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cyber-streak-extra · 1 year ago

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Just something sweet :) The ITP: Happy Ending AU was made by @maraariana01

Title: Shall we?

Description: The two hang out quite a lot, not surprising——but after certain events, spend further time together, and relax.

Ralpho laid across the couch, waiting for Spring Bonnie to return. The orange rabbit was too tired to remember why the bunny had left in the first place.

Glancing at the clock in the darkened room, he knew it had to be somewhere around eleven PM—although the rabbit wasn’t the best at telling that sort of time.

Either way, he knew it had to be late—and that Jackie would return soon, if he was remembering what Oswald had told him once about her job.

A few hours prior, when he and Spring Bonnie had actively been watching a few new rom-com’s, he remembered Oswald heading back to his room with Ben and Gabrielle.

The kids seemed to have a break from school—although Ralpho didn’t know why, he hadn’t asked yet. Either way, they all seemed to like that.

From what he’d heard from Jackie over the phone prior to the two’s arrival, the whole sleepover thing would last until Tuesday—tomorrow would be Sunday.

He knew that they were all sleeping. Earlier, he’d passed by Oswald’s room when trying to retrieve something, and he had heard snoring. The rabbit had wondered if they still had their fort up.

The orange rabbit got to learn a lot whenever he decided to hang out with Spring Bonnie and them—which, he had been doing a little more recently.

After the encounter with the bear, he’d been brought back here—and Jackie had thankfully been able to help him out. Spring Bonnie had thanked her a lot, he remembered.

Ralpho hadn’t really left all that often recently—originally, it had been because he was still recovering and resting from the encounter with him.

Now though, it was more about Spring Bonnie—he could tell how worried the bunny had been ever since the encounter.

The bunny was concerned—Ralpho knew that—especially since Spring Bonnie had told him what he was worrying about. Funtime Freddy was still out there.

He knew Spring Bonnie was scared about what could happen—so, when he did want to leave, Ralpho simply allowed his Honey Bun to come with him.

Ears beginning to twitch, Ralpho heard something from down the hall. It sounded like it was rather close to where Oswald’s room happened to be.

Ralpho looked around for a moment, before deciding to go see what was going on—if anything really was, at least. Maybe something fell.

It was rather dark in the living room, though. So, as he got off of the couch, the orange rabbit tried to watch where he was going—not wanting to trip over anything.

As he watched where he went, slowly making his way out of the living room, he stared down at his feet and the floor. There wasn’t anything there.

For a moment, Ralpho considered turning the lights on so that it would be a little easier—although, the rabbit could never remember where that was.

The orange rabbit sighed. As he stared down, he could notice how he was moving—limping. Frankly, he’d forgotten that he was doing that, but, his Honey Bun...

Ever since the three of them returned, he knew that the bunny had been upset—and he still was, Ralpho knew.

He’d noticed how more protective Spring Bonnie had started becoming—in general, and of him and Oswald, especially. He knew the bunny wanting to accompany him was part of it.

He’d rested a lot after it had first happened—Ralpho knew that he had needed time to recover. And, even now, he still needed to do so a bit longer.

When the rabbit had started to walk around again, he’d only realized that he’d been limping when Oswald noticed it first, and mentioned it.

He could remember Spring Bonnie suggesting that he still rest, or for him to carry him—although Ralpho wasn’t exactly against that second option.

Walking down the hallway, Ralpho came to a stop when he noticed something. In the middle of it, Jinx was laying there.

The cat seemed to be awake, as the rabbit saw little eyes staring up at him. She meowed.

“Hey, Jinx.” The rabbit said. He reached down to scratch her chin, before continuing on his way to Oswald’s room.

Ralpho’s tail twitched. He knew how the rabbit animatronic felt—how they both did—partially, at least. The orange rabbit didn’t know everything.

He never thought that he was exactly good with situations like this. A part of the orange rabbit thought that he might be getting better at comforting—yet he wasn’t sure.

Ralpho’s ears twitched. They lowered, and he needed to move them—they were blocking what little he could see in the darkened house. He didn’t need to trip.

He wanted to help them both out—yet he just wasn’t sure how exactly. Does Oz think...

The rabbit’s thoughts came to a halt when he finally reached Oswald’s room, and he spotted a familiar yellow bunny in front of the door.

The door to the room was fully opened, although Spring Bonnie wasn’t entering—he remained where he was, simply watching.

From where Ralpho himself stood, he could see Gabrielle still in the little fort that had been made, chest rising and falling.

Oswald lay in his bed near where the three had made it the comfy little fort. Fetch slept peacefully beside the boy. Oswald shifted slightly.

He hadn’t realized it originally, but Ben was in the fort, too. He remained sprawled out, a blanket across both him and Gabrielle, as he snored.

Spring Bonnie relaxed—no longer as tense as he had been—as he saw those signs. Ralpho could see the bunny’s ears go back up as he started to close the door.

“Springy?”

Spring Bonnie turned away, still closing the door—trying to be quiet. In the darkness of the hallway, he could easily make out Ralpho standing there.

“Spring-“ Ralpho had started. Before he could finish, the bunny was quick to make his way over, and gently hug the orange rabbit.

Ralpho returned the hug. “Did it happen again, Spring?”

While he didn’t technically need to, it was still possible for the orange rabbit to sleep—it was nice. Though, he knew that it wasn’t possible for Spring Bonnie.

Some time ago, he remembered when he had first learned of what occasionally happened. He’d been in the living room with Oswald, half asleep, while trying to watch something with him.

Oswald himself was laid across the couch, watching the monster movie that played, when Spring Bonnie had approached the two in a panic. He’d been leaking.

From what the bunny had told him, it was like a flashback—but with what else he’d said, Ralpho figured that it was like both—sort of.

Spring Bonnie nodded.

Separating from the hug, Ralpho reached to take hold of the animatronics hands into his own. “C’mon, Springy. Why don’t we head back?”

____

Ralpho sat beside Oswald on the couch, as some sort of monster movie played on the TV. It was just the two of them, as Thomas and Jackie were at work, and Spring Bonnie was doing chores.

He wasn’t too sure about Jinx and Fetch, though. The last he’d seen either of them was when he first arrived—the dog greeting him, while Jinx was eating.

Although he had sat down to watch the movie with Oswald, Ralpho was partially distracted as he busied himself with writing something down on a piece of paper.

While Oswald couldn’t exactly see what was on the piece—Ralpho was keeping it to himself—the boy thought that he could see “Springy” written down on it for a moment.

“What are you doing?” The boy finally asked.

“Just trying to make a little special something, Oz.” The orange rabbit answered with a grin. Although, he was admittedly having trouble with what exactly he should do.

“For Springs?”

Ralpho nodded.

The two sat there for a little longer—Oswald simultaneously watching the film and watching Ralpho write—or at least attempt to. While Ralpho talked on and on.

After another minute or two, the orange rabbit finally stopped. Having nowhere else to put the paper, he took his hat off, and placed it in there.

“I should probably get going, Oz.” He stated, before reaching over to mess with Oswald’s hair, before getting off of the couch.

Oswald watched as Ralpho left the living room—he went down the hallway, so the boy assumed that he was wanting to say goodbye to Spring Bonnie.

He refocused back on the movie—only to realize that he had missed his favorite part of it. So, grabbing the remote beside him, Oswald pressed ‘rewind’.

After another minute, he heard footsteps getting closer—and Oswald turned just in time to see Ralpho approaching the front door. “See ya later, Oz!”

Oswald waved, even if Ralpho wouldn’t see because of the direction he was facing. He glanced back towards the TV as the door opened.

“Wait, Ralpho-“ The boy started, a thought having rather quickly crossed his mind.

“Whenever you leave, where do you even...” Oswald turned back, only to no longer see the orange rabbit there, and the door closed. “...Go?”

____

Ralpho stared at the words on the screen, one ear twitching. He’d never done anything like this before—which was why he needed to practice, anyway.

He stood up, moving back a little bit—but remained close enough to the screen so that he could actually see the words and images.

Just as the orange rabbit began to carefully move, partially wondering if he could get someone for this, a noise coming from the kitchen distracted him.

Stopping, and shutting the device off, he made his way over. Spring? The orange rabbit wondered.

However, when he got there, it wasn’t Spring Bonnie. Instead, it was Jackie. She was beside the counter, having gathered a few things.

Does she know how? He thought with a tilt of his head, ears twitching. Maybe she could help?

“Ralpho?”

He stared at her for a moment, before waving. “Hey, Jackie.” He smiled, and made his way over to her. “What are you doing?”

“Before I head off to work, I want to make the kids some pancakes.” Jackie answered, holding in a yawn.

“Maybe I could help?” The orange rabbit offered with a shrug.

She blinked at him.

“It won’t end up like the time with the cake, promise.” He... well, that was at least what he hoped for.

____

Spring Bonnie made his way out of the bedroom with his son and his friends, and towards the kitchen. Gabrielle was still half asleep, and a bit far behind.

“Oh- hey, Springy.” He heard Ralpho’s voice, followed by Ben snickering about something. He noticed Gabrielle and his son just staring.

He turned away from the kids, and towards Ralpho. The orange rabbit was standing there, covered in both pancake batter and syrup. There was a bit of a mess on the counter.

“Ralpho, what happened?”

“I tried to make breakfast,” Ralpho answered with a shrug, “I should’ve expected this.” He wasn’t sure if this was better or worse compared to the cake.

“Mom should’ve done this.”

“Yeah, probably.” Ralpho nodded in agreement.

Spring Bonnie finally moved. He made his way over to Ralpho, trying not to step on anything. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” The yellow bunny wrote.

____

Oswald, Fetch, Ralpho, and Gabrielle all sat around the board game. Spring Bonnie would’ve liked to play, too, but he was busy at the moment.

Oswald had suggested that he could play with them in the next round whenever he finished—whenever that would be—and he had seemed to like that idea.

Technically, both Gabrielle and Oswald had already finished. Oswald first, followed by his friend. Now, they were just watching and Ralpho.

When Oswald had discovered what all the animatronic dog could do—such as write—he made sure to keep a lot of paper around for Fetch.

With how everyone was seated, Gabrielle sat to the left, with Fetch halfway laying across her lap, with a pen and a few pieces of paper surrounding the two.

Oswald sat to the right, beside Ralpho, who was no longer wearing his hat. Earlier on, the orange rabbit had decided to place it atop Oswald’s head.

The boy didn’t mind all that much—although considering that it was rather big, he kept having to move it. He just hadn’t decided to take it off yet.

“Who do you think it’ll be?” Oswald had wondered earlier, leaning over a little closer to Fetch and Oswald. The animatronic dog had taken the chance to give him a lick.

“Ralpho, maybe?” The young girl had guessed with a shrug.

As Ralpho continued to play against Fetch, he could very clearly hear Oswald and Gabrielle talking to each other—mostly discussing things about the game.

There happened to be a few other games, and Oswald had been debating if he should go get those, too. He still was. Ralpho didn’t know the names, though.

“Why don’t we get a snack?” Oswald eventually spoke up again—before the boy had said anything, Ralpho had heard the sound of something growling.

“Sure,” Gabrielle nodded. Gently, she nudged Fetch off of her, before standing back up. She reached down for a moment to give the dog a quick pet.

She joined Oswald’s side a moment later, and the two started to make their way out of the bedroom, and towards the kitchen.

Just as the two made it through the door, the sound of a groan—and some excited barks—stopped the kids. Gabrielle was the first to turn back around.

Fetch seemed rather excited—if the speed of his tail meant anything. “What happened?” Oswald asked. He and Gabrielle reentered.

In Fetch’s mouth, he held one of the many pieces of paper. The writing on it consisted of “Yay!” And “:D”.

____

After Thomas had given his son some money, the kids, Ralpho, and Spring Bonnie had all settled for heading over to Jeff’s Pizza for some lunch.

Hopping out of the car, Spring Bonnie paused for a moment, and looked around. He didn’t see anybody except for the orange rabbit and the kids.

The last time, he’d learned that Funtime Freddy had ran off before he actually entered—he didn’t know where the bear could possibly be now.

The bunny’s ears lowered slightly. This was where they’d...

Spring Bonnie’s thoughts were interrupted when he felt a hand grab his own. When he focused, the bunny realized that it was Ralpho.

“You okay, Honey Bun?” The orange rabbit questioned.

Spring Bonnie nodded.

Moving closer, Ralpho gave the animatronic bunny a kiss on the cheek, before beginning to lead him into the pizzeria. “C’mon, Springy.”

Entering the pizzeria, it only seemed to be them, the kids—who were seated in a booth nearby with some pizza—and Jeff himself, who looked half asleep.

Moving closer to the booth, Spring Bonnie decided to sit next to Oswald and Ben, while Ralpho sat beside Gabrielle.

The only other time the orange rabbit had been around here, was when he and Oswald went there some time ago. Minus the animatronic bear situation, he enjoyed hanging out with the boy.

“Ralpho.” The rabbit’s ears twitched at the voice—which belonged to Ben. He turned to look at the boy, ears continuing to twitch.

Ben sat in his spot, holding out a slice of pepperoni pizza. Ralpho stared at it. “Why don’t you try it?” The boy offered.

Ralpho kept staring it for another second or two, debating on it. He’d tried some food before in the past, but he just hadn’t been able to taste it.

He’d declined the last time he’d been offered by Oswald—but it still looked good. Maybe he could try it this time.

He reached over, taking the pizza slice from Ben, who then went to eat his remaining slice, while talking to Oswald about something he’d thought of.

The orange rabbit held the slice in his hands, before moving it closer, and taking a few decently sized bites from the slice.

Just like he had figured, the orange rabbit still didn’t taste anything, just like the last time he’d chosen to eat.

Despite that, Ralpho decided to continue to eat it.

____

When Oswald and Gabrielle had decided to go to the park to hang out, Ralpho accompanied them alongside Spring Bonnie. Even Fetch had joined.

Fetch was rolling around in the grass and running around, while occasionally staring at a squirrel or two—but he never went after them.

There was a bench not too far from where the two where standing, which Oswald and Gabrielle were using to sit around and chat.

It had been getting pretty cold recently—which was why Ralpho guessed that the two had some jackets.

He’d never liked whenever it got cold like this—especially at night. The orange rabbit remembered getting pretty chilly during a lot of Bunny Calls.

The rabbit, ever so slightly, began to shiver. He never did well with it, either—but there had never been much that he could do for that.

From the corner of his eyes, he spotted Spring Bonnie beginning to write—and it didn’t take that long for the yellow bunny to finish.

“Cold?”

Ralpho nodded.

Spring Bonnie motioned for the smaller rabbit to come closer, and with another nod, Ralpho did just that, wondering what his Honey Bun wanted.

Once he was close enough, Spring Bonnie brought the orange rabbit into a hug, while wrapping his coat around him, placing his chin against Ralpho’s head.

Ralpho grinned—more than normally—as he was quick to return the hug, his tail beginning to wag. He moved a little bit, so that he could kiss Spring Bonnie’s cheek.

“Thanks, Springy.”

____

Spring Bonnie had been gone for a while—if Ralpho remembered correctly, then he had gone to go get groceries. The orange rabbit was excited.

While his Honey Bun was gone for a while—an hour or two at best, Ralpho continued to check things out for what he had been wanting to do for a while.

As the orange rabbit entered the living room, he spotted Spring Bonnie there, laying across the couch, just now starting up a rom-com.

“Spring!” The orange rabbit called out.

Ears twitching, the yellow bunny looked away from the TV, and towards Ralpho. He tilted his head to the side.

“C’mere!”

Nodding, Spring Bonnie got off of the couch, making sure to pause the rom-com—he didn’t want to let it keep going—he’d miss something.

As Spring Bonnie approached, the orange rabbit could feel his tail starting to wag.

“Sooo...” Ralpho started when the bunny stopped in front of him, tail continuing to wag. “Honey Bun, have you ever danced before?”

He never really had—he’d made some attempts here and there, but that was it. He’d never done it with anybody before, either. That was going to change, though.

Ralpho was certain that it would go well—he doubted that it would be all that bad or something.

Quickly, Spring Bonnie shook his head in response.

Just like Ralpho, Spring Bonnie had never done it with anyone—or in general—but he’d noticed others dancing together before—it always seemed nice.

Ralpho lightly hummed. “I haven’t either, Springy. But,” He reached over, taking the bunny’s hands into his own. “Why don’t we try?”

The taller bunny almost seemed nervous. “C’mon, Springy, it’ll be fine. Trust me!” The rabbit grinned.

Spring Bonnie took a second to think about it, before nodding.

“Okay!” The orange rabbit’s grin grew.

Ralpho still held onto one of Spring Bonnie’s hands, while the bunny freed his other, and placed it gently on the orange rabbit’s back.

Once they’d both adjusted, Ralpho took a few steps back, and Spring Bonnie took a few steps forward, trying to be careful.

Before he had finally asked Spring Bonnie, Ralpho could remember several dances that he’d found—and he wondered if they could try all of them.

Accidentally, as another step was taken, both the orange rabbit and the yellow bunny stumbled—and Ralpho felt himself falling back.

Although, Spring Bonnie had, fortunately, reacted quickly. He leaned forward, and wrapped both arms around Ralpho to keep him in place, instead of just falling.

At the same time, Ralpho hurriedly wrapped his arms around Spring Bonnie.

The orange rabbit stared up at Spring Bonnie with a small smile. As the bunny began to lift him back up, Ralpho placed a hand on his cheek.

He snickered a little bit. “This may take a while, Honey Bun.”

____

During some of their attempts, both still stumbled around here and there��mainly over each other—but sometimes because of a misstep that didn’t involve the other.

Music had come across Ralpho’s mind shortly after the two of them first began—so, using Thomas’s phone that the man had forgotten, he settled for playing music from there.

He didn’t know most of the music that was playing, but he recognized a few here and there—mainly because he’d heard the same ones on a few rom-com’s.

With his little research, he’d seen a lot of dances—and with the ones that provided videos, it had all seemed relatively easy—but it wasn’t.

Carefully, Spring Bonnie had chosen to spin Ralpho—much to the orange rabbit’s delight, before bringing Ralpho closer to him again.

Once he was back by Spring Bonnie, the grinning Ralpho inched closer, before pressing a kiss on the yellow bunny’s lips, wrapping his arms around him.

Ears shooting up, Spring Bonnie could feel himself starting to heat up, before returning the kiss, wrapping his own arms around Ralpho.

The bunny could spot Ralpho’s tail wagging, and he could feel his own doing it, too—although he wasn’t sure if it was all that noticeable, due to it being somewhat hidden with the coat.

Ralpho pulled away, and stared up at Spring Bonnie with a grin. “I love you a ton, Honey Bun.”

Spring Bonnie gently placed his hands on the sides of Ralpho’s face. I love you, too.

#Fic #Story #ITP: Happy Ending AU #Spring Bonnie #Ralpho #Bunny Call #Oswald #Jackie #Gabrielle #Ben #Fetch #All flashbacks take place before the second encounter #This is just all fluff #With the tiniest bit of angst #The limping doesn’t go away for a while #Anubis’s Chatter #Styx’s Chatter #Cyber’s Chatter #Into The Pit

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redpaintsplatter · 7 months ago

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Hii here’s chapter two of AlmondBread

Chapter 3 is in the works currently! Enjoy!

Chapter 2: Familiar Feelings

After a short but loving car ride and an odd way to smuggle someone into a building and up an elevator, the two now stand in Almond’s apartment. It’s a tad messy and got an old 70s feel to it. The couches are fruit leather and the rug is a weird pattern. Every piece of furniture is covered in wood or dark paint. It’s uniform, and warm. Far more comforting than the bright whites and grays that Shortbread saw in prison. The overhead lights weren’t even being used, it’s dim candles and lamps that lit each room. It’s a very welcomed and wanted change. It didn’t take long for Shortbread to make himself at home. He kicked off his shoes which Almond neatly put away by the door almost immediately, then he flopped down on the couch. His comfort didn’t last long though.

