#gonna go curl up in bed. maybe that will fix me

[goose-books]

The Ghost of Christmas Past shows up and you’re like, “Ohhhhh for fuck’s sake,” but you’re in your childhood bedroom so it’s kind of on you. The ghost seems offended. She crosses her arms. She looks like you used to, with the pigtails.

“No way,” you say. “Don’t start.”

“I am the—”

“The Ghost of Christmas Past, I know, I know.” Because she looks like you, and it’s Christmas Eve, so what else. Your parents used to read you the story every year. Even when you were old enough to read on your own, it was better in your dad’s voice.

“You came home for your parents,” the ghost says, solemn. “It’s time to tell them.”

“No, like, ‘when you’re ready’?”

“You are ready,” she says, “or you wouldn’t have come back.”

Which is so stupid, because you weren’t on the moon, you were at college, and it’s only been two months of shots, you don’t even have a mustache. “Fucking leave me alone,” you say, so she does the ghost thing and takes you to a ten-years-ago Christmas. The living room. Your parents. Your fledgling self on the carpet with your stocking, the one you can’t look at anymore because when you were a baby your parents patiently hand-stitched the fucking name.

“Maybe they’ll make you a new one,” says the ghost.

“You don’t know that.” Bullshit ghost powers.

“You were happier back then. When they knew you.”

“Everyone was happier back then. It was, like, 2008.”

“There was a recession,” says the ghost.

“Shut up! Shut up!” You turn over in bed. For a second you expect to roll onto child-self-you curled up next to you. Probably crush the life out of her. You got good at that. It’s her bed, her room, pink covers, cat posters.

“This is so stupid, this Dickens thing,” you say. “I’m not even Christian anymore.”

“Tell your parents that second,” the ghost suggests.

“Oh my fucking God I’m not telling them anything can’t you go bother Jeff Bezos.”

“I’m just doing my job,” says the ghost, and vanishes.

#

The Ghost of Christmas Present has an acne problem. As soon as you open your eyes you say, “Oh my God,” and they say, “Hi,” and you say, “You better not be the fucking Ghost of Christmas Present,” and the Ghost of Christmas Present says, “I am.”

Which you knew.

“Why me?” you say, pink comforter bunched around your waist. “I didn’t do anything. Scrooge was mean to orphans.”

The Ghost of Christmas Present shrugs. “It’s the job.”

“Are you gonna show me my parents now?”

That makes them look kind of embarrassed.

“Well, don’t,” you say. If your parents are talking in the other room, huddled up conferencing with the lights off, you can’t hear it over the heater buzz. But you can guess what they’re saying: you went to school with a shitty pixie cut and worse eyeliner, and you came back with a real haircut and a permanent frown and a bunch of new friends you play sentence Twister to avoid pronouning. “I know they’re nice people, I got it. I’m just not ready.”

“It’s just—you’re kind of waiting for them to ask?” says the Ghost of Christmas Present. They scratch their face, where they have spectral sideburns coming in. “Your dad thinks you have a head cold. ‘Cause of your voice. But your mom’s starting to get it.”

You pull the covers over your head. “Cool, awesome, didn’t ask.”

“She isn’t going to ask,” the ghost says. “She wants you to tell her.”

You stick your middle finger out from underneath the covers. When you check, the room is empty again.

#

The Ghost of Christmas Future doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you. You look back. You probably have bedhead. You fixed your daytime wardrobe but your pajamas are still lacy and purple.

“How come you’re a man?” you say.

He says, “I think you know.”

“Fucking—go away.”

“I have something to show you first.”

“Are we going to the goddamn graveyard?”

He doesn’t say anything but then you’re in the goddamn graveyard. Together. Looking at your headstone. The dates are close enough together to make you kind of sick.

“They went with the full name,” you say.

The ghost nods.

“Not even the nickname. My nice gender neutral nickname.”

The ghost shrugs. You kind of want to throw something at him but you’re just looking at it now. Chiseled in marble. Immovable. What’s that thing bigots on the internet say, about someone digging up your jawbone two hundred years from now? You always wanted to think you wouldn’t care.

The Ghost of Christmas Future’s pretty quiet. This is the part where Scrooge goes full breakdown. Tears, begging, promises.

“I’m not gonna cry on you,” you say.

“Okay.”

So neutral. “Man, what do you want me to say?”

“Nothing,” says the ghost. “I think you’re there.”

You can’t stop looking at the headstone. “God fucking damnit shit. You promise they’ll be cool?”

“Nothing’s promised,” the ghost says. He gestures at the graveyard. “Except for this.”

“Awesome.” Cryptic cliche philosophical ghost bullshit. Yada yada. Death and taxes. Not with that name on your headstone, though. Not with that name on your tax forms, either.

You turn to tell him that and then you’re blinking in bed. There’s still one glow-in-the-dark star stuck to your ceiling where the glue never wore out. You put those up like ten years ago. Maybe longer. The light in the room says it’s morning. You swing your lacy-pajama legs over the side of the bed and go to ruin Christmas.

[suguann]

Possessive!Gojo who makes you wear his jersey when you go to parties at his fraternity after games, openly admiring the way you dwarf inside his clothes. He leans forward on the edge of the bed to get a better look, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes raking over every inch of you from head to toe. 

"Toru, it's too big," you pout, checking out your reflection in the floor-length mirror on his closet door. “I look silly.”

The tent growing in his sweats says otherwise—all the blood in his body rushing from one head to the other just from seeing two things that are his coexisting—and he gives you another once-over, thinking of several ways to describe you, silly not being one of them.

"You’re so pretty, baby.” He swears he’s a little drunk from the sight of you, but he means it.

Possessive!Gojo who pushes you up against the door inside the locker room before a game—slightly jealous from the guys looking at you as they filed out into the hall, and equally turned on because he knows they can’t have you—telling you he can't play with a hard-on before he's pressing into you from behind.

He can feel your tummy quivering under his hand where he holds you close, feels how his cock is carving its way inside of you, and you both moan when he presses down lightly. It makes him dizzy how tight and small you are; pulsing, wet, and swollen-soft velvet that gives every time he buries himself into you.

"You gonna hold all of my cum in this cute cunt until after the game, y-yeah?" he sucks the question into your neck. “Don’t worry, I’ll lick it out of you afterward. Just keep it warm for me, ’kay?”

You answer him with a high-pitched whine as you clench down hard around him, cumming with a muffled scream against his palm and nearly pushing him out of your warm, fluttering heat.

Possessive!Gojo makes sure to stuff his cum back into your drooling cunt with two thick fingers, curling them into your front wall to pull another soft orgasm out of you—just a little more, ah, there you go, always so good for me—before he helps you fix your panties to trap it there.

His arms wrap around you before he presses a tender kiss to your temple. “Don’t forget to cheer for me.”

Possessive!Gojo whose smirk from watching you squirm in the stands, melts into a glare when a guy takes the empty seat beside you, sitting almost too close for his liking.

“Stop staring at your girlfriend and hit the fucking puck already,” Sukuna grumbles, leaning against his stick.

