuring out what that meant — long days, last-minute travel, texts squeezed between interviews and autopsies. But still, we found each other in the spaces in between. Late dinners. Quiet mornings. Stolen kisses before the sun came up. Needy touches that started in our sleep and ended in breathy sighs.

And now, he was gone again. Three days into a case in Texas, and I’d hardly heard his voice since he left.

It was nearly midnight, and I was stretched across my mattress with the fan humming overhead, face buried in a book I’d already read four times. My bed felt too big without him. Too still.

When my phone finally lit up with his name, my heart did a little flip.

I smiled, thumb swiping across the screen instantly. “Hi.”

There was a pause, like the sound of him exhaling into relief. “Hey,” he murmured, voice low and a little raspy, like he was lying in bed too, half-lit by a motel lamp somewhere in the middle of nowhere. “Did I wake you?”

“You never wake me. I was just waiting for you to call.”

A warm sound escaped him — not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “Good. I couldn’t sleep. And I missed your voice.”

I turned off the bedside lamp, settling deeper into the pillows as I turned on speaker phone and laid the phone down next to my head. “Rough day?”

“A little. Just long. We’re getting close, but I’ve been stuck in my own head all night. Thought maybe hearing you would help.”

My chest squeezed at the softness in his voice. “Always happy to help.”

There was silence for a beat. Then, lighter: “What are you wearing?”

I laughed, my cheeks warming. “Seriously?”

“I mean,” he said, that little edge of nervous teasing curling around the words, “I could guess, but I’d rather hear it from you.”

I tugged the covers up over me, suddenly shy despite the fact that he wasn’t even here. “It’s just one of your shirts.”

“That’s cruel,” he groaned. “Which one?”

“The purple one, with the little hole near the sleeve.”

He made a strangled little noise. “You always look so good in that one. It’s so stretched out.”

“It is,” I said, smiling. “And yes, I’m wearing underwear. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Damn.”

We both laughed, then his voice dipped lower. “I wish I were there. I keep thinking about last week. You in my lap. The way you looked at me.”

I shifted under the sheets, skin prickling with the memory. “I couldn’t help it. You looked so good.”

His breath caught on the other end. “You were straddling me. Hair all messy. You had that look on your face like you were trying to be good but barely holding on.”

I closed my eyes, heat pooling low in my belly. “I was.”

His voice turned molten. “I love how responsive you are. The little sounds you make when I touch your hips. That breathy one when I kiss behind your ear.”

“You know them by heart now?” I asked, teasing, breath uneven.

“I’ve memorized all of them,” he said. “I play them on a loop in my mind when I miss you.”

“You and your freaky memory,” I teased. I let out a shaky exhale before adding, “I miss you so much.”

“Miss you every second,” he murmured back. He was silent for a moment, like he was going over the next thing he wanted to say in his own brain before finally releasing the words. “Tell me where your hands are.”

I hesitated, breath catching. “Um, one’s under my head, and the other’s on my lower stomach. Just… resting. Why?”

“Are you wet?” he asked, barely audible.

I blinked, caught off guard. Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t on the list. Not from Spencer — not the man who blushed the first time I straddled his lap, who once apologized mid-makeout for knocking my knee weird. I’d been so careful not to push him for more, even after months of being together, even after all the nights we’d spent exploring each other with only our hands and mouths. After everything he’d gone through, I didn’t want him to feel rushed into sex, so we still hadn’t gone that far. And while phone sex wasn’t exactly sex, obviously, it was still… a lot, and I hadn’t realized he was bold enough to cross this line. God, maybe I didn’t know everything about him after all. Or maybe long-distance horniness truly just knows no bounds, even for Spencer. It sent a pulse of heat straight through me.

The shock wore off after a beat, and I let out a soft sigh. “Mhm,” I hummed.

“God,” he groaned. “I can’t even tell you what I’d do if I were there.”

“Try,” I whispered.

His voice was raw now, velvet dragged over heat. “I’d start slow. Lay you back, run my fingers down your thighs. I’d take my time — tease you until you begged. You’d be so soft and warm under me. I’d press my mouth to your stomach, then lower, then kiss you between your thighs until you were shaking.”

I whimpered, hand slipping beneath the waistband of my panties and beginning to move. “Spencer…”

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Yeah,” I murmured.

“Good girl.”

The words hit me like a spark. I arched slightly, hand moving in slow, steady circles. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

He let out a breath that sounded like it was laced with agony. “I’m hard. Have been since you said you were wearing my shirt. I’m palming myself over my boxers right now, trying not to lose it.”

My breath quickened. “Maybe I want to hear you lose it a little.”

He groaned low in his throat, and I could practically feel the tension in his muscles across the distance. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“I think I do.”

“I wish I could see you right now,” he said, voice wrecked and beautiful. “Wish I could press your thighs open with my hands. Watch your face. Feel the way you move as you’re getting close.”

I whimpered again, toes curling under the sheets, my free hand clutching at the fabric beside me like I could anchor myself to something.

“I want you to touch yourself the way I would,” he murmured. “Slow at first. Then deeper. Let your hips roll.”

We moved in tandem, hands on our own skin, breathing syncing through the line, chasing the same rhythm from over a thousand miles apart. I could hear him stroking himself now, the soft, slick sound and the hitch in his breath every few seconds. I closed my eyes and imagined it — him, sprawled out on some hotel bed, hair mussed, lips parted, body taut with wanting, hand wrapped around his cock.

“Are you close?” he asked, voice tight, fraying at the edges.

“Yes,” I gasped. “Spencer, I—”

“Come for me,” he said, low and commanding. “Right now. I want to hear you fall apart.”

That was all it took. My body seized, pleasure crashing through me like a wave too big to fight. I bit my lip hard but couldn’t stop the sound that escaped — half cry, half his name. My back arched. My legs shook. Every nerve lit up like a struck match.

On the other end of the line, he let out a quiet, guttural moan. “Fuck, angel.” There was a pause — then another sharp exhale, the telltale stutter of his release. Not loud, but raw. Unfiltered.

We lay there in the aftermath, nothing but soft breathing and crackling silence between us.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured eventually, voice loose and sleepy, like it had all unraveled something in him, too.

“I miss you,” I said softly, my fingers curled loosely around the phone as I picked it up from the pillow next to me. “I wish you were here.”

“I will be soon. And when I am,” he said slowly, deliberately, “I’m going to take my time with you. Every inch. Every look. Every sound.”

I swallowed hard, heart thudding. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

ᝰ.ᐟ

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #criminalminds #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #soft animal s.r. x reader

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sumluckr · 2 days ago

Text

Crayon dreams

Pairing: Na Baek-jin x female reader

Summary: A quiet visit to the orphanage stirs unexpected emotions when a child’s innocent question forces you and Baek-jin to confront a future you never dared to imagine.

Sunlight drifts through the high windows of the orphanage playroom, painting rectangles of warmth on the wooden floor. You sit cross-legged on a soft, threadbare rug with a half-circle of children gathered around. A storybook lies open in your lap, and your voice is gentle as you bring its characters to life. The kids listen with rapt attention, giggling at your animated expressions and sound effects. Their laughter is a soothing melody, one that eases the heaviness you didn’t realize you were carrying in your chest.

As you turn the page, you glance up and notice Baek-jin leaning against the doorway. His tall frame nearly fills it, broad shoulders relaxed in a charcoal dress shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows. He’s ditched the suit jacket today, but still looks out of place in this brightly colored room – a lone figure of shadow amidst the pastel walls and paper crafts. His dark hair catches a halo of afternoon light, but the hard angles of his face remain unreadable. His arms are folded loosely, an indulgent half-smile tugging at his lips as he watches you entertain the children. To anyone else, that faint smile might be imperceptible, but you’ve learned to read the subtle softness in his eyes when he’s at ease. Here, away from prying eyes and the weight of his other life, he allows a trace of warmth to surface.

“…and the brave little bunny found her way home. The end,” you conclude softly, closing the book. A chorus of clapping and cheers erupts from the kids. You can’t help but grin widely, heart swelling at their delight. Immediately, a few little hands shoot up, eager to request another story or a game. Before you can respond, a tiny girl with pigtails – Nari – crawls into your lap with a sheet of paper clutched in her fist. She’s about five years old, with chubby cheeks and big brown eyes that shine with affection. She has been your little shadow for weeks now, ever since you started volunteering here.

Nari holds up her drawing proudly. It’s done in bright crayon colors – a shaky stick-figure scene of a man, a woman, and a child holding hands under a yellow sun. You recognize yourself in the woman’s oval face and long hair, drawn in with a purple crayon. The man in the is colored all in black, toweringly tall beside the others – unmistakably Baek-jin. Between the two figures is a smaller one with pigtails and a pink dress. All three are smiling with oversized, happy grins.

Your breath catches in your throat at the innocence and hope captured in those wobbly lines. “This is so beautiful,” you say, voice hushed. You run your thumb gently over the childlike scrawl of the three figures. A family. Your heart aches at the sweetness of it. “Thank you for drawing this for me. Who are these people here?” you ask, feigning a light, curious tone even as your chest tightens.

The little girl beams, pointing eagerly. “It’s you,” she says, her small finger tapping the purple figure. Then she points to the other one. “And Baek-jin oppa.” Finally she taps the little girl in between. “And that’s me!”

A soft exhale escapes you. You glance over at him by the door – he’s still watching, his smile gone now, replaced by an intense, unreadable look. Did he hear? You can’t tell, but his posture has shifted; he stands a little straighter, hands now loose at his sides. You notice one of his sleeves has slipped back down to his wrist. Absent-mindedly, he pushes it up again, and for an instant you catch a glimpse of dark ink curling around the strong tendon of his forearm. The edge of a tattoo, usually hidden beneath his polished exterior, peeks out before he covers it. It’s a stark reminder of the world he belongs to outside these cheerful walls.

You swallow and refocus on Nari. She’s waiting expectantly for your reaction to her artwork. Around you, a couple of the other kids start to drift away in search of another activity now that storytime is over. One boy has dragged Baek-jin into helping stack some new board games on a shelf, and you see him wordlessly oblige, lifting the boxes with ease. The boy chatters at him, undeterred by his silence. Despite his quiet nature, Baek-jin has a presence that demands respect – even children seem to sense it. Yet they aren’t afraid of him. In fact, a few younger ones cling to his legs now, giggling as they attempt to climb him like a tree. A ghost of a smile touches his lips again. He pretends not to know how to play along, but then crouches to their level, letting them clamber onto his back with a patience that makes your heart flutter.

“They really like him, don’t they?” Nari observes in her tiny voice, drawing your attention back. She’s now curled against your chest comfortably, watching the other kids swarm your fiancé. There’s pure admiration in her eyes – he must seem so strong and cool to a child. You smile gently and brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

“They do,” you agree. “Baek-jin’s like a hero to them.” The words leave your mouth before you can think twice. A hero… perhaps that’s a stretch for a man with blood on his hands. But here, seeing him gently spin a toddler around to elicit a gleeful shriek, it’s easy to forget who he is beyond this place. You allow yourself, just for a moment, to indulge in the fantasy that this is normal – that he is normal, that both of you are simply a young couple spending a sunny afternoon with kids who adore you.

Nari twists around in your lap to face you, her expression suddenly serious in that way only small children can manage. “Unnie,” she says, using the affectionate term for an older sister, “can I ask something?”

You feel a pang of tenderness at her earnest face. “Of course, sweetheart,” you reply, smoothing down her wrinkled drawing on your knee. “You can ask me anything.”

She hesitates, biting her lip. Her gaze flickers over to your lover across the room, then back to you. “Do you and Baek-jin oppa come here every day?” she asks slowly.

You shake your head, slightly puzzled. “Not every day. We come on weekends, you know that. During the week we have work.” You offer a reassuring smile. “But we wish we could be here every day. I love spending time with you all.”

She nods thoughtfully, but you sense that wasn’t her real question. She fiddles with the edge of your blouse for a moment, gathering courage. When she speaks again, her words come out in a rushed whisper, as if afraid to say them too loud: “Are you and Baek-jin oppa… my new parents?”

Time seems to freeze for a beat. You feel the question like a small earthquake in your soul, shaking loose emotions you’ve kept carefully in check. Her big hopeful eyes search yours, utterly guileless, and you forget how to breathe. Your vision blurs as a hot sting gathers behind your eyes.

“I–” You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Nari’s question hangs in the air, achingly earnest, and you are completely at a loss. Gently, she reaches up to touch your cheek with her tiny hand, as if trying to comfort the sudden sadness she sees there. The tender gesture breaks you. A tear slips free despite your efforts to hold it back.

Her face falls when she notices your tears. She thinks she’s done something wrong. “I’m sorry,” she says in a small, frightened voice. “Please don’t cry, unnie. I just… I just thought—” Her own eyes well up, misunderstanding your silence.

Immediately, you gather her into your arms, holding her close. “No, no, it’s okay sweetie,” you whisper thickly, stroking her hair. Your throat feels tight. How can you explain the complicated truth to a five-year-old? How can you possibly make her understand that you’re crying not out of sadness at her, but at the impossible sweetness of her wish – and the impossibility of fulfilling it?