“Please at least clean yourself before you lay on my furniture. I can only imagine how filthy your prison cell was.” Almond nagged, he didn’t enjoy it but he had to keep that furniture nice.

“Ugh, ya serious? I just got back from Magic City prison and I can’t get a moment of relaxation?” Shortbread rolled his eyes but got up, doing as he commanded.

“I’m stealing your clothes then!” He shouted before walking off to the bedroom.

Almond knew he was going to do that, hell he even knew he was going to say that. He didn’t mind. It was cute to see Shortbread wearing his clothes. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought. All the shouting he did was funny to him. They’re always on the same track; agreeing on most things. But, Shortbread always feels the need to yell it out like it’s an argument. Almond is convinced Shortbread can’t stand compromise, always feels like he has to be right. It’d be annoying if it wasn’t so dorky.

After Almond got lost in thought about the shorter cookie he seemed to appear right in front of him. Almond jumped back a little, startled by his sudden appearance. Shortbread was cleaner now and in different, softer, clothes. He’s very comfy but he’s not going to admit that. He doesn’t need to. It’s obvious. His new clothes add to the homey feeling of Almond’s apartment. Hopefully this visit will be much longer than his last one. As soon as things get normal for them they’re ripped apart. But now isn’t the time for the two to start worrying about that. Shortbread brushed off the looming thoughts and then spoke once more.

“Now can I lay down, you big baby?” He rolled his eyes and did so without even waiting for a response.

It’s not like he was going to get a No. In fact Almond laid down right on top of Shortbread. He used his chest as a pillow and naturally Shortbread’s arm wrapped around Almond, pulling him closer. A giddiness shot through both of them. Bringing a wide smile to Shortbread's face. He’s trying to force a straight expression but it’s not happening. His attempt was so cute to Almond, and pathetic, frankly.

Then suddenly it seemed like one of Almond’s hands just appeared on his cheek. His hands caressed him, feeling the crack on his cheek. That was new. Almond sat up with a new worried expression. His thumb kept tracing the crack. Everytime he did, Shortbread winced quietly.

“Aye… take it easy wouldja ‘mond? You’re hurtin’ me..” Shortbread muttered.

He was a little annoyed by all the touching until he looked at Almond's face. His then formed into a similar worried expression.

“I’m alrigh’! You know I’ve been through worse!” He forced out a little chuckle. His voice was quick and unsure sounding.

That didn’t soothe or calm Almond’s thoughts. His hands moved down gently to examine Shortbread's arms since they were already exposed. He hadn’t noticed all these cracks before when he saw him again. Sure some have been there but a lot must be new. It makes him wonder what he's been through since the last time they were together. It’s bad enough he always has to leave eventually... but seeing him hurt more each time… that was devastating.

“What happened? Who cracked your dough?” Almond spoke with a firm tenderness. He demanded an answer but was trying to be as gentle as possible.

Shortbread scoffed, “Who do you think? People. Cops, prisoners, prison guards. You name it. Can you ease up now? I’m fine. That hurts—“ He winced again.

“I wish you’d stop treating this as something so minor. Something could be seriously wrong. Tomorrow I’m having a doctor look at you.” Almond laid back down and slid his hand underneath Shortbread's shirt.

“I don’t mean to make you sound weak. So before you get pissy with me don’t take it that way. I’m just concerned. I…love you. I love you a lot. I can’t stand the idea of bad things happening to you and I have no way to prevent or stop it!” He forced himself to stop talking before he’d make himself and the blonde upset. He didn’t want to sour this moment. They’re at peace, he can make a big fuss some other time.

Shortbread smiled a little. Hearing those words created a symphony of music in his mind. He can ignore everything else he’s said and forget how he felt about it now that he’s said those three precious words. Without thinking, besides about the “I love you”s, he gently placed his hand over Almond’s head and guided it back down onto his chest. He held him a little closer after that. Almost as if he’s reassuring him with his touch. Things he’d never be able to say verbally all can be done through his hands. To most he speaks with his punches. To Almond it’s caressing, petting, hugging, touching, fixing. All these things that make him less barbaric than how he is on the streets. It’s a beautiful change. As soon as he comes inside this stray dog goes from feral to domestic right away. All thanks to him.

Almond smiled as he was pushed back down. His lover's hands were all he desired when he was away at prison or lost out on the streets for months. He wished he’d stop running and hiding from everyone including him. Maybe then he’d avoid all the injuries. Maybe then his hands wouldn’t be such a luxury. They’d be a little more common, until he’s dragged away again. While he’s being held he still can’t help but worry. That leads him to gripping onto Shortbread’s shirt. Shortbread notices this and opens his mouth to speak, struggling to find the words at first but eventually they come out.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leavin’. Stop focusing on the future so much and focus on me. What we do now. …..Okay?” Shortbread muttered. He was surprised with how nice that sounded.

That actually took Almond by surprise too. He just nodded along with what he said. No reason to reply since he can clearly read his mind. So instead he reached back and draped a blanket over the both of them. The warmth engulfed them, making them feel safer. Shortbread was so tired. He couldn’t fight his exhaustion much longer. He hates being the first to fall asleep. Makes him paranoid, usually. But right now he feels as if it’s better if he did fall asleep first. Almond would take care of him. He has someone to lean against again. He has his support. With knowing that his eyelids slowly close. He mutters something not very audible to Almond as he drifts asleep. Almond just nodded along to whatever he said and then began to caress his hair. His hand went through his hand then slowly moved down to hold his cheek. Almond sits up a little to then bring the side of Shortbread’s sleeping face closer to his mouth. He began to press a few kisses into his forehead and then his cheek. As kisses moved down to his jaw he smiled widely and just admired the beauty before him. The ruggedness of his lover. How it doesn’t match what’s on the inside at all.

Almond eventually stops and slides off of him. He bends down a little and then scoops him up in his arms with a bit of struggle. This was a lot easier when they were younger. He groaned softly as he hauled the brittle cookie away and into his bedroom. Almond opened the door with his foot then gently placed Shortbread on the bed. He pulled the covers out from under him then tucked him in. He scooted in on the other side of bed then pulled him in close. He spooned him before eventually falling asleep. He didn’t expect to sleep so fast, he wanted to cherish this moment more before doing so. Oh well, each little moment counts, but he can’t fully appreciate it unless he’s properly rested anyways

#cookie run kingdom oc #cookie run kingdom #cookie run oc #cookie run fanfic #almond cookie #almondbread #oc fanfiction #fanfic #oc x canon #oc #fanfiction #fan character #cookie run kingdom fanfiction #cookie run fanfiction #tiniest bit of angst #light angst #fluff

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starlightvld · 1 year ago

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My Love is Like an Apple Pie

A fic with chapters based on the Sheith in Autumn prompts.

Chapter 2: Apple Picking

Keith can't quite believe it when Shiro shows up to the apple-picking festival the weekend after Keith fumbled their (second) meeting. One apple pie later, though, Keith is pretty sure he's stepped straight into a dream.

#sheith #takashi shirogane #keith kogane #shiro x keith #vld #fluff #the teeniest tiniest bit of angst #sheith in autumn #OG Starlight

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sunflowerwinds · 1 month ago

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new look | s.a

summary: your girlfriend surprises you with a new haircut and piercing while your babysitting isha for the night. with her new arm missing, sevika adapts to one arm. being as caring as you were, you try to help her as often as possible.

pairing: fem!reader x sevika arcane

contains: nothing but fluff, tiniest bit of angst if you squint, isha & jinx being sevika and reader’s daughters <3

word count: 2.2K

a/n: TWO ONESHOTS IN ONE DAY??? i’m insane. also arcane ends soon and i’m genuinely so terrified omfg. enjoy MY LOVES!!!

It was a night when Jinx decided to swing by you and Sevika’s place to drop off Isha for a few hours when your girlfriend revealed her new look.

You were cooking a simple rice and chicken meal with Isha being your little helper for the night. She was perched up on the counter, bunny ears on the top of her messily blue-painted hair to match the girl she admired the most. Her head was tilted as her small yellow tight covered legs swung back and forth as she awaited your next instruction, golden eyes wide with curiosity.

“Okay now, my little sous-chef, can you pass me…” You hum as you stare at the raw chicken on the cutting board, thinking about what seasoning to add other than salt and pepper. “Oh! Cayenne pepper, please.”

Isha nodded with a determined expression, turning her body to look at the small rack of spices on the countertop. She reaches over to snatch the seasoning of your choosing, placing the container in your palm. You grin at her, bopping her tiny nose with your finger. She scrunches her nose back with a laugh under her breath.

“Thank you. Now I’m going to lather it to spread the seasoning around so every bite is delicious,” you explain to the child even though you were about 90% sure she was just watching you.

You place the first cutlet into the pan, watching it sizzle against the metal. Isha’s mouth drops with a soft gasp, holding onto her bunny ears as she leans over to watch the little bubbles pop in the oil. As you wash your hands to be rid of raw chicken and crumbles of seasoning lingering on your fingertips, you make sure to keep an eye on the adorable child.

You dry your hands on a soft gray beaten-down towel hanging off the stove, turning back to cooking the chicken. You’re so distracted with flipping the few chicken breasts over that you don’t even hear the front door open. It isn’t until Isha jumps off the counter, letting out an excited noise as she scurries to the front door.

“Hey! Isha, you need to be careful…” You trail off as your eyes follow to where she is running.

There stood your girlfriend in a dark gray tank top and her usual pair of low-waisted pants with a leather belt holding them up. You immediately noticed the extreme haircut your girlfriend had gotten, eyebrows raising as you made your way over to her. Her arm patted Isha’s back as the child snuggled her face to one of her meaty legs.

“Sevika?” You chuckle out of shock as you walk over to cup the sides of her face.

“You like it?” She asks timidly, her lips twitching into a grin at your bright eyes.

You nod slowly, eyes widening when you catch a glimpse of a small dot underneath her bottom lip. You tug her face closer, causing her to make a noise of surprise at the jolt.

“And you got a labret piercing?” You gasp.

“Thought I’d… get a new look, you know?” Sevika chuckles at how close you are examining the fresh piercing and haircut.

“You look…” You pause trying to find the right word. You glance down at Isha who was now staring up at the large woman, examining her new look as well. “Badass.”

You wanted to say she looked good enough to push onto your bed to take her right now but didn’t feel it was appropriate to say in front of the child. Isha nodded in agreement, signing ‘super cool’ to Sevika. You both chuckle in amusement at her words, rubbing at her fluffy hair.

“You ready for dinner?” You question the tall woman, kissing her cheek gently.

Sevika blinked as you didn’t freak out like she thought you would.

“Uh, yeah. How long do we get the kid for?” Sevika kneeled to hoist Isha up onto her only arm, letting her crawl over her shoulders.

Isha situates herself on Sevika’s shoulders, eyes widening at the sudden height change. She released soft noises of shock as Sevika made her way over to where you were now standing in the kitchen, setting all four dinner plates.

“Jinx should be here soon for dinner. She just dropped Isha off and said, ‘be back for dinner, Mrs. Lefty. Don’t wait up.’” You mimicked the blue-haired girl's voice.

Sevika hummed at your words as she grabbed her designated plate which you had carved her initial into. You beam as you feel Sevika’s lips delicately kiss your cheek, telling you thank you for dinner. Isha makes a noise along with a tap to Sevika’s head.

“What is it, kid?” Sevika questioned Isha as she set her plate down where she would eat.

Isha points to you and leans down to poke at Sevika’s cheek. You furrow your brows at her but when you realize what she meant, your heart softens.

“She wants to give me a kiss too, Sev,” you beam at her.

Sevika’s eyes soften as well as she holds her arm out so that Isha could climb off. She lets out a few soft grunts as she hangs off of Sevika’s large bicep, releasing her muscle to land on the wooden floors.

You lean down to her level, awaiting Isha’s kiss to your cheek. She places a hand on your shoulder and jumps a bit to give you a quick kiss, smiling satisfied now. You kiss the top of her head before motioning for her to wash her hands.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Go and wash your hands. It’s dinner time.”

Isha nods with an adorable grin as she marches to the bathroom. The second she leaves your view, Sevika turns to you with wide impatient eyes.

“Do you actually like it?” She questions, blinking her soft gray eyes at you.

You step into her with a small smile, cupping both sides of her face once again.

“Yes, Sevi. I love it. I actually like it a little too much,” you admit as you brush a few of the falling strands out of her face.

Her strong brows raise at your words, eyes flickering down to your lips.

“Yeah?”

Her demeanor switched from anxious and bashful to more self-assured. You playfully roll your eyes at her, placing a kiss to her nose as you knew you weren’t allowed to kiss her after getting the piercing.

“Mhmm, and in…” You trail off, not exactly knowing how long you had to wait until kissing her. “How long did they say you had to wait to kiss? Like a week?”

“Three.”

Your eyes widened at the time frame, scooping some rice onto your plate.

“Three weeks?” You deadpan to your girlfriend who simply nods along with you. “Well, they never I couldn’t kiss you in other places.”

Sevika’s smirk grows at your cheeky words, watching you leave her side to set Isha’s place setting. Her eyes shamelessly watch your ass and hips sway with every step in her pants.

Just as she was about to slap your ass, Isha comes running past her and you to eagerly sit at the table. Her small hands were a bit damp so you dab them dry with a towel.

“You wanna wait for Jinx to eat?” You question the girl.

Isha seems hesitant at first, the scent of the food tempting her. She nods regardless in agreement to wait for the elder.

“Good thing I’m already here!” You hear a familiar coming from behind you.

You jump, your body flinching at the sound. Sevika curses and grumbles at the blue haired girl somehow creeping her way into your home. You swore she was like a cat with how silent her movements were. Isha was the only one beaming at the sight of her, running over and hugging her striped pant legs.

“You two have to lock your door y’know? There’s some real weirdos out there.” Jinx leans down to fully hug Isha with a cheeky grin, winking at you two.

“Just wash your hands so you can eat,” you shake your head but smile at the girl regardless.

Jinx dramatically groans at your instruction but stands to her feet, her lengthy braids swaying behind her. When you give her a narrowed glare, you notice Sevika struggling with plating Jinx’s plate. She’s sighing as she keeps grabbing too much or too little meat or rice.

You frown and walk over to place a hand on her shoulder.

“Sev, babe, I got it. Go sit down and eat, okay?” You tell her softly, giving her a kind smile.

Sevika pauses her movements and she side-eyes you. The two of you had a talk about her taking a break from the mechanical arms. Jinx offered to build her another but Sevika refused; for now. You knew she would be hard-headed about getting help from you but you made sure not to make it a big deal. Little things like this in the comfort of your home made it easier.

She clears her throat with a sigh, nodding relectuanly.

“Okay,” Sevika’s hand comes up to cup your face quickly, needing to show a sign of affection as her kisses were put on hold for the time being.

You lean in it for as long as she’ll allow, which would be forever, but her stomach was betraying her. You chuckle at her rumbling gut and jerked your head to the table. Isha was already seated, spoon in hand as she waited (im)patiently for everyone else to sit down.

“Kid, you can eat. Don’t have to wait for these two lovebirds.” Jinx rounds the table from the bathroom as she plops down in her designated seat next to the golden-eyed child.

Isha, still hesitant, turns her head to look at you and Sevika. You press a couple more kisses to the woman's cheek before scurrying over your spot. Sevika followed like a puppy behind you to sit in her spot next to yours.

The second Sevika sat down, Isha dug into her food. You chuckle at her fast-paced eating before digging in yourself. You groan at the taste, nodding as you eat the meal you’ve prepared.

Sevika props her elbow up on the table as she digs into her food as well, humming at the flavor.

“This is delicious. Thank you, baby.” Sevika grins at you, nodding as she continues to eat.

“Well, thank Isha too. She helped me cook dinner tonight.” You turn to the child who was now washing some of her food down with water.

Isha set her cup down with a sheepish smile. Jinx raised her hand to brush her knuckle against her small cheek, a gentle smile on her face.

“Great work, kid. You might have to be the cook between us. Never been my strong suit,” Jinx shrugged as she devoured the meal in front of her. “I had other things to focus on.”

Isha grimaces at her words, causing you and Sevika to chuckle.

After dinner, you gave Jinx and Isha some leftovers as they left back to Jinx’s little hidden home. As you shut the door waving at the two, a new wave of silence settled over you and Sevika’s home.

You lock the door as a flash of Jinx’s face pops into your head, reminding you to do so. Sevika was washing dishes, her broad back tempting you to walk over and hold her. So you did just that.

You tip-toe over to her with a giddy grin, carefully wrapping your arms around her torso. Sevika, used to your addiction to clinging onto her, simply continued to wash the dishes to the best of her ability.

“You were a little quiet at dinner, baby.” You hum, placing kisses to the muscles decorating her backside.

She knew what that statement insinuated and she shook her head.

“I’m okay. Just… trying to get used to one arm,” she sniffs.

“I know you hate asking for help with pretty much everything but you can ask me to help.”

Sevika hums as you kiss all over her back, keeping them light and gentle. It only added to the domestic feel of your home.

“I know. It just feels—”

“Vulnerable?” You finish for her.

Sevika nods to confirm, muttering a curse when she slips up and drops a plate into the sink. You release her toned torso to scoot yourself right next to her, filling in the empty space of her left arm.

“You never have to feel hesitant to be vulnerable with me. I love being able to be that safe space for you.” You hum as you grab the plate and start washing it yourself.

Sevika turns to look at you, eyes rounded in admiration. She couldn’t believe how understanding and sweet you were considering where you both lived.

In her eyes, you were an angel in comparison to her.

“You feel safe with me, right?” You speak up as Sevika was again eerily silent.

Her gray eyes softened at your question before nodding as she rested her head on yours. You giggle at the feeling, being reminded of the height difference between the two of you.

“Always. You feel safe with me?”

“Of course, Sev.”

Standing in front of the sink, taking turns washing each dish as you spoke softly to one another. That was enough for you two.

TAG-LIST: @archangeldyke-all @theflyingforklift @strawberrykidneystone @prwttiestbunny @pumpkin-eater28 @yaeil @lunatakashi18 @caicreations @ayooooohush @lizzie2980

#wlw #sapphic #sevika fanfic #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #arcane show #sevika x you #sevika x reader #sevika #sevika fluff

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reidmania · 4 months ago

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close to you | spencer reid

summary; you and Spencer aren’t technically anything — but you are so much more then nothing. He is wrapped around your finger, just as much as you are around his.

warnings; situationship!! more than friends, less than a couple! bau!worker reader, they both drink alcohol, mentions clubbing, its fluff more than anything, they are in love! fem reader. idk its pretty fluffy!! spencer a cocky teasing idiot umm reader is lowkey shy idk . slightest tiniest bit of angst if u drink a bottle of tequila and spin 26 times then squint.

an; fluff!! a rare occurrence for reidmania!! not proof read bc idc enough tbh!! thank u!!

Clubs were never your scene, its not that you had a problem necessarily with people who enjoyed it, you didn’t judge people who got drunk and hooked up with strangers or made an overwhelming mess of themselves.

It just wasn’t your scene.

The blaring music, way too loud. Sweaty dancing bodies tangled together in the crowd, the combination of different perfumes and colognes that filled their air overwhelming and leaving you feeling light headed in the worse way.

Why had you agreed to this? It was Penelope’s idea to go clubbing as a stress reliever after a particularly difficult case. You were going to say no at first, you really really were. You were gonna complain about it being a waste of time and energy to spend a few hours dancing and being hit on by way too old, way too creepy men.

But then Spencer agreed. Shocking. You were shocked and very stunned.

How could you say no now?

You stayed back as the girls of the team danced around other sweaty strangers, Derek was there too actually — spinning Garcia around with one hand, a drink in the other. You leant against the bar, admiring the sight before you.