Possessive!Gojo who makes sure to fuck you in the backseat of his car afterward with the windows cracked in hopes that the guy from the stands would walk by to you moaning Gojo’s name, and he eats you out just like he promised—bending you over the center console, smiling to himself at how shy and squirmy you get—only to fill you up again.

Possessive!Gojo who pouts whenever Nanami manages to steal your attention with something sciency and nerdy (something entirely up your alley) whenever you come over on weeknights. 

“That’s so neat, Nanami,” you smile, hearts practically in your eyes as you listen to him talk about his latest research. “Maybe I can stop by the lab and check it out sometime.”

Possessive!Gojo who doesn’t miss the way Nanami’s ears turn a shade of red from your praise—color high in his cheeks—how he gives a sheepish smile whenever you talk to him.

“Toru,” you say, finally bringing your soft, pretty gaze on him again. “Are you even studying?”

Yeah, he is, but something else entirely, he thinks as he watches how your shorts hug your ass while you walk around the house’s common room—and he’s not the only one staring.

Possessive!Gojo who slaps your thigh, making you jolt in his lap. "Did I tell you to stop, huh, baby?"

You shake your head, biting your lip and avoiding the pair of eyes watching both of you (intently) from across the room—especially you—a quiet observer as you slowly sink onto your boyfriend’s cock while Nanami thrusts his own into his fist. 

"Ah, fuck—b-but–"

Your words break off into a choked moan when Gojo thrusts his hips up underneath you, pressed as deep inside as he can get, and when he looks down, he swears he can see the imprint of himself pressing against your stomach. 

"Tell me what I said,” he says through gritted teeth as he starts bouncing you, the couch continuing its steady squeaking under your knees.

Possessive!Gojo who can tell that it's hard for you to concentrate with the way his cock moves inside you, and you’re unable to answer with anything other than babbling nonsense. He decides to take mercy on you and stops to grind you in his lap instead.

He kisses your cheek, your neck, anywhere he can get his mouth on. "I said, don't stop until you cum, and you’re going to let Nanami see how fucking pretty you look when you do."

The next sound out of your mouth is a squeal when he holds your inner thighs to keep you open as he thrusts up into you again and again—letting Nanami see what can never be his.

“That’s it, baby,” he growls. “So good for me. Go on, show him how my good girl takes cock.”

Possessive!Gojo who locks eyes with Nanami just as he’s about to cum, burying his groans of pleasure into your neck as white-hot sparks shudder up his spine and heat pools in his gut.

Mine, he tries to say, but Gojo thinks his frat brother gets it when Gojo’s the one cumming inside you and Nanami’s spilling all over his fist.

Masterlist

[moonstruckme]

hi maeeee!! can i request a poly! marauders where maybe reader is fighting with only one them and the others are shocked when they find out and try their very best to fix it even though things are quite tense? thanks maeeeee ilyyyy💐💐💐

Thanks for your patience with this one angel! It's not as angsty as I planned when I started writing it, but I hope you enjoy it <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.8k words

It’s James who finds you this time. You’re curled up in a corner of the couch, pretending to read whilst secretly feeling sorry for yourself. Your boyfriend sits next to you, touching your shoulder so that you turn to him for a kiss. 

“Still upset?” he asks after a peck. 

You ignore the complicated, knotty feeling that makes itself known in your chest. “Not at you.” 

“No, I know.” James smiles a little, gifting you another kiss. “I’d be coming in here with my tail between my legs if you were. I’d hate to be on the wrong side of either you or Rem’s wrath.” 

You stay quiet. You wouldn’t go so far as to call what you’re feeling wrath—that seems a tad dramatic to describe the low flame of vexation you’ve been burning for your tallest boyfriend—but you don’t feel like opening yourself up to the subject with James. You’ve already heard it from Sirius this morning. 

“Angel.” James gives your shoulder a cajoling squeeze. “Come on, when are the two of you going to get past this? It’s very awkward sleeping in the same bed with two people who are quarreling, you know.” 

“We sleep exactly the same as every other night.” 

“There’s underlying tension,” he counters lightly. You roll your eyes, and James laughs. “Oi, don’t get cross with me now, too. I’m just telling you about my lived experience.” He leans his head on your shoulder, all sweetness and treachery. “You’re really not gonna forgive him? You know he’s gonna stick you with Sirius in the divorce.” 

You huff a laugh. James grins up at you hopefully. You know there’s some sense to what he’s saying; one of you has to be the bigger person eventually. It had started small, a stupid disagreement, but you and Remus are each stubborn and petty enough to not want to admit where you were wrong. Now you’re more angry with him for being angry with you than for anything else. 

When you think of his coldness to you—never mind the fact that you’ve been cold to him in turn—that flame of vexation burns a little brighter. 

“I don’t know why you’re over here trying to convince me,” you tell James. “I won’t have any problem forgiving him if he actually apologizes.” 

James sighs. You look down at your book to avoid his disappointment. 

“Okay, then. But he does feel really bad, so you know. He’s in the bedroom with one of his headaches, and he asked if you were still upset with him.” You look up. James levels you with a weighted look. “Could probably really use a cuddle, if you two were on good terms.” 

James is at least only somewhat smug when you abandon your book to go to the bedroom. You pass Sirius in the hall, who gives you a smile and a firm peck on the lips, likely having just left Remus himself. You enter the bedroom expecting to see the curtains drawn, lights off, and your poorly boyfriend in bed, but instead Remus is standing, well lit by the daylight streaming in through the windows, book tented on the bed still made from this morning. He appears as though he was just on his way out. 

“Erm, hi,” he says, brows pulled together in the middle. He looks to be studying you. “Are you alright?” 

“Fine,” you answer, bemused. “Are…are you?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

The door clicks shut behind you. You startle at the sound, not having closed it yourself. Then, you watch as a resigned sort of irritation comes over Remus’ features at the same time as it settles into you. 

“Pricks.” He moves past you to the door, jiggling the handle. “It only locks from the inside, you twats.” 

“Love you too,” comes Sirius’ voice. “You can come out after you kiss and make up.” 

“And say you’re sorry!” adds James. 

Remus scowls. 

“Open it,” you tell him. 

“What do you think I’m trying to do? One of them is holding it shut.” 

“Let me try.” 

“Be my guest.” Remus steps back, letting you have a go at the handle. By putting everything you have into it you manage to twist it, but you can’t get it open even an inch. 

“Don’t hurt yourself, gorgeous.” Sirius sounds smug enough to make your face feel hot. “James is holding it on the other side here, a few more minutes and you’ll make him break a sweat.” 

You let go of the handle with a huff, turning and stalking towards the bedroom window. You start moving the desk out of your way. 

“Would you really rather climb out the window than be in a room with me?” asks Remus. You look over your shoulder, and he’s sitting on the bed, side-eyeing you with his back propped against the pillows. 

“It’s not about you.” You shove your hip into the desk, budging it enough for you to get at the window latch. “They lied and made me feel all guilty just so they could lock us in here.” 

“What’d they tell you?”

You try to get your fingernail behind the latch. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“Sirius had me thinking you were quite upset.” 

“Yeah, and probably that I was asking after you, right? James told me you had a bad headache.” 

A chuckle. “That was enough to make you come in here looking so flustered?” 