Behind you, you hear footsteps approach quietly. A large warm hand rests on your shoulder. You know without looking that it’s Baek-jin; you’d know his touch anywhere. He squeezes gently, a silent question in the gesture. You tilt your head up to see him now kneeling beside you on the rug. The children who were playing with him have scampered off, giving you three a bubble of relative privacy amid the bustle of the room. His dark eyes flicker from Nari’s tearful face to your own. His jaw is tense, but there’s a flicker of concern in his gaze – and something deeper that looks almost like regret.

Nari turns her head toward him, still tucked in your embrace. Her small voice trembles with yearning. “I just thought maybe… because you both come here together and you’re so nice…” She wipes at her nose with the back of her hand. “I thought maybe you could be my mom and dad.” Her last words are barely audible.

You feel Baek-jin’s hand tremble ever so slightly on your shoulder. It’s rare to see him unsettled; this man who stares down danger with a cold smirk is now struggling to find words to say to a heartbroken little girl. After a moment, he reaches out and gently pats her back. His movements are careful, almost awkward, as though he’s afraid he might hurt her with his strength. “Nari,” he says, his voice low and surprisingly soft, “you know we… we care about you a lot.”

He pauses, glancing at you for guidance. You give a tiny nod, encouraging him to continue. You’ve never heard him speak in such a tender tone before – it’s both beautiful and painful to hear. “You’re a very special girl,” he continues. “Anyone would be lucky to have you as their daughter.” His throat works, as if the next words are hard for him. “But… I’m sorry. We’re not… able to be your parents.”

The little girl sniffles, rubbing her face against your chest. She doesn’t fully understand, but she nods slowly into your shirt. “Because you’re not married?” she asks innocently. “Or because you don’t want a daughter?” That last question breaks on a hiccup, and you can feel the crack it puts in your heart.

“Oh, honey,” you whisper, cradling her face in your hands so she looks at you. “It’s not that we don’t want you. We do, we love spending time with you. You’re wonderful.” Your voice quavers despite your attempt to sound reassuring. How can you make her believe this truth? “If things were different…,” you begin, then bite your tongue. That path only leads to promises you can’t keep.

Baek-jin finishes gently for you: “Some grown-up things make it hard right now. But you did nothing wrong. We both care about you so much, and we’ll always be your friends.” The word friends feels utterly inadequate, but it’s all he can offer.

Nari studies his face with a solemn intensity, as if deciding whether to trust what he says. Finally, she nods again. “Okay,” she whispers. She pulls back from your arms slightly and reaches for Baek-jin. He looks startled for a split second, but then he leans in and lets her wrap her little arms around his neck. You see him close his eyes as he returns the hug, one large hand splayed protectively against the small of her back. In that embrace, you witness two sides of your lover colliding – the hardened gang leader who deals in intimidation, and the man who, deep down, yearns for something pure and good in his life. His fingers tremble where they cling to the girl’s tiny frame, as if he’s afraid to let go.

“Nari!” calls one of the orphanage staff from across the room. “Come help me carry the snacks, darling.” The older woman smiles apologetically at you and your partner, probably assuming the child is bothering you. You quickly shake your head to indicate it’s fine.

The little girl reluctantly releases Baek-jin and looks between you both. “I have to go,” she says, wiping her face with the back of her hand again. She musters a brave little smile. “Thank you for listening. I’m sorry I made you sad.”

Your eyes well up anew. You hug her once more, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you assure her softly. “I promise.” Baek-jin nods in agreement, gently ruffling her hair. She gives you each one last squeeze – her tiny arms around your neck, then his – before she scampers off to join the matron.

Silence hangs between you both as you watch her skip away. She’s already chatting with the matron, resilient as ever, though she casts a shy glance back at you two before disappearing into the kitchen. The colorful crayon drawing remains in your hands, a fragile testament to a dream that for one innocent moment felt almost within reach. You stare down at those smiling stick figures – at you and Baek-jin holding her hand – until your vision blurs with tears again.

Baek-jin shifts beside you, lowering himself fully to sit on the rug. The usual confident distance he keeps has vanished; now he’s close enough that you feel the heat radiating from his body. He gingerly takes the drawing from you, studying it in silence. “She drew this?” he asks quietly. His voice is rough around the edges, as if he’s been holding back a tide of emotion.

You nod, wiping at your cheeks. “She’s been making lots of drawings lately. But this… this one is new.” A shaky laugh escapes you as you add, “I guess it’s her vision of a perfect family.”

He inhales slowly. He traces one long finger over the crayon figures, lingering on the little girl in pink. “I never had that,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “A perfect family.” His tone is matter-of-fact, but you hear the pain beneath it. You turn to look at him. His profile is bathed in the golden light – sharp jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the paper. You know bits and pieces of his past: the neglect, the abuse, the crushing loneliness. He rarely speaks of it, but you suspect his generous donations to this orphanage are not just charity or a convenient front for money laundering – they’re personal. Perhaps Baek-jin sees a reflection of his own childhood in these halls, and maybe, in some way, he’s trying to give these kids the chances he never had.

Your hand finds his, your fingers intertwining with a familiarity born of love and countless stolen moments. He turns his palm upward, grasping your hand firmly as if anchoring himself. The Chrome Hearts rings he wears press cool against your skin, a contrast to the warmth of his touch. Neither of you speaks; words feel too small for the swell of emotion in your chest. Instead, you lean your head against his shoulder. He lets out a slow breath and presses a kiss to the crown of your head, his lips lingering there. It’s a tender, unspoken apology.

Later, as dusk falls, you find yourselves in the small courtyard behind the orphanage. The children are inside eating their snacks, and you and Baek-jin slipped out for air, needing a moment to regroup. The evening air is cool and carries the scent of cut grass and the faint sweetness of blossoms from a lone magnolia tree by the fence. You stand together under its branches – you with your arms wrapped around yourself, and he a protective step closer than usual.

For a long while, neither of you breaks the silence. The sky overhead is tinged with orange and pink, the sunset gentle. You can still hear the muffled sound of kids’ laughter through an open window. It contrasts with the turmoil in your heart.

“She asked if we were her new parents,” you finally say, almost whispering. The words taste bittersweet on your tongue. Saying them aloud makes the moment even more real, and your chest tightens all over again.

“I know,” Baek-jin replies softly. He’s removed a cigarette from his pocket at some point, but it remains unlit between his fingers – a habitual crutch he’s apparently decided not to use in front of the children. He twirls it slowly, gaze distant. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

You turn to face him. His expression is guarded, but the fact that he hasn’t put distance between you – that he’s standing so close you could rest your head on his chest if you dared – speaks volumes. He’s hurting too. You realize it in the way his brows knit together, in the unsteady exhale he releases when he meets your eyes.

“It broke my heart,” you admit, voice trembling. “She’s just a little girl and all she wants is… is someone to love her. A family.” Your throat tightens painfully. “And for one crazy second I wanted to say yes. I wanted to tell her that we’d be her parents and take her home and give her everything she deserves.” The confession spills out in a rush, and once it’s out, the tears you’d held at bay start falling again. You cover your face with your hands, ashamed of how desperate you sound, how unrealistic. “It’s stupid, I know. We can’t just… we can’t do that.”

His arms are around you before you can say more. He pulls you against him, and you bury your face in the crook of his shoulder. His embrace is firm and secure, one hand cradling the back of your head as if shielding you from the world. “It’s not stupid,” he murmurs into your hair. “It’s not.”

You clutch the fabric of his shirt, steadying yourself in his hold. Against your ear, you hear the steady thump of his heartbeat – a sound that usually calms you. But tonight it only reminds you how fragile all of this truly is. How many nights have you fallen asleep to that heartbeat, wondering if it would be the last time you felt it? How many times have you watched him leave in the dead of night for “business” and prayed he’d come back safe?

“It is impossible, though,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to look at him. Your eyes search his face, tracing the familiar scar near his eyebrow, the hardened lines etched by a life of crime and responsibility far beyond his years. “We can’t have that kind of life. Not as things are now.”

Baek-jin’s jaw flexes. He doesn’t flinch from your gaze. If there’s one thing about him, he’s never been one to shy away from hard truths. “I know,” he says quietly. “Because of me.”

He doesn’t say it with self-pity or anger – just a resigned acknowledgment. It hurts to hear nonetheless. You reach up and cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against the smooth skin just above the edge of a fading bruise at his jawline. A souvenir from some confrontation a week ago, no doubt. “I didn’t say that,” you reply softly. “I chose to be with you. I knew it wouldn’t be easy.”

You hesitate, voice catching. “It’s just—sometimes I’m so scared,” you confess. “I’m scared that one day you won’t walk through the door, that I’ll get a call saying you’re… you’re gone. Or that someone will hurt you, or even use me to get to you.” The fears pour out, each one a weight that’s been pressing on your heart. You’ve both tiptoed around these fears for so long, unspoken, but tonight they demand to be heard. “I’m scared that this life you lead will destroy you. And then all of this—” your voice breaks, “—all of what we could have, will vanish.”

His eyes close at your words, pained. Gently, he covers your hand on his cheek with his own. “Look at me,” he whispers, and you realize you’d averted your gaze. You force yourself to meet his eyes – they’re shining in the dimming light, raw with emotion he usually keeps tightly locked away. “I’m still here,” Baek-jin says. “I’m right here with you.” He rests his forehead against yours, a gesture of intimacy and trust. “I know I’ve put you in danger just by loving you. I know.” His voice drops to a rasp. “Every day I wonder if I should let you go to keep you safe, but I… I’m too selfish. I can’t give you up. You’re all the light I have left in this world.”

Your breath catches, and a soft sob escapes you. You hadn’t known he thought about letting you go. The idea of not having him in your life is unbearable, even if loving him is fraught with risk. “I don’t want you to let me go,” you say fiercely, your hands curling into his shirt. “I want you, Baek-jin. Just you. I want a life with you… but a safe one. I want us to grow old together without fear that each day might be the last.”

He nods, pressing closer. “I want that too,” he confesses, voice cracking – an echo of the boy he once was, who dreamed of a normal life before the world taught him otherwise. “God, I want that. With you.” Baek-jin’s arms tighten around your waist, as if trying to fuse the two of you together. “Tell me what she asked you again,” he suddenly says, a strange urgency in his tone.

You blink, confused and still teary. “What?”

“Nari,” he clarifies, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Her question. Tell me exactly how she said it.”

Sniffling, you recall the little girl’s voice. “‘Are you and Baek-jin oppa my new parents?’” you repeat softly. The words feel just as impactful the second time.

He closes his eyes for a moment, absorbing the question like a physical blow. When he opens them, there’s a sheen there – a hint of moisture he quickly blinks away. “A family,” he says under his breath. He manages a faint, sad smile. “We must have looked like one to her. Coming here together every week… playing with them…”

“You would make a good father,” you say before thinking, your voice tender and sure. It’s something you’ve always believed, even if he can’t see it himself. Despite the darkness in him, Baek-jin is fiercely loyal and protective. You’ve witnessed his unexpected kindness in quiet moments – like how he always brings extra cartons of milk for the kids’ snack time, claiming it was ‘leftover’ from his warehouse; or how he funded the orphanage’s new library under an anonymous donation. Those gestures, small and large, convince you that under the layers of hardened gang leader lies a man capable of great love.

He lets out a soft, disbelieving chuckle at your comment. “I don’t know about that,” he murmurs. “But hearing you say it… it makes me want to try someday.”

Someday. The word hangs between you both, as rosy and fragile as the dusk light. You dare to let that hope kindle again in your chest. Someday. Maybe not now, not while his phone still buzzes with dangerous calls and his nights are still claimed by risky dealings – but someday there might be a different life.

“You mean it?” you ask, voice small. “That you’d try? For… for a future with me? With a family?”

Baek-jin tilts your chin up, looking at you with an intensity that makes your heart lurch. “I can’t promise anything,” he says, and you appreciate the honesty even as you hold your breath. “But for you… I want to try. I want to believe it’s possible. That I could leave it behind. That I could deserve that life.” He swallows hard. “With you by my side, maybe I can.”

A tear rolls down your face, this time a tear of cautious happiness. You rise on your toes and kiss him – a gentle, lingering press of your lips to his. He responds immediately, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other firm around your waist. The kiss is slow and heartfelt, a promise exchanged in silence. In it, you pour all the yearning you have: for him to come home safely each night, for mornings without dread, for a little girl’s crayon drawing to one day become reality.

When you part, you rest your forehead against his, both of you breathing unsteady breaths. The sky has deepened to twilight, the first stars appearing faintly above. Through the window, you hear Nari’s laughter ringing out, high and bright – she must be telling one of her silly jokes to the other kids or the staff. The sound makes you smile in spite of everything.

“We should go back in,” you whisper. “They’ll wonder where we went.”

Baek-jin nods, but neither of you moves just yet. He slips his hand into yours, entwining your fingers. For a moment, you stand there together under the magnolia tree, hand in hand, gazing through the window at the life that you both dream of – a life filled with children’s laughter, bedtime stories, and peace. You squeeze his hand. In your mind’s eye, you can almost see it: him with a tiny girl perched on his shoulders, her pigtails bouncing as he spins her around; you, cradling a baby with his eyes; the two of you sitting on a porch swing watching your kids chase fireflies on a summer night. A peaceful future. It’s a delicate picture painted in the brightest colors of hope, as vivid as any crayon drawing.

Baek-jin’s voice breaks through your reverie, low and determined. “One day,” he says, as if reading your thoughts. He brings your joined hands up and presses a kiss to the back of your hand. “One day, I’ll make sure we can have that. All of it.”