You didn’t need to be involved or cascaded in by other random people. You were okay right here, just watching and appreciating the sight of your friends and the closest people in your life laughing and having a good time. You didn’t need anything more.

Until your eyes flickered towards the corner, where Spencer was standing, holding a drink in his hand — also just admiring the sight of your teammates on the floor. The pink glow of the lights that filled the bar leaving his face in a warm hue and highlighting every little feature. His sleeves rolled up over his elbows. Your eyes flickered down to his hands that wrapped around the glass he was holding. Gaze trailing along every vein that was exaggerated by the way his hand was placed.

Then your eyes trailed back up to his face, and your breath caught in your throat when you saw his eyes flicker towards you. There was something new — a look you hadn’t really seen before amongst his features. He offered you a gentle smile, as he tilted his head slightly encouraging you to come over towards him so you weren’t sitting alone.

Your legs moved faster than your head could think. You noticed this was a common thing. You were completely and utterly enthralled by Spencer Reid. Completely wrapped around his finger and he didn’t even know it. — Or maybe he did, you weren’t sure but you also weren’t sure you cared.

Anything he said, you believed. Anything he encouraged, you followed. Any small demand or suggestion and you were obligating without a second thought or an ounce of common sense.

“Hi” you mumbled out gently when you got close enough to talk to him. He smiled gently, tilting his head a little as he leant further against the wall. There was something cocky about the look in his eye and the way he raised his eyebrow at you.

“You doing alright?” He asked, carrying a hint of teasing in his tone and you were pretty sure you were about to pass out.

Maybe it was the few drinks you had, too many too fast as a form of coping with the scene around you.

You nodded. He grinned as his free hand reached out gently to brush a few stray hairs away from your face, then moving hair behind your shoulder, fingertips brushing against the skin of your neck. Your breath hitched at the feeling, his cold hands burning against the sensitive skin, leaving a hot trail in their path before his hand returned to his side.

God you could marry the man on the spot. Like genuinely, if someone gave you the papers you would be signing every single dotted line the document had to offer.

“Sorry.” He huffed out an apology and you wanted to kiss him to show him just how fine it was. How you felt your stomach burning — you knew that wasn’t just from the alcohol.

You shook your head, quickly. Craving his touch all over again as your eyes trailed down his forearms again. Did he roll up his sleeves just to drive you insane?

“Its.. Fine” You nodded slightly distracted — very distracted.

He snorted. Spencer Reid was oblivious 99% of the time — the smartest man maybe ever, a genius, a walking encyclopaedia, he was oblivious 99% of the time to social cues — what he wasn’t oblivious to, was you.

“Its fine?” He repeated back, his teeth coming to sink into his bottom lip as he looked down at you, eyes on your face as yours flickered from his hand to his eyes.

Eyes that were already on you.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you nodded, because it was fine. You assumed maybe the misplaced piece of hair was contrasting with his need for perfection too much of the time and bothered him to the point he just — needed, to do something about it. You missed the way his head tilted and his eyebrow raised. Until you didn’t.

He was teasing you.

“You’re an asshole” You mumbled out, rolling your eyes as you turned to walk away — noticing he was having a great time. but there was nothing malicious about your tone nor your words. There was nothing malicious you could say about Spencer even if you really really tried. Even if you said the meanest cruelest thing in the world your fond tone would give you away.

You heard his loud laugh, before he was reaching out to grab your wrist, pulling you gently back towards him, bringing you flush towards his chest as his hand moved from your wrist to your head as it rested against his dress shirt — his suit jacket hanging from the back of a chair somewhere.

His hand cupped the back of your head as his fingers carded gently through your hair. “No- Im sorry- Im sorry. Stay here” He said gently as his fingertips scratched against the back of your scalp gently. Whatever it was that was going on between you and Spencer — you just didn’t want it to end.

You hummed, hands pulling upwards to wrap around his mid-section, running gently up and down his back off the white dress shirt as you stayed in place against him. This was a lot better than sitting and watching your friends. Being close to him, in his arms, surrounded by his scent.

“Are you coming home with me tonight?” He asked gently, a soft whisper in your ear as if anyone else would hear over the loud music surrounding you. It made your heart flutter anyways — because it was meant just for you.

You nodded, you weren’t going to originally. Actually your body was aching for a good nights rest in your own bed, after being away for a week on an all too draining case.

Seemingly enough, your body ached more for the closeness with Spencer he was happy to provide.

“Yeah? Thats my girl” He said, voice gentle and quiet, just loud enough for you to hear as his lips pressed down against the top of your head, his fingers continuing to run gently through your hair and over your scalp, holding you close to him.

You let out another hum. Even though technically you weren’t ‘his’ girl — you were. Despite the lack of labels on the situation between you two, you were his girl. This was why you agreed to come out after Spencer did. This, being close to him surrounded by a scene neither of you particularly enjoyed — but with each other so it didn’t matter.

“Can we go?” You asked, tilting your head back in his hand to look up at him, he paused his gentle caressing against your hair as he met your eyes, he brought his hand away and instead to your jawline, fingers gently running across the soft skin of your cheek as he one handedly cupped your face.

He wet his lips with his tongue before getting out a soft nod, “Mhm, We can do anything you want sweet girl” He said gently, seemingly just as captivated by the look on your face as you were with the look on his. You knew his words were true. He would do anything you asked of him. He proved that time after time again.

Maybe on late nights alone in bed you would wonder a little too hard about the unspeakable chemistry that overpowered the air between you two, and remained unspoken but for right now, just being close to him was enough.

He was close enough.

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cherryblossom-enthusiast · 5 months ago

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Unrequited (Arthur Morganxf! Reader) - RDR2

A/N: Whoever decided that there could be a button where Arthur Morgan says "good girl" how ever many times you want, I hope both sides of your pillow are cold.

Synopsis: Arthur loved Mary, didn't he? So, why was it he was spouting all this nonesense about loving you?

Warning/ Tags: Angst. But like SO MUCH FLUFF. Allusions to Sex. Mentions of violence. Coarse language. Kissing. Hurt/ Comfort. Angst with a happy ending.

Word Count: 6.1K

Masterlist

Even now, Arthur Morgan was a lovesick fool for Mary Linton.

You shouldn’t have been surprised; you weren’t really. Arthur doesn’t talk about her much anymore, but you’d known him long enough to see he’d never really let that part of himself go. The part of him that loves. That dreams of something better for himself even if he thinks he’s the big, bad, scary man that he is.

And maybe in some aspect, he is that man.

Threatening, bartering, killing. Sometimes you look into his eyes and see nothing but a hard, desolate exterior that wouldn’t think twice about shooting anybody up so long as Dutch told him to do it. But the reality Arthur Morgan doesn’t want to accept is that there’s goodness hiding within the moulding of a gunslinger enforcer.

You can glimpse that goodness when he helps a woman on the road or gives medicine to a man dying from snake poison, and you can especially see it when he’s hauling his ass on his horse to help Mary even when he’s being pulled left and right to finish errands for the camp.

So no, you shouldn’t have been surprised that Arthur would ride out the earliest he could to help his past lover.

But hell, why did it have to hurt you every damn time?

He returns to camp just after the sun rises and light starts to colour the world around you. The air is still crisp, and the heat of the sun is non-existent on your skin. You’re brushing your horse’s mane when you hear the familiar holler of his voice towards Bill. You don’t look towards him as his horse trots towards the hitching post.

As he dismounts, he greets you, a little pep in the tone of his voice.

It irritates you immediately.

“Mornin’.”

You grit your teeth and put on the brightest smile you can muster. “Mornin’!”

He takes a moment. His eyebrows crease. “Something matter?”

“Uh-?”

“Nothing it’s just-“ he breaks to think about the right words to say. “You don’t look- Never mind.”

This only encourages you to grow your façade stronger. “So,” you start “what’d Mary need this time?” It comes off a little pettier than you intended it to be. He doesn’t deserve that, hell, Mary didn’t deserve your bitterness either, fine woman she was.

That little fact seemed inconsequential however every time he uttered her name and the familiar feeling of jealousy pricked, downright stabbed itself in your gut.

He picks up on your tone, not appreciating it one bit. The displeasure that carves into his expression almost makes you wince and the fake smile that’s plastered on your face twitches the slightest bit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You take the coward’s way out, you always do.

You break eye contact and continue to brush away the embarrasment. You’re rewarded by a loving whinny and it almost distracts you from the ice-cold awkwardness you’ve built around this conversation. “Nothin’, just asking.”

Whether he believes your fib or doesn’t, he doesn’t let it show. But him moving on has you thanking God regardless. He takes out a brush, starting to work on his own mare’s mane. “Good girl.” He whispers. Warmth creeps up your neck as your ears tingle towards the baritone timber of his voice. It makes you lose all self-respect for yourself. He sneaks a look at you for the tiniest bit of time before continuing your conversation. “Her brother was involved in some weird religious group.”

“Is that right?”

“Yep,” he sighs “buncha turtle lovers.”

That gets a genuine chuckle out of you even though you don’t understand it. When you glance towards Arthur’s direction, the indifference has faded away from his features and all that’s left is a sarcastic smirk in its place. All frost has melted away and all too quickly you’re back to the ease that usually came with your dynamic.

You can’t help but throw a snide joke his way. “Gosh, if you’re still this involved in their family drama, you should just make it official and propose again.”

The idea haunts you, of course, it does. But you weren’t going to let Arthur know that. The more you joke, the more it becomes real, the more your true feelings become buried underneath a pile of age-old lies and supportive nonsense. Because at the end of the day, if it would make Arthur happy, you’d keep biting your lip and pushing him towards that happiness.

Love worked funny like that.

His smirk falls and you’re worried you pushed it a tad bit too far. “I tried once and I don’t know if it’ll ever happen.” He turns almost sombre, like thinking back on old memories that were equal parts sweet and bitter and this bothers you in a different way.

“I sincerely think if you were to propose to her right now, she’d say yes with no questions asked.” You hope he sees the genuineness in your intentions.

He merely gives you a scoff, slightly shaking his head. “Yeah well,” he trails off. “It’d never work out now.”

You decide not to continue pushing. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to dig deeper into the situation and even in your sorry narrow-minded state, you could understand and respect keeping your mouth shut when you needed to. You lick your lips and stick another sickly-sweet smile to your face. “Well, you continue on moping, but I can’t say I’ll be sticking around to see you grumbling around.”

That gets him to snort. “And where will the rough and tough princess be today? Helping a rabbit off the road? Wait-“ he pauses for dramatic effect “Talking to the birds and singing em’ a song?” He makes himself chortle quietly at the idea.

“I have a date.”

That gets him to stop cold turkey. He’s only met with a smug appearance on your end. “You?”

You fake great offence and snap at him. “Hey! Even I can seduce someone if I try!”

“No, I know- I” He appears shaken up about your revelation and for a moment, the tiniest fraction of a second, you could almost see the tensing of his jaw. “With who?”

It’s your turn to leer at him. “Why’s it matter?”

“It doesn’t I-“ he stutters “I just-“

You raise an eyebrow. “Well if you must know, he works at the hardware store.” You say as you recall the day you met the gentleman. “I helped him carry out some tasks and he gave me a daffodil in exchange, of all things.” You pointed at the flower currently tucked in the band of your hat. “Cutest thing.”

“Is that right?” He gruffed out.

“Mhm, so I’m gonna escort him and his granddaughter to a birthday party out in Strawberry.” You giggle. “He said he needed a ‘fighter’ with him because of his ‘old bones’ and ‘lumbago’” You roll your eyes. “Sounds like Uncle.”

This seems to take Arthur by surprise. The dark clouds in his eyes clear out and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Wha-?”

You bite your lip to keep your internal laughter from spilling. “Listen, I offered.” You explain. “He’s been giving me discounts at the store and that girl is just the sweetest thing and well-“ you shrug, “I couldn’t say no like the goddamn softie I am.”

The blades in his eyes dull at the statement. The mysterious scrunch of his shoulders from earlier disappears. He steps away from his horse and walks around his mare to shorten the gap between the two of you. It reminds you that he’s tall, much bigger than you are. “That bleedin’ heart of yours is gonna get you killed one day.”

He mutters his words lightly and yet, there’s some odd sadness you don’t understand attached to it. He puckers his lips as if he wants to say more on the matter yet can’t.

You put on your best Arthur impression, puffing up your chest and scrunching your face. “Well, somehow this don’t suit me, now does it?”

He wouldn’t even have to touch you.

At that, Arthur chuckles deeply. “Nah, you obviously ain’t tall enough to be me, shortcake.” He jabs you playfully at the shoulder and in response, you over-exaggerate the motion of being pushed back.

Though, if he really wanted to, Arthur could have you on your back in less than a second.

Before you can go further down that rabbit hole of thoughts, you carry on with the train of humour. “Besides, heard from Jerry there’ll be plenty of cute fellas around to keep me entertained.”

The clouds start to roll back in his demeanour, dare you say with a touch of thunder this time. “You gonna be looking at other men?” The lightness in his voice is gone, only replaced with the venom from before.

You’re befuddled at the quick-changing atmosphere, but don’t go back on what you said. “All I’ve got to look at are you folks all day,” you quip “A girl needs a change of scenery every once in a while.”

He crosses his arms, clearly not amused. “We not pretty enough for you?”

“Well, you are certainly, but I don’t know about Pearson.”

You purse your lips immediately and silently curse yourself at the admission. That same old shit-eating grin makes a comeback. “Is that right?”

You push his arm back, but unlike him, you hardly get the man to move more than half an inch. “Oh shut it.” You quickly un-hitch your horse and mount her. All you want to do is wipe his lips so it turns back into his usual frown, but you’re afraid you’d just embarrass yourself further. “I won’t be back for a while.” You pull your horse away and pat her on the side. “Didn’t know children’s birthday parties could take so damn long.”

“How long will you be gone for?” He mumbles, voice noticeably quieter.

“However long it takes for a fella to get me off.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. The sun highlights the tips of his ears go red. “Wha- What?” He strained out like he wasn’t quite sure of what he just heard.

A real, true laugh comes out of you then as you spur your horse into action, cantering away from camp. You don’t wait to hear the rest of what he has to say. His flushed look is enough of a prize to take with you.

You replay it all the way to Strawberry.

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

It was well past sundown when you return. Truthfully, you don’t even know what time it is, all you knew was that you were gone long enough that laying down on your cot would be much appreciated by your aching muscles. There’s a light breeze and you take your hat off, shaking out your hair.

The party was a success. Jerry and his granddaughter got to and from Strawberry safely, and really, that was all you could wish for when you were being hunted constantly because of the bounty on your head. You knew you offered, hell you were pretty self-approving when you did. But even then, you made sure to ask if Jerry really wanted a gunslinger as an escort, to which he replied, “Oh, shove it.”

Wonderful man.

The rest of the camp, well those that were here anyways, aside from Bill who was back on guard duty, are already fast asleep. The crackle of the fire is the only sound filling your ears other than your own footsteps.

There’s a small oil lamp turned on in the corner of your vision, brightening the blue hue and you instantly know the only bastard who would be up at this hour.

He’s drawing again. His brows are focused in that way you loved so much and he only looks up from his journal once you amble closer towards him. You almost hate that you’ve disrupted him. You could watch him draw for hours and hardly get bored.

He closes the book and looks up at you. You nod towards his hands. “You’ll have to show me what you’re working on at some point, Picasso.”

Arthur lets a huff through his nose. “Not gonna happen.” He motions you to sit beside him and you take him up on his offer. You catch a whiff of his scent, something like tobacco mixed with old leather. It may have been slightly repulsive to anyone else, but this was Arthur, and all it made you feel was safe. “You was gone a long time.” He points out, a bitter tinge to his voice. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

You tilt your head at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Arthur’s eyes narrow. “You just went off and didn’t come back until now.” The bitter tinge morphs into something like annoyance. “I was worried.” He mumbles low.

“Oh, I was fine.” You bump your shoulder against his, but it again, doesn’t make him sway. “Besides, I had a fella with me.”

His hand, the one closest to you, balls up at his side. He’s always been hard to read, but he clearly isn't happy at your revelation. You had half a mind in this late hour to stew in that fact. “Did you now?”

“Sure, one of them single fathers.” You let a small laugh escape you and shake your head, kicking the dirt with your worn-out boots. “Don’t worry, I’d never steal one from a married woman.”

“Was he…cute?” He mutters.

“Never thought I’d hear the word ‘cute’ come out of Arthur Morgan’s mouth.” You catch a glimpse towards him and again note the same pink twinge on his ears, probably embarrassed at being called out on something so stupid.

You finally start to feel that familiar flutter in your stomach hidden behind all that supportive “do what makes you happy nonsense”.

No, you couldn’t have that.

So, you bury it down.

It just became easier that way after all these years.

“That ain’t the damn point.” He continues to grumble. “Was he?”

You ponder the question for a short while. “I mean, he was alright in the looks department, not cute-“

He cuts you off quickly. “Just alright?” He scoffs lightly.

You remember the aforementioned single father in question. His looks are the last thing on your mind. He was alright, not cute, not ugly. Sure, you wouldn’t want to sleep with the man, but-

“He was damn good with his kid, and I thought I’d like to get to know someone like that more.” You reveal through a whisper.

This causes Arthur to frown, but his expression softens. Some of that constant bitterness fades away. “You- “he cuts off and thickly swallows. “You weren’t doing anything strange were you?”

You can feel a prickle of heat in your face at the question. “I mean, we talked sure, but if anything, I just maybe wanted to indulge in a fantasy.” You shrug.

He snaps his gaze back towards you. “A fantasy?”

“What it’d be like-“

God, why was it so hard to say? “Being normal, having a family.”

The silence that follows is thick and you immediately scold yourself for ruining a perfectly airy conversation just like this morning. You regret it, you do, but you can’t deny how nice it is to finally get that dream off your chest. It wasn’t original, what woman at camp, save Mrs. Adler, didn’t want that stability?

The feeling of riding was freeing. It gave you the grace of flying during a time when you were being held down and that will never change. But nowadays, you find that instead of being held down, you want to be held close. To be called important, matter to someone, so that when you felt lost soaring, you’d always have a beacon home.

“Damn it, you can’t be sayin’ things like that.” He forces out a murmur, a shred of his usual gruff tone.

“You ever think about that?” You tread lightly. “Having kids? Building a farm out somewhere and just-“ a deep sigh escapes you. “living and not surviving?”

It takes him a while to answer your question.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.” The vulnerability colors his voice and it starts to trip you over the edge.

You nod, pursing your lips. “With Mary?” You meekly ask, the crickets chirping making the exchange more awkward. You almost cringe at the silence of it all.

He tenses at her name and it seems like you get your answer.

“With Mary? I mean-“ He tries to dissuade you with absolutely no conviction in his voice. He pauses and curses under his breath. Arthur shakes his head, closing his eyes a moment. “Y’know, it ain’t always about Mary.”

You scoff in disbelief. “Arthur, it’s always been about Mary.” Sighing deeply, you bite your cheek at the acidic truth. “Even when you met Eliza, it was still about Mary.”

He’s taken aback by your statement and a subtle look of frustration overcomes his features. “No, it hasn’t.”

You want to say more, but your sardonic nature halts at his stoic reply. It’s like your heart stops, a coldness and a shrill wake your senses from the inside out. “What?” Your brain halts, all thought ceasing to exist except to process his next response. He tries to avoid eye contact, but you seek his gaze as you tilt your head sideways. “Arthur, what do you mean?” You repeat more sternly, begging to get a straight answer.

He throws you a stick of dynamite.

The smoke clears and all that’s left is the destruction that caters right in the center of your chest.

“What about you?” His voice is hoarse like this is the most difficult thing he’s ever had to squeeze out of his mouth. “What about when it became you?”

Ka-boom.