“My mistake,” you huff, but it turns to a short whimper when your nail breaks. “Christ, you’d think they’d make these easier to open. What if there was a fire?” 

“Don’t go out the window,” Remus says calmly. “You’ll ruin your tights.” 

You work another nail behind the latch. “I can’t just let them win.” 

“Mm. That’s a bit of a problem for you, is it?” 

A bitter coolness settles over you. You turn, crossing your arms. “Something to say?” 

Remus picks up his book, cornering a page. “Just making an observation, is all.” 

“Remus,” you say sternly. “Don’t act like you’re any better. You could’ve apologized at any time.” 

Your boyfriend levels you with a look. “Would that really have made a difference?”

“Yes!” 

“Honestly?” He looks like he doesn’t believe you. “All I have to do is say I’m sorry, and you’ll forget about all of this and be completely happy with me?” 

You shake your head, bewildered. “…Yeah. I mean, I would want to know that you understood how you hurt my feelings, but yeah. Really, it’s not that complicated.” 

Remus’ expression softens. “I do understand that, dove. Do you understand how you hurt mine?” 

“I…” You find you can’t quite look at him. “I imagine it’s sort of similar. Because I’ve been cold to you.” 

“And because you wouldn’t hear me out,” he says. It doesn’t sound like I told you so, not smug so much as gentle. “But it was a small thing to begin with, wasn’t it? I’m ready to be past it.” 

You frown at him. “It’s not about the argument for me. I’m already past that, it’s just everything else.” 

Remus considers you. “Would you come here, please?” 

You swear you wouldn’t go if he didn’t sound so kind. But you find yourself with your legs curled underneath you on the bed in front of him, Remus coaxing your hands into his. 

“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,” he says sincerely, looking you in the eyes. “It was a silly argument, and I shouldn’t have been so stubborn.” 

You chew the inside of your cheek, sizing up whether he means it. “I…also could have been less stubborn,” you admit begrudgingly. Your tone softens. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, too. I didn’t mean to.” 

“I know, sweetheart.” Remus’ touch coasts from your hands up your arms as he pulls you closer to kiss your forehead. “Are we okay?” 

“Yeah,” you say, mollified. 

He smiles at you. “Hear that?” he says towards the door. “You can let us out now.” 

There’s no response. 

Remus frowns as you get out of bed, going to try the handle. The door comes open, revealing and empty hallway. 

“Pricks,” Remus mutters. 

You find your boyfriends in the living room, James flicking through channels on the telly while Sirius reads the back cover of your book. James notices you first. 

“Oh, hello.” He grins at you as Sirius looks over. “All sorted, then?” 

You’re half tempted to pretend you didn’t make up just to spite them. When you look over at Remus, you suspect he’s thinking the same thing. 

“That was sort of mean, lying to me like that,” you say to James instead. 

He looks a bit contrite, but Sirius says insouciantly, “You were never gonna do it by yourselves, babe. We weren’t ready to start divvying up the furniture because you wanted to have a row.” 

You kiss your teeth. “I think I might be having a row with you now.” 

“What, us?” James’ eyebrows rise above the frames of his glasses. “What for?” 

“You lied to us both to make us feel bad,” Remus reminds him, “and then locked us in the bedroom.” 

Sirius isn’t impressed. “Well, it wasn’t really locked, was it. If you’d gotten desperate, you could’ve taken it off the hinges. Or just checked again after a couple minutes.” 

“She broke her nail trying to get the window open.” 

You hold up your torn fingernail as proof. Sirius coos, reaching for your finger and bringing it to his lips while you scowl at him. 

“Sorry, lovie. We had a plan to bring you food in a couple hours,” says James. “We were even going to let you out for bathroom breaks if you needed to go.” 

“Really, you wrapped it up much quicker than we were expecting,” Sirius praises. He’s still holding your finger, drawing his thumb up and down the side in easy, consoling strokes. “We thought you’d ice each other out until supper at least. I’m quite proud of you.” 

Remus scoffs. 

“Oh, come now.” Sirius grins. “Give us a kiss.” 

You roll your eyes but turn to Remus, extricating your finger from Sirius’ grasp to meet him in a chaste kiss. 

The other boys cheer. “There we are!” James tilts his face up expectantly. “Now one for me.” 

You and Remus exchange a look. 

“No,” you say coolly, “I don’t think so.” The two of you go to sit on the far side of the couch, away from both Sirius and James with you curled against Remus’ side. He looks a tad smug as he puts his arm around you. 

“Oi!” says Sirius. “Look what you’ve done, you’ve made James pull his sad puppy face. What do you have to say for yourselves?” 

“You lied to us,” you say again, slowly, with emphasis, “and locked us in the bedroom.” 

Sirius scoffs. “So dramatic.” 

“Oh, that’s rich.” 

“Will it help if we say sorry?” James asks meekly. 

Remus looks at you. You shrug. 

“Maybe,” he says. “You’re more than welcome to try and find out.”

[nicholasluvbot]

WARMㅤ ◞ ㅤ前 ✿ ❜ㅤㅤ── 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂'𝗆 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗈𝗐𝗇, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 ｡

GUIÓN, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗒 !

 𝒇 ! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋ㅤ  𖥔  ㅤ1700 ㅤ ❛ 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝖾𝗌𝗍. 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉ㅤㅤ ─── 𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉ㅤㅤ 🥐ㅤ ㅤ𝖣𝖮𝖲𝖲𝗂𝖤𝖱

◜ᴗ◝ ✿ㅤ:ㅤ𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗈𝗇𝗁𝖺𝗄 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽

(재현) 𝖬𝖸𝖴𝖭𝖦 𝖩𝖠𝖤𝖧𝖸𝖴𝖭

jaehyun is lying on your bed like he’s got no bones, limbs sprawled out messily, one foot hanging off the edge, hoodie sleeves bunched up around his elbows. his head is tilted just slightly, eyes following your every move like he’s watching a movie he never wants to end.

you’re not even doing anything remotely interesting—just folding laundry, fixing your hair in the mirror, humming under your breath. but to jaehyun, it’s like the whole world slowed down just to spotlight you.

“stop staring,” you murmur, without looking at him.

“can you blame me?” he says, soft and lazy, and you roll your eyes. he just smiles.

a few seconds pass. then, quietly, he reaches out a hand—fingers curling around your wrist like an invitation.

you let him pull.

you fall forward with a laugh, catching yourself just before you land fully on him, but jaehyun’s already wrapping himself around you like a vine. arms around your waist, legs hooking around yours, face buried in the crook of your neck.

“you looked too pretty,” he murmurs, voice low. “couldn’t help it.”

you let out a breathy laugh, arms bracing yourself on either side of his shoulders. “you’re so clingy.”

“mhm,” he hums. “you say that like it’s new.”

you don’t try to fight it, just melt into his arms, your nose brushing his temple as you whisper, “you’re not gonna let go, are you?”

he shakes his head, nose bumping against your neck. “never.”

after a few minutes, you try to wiggle out of his arms—but he just tightens his hold, trapping you between his legs. you groan, but immediately give in.

“you’re really annoying,” you say, but there’s no real bite to your words.

he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “you love it.”

you do.

you really, really do.