You nod, letting yourself believe him. “One day,” you echo softly.

With that unspoken promise warming your heart, the two of you turn back toward the orphanage. He opens the door and gestures for you to go in first, his hand gentle on the small of your back as you walk inside. The bright lights and cheerful clamor of the dining hall greet you. Nari spots you almost instantly and breaks away from the group, running over with a cookie in hand. She pauses a few steps away, suddenly shy after her earlier candor.

You kneel and open your arms, and she rushes in, giggling as you lift her up. Baek-jin stands beside you, and the little girl grins at him, offering the cookie in her hand. “I saved one for you,” she says brightly.

He takes it, and though the corners of his eyes crinkle with genuine warmth, he teases her in a solemn tone, “Only one? I’m a big guy. I might still be hungry.”

She giggles. “Okay, you can have two!”

Baek-jin chuckles and accepts the treat, then surprises both you and Nari by leaning in to kiss the little girl’s forehead. It’s a swift, gentle gesture – so natural and affectionate that your breath catches. “Thank you,” he says quietly to her. Perhaps it’s for the cookie, or perhaps it’s for something more. She just giggles again and squirms in your arms, wanting to be put down so she can run back to her friends.

As she scampers off, you and your lover share a look. In his eyes you see a spark of that someday you both long for. And in your shy smile, he must see the steadfast hope you carry for him.

No, you can’t be Nari’s new parents – not today. But as Baek-jin’s hand finds yours again, giving it a reassuring squeeze, you hold onto the possibility that someday, in a world where he’s free from shadows, you might return here not just as volunteers, but as a family. Until then, you will cherish these small moments of light and fight for the future that little girl unknowingly sketched for you – a future where love isn’t weighed down by fear, and where crayon dreams come true.

#weak hero season 2 #weak hero class fanfic #weak hero class imagines #weak hero class two #weak hero imagines #weak hero fanfic #weak hero x reader #na baek jin #na baek jin x reader #baek jin #baek jin x reader

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deepspace-raconteur · 2 days ago

Text

Another Rafayel smut piece! This time based on Abysswalker. Still pushing the big dick!raf agenda tho lol

Princess!MC and Assassin!Raf, she gets drugged with an aphrodisiac but it’s not Raf, smut, she’s still clearheaded too she’s just ~suffering~, until raf helps anyway, she’s a little bratty too not super tho, idk if I like this one tbh,

Rafayel x MC, hinted relationship.

🌊🌙

The sound of a woman’s excited gasp echoes around the opulent hallway, just outside the princess’s chambers. A stark departure from the normal cautious behavior displayed by the princess, especially when it came to her secret dalliances with her favorite Lemurian assassin.

“Raf! You came back! I can’t beli-“ her joyful voice is suddenly cut off, a blur of purple and black swiftly pulling the elegantly dressed princess into a dark alcove.

“You are too loud.” The would-be assassin hisses into her ear, scanning the area around them suspiciously. Thankfully, it seemed the princess had been retiring to her room alone. His gloved hand covers the entire lower half of her face, leaving only her narrowed eyes visible. There is undoubtedly a petulant pout beneath his palm.

He makes the mistake of moving his hand, and quickly regrets it. “How dare you-“

“Tch.” He cuts her off again, and her glare becomes even more incredulous.

He scans the area again, then moves. His hand stays over her pouty, plush lips, even as he scoops her up easily with the other arm.

Her fists beat against his shoulders as he moves them into her chambers like a shadow. With the door closed firmly behind them, he scans the room. Satisfied that they’re truly alone, he finally releases her.

“I can’t believe you! I am a princess, thank you.”

“A drunk princess, sure. I’m gonna have to be careful around you till you sober up, unless you feel like playing a dragon”. He smirks, snapping his fingers. A tiny flame lights his fingertips, reflecting dangerously in his eyes.

The princess huffs and rolls her eyes, but calms, her moods shifting as rapidly as the tides. “To think, I was so excited to see you. Just to get manhandled like I’m some luggage.” She whines.

Her gown flutters around her as she stomps over to her opulently carved vanity. There, she plops down into the velvet cushioned bench and begins to strip out of her fineries, starting with the jewels.

“And anyway, I am not that drunk. I only had one glass this evening, and you know how I hate to drink at these things. The nobles were as predatory as ever.” The last sentence comes out as a grumble. Her earrings clink softly they are set into a decorative bowl, shaped like a shell. A real pearl glints in its setting at the bottom.

She doesn’t need to speak, just move her hair off the back of her neck, and Rafayel is there. He took his gloves off at some point, leaving his warm bare fingers to brush against the nape of her neck as he unclasps her necklace.

“And don’t you think that’s odd, princess? That you feel so affected by just one glass?” Rafayel comments idly. Her eyes flicker up to his in the mirror.

“What do you know, Raf?” She asks, her tone more serious than it has been all night.

“Your cup was spiked. You should really hire better guards, they’re incompetent… and I didn’t reach the culprit in time.” Rafayel’s eyes are sharp in the mirror, observing her as her lips purse. Her eyes aren’t hazy, yet, which could be a good thing.

“What was it spiked with?”

“Unfortunately I was unable to gather that information.” The princess wonders what sort of shape the culprit is in. If they’re still breathing, even. Her eyebrows furrow further.

“I assume you have some guesses, though?”

Rafayel grimaces and looks away. He wanders a few feet from the vanity table, instead leaning against the window seat he’d staked an unofficial claim on during each of his visits.

“I… do. For better or for worse. The noble didn’t belong to a house that wants you dead, so take that however you will.” Rafayel’s explanation fades off.

The princess turns in her seat to face him head on, eyes narrowing at him. She looks much less… princessy now. Hair down around her shoulders, jewelry all put to rest on her vanity. Even her heels had been kicked off beneath it.

Rafayel much prefers this version of her.

“You’re avoiding the answer to my question, Rafayel.” She states sternly, like he wasn’t already aware of that fact. He rolls his eyes.

“However, their house does have a vested interest in your honor. Particularly, in you… losing it.” The words are practically spit from between his lips in disgust.

She flushes red, from her cheeks to her ears, and down to her bosom, exposed by the low-cut dress. She’s rendered speechless- though, not completely unaware of those noble houses’ goals.

“From what I can deduce, it was some disgusting plan to spike your drink and lure you somewhere private. There, they would have gotten you…. Indisposed, then leaked the information. Given that the noble carrying out this plan had genitalia compatible for conception with yours, perhaps their goal could have even included trapping you with pregnancy.”

Rafayel is damn near growling with seething rage at the end of his explanation. Something other than just protectiveness rears its ugly head. Possessiveness over someone who had shown him kindness and gifted him freedom, one of very few. A dark need to be the only one who sees her ‘indisposed’. A gut-wrenching urge to wrap himself around her and cover her with his scent until no one can mistake her for anyone else’s but his.

An inclination to go find the body, where it was floating by now, and gore it further. To make it more easily digestible to the ecosystem, of course.

Meanwhile, the flush the princess had gained wasn’t fading. In fact, it might’ve gotten worse. Sweat prickles at her hairline, and suddenly her perfectly tailored gown feels too tight, itchy and hot and horrible against her skin. The opened balcony doors in her room letting in cool night air do nothing. She leans heavily on her vanity table, breathing quickening.

“How disgusting, but unfortunately… unsurprising…” she sighs, but her breath is noticeably shallower.

The mystery drug was finally beginning to run its course within her. The princess’ body felt hot and heavy, and she couldn’t help but rub her thighs together. She slumps over at the vanity to press her forehead to the cool marble, and tries to calm her racing thoughts.

Without knowing the exact drug… she was in for a long night.

“Princess?… hey, are you alright?” A hand caresses her back. The tone of Rafayel’s voice isn’t one she’s heard before, it’s… softer. Concerned for her wellbeing. It makes her smile a little, just to herself.

“Yes, I’m okay Raf. Just… preparing myself for a horrible night.” She sighs, sitting up. She needed to get out of her dress pronto, but with Rafayel still here…

“I… do have a suggestion.” He says, hesitating. She blinks up at him through heavy lidded eyes, idly drawing her hair up and away from her neck. He quickly has to shut down a thought process involving him bending down and leaving a bite mark right at her nape.

“Yes?

“Well,” he clears his throat. “If this drug is anything like a Lemurian one I know of with similar effects…” he fades off again. The princess sighs impatiently.

“… getting it out of your system via strenuous activity will be the quickest method.”

“And that means, Raf?” She pries, but the picture is already pretty clear to her. It’s not as if she hadn’t thought of lying with him, but…

“Fucking, princess. Rolling around in the sheets with someone is the fastest way to get it out of your system with the least suffering.”

He takes a second to gage her reaction, and his cock twitches in his pants excitedly when he doesn’t see her recoiling. In fact, she almost seems….

He bends at the waist, dipping down to whisper into her ear. “I could… assist in easing your suffering, if you’d allow it, princess.” He purrs. His hand ghosts along her shoulder blade, a tease of a touch. “I’ll treat you with only the utmost courtesy, fit for a princess. Unless, of course, you have different preferences in a bed partner…” he smirks wickedly.

She inhales shakily. The effects of the drug are only getting worse, but thankfully leaving her blessedly clearheaded even as her body rebels against her. She considers her options, or really lack thereof. She’d yet to even take a concubine, or a favored courtier, and the heat just continues to get worse between her thighs…

Before she responds, she turns to face Rafayel completely, and cups his cheek in her hand. She looks at him seriously, and he blinks at her in surprise.

“I graciously accept your offer, if you promise me that it is also something you want. I am not in the habit of taking coerced partners.” She states seriously, and Rafayel can only nod helplessly, eyes wide and unguarded.

“I… yes, princess. My offer comes from my own want and free will.” He breathes. His cock twitches again, and his pants feel sinfully tight now.

The tension breaks when she smirks. “Then get me out of this godforsaken dress, and take me to bed, little assassin.”

Rafayel can’t help the sharp burst of laughter. He offers a hand and helps her stand, and begins to unclasp the complicated backing of her dress’ corset. “We’ll see if you’re still calling me little when we’re both undressed, princess.” He leans down to press a kiss to her shoulder, and she shivers.

His hands are deft at most things he does, stripping princesses’ out of their sumptuous garments included. Scattered kisses across her upper back cause shivers down her spine, and desperation is already stalking at the edges of her psyche.

“R-Raf, please, hurry up-“ her voice shakes, every sensation quickly becoming too much and not enough all at once. She leans back into Rafayel’s touch, momentarily pinning his hands between them.

“Whoa there, princess. Don’t fall over.” He murmurs, steadying her with firm hands on her hips. Even through the dress, he can feel the heat radiating off her, and he’s still got 2/3 of the annoyingly difficult fabric to unlace. His lips purse, and Rafayel makes an executive decision.

“Apologies for your dress, princess.” He states, then pulls apart the tight corset. The ripping of the eyelets out of the delicate fabric is overshadowed by the relieved sigh that escapes her. She mumbles something about the royal tailor, then rolls her shoulders, newly freed from their constraints of the evening. The gossamer sleeves slide down her arms easily, and all at once the dress slides off her and hits the ground.

She’s left in just flimsy panties made of delicate lace, a royal blue that reminds him of the sea at the farthest reaches of the world. Places that only the Lemurians had ever touched.

Rafayel is suddenly grabbed by the strong urge to be the only Lemurian to ever touch her here. The only other person, period, actually.

His fingers brush along the waist of the undergarment reverently, pressing himself against her bare back. He relishes in the way she presses herself back into him, the leathers and straps of his suit digging into her over sensitized back.

She grumbles, kicking her dress away and turning to face Rafayel. “Take all this off.” She demands with all the countenance of a princess, despite the pink painting her cheeks and throat.

“You’re cute when you’re demanding.”

“Am I? Imagine how cute I’ll be whe… when…”

Her voice fades off. Rafayel’s hands had moved with the grace and quickness of someone who’d stripped out of the garments a thousand times. The overcoat dropped, the belts at his throat and waist undone. It all happens so fast, and suddenly Rafayel is in front of her, clad in just his underwear and dangly earring.

Her eyes can’t meet Rafayel’s, focusing instead of following the path of her hand as it brushes across his chest.

Heat surges suddenly, and a wave of dizziness washes over the princess. “Ah, fuck-“ she winces, her head falling to his shoulder.

“This drug is really… is really a menace.” She breaths. “Can we hurry and…?”

In lieu of a verbal response, Rafayel hooks an arm around her thighs and picks her up. It’s a short distance to the large, canopied bed. He tries to be gentle, but she still gasps and bounces when he puts her down. She welcomes him between her legs like he belongs there, and draws him into a kiss. Already, she paws at his undergarment, pushing it down his hips.

He chuckles against her lips. “So eager, princess. It’s almost like you’re drugged or something.” His finger traces around her nipple teasingly, then pinches it sharply. Her body jerks, and she pins him with an extraordinarily dirty look.

“You think you’re so funny, huh?” She retorts, then in a move that’s frankly impressive given her state, she flips them over. She straddles his hips victoriously, look everything like a queen who just won a battle.

Rafayel just grins and grips her hips. “I know I’m funny, princess- fuck!” He yelps as his underwear is roughly yanked down his legs. “Touchy, touchy.” He grumbles, but gets no response.