There’s no longer just a flutter in your stomach, there’s a whole damn circus, and it decides to release the butterflies you worked so hard to keep from their magical chest of caution.

You shake your head and your body goes rigid. You move away from him and stand abruptly as you place your hands on your hips. He’s quick to follow you on your feet. A sarcastic laugh leaves your throat before you can stop yourself. “Arthur-“

“No, let me finish.” He steps in front of you and holds your shoulders square, turning your body towards him. Even in your bubbling anger, you hate the way your skin immediately melts under his touch. His eyes and actions are pleading for you to stay, so you let him speak, biting your tongue to keep yourself from interrupting. He stumbles over his words. “It’s been you for a long damn time.” He admits. “But I was, I don’t know-“You notice the light sheen of sweat gracing his forehead. “I was scared to say something.”

“If this is some dumb joke-“

“No!” He immediately denies like he’s appalled you would even think of it in that way.

“Well,” you sneer “I’m sorry if I have a hard time believing that.” You remove his hands from your shoulders stiffly and start to trudge away back to your horse.

In the years you’d known him, Arthur had been a force, even more so when he was younger and reckless. He was stubborn as a mule and despite keeping the peace for the most part, there was a strut in his step when he walked because he knew he had the power to change that fact whenever he wanted and get away scotch-free. Arthur was arrogant in that way, always threatening people with a smirk or an edge to his voice.

But this is the first time you see him flinch and it happens to be at your curt words.

A lump catches in your throat, but you’re too annoyed to care, all but continuing the short distance back to the hitching posts. Arthur is hot on your tracks, not letting up one bit. Maybe Bill was overhearing, maybe one of the girls stirred awake. It didn’t matter, you couldn’t care less. You just wanted to get the hell away from here.

His catches up to you in no time, his strides much longer than yours. He steps in front of your path and when you make a move to step aside, he mirrors your actions. You click your tongue, glowering at him from beneath your lashes. “Look,” he starts “now I know you may not like me, but I-“

That gets your anger rising to incomparable heights. “Not like you?!” You practically shout out. Looking around, you remember where you are and it’s the only reason your voice lowers. “Arthur, I’ve liked you since the day I met you!”

His eyebrows pull together and his nose crinkles. Arthur’s face morphs into something like agitation from its previous confusion. “So, why all this attitude?”

You’re dejected. “Why all this attitude?” You softly hiss. “Why all this attitude when I’ve loved you for years and all I’ve heard about is Mary?”

Arthur winces. He steps back from you, recoiling like he’s just been shot by a sniper rifle.

Good, you think. He should feel like a right asshole.

“’Why all this attitude’ he says!” You giggle manically at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “Where do I even start?” You begin to rant, hands back on your hips to give you some sort of anchor from sinking towards the ground. “I don’t know Arthur, maybe it’s because while I’ve been here stewing in self-pity, you were always out seeing her. Maybe, it’s because every time you were young, drunk, and broken, you’d come back whispering her name, mistaking her for me, and I was the one helping you pick up the pieces.”

Your heart was racing a million yards a minute, but you couldn’t stop now. All the hurt and sorry baggage poured out like molten lava, burning with years of intensity. “Or maybe-“ you point an index finger at him and snap sarcastically as if you’ve just discovered a newfound truth “Maybe, it was because I worked so damn hard to tell myself I wasn’t in love with you and you just-“ your voice breaks.

Arthur doesn’t interrupt you at any part of your monologuing. Just like usual, you can hardly decipher his emotions except notice the colour draining from his face.

“So, I’m sorry that I don’t believe you when you say It’s been me.” You continue. “You’ve given me no reason to believe otherwise.”

You sidestep him, not taking a single look back in fear of him seeing the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You unhitch your horse, giving her a slight pat before mounting her again.

- - - - - - - - - - -

You don’t see or speak to Arthur for a few days after your argument.

You don’t have much energy to talk to anyone really.

So, you somehow end up back at a familiar field surrounded by evergreen trees and flowers. The crystalline water of the hot springs gleams in your eyes and a chill wind sends shivers up your spine.

You set up camp and stay a while. The serenity of the woods is welcomed. You don’t consider yourself the best hunter, but fishing didn’t require the same amount of dexterity. It's quiet, peaceful even. All you hear is the chirp of the birds and the steady flow of water.

It gives you time to cool off, reflect on everything that’s happened.

The more time you spend out here, the more hesitant you are to leave. It's a nice reprieve from the perils of civilization and you find yourself slipping away, trying to grasp a sense of comfort that's unimaginable for you most days.

Tends to happen when you're an outlaw, you suppose.

But one day, as you’re laying under the shade of a tree, feeling the blades of soft grass beneath you, you hear heavy footsteps starting to approach.

There's no need to bother even acting surprised.

Arthur takes a seat beside you with a deep sigh. He leans back, using his hands to support him.

The both of you are silent for a while, not one peep out of your mouths. You expect it to be uncomfortable but having him by your side brings an ease you haven’t felt in days. Arthur continues to stare up at the sun starting to descend in the horizon and you follow suit, eyes trained to the sky above.

“When I met you, I thought you were nothing more than a naïve, innocent little thing.” He starts, baritone drawl catching you off guard. You don’t realize how much you’d missed hearing it until now. “You were this small girl I needed to protect. “

You glance towards him and notice the small smile now gracing his lips, his eyes glossed over like remembering memories from so very long ago. “You could barely ride a horse, hell, you could barely mount one.”

The genuine warmth in his voice continues to chip away any frustrations left within you as you recall those days like snapshots in your mind.

“Every day, it was something new with you.” He laughs out, making your heart traitorously skip a beat. “You were learning the ropes of it all, and for a while, you were just a ratty brat who wanted to try on boots that were too big for her.” He pauses and you look at him more clearly this time, head turned towards him fully in an effort to really listen to what he has to say. “But Mary, she-“ he swallows “I could just turn my thoughts off with her.”

He gives out another sigh. “I loved her, I did.” He admits. “It was so easy loving her at the time. We had no expectations of one another, and then all of a sudden that shifted and I don’t know if I could have been the man she needed me to be.”

You ache but it’s not because he mentions his past lover’s name.

“So I ended up actin’ like a goddamn fool. Boozin’, sleeping around.” He groans, obviously not proud of his previous ventures. “Dutch and Hosea, they couldn’t pull me out of it. I mean, they tried everything, but then-“ He releases a relieved chuckle. “Some woman I’d never met before poured a bucket of cold water over my head and pulled out her revolver, threatening to shoot my dumb ass if I didn’t get up.”

You snort as you’re reminded of that day.

It was dry and humid, overall making it a miserable summer afternoon. Arthur stumbled back into camp smelling like he was doused in moonshine, groggy and slurring his words together. Even Hosea, forgiving as he was, cringed at his sorry state.

You just about had it.

After collecting some from the nearby stream, you pushed Arthur down and doused him in ice-cold water. He sputtered, clearly not happy about what you just did and attempted to get up to confront you. You pulled out your gun before he could and shot right between his legs onto the dirt below. “If you don’t pull your damn weight around here, I’ll make sure the next shot hits!” you shouted, utterly disappointed.

“Good times.” You mutter and Arthur’s smile widens.

“Sure.” He agreed. “When my eyes started to clear, I swear to god I thought I was looking at an angel.”

You had a hard time believing that too. “You looked at a woman who just shot at you and thought she was angelic?”

He tries to find better words. “I guess you looked ethereal all together.” He tries to explain. “Like you were something I’d see at the pearly white gates of judgement.”

You sat amused at his thoughts. “That so?”

He’s finally able to make eye contact with you and revels in that fact. “My vision was still a little hazy and you just stood over me, posture straight, hat on.” He takes his hand and scratches his chin. It’s a tick for when he’s nervous. “Your hair had a glow to it from the sun and your eyes, they just- had this fire in em’ I’d never seen before.”

His shoulders drop and the mood suddenly turns mellow. “When we were ridin’ around and ended up at this clearin’, you just took off without me and I realized how much you’d grown into yourself right under my nose. You didn’t change much, you were still the same old, sunshine, animal-lovin’ princess, but the way you carried yourself? Asserted yourself more? God-.”

He holds your gaze as he continues and it’s like the world holds its breath for whatever he has to say next. “You rode off, hair wild, not looking back at me one bit and I just couldn’t stop starin’ at you because I thought you were such a damn sight.”

“It made me wonder-“ his words trail off. He stops for a while and you let him. You know how much courage it was taking him right now to admit this to you, letting down those guarded stone walls he loved so much.

You lick your lips, and in an act of your own bravery, you settle your hand on top of his, to which he visibly softens upon. “Made you wonder?” You urge.

“If that’s what Mary felt like, seeing me go all those times.” He finishes. “Because I hated it. I hated every time you got on that horse and left, and it would only hurt less whenever you came back.”

Arthur’s hand starts to clench, but you flip his hand in yours so you can interlock your fingers properly. You give his hand a squeeze and the tension eases off.

“But then I hear you wantin’ to go off with some man and all I could do was mope like a sorry idiot because what if-“ His throat works. “What if you rode off and didn’t come back this time?”

“Oh, Arthur.” You softly coo.

His hand starts to make small slow circles over your hands. “You know I realized something when I last saw Mary that I didn’t before.”

You’re expectant to hear what it is.

“Every time it got a little too rough between us, she was done with me.” He perceived. “I don’t blame her, she deserves someone to make her happy, but I wasn’t gonna change fast enough in her eyes.” He squeezes your hand tighter. “But you- you didn’t expect me to change on a dime. You were patient, you understood that I didn’t want to start a family not because I didn’t want to, but because I was afraid of feeling that pain again.”

After clenching his jaw, he takes his other palm and cups your cheek with the utmost tenderness a man of his size could muster. “With you, I feel like I can be something else, something good.” You lean towards his touch, begging that if this were a dream, you never wanted to be woken up. His gaze is soft on your features, highlighted by the starlight above.

“I fell in love with you a long time ago Arthur Morgan.” You confess. “I keep running away because no one holds me close enough to keep me somewhere.”

You feel a lump in your throat as you remember all the times you rode off wanting to hear him shout "Wait!", but he never did.

“I know and I’m sorry for that sweetheart, I really am.”

Tears start to escape your eyes and you don’t bother wiping them away. “Loving you hurt so much Arthur.” You whimper. “I started to pack all of those feelings away if it meant I didn’t have to ruin what we already had.”

He presses his rough lips to your forehead and leans back. “I know sweetheart, I’m sorry.” He tilts your chin up with a finger. “If I could go back and change the way I handled it all, I would.”

“Give me something to believe that this is real. That I’m not just making this up in my misery.”

Arthur takes a moment to look at you before he speaks. He takes the time to figure out how he’s supposed to approach what he wanted to convey “Close your eyes for just a second.” He mumbled, his voice pleading.

You don’t question it and do what he wants you to do. You fully accept you’d be one of those pathetic individuals who’d follow him off a cliff if it meant staying with him and keeping him safe.

In the darkness, you feel him pick up your hands and place them on his chest. Under your palms, you feel the fast thrum of the beat of his heart and the laboured way his chest rises. You stay like that for a few seconds and match your breathing to his.

“Okay,” his voice cuts through your thoughts “now open your eyes.” You follow his command and you open your eyes to Arthur with a tender expression. You feel his breathing get faster, like he’s almost waiting for a reaction.

You tilt your head. “What?”

Arthur chuckles quietly at your question. “This is me trying to prove I’m serious about you.” His hands are still around your wrists, keeping your palms on his chest in place.

“By what? Letting me feel you up?” You jokingly say. “Arthur, who do you think’s being lugging your heavy ass around when you’re drunk, cause it sure as hell ain’t Uncle-“

Even in the darkness that surrounded you, you can sense his embarrassment. He starts to sputter to quickly get words out “Wha- no, that’s not what- I- you-“ He stutters, clearly flustered at the comment. He sighs. “Now, that’s not what I meant and you know it, sweetheart.”

“So then, what?” You push. You’re not trying to be obtuse in any way, but you want to hear a proper answer.

Arthur swallows awkwardly. “I’m just- I want you to know that my heart beats for you.”

It puts you in such a complete state of shock, it renders you speechless.

Just a couple of days ago, you would have been thirsty to hear those words drip out of his lips, but now that you’ve actually heard him say it, you don’t know how to exactly respond.

“Sweetheart?” He calls, voice laced with worry.

You slowly lean down and press your ear against his chest, wrapping your arms around him. He smells like gun smoke and mountain air. The fast bu-dump of his heart is intoxicating, making you break out into a smile.

After a few seconds, he slowly places his own arms around you and pulls you in closer. His hold is firm. Secure. A bandwagon of bandits or federal agents could show up this instant and he wouldn’t let anything or anyone so much as even look at you the wrong way.

He tucks your head under his chin. “I can’t give you a house, or children, or land right now, but I want you to know you have my heart.” He places another soft kiss on your forehead. “You’ve had it for a long time and it’ll always be yours as long you’ll have me.”

“Well, I never thought Arthur Morgan was capable of such sweet words.” You tease.

You feel the rumble of his chest as he freely laughs. “Well, there’s a lot we don’t know about each other it seems.”

You give his statement some thought. “Maybe we can start to find those things about each other out.”

He nods against you. “I’d like that.”

You sniffle and follow him in letting out a laugh. “I’ll end up falling asleep here if we keep this up.”

He snickers at your comment. “I guess I’ll just have to carry you to bed then, huh?” He teases back, his tone light and playful.

You push away from his chest and fix your gaze directly at him, a dazed smile on your face. “I guess you’ll just have to, Arthur Morgan.”

His breathing hitches, obviously not expecting to be accepted on his offer. “Yeah, I suppose I will, sweetheart.”

You place a kiss squarely on his mouth and he reciprocates it almost immediately.

You grasp his face with your hands and do something you’ve been wanting to do since the day you met him.

His lips, though slightly chapped are soft and his stubble that he hasn’t shaved for weeks tickles your cheeks, poking you in a pleasurable way. You taste the tobacco on him and though you don’t smoke, maybe through kissing him you get the appeal. Fingers thread through your braid that’s falling apart by the second.

For the first time, you don't hold the butteflies back.

You part your lips to deepen the kiss and allow him to explore your mouth with his tongue.

It becomes hungry. Insatiable. It's years of pent up frustration and confusion exploding into a possession that consumes your whole body. He groans and you barely notice when he scoops you up, hooking his arm under your legs. “God, we could have been doing this earlier.” He growls.

As you giggle against his lips, Arthur continues to carry you, walking briskly towards your tent.

And the world around you stayed silent that night, except for a few hushed noises.

- - - - - - -

A/N: Yee-haw. Pls interact, I need to to talk to more RDR people lmao. pls.

#fanfiction #smut #x reader #fluff #fanfic #rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 community #red dead redemption #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x reader #Arthur morgan fluff #Arthur Morgan Smut

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yoursjaeyun · 4 months ago

Text

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬.

𝐩airing. bf!jay x fmr

𝐠enre. angst, fluff, suggestive ( tiniest bit ) | post-sex-argument kinda thing

𝐰arnings. not that many tbh… nicknames, lots of kissing, jay being clingy, lmk if i need to add more.

𝐰c. 1k+

𝐚/𝐧. yes i wrote another argument with jay drabble leave me alone pls . :)

you lie on your side, staring at the wall, the last remainders of anger still simmering in your chest. the sheets are tangled around your legs, sticky with sweat and other remnants of the night. you can feel jay's presence behind you, his warm body felt in sharp contrast to the lingering cold tension on your skin.

the argument keeps replaying in your mind like a stuck record. the raised voices and harsh words now seem pointless. your heart is knotted with frustration, and even though there's been a spark between you, your anger hasn't fully faded.

you hear jay shift behind you, the bed creaking under his weight. a moment later, his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. his breath is warm against the nape of your neck, but instead of comforting you, it only fuels your frustration. how can he be so calm? so casual? after everything that was said.

“still mad?” his voice is soft.

you bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. the last thing you want is for him to think that he can just brush everything under the rug with a few well-placed kisses and whispered apologies.

but jay has always had a knack for finding the cracks in your armor. his lips find the curve of your shoulder, trailing lazy kisses up your neck. you shiver despite yourself, your body betraying the anger still coiled in your chest.

“y/n,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a velvet caress that sends a shiver down your spine. “come on, baby, talk to me.”

you let out a sigh, your irritation slipping through in the sound. “i don’t want to talk to you right now.”

his lips pause in their journey up your neck, and you feel him pull back slightly. there’s a moment of silence, and you can practically feel the gears turning in his mind as he tries to figure out how to approach this. jay is many things—charming, witty, endlessly patient—but right now, you don’t want any of those things. you want him to understand how much he hurt you.

“i messed up. i shouldn’t have said those things. i’m sorry.” he says finally, his voice losing some of its playful edge.

you close your eyes, willing yourself not to cry. you’re still so angry, but there’s a part of you that hates feeling this way, hates the distance that’s grown between you two because of a stupid argument.

“you always do this,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “you say things you don’t mean, and then you act like everything’s fine. its not.”

there’s a pause, and for a moment, you think he might just drop it, let the silence stretch out between you like a chasm neither of you are brave enough to cross. but then he sighs, and you feel his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer.

“y/n, i’m sorry. i was stupid, and i said things i didn’t mean. i don’t want to lose you over something so dumb.” you could tell he regretted it now, especially by the tone of his voice.

you want to stay mad, to hold on to the anger a little longer, but it’s hard when he’s being like this—when he’s holding you like he never wants to let go.

but instead of responding, you push his arms away and slip out of bed, the cool air hitting your bare skin as you stand. without a word, you grab the discarded shirt from the floor and pull it over your head, barely covering yourself as you make your way toward the bathroom. you can feel jay's eyes on you, but you don’t turn around. you’re still too angry, too raw.

you hear him sigh behind you, a soft sound filled with frustration and regret. a moment later, his footsteps follow you, and before you even think to close the bathroom door, his arms are around your waist again, pulling you back against him. his lips find your neck, pressing soft, apologetic kisses to your skin.

“y/n, please,” he whispers, his voice laced with guilt. “this is the last thing i’d ever want to happen between us—” “you made it happen. this is your mess.” you cut him off.

you take your hands off of the edge of the sink, looking up at him from the mirror, trying to focus on anything but the feel of his lips against your skin, the warmth of his body pressed against yours. but it’s impossible to ignore the way your heart beats just a little faster when he’s this close.

“you can’t keep hurting me and then expect everything to be okay because you apologized,” you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. “it’s not that simple.”

“i know it’s not. but i love you, and i’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. just... don’t push me away.” he says, and there’s a tremor in his voice that makes your heart clench.

his words hang in the air, heavy with sincerity, and for a moment, you feel your anger slip away, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. you don’t want to fight anymore. you just want to be held, to feel like everything will be okay.

you stay silent, allowing jay to cling to you as you both begin to clean yourselves up. his hands are gentle as he helps, and the quiet between you is soothing, a way to ease the tension without words.

jay doesn’t push you for conversation, his presence a steady comfort as he quietly assists. he’s patient. the room slowly returns to its normal state, and the silence between you starts to feel less oppressive, more like a shared space where both of you can catch your breath.

finally, as you finish up and the room is back in order, jay breaks the silence. “do you want some tea before bed?” he asks softly, a hint of hope in his voice. “it can help you sleep better.”

you nod, the gesture small but meaningful. “yeah, that would be nice.”

jay’s face brightens with relief, and he moves to prepare the tea. you watch from the edge of the kitchen, the familiarity of his actions a comforting reminder of the normalcy you both seek. he works efficiently, filling the kettle, selecting your favorite tea, and letting the water come to a boil.

when the tea is ready, he brings a steaming cup to you. you take the cup from him, the warmth of the ceramic soothing against your cold fingers. jay settles beside you, his gaze attentive as you sip the tea slowly, savoring the calm it brings.

the room is quiet, the only sounds being the gentle clinking of the cup and the soft hum of jay’s breathing. he watches you with an unreadable expression as you finish your tea.

as you place the empty cup down, you finally turn to him, your eyes meeting his with a gentle smile. he waits, his gaze steady, and you can see the vulnerability in his eyes.

leaning in, you press a gentle kiss to his lips, the touch tender—and jay’s arms instantly wrap around you, pulling you close as he returns the kiss, a sigh of relief escaping him.

the kiss deepens, his lips moving in unison against yours as his hands slide up under your shirt, his touch firm but gentle. your arms wrapping around his neck as you both lose yourselves in the kiss.

you break the kiss, both of you breathless and flushed, and a soft giggle escapes your lips. jay’s eyes sparkle with such affection, and he pulls you into a warm embrace, holding you close as you snuggle against him.