(성호) 𝖯𝖠𝖱�� 𝖲𝖴𝖭𝖦𝖧𝖮

you’re mid-conversation with a friend when you suddenly feel it—an arm sliding around your waist, the weight of a chin resting on your shoulder.

you turn your head, blinking—sungho? he’s not usually like this, especially not around other people. but here he is now, pressed up against you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“you okay?” you ask softly.

he doesn’t answer. just hums and tightens his hold on you, shooting your friend a perfectly polite smile. but there’s something smug in his eyes too—like he’s making a point.

you’re starting to piece it together when your friend finally leaves after muttering an awkward excuse. sungho lets out a quiet sigh against your neck.

“you jealous?” you tease, turning in his arms.

“maybe a little,” he says, not even trying to deny it. “i don’t know… i just saw him looking at you like he wanted your number.”

you don’t tease him for it. instead, you smile, warmth blooming in your chest as you lean into him a little more, fingers brushing where his rest on your waist.

“you could’ve just said you missed me.”

“would’ve been less effective,” he murmurs, his nose brushing your cheek as he presses a few lingering kisses along your jaw.

you don’t push him away, and he shows no intention of letting go anytime soon, paying no mind to the people around you. and for the rest of the day, he stays close—his arm brushing against yours, fingers laced through yours—like he’s not quite done being mad cute.

(리우) 𝖫𝖤𝖤 𝖱𝖨𝖶𝖮𝖮

you wake up to the scent of early morning—cool air, faint sunlight peeking through the curtains—and the feeling of something warm and heavy draped around your waist.

your first instinct is to stretch, but you can’t. you’re being held in place.

when you blink your eyes open, the sight that greets you is enough to make your heart ache in the gentlest way: riwoo, still deep asleep, face tucked into your shoulder, nose brushing your collarbone, arms locked securely around your body like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world.

his hair’s a little messy, hoodie slightly rumpled, lips parted just barely as he breathes softly against your skin. he looks peaceful. too peaceful.

you shift ever so slightly, trying not to wake him—but even that tiny movement makes his brow twitch in protest. you pause. then try again, gently peeling the blanket back.

bad idea.

he lets out the tiniest, grumpiest noise—something between a sigh and a whine—and immediately tightens his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest.

“riwoo,” you whisper, voice barely above a breath. “i need to get up.”

“five more minutes,” he mumbles, voice rough and muffled against your shoulder. “s’cold out there. stay warm with me.”

you huff a quiet laugh. “you’re such a baby.”

“am not,” he grumbles, still clearly half-asleep. “i just… like this.”

he says it so simply, like he’s explaining why the sky is blue. like being wrapped around you like a human blanket is the most natural thing in the world.

you glance down at him, only to find his eyes cracking open—just barely. sleep still clouds them, but the way he looks at you makes your chest tighten.

“ten minutes,” he murmurs, already nuzzling into you again. “maybe forever. just… don’t leave yet.”

you don’t answer. you just slip your arm around him in return, pressing your face into his hair and closing your eyes again.

(태산) 𝖧𝖠𝖭 𝖳𝖠𝖤𝖲𝖠𝖭

it starts when you cancel plans with taesan. just a quick text: “sorry, can’t make it today. something came up.”

you meant to follow it up, but time slips by, and you forget. you don’t notice his silence until hours later, when you’re walking up to your house and see taesan sitting on your porch—head hung low, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. his head lifts the moment he hears you call out his name.

“hey,” he says, but his voice is quieter than usual, a little hesitant.

“taesan? what are you doing here?”

he shrugs. “wanted to see you. you didn’t answer.”

you blink. “oh—i… i forgot. i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to worry you—”

he doesn’t say anything. just takes a step forward and wraps his arms around your waist, like it’s the only way to make sure you’re not mad at him. you try to laugh it off, not used to his clinginess, but he doesn’t budge. instead, he tucks his cold nose against your neck, like he’s trying to soak in all your warmth.

“i missed you today,” he mumbles, his breath tickling your collarbone.

you pull him inside, and he doesn’t let go—not even for a second. not when you’re unlocking the door, not while you’re kicking off your shoes. you end up half-walking to the couch with him still glued to your side, arms looped tight around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

he melts into you entirely when you sit down, arms still locked around your middle, pulling you closer like he’s trying to make up for all the time he didn’t get to hold you today.

eventually, he murmurs, “don’t cancel on me again without telling me why.”

you press a kiss to his cheek. “i won’t.”

but you probably will, if it means you get him all cuddly like this.

(이한) 𝖪𝖨𝖬 𝖫𝖤𝖤𝖧𝖠𝖭

you’ve seen leehan tired before—after all-nighters, post-practice, sometimes when he forgets to sleep properly before a trip.

but today’s different.

he shows up at your house in the evening, hoodie zipped up, dark circles under his eyes, and a shy smile that doesn’t quite reach yet.

“hey,” he says, voice scratchy. “can i stay for a bit?”

you nod immediately, pulling him inside before he can explain or make excuses. he’s running a low fever—you realize it the second he leans into you, eyes closed, skin too warm.

you start fussing—getting him water, meds, a warm blanket, dimming the lights—and he just watches you from the bed, lips parted slightly, like he doesn’t know what to say.

“you should’ve told me,” you scold softly, kneeling beside the bed and running your fingers gently through his hair. “you didn’t have to come all the way here.”

his fingers brush against yours. “i know… i just didn’t want to bother you.”

later, when he’s tucked under your blanket, warm and drowsy, you think he’s fallen asleep.

but then you feel him shift, reaching for your arm. he tugs gently, eyes barely open.

you hesitate—only for a second. but when you slip under the blanket beside him, leehan immediately curls into you, arms winding around your waist, nose tucked into your shoulder.

“you didn’t have to take care of me,” he murmurs, “but you did.”

“you’d do the same for me,” you whisper, brushing your fingers through his hair.

“i would,” he agrees, already half-asleep, voice fading. “but i still think i’m the lucky one.”

(운학) 𝖪𝖨𝖬 𝖶𝖮𝖮𝖭𝖧𝖠𝖪

it’s late, way too late. you’re standing at the door of woonhak’s room, backpack slung over your shoulder, jacket already zipped. the room is dim, lit only by the warm glow of his desk lamp. and he’s standing there, pouting.

“you’re really leaving?”

you laugh. “yes, woonhak. it’s late.”

“but i just got you to myself,” he says, walking toward you slowly. he stops right in front of you and lets his head fall onto your shoulder, arms sliding around your waist. “we barely got to do anything.”

“you dragged me into three different board games.”

“yeah, but i wanted to cuddle.”

you roll your eyes affectionately. “you can’t make me lose five rounds of uno and then ask for cuddles.”

“yes i can,” he whispers, arms tightening around your waist like a little kid. “just stay five more minutes. please?”

“woonhak…”

he looks up at you, lip jutting out slightly. “if you leave now, i’ll miss you the whole night.”

that’s the thing about woonhak—when he wants you close, he really wants you close. he’s a flirty, playful loudmouth with everyone else, but with you? he softens. and you give into his wants every single time.

he presses his forehead against yours, like it’s the only way to make time slow down.