The princess is a little too focused on the monster that had just been revealed to her. She thinks she might drool a little, and Rafayel quickly catches onto the look in her eye.

“What was that you said earlier about me being a ‘little assassin’, princess?” He teases, and the princess finally looks away from his cock and back up at him.

“I’d apologize, but-“ she lowers her hips, grinding her soaked, panty-clad core along the length of him. “I’m a little busy.” She moans.

Rafayel’s eyes flutter, and he groans, tamping down on the urge to buck up into her. The feeling of wet fabric along his pulsing cock is sending him up a wall, and he grits his teeth.

The words “get these off” that come out of his mouth are more of a demand than a request. His fist knots into the fabric at her side. It doesn’t take much to rip the gauzy lace off completely, the shreds getting tossed off the edge of the bed. His sigh of relief as he finally feels his bare cock slide between her slick folds is cathartic.

She grinds down on him again, the lack of fabric between them making everything glide so much nicer and feel so much better. The head of his cock nudges against her clit, and she shudders, fists clenched where they rest atop his chest. At every pass, his cock catches on her hole, and it takes everything in him to not just thrust up into her and sink in deep.

“C’mon, cutie. You’ll feel better with me inside you.” Rafayel purrs, rolling his hips up again slowly. He’s the image of temptation like this, below her and as close to begging as he’ll probably ever get. Even then, it’s really more like invested persuasion than begging.

“Yes, yes, yes,” the words fall from her lips like a chant, and she clumsily lifts her hips again. The heat is still making her dizzy, as is evident in the way she sways dangerously to the side. Rafayel sits up, snickering. “Here, princess. I’ll help you.”

Help really turns out to be him controlling everything. His grip on her hips is tight, but she’s grateful for the lended strength. Like this now, she can use his shoulder to brace herself as she kneels up on shaky legs. He fists his cock and guides it smoothly to her entrance, cockhead nudging against her insistently.

She tries to lower herself too fast, and Rafayel catches her just as his head presses past the initial resistance. He groans and buries his head in her throat, kissing at the sweat-slick skin there. “Careful, cutie. You could hurt yourself if you go too fast.” He warns, thumbs rubbing circles on her hipbones.

A wobbly whine escapes her throat, and he chuckles. “Such an impatient princess. I can tell you haven’t been told ‘no’ much in your life, have you?” He kisses up her throat to her jaw as he speaks. She turns her head and catches his lips with hers, nipping at his bottom lip.

It’s a slow process as she sinks lower and lower on him. When she finally no longer has to hover awkwardly, it feels like he’s in the back of her throat. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she breathes through the stretch, and Rafayel busied himself with leaving hickeys down her throat and collar.

When she finally comes out of this, he’ll be in so much trouble. But for now, he’s satisfied in knowing that he’s left his mark on her. That everyone will know that she’s given herself to someone, even if he remains in the shadows.

For now, at least. The god of the tides knows when to bide his time.

It’s sudden when she lifts herself, Rafayel choking as she squeezes around him. She smirks in satisfaction, and rolls her hips.

She sets a quick pace, chasing her orgasm like a woman gone mad. She scratches Rafayel’s back as she rides him, nails digging into his flesh, and he relishes the feeling.

Yes. Mark him, as he marks you. Make him yours in turn.

Her fingers thread into his hair as she gets closer to her orgasm. Rafayel moans, mouth hanging open as he pants against her chest, hips thrusting up to meet her.

When her orgasm finally wracks her body, she curls around him with a cry. One hand digs one final set of scratches in his back, and the other pulls him close by the hair, pulling sharply. There isn’t an inch between them, and he leaves a bite on her collar as his own orgasm peaks.

They stay like that, panting and clutching each other. Physical feelings and emotions crash and surge in them both, and Rafayel feels as if something just clicked inside him. He’s terrified of what it might be, but he knows this: he’ll never be able to leave her again. Not truly.

She’ll always draw him back in, like the tides to the moon.

#love and deepspace #lads #lads mc #lads smut #lads rafayel #Rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel smut #love and deepspace rafayel #my writing #abysswalker rafayel

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sieun-my-lovee · 16 hours ago

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black suits and quiet hearts

oscar piastri x fem!reader

tw: swearing, scenes of lando and magui together, reader and magui friendship, possessive!oscar, kissing, touching, oscar jealous of lando, quiet!reader, making fun of a job, reader likes oscar's muscles 🤷‍♀️

reader works in a nursery with little kids.

if you don't like magui, simply click off. no hate is tolerated and will be blocked

The dressing room was large and softly lit, tucked into the back of the hotel's exclusive penthouse suite. Plush, velvet furniture, racks of designer tuxedos, and floor-length mirrors lined the walls, while the sound of the bustling hotel downstairs was just a whisper behind closed doors.

Oscar Piastri stood near the far end of the room, shirtless, as his stylist fussed over the collar of the crisp white dress shirt she was preparing to slip over his toned frame. y/n l/n stood quietly behind him, hands clasped in front of her, her eyes locked on the sharp lines of his shoulder blades. Her frame was dressed in soft champagne satin dress that shimmered subtly against her skin, her hair cascading down her back like sunlit waves. Her eyes were wide, but calm. Observing. Always observing.

Next to them, Lando Norris chuckled at something his own stylist had said, his shirt hanging open as Magui Corceiro leaned into him, her fingers tracing lazy circles just under his ribs. She wore a form-fitting dress, her long legs glowing in the rooms warm lighting.

Oscar's voice was low as he titled his head down slightly, letting y/n adjust the hem of his sleeve. His biceps flexed as he moved, catching y/n's attention. She swallowed hard, cheeks flushing. Oscar saw it. He saw everything.

"You like that, don't you?" he murmured, lips ghosting over her ear.

y/n nodded, lips barely parting as she whispered, "yes."

Oscar reached with one hand, curling it around her hip and pulling her into his side. His grip wasn't hard — but it was firm. Possessive. Gentle. Protective. The kind of touch that said, you're mine. And she adored it.

His stylist gave a huff but stepped aside, muttering something about needing to fetch another tie. The moment she was gone, Oscar turned to fully face y/n and cupped her face with both hands. He kissed her, slowly, with the kind of thorough patience that made her knees weak. One hand slid into his curls — she loved his hair — and her other palm braced on his chest. She could feel the slow, steady beat of his heart. Oscar’s biceps curled around her waist, holding her there, refusing to let her drift even an inch away.

y/n was head over heals for this man.

"Hey," Lando called from across the room, his eyes trained on the couple currently kissing. "You two done pretending the rest of us don't exist?"

He got no response. "y/n?" he tried again. "Oscar?"

Still nothing.

Lando rolled his eyes, dragging his thumb along Magui's thigh as she leaned into him. "I swear, they could be making out during a fire and not notice."

y/n heard him and looked over. Oscar's thumb brushed her cheekbone. Her breathing was slow, lips still tingling. He placed two fingers under her chin and forced her to look at him. He whispered, "Ignore him."

Across the room, Lando looked to Magui. "Are they always like this?"

Magui gave a small smile. "They're in love," she said simply, fingers dancing over Lando's chest. "Let them be."

"I am letting them be," Lando said, voice dropping to its usual husky tone." "I'm just saying, it's like they're stuck in their own movie."

y/n finally looked over, her gaze flicking to Magui and offering the woman a small, shy smile. Magui returned it, genuine and warm. There was a tenderness between them. y/n had never really understood the hate that followed Magui around like a storm cloud. The gossip, the judgment, the whispered words from people who’d never met her.

To y/n, Magui was just lovely. She spoke with a pretty accent, always smelled like vanilla and oranges, and when she laughed, it was real.

y/n's eyes moved to lando as smiled at him too. Lando had nodded back. Beside y/n, Oscar's jaw was tight as he watched Lando, his hand still around y/n's waist.

Lando raised a brow at Oscar, his signature smirk crossing his lips. "Relax, Osc. Not touching your girl."

Oscar glared at the curly haired man and simply pulled y/n closer, kissing her temple.

y/n looked up at him, touching his arm gently. "You don't need to worry."

"I always worry," Oscar whispered, stroking her cheek. "And I always will."

A moment later, y/n looked over at Lando and Magui, currently engaged in a kiss, that was getting very heated, very quickly.

y/n looked away politely. Oscar didn’t. He watched everything. y/n placed a soft hand on his chest to calm him, thumb brushing over his heart again.

"It's okay, Oscar," she said quietly. "I don't mind, let them be."

Oscar's eyes flicked back to y/n and away from the other two. "I don't understand why he had to get...ready...in the same room," he hesitated before saying ready, seeing as Lando looked like he was about to take off all the clothes his stylist had put on him. "They're too close to you."

y/n laughed gently, brushing her lips over his cheek. "That's a little ridiculous. They're the whole way over there."

Oscar shrugged. "Still true."

Oscar kissed her.

Their stylists returned with ties and jackets, and the room shifted into a more focused energy. Oscar’s stylist began fastening his cufflinks, pausing and then rolling her eyes at the way his eyes never left y/n's face. Lando’s stylist was tugging the lapels of his jacket into place while Magui smoothed his shirt from behind, running her hands down his sides with deliberate care.

Lando turned to Magui, lifting a brow. "You know y/n works in a nursery. Like, teaches babies basically."

Magui frowned slightly, tilting her head, confused. "So?"

"I'm just saying — little kids? All fucking day?"

Magui swatted his arm. "Shut up. It's sweet. She's amazing with children."

That made Lando grin. "Maybe we can make our own nursery..."

"Lando," Magui said, serious for a moment. "Don't be a dick. I really like her. She's good. You can feel it."

y/n, meanwhile, stood beside Oscar as he finished buttoning up his black velvet jacket. She ran her hand over the lapel, smoothing the fabric with reverence.

“You look incredible, you know?" she whispered.

Oscar leaned in, brushing his nose along her hairline. “You’re the one everyone will be staring at.”

“Not if I’m always staring at you.”

Oscar let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh. “You’re going to kill me.”

y/n smiled, soft and shy. "Not yet."

Lando rolled his eyes, hearing the whole conversation. "Do you two ever stop?"

Oscar glared at the other McLaren driver. "No," he said flatly.

y/n hid her face in Oscar's shoulder. He kissed the top of her head.

an hour later..

The event was about to begin. The dressing room emptied slowly. The two stylists stepped out first, their work done.

Magui adjusted Lando’s tie and whispered something that made him smile. y/n picked a piece of dust off Oscar’s jacket and stared at it like it was a piece of art. Then Oscar pulled her into one final, soft kiss before they left the room.

Neither of them heard Lando’s second attempt at a question. And honestly? He didn’t bother repeating it.

Not when they were like that.

Not when it was love, real love, all consuming and slow and quiet and loud in all the right ways.

And not when Magui was whispering his name like a secret only he deserved to hear.

hii! thank you so much for reading. i hope you liked it. there wasn't really a plot, just fluff from both couples!! let me know if i missed any warning and if i made any spelling mistakes. love you all!

#oscar piastri #formula 1 #oscar piastri x reader #oscar x reader #oscar piastri fanfic #lando norris #magui corceiro #lando x magui #f1 #f1 fanfic #fanfic

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zou-rs · 3 days ago

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Breakup part 4

The car was silent except for the hum of the engine and your own pulse, hammering louder than the tires on the road.

Wesker’s grip on the steering wheel was calm. Too calm. Like he hadn’t just ripped you away from the only man you’ve ever loved.

Your wrist throbbed where he’d grabbed you. You pressed back into the leather seat, breath shallow, eyes locked on the city lights blurring past the window.

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer at first.

“I told you,” he said eventually, “you were never meant for ordinary things.”

His voice was too smooth. Like poison wrapped in silk.

You swallowed the panic climbing your throat.

“What do you want with me?”

He finally glanced at you. His eyes gleamed unnaturally behind his glasses, something not quite human swimming beneath.

“I want what I’ve always wanted,” he said. “Control. Balance. And you, darling… you’re leverage.”

You stiffened.

“You used me,” you breathed. “This entire time…”

He gave a soft, amused chuckle. “Don’t look so shocked. You were the one who came to me. Broken. Unloved. Willing.”

Your chest ached.

That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t true.

You had needed a safe place—but Wesker was never safety. He was a cage dressed as a home.

And now Leon knew.

Your eyes burned thinking of him. The way he looked at you. The way he held you like the world was ending and all that mattered was one more second with you.

You had whispered “don’t follow me,” to protect him.

But he would.

You knew he would.

Wesker looked forward again, unfazed. “You should know your little hero won’t survive if he tries to come after you. I’ll kill him.”

You snapped your gaze to him.

“No, you won’t.”

He tilted his head, intrigued. “No?”

“Because if you do,” you whispered, voice shaking but firm, “you lose your leverage.”

That made him laugh.

But his knuckles twitched on the wheel.

He didn’t like that you were right.

You sat in silence for a few miles, until you caught a glimpse of what lay ahead: a compound. Black glass. Security towers. Hidden deep in the woods like a buried sin.

And your heart dropped.

Wherever you were going, you weren’t coming out easily.

But Leon would come.

You believed it with every fiber of your soul.

So you started counting. Doors. Turns. Landmarks.

And you slipped the silver pin from your sleeve.

Wesker hadn’t noticed it when dragging you. And maybe, just maybe, Leon would find it. If he was coming…

He’d know the signs.

You had to believe that.

—-

The room was cold again.