“you’re cute when you’re mad,” he murmurs, his voice light and teasing.

“shut up,” you laugh, your voice muffled against his chest as you hug him tighter.

jay chuckles, his hands stroking your back in a soothing rhythm, until there was a little silence again, as if he was trying to find the right words to say. “i’m sorry, y/n. i really am.”

you look up at his lips again and only nodded, caressing his cheek with your thumb. “its okay, but if it happens again. there will be consequences.” you raise your eyebrows

“yeah? what kind of consequences?” he teases and you roll your eyes as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “you’ll see,” you chuckle.

“i love you.”

“i love you too.”

1K notes · View notes

noosayog · 1 year ago

Text

002 get him back!

✧ wc: 4k

✧ warnings/content: miya osamu x fem!reader, sfw, fake dating au, angst to fluff,

✧ GUTS masterlist, regular masterlist

divider from @/cafekitsune

It all started when Miya Atsumu said that you would never be able to find anyone who could put up with you. And you would have taken that with a grain of salt, if Miya Atsumu wasn't your ex who also happened to be a thorough asshole.

“Well you dated me didn’t you?!”

“And we broke up, duh.” he says flippantly.

You clam up at that. You know he’s just saying things. He doesn’t mean it and he’s a complete moron. But it’s been almost a year since the break-up and not a single man has even offered to buy you a drink. Are you going to have to resort to making a Hinge profile?

–

“I don’t know why ya let him get to ya. He’s just a moron,” Osamu says.

“You have to say that, he’s your brother,” you grumble.

“True. But he is an idiot.”

You plop your face heavily into the elbow resting on the counter and blow raspberries in one big exhale.

“Don’t get yer spit all over where my customers eat.”

You grunt, turning over to watch Osamu work behind the counter.

“Do you think I’m unlovable?” you ask.

“Huh?”

“There must be a reason no one’s asked me out on a date in the past 8 months, right?”

Osamu sighs, dropping off a plate of food in front of you. “I’m not gonna answer that.” Then he turns with his back facing you to fiddle with something on the other side of the kitchen.

“Why not?”

He exhales through his nose, quiet, but you hear it.

He doesn’t get the chance to answer because the door swings open to reveal Osamu’s twin. You jolt up, fixing your posture, self-conscious about letting Atsumu think his words are getting to you.

And rightfully so because Atsumu acts like a shark that smells blood. His lips curl up into what he thinks is a smirk, but resembles much more of a snarl.

“What’s up with ya,” he asks oh-so-innocently.

You have no good response and feel your face heating up in embarrassment when Osamu swoops in.

“Are ya gonna sit down or just block my door? ‘Cause I got people that actually pay to eat here.”

Atsumu starts yelling something at Osamu but simmers down into the seat next to you and mumbles something to himself, no doubt some choice words for his brother. It gives you momentary reprieve from Atsumu’s provocation which is the last thing you need right now with your self-esteem in the dumps.

The break is temporary though, because like a true creature with short-term memory and a propensity for being a prick, Atsumu circles back to the topic when he’s done eating.

“So, found a guy to take you out?”

“What makes you think I’d answer that question,” you bite back. Weak, but it’s all you have.

“Hah,” he scoffs. “I knew it. Ya can’t find anyone.”

You feel the irritation boiling like a witch’s cauldron inside of you, brewing a mix of resentment, mortification, and the tiniest streak of competitiveness. Atsumu not shutting up for the rest of the night is the final ingredient that makes your red hot concoction boil over. It goes a bit like this:

“Tell me if ya want me to set ya up with someone from the team. Might be the only chance ya get at this rate,” he teases.

“No thanks,” you hiss. “I’ll have you know that I’m dating Osamu, widely known as the better Miya.” You point smugly at Osamu whose back is currently to you both.

“What!” Atsumu yells. “Osamu? And you?”

With Osamu’s back to you, you can’t see his face, but all your fingers and toes are crossed that he’ll play along so that you don’t burn up in a gas of complete humiliation.

When Osamu turns around, his eyes go to you first. They search yours for something – what, you don’t know. He apparently finds it because he blinks away and tells his brother to mind his own business, neither denying nor validating your claim.

It might as well be confirmation though, because Atsumu squawks in indignation, sputtering his disbelief. Osamu continues to bicker with his brother, keeping him occupied enough to not realize that he was slowly being backed out of the restaurant.

When Osamu slams the door on Atsumu and twists the lock in a dramaticized show of finality, Atsumu finally gives up, yelling a muffled “I’ll be back.” through the windows. You could laugh at the duo if Osamu didn’t turn around and fix you with a look, similar to that of a responsible older brother scolding a child.

“Now yer turn. What was that about?”

“Osamu! You heard the way he was talking to me. I just can’t stand it!”

“Have ya thought this through? How’s this supposed to end, huh? We break up and Atsumu goes back to making fun of ya?”

You open your mouth to beg, because it’s always worked with Osamu. He always gives in. But he’s not done, apparently.

“‘Least ya could’ve done is ask me out, not use me to get through yer petty grudge with ‘Tsumu.”

That shuts you up. When you look at Osamu, he’s not looking at you. His eyes are downcast, distracting himself by wiping up the counter. It’s so brief that you convince yourself that you imagined the hurt in his voice.

“‘Samu…”

“Forget it. I’ll do it, but ya better have it thought out because I’m not helping ya anymore than this.”

It should be a win and any other time, you would wrap him up in a bear hug and shower him with thanks, but the defeated way Osamu concedes makes you solemnly finish your meal. It feels unfitting to say thank you.

–

Your first stint as Osamu’s girlfriend comes in the form of a friend’s dinner party. Since the night you forced Osamu to be your boyfriend, you have been back at Onigiri Miya to hang out, but have painfully tiptoed around the topic. The thought has occurred to you that you and Osamu should agree upon a backstory, but you haven’t had the courage to breach the topic after the way Osamu reacted.

He had just nodded when you asked him to attend this dinner party with you. And with that, he had dutifully picked you up at your apartment, perfectly on time. You had expected a stone-faced Osamu all night, but he had surprised you with a sweet smile, one that you’re used to being on the receiving end of. But it somehow feels different tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s supposed to be smiling at you as your lover tonight. It was easy, the way he had held out his arm for you, no awkwardness in sight.

At dinner, Osamu makes no move to let go of your hand, going as far as to intertwine your fingers under the table. When any one asks how the two of you began dating, he squeezes to tell you he’ll handle this. You’re grateful and you feel undeservingly spoiled as you watch him. He looks around the room, drifts his gaze back to you where his lips flicker upwards for the tiniest second, then looks back at the crowd to flash a mysterious, close-lipped smile. You can barely hear the dinner table go wild with jeers and Atsumu squawking as you gawk at Osamu’s act.

And it goes on.

As you eat, he keeps your fingers clasped between his, laid on his lap. Atsumu gives you two the stink-eye, questioning why Osamu was eating with his left hand. You’re pretty sure your eyes are bulging out of your head at this point, because Osamu flushes. Osamu is blushing as he reluctantly lets go of your hand, making a show out of placing your hand back on your own lap and mumbling a heavily-accented apology at no one in particular.

–

When dinner finally ends, the party migrates to the living room. Osamu doesn’t need to ask, perfectly picking your favorite after-dinner drink of choice as he chooses a beer for himself. He has once again claimed your hand in his. His grip is tight and when you try to slip your hand out to get some space, he holds tighter.

You lean up to whisper in his ear, “Osamu, my hands are sweaty.”

He leans down to hear you better, but stands back up when he registers your comment. He ignores you, only squeezing twice, as if telling you to behave for him. Your head spins; you’ve never dated like this before.

Being with Atsumu was like living in a comically unrealistic sit-com, like you were constantly finding yourself in situations and having conversations that belong in a Tom and Jerry episode. He argued with you about everything, had an ego, and a temper. A particularly memorable moment was when he was still courting you, trying to convince you to date him by saying, “I’m six foot two.”

“Dude, nice try,” you had said.

But somehow, right now, with Osamu standing by your side and towering over you, you think that if this younger twin used that line on you right now, you’d fold in half for him. As if you wouldn’t with all the sweet nothings he’s lavished on you in this one night.

He only lets you get away when you embarrassingly whisper to him that you need a bathroom break.

“I’ll walk with ya.”

“No!” you exclaim. You lower your voice when he stares at you. “It’s okay, ‘Samu. I’ll be right back, okay?”

He backs off and you finally get away from his orbit.

Finally alone, you barely pull yourself together. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, slapping your cheeks lightly to pry the strange daze from your eyes. You can’t get carried away here. Osamu is doing you a favor, one he isn’t fond of. You can’t get used to Osamu treating you like this. It’s borrowed time.

You splash water onto your face, waiting until the chill seeps into your cheeks that have been painfully hot since Osamu picked you up tonight.

As you exit the bathroom, Atsumu is there waiting for you in the hallway.

“I’m onto ya,” he starts.

You scoff, immediately putting your facade back on. It’s easy with Atsumu. “Oh please, Atsumu. You’re just jealous.”

It doesn't phase Atsumu the way you hope. “Such a weak comeback. Sounds like something you’d say to disguise the fact that yer playin’ my brother.” Your brother is the one playing me.

“Whatever, Atsumu,” you say, walking away, taking Osamu’s advice to not let Atsumu get to you.

“I bet ya forced my brother to pretend to be yer boyfriend. I know my brother and I know you. Just admit it.” He smirks. “It’s okay that no one wants to date ya. Nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

The fact that even Atsumu, even all of his stupidity, sees right through you makes you feel hot. You’re grateful that you’ve already turned away from him because you could not take much more damage tonight. Nothing would end you in a worse way than Atsumu seeing that he could make you cry.

Or maybe it’s the fact that Atsumu doesn’t, for one second, believe that someone like his brother could fall for someone like you. Maybe no one does. Maybe everyone here just thinks that you’re making this up and they’re playing along to help you save face.

It takes everything in you to keep your steps and breathing even as you take the walk back to Osamu to compose yourself.

It’s useless apparently because Osamu seems right through you. He immediately offers to take you to the balcony, explaining to everyone that you need some fresh air to cut through the alcohol you’ve had.

His silent understanding makes it worse because it makes it clear that you’re an open book. The act you put on is completely pointless because no one believes you anyway.

Osamu guides you to the balcony and shuts the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone.

He joins you at the railing, draping his jacket over you. You know he knows that you want to avoid looking into his eyes, just as much as he knows you want to avoid having this conversation altogether. He sighs.

“Why do ya let him get to you like that?”

You look back at him, eyes widening at the tone he rarely takes with you. His eyes are fixed forward, arms still dutifully wrapped around you, ever the dedicated boyfriend. But as his gaze flickers to you momentarily, you catch the weight of his question in his eyes.

“Who?” you mumble.

But Osamu’s not in the mood. He stays silent, letting the question hang in the air.

“I don’t know… I just…”

“Are ya still in love with my brother?”

“No,” you answer honestly.

Osamu raises his brows.

“No, but I’ve known him for so long now.” You feel the need to explain. “He just gets under my skin. You of all people should understand – he’s your brother! You guys fight all day long.”

“He’s my brother. We shared a womb. We were born to fight.” Osamu sighs. “You, though... Why can’t ya just let it go?”

“I don’t know! I just…” you trail off.

He continues to stare at you, not even knowing the effect he has on you. His earnest gaze pulls the truth out from under your skin.

“I wanna get him back,” you admit.

Osamu’s eyes go dark at that statement. His expression shutters.

“Not like that!” you quickly amend. “Not like I want to get back with him, I mean like, his face just pisses me off!”

“Huh?”

“I just wanna punch him in the face but I don’t think anything would give me more satisfaction than proving him wrong you know. And honestly, Osamu, you-”

“Ya think that I’m the perfect person to piss him off for ya. ‘Cause I’m his brother and there’s no one else who would get under his skin more than if I replaced him.”

You hear the disappointment heavy in his intonation.

“Osamu…”

“Am I wrong?”

He’s not wrong, but you feel an urge to tell him how he made you tingle at dinner. It was in the way he catered to your whims, covered for you, and held your hand in secret. It was in the way he, as your not-boyfriend, made you feel loved and desired much more so than any other boyfriend you’ve ever had before.

But when you look at his side profile, face now turned away from you and hidden by the shadows of the night, it doesn’t feel right to say any of that. Even in your mind, it sounds like an excuse. Because the bottom line is that he’s right. Your original intentions had been to use Osamu. And the fact that you might have developed a slight crush on him in the process doesn’t make you feel any less shitty and certainly doesn’t make Osamu feel any less used.

His question goes unanswered.

–

The rest of the week goes by uneventfully. Actually, it goes by too uneventfully because Osamu doesn’t call or text once. Not that you’ve made an effort, but after how that last conversation with Osamu ended, you can’t find the courage to face Osamu.

It doesn’t make you miss him any less.

You can’t recall if you used to miss Osamu like this, think about him and wish he’d reach out even if it’s only been a couple of days since you’ve last met. You only know that right now, you wish he’d make the first move because you can’t muster up the nerve to see him, even if it’s all you wanted. It also makes you realize that Osamu has been spoiling you long before that night and long before he agreed to be your fake boyfriend. The reason you never had to miss him is because he is always the one who makes the effort to call, text, bring you lunch, pick you up from work, drive you around.

The realization only made you feel worse about yourself.

And after days of mulling over realization after realization, each making you guiltier and guiltier, you made your decision.

That’s how you end up running to Osamu’s apartment, late on a Thursday evening. Without pausing to compose yourself, afraid you’ll lose your momentum, you knock.

The door swings open to reveal a very tired-looking, very handsome Osamu. He has his cap off, but his hair is unruly, as if his fingers have just recently run through it. His eyes are slightly bloodshot and his t-shirt is wrinkled. The urge to rub your thumb over his eyelids and smooth your other hand over this shirt is a sudden one you shove down because Osamu’s opening his mouth.

“Hey, what’cha doing here so late?”

There’s a momentary disappointment that strikes your gut. He asks you so normally, as if he isn’t plagued with thoughts of avoiding you. As if the couple of days that have gone by without any interaction between the two of you isn’t even a thought that occupies headspace.

“Uh,” you stutter.

“Actually,” he sighs and glances behind him. “Now’s not a good time. Can ya-”

“I don’t care about Atsumu,” you cut him off. It sounds like he’s preparing a rejection. Or he just doesn’t want to talk. Neither of which are favorable outcomes, so you barrel through to say what you need to say.

“I don’t care about what he thinks. Not anymore and definitely not that night. I was actually thinking about you the entire time and Atsumu, well, he’s just-”

“Just wait a minute, okay-”

“He just gets under my nerves because of the shit he says and I know he’s just saying stuff to rile me up and I’m a hothead, okay? He gets me because we’re like the same person sometimes, but I’m not doing this to get back at him anymore. It’s actually your fault because-”

“I knew it!” a voice yells from behind Osamu.

You crane your neck to see around Osamu and curse Osamu’s big frame for taking up the entire doorway and blocking your view of the apartment because there is the older twin, grinning widely and walking up to where you’re both standing.

You instantly feel the panic rise in your system.

“Atsumu,” Osamu begins in a warning tone.

Ignoring his brother, Atsumu continues on. “I knew it. I knew the two of ya couldn’t be dating just like that.”

Your nervous system goes into overdrive. Even you know how this looks.

You barged into Osamu’s place randomly at night and picked the time when Atsumu coincidentally is here as well.

Your wide eyes meet Osamu, willing him to believe that you didn’t come to make a scene for Atsumu’s viewing. You didn’t come to confess that you might have a crush on him with this exact timing so that Atsumu would fall for the act.

When Osamu refuses to meet your eyes, it brings your attention back to Atsumu, who continues to gloat about his victory.

Your face burns in mortification as you take slow steps away from the twins, making room for your getaway. As Atsumu gets closer and Osamu continues to avoid your gaze, your courage wanes and the last bit of pride you’re holding onto propels you to turn away instead of retorting as you always do.

“Aww, really let my words get to ya, didn’t ya? I knew all along-”

Before you can start running, Osamu grabs your arm and pulls you into the apartment, the other arm shoving Atsumu out.

“Hey, ‘Samu!”

“Shut the fuck up, ‘Tsumu. Now that my girlfriend’s here to spend the night, get out.” Osamu shuts the door in his face.

Atsumu’s protests fall on deaf ears, the sound of Osamu referring to you as his girlfriend echoing in your mind. He had taken your side, chosen to take the course of action that would embarrass you to least despite not having confirmed what your intentions were. The thought fills you with hope.

He pulls you further into the apartment, sitting you on the barstool. After situating you on the chair, he makes to step out of your personal space, but you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him close. Your eyes start to sting in frustration that Osamu could somehow believe that this was all just another incident you had orchestrated to get back at his brother. This has all gotten so hopelessly messy.

“Osamu,” you sniffle into his neck. “I didn’t come over here and say all that because I knew Atsumu was listening. I just-” missed you.

He rubs soothing circles into your back, gently enough to make you want to cry more because you don’t deserve this but want it so badly.

“You just…?” he prompts.

The words won’t come out and your tears soak into his shirt. You want to tell him so badly that you’re not crying to garner his sympathy; you’re crying because you’re so angry with yourself.

Osamu patiently strokes your back, letting you cry before quietly telling you, “Oh, baby. How long do ya think we’ve known each other? I know yer not the type to set up this whole complicated scenario just to show up my stupid brother. I believe ya.”

His other arm is now holding your head to his neck, fingers running lightly across your scalp. “So can ya finish what you were about to say for me?”

His words and his actions do what they always do to you. They fill you with so much hope that there’s no room to mistaken his intentions. They fill you with the courage to tell him.

“Missed you,” you whisper.

Finally, both of his arms wrap around your back to push you tight into his chest. He squeezes, gentle enough to keep you safe but firm enough to tell you he wants you there. It pulls the confession out of you.

“And I like you so much, Osamu.”

He chuckles lightly into your ear. You can feel the vibrations echo in his chest. When you squeeze back, he trails his arms down to your legs to guide them around his waist. He carries you with ease to the couch and sits you down to cry in his lap.

You don’t know how long the two of you sit like that for, but when you finally calm down, you keep your arms wrapped around him and quietly ask, “why did you do all this for someone like me?”

He stops stroking your hair.

“What, ya don’t like it?”

You pull away to protest, already too comfortable with him spoiling you again, only to find the corner of his lips quirked up in a smirk.

He’s teasing, you realize.

You smack his face weakly and wind your arms back around him.

You snuggle back into his neck but he’s the one who pulls you back this time.

“Hey, seriously though,” he says. “Is this okay?”

You nod shyly.

“I need to hear it, sweetheart.”

“I want it.”

“Alright. C’mere then.”

You oblige.

“Can I tell ya a secret?” he murmurs into your neck.

You nod.

“There isn’t a man out there who’d do all that for someone he doesn’t love, ya know that?”

It makes you flustered, but much of what Osamu does does that to you. His tenderness makes you want to try harder to meet him in the middle.

“Can I do something?” you ask, taking a leap. Your face is incredibly hot and your heart is beating embarrassingly loudly against his. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

It’s easy when he responds, “You can do anything ya want to me.”