“please…?” he pleads, one more time.

you sigh, defeated, and drop your bag to the floor.

his whole face lights up.

“i love you,” he beams, pulling you straight into his arms and wrapping himself around you like a koala, dragging you to his bed. “just until you really have to go,” he murmurs, face buried in your shoulder—and you can feel him smiling against your skin.

you won’t leave for another hour.

ㅤ𝗇𝖾𝗍𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 ◞ @kstrucknet @k-films @sgz-net

[littlelovelunette]

Sevika x autistic reader. Reader was struggling to explain hoe now they can’t eat the food because the food was touching on their plate when sevika got irritated and told them to just starve instead. They got frustrated and went to the bedroom to break down. Eventually Sevika came in with the food in separate small bowls so it wouldn’t touch and held reader while they ate?

Touching

The dinner table was quiet except for the sound of utensils scraping against plates.

Sevika sat across from you, eating with her usual efficiency, while you stared at your own plate, your stomach twisting in discomfort.

The sight of your food—mashed together, sauces bleeding into each other—made your chest tighten. You swallowed, trying to push past the feeling, but it sat like a stone in your throat.

Sevika noticed your hesitation. "Something wrong?" she asked, raising a brow as she took a sip from her glass.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, frustration welling up inside you. You didn’t know how to explain it in a way she’d understand, in a way that didn’t sound childish or irrational. But you tried anyway.

"I... I can't eat it. The food is touching."

Sevika's expression shifted instantly, her brows furrowing. "What?"

You shifted uncomfortably, gripping the edge of the table. "The textures, the way it's mixed together—I just can't."

She let out a sharp breath, setting her glass down with a dull thud. "Then don't eat. Starve, if you're gonna be this picky."

The words hit you like a slap. Your chest constricted, your vision blurred with unshed tears, and the frustration you had been holding in broke through. Without another word, you pushed your chair back and stormed off to the bedroom, heart pounding.

You barely heard Sevika curse under her breath as you slammed the door shut behind you.

Collapsing onto the bed, you curled into yourself, breathing ragged and uneven.

The weight of the moment pressed down on you, suffocating. You hated this—hated how difficult it was to explain, hated how misunderstood you felt. The overwhelm was too much, and soon, silent sobs shook your frame.

Time passed. You weren’t sure how long. But then, a soft knock sounded at the door before it creaked open. You didn’t look up. You didn’t have the energy.

The bed dipped behind you. Then, Sevika’s arm was around you, pulling you close.

You stiffened at first, but she didn’t let go. Instead, she rested her chin on the top of your head and exhaled slowly.

"I was a dick," she murmured. "I didn’t get it. But I do now."

You frowned, sniffling. "What...?"

She shifted slightly, reaching over to the nightstand.

That’s when you noticed it—the food, now separated into small bowls. Each item had its own space, untouched by the others. Your breath hitched.

"This better?" she asked, her voice quieter now, more careful.

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

Sevika pulled you closer, her warmth grounding you as you picked up one of the bowls. "Should’ve just told me to fix it instead of storming off," she muttered, but there was no bite in her tone—just guilt, and maybe a hint of regret.

You swallowed a spoonful, the food finally palatable, finally safe. "You told me to starve," you reminded her, your voice small.

She sighed, rubbing a slow, soothing circle on your back. "Yeah. And I was wrong."

You leaned into her, feeling the tension start to dissolve. The night wasn’t perfect, and the hurt still lingered, but as she held you, as she let you eat in peace, you knew she was trying.

And that was enough.

[riareadsvt]

Take Care of Me — KMG

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader | wc: 616. genre: sick fic, fluff, caretaking, established relationship. warnings: mingyu being dramatic, lots of cuddling, mentions of fever and mild illness, reader being endlessly patient with him.

Mingyu was never one to admit weakness. He was the guy who carried the heaviest grocery bags, stayed up late perfecting dance routines, and took pride in taking care of others. But today?

Today, he was a sniffling, blanket-bundled mess.

And Mingyu was, without a doubt, the worst patient in the world.

Not only was he stubborn, but he was also ridiculously dramatic about it.

“I’m never getting better,” he declared, flopping onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh. “This is it for me.”

You stood at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, unimpressed. “Mingyu, you said that three hours ago, and yet, here you are. Alive.”

“Barely,” he mumbled, burying his face into his pillow.

You rolled your eyes but softened as you saw him curl up under the blankets again. He really did look miserable his cheeks still flushed from the fever, lips slightly dry, and his hair an absolute mess from tossing and turning.

You reached out, brushing a few strands of hair out of his face. His eyes fluttered open slightly at your touch, and he let out a small hum, leaning into your palm.

“Drink some water,” you said gently, grabbing the glass from the nightstand.

Mingyu groaned but took it from you, gulping down a few sips.

“You’re such a baby when you’re sick,” you teased.

He huffed, setting the glass down. “Well, usually I’m the one taking care of you. This is weird.”

You couldn’t argue with that. Mingyu was always the one fussing over you making sure you ate, fixing things in your apartment before you even realized they were broken, and practically shielding you from the cold by wrapping you up in his coat.

So maybe it made sense that he didn’t know how to be taken care of.

“Y/N…” he mumbled, his voice quieter this time.

You hummed in response, sitting on the bed beside him.

His lips jutted out slightly in a small, pathetic pout. “You’re gonna leave me when I fall asleep, aren’t you?”

You let out a soft laugh. “You need to rest.”

Mingyu looked down at the blanket, fingers fidgeting with the fabric.

“…You don’t have to stay, you know,” he mumbled. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Your heart squeezed at that. He sulked, avoiding your gaze like a kicked puppy.

You sighed, shifting so that you were fully sitting beside him. Without a word, you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers.

“I want to be here, Mingyu.” You squeezed his hand gently. “I’m doing this because I care.”

His lips parted slightly, and for once, he was speechless.

“…You really do, huh?” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You smiled softly. “Of course, I do.”

A comfortable silence settled between you as Mingyu relaxed under your touch. Then, as if remembering something important, he suddenly dragged you down onto the bed, wrapping his arms around you before you could protest.

“Mingyu!” you yelped, struggling slightly in his grasp. “You’re going to get me sick!”

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, murmuring, “Worth it.”

You let out an exasperated sigh but stopped fighting against his hold. He was warm maybe a little too warm from the fever but the way he was clinging to you, all big and soft and needy, made your heart ache in the best way.

His voice was drowsy when he spoke again. “Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

You sighed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “Fine.”

Mingyu let out a content hum, snuggling closer. “You’re the best.”

You smiled, running your fingers through his messy hair. “I know.”

And as Mingyu drifted off, his breathing evening out, you couldn’t help but think maybe he was the strong one most of the time, but in moments like these, you didn’t mind being the one to hold him up.