Not from the temperature—but from the way Wesker looked at you. Clinical. Sharp. Like you were a puzzle piece he had almost all the edges for. A beautiful thing he hadn’t finished breaking.

You sat still on the padded table, wrist strapped lightly—not tight enough to hurt, just enough to remind you. This was not your body anymore.

He stood in front of you, perfectly composed in his usual black, gloves spotless. A tray beside him gleamed with metal instruments and syringes—your new lullaby. You didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

His eyes flicked to yours, unreadable. “You’ve been tolerating the serum well. Remarkable, really.”

You didn’t answer. That earned you the smallest smile.

“Still silent,” he mused. “Even after all this time.” He reached forward, fingers cool beneath your jaw as he tilted your head, exposing your neck. “But your body speaks volumes.”

The door opened with a soft hiss.

Ada Wong walked in like a shadow with red lips. Her heels clicked against the floor, her movements sharp and coiled. She wore a black coat over red silk, like a woman stepping out of a dream you never asked to have.

“Your test subject’s awfully quiet,” she said dryly. “Did you finally break her?”

Wesker didn’t look at her. His hand was still on your throat, thumb ghosting over your pulse. Not cruelly. Gently. Too gently.

“She isn’t broken,” he said flatly. “She’s adjusting.”

Ada raised an eyebrow. “You sound like you’re proud of her.”

“I am,” he said.

You turned your face slightly toward him, and he met your eyes.

There it was again—that flicker. Not affection. Not quite. But something colder. Possessive. Reverent. He didn’t look at you like you were human. He looked at you like you were his masterpiece.

Ada approached, her eyes sliding over you with polite disinterest. “She doesn’t look special. Just another pretty girl who got caught in the wrong web.”

“She’s not another anything,” Wesker snapped.

The temperature dropped. Ada’s smile vanished.

You looked between them, confusion slicing through the numbness. Did he just defend you?

Wesker returned to his work, voice clipped. “Prepare the sequence. If you’re capable.”

Ada glared but moved toward the terminal, her gloved fingers tapping briskly.

You flinched as Wesker pressed a needle against your arm. His voice softened, a whisper close to your ear:

“This might sting.”

You hated that his tone almost felt like a warning. Almost like care.

The serum burned. It always did. But this time, you stayed upright, breathing hard as your vision shimmered. Your bones ached, but your head stayed clear.

“Better,” Wesker said, satisfied. “She’s adapting faster than projected.”

Ada muttered something under her breath.

He ignored her. All his attention was still on you—watching, admiring. Studying you like you were a storm he created and couldn’t stop worshipping.

You didn’t cry. Didn’t speak.

But inside, something was building.

Your name still existed. Your memories. Your fire.

And if Leon ever came…

You’d burn the whole damn place down.

——

Leon’s apartment smelled like him.

Clean linen, faint cologne, coffee and gun oil. But beneath it all… safety.

You curled your knees up on his couch, oversized sweater swallowing your frame, a blanket pooled around your feet. The lights were dim. The rain outside tapped softly on the windows like a lullaby.

It had been three days since he brought you home. You hadn’t left his sight once.

Leon was in the kitchen now, moving quietly, making tea like it was muscle memory. His shoulders were tense, even in peace. You knew he was waiting—waiting for you to say something. For you to fall apart. For the world to collapse again.

But instead, you asked, softly:

“Do you hate me?”

His hands stilled.

He turned around slowly, brows pulled together. “What?”

You swallowed. “For going with him. For kissing you and then—leaving again.”

Leon crossed the room before you could flinch, kneeling in front of you.

His voice was rough, low. “Don’t do that. Don’t twist it. You didn’t leave. He took you.”

“I could’ve—”

“You survived.” He looked up at you, jaw tight with emotion. “That’s all I ever needed you to do.”

Your eyes welled, throat aching. “I missed you.”

“I missed you every goddamn day,” he said, like a confession. “Six years, and I still looked for your face in every city. Every mission. I thought I could move on. I couldn’t.”

You leaned forward until your forehead touched his. His hands settled on your thighs—gentle, grounding.

“Wesker… he did something to me,” you whispered.

Leon closed his eyes for a beat. “I know.”

“And it’s not over.”

“I know that too.”

You exhaled, shaky. “Then why does this feel like a dream?”

His fingers slid up to cup your face. “Because for once, we’re safe. For now, at least. And I’m not gonna waste it.”

Your lips brushed his.

The tension that had been hanging between you both finally snapped—softly, sweetly. His kiss was slow, like an apology and a promise all at once. Your hands slid into his hair as he leaned into you deeper, parting your lips with a careful urgency he’d held back for years.

“Come to bed,” he murmured against your mouth.

You nodded.

He stood and pulled you gently into his arms. He didn’t ask if you were ready—he didn’t need to. He’d follow your lead. He’d wait forever, if you wanted.

But tonight…

You wanted to remember what it felt like to be touched by someone who loved you.

And under the soft light, with rain still whispering against the glass, Leon led you to bed—slowly, carefully—and kissed every scar like it meant something.

Because to him, it did.

—————————

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in part 5. Also are you interested in uhm some smut chapter ?

#leon s kennedy x you #fanfiction #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #fanfic

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mar3ggiata · 3 days ago

Text

bleed a little louder

simon riley x oc

tw: violence, sexual themes, blood and gore, breeding kink, pregnancy, slow burn, enemies to lovers, forced relationship (consensual), mentions of alcohol consumption, swearing, children.

about: after 6 years of war, the world is destroyed, economy collapsed, institutions dismantled. the Women take charge of the politics and focus on rebuilding society, while Men fight a pointless war. It’s 2036 when Simon finds his way to a daffodils meadow to rest and die. Instead of peacefully passing, he gets awaken by a beautiful girl, threatening to stab him if he doesn’t get out of her garden.

taglist info: please comment or reblog this post to be added

other works by the author: professional help & TNOTT (sequel)

note: this has been in my head for a very long time and i also posted a million spoilers, here’s an introduction (finally) <3

‘There’s a man outside.’

Her head snapped in the direction of the voice. The little girl was standing in the middle of the living room, daffodils in her hand, her skirt dirty with mud. A younger version of her staring unbothered at the woman.

‘A what?’

The girl was calm, she just shrugged and nodded her head in the direction of the garden.

‘Stay here with your brother’, she asserted before making her way to the drawer where she kept her gun.

‘I think he’s dead, mom.’

The woman froze. A rush of adrenaline and anxiety filled her chest, and rage and anger. Dead? If he’s not dead by the time I get there I'm killing him with my bare hands. She let go of the gun and got out the door. The garden extended for some kilometres on the left side of the house, it was quite unkept at the moment, some patches of grass greener, poor child must have seen him while she was picking flowers…

It had been a while since the last encounter she had with a soldier. If he was French they weren’t gonna have any problems, she’d discard the body in the woods. If he was Russian, he had to wish he was dead. If he was English, he was definitely dead already. She tied her hair while strutting to the garden, made her way through the flowers. He was a black spot in the middle of the yellow sea of flowers. He was quite large, she approached him without making a sound. He had a rifle gun laying beside him, he didn't look like he was breathing.

He had a mask on, a skull printed mask. Freak. How fucking dare you die in my garden?

She studied his gear, he had a knife strapped to his muscular thigh, the holster of a handgun was empty. English flag on his sleeve, lazy fuck, I knew it…

He’s dead. Those men were the weakest.

I could keep you, she thought. I could keep you to study. I wonder if your insides are made of the same matter as mine, are you flesh and bone and muscle? She imagined carving his chest open to reach for his heart, would she even find anything in his chest? That brown stuff on your gloves, is it blood? Must be… She wondered if she killed him, how many would she avenge. How many lives would she save by killing one of the monsters.

She finally managed to get closer, she kicked his rifle away and squatted down beside him. The chirping of the birds accompanied her movements, they could see how anxious she was…

She reached for his knife when she saw his eyelashes flutter. Her blood went cold and she saw herself dead for a second, blood splattering the flowers. She saw her house on fire, him killing her kids… He had to come to die in her fucking garden, of all places, and now, he had her dirtying her skirt. Blood is always so hard to wash off…

She had the blade at his throat before he could fully open his eyes.

Dying in May wasn’t really the plan. It takes some courage, dying in such a pretty season, when the flowers bloom and the air is soft on your face. He always pictured his death to happen in the winter. The red of the blood, rubies dripping in the white blanket of snow in some remote mountain. He wanted to die after a good fight. A gunshot to the head, simple and efficient. But dying in May…

Down by the banks of the stream in Zurich, he imagined silvery pikes to swim down, not the bodies of other soldiers. Carried and lulled to sleep by the flow.

Simon, rest for a second, he had heard the wind say. It carried the voices of the dead, the whisper of his brothers. They gently pulled him to the ground, the flowers moved their stems to accomodate for his tired body to sleep. He understood the time he had left wasn't gonna be enough to ask forgiveness for all his sins.

He mumbled a prayer, though he had never prayed before. ‘Mother…’ he thought he said. A lament, a dying scream of help. And the flower listened. The grip on the rifle loosened.

Aainst his teeth words of defeat, too ice-cold to dissolve in the heat.

When he felt the air fill his lungs again it hurt. It was like being born again, chest cracking, lungs expanding with his first breath, for the first time. The sun was heavy on his eyelids and he regained consciousness slowly. His reflexes were still sharp after 5 years of war. He had heard a noise, but when his hand tried to grip his gun, he realised it was no longer in his hand. Death put some more pressure on his chest, hushing him and urging him to sleep.

He defeated the sunlight and peeked at the source of the noise above him. It wasn’t Death that was pushing him down, but a hand. An arm, a shoulder.

A woman.

The leaders of society. He hadn’t seen a Woman in months, had been close to one in years…

Just his luck, hu?

She must have gotten his knife, which was pointed at his throat. Even if he got scared, he sure couldn't move. It was like the grass or the pollen poisoned him. And the woman now, was interfering with his solemn eternal rest.

The woman.

She was looking at him with her eyebrows furrowed. She was knees deep in the dirt, her hand pressed firmly on his shoulder. Her hair was falling on her shoulder, dangling between them. She held the blade and her arm was shaking. She covered the sun with her figure, making the rays behind engulf her figure like she was bathing in sunlight.

‘You’re not allowed to die here’, she was saying. She spoke English.

His ears hadn't heard the melody of a human voice in years. Suddenly, the ringing stopped. The gunshots, the screaming. He wanted to ask her to repeat just so he could die with a nice sound in his ears. Her eyes were filled with anger, her chest raising and falling rapidly with sharp and quick breaths.

His muscles weren't working, even if he wanted to pronunce an answer he doubted he had the capacity, both to formulate words and to push them out. He looked at her some more, and she just got more angry.

‘Leave or I’ll kill you’, she said.

Out of all the ways Simon could and should have died, being stabbed by an angel like her sounded like a good deal.

Simon, why don't you rest, said the wind. He felt a breeze on his face, on the exposed skin of his wrists, she felt it too, the hairs of her forearm sticking up with goosebumps. He indulged in the pressure of the woman’s hand on his body. He took another look at her, maybe I'll remember your pretty eyes in Hell.

It takes courage dying in May, after seeing a beautiful creature for the first time in years. It makes you wonder, if you had another life. Another chance. To be different, your hands being used to bring pleasure, to hold, to caress, to feel, instead of to kill. Your eyes seeing the stars, the butterflies and the smiles of people, instead of corpses, blood and devastation. To taste food, to have a bed and the right to be happy. Your body held, fed, loved. To be a human.

Maybe in another life.

While Simon prepared to die, the wind spoke to Hanya. Look at him, the wind said.

If there was something she hated, it was Men. She didn't believe in ghosts, nor did she believe in myths or destiny, she wasn’t superstitious, she wasn’t easily impressed nor easily scared. And what she hated the most, was Men.

One other thing about Hanya though… she was kind.

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lewismcqueen · 1 day ago

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you first.

lh44 x black!reader

part one | part two

summary: 'Thought I'd simmer down as I got older, can't shake the devil sitting on my shoulder, who...invited you?' wc: 2500~ a/n: finally writing the lewis hamilton band au of my dreams lol. this'll be another two-parter. Meaning...only two parts. Pls move accordingly <3 enjoy!

The venue you’re playing at tonight—the place where it all began—used to feel bigger.

It used to be a gaping maw filled with strange eyes that weren’t your friends’, and therefore more ready to judge. More willing to find fault. You got up there with nothing but your guitar, a college-ruled notebook full of lyrics, and unbridled ambition.

But then the venues got bigger, the audiences more eager as you realized that many of them had come to see you, no longer just a placeholder or opener for who they really wanted to see. That nervous little girl with heat-damaged ends and rectangular prescription glasses became a young woman who hid the nerves more convincingly, until her outfits got bolder and she started getting color in her braids when she visited the salon. Venues became festival stages, where your image is projected onto screens that are larger than life.

Now the venue feels small, but not cramped the way your bed gets before your parents realize they need to switch it out. No, the swaying phone flashlights and chorus of voices reciting your lyrics make it feel like coming back home. You smile as you strum the final chord on your guitar, and there’s a split second of silence as the last song comes to an end. They say it’s the silence after a note rings in the air that creates the magic. There’s a beat of it before the audience erupts in raucous applause.

You thank them, your voice hushed with reverence as your eyes scan the crowd. There’s not so many that you can’t at least try to remember every face, which is a nice change from a mass of bodies too far away to see beyond those lucky enough to get the front row.