You intend for it to be an innocent peck, your form of an apology. But he holds the back of your neck, the other arm wrapped almost all the way around your torso and doesn’t let go until you’re panting against his open mouth.

He’s nonchalant when he shrugs.

“You can do anything ya want but I’ll be doing the same from now on.”

3K notes · View notes

misscinnamonroll16 · 11 months ago

Text

What's Wrong Bro?

new fanfic just dropped. this was kind of a request from a guest on ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53581822

#trolls #brozone #trolls john dory #trolls floyd #trolls clay #branch trolls #trolls bruce #fluff with the tiniest bit of angst #idk how to write #idk how to tag this #enjoy my brainrot

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shouyuus · 3 days ago

Note

Pitfighter!vi who makes you keep eye contact with her and say her name while she fucks you because she wants you to know that it’s HER who’s making you feel that good 🙏 (request ish but also responding to the vi thirsts thingy)

i... have such a thing for eye contact!vi u have no idea.

18+, mndi, smut, slight angst, and fluff at the end

"eyes on me, princess --" she says, twisting your jaw towards her as she fucks her fingers into you, her makeup in black streaks running down her cheeks, her skin peppered with cuts and bruises, fat and dark as summer plums.

you whine, blinking up at her, your lashes clumped with salt as she fucks you through the nth orgasm that night, and you know that it's one of the bad nights, one of those nights where she comes home angry off a loss and already drunk. you bite your lips, her name trembling on the tip of your tongue even as she forces your mouth open to bury her own groans in the depth of your throat.

"moan for me --" she says, her voice a honey-bee's rasp against your lips, thick and syrup-sweet, but just as suffocating, the way it slicks across your tongue, "say my name --" she breathes.

you hiss, eyes squeezing shut as her dull nails scrape along your inner walls, making your legs kick out, your belly roiling within you at the relentless pressure.

"vi --" you force out, the breath punching from you as she angles her fingers up into that one gummy spot inside you that has you keening.

"i said look --" she clasps her whole hand around your jaw, squeezing so tight your mouth falls open, spit collecting at the corners of your mouth, "at --" she thrusts three fingers into you, "me."

you force your eyes open to meet her gaze -- and it's well-dark depths. you make a noise somewhere between a sob and a whimper, feeling her fingers digging into the soft plush of your cheeks as she gives you face a tiny little shake.

"vi, please --" and you don't even know what you're begging for anymore. mercy, perhaps, or just some kind of absolution. she stares at you, her gaze flickering from one eye to the other, as if searching for the answer there to a question she's never had courage enough to ask out loud.

finally, she lets you go, and your head thumps back against the pillows, though your hand reaches out to clasp around her wrists as she holds you by the hips and fucks you into the mattress, groaning when she feels you clamp down around her.

she laces her fingers with yours, this one single tenement of softness, as she groans, feeling you come apart around her.

she doesn't say much as she pulls out of you, staring at the shiny slick that coats her skin, brings it to her lips for a taste before shooting you a sharp, crescent-moon grin.

"violet..."

and she stills at the sound of your voice wrapped around the full weight of her name -- like a wish, or a promise. she sighs, leaning down to drop a kiss to your shoulder. you sit up, your fingers still linked through hers.

"it was a bad night," she'd say, looking anywhere but at you, pulling away to run her hands under the murky water from her tiny sink. you watch her from the bed, the mattress nothing more than a few stacks of cushions shoved together, empty bottles littering the floor.

"yeah?" you ask, shifting back a few inches as she settles on the edge of the bed, her head hung low. you reach forward, waiting for her to pull away. but when she doesn't, you curl yourself around the bend of her back and press your cheek to her shoulder, careless of the inky black paint that transfers from her skin to yours.

she lets you hold her for a few, long, solid minutes. they slick by like river water, made thick with silt or shimmer. you trace your fingers along the dark, smudged-out shapes of her tattoos -- and you think to yourself that she's beautiful -- even like this, broken and bruised and so, so angry.

"look at me," you whisper, turning her head with a finger, and she gives a the tiniest bit of resistance before letting you coax her face towards yours, her eyes bright in the slantwise light.

the moon slits a scimitar sliver through the sky, and down here, even the stars take on a sickly purple glow. but, as vi looks you over, allows herself the pleasure of admiring your face, she thinks that you somehow have the gall to be beautiful, even now.

she doesn't stop to think that you might be thinking the same of her.

you are.

"have you got a fight tomorrow?" you ask, reaching out to trace a thumb across the smudged paint on her cheeks. your finger comes away dark, but the tattoo beneath her eye's just a bit more visible now. she shakes her head.

"no. medic said i've gotta take a few days off."

she scoffs, her gaze cutting away.

"good," you say, "a break is good."

"i don't need a break," she gruffs, and you laugh.

"i know. but... that means you can sleep in tomorrow."

she quirks an eyebrow, "i can sleep in any day i want. the fights don't start till --"

"i know, vi -- i'm just saying," you say, imploring as a grin twitches over her lips, "we can... do something together, if you'd like."

vi blinks, "we?"

you purse your lips, looking down at where your fingers are inches from hers.

"unless --"

"yeah. no -- i mean -- it's fine. we -- we can."

and for a second, she sounds so nervous, so uncertain, that you almost laugh. because since when has vi been this bashful in your presence? but when you look up again, it's to catch her watching you with a strange, halfway light in her eyes. and you're not sure if it's the moon or the stars, or simply the cheap alcohol eating through both your veins, but you fancy that it looks just a little bit like affection, stained at the edges with tenderness.

it spreads warmth through your limbs, and tingles at your nose and your fingertips.

"okay then," you say, nodding, even as she pushes you back onto her makeshift mattress and slots her lips over yours once more.

the kiss is long, but soft. and when she pulls away, you're both just a bit breathless. though, not on the heavy, panting way you usually are off the deep, desperate kisses she gives you. no, this is something sweeter, something lighter. something that tastes very much like heartache at the back of your tongue.

"c'mere..." you say, tugging her into you even as the pair of your collapse onto her bed, her rucking the thin blanket haphazardly over the shape of your bodies, nothing more than a tangle of limbs, her cheek pillowed against your sternum, her lengthening hair tickling your chin.

you run a few fingers through the rough patches at the sides of her head.

"the dye's coming out."

vi grunts, her body heavy as she sinks into the heat of your embrace.

"whatever. let it grow."

you grin to yourself, thinking that you'd always loved the natural color of her hair -- bright as rubies in the hungering dark. but as you thread your fingers through them again and again, vi shifts against you, looping her arms around your middle to pull you into her.

she mumbles something into the skin of your chest that you don't quite catch.

"hm?" you ask, leaning down.

she sighs, her breath hot as it washes over your collarbones.

"you'll still be here in the morning, yeah?"

you pause, wondering for a second if it's a question or a plea.

you let out a tiny laugh.

"if you want me to be, then... yeah. i will."

vi only curls her fingers against your waist. she burrows her face more deeply into your chest, holding you close, and then closer.

"right," she says, shifting till the both of you are comfortable, "yeah," she adds after a few more seconds.

then, she lifts her head to look at you, her eyes catching yours in the dust-stricken moonlight -- and you can swear that she's smiling.

"good."

"goodnight, violet," you whisper, as her eyelids flutter shut, and she softens against you.

"night, princess. see you in the morning..." she says, her voice quiet and just a bit slurred.

"yeah. see you then."

832 notes · View notes

seowa · 1 year ago

Text

✶ AFTER YOU'VE READ ANGST LIST !

or a compilation of my favourite fluff works that you can read after reading heart-wrenching angsts :›

이희승 ⋆ LHS

01 love is in the air @isoobie 02 cherry tinted @isoobie / @flwrshee 03 don't give me that look @heeliopheelia 04 keep kissing me like that and i'll marry you @heeliopheelia 05 heartbeat @strzlun 06 intimacy after dark @hysgf 07 sweet delicacy @hyhees 08 shirt @hoonvrs 09 campus' flirt @soov 10 chapstick challenge @jaeyunverse 11 always been you @jaeyunverse

박종성 ⋆ PJS

01 i hope i reached you @okwonyo 02 four times jay almost proposed + one time he actually did @jaylver 03 just hold me @heeliopheelia 04 let's take things slow from here @goldenhypen 05 meeting you here @goldenhypen 06 the line in between @yenqa 07 love letters @junityy 08 study lessons @jaeyunverse

심재윤 ⋆ SJY

01 kiss it better baby @sjyuns 02 navy blue tie @byhees 03 heavy eyes @hyhees 04 here with you @yenqa 05 your name @soobnny

박성훈 ⋆ PSH

01 secret @isoobie 02 intentions @sjyuns 03 cherry @misojunnie 04 please say it @heeliopheelia 05 the twenty-four hours dating challenge @jaeyunverse

김선우 ⋆ KSN

01 you're so easy to love @heeliopheelia 02 misfit @palajae 03 face @hoonvrs 04 game time @goldenhypen 05 opposites attract @goldenhypen

양정원 ⋆ YJW

01 i've missed you @heeliopheelia 02 anti-romantic @strzlun 03 sandy cheeks @hoonvrs 04 love grows where jungwon goes @soobnny

西村力 ⋆ NRK

01 tutoring @strzlun 02 love me (k)not @palajae ( this has a sprinkle of angst ) 03 round and around @hoonvrs 04 twizzle into my heart @amakumos 05 hype girl @palajae ( tiniest bit of angst )

note. this will probably be updated whenever possible. also, consider checking out other works of the above writers as well because they're just as good

#✶ AYRAL!#omg this is me making a rec list #my reading diversity is so.....#enhypen masterlist #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen fics #enhypen recs #lee heeseung #park jongseong #jay park #park sunghoon #sim jaeyun #kim sunoo #yang jungwon #nishimura riki

4K notes · View notes

bueckets · 27 days ago

Text

The Prophecy | Part 2

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Parts: Part One | Two (you're here) | Three

Description: A weekend in Connecticut changes everything. On the court, you and Paige Bueckers are rivals, a clash of titans in a game where perfection is the only currency. Off the court, it’s different. Walls come down, secrets spill, and for a fleeting moment, hearts connect in ways you never thought possible.

But nothing perfect lasts.

WC: 7.9k

Authors Notes: heavy angst, heavy smut, heavy romance n fluff...... somehow all in one. i'm sorry have not proof read as usual

You wake up slowly, sunlight creeping through unfamiliar curtains. For a moment, disorientation fogs your mind. Then it clicks: Paige's room. Paige's bed. Paige’s sweatshirt draped over your shoulders, soft and impossibly warm. It smells like her—clean and fresh, a little bit like lavender, a little bit like something uniquely Paige.

Your eyes drift to the floor, and there she is, stretched out on her makeshift bed. Her face is half-buried in her pillow, hair spilled in golden waves, catching the light in a way that makes it hard to look away. There’s something unguarded about her, something soft and peaceful that tugs at a place deep in your chest.

She stirs, eyes fluttering open, and for a moment, they’re hazy, unfocused. Then they land on you. The corner of her mouth quirks up, and suddenly it feels like the morning itself is holding its breath.

“Hi,” she whispers, her voice still thick with sleep.

“Hi,” you whisper back, your own voice quieter than you expect.

Her gaze flickers to the sweatshirt, oversized and worn, hanging loosely on you. “You’re wearing my sweatshirt.”

“You gave it to me,” you say, feeling your cheeks warm.

"Looks better on you."

Her smile grows a little, and it’s devastating—soft and genuine, with just the faintest edge of teasing. Your heart stumbles, unsure whether to run away or fall forward.

She pushes herself upright, the blanket sliding off her shoulders. Her hair is a mess, and there’s a crease from the pillow on her cheek, and yet she still manages to make the simple act of waking up feel like poetry.

��I should, um, ” You start to move, unsure of where to go, just knowing the air between you feels suddenly electric.

"Wait," she says softly. You freeze, half-sitting.

Paige hesitates, like she’s searching for the right words, then sits on the edge of the bed. Her knee brushes yours lightly, and it sends a ripple of awareness through you. She’s close—so close you can see the faint freckles across her nose, the tiny scar just above her eyebrow, the way her eyes hold flecks of amber that catch the light.

“I just, ” She starts, then falters, her gaze dropping for a moment. When she looks back up, it lingers on your lips, just briefly, just enough to make your breath catch.

"Paige?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to kiss me?"

Her eyes widen slightly, and her breath hitches. “I was thinking about it.”

You lean forward just a fraction, feeling your pulse quicken. “Just thinking?”

“Well,” her voice drops to a near whisper, “I’m also thinking about how complicated this could get.”

Your heart pounds. “What else?”

“I’m thinking,” she leans in the tiniest bit closer, her lips nearly brushing yours, “about how none of that feels as important as this does right now.”

The tension between you is thick enough to drown in, and the world outside fades until it’s just her—the warmth of her body so close to yours, the hitch in her breathing, the slight tremble of her hand as she lets it rest near yours.

“So?” you murmur, your voice barely audible.

“So,” she says, her lips curving faintly, “I’m thinking I really want to kiss you.”

You reach out, your fingers brushing her wrist, and feel the quick, fluttering rhythm of her pulse. “Then why haven’t you?”

Her smile turns soft, almost nervous. “Because once I do, everything changes.”

“Maybe,” you whisper, leaning just close enough to feel her breath, “it already has.”

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s her, maybe it’s you, or maybe it’s both of you at once. But suddenly her lips are on yours, and the rest of the world ceases to exist.

The kiss is tentative at first, gentle and searching, like you’re both testing the waters of something impossibly fragile. Then her hand comes up to cup your face, her thumb brushing your cheek, and you melt into the touch, letting the moment deepen.

She sighs softly against your lips, a sound so intimate it makes your chest ache. Your hands slide into her hair, tangling in the soft strands, and she responds by kissing you harder, deeper.

It’s everything you didn’t know you needed. She tastes like hope and possibility and a thousand stolen glances finally realized. Your heartbeat feels like it’s trying to escape your chest, your breath comes faster, and all you can think is more, more, more.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both breathing hard. Her forehead rests against yours, her eyes still closed, and you feel the faintest smile ghost across her lips.

“Wow,” she whispers, her voice still shaky.

"Yeah," you manage, equally breathless.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, and the way she looks at you—soft, hopeful, like you’re something worth believing in—makes your heart stumble all over again.

“You okay?” she asks, her fingers brushing lightly against your cheek.

You laugh quietly, still trying to catch your breath. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

“Yeah?” Her smile widens, playful now. “How long is a while?”

You hesitate, then grin sheepishly. “Remember that coffee story you posted?”

She groans, burying her face against your shoulder. “That long?”

“Maybe longer.”

You feel her smile against your skin, and she lifts her head to look at you again, her eyes sparkling. “So what you’re saying is I affect your perfect shot percentage?”

“Shut up.”

She laughs, and it’s warm and familiar, and before you can stop yourself, you’re kissing her again.

When you finally pull back, she’s grinning, looking thoroughly disheveled in the best way.

“Still think you affect my game?” you tease, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“I don’t know,” she murmurs, her fingers trailing lightly against the collar of her sweatshirt you’re wearing. “Guess we’ll find out in March."

And there it is—the future neither of you wants to think about right now. But before you can spiral, she's kissing you again, soft and sure, like a promise.

"But that's not today," she whispers against your lips.

"No," you agree, pulling her closer. "It's not."

Outside, the campus is waking up. Soon you'll have to deal with reality—practice, teammates, the complicated dance of being rivals and whatever this is becoming. But right now, in the soft morning light of her room, with her lips on yours and her hands in your hair, there's only this:

The way she sighs your name.

The flutter of her pulse under your fingertips.

The feeling that maybe, just maybe, some things are worth the risk.

You kiss her again, and again, each one feeling like a new discovery. Like solving an equation you didn't know needed solving. Like hitting a shot you were always meant to make.

Perfect.

You meant to head back to your hotel after breakfast. Really. But then Paige asked if you wanted to see UConn's practice facility ("Just to check out the competition"), and suddenly you're walking into the most storied gym in women's basketball, her fingers brushing yours every few steps.

The team's already warming up when you enter. The balls stop bouncing one by one as players notice you. Even in practice gear—borrowed from Paige, which is definitely not making you feel things—you command attention.

"Well," a familiar voice echoes through the gym. "Look who decided to grace us with her presence."

Geno Auriemma. The legend himself.

"Coach," you nod respectfully.

He looks you up and down, that famous half-smile playing at his lips. "You know, when we tried to recruit you, I told your parents you'd look good in UConn blue."

"Still trying to recruit me, Coach?"

"Can you blame me?" He gestures to the banners overhead. “Though, word is you're making quite a legacy at Harvard."

You catch Paige trying not to smile. "Just trying to keep up with your squad, sir."

"Show us," he says suddenly. "What all the fuss is about."

The gym goes silent. Even the assistants stop what they're doing.

"Coach," Paige starts, but you're already grabbing a ball.

"Any particular spot?" you ask innocently.

Geno's eyes glint. "Surprise me."

You bounce the ball once, twice. The rhythm settles into your bones like it always does. The physics of it all unfolds in your mind—force vectors, arc trajectories, air resistance.

Then you close your eyes.

The gasps echo through the gym before the ball even hits the net. Perfect swish from half-court.

"Again," Geno says quietly.

You hit from the corner. From the logo. Behind the backboard. Each shot more impossible than the last, each one pure silk. The team's not even pretending to practice anymore, just watching in awe.

"One more," Geno calls out. “Make it interesting.” He calls you by your last name.

You lock eyes with Paige, and something passes between you. A challenge. A promise.

"Anyone want to play defense?" you ask.

The gym erupts. Five players step up immediately—all starters except Paige, who's watching you with something that makes your skin buzz.

"Five on one?" Geno raises an eyebrow. "Bold."

You just smile.

What happens next will probably end up on Twitter within the hour. You move like water through their defense, each dribble calculated, each step precise. A behind-the-back that sends Caroline spinning. A crossover that nearly breaks Tessa's ankles. By the time you rise up for the shot, the defense is scattered like bowling pins.

Nothing but net.

The gym explodes. Players are screaming, filming, shaking their heads in disbelief. But you only register Paige's expression—proud and hungry all at once.

"Happy?" you ask Geno.

He's trying not to look impressed. Failing. "You sure I can't convince you to transfer?"

"Sorry, Coach. My heart's already spoken for." Your eyes flick to Paige for a fraction of a second. "Harvard's home."

The practice continues, and somehow you get roped into running drills with them. It's surreal—playing alongside these girls instead of against them. Especially Paige. The way you move together on court, like you can read each other's minds, has even Geno shaking his head.

"God really did create a perfect basketball player," you hear him mutter after you and Paige execute a no-look give-and-go that ends in a reverse layup.

After practice, you're all sprawled on the court, exhausted but buzzing. Your head's in Paige's lap—friendly enough to seem casual, intimate enough to make your heart race. The team's arguing about dinner plans when your phone buzzes.

"Rocket," Sierra's text reads, "stop breaking ankles at UConn and call me. I need details 👀"

Paige reads it over your shoulder and laughs. Her fingers are playing absently with your hair, and you wonder if everyone can hear your heart pounding.

"You know," Caroline says thoughtfully, "you two are either gonna be the greatest rivalry in college basketball."

"Or?" Paige asks, her hand stilling in your hair.

Caroline grins. "Or something else entirely."

Later that night, back in Paige's room, the energy shifts. You're both aware that tomorrow you head back to Harvard. Back to being rivals instead of whatever this is.

"Stay," she whispers against your lips, and this time you don't even pretend to argue about sleeping arrangements.

Her bed is small, forcing you to tangle together, every point of contact electric. You talk in whispers even though there's no one to hear—about basketball, about dreams, about the way this thing between you feels both impossible and inevitable.

"What are we doing?" she asks softly, tracing patterns on your skin.