The End.

a/n — this is my response to that one anon that requested a sick fic of mingyu as a big baby, if you reached this far, thank you for reading! I hope you have a horanghae day 💕

[siriuslylantsov]

canine tendencies

pairing: sirius black x reader

description: in which, you put charms in sirius' hair and confront certain traits of his.

tags: fluff! fem!reader, mmm pining, cuddling, totally platonic activities going on here, r is muggle-born hence the vet and dog anatomy knowledge, sirius is a puppy agenda, pretty women from the 70s mentioned (dont pay much attention to it), flirting.

a/n: staying true to my username with more sirius black. wanna play with his hair for days tbh. happy reading!

wc: 1.7k

“you don't know when to give up, do you?”

you raise your chin indignantly, “i'm stubborn.”

sirius fixes you with a withering glare, it doesn't pack much of a punch but you can tell he's stalling. he finally relents with a long sigh, ever the dramatic. you squeal, walking over to his bed with a little pouch that jingled as you moved. you nudge at his shoulders to lean against the headboard and set yourself down beside him. he grumbles, muttering something along the lines of waste of time and how your neck is gonna hurt. you bite back a smile at his cause for concern: you. 

“complain all you want, but you know this is gonna look good,” you muse, with an air of smugness. “you’ll be singing my praises.”

he lets his head hang to the side, looking at you, up those pretty eyelashes of his. his eyes are indifferent, yet they crinkle at the corners, trying to not prove you right. pools of grey and blue, you could drown in them. 

your elbow is wedged between a pillow and the headboard, propping you up, knees curled, poking into his thigh. his legs are sprawled out in an obnoxious man spread, effectively making you move closer so you don't fall off the bed–that's small enough regardless of the space he's taking up. 

he's avoided you all day since you proposed the idea at breakfast: putting charms in his hair. what's strange is that you’ve done his hair plenty of times before sans protest. you ponder it quietly, simultaneously willing him to concede with squinted eyes, as he deadpans you.

if he could, he would've told you that he’s afraid to be alone with you. not that he hasn't been before, he has and he's been this close to you too (he constantly is). but something is different now, something about your hands in his hair that he can’t deal with. especially recently, you've taken to scratching behind his ear and it drives him a little crazy. he won't stop you though, on account of it feeling so good. usually, you're around the others so he can shift his focus elsewhere rather than think about how softly your fingers pad over his scalp, but now you’re alone and he's cursing lily for dragging his friends to some stupid baking endeavour that he stealthily got out of. 

you watch as annoyance passes over his features (directed to lily but you don't know that) and it instantly worries you. maybe he was serious about not wanting this, were you pushing him?

“sirius, if you really don't want me to do this,” you start, a nervous edge to your fast rush of words, “please tell me. i don't want to force you into doing anything-”

“hey,” he stops you with a hand over your arm and a small reassuring smile. “i'm sorry, i do. i just think you’re hot when you're irritated.”

“you must think i'm farah fawcett all the time then,” you mutter, rooting around in your pouch for the gold cuffs you thought would suit him. “and i'm not irritated, i have a surprising amount of patience for you,” you correct, inspecting the cuffs in your palm.

sirius sits up a bit to peer at them, chewing his lip in thought. “mmm not her. barbara carrera maybe,” he adds, looking back at you, his resistance fading away.

your eyebrows shoot up slightly, in mild shock. “she's pretty,” you remark to his comparison and the seemingly honest delivery.

“yeah,” he says, incredibly earnest, “so are you.”

curious and curiouser. “you think flirting with me is gonna get you out of this?”

“i don't know, is it working?”

“nope,” you say curtly, bring your hand back up to his face, this time with a few charms as well. “pick.”

he does, and sets them in your other hand held out. you begin parting his hair for the braids, you settle for placing them under the top of his hair, since his layers are short they'll peek through nicely. you tie a sloppy half bun to the unused portion of his hair so it's out of the way and section out a piece to braid. 

sirius dutifully holds the gold adornments in his hand as you work, suddenly quiet. he always gets like this, you've noticed. all quip remarks are silenced when your hands are in his hair. you make note to tease him about it later but for now you're content to stay quiet. 

he's humming something quietly, a tune you're unfamiliar with, it's ok he’ll tell you later. it fills the silence nicely. you pick the first charm, looping it into a strand of hair and continuing the braid to secure it. his hair is unbelievably soft, it's probably why you like touching it so much. you both know it gets greasier faster because of your constant contact but sirius makes no move to stop you, ever, simply muttering a spell to revive it. 

it goes on like this for about ten minutes, mostly because the charms were a bit more difficult to work with than you thought and also because you were extremely wary of trying not to tangle his hair. he stares at you diligently out of his periphery and you try not to meet his gaze. 

when you're done you lift the handheld mirror to his face. fuck, he looks beautiful. you have to look away, allowing him to assess everything on his own. 

he shoots you a blinding grin, looking exceedingly pleased with how it turned out, “thanks, dove!”

“you’re welcome,” you respond. “it looks good, right?”

he nods, looking into the mirror again. “really good. you did an amazing job.”

your heart flutters at the praise but you don't let it show, accepting his words with a smug smile. it doesn't last long though as he jumps you with a hug, winding you. arms wrapped around your middle, his head rests on your chest, just below your chin, squeezing you in appreciation. you wrap your arms around him in tandem and lean back against the headboard and the pillows, practically pulling half of him on top of you.

it's rough and tumble for a moment before he settles with a low hum, arms still circled around your torso. he knows they’ll go numb the longer he stays like this but he doesn't care. 

you trail one hand into his hair instinctively, like it's second nature. your nails lightly graze over that spot behind his ear and he’s done for. when you begin scratching, he melts, like truly melts against your body, letting out a long, pleased sigh. he makes note to kick himself later for acting like this. beneath his cheek, he feels you shake. are you laughing?

he lifts his head, a little incredulous. “what?”

you chuckle, seeing how he blinks away the blissful air to his expression. “nothing, it’s just-”

he looks at you expectantly as you contemplate your words.

you let out an amused snort before speaking again, “i don't know if it's, like, a subconscious response to your animagus form but dogs really like being scratched behind their ears.”

he gapes at you, affronted. “are you calling me a dog?”

“you are, padfoot.”

he whines petulantly before dropping back to your chest. he noses at your sternum, his own wordless way of getting you to continue. so you do. 

“dogs have a very concentrated area of nerve endings here,” you explain quietly, scratching his scalp again, just behind his ear. “when stimulated, it causes the brain to release endorphins, making them feel relaxed.”

he hums in thought though it sounds more pleased and it scarcely proves your point. 

“how’d you know that?” he asks, voice muffled by your shirt.

“my friend had to take her cat to the vet and i read one of those pet magazines to pass the time,” you murmur, your voice still quiet as you begin to feel sirius growing heavier over you.

“y’so smart,” he slurs, words trailing off in the beginning of sleep.

“don't fall asleep,” you whisper, though you make no effort to wake him up.

he mumbles something incoherent, nuzzling further into your neck but giving you a little grace by shuffling off of your body. one leg is still tangled with yours and his arms are still tightly wrapped around you but at least he's not crushing you. 

“tell me more,” he requests, words trailing up at the end in question.

you think for a moment, reaching to the depths of your brain to retrieve the dog facts you read about that day, perking up when you do.

“hmmm dogs have incredibly sensitive noses. they have up to, like, 300 million scent receptors, where humans have about 5 million and the part of their brain that processes smells is 40 times larger than ours,” you mumble, tapping a light finger to the tip of his nose. 