There's a girl wearing an oversized band t-shirt, her teal-streaked fringe clinging to her forehead a little with sweat. Next to her is a tall man with a high-top fade and large wire frame glasses that remind you of the 80s. The guy next to him is a bit shorter, and of a lighter complexion. He wears a knit sweater in a deep, royal purple contrasted by a single silvery chain draped around his neck that glints in the low light. He has dreads that are tied up so that they hang stylishly over one side of his face.

Wide, brown eyes stare at you dead-on, his expression ambiguous in a way that unsettles you. Something like loss. Something like regret. Minus the beard, the guy’s face kinda reminds you of—

Wait. Wait. There’s no way it’s actually him.

You know that face from a long, long time ago. You know that face, because there was also a point in time where you couldn't escape it.

Recognition—sudden, bone-chilling recognition—colors your features before you tear your eyes away and exit the stage through the back. Your manager Jen is standing close by in her usual white tee and denim jeans, her curls slicked back into a bun. Her brows furrow as soon as she spots you.

“You good?” she asks, silver watch catching the stage lights that manage to filter through.

You nod, but the way you’re clutching the neck of your guitar says otherwise.

Because this isn’t really where it all began. Not exactly.

It began in your dad’s dirty garage, just wide enough and empty enough to fit a speaker and a drum set. Maybe even a mic stand. More importantly, it’s got enough room for yourself, Jennifer, Sebastian, and Lewis - a new kid from the UK that lived on an air base nearby. His dark hair is cropped short, and he looks at you like you’re already friends. Sebastian had introduced him the moment your last guitarist left, swearing up and down that the kid was practically the next Jimi Hendrix and could take his place easily.

The first thing that struck you about Lewis was that despite being the new kid in town with no more than one real friend, was that he was not a timid boy. Polite, sure, (maybe a little too polite - he insisted on firmly shaking everyone’s hand the day you met him), but he walked around in his white polo and blue jeans giving off the impression that he already belonged, and was just waiting for everyone else to get with the program. He waltzed through your garage like it was a second home, collar popped and all.

That’s why your eyes narrow when, not even two weeks in, Lewis mentions he can sing, and even makes some of his own music at home. A solo act in the making. He says it casually, but you have a feeling that he might be vying for your spot as frontman. Lewis seems like the type to want to be the center of attention.

“Sing a few bars for us then,” you chime in. You’re sitting on the guitar speaker with your chin in both hands, your voice saccharine with a smile that is all teeth. “You probably know a couple of our songs already. Let’s hear it!”

Lewis scratches the back of his neck, his ears reddening a bit. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him look bashful. He must think he’s being cute.

“I mean I’m not, like, Usher or anything. I can carry a note or two but—”

“Nah, don’t give me that,” you interrupt. “You look like you can sing your ass off. Give us a verse, maybe the song we did last week?”

The untitled song you’d practiced last week was tailor-made for you. You, with your endless riffs and power notes and belted choruses. Let’s see what this kid’s made of.

Lewis blinks, licking his lips nervously. “Well, alright.”

He makes his way over to the keyboard set up right by the speaker, and begins playing the main chords. How the hell did he memorize those after only hearing the song once? At any rate, the song is nearly unrecognizable when Lewis sings it. He is nearly all falsetto, his voice light as a breeze and clear as your neighbor’s crystal wind chimes. He’d make a stellar RnB heartthrob, but not a frontman for a rock band. The thought relieves you.

The three of you applaud at the end of it, Lewis shrugging it off with a lopsided grin.

Jennifer chirps, “Your voice is so pretty!

“Thanks, but I’m way better on the guitar.”

“You could add in some harmonies, though!” adds Sebastian. “We finally have two singers.”

You hop off the speaker and approach Lewis to clap him on the shoulder. The force of it makes him jump.

“I think I’m with Lewis on this one. Good thing you’re our guitarist though, right?”

He glances down at your hand on his shoulder, and his grin deepens into a real smile.

“I’ll be the best guitarist you’ve ever had.”

You wink. “I’m counting on it, Hamilton.”

And he was right - he was the best damn electric guitarist you’d ever had. You don’t realize it now, but he’ll also be the last.

Lewis’ playing was the embodiment of the word ‘sharp’. He played aggressively, but with precision that made every note rip through the air like a sheet of notebook paper being torn in half. He also loved to add embellishments to the sound - a bit of distortion here, reverb there. Some days he wore a metal slide around his finger, sometimes not. Lewis made every note sing regardless, the air buzzing with energy. It made Jennifer’s bass playing bouncier, Sebastian's drums more feverish.

Sometimes he’d match your riffs, the little genius. With his guitar. His playing even made you dance one time - spinning and sinking to your knees, Lewis following in a call-and-response until you were both on the floor, riffing your hearts out. He was as tuned in to you as the rest of the band was tuned in to him. As wary of Lewis as you originally were, you can't deny that he makes you feel invincible when he plays beside you.

It shouldn't be shocking, then, that Lewis slots into your friend group like a puzzle piece you didn't even realize was missing. You try to scare him off with your dark humor, but he plays off of it - sometimes lightening the mood, other times managing to go darker. Lewis cracks jokes that make the entire lunch table laugh, but he always glances at you first. You interpret this as competitiveness, and roll your eyes at him, but part of you finds it endearing that he cares that much.

You appreciate Lewis in your own way. Threatening to beat someone up for making fun of his tooth gap, for example. He looks terrified when you do, but thanks you profusely anyway. There's a silent agreement that this is just how things are going to be until Lewis passes by your garage one Tuesday afternoon.

You're strumming an acoustic guitar while mumbling through a song he doesn't recognize, a purple notebook sitting open on a chair beside you. You have on distressed jeans, and an old-looking yellow cardigan that looks out of place in your usually all-black wardrobe. It makes you look small.

“That sounds nice,” he calls out from just outside the garage door. He's close, but doesn't want to step inside without your permission. You speak without looking up.

“It's missing something.”

“Can I come in?”

You nod, and soon Lewis is hovering over the notebook, eyes scanning the lyrics as you bring them to life.

“Bridge.”

You stop playing abruptly and look up. “Huh?”

Lewis gives you that bashful, ‘I am pretending to not know what I'm talking about’ smile and scratches the back of his neck.

“I mean, the song sounds like it's building up to something, but you're making the jump too soon. It needs a bridge.”

Lewis fidgets beneath your gaze as you stare at him. “You…probably didn't ask for that advice. Sorry, I—”

“Do me a favor, Hamilton.”

He blinks.

“Uh, sure. What's the favor?”

“Stop apologizing so much. It's annoying.”

Lewis opens his mouth—presumably to say ‘sorry'— but then promptly closes it and just nods.

“See you this weekend?”

You give him a blank look. “Where else would I be?”

It isn’t until Jennifer’s mom stops by that the four of you consider playing at the annual school talent show (you thought the event was ‘lame’ and ‘for try-hards’, so you usually made the band skip out on it).

“Y’all are making all that noise just for only the neighbors to hear?” She quips with a smile after a particularly thrashy number. The woman holds a plate of freshly-baked cookies in one hand, the other resting on her hip. Jennifer had clearly inherited her mother’s affinity for khaki-colored capris.

“Good afternoon, ma’am!” Lewis greets, all sing-songy like he’d been taught to recite it. You tilt your face away from him to roll your eyes. You never did come to like his incessant politeness. “Are those biscuit—er, cookies for us?”

“Sure, but only if you guys promise to at least sign up for that talent show, goodness!”

Sebastian nods a little too enthusiastically, causing his shaggy, dirty-blonde hair to fall over his eyes. “Oh, we will!”

Jennifer snorts before looking to you, and you shrug. “Eh, why not. We never play at those anyway.”

You’ve made a lot of mistakes in your lifetime, but you look back on that decision as one of the worst. The talent show goes well enough - most of your classmates didn’t even know you sang until that night. You’re on the keyboard, while Lewis plays his guitar like it’s his last day on Earth. He has a mic in front of him, too. Feeling generous, you had given him a couple lines in your verses - the less shout-y, more emotional bits. He sounds beautiful, amplified over school-issued speakers.

You glance at the crowd and notice a couple of jaws dropping, and in the front row there’s some guy with only half a head of hair in a crisp-looking shirt nodding his head, impressed. He’s watching Lewis intently, never taking his eyes off him. It makes you feel uneasy.

When the auditorium clears out afterwards, you notice two figures standing by one of the double doors. You recognize one as Lewis’ dad, though you’ve never had the opportunity to speak to the man directly. The second is the balding guy from the crowd. They look deep in serious discussion. Maybe a family friend?

Sebastian is calling your name next to you.

“Yo, are you coming? Jen’s mom is baking tonight. Come on!”

Eyes still gazing ahead, you nod dismissively, pulling just one of the straps on your backpack over your shoulder. “Yeah, I’m coming. Just…give me a second.”

Sebastian shrugs, and joins Jennifer in moving through the aisles to make their eventual exit.

Lewis’ dad has called his son over. He must not know the man, because his dad’s gesturing as if he’s making an introduction. They shake hands. The guy seems to be offering praise, because Lewis looks at him the same way he looks at you whenever you tell him you like his harmonies: starry-eyed and a little pleased with himself. The two men shake hands this time. Something has just been negotiated.

“Oh, that was just some talent agency guy, says his name’s Ron,” Lewis explains that same weekend after you ask him. He gives you a sly grin. “Why, you want his number or something?”

You shake your head and return your focus to the keyboard. You’re trying out melodies, something to set your new lyrics to. Lewis is busy tuning his guitar.

“Nah, I’m good. I don’t think I wanna be part of some bigwig label, or anything like that.”

“You could probably be a big star though,” Lewis says. You don’t see the admiration in his gaze. “I’m sure if more people heard you blow the roof off of the place like you do in here, you could—”

“I’m not some future burnout pop star like you, so can you just drop it?” you snap, and you immediately regret it. He turns away, a closed expression settling over his features.

“Alright, jeez. You’re the one who asked,” he mutters beneath his breath. “My dad brings these label guys around all the time ‘cuz he wants me to get signed, or something. I don’t really want to, though.”

You turn to him again. “What do you want?”

Lewis frowns, like you’ve asked him something offensive. “I wanna play with you guys.”

You’re not sure whether to be relieved at the boy’s commitment, or annoyed that he treats having a dad with connections to talent agencies like no big deal. An annoyance, even. So you just keep messing around on the keyboard.

“Cool.”

He plays even more aggressively that week. As if he’s got something to prove. To whom, you have no idea. But it ends up meaning nothing.

The following Friday, Lewis doesn’t bring his guitar. He’s dragging a small suitcase behind him, gnawing on his bottom lip. The rims of his eyes look red.

Lewis got signed, and he’s moving away to be somewhere closer to a recording studio. The whole garage goes quiet. You don’t know what enrages you more: the fact that he lied, or the fact that he doesn’t even have the self-awareness to seem happy about it.

Instead of saying goodbye, you explode, hot tears stinging your eyes. You don’t even remember all of the things you call him that day. Maybe you don’t want to.

The band stops meeting after that. You tell yourself it’s because you could never find another guitarist.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x black!reader #lh44 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #lightning writes

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caffieneaddictt18 · 7 hours ago

Text

Who's a Heretic Now?

Got this idea listening to Which Witch by Florence + The Machine. I hope yall like it!

You are by the stream when you hear the tell-tale sound of horses on the soft dirt.

This was your first warning.

"Ma'am... we have reason to believe that... you are a witch." The captain of this small squadron addresses you from atop his stallion as you stand to your full height by the stream.

This was your second warning.

"You will find no witches here, good sir." You square your shoulders and look him in the eye.

The Infamous Price... given his name by the people he slaughters. The one whom he makes pay.

You can hear the two of the men on his team start to circle you, and you firmly dig your foot into the ground, just enough to be discreet and send out a signal for the roots to come back. There's someone in the trees... behind y-

You stop when you notice their armor seems to be clinking. Something... something's happening.

And this... your final warning.

You immediately withdraw your magic, and the clinking stops. Price just smirks.

"We knew you were the Witch of the Woods." He pulls out a necklace, the medallion on it radiating magic like uranium radiates nuclear energy.

"I am no witch. There are no witches here." You stand your ground, not willing to die for who you are.

"No use lyin', lass." The Scot, Soap, leans forward on his horse, watching you carefully with a carefree smile on his face.

"We just got confirmation." Gaz swings his medallion in the open air.

"Let's not scare her." John gets off his horse, and takes off his helmet.

"What are you going to do? Kill me? Torture me? Make me give you secrets that not even I know?" You prepare yourself for a fight... a fight you'll lose, but not without getting them too.

"Why make you if you don't even know them?" Ghost on his death-black mare emerges from the trees, his long bow slung across his back, "It would be easier to just kill you."

"Simon-" Price scolds his second-in-command, his hands on his hips. Ghost looks away, seeming to be scoping out the surrounding area.

"We... we need your help." Price starts, setting his helmet down and leaving his sword in his scabbarb.

"You need my help?" You let yourself slowly come out of the anticipatory stance, "Apologies, but I don't help killers."

"You kill." Gaz states, sounding so sure of himself and a smug expression to match.

"Do you think I'm doing myself any favors out here? There's no townspeople to convince that I'm a cunning woman that can help them. There's no protection out here." Gaz's face falls as he understands your situation a bit better now.