"Getting into trouble," you murmur back, but you're smiling.

She kisses you then, slow and deep, like she's trying to memorize the feel of it. Like she knows these moments are stolen, precious because they're forbidden.

"Worth it," she breathes against your mouth.

Her lips linger on yours, swollen and glistening from the fervent exchange, but it’s her hands that steal your breath entirely. One traces the curve of your hip, a teasing promise of what’s to come, while the other dips lower, testing the heat between your thighs.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” she murmurs, her voice low, husky, vibrating against your collarbone as she kisses her way down, each touch deliberate, reverent.

You can’t answer, not in words. The way your body arches into her touch, the hitch in your breath, the soft sound that escapes your lips—those are your answers, undeniable and raw.

“Good,” she breathes, her fingers curling around the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down slowly, almost torturously. The air feels cold against your bare skin, but then she’s there, her breath warm, her hands firm and sure as they spread your thighs wider.

The first press of her tongue is electric, like lightning racing up your spine. She moves with precision, her fingers parting you as her tongue explores every sensitive inch, coaxing moans from you that you didn’t know you could make. She hums in satisfaction, the vibrations adding another layer of pleasure that makes your hips buck against her.

“Stay still,” she murmurs, though the command is half-lost in the mess of you. Her hands grip your thighs, holding you in place as she dives deeper, her tongue swirling, teasing, her lips closing around your most sensitive spot to suck gently before flicking it again. The rhythm she sets is maddening, relentless, a perfect balance of pressure and pace.

Your hands find her hair, tangling in the golden waves as you try to ground yourself against the rising tide of sensation. She takes it as encouragement, slipping a finger inside you, then another, curling them just so, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur. She moans against you, the sound guttural and raw, and it’s too much, too good.

“Paige,” you gasp, her name a prayer, a plea, as you shatter beneath her, your body trembling, every nerve alight. She doesn’t stop, drawing out every last wave of your release until you’re panting, boneless, completely undone.

Her mouth lingers, slow and insistent, drinking in every gasp and tremor she pulls from you. Paige is relentless, her tongue working you with precision, her fingers curling just right inside you as if she’s memorized every little sound you make, every shift of your hips. When she finally eases up, her lips leaving a final, teasing kiss against your trembling heat, she doesn’t pull away completely. Instead, she slides up your body, her fingers tracing a path up your thighs, over your stomach, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

She’s grinning, a little smug, her lips glistening, her eyes dark and wild. “You know,” she murmurs, her voice low and rasping, “you’re so goddamn sexy when you play. The way you move… the way you take control.”

Her words are a spark, reigniting the fire already coursing through you. You pull her down, kissing her fiercely, tasting yourself on her tongue, a mix of sweetness and salt and Paige. It’s intoxicating, like she’s everywhere, filling every corner of your senses.

“I could say the same about you,” you breathe between kisses, your hands sliding under her shirt, finding the warmth of her skin. “The way you take the court, like it’s yours… fuck, Paige.”

Her laugh is low, breathy, against your lips. “Show me, then. Show me how much you like it.”

You flip her gently, taking her by surprise as she falls back against the sheets, her golden hair fanned out like a halo. She’s stunning, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted as she gazes up at you with a hunger that mirrors your own. You kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the way she melts under you, the way her body arches to meet yours, desperate for contact.

Your lips leave hers to trail down her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her collarbone. Each kiss draws a shiver from her, her hands gripping your back, nails digging into your skin as you take your time exploring her. You pull her shirt up and over her head, baring her to the soft light spilling through the window.

“God,” you murmur, your voice thick, your hands tracing the curve of her waist, the softness of her stomach, the strength in her arms. “You’re perfect.”

She groans softly, pulling you down to her, her legs tangling with yours. “Stop looking at me like that and do something about it.”

You grin, pressing a kiss just below her ear, then lower, your lips and tongue finding every sensitive spot as you work your way down. Her body responds to you like music, every sigh and gasp and moan drawing you further, making you crave more. When your lips finally find her, the sound she makes—half gasp, half cry—is enough to send a fresh wave of heat through you.

“Shit,” she whispers, her hips bucking against you as your tongue moves, deliberate and slow. Her hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, and you can feel the way her body shakes under your touch, her breath coming faster, her voice breaking as she pleads for more.

You give it to her, taking your time, savoring the way she falls apart for you, how her voice grows louder, her grip tighter, until she finally comes undone, her body trembling, her cries echoing in your ears like a song.

You kiss your way back up her body, slow and deliberate, her skin warm and flushed beneath your lips. When you reach her mouth, she pulls you into a kiss so deep it feels like she’s trying to claim you, her hands roaming over you, pulling you closer, needing you like air.

“I’m not done with you,” she murmurs, her voice rough but soft, her hands slipping between your thighs, finding you already aching for her again.

“Paige," you whisper, but she silences you with a kiss, her touch unrelenting as she presses you back into the sheets.

Her body moves against yours, perfectly in sync, her touch everywhere at once—gentle and firm, teasing and demanding. The world narrows to just her, the sound of her voice, the feel of her skin, the way her body feels pressed against yours as she takes you apart piece by piece, only to put you back together again with her hands, her lips, her love.

And when you both finally collapse, spent and tangled together, her head resting on your chest, the room feels impossibly still, the air thick with everything unsaid but understood. You stroke her hair absently, your breathing slowing, your heart still racing in tandem with hers.

“Still think I’m sexy when I play?” she teases softly, her voice muffled against your skin.

You laugh, pulling her closer. “I think you’re sexy all the time.”

Her lips curve against your chest in a satisfied smile. “Good. Because I’m never letting you forget it.”

Her breath evens out against your shoulder, her body soft and pliant as she molds herself to your side. The room is quiet now, save for the occasional rustle of the sheets and the distant hum of the campus stirring to life outside. You stroke her hair absentmindedly, the golden strands slipping like silk through your fingers, and she hums softly, her hand draped across your stomach, anchoring you to the moment.

But as the heat of the night begins to fade, something else creeps in—a faint, nagging ache in your chest that you can’t quite ignore. You close your eyes, trying to push it away, to focus on the rise and fall of her breath, the warmth of her skin against yours. But it’s there, stubborn and persistent: the thought of March, of bright lights and roaring crowds, of her on the other side of the court, no longer your lover but your rival.

She stirs, tilting her head up to look at you, her eyes soft and half-lidded, her lips swollen from your kisses. “What’s on your mind?” she murmurs, her voice thick with exhaustion and something sweeter.

You hesitate, your fingers stilling in her hair. “Just thinking.”

“About?” she prompts, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your stomach.

“March,” you admit finally, your voice barely above a whisper. The word feels heavy in the quiet, like a pebble dropped into still water.

Her gaze sharpens slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she shifts closer, pressing a kiss to your chest, just above your heart. “It’s just a game,” she says softly, but there’s something in her tone that tells you she knows it’s more than that.

You shake your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Not to me. Not to you, either.”

She doesn’t deny it, her silence speaking louder than words. For a moment, you’re both quiet, the weight of what’s coming settling between you. It’s a strange, bittersweet ache—the knowledge that this, whatever it is, will be tested, challenged by the world beyond this room.

But then she lifts her head, her eyes locking with yours, and there’s something fierce in her gaze, something unshakable. “When we’re out there, I’ll play to win. You know that, right?”

“Of course,” you reply, your voice steady, even as your chest tightens. “And I’ll do the same.”

Her lips curve into a small, knowing smile, and she leans up to kiss you, slow and lingering, like she’s trying to hold onto this moment as tightly as you are. “Good,” she whispers against your lips. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

When she settles back down, her head resting on your chest once more, you let yourself relax, let the tension bleed away, if only for a little while. There’s still time before March, before the lights and the pressure and the impossible stakes. For now, there’s only her, her hand in yours, her body warm and safe against your own.

And as sleep begins to pull you under, you can’t help but think that whatever happens—whatever the game brings, whatever the world throws at you—it’ll be worth it. Because for all the risks, all the complications, all the things that might break you, there’s one thing you know for sure: she’s worth it. She always will be.

Sunday morning comes too fast, the sunlight pooling around you, unforgiving in its insistence that the world outside Paige’s room still exists. You stir under the blanket, her warmth pressed against your side, her hand resting on your stomach. You don’t want to move; if you’re honest, you don’t want the day to come at all.

She sighs softly in her sleep, her breath feathering against your shoulder, and it hits you again—how impossibly beautiful she looks like this, messy and undone, tangled in sheets that still carry the weight of last night. You turn your head slightly, pressing a kiss to her forehead, the act so natural it startles you.

Her eyes flutter open, hazy with sleep, but the corner of her mouth curves when she sees you. “Morning,” she murmurs, her voice rough and slow, like gravel wrapped in velvet.

“Morning,” you reply, your hand brushing the wild strands of hair from her face.

Neither of you moves, the silence stretching out, too fragile to break. But it’s there—the inevitable pull of the day, dragging you closer to the goodbye you’re not ready to say. You try to ignore it, try to focus on the way her fingers trace lazy circles on your skin, the way her body fits so perfectly against yours.

“Do you have to go?” she asks finally, her voice soft, but there’s a weight behind it, a quiet desperation that pulls at your chest.

You hesitate, because the truth feels too heavy to say out loud. “Jasmine’s waiting for me.”

She doesn’t argue, just presses her face into your neck, her breath warm against your skin. “Five more minutes.”

You laugh softly, your arms tightening around her. “We said that an hour ago.”

“And yet, here we are,” she teases, but her smile falters as she pulls back to look at you. “Stay.”

Her voice is a whisper, but it carries the force of a command, and for a moment, you’re tempted to throw everything to the wind. Forget Harvard, forget practice, forget the looming storm of March Madness. But reality claws at the edges of the moment, a reminder you can’t ignore.

“I can’t,” you say quietly, and it feels like the words cut both of you.

Her fingers tighten in the fabric of your (her) hoodie, and for a second, you think she’s going to argue, but instead, she leans up, her lips brushing yours in a kiss so soft it feels like it might shatter. It lingers, slow and tender, like she’s trying to memorize the feel of you, trying to hold onto something she knows she can’t keep.

When you finally pull away, her eyes are bright, a mix of emotions you can’t untangle. “Promise me something,” she says, her voice trembling slightly.

“Anything.”

“Don’t let this scare you,�� she whispers. “Not what people think, not what’s coming. Don’t let it ruin this.”

You swallow hard, the weight of her words settling in your chest. “I won’t,” you say, and you mean it, even if you don’t know how.

She nods, her smile small but real, and when you kiss her one last time, it feels like a promise.

Later, as you stand in the doorway, your bag slung over your shoulder, the goodbye feels heavier than you expected. Paige leans against the doorframe, her hair a mess, her lips still pink from your kisses, and it takes everything in you not to turn back.

“Text me when you get home,” she says, her attempt at casual missing by miles.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice tight. “I will.”

You make it three steps before you stop, turning back. She’s still there, still watching, and you close the distance in two strides, your lips meeting hers in one last, desperate kiss. When you pull away, her hand lingers on your arm, and for a moment, you’re certain you’ll never want anything as much as you want her.

“Bye,” you whisper, and it feels like the hardest word you’ve ever said.

“Bye, Rocket,” she replies, her smile bittersweet.

You leave before you can change your mind, the burning in your chest growing stronger with every step. The train ride back to Harvard is a blur, your mind replaying every moment, every touch, every stolen glance. By the time you walk into your apartment, Sierra is already waiting, her face lighting up with a mix of excitement and disbelief when she sees you.

But you barely hear her questions, barely register Jasmine showing you the Twitter feeds and SportsCenter highlights. All you can think about is Paige—her laugh, her touch, the way she said your name like it was something sacred.

And as you lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, you can’t shake the thought that March is coming too fast. The court will be the same, the stakes higher than ever, but everything feels different now. Because you know, deep down, that every pass, every drive, every shot will carry the weight of her eyes on you, her voice in your head, her heart in your hands.

And you can’t decide if that makes you stronger—or breaks you completely.

Monday’s practice doesn’t do you any favors. You walk in wearing a neutral hoodie—because you’re not that reckless—but Coach Matthews still gives you a pointed once-over.

“Nice sweatshirt,” she says, her tone dry as Arizona in July.

You open your mouth to deny, deflect, anything—but Sierra beats you to it. “She’s just branching out,” she quips, smirking. “UConn blue really brings out her eyes.”

You’re going to kill her. Slowly. Later. For now, you bury yourself in drills, sinking three after three like muscle memory is your only salvation. Except it’s not, because every damn movement feels like Paige. The way she drives to the basket. The way her passes always find the perfect angle. The way her eyes tracked you during that stupid, unforgettable practice.

The team, bless their nosy little hearts, doesn’t let up either. “Is it true you took on UConn’s starting five?” one asks.

“Did Geno actually try to steal you? Again?”

“Are you and Paige…?”

You hit another three, harder than necessary, and stalk to the water cooler. Sierra sidles up, because of course she does.

“Hey,” she says, not unkindly. “You good?”

“Define good,” you reply, sarcasm sharp enough to cut.

Sierra, annoyingly perceptive, just shrugs. “The team’s just curious. You’re their golden girl, and now you’re maybe-sorta-kinda in love with your biggest rival. It’s a lot.”

“I’m not—” you start, but your phone lights up, and your face does the thing again. The soft, stupid, smiley thing.

“Sure,” Sierra says, smirking. “Keep telling yourself that.”

The texts come later that night. Paige, as usual, doesn’t mince words.

so, how much trouble are we in?

You smirk at your phone, typing back.

none, if you keep your team’s mouths shut.

i can handle them. Can you handle yours?

You glance at Sierra’s empty room, Jasmine’s closed door.

yeah. for now.

Three dots. Then:

good. because i’m not letting this go.

The words make your chest ache, in a good way. In a dangerous way. But for now, it’s just a secret. A sweatshirt in your bag, a name on your screen, a quiet understanding that some things are better kept out of the spotlight.

And if the storm comes anyway? You’ll handle it when it does. Together.

The train hums beneath you, steady and rhythmic, a backdrop to the swirling haze of your thoughts. The sweatshirt Paige gave you is folded neatly on your lap, its scent still faintly there—lavender, sharp cedar, and something else that you can’t quite name but know you’d recognize in a heartbeat.

You should be sleeping. Or staring out the window at the blurred winter landscape, pretending to be reflective and moody, but instead, you’re staring at your phone like a lovesick teenager. Which, technically, you are.

Her last text sits at the top of the screen, smug in its simplicity.

miss you already. text me when you get home.

You’ve read it so many times, the words have started to blur. Miss you already. Like you’re something worth missing. Like the weekend hadn’t just been everything.

The old lady across the aisle glances at you, her eyebrows furrowing like she can smell the heart eyes from her seat. You flip your phone facedown and pretend to be fascinated by the guy three rows ahead eating a tuna sandwich like it’s his last meal. Anything to stop replaying the way Paige had kissed you goodbye—slow, deep, like she was trying to memorize it.

But then the phone buzzes again, and you’re quick, too quick, fumbling it upright.

also, if you don’t tell Sierra where you were this weekend, i will. and I’ll make it sound worse than it was. or better. depends on the mood i’m in.

You snort, the sound startling the old lady. Her scowl deepens. You type back without thinking:

what, you’re not gonna give me a chance to come up with a good lie?

The reply is instant.

you’re terrible at lying, rocket. stick to shooting.

It’s not fair, how easily she does this—makes you grin like an idiot in the middle of a public space. The train announces your stop, the crackling intercom pulling you out of whatever spell Paige had you under, and you tuck your phone away, the sweatshirt pressed tightly under your arm.

Sierra greets you with a smirk and a raised eyebrow when you walk into the apartment. “You look disgustingly happy.”

“I am happy,” you reply, trying to fight the smile creeping up your face.

“That’s what worries me.” She leans against the counter, studying you. “How was your little rivalry trip?”

“Fine,” you say, brushing past her and heading for your room.

She laughs. “Fine. Sure. Whatever you say, Rocket.”

Inside your room, you toss your bag onto the bed and pull out your phone. Paige’s name stares back at you from the screen, your last conversation still open. You hesitate, wondering if texting too soon makes you seem clingy, then roll your eyes at yourself and type:

made it back. already miss that sweaty gym smell.

Her reply comes almost instantly.

liar. you loved it. miss you more.

You can’t help the stupid grin that spreads across your face, the warmth it brings despite the cold draft creeping through your window. This feels easy. Natural. Like she’s right there with you instead of miles away in Storrs.

You slide onto your bed, fingers poised to type something clever back, but instead, you pause. The sweatshirt is still in your lap, soft and worn, and you tug it over your head without thinking. It’s oversized, hanging loose on your frame, but it feels good. It feels like her.

Your phone buzzes again, and you glance at the screen.

don’t sleep in my hoodie. you’ll ruin it.

You snort, typing back:

already wearing it.

Her reply is almost instant:

figures. good night, rocket. dream of me.

always.

You don’t realize you’ve fallen asleep until your alarm wakes you the next morning, the phone still clutched in your hand and Paige’s name still glowing on the screen.

For the first week, it’s effortless. Every day feels like an extension of that weekend—texts flying back and forth, calls that stretch into the early hours of the morning, your voices sleepy but refusing to let go. She sends you pictures of her sneakers (“new kicks, who dis”), blurry photos of her teammates making dumb faces in the locker room, even a video of her crossing up some poor freshman in practice.

You match her energy, sending her memes, complaining about your coursework, telling her about that one teammate who still can’t figure out a basic pick-and-roll.

It’s easy. Comfortable. Like you’ve been doing this forever.

But then, somewhere in the second week, the rhythm falters.

It’s a Thursday afternoon when you notice it. You’re sitting in the library, a half-empty coffee cup on the desk beside you, when you send her a text.

kill it at practice today?

It takes her three hours to reply.

was okay. tired. you?

You frown at the screen, rereading her words. The response is fine. Normal. But there’s something about it—something flat, like the energy isn’t there.

good. the usual drills. i think Coach is trying to kill us.

This time, the reply comes quicker.

lol. sounds about right.

You stare at the message, waiting for more. A joke, a question, anything. But nothing else comes.

By the end of the week, her texts are starting to feel uneven. Some days, she’s herself again—sending you goofy pictures, teasing you about your shooting form, calling you late at night just to hear your voice. But other days, she’s distant. Replies come slower, shorter, like she’s preoccupied with something she won’t tell you.

You don’t want to push. You know how grueling the season can be, how exhausting the constant practices and travel schedules are. But the unease lingers, settling in your chest like a stone.

One night, you call her. It’s late, almost midnight, and you’ve been staring at the ceiling for an hour, your thoughts too loud to ignore.

The phone rings once. Twice. Three times.

Her voicemail picks up.

You hang up without leaving a message, tossing your phone onto the nightstand with more force than necessary.

The next morning, you wake up to a text from her:

sorry, fell asleep. long day. Miss you, rocket.

The words feel like a balm, soothing the ache from the night before. You tell yourself not to overthink it, to let it go.

But then it happens again.

A missed call. A delayed reply. Another vague excuse.

You start keeping track without meaning to. Three unanswered texts this week. Two missed calls. A growing list of reasons you tell yourself not to be upset:

She’s busy.

She’s tired.

It’s nothing.

By the fourth week, you’ve stopped texting her first. Not because you’re angry, but because you’re tired. Tired of the one-word replies, the half-hearted conversations, the way she always seems just out of reach.

She doesn’t notice. Or maybe she does, and she just doesn’t care.

Either way, the silence grows.

Then, the video hits Twitter on a Tuesday morning.

You’re in Advanced Orbital Mechanics, half-listening as Professor Dillard drones on about transfer orbits and delta-v calculations. His voice is a flat monotone, the kind that barely registers after twenty minutes, but you keep your pen moving, scribbling half-legible equations in your notebook. The classroom is dimly lit, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, and the faint smell of coffee and dry-erase markers clings to the air.