“cool,” he exclaims, though it's anything but. his eyes slowly flutter shut as you coil a piece of his hair, sealing your fate for the rest of the evening. that is until, much to sirius’ dismay, his roommates come bursting in.

flour scattered over their clothes and hair alike, they’re boisterous as they enter, chatting something along the lines of baking is actually kinda fun. he groans against your body, sleep stretching far and wide from his grasp. you stifle a laugh as he glares at them annoyedly. they pay no attention to the boy, instead making plans on playing quidditch. to this, he brightens. jumping from the bed at a speed you can't quite justify, not being overly fond of the sport yourself. you were more inclined to flying for fun, rather than competition. 

he glances back at you, tentatively, asking for your permission almost. you shrug indifferently, you were going to make your way down to the field anyway. he grins and leans down, pressing a quick firm kiss to your cheek before rushing after the dwindling voices down the stairs, his own broom in tow. 

you bite your lip to push down the giggle that bubbles up in your throat, maybe there are some innate canine tendencies.

reblogs and replies are appreciated :) | m.list

[ticifics]

Wasn't it obvious?

Dave Lizewski x f!reader

Summary: For a moment, Dave stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on you. The expression on his face wasn’t judgmental or angry but simply confused. “Wait...” he began, hesitantly. “You’re telling me you thought we weren’t dating?” You stayed silent, the weight in your chest tightening at his question. “I... I didn’t know.” “But...” He ran a hand through his messy curls, looking lost. “I thought it was kind of obvious."

Warnings: mention of sex (not explicit), insecurity, est. relationship, hurt comfort, a little angst

A/N: anon, I hope you can like it <333!!

The room was still bathed in the dim light of morning, with the curtains barely drawn, letting streaks of sunlight spill across the space. You woke up slowly, feeling the warmth of his body still so close. Dave’s breathing was soft and steady, the rhythm of someone deeply asleep. A heavy arm lay draped over your waist, a silent reminder that he had no intention of letting you slip away anytime soon.

Your eyes wandered around the messy room, clothes scattered on the floor—your shirt precariously hanging off the edge of a chair, his pants on the rug, half-hidden under the bed. You knew you needed to leave. There were commitments, schedules, things waiting for you out there. But the weight of that moment, of his warmth, seemed to beg you to stay.

“You awake?” Dave’s husky voice broke through your thoughts. He didn’t open his eyes right away, but the grip around your waist tightened slightly. When he finally looked at you, his blue eyes were clouded with sleep, dark curls falling a little over his forehead. “Stay a little longer. It’s still early…”

“I have to go,” you murmured, even as his fingers lazily traced the curve of your arm. His touch was so light, as if he wanted to draw out every second.

“No, you don’t.” He smiled in that way that always made your resolve waver—that small, crooked smile, almost boyish, but filled with something he probably didn’t even realize he carried. Propping himself up on his elbow, he looked straight at you, his eyes shining even in the faint light. “Who’s gonna care if you skip, huh?”

You laughed softly, knowing he was teasing, though there was a hint of truth in his words. Dave had this way of making you feel like the rest of the world didn’t matter, like that moment—just the two of you, tangled in messy sheets—was the only thing that did.

“You’re not going to make me stay,” you warned, but your voice didn’t sound as convincing as you’d intended. He seemed to catch on, because his smile grew wider.

“What if I hold you down right here?” He stretched his arms dramatically, trying to pull you closer, but you slipped out, laughing again.

“Stop it, Dave,” you said, trying to get up, though you could feel the weight of his gaze following you. You grabbed your shirt first, pulling it off the chair, and started putting it on with your back to him, all too aware of his eyes on you. When you turned around, he was still there, propped up on his hand, his hair messy, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made warmth creep up your face.

“You’re really gonna leave me here all alone?” His tone was playful, almost pouty, but there was something else beneath it—something that was always there in the spaces between words, something you never quite dared to name.

“I am,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, though something inside you tightened. You knew he wasn’t holding you there, that you were free to leave. But you also knew there were unspoken things between you, things that made moments like this harder than they should be.

He let out an exaggerated sigh, flopping back onto the pillow, though his eyes never left you. “Fine. But only because I know you’ll come back.”

You paused for a second, still holding onto the waistband of the pants you’d just pulled on. His gaze seemed to carry more weight than his words. But, as always, you let it pass.

“Maybe,” you said, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. And before he could respond, you grabbed your things and started moving toward the door, feeling his eyes on you until the very last second.

“Hey,” he called out, just as your hand touched the doorknob. You turned to look at him one last time. He looked so at ease there, so comfortable, with his messy curls and that smile that always made your heart race. “You look amazing in the morning, you know that?”

“See you later, Dave,” you said, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat, and left before he could trap you with another comment.

The café was just busy enough that the hum of conversations and the clinking of cups against saucers created a constant noise, but not so much that it stopped you from relaxing for a few minutes. You sat near the window, the warm coffee cup in your hands, trying to organize your thoughts. There was so much to do, so many things you were trying to ignore—and one of them seemed to have a face framed by dark curls and blue eyes that took up far more space in your mind than you cared to admit.

"Hey, is that really you?"

The familiar voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and when you looked up, it took a second to recognize the person standing in front of you.

"Katie?" The surprise was clear in your voice, but a smile quickly appeared on your lips. It was her, without a doubt—the same Katie Deauxma from high school, though now her features seemed more mature. Her hair was a bit shorter, but the easy smile she always had was exactly the same.

"Yeah!" Katie laughed, looking just as surprised to see you there. "Wow, it's been ages! How are you?"

"I'm good. Wow, it really has been a long time," you said, standing for a quick, slightly awkward hug. She seemed as comfortable as ever, and the conversation flowed naturally as the two of you sat down together.

Katie asked about college, what you were studying, and shared a bit about her own courses and what she'd been up to since high school. It was pleasant, even nostalgic, talking to someone who knew you from before.

Until she asked, casually, "So, are you dating anyone? Or just enjoying the single life?"

You hesitated for a second that felt like an eternity. The words formed in your mind before you could fully think through their weight, slipping out before you could stop them.

"Actually… I am dating someone."

It was a lie. Or wasn't it? You didn’t know anymore. But the sound of the word in your mouth brought an instant pang of guilt, something that tightened in your chest as Katie’s smile widened.

“Oh, really? That’s great! Who’s the lucky one?”

“Dave Lizewski,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual. Katie blinked, surprised, before letting out a short laugh.

“Dave? Wow! I haven’t talked to him in ages. We dated, remember? Back in high school.”

You nodded, feeling your stomach sink. Of course you remembered. Everyone remembered. Dave and Katie had been the cute couple in school, the kind everyone thought was improbable, even cliché—the nerd with the popular girl.

“He was so sweet. A little awkward, but always so thoughtful,” Katie continued, oblivious to the storm of emotions building inside you. “You two must make a great couple, I’m sure.”

You smiled, or tried to, and murmured something vague in response. But all you could think was that she was right. Dave was sweet. He was thoughtful, even with his goofy comments and the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. He held your hand in public. He made a point to walk you home when he could.

But he had never called you his girlfriend.