"So that's what you want." Soap gets off his horse.

"I never said that."

"Didnae have to, lass."

"Regardless, we need your help." Price cuts in, pleading for your kindness.

"Like I said, I don't help killers." Your face is stony as you begin to walk back to your cottage.

"The crown prince gave us the order to kill you." Price's voice slices the silence like a sword against stone.

You pause as you turn around to face them. "You are known for making your victims beg... why not make me plead? Why not force me on my knees and draw pleas from me like a chant? Why not kill me?" You take slow steps towards the captain, stopping at a comfortable distance.

"He was going to send us on the same day that he intended to banish us. For our crimes."

Your eyes narrow. "What did you do?"

"We operated under the General, with the Queen's express permission. However... she was found dead at dawn."

"And the prince assumed it was you." You come to the conclusion of this story.

"The General was not particularly fond of her anyways, and this would be an easy way to become the top of the military with his extensive training, overseen by the Queen and General themselves." Price explains, his arms outstretched.

"So you wish for me to protect you from the... King now, I assume."

Price's head hangs in defeat. You could see through his armor... through him.

"Fine. But I want something in return." You speak, your back straightening.

"What do you want?"

"Your swords." Your voice hits them all in the chest, understanding the weight of this. Soap, however... takes this a little too literally.

"Not actually. I have no need for a sword. But I do need your expertise in fighting if the new King were to ever find us." You look at Capta- Price... Just Price now...

"Boys?" He gathers his team together, the three of them looking on apprehensively.

"You said we would never have to do this again." Gaz look at the Captain, a sad look in his eyes.

"We never have to kill innocents anymore, Garrick. The men she is asking us to fight... they are guilty of every charge."

"They were our brothers in arms." Soap retorts, his arms crossed in front of him.

"No, MacTavish, they weren't... Not really."

As they discuss their little moral debate, you walk inside your cottage and gather your materials. Moon water can be made again... Eye of newt only grows in this area, gotta take it. It will be hard to find marshmallow elsewhere... I'll take that and grow it.

As you exit the cottage with everything you need, you look at the group, seeing Price give his men an inspirational speech. It makes you roll your eyes as you turn back to the cottage and say a spell, while holding your hands together, thumbs out to form a triangle over your head. As you chant your spell, and slowly bring your hands down, your home starts to crumble and form back with the Earth.

"Captain... I think she's leaving." Gaz nudges Price's shoulder, pointing at you.

Price turns to look at you, "You made a deal!" He shouts, angry at you seeming to double-cross him. "You said you would protect us if we gave you our swords!"

You sigh and close your eyes, feeling the setting sun on your face. You turn around, looking down the hill at him, the sun iluminating you, the wind caressing your hair.

"Who said 'I' was leaving? You're coming with me."

Price, shocked, stands there and takes in your words. And then your power... and your majesty. You are the most beauti-

"Apologies," He clears his throat.

"Besides, you haven't promised me your swords yet." You shift your gaze from Price, to the team, and back to Price.

Price, recovering from seeing you in this golden moment, takes his sword out and slams it into the ground in front of you. He slowly kneels on one knee, head bowed and hands gripping the hilt.

"I pledge my sword to you."

His team stands in amazement. They have only seen this happen one other time and... it was never this devout.

Gaz was the next to follow, throwing his sword in the ground close to his captain, mimicking the older man's stance. "I pledge my sword to you."

You look on in slight amusement and definite shock as Soap follows close behind. "I pledge my sword to you."

It is Ghost that takes the longest. He simply stands there and stares at you, his hand gripping the longbow like's ready to notch it and kill you any second.

"Ghost. I understand your apprehension. But I can't help you unless you are willing to fight. I will take you to safety. I will never ask you to kill an innocent. But I do need this of you." You look at him, understanding flowing between your gazes.

He slowly follows behind his group, using his bow instead of his sword.

"Great. Are you boys ready?" You turn from them, facing the oncoming dusk, "It's going to be a long ride before we get to safety." You start walking towards the sun and down the other side of the hill.

Price smiles slightly as he stands, putting his sword back in its scabbarb.

"You heard the witch. Let's pack up." Price gives the order to follow you as he heads for his horse and saddles up, his men following in his stead.

"Where are we going?" Soap asks when they catch up to you.

"I don't know. But I hope it's safe."

So... I have an idea for this to become a series with no idea of whether or not I wil have the energy to do so, but let's hope so. Have a great night/day!

#caffies #x reader #writing #simon riley x reader #cod #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #141 x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #eventual poly!141 x reader

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shadyfestivalperfection · 22 hours ago

Note

I loved your “Dating Loki” could you do one where him and the “reader” reunite during the Avengers? Nick Fury and the others won’t think he’ll talk until Thor brings the “reader” in. Loki thinks it’s Black Widow before he turns around, maybe he tries to keep his composure.

To Choose You Again~Oneshot

Summery: He let her go once in the name of power. Years later, broken and imprisoned, Loki sees her again—and this time, he’s the one who won’t walk away.

Characters: Loki x ex-girlfriend!reader

Note: Don’t worry, it has a happy ending 😉

||Main Masterlist|| ||Oneshot Masterlist||

Loki of Asgard sat on the floor with his knees drawn up, long fingers dangling loosely between them. His hair, longer now, curled slightly at the edges of his jaw, and the green in his eyes was dulled with something deeper than rage—fatigue. He stared at the far wall, unmoving. For hours, maybe longer.

He hadn’t spoken. Not to Fury. Not to Stark. Not even to Thor.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents watched him from behind mirrored glass, voices low and skeptical. Romanoff leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, her gaze cold.

“He’s not going to talk,” she said for the third time that day. “He’s waiting for something.”

“Or someone,” Banner murmured.

“Maybe a stage,” Stark quipped. “Guy always did love a dramatic entrance.”

Thor, standing slightly apart from them all, frowned in silence. His arms were crossed, and his brow furrowed with more worry than anyone present had seen since New York burned under the alien sky.

“He is… lost,” Thor said finally. “But not beyond reach.”

“Then who can reach him?” Steve asked, his tone calm but pressed. “Because we’re running out of time.”

Thor hesitated. “There was someone.”

Fury glanced over. “Someone?”

“She was once close to him. Before all of this. Before… everything fell apart.”

“Oh, here we go,” Tony muttered. “The ex-girlfriend bomb.”

“Her name is Y/N,” Thor said over the sarcasm. “An Asgardian by birth. Immortal. She left the realm generations ago. She chose Midgard—Earth. Lives in quiet. She is a researcher. A scholar. And she knew my brother better than any of us.”

Steve tilted his head. “Why haven’t we heard of her before?”

“She wanted peace,” Thor said simply. “And he let her go.”

“Wait,” Natasha cut in. “You’re saying Loki had someone he actually cared about? Enough to let her walk away?”

Thor’s eyes darkened. “Yes. And it nearly broke him.”

Silence followed. Only the faint sound of Loki’s breath through the speakers filled the stillness.

Fury crossed his arms. “You really think this woman—this Y/N—can get through to him?”

“I believe,” Thor said softly, “that if anyone can remind him he was once capable of love… it is her.”

—

The quinjet landed gently in a clearing surrounded by silver trees. Beyond them, nestled on the edge of a sheer cliff, was a small cottage with a moss-covered roof and a garden that bloomed wild and unbothered by human hands. It overlooked a stretch of sea so vast and calm it seemed the sky itself had poured into it.

Thor stood at the head of the team: Steve and Natasha behind him. No guards. No weapons drawn.

The moment they stepped through the trees, the front door opened.

Y/N stood in the threshold, still as the wind. Her long hair, loosely braided, hung over one shoulder, silver strands catching the fading light. She wore a simple sweater and linen pants—earthy, unassuming—but her eyes held a sharpness that hadn’t dulled since Asgard.

They were the eyes of a woman who’d seen empires fall and loved a man who helped break one.

“Thor,” she said evenly, voice like smooth stones in a stream.

He smiled, almost boyishly. “Y/N. You look well.”

“You didn’t come all this way just to flatter me,” she replied. Her gaze shifted to the two behind him. “Captain Rogers. Agent Romanoff.”

Natasha raised a brow. “Didn’t expect the welcome committee.”

“I’ve seen many things,” Y/N said. “But nothing surprises me anymore. Not even a god on my doorstep.”

She stepped aside. “Come in.”

—

Her home was filled with books. Stacks of them on tables, nestled beside vials of glowing plants and scrolls too old for even Steve to date. The air smelled of lavender and salt. It was peaceful. Still.

She poured tea without asking. The silence was comfortable… until it wasn’t.

“You’re here about Loki,” she said.

Thor lowered his cup. “Yes.”

“I figured.” She didn’t look at any of them directly. “Is he dead?”

“No,” Thor said quietly. “But perhaps worse.”

She didn’t speak.

“He’s in custody. After what he did in New York.”

“I heard.” Her voice tightened.

“He will not speak to any of us,” Thor continued. “Not even me.”

Y/N finally looked up. Her eyes had that familiar sheen to them—reflective, unreadable, and impossibly old. “And you think I can reach him?”

Steve answered this time, his tone careful. “He’s completely closed off. If there’s any chance someone from his past could draw him out—help us understand what he’s planning—it’s worth trying.”

“He’s always planning something,” she said softly. “That hasn’t changed.”

“But once,” Thor said, “he wasn’t only this. You saw that. You knew him before the fall.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

“I saw what you were to each other,” Thor added. “He loved you.”

She rose, walked to the window. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And still, he let me go.”

“Why?” Natasha asked quietly.

Y/N smiled faintly. “You’d have to ask him.”

Steve stepped forward. “We’re not asking you to forgive him. Just… speak with him. If you get through, we might be able to stop whatever’s coming.”

Y/N was silent for a long time.

Then: “When?”

Thor stood. “Tonight.”

—

The quinjet hummed softly as it rose into the clouds. Y/N sat across from Thor, her eyes on the horizon. The closer they flew to the helicarrier, the quieter she became.

Thor watched her with a heavy heart.

“You haven’t asked if he remembers you,” he said gently.

“I know he does.”

Thor nodded.

“And I know,” she added, voice barely audible, “that I never stopped remembering him.”

—

The S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier was cold and sterile, a place of harsh lights and harder edges. Y/N stepped out of the elevator, Thor just behind her, and immediately the chill of the place seeped into her bones. The smell of metal and ozone mixed with distant echoes of voices and footsteps.

They walked down the narrow corridors until they reached the observation deck, the glass cell standing silent and imposing.

Inside, Loki sat alone, his posture rigid, shoulders squared as if bracing against invisible storms. His back was to them, the dark hair falling messily over his shoulders.

“Are you sure he doesn’t know you’re here?” Y/N asked quietly.

Thor nodded. “He believes this is another attempt to interrogate him. He doesn’t expect you.”

They stepped closer, their footsteps muffled against the floor.

Y/N’s heart pounded, an old ache rising up—equal parts dread and longing.

“He’s not going to like this,” she murmured.

“I’m not here for his approval,” he said softly.

Loki shifted. “Another visitor,” he muttered, voice dry but edged with a trace of amusement.

Y/N cleared her throat. “Loki.”

He turned slowly. The moment their eyes met, the air shifted—charged with years of unspoken words.

His face was pale, a mask of cold composure. But his eyes betrayed him: wide, searching, almost disbelieving.

“…Y/N?”

She nodded, a faint, bittersweet smile curling her lips.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said, stepping closer to the glass, his hand rising to meet hers.

The world between them felt fragile—time stretched thin.

“I came because there’s still a part of you I remember. The part I want to believe is still there.”

Loki’s gaze faltered. “I buried that part deep.”

“Maybe it’s time to dig it up.”

Silence hung heavy, then he whispered, “Tell me… why did you leave?”

Her mind flickered back to a night long ago—stars above, tears streaming.

“Because you wouldn’t let me stay.”

He closed his eyes, the weight of regret settling on his shoulders.

“Let me try,” he whispered.

For the first time since his capture, Loki spoke—not with malice or riddles, but with the rawness of a soul seeking redemption.

Loki’s breath hitched as he stepped back from the glass, pacing the small confines of his cell. The shadows seemed to cling tighter to him, but in his eyes, a flicker of something warmer, something more fragile, lingered.

Y/N’s heart clenched watching him—this god, so fierce and broken all at once.

“Why didn’t you come to me sooner?” she asked softly, leaning closer to the glass.

He stopped and stared at her, jaw clenched.

“I was afraid,” he confessed, voice cracking like thin ice. “Afraid that what I’d become was beyond repair. That the man you loved was gone forever.”

She swallowed hard, remembering the bitter nights she spent wondering if he even thought of her.

“I never stopped hoping you’d come back,” she said. “Even when it felt like you were slipping away.”

Loki’s fingers pressed against the glass, fingertips tracing where hers rested.

“I should have fought harder. For you. For us.”

“You did what you thought was right. But sometimes, doing right means letting go.”

His eyes darkened. “Letting go of you was the hardest thing I ever did.”

They stood, separated by the thin barrier, but their hearts stretched across the distance like a fragile thread.

“Maybe this is our second chance,” Y/N whispered.

Loki’s lips curled into a tentative smile.

“If you’ll have me,” he said.

Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “Always.”

The hours slipped by unnoticed, swallowed by the quiet hum of the helicarrier and the steady rhythm of their voices.