Your phone buzzes once, a sharp vibration against the desk. Then twice. Then again, the rhythm insistent. A few heads turn toward you, their eyes flicking briefly to the offending noise before returning to their own notes. You glance down at the screen, expecting to see the usual: Sierra sending a TikTok link she swears will “change your life,” or Jasmine reminding everyone about the next team meeting.

Instead, the notifications pile up faster than you can track.

Sierra: "don’t check twitter."

Jasmine: "rocket baby i’m so sorry."

Your stomach tightens, unease clawing at your chest. The buzzes don’t stop. One after another, messages flood in—texts from teammates, old friends, people you haven’t spoken to in years. The words blur together, overlapping until they’re nothing but noise.

The team group chat is a wildfire.

"Holy shit"

"Is that really...?"

"When was this?"

"Someone needs to check on Rocket."

You flip your phone over, trying to focus on Dillard’s lecture, but the vibration rattles against the desk, relentless. Finally, you give in, unlocking the screen with shaking fingers.

Twitter opens slowly, the loading circle spinning like it’s mocking you. The first thing you see is the video—top of your feed, trending already.

You don’t want to press play.

But you do.

The footage is shaky, the kind of video that screams “someone was not supposed to be recording this.” The lighting is dim, music pulsing faintly in the background, and it only takes a second for your stomach to drop. You know this place. You know that party. A UConn team event.

You see Paige and Azzi in a dark corner, laughing together. It’s innocent at first—until it isn’t. Azzi’s hand finds Paige’s waist. Paige leans in, her fingers tangling in Azzi’s hair. The way they look at each other—intimate, familiar. Like you’re not even a memory.

And then they’re kissing.

Not a first kiss. Not a hesitant, drunken mistake. This kiss is something else entirely—familiar, practiced.

The caption is almost worse than the video.

"The Prince has found her Princess? 👀 @azzi_35 @paigebueckers"

The phone slips from your hands and lands on the desk with a muted thud. The air feels like it’s been sucked out of the room. The noise draws a glance from the girl sitting next to you, but you don’t meet her eyes. You can’t.

You’re The Prophecy. You’re unshakable. But right now, you’re just a girl who loved someone who made it look so easy to love someone else.

The lecture continues in the background, but it might as well be static. Your mind races, replaying the video in an endless loop, each frame sharper than the last. The way Paige had smiled. The way Azzi had leaned in. The way Paige hadn’t stopped her.

The phone buzzes again.

Sierra: “Where are you? Are you okay?”

Jasmine: “Talk to us, Rocket. Please.”

You don’t reply. You can’t.

Instead, you pack your things in a blur, shoving your notebook and pens into your bag with trembling hands. The professor’s voice follows you to the door, droning on about escape velocity, but you’re already gone.

You don’t cry. The Prophecy doesn’t cry.

Instead, you go to the only place that’s ever made sense: the gym.

The air outside is cold, sharp, biting against your skin as you make your way across campus. You barely notice it. Everything feels muffled, like you’re moving through a fog, the world blurred at the edges. The weight in your chest anchors you, pulling you forward.

The door slams behind you, the echo bouncing off the walls and rattling through the empty bleachers. You don’t bother with the lights. Don’t need them. You’ve made these shots in your sleep.

The air is stale, a mix of old sweat and the faint bite of disinfectant. It settles in your lungs, heavy but familiar. The ball rack sits in its usual spot, the leather scuffed and worn, the only constant thing in a world that’s suddenly upside down.

You grab the first ball you touch, its surface cool and rough under your fingertips. You spin it once, testing the weight. It feels right. Solid.

Your sneakers squeak against the floor as you step to the free-throw line. You take a breath, chest tight, and focus on the rim—a faint outline in the shadows.

Release. Swish.

The sound cuts through the dark, clean and sharp. You grab another ball, your movements quick, automatic. No time to think. Thinking is dangerous.

This time, you picture Paige. Her smile, the way she looked at Azzi in the video—like you weren’t even a memory.

Release. Swish.

Another ball. Her hand in Azzi’s hair. The way they leaned into each other like it was easy. Like it was nothing.

Another ball. Paige laughing, Azzi’s arm around her waist.

Release. Swish.

The way Paige looked at her, like she was her world. Release. Swish.

You move faster, grabbing ball after ball from the rack, launching them with more force each time. Each shot lands clean, cutting through the dark air with sharp precision. The physics is still there, but now it’s powered by something darker. Something raw and jagged.

Release. Swish.

Your chest heaves, breath shallow, heart pounding against your ribs. You’re not even looking at the rim anymore, just firing into the darkness. Each shot is a missile, and the target is the knot of anger and heartbreak lodged deep inside you.

The rhythm becomes hypnotic: swish, bounce, swish, bounce.

And then it happens.

A memory hits you mid-shot: Paige sitting on the bleachers, chin in her hand, watching you practice. The way she smiled that first time she said, "God, you’re perfect."

Your fingers slip, the ball leaving your hands wrong. You know it immediately. The rotation’s off, the arc’s too flat. For the first time in 1,147 shots, The Prophecy misses.

The clang of the rim is deafening in the stillness.

You freeze. The ball rolls to a stop somewhere in the shadows.

Then something inside you cracks wide open.

The scream tears out of you before you can stop it—raw, guttural, primal. It echoes through the gym, bouncing back at you like the sound of your own heartbreak mocking you.

The rack of balls goes flying as you shove it over, the sound of them scattering across the court like stars. You’re on your knees before you realize it, fists pounding against the hardwood, your throat raw, your vision blurring with something you promised yourself you wouldn’t feel.

"Rocket!"

The voice barely registers. Then hands are on your shoulders, pulling you back. You twist, trying to break free, but then you hear it again.

"I’ve got you," Sierra whispers. Her arms wrap around you, holding you steady as you shatter into pieces.

Jasmine is there too, her hands stroking your hair, her voice soft and soothing. “We’re here,” she murmurs. “We’ve got you.”

"She—" your voice cracks, breaking apart like glass. "They—"

"We know," Jasmine murmurs, pulling you closer. "We know, baby. It’s okay."

"I missed," you choke out, the words hollow and broken. "I never miss."

Sierra pulls back just enough to cup your face, forcing you to meet her eyes. "You’re allowed to miss," she says firmly. "You’re allowed to break. You’re allowed to be human."

"But The Prophecy—"

"Fuck The Prophecy," Jasmine says fiercely, her voice steady as a rock. "Right now, you’re just our girl, and you’re hurting, and that’s okay."

The words hit you like a lifeline, and finally, you let yourself collapse into them. You let the tears come, let them see the raw, vulnerable part of you that’s been hidden for so long. They hold you there on the court where you’ve been perfect, where you’ve made history, where you just missed for the first time because someone you loved broke your heart.

Later, they’ll help you to your feet. They’ll walk you home. They’ll make sure you eat, sleep, and breathe, even when it feels impossible.

Later, Paige will blow up your phone:

“please let me explain."

“it’s not what you think."

“i never meant to hurt you."

Later, you’ll pick yourself up and turn this pain into something sharper, something unbreakable.

But right now, in the dark gym, in the arms of your best friends, you let yourself break. You let yourself be human. You let yourself feel everything you’ve been trying to calculate away.

Because some things are perfect until they break.

And some things are stronger after breaking.

Proceed to the next part.

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kyeomofhearts · 13 days ago

Text

Need Somebody | J.WW

+ summary: a heart-to-heart conversation with your best friend leads to an unexpected confession…

+ pair: wonwoo x gn!reader

+ word count: 2.7k

+ content: hurt/comfort, it was never platonic lol, mutual pining, angst, fluff. (I really tried keeping the reader gender-neutral but I’m not 100% sure it is so please lmk if I need to make any changes!)

[borders created by @enchanthings <3]

“So when do you plan on settling down?” Your mother had asked you over dinner. God, you hated the holidays.

Never in your life have you ever dated anyone.

Not that you needed to.

It's not like you haven't had anyone take interest in you either, there would be some people here and there who would pursue you for a bit. You were just simply not interested in them.

Of course, there would be times when you would feel the loneliness creep in even more than usual. But you usually reasoned to yourself that the right person would come with time.

Except tonight happened to be one of those nights.

You see, your family had just left your place a few hours ago. With the holidays coming and going, your family had begun to visit you more often.

Now you obviously loved your family, but man, did they get on your nerves.

Being the youngest amongst your siblings was becoming more difficult as the years passed by. Seeing them get married one by one definitely didn’t help with your case either.

Your mom started to fear for your so-called ‘future’. Which irritated you since you had everything you needed for the most part, that being a well-paying job and a nice place.

Which is exactly what happened today. Your parents (alongside your siblings) started asking you non-stop questions over your love life.

“Mom please don’t,” you tried to keep your tone respectful but it was getting difficult when you weren’t seeing an end to these invasive questions.

“What? All of your other siblings have gotten married… don’t you think that’s it’s time you do too?” Her tone was bordering a slight feeling of concern and stress.

You stayed quiet for a beat, trying to give her a response that would help get her off your back until the next time she saw you.

“We’ve talked about this, I’m not in a rush and surely it will-“ before you could finish your sentence your mom was already finishing it for you.

“-happen with time I know. But don’t you think you are being too picky at this point? Prince Charming doesn’t exist, so stop waiting for him.”

There it was.

Just because you didn’t date around didn’t mean that you were picky.

You just didn’t like wasting your time with the wrong people, that's all it was.

But before you could counter, one of your siblings quickly changed the subject before things eventually escalated into something worse.

And just like that, the rest of your evening had been soured by that single conversation with your mother.

Even hours after your family had left, you still felt bothered by your mother’s disapproving comments.

…

Needless to say, you called the only person who would be awake at one in the morning.

Wonwoo.

You and Wonwoo have been close friends for a few years, having first met in your senior year of college.

At first he was just an acquaintance, someone you thought you would see once in a while. But he somehow happened to be everywhere you were.

You don’t really remember how the two of you actually became friends, it could have been through a mutual friend or class that you shared. But ever since then, the two of you have been inseparable.

You might have had the tiniest crush on him too but you don’t really like thinking about that. You like to think you grew past that stage.

“yn? Is everything okay?” His voice was slightly groggy… shit you might have woken him up.

“Fuck I’m sorry, were you asleep? I’ll leave you-“

What was it with people cutting you off mid-sentence?

“-No I wasn’t. I actually just woke up from my nap, what’s up?”

Wonwoo and his naps. At this point they should not be called naps considering how long he sleeps for.

“Oh you know… just had the best talk with my family.”

You could hear him audibly smile. Wonwoo knew that you didn’t always have the best times with your family, having heard your countless rants throughout the years.

“What did they say this time?” He asked with faux enthusiasm.

“More like what did my mom say. She just kept asking me when I plan on getting married and that I should stop being picky.” As much as you tried to act nonchalant about it, you were really upset by the way things had turned out.

Wonwoo quickly took notice in your slightly wavering voice. It wasn’t normal for you to get emotional over small fights like this. It must have been serious enough for you to remain bothered even after your family had left.

“Hey, don’t take it to heart. I know your mom can say some out of pocket things but try to not let it get to you.” Wonwoo was not the best at comforting people, even he knew that, but he always tried his best to comfort you.

“I know but it’s so…. irritating? Like she told me to stop waiting for Prince Charming as if I’m a little kid.” You wanted to say more but once you started ranting you knew Wonwoo would not be able to keep up.

“I’ve told her so many times that I don’t want to waste my time with the wrong person. I don’t get how she doesn’t understand that!”

Relax. Just take a deep breath and wait for his response.

“Do you want me to come over?”

Even though Wonwoo had been over to your place a numerous amount of times, you still couldn’t help but feel your heartbeat race at the thought of him coming over.

“No, it’s okay I promise. I just wanted to talk to you about it.”

One thing you had learned about Wonwoo was that he was a bit assertive when he was concerned about you.

“Hmmm… doesn’t matter I’m coming over.”

It was always shocking to see him get this bold, seeing how reserved he was with everyone else.

“What was the point in asking then?” You tried sounding annoyed but you knew that your smile was very audible.

“Just wanted to make you feel like you had a choice.” You could hear his cockiness through the phone and somehow, it made your heart do somersaults.

“Don’t you think it’s a little late to be coming over?” Like always, you tried playing it cool, never wanting to show Wonwoo how his words got to you. Maybe he did notice, but if he did, he never said anything about it.

“Never… I’ll see you in ten.”

And just like that he ended the call.

Sometimes you wondered what it would be like when he eventually got a girlfriend. Wonwoo is a good-looking guy, you’re surprised he hasn’t been snatched up yet. Not that you’re worried or anything, but… you know, things will surely change once he finds the one.

Maybe it was you being selfish, but you try to take advantage of the little time you have left before either one of you finds a partner. You know it’s bound to happen at some point, so might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

It actually took Wonwoo a little over thirty minutes to get to your place, which was weird considering you live pretty close to each other.

What was also weird was that he knocked. He never knocked anymore considering that he had a key to your place.

“Hey, what took you so-“ opening the door you were greeted with a slightly disheveled Wonwoo.

Oh.

Wonwoo’s hands were filled with plastic bags. You could see snacks poking out of through some of the bags and… regular groceries? What grocery store is open at this hour?

“Couldn’t come over empty handed.” He stated simply.

Before he stepped another foot you decided to help him with the load. You could imagine how tiring it must have been for him to carry the bags all the way to the third floor of your apartment building.

Seeing him like this felt oddly comforting. It looked like he was just returning home from a long day at work.

“You really didn’t have to Won…” As much as you liked to play it cool, you couldn’t help but swoon over his actions. It was hard to when he was just so caring.

“But I wanted to… everything I do is by my own will you know,” he softly smiled at you while ruffling your hair.

Before you were able to respond, he quickly offered you your favorite bag of chips.

“Sit down, I’ll put everything away.”

And just like that, he quickly went to work. It helped that he knew where everything went so it didn’t take him long before he joined you on the sofa.

“So… rough night?” He asked gently, despite being so bold through the phone. Seeing your defeated face always put a sour taste in his mouth, which made him more careful with his words.

“You could say that.” You tried to laugh it off, but he knew that you were bothered.

“I know dealing with your family is hard but just know that I’m always here for you.” He lightly grabbed your hands over to his, rubbing soft circles over your palms.

This always seemed to do the trick, seeing your tense shoulders drop into a more relaxed position.

“And I’m grateful for that Won… but sometimes it really gets to me you know?” You tried avoiding looking into his eyes because you knew that one look would break the dam building up in your eyes.

“Maybe she is right… maybe I am being too unreasonable. Like as much as I like to think that the right guy will come through one day… what if he doesn’t?”

This seemed to annoy Wonwoo. He never wanted to see you settle for less, because he knew that you deserved better.

With a sharp inhale, he grabbed your chin to make you look directly into his eyes.

“Never say that again. You should never settle for less. You know better than that.” He was obviously annoyed but not at you. He hated when others tried to make you take less than what you truly deserve.

His fingers on your chin stayed, making your skin slightly tingle from his touch.

As great as he was at comforting you, the thoughts of him someday not being able to be there for you started to cloud your mind. It was bound to happen, either you or Wonwoo would find someone and eventually stop hanging out. Wonwoo seemed to notice the shift in your sadness, eyes becoming glossy.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he muttered softly.

“It’s nothing,” you weren’t sure if he actually heard your response since it was barely audible to you.

Wonwoo gave you that look. The one he always used when he wasn’t convinced by your responses. You didn't want to tell him about your fear because it would then expose your feelings for him. And that was one thing you could never risk, your friendship. No matter how strong your feelings would get, you couldn't let him become aware of them.

“Talk to me,” his eyes were pleading. He just wanted you to completely open up to him the way he did with you.

There was no way out of this. Obviously, you weren’t going to tell him the actual reason behind your sadness. You had to give him something to get him off your trail.

“Well, it’s just that sometimes it does feel lonely. And having my mom point out the obvious makes me feel like a lost cause. I’m also not getting any younger, so now I feel like I have to rush into something or else my ‘good’ years would have gone to waste…” While this wasn’t the actual thing that was bothering you tonight, it was at least something believable.

Wonwoo seemed to have bought it, since he stopped giving you those judging eyes. He stayed quiet, most likely trying to find the right thing to say.

He cleared his throat after a beat or so.

“Don’t lie to me. I know there’s something else bothering you, if you don’t want to tell me then just say that.”

How? How did he know you that you were lying?

Maybe this was your chance. Your chance to tell him how you felt about it because if you truly thought about it, there was no future with him either way. Either he rejects you or he finds someone, they both lead to you not being in his life in the future.

You took in deep breath, gathering all of your courage before speaking.

“If I tell you, please don’t judge me-“

He immediately cut you off, “Why would I judge you?”

“Please just let me finish, it’s already hard enough having to tell you.” Again, you avoided his eyes, fearful of seeing any sort of judgment in them.

“Look, I know we’ve been friends for a while now… and I’ve been so happy with that, I really have. It’s just that… one day we won’t have each other.”

As much as you tried not looking at him, your eyes landed on his. They looked solemn. You could already tell that he knew where the conversation was going.

“Eventually, we’ll have our own partners-” your voice was beginning to shake, becoming harder to hide your sadness.

“yn stop.” But before Wonwoo could get another word in, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His hands had snaked their way up to your neck, gently cradling your face. His touch was gentle, as if you were the most fragile thing in the world.

You were stunned, to say the least. Even as he pulled away, you couldn’t find any words to say. It was as if he had taken your breath away.

“I tried taking it slow, I really did, but I can’t continue seeing you like this. I like you yn, I really do. I was too scared of ruining our friendship so I didn't say anything, but I hate to see you think that no one wants you… because I do.”

You didn’t even notice you had started crying, only feeling Wonwoo's thumbs wipe your tears away.

He continued, “I’m not even sure if you feel the same way about me, but I really need you to know that you are not unloveable.”

It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Especially now that you knew that Wonwoo liked you back, you felt elated.

Wonwoo on the other hand… felt terrified. While he didn’t regret confessing his feelings towards you, he was certainly scared. He didn’t even know if you reciprocated those same feelings. It also didn’t help that you were being quiet. The silence that was once comfortable to him was beginning to feel suffocating. But before his thoughts could escalate any further, your voice was able to snap him out of his daze.

“Do you really mean it?” You knew it was stupid to ask, considering Wonwoo was not the type to stay stuff like this without meaning it. But the little voice in your head didn’t buy it one bit, so you needed the reassurance to silence those thoughts.

Without hesitation, Wonwoo answered, “Of course.”

“Okay, well… I do too. Like you, that is…” Your face was beginning to burn up. This was so embarrassing. God, you felt like a teenager again, except this time you actually did get your happy ending.

But like the two idiots you were… you didn’t move a single inch. Were you supposed to hug? High-five? Kiss again? This has never happened to you before, either you rejected the guy or pretended that it never happened. What were you supposed to do?

“So….” Wonwoo’s voice was quiet and awkward.

To be fair, neither of you were expecting to confess to each other tonight. Obviously, now that you both know that you have mutual feelings for each other… the next step would be dating right? Or is that too soon? You have been friends for a while now so it wouldn't be that unreasonable... right?

Wonwoo grabbed a hold of your hand, weaving his fingers with yours. You could see the tips of his ears turn a bright pink before he cleared his throat.

“Do you… want to be my-” Wonwoo was visibly cringing as he said it out loud. It was a no brainer, but he still wanted to ask you, to make it official.

“-Yes. I would be an idiot to say no.”

[ᝰ.ᐟ] hey guys! i know i haven’t been active lately and i’m really sorry about that. school has been so overwhelming for me so i struggled finding the time to write, which brings us to this! i wrote this i think… last year? not too sure but i tried editing it a little but there might be some errors here and there so please excuse that 🥹 also i am still working on part three for Back for More so stay tuned for that!

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