Y/N found herself sharing memories she thought she’d buried—moments of laughter under Asgard’s twin moons, stolen glances during palace festivities, whispered promises beneath endless starlit skies.

Loki listened, his expression unreadable at first, but gradually softening like ice thawing under spring’s gentle sun.

“You always had that stubborn streak,” she teased, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“And you always knew how to challenge me,” he countered, eyes glinting with a rare warmth.

They spoke of things left unsaid—the fears, the regrets, the reasons that tore them apart.

“I thought I was protecting you,” Loki said, voice thick with pain. “But all I did was push you away.”

Y/N reached out, fingers brushing the glass between them. “You didn’t push me away. I walked because I had to survive. And because I believed there was still good in you.”

He closed his eyes, a single breath escaping him. “There is good. I buried it too deep, but it’s still there.”

She smiled through the tears threatening to spill. “Then let’s find it again. Together.”

Loki’s gaze locked onto hers, fierce and vulnerable. “I want to believe that. I want to try.”

Their hands pressed harder against the glass, desperate to erase the space between them.

“Soon,” Y/N promised. “Soon.”

As the conversation lingered, Loki’s guarded demeanor began to peel away, revealing glimpses of the man she once knew—and the one she hoped might still be there.

“I’ve been alone,” he admitted quietly. “Not just in this cell, but inside myself. It’s a cold place.”

Y/N’s heart ached for him, the weight of his solitude almost unbearable.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” she said, voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. “Not while I’m here.”

He looked at her then, truly looked—as if seeing her for the first time in years.

“You never left my thoughts,” he whispered. “Even when I told myself you had.”

She reached out again, pressing her palm to the glass. “Neither did you leave mine.”

For a moment, time seemed to pause. The sterile hum of the helicarrier faded into the background, replaced by the quiet resonance of two souls tentatively reaching out.

“I don’t know what comes next,” Loki confessed, “but I want to find out—with you.”

Y/N smiled, hope blooming like dawn breaking through endless night.

Walking away from the cell, Y/N’s steps felt lighter than they had in years. The walls around her seemed less suffocating, the weight on her chest easing with each breath.

Thor met her at the hallway’s bend, a knowing smile on his face.

“She is the light in his darkness,” Thor said quietly. “You gave him something I could not.”

Y/N nodded, wiping a stray tear. “He’s still lost in parts. But he wants to be found.”

Natasha approached, folding her arms. “He talked?”

Y/N chuckled softly. “More than that. He remembered.”

Steve smiled warmly. “Then we have hope.”

The team gathered around her as they prepared to move forward, their mission now carrying a new purpose—not just to contain a god, but to heal him.

Later, as Y/N stood by her window, looking out over the night sky, a single moonflower bloomed on her windowsill—a reminder that even in the darkest places, hope could still take root.

And somewhere, far away but no longer unreachable, Loki was thinking the same.

“We’ll find the path. Together.”

Loki was taken back to Asgard in chains. Y/N watched from the shadows.

He didn’t look back.

Not then.

But a month later, a letter arrived — in ancient Asgardian script, with his seal.

I meant what I said. I remember everything.If I ever find a way back to the light… I hope you’ll be standing there.

—

Three months passed. Then four. Then five.

Y/N accepted a quiet research post in Norway, studying Earth’s auroras — a nod to the skies she once knew. Her days were quiet. Her nights lonelier.

Until one stormy evening… the wind shifted.

She turned from her telescope, heart pounding.

He was there.

Not armored. Not kingly. Just… Loki.

Hair longer. Eyes tired. But real.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she breathed.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me.”

She crossed the room and stopped inches from him. “Are you here to stay?”

“I don’t know what I am anymore,” he whispered. “But I know who I miss.”

He touched her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For all of it. I broke the only beautiful thing I ever had.”

“You didn’t break me,” she whispered. “Just my heart. But I kept the pieces. I was hoping you’d come back and help me put them together.”

He leaned in, slow, unsure.

She met him halfway.

Their kiss was not the burning heat of youth — it was slower. Wiser. Real.

They watched the auroras from the cliff, his hand wrapped around hers.

“Do you think they’ll ever let me live in peace here?” he asked.

Y/N smiled. “That depends. Do you plan to conquer anything else?”

“Only your attention.”

“That, you’ve already won.”

He looked at her, the glow of northern lights reflecting in his eyes.

And for the first time in years — he felt whole.

-the end

#marvel #shadyfestivalperfection #female reader #fanfiction #romance #avengers #mcu #Loki #Loki x Reader #loki x you #mcu loki #loki fanfic #loki x f!reader

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heeikeuu · 4 hours ago

Text

Nightly Rendezvous – L.HS

🂱 Pairings: Spy! Heeseung x Fem! Fatal reader DRABBLE

🂱 Warnings: VERY Suggestive (sexual tension but no smut), killing, profanity, no established relationship, rivals, mentions of death, mentions of minors being trafficked, mutually possessive reader n Heeseung, Heeseung is a littleeeee yandere leaning (my hand slipped I swear).

🂱 Note: Writer's block been on my ass so here's a drabble to make up for my absence, I promise I will finish the other hee fic soon 😭

The bar was somewhat peaceful, lights dim and music playing softly in the background. You swirled the glass of overly expensive champagne in your hand, almost bored but your posture remained ever so dangerously elegant. A true fem fatal by nature.

Your mission tonight was simple. Seduce another stupid rich man, get his money, and leave without a trace. But your confidence wavered when you felt his gaze. His piercing, unmistakable gaze. Lee Heeseung.

You choose to not address your relationship status but you couldn't fully deny the way your stomach turned into emotions you buried under a playful attitude. It's a game of push and pull that you both became enamored in even 5 years after knowing each other.

Not spotting your target yet, you decided to make your way to him. Eye contact never breaking as you set down your glass, black silk dress defining your curves as your hips moved in a subtle but hypnotizing manner. One that he couldn't miss even if he tried.

He was in a trance. Almost forgetting what his objective was. Eyes never able to leave your body and face, especially eyes. Standing dangerously close to him you place your hands on his chest with a faux pout on your lips as you look up at him, "well, if it isn't my favorite boy toy." You playfully retorted, a small smile on your lips.

Her voice alone could prove the existence of sirens. He thought to himself.

Heeseung’s hands found their way to her hips like a familiar dance. His team mates hidden in the shadows watched in disbelief, wondering who that woman was and how the hell did Heeseung let her so close to him so casually. But she wasn't just any woman. Not to him.

Oh no, in this sick twisted dance, she belongs to just him even if he was completely at her mercy.

"You wound me, baby," he finally responded, voice ever so smooth, leaning a little closer than necessary. Her scent making him dizzy with desire.

"Heeseung the target is almost here stay focused." Jay spoke calmly through the small ear piece.

He cursed his best friend in his head for interrupting the moment. Clearing his throat, you speak before him.

"Would love to continue standing here and chatting with you, but I have a job to complete today." Your eyes playful as you kissed his cheek, daringly close to his lips.

He held a calm demeanor but his heart was drumming through his ears if he were to be honest.

Disappearing into the shadows, both of you had the same target in mind tonight. Unlike Heeseung, you came alone, like always. You preferred to work alone, less hassle and perhaps you were too much of a control freak to ever need help.

You set your eyes on him. Mr. Park. He was in his early 30s, not that hideous in the looks department but still looked like a creep no less with those clearly underaged girls sitting close to him with uncomfortably tight clothes and smiles.

It made your blood boil but u stayed calm and collected, not wanting to mess this up. You had a mission to follow after all.

Your moves were always calculated, elegant, and undeniably sexy. Not taking up too much space but holding your own boldly. Like a quiet snake slowly slithering itself into its prey, toying with it before showing your fangs.

Mr. Park was soon very interested, his perverted eyes soon landing on you and your figure. You had trained yourself to not roll your eyes at how predictable and useless men are.

Jazz music played in the background as you sipped on your new glass of champagne.

You knew Heeseung and his men were here to kill this man. Despite knowing that you had the same goal you couldn't stop the rush in your veins to be ahead of him. As always.

This silly little game of rivalry to mask the thick tension and chemistry between you two, you knew you were too much of a coward to truly let yourself be vulnerable in front of him but he still chose to let you think you took the lead.

It didn't take much for you to lure the man into a more secluded area, hidden behind the bar doors. Not even bothering to glance back.

Checkmate, bitch. You smirked to yourself.

Standing by the door, you finally turn to face Mr. Park, who was eyeing you like a piece of meat.

Disgusting pig, you thought to yourself before smiling and walking closer to him. "What took you so long, I was almost getting bored." You spoke in a whiny and almost childish tone, your hand grabbing and playing with his tie innocently. Always knowing how to trap your prey just right.

The man was clearly a little tipsy which would make your job a whole lot easier.

"I'm sorry babygirl, daddy is here now." He smirked. You wanted to kill him right here and there. But more than you, Heeseung who was watching. Waiting for an opening to strike wanted to strangle him. The veins on his forehead and arms almost popping from watching that freak touch you and dare to breathe your air. Nobody was allowed to touch you but him. If anyone did, they wouldn't live to see tomorrow but you didn't need to know that necessarily, or maybe you did and pretended to not know because you secretly loved it. Who knows.

All Heeseung knows is that he wants to kill that bastard even more than ever now. He was just waiting for a signal from Jay.

You on the other hand led the man to the bedroom. Asking him to lay down gently on the bed and close his eyes for a surprise.

"You have to promise," you told him, he nodded, promising to not open them.

Dumbass. You thought before carefully and teasingly removing his pants. With your free hand, you pulled out a small syringe from your garter. Enough to kill anyone out in 2 minutes tops.

He let out moans that made your skin crawl but you kept your composure. Slowly shifting. You pierced his skin with your hand hidden behind your back. Leaning to his ear. "I hope this is okay," you asked innocently. Throwing away the syringe to the floor. It was so faint he couldn't even feel it in his state.

But the show was soon stopped when the door bursted open. Letting out a sigh, you already knew who it was. Heeseung. As always. Pulling yourself away from the man swiftly. He was in his underwear with his pants down his thighs and honestly you could just tell he was small. Must not be very popular with women his age for a reason.

"What the hell are you doing here!" He yelled, embarrassed, trying to stand up and almost falling because of his pants, you let out a small snort. He turns his head towards you with wild eyes, "what the fuck is so funny, slut-" whatever he wanted to say next to cut off by Heeseung throwing a meaty punch to his face, letting out a big wince he spits out blood. Still tipsy and not able to stand all that straight.

You sat on the bed, crossing your legs, letting your bored and stoic expression shine as you stared at your nails absentmindedly.

"HEY LOOK AT ME-" Another punch was thrown to his face. This time knocking a tooth out.

"Listen here you shriveled up pervert, you got a price to pay and you know your clock has stopped ticking a long time ago." Heeseung's dark tone sending chills down your spine and other places you probably shouldn't name.

"First you mess with my men," he grabs his neck, dragged him to the nearest wall with full force. "Then, you touch, my woman." His tone dangerous and low.

Oh that made your thighs undoubtedly clench. Gulping, you remain silent. Acting unbothered but the heat made its way to your ears and face. The makeup not hiding it all too well.

Heeseung knocked the man out with one final punch that sounds awful. The sound of his jaw dislocating making your skin cringe.

Heeseung slowly backed away, dusting off his clothes like his knuckles aren't bruised and bloody. Like this was just a normal Friday night for him, and honestly, it was.

He turns to you. His heated gaze making you unable to look away. Suddenly closing in the distance between your bodies, his hands were on either side of your legs. Breath fanning against your cheek.

"You done playing, angel?" But it wasn't really a question and yet you still answered. Hands slowly grabbing his bruised one before kissing his knuckles gently. Catching him off guard, making his breath hitch, his bambi like eyes making your heart leap. You wish in moments like this time could just stop forever but you would never admit that to him, instead you slowly put your hands on his neck, nails carefully caressing the back of his soft hair.

"I was almost close to throwing up this time," you sighed, "but luckily my shining knight in armor came for me," he didn't miss the sarcasm in your voice but he knew there was some truth to it.

Only tonight Heeseung didn't want to play along. Oh no, he had something to prove.

"I'm sorry, baby, did I take too long?" He caressed your cheek before grabbing your chin firmly making you look at him. His eyes bore right into your soul, leaving you in a trance. But the moment was broken yet again by Jay's voice cutting through the tension in the air as he instructed Heeseung to make his way out before more of Mr. Park's men came down to play. Noticing the slight shift in his gaze, he let out a tsk. Clearly annoyed.

"Aww, is play time over-" He unexpectedly cut you off by manhandling you effortlessly into his shoulder like you weight nothing in his strong arms.

Letting out a gasp, "Heeseung what the-"

"As much as I love hearing you say my name. Not know baby, save the talking for later," he swiftly handed you a gun. "We got a job to finish first."

"I don't remember signing up for this." You grumble but ultimately comply, loading the gun easily with one hand.

Little did he know you took on this job knowing he would be there. And maybe he wasn't the only one here who had an unhealthy checked obsession with this intoxicating dance.

#heeikeuu's library #enha #enha x reader #enhypen x reader #enha imagines #lee heeseung x reader #engene #enhypen #lee heeseung #lee heeseung imagines #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung x you #enha drabble #enhypen writers #heeseung suggestive #enha au #enhypen x you

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