And now you were sitting here, listening to Katie talk about what he was like when they dated, and something inside you was breaking into pieces you didn’t even know existed. You remembered them together—how she’d hold onto his arm in the school hallways, how happy he looked next to her. And suddenly, you couldn’t help but wonder if he looked at you the same way he looked at her.

You finished your coffee as quickly as you could, saying goodbye to Katie with a smile that felt increasingly forced. She hugged you again before leaving, promising that you should meet up again sometime.

When you were alone again, the noise of the café felt louder, like it was echoing inside you. The empty cup in front of you felt like a weight holding you there, while your thoughts spiraled endlessly.

Girlfriend.

You’d said it. And now the word felt like it was haunting you, something far too big to carry. You never wanted to be this person, the one who lied or twisted things to fit into something that might not even be real.

But you couldn’t help it.

Because deep down, you wanted it to be true.

Thursday nights always held a special weight. It was an unspoken tradition between the two of you. No matter what happened during the week—piles of work, tough exams, or tight deadlines—Thursdays were reserved for you two. And no matter how hard you tried to focus on something else, the memory of your encounter with Katie had been pounding in your head ever since you left the café.

You had tried to shake it off with a stack of required reading, loud music through your headphones, and even a spontaneous apartment cleaning spree, but nothing worked. Katie's voice kept echoing, her smile, the way she talked about Dave. The way she referred to him as someone who used to be hers, as if there was still a part of him trapped in the past that might never belong to you.

And then there was you. And the lie. Or was it the truth? You didn’t even know anymore. The weight of the words that had slipped out before you could stop them—they felt heavier now, like stones sinking in your stomach. You said it because you wanted to believe it was real. But what about him? What would he think if he knew?

The sound of the doorbell yanked you from your thoughts. It was him.

You took a deep breath, trying to quiet the chaos inside, and opened the door. Dave stood there, as he always did, with his messy curls and a small smile that grew wider just for you. He held a plastic bag with a pack of fries and two sodas—the kind of thing he always brought because he knew you loved it.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek before stepping inside. His touch was warm, familiar. But tonight, it felt harder to relax around him, like the storm in your head was keeping you from grounding yourself in the moment.

“Hey,” you replied, closing the door as he made his way to the kitchen, putting the sodas in the fridge without even asking. He’d been doing this for so long that it was second nature.

“You okay?” Dave asked, opening the bag of fries and tossing one into his mouth. He looked at you with those blue eyes, his forehead creasing slightly with concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you answered quickly—maybe too quickly. He noticed. Of course, he did. Dave had always had this uncanny ability to sense when something was off, even when you tried to hide it.

“Are you sure? You seem kind of...” He gestured vaguely with his hand.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, a bit more firmly. “Just tired, that’s all.”

“Okay.” He shrugged, but the way he kept watching you while munching on a fry made it clear he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Wanna watch a movie or something? I brought that one you said you wanted to see...”

“I’m not sure I feel like watching a movie tonight,” you replied, trying to keep your voice neutral as you grabbed a glass of water for yourself. It was a small response, almost insignificant, but the tension was already starting to build.

“Alright, so what do you want to do?” He leaned against the kitchen counter, his gaze calm and his relaxed posture a stark contrast to the knot tightening inside you.

“I don’t know, Dave!” The words came out sharper than you intended, and the tone in your voice made his eyebrows lift.

“Okay, easy,” he said slowly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I was just asking. No need to bite my head off.”

You sighed, guilt starting to creep in. But instead of stopping, the words began spilling out before you could catch them. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just... I don’t know. I’m tired. I had a rough day, and then you show up with your fries like everything is so simple, like... like I just need a movie, and everything will be fine.”

He blinked, visibly confused, but his tone remained calm. “I was just trying to help. I didn’t know you were feeling so... like this.”

“Like this?” You crossed your arms, the tension in your stance growing. “What’s that supposed to mean, Dave?”

“You know what I mean,” he said, but now there was something in his tone that suggested he was trying to keep his patience in check.

“Actually, I don’t,” you shot back, your voice rising. But as soon as the words left your mouth, you felt the sting of tears welling in your eyes, and the lump in your throat that had been forming all day was now nearly unbearable.

Dave noticed immediately. Of course, he did. He might not have been great with words, but he never failed to pick up on when something was wrong with you. His expression shifted in an instant, confusion giving way to a concern so genuine it made you feel even more vulnerable.

“Hey, hey,” he said, stepping closer, his voice softer now. “What’s going on? Are you crying?”

“I’m not,” you lied, turning your face away, but he didn’t buy it.

“Yes, you are,” he insisted, and before you could step back, Dave was already close enough to gently take your hands in his. “Look at me.”

You hesitated but finally lifted your gaze. His blue eyes met yours, filled with so much concern it was almost impossible to hold the contact.

“Talk to me,” he said. It wasn’t a command; it was an invitation. “Please.”

The weight in your chest felt like it was about to explode, and the words came out before you could stop them.

“I ran into Katie.”

Dave blinked, visibly surprised. “Katie?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, trying to look away, but he stayed close, holding your hands with almost unbearable tenderness. “We bumped into each other by chance. Talked for a few minutes.”

He tilted his head, his blue eyes narrowing slightly, now a mix of curiosity and concern. “And?”

“She asked about you,” you said, your voice almost a whisper. “And I... I told her I was your girlfriend.”

Dave went quiet for a moment. Not the heavy silence of judgment, but the kind of pause he always took when he was trying to fully understand something.

“Okay,” he began cautiously. “And... why does that seem to be hurting you?”

“Because I don’t know if it’s true!” you burst out, the confession hitting with a force that made you flinch. “I said I was your girlfriend, but I didn’t know if I was lying. We’ve never talked about this, never put a name on what we have. And now all I can think about is whether I said something that wasn’t real.”

For a moment, he stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on you. The expression on his face wasn’t judgmental or angry but simply confused.

“Wait...” he began, hesitantly. “You’re telling me you thought we weren’t dating?”

You stayed silent, the weight in your chest tightening at his question.

“I... I didn’t know,” you admitted, your voice weak, barely a whisper.

“But...” He ran a hand through his messy curls, looking lost. “I thought it was kind of obvious. I mean, we see each other all the time, spend nights together, you steal my shirts...”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you cut him off, frustration mixed with nervousness. “People do that all the time without dating, Dave.”

“But I don’t do that with just anyone,” he countered, his blue eyes locking onto yours, as if he wanted to make this point crystal clear. “I do that with you because I want to be with you. Because I thought... well, I thought it was obvious.”

“But you never said it,” you argued, feeling the tears starting to return. “And I never said it either. And that’s what’s been driving me crazy. I didn’t know what we were.”

Dave sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. He looked like he was processing everything all at once, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But instead, he stepped closer until he was near enough to hold your hands again.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Then let’s make it clear now.”

His tone was calm but firm, and when he spoke again, it felt like every word had been carefully chosen.

“I’m with you,” he said. “And I thought that was obvious, but if it wasn’t, I’m saying it now: I want to be with you. Just you. And if that means we’re dating, then yeah, I guess we’re dating.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

“But...” you began, the word almost lost in the lump in your throat. “What about Katie?”

He frowned, clearly caught off guard by the change in topic.

“What about Katie?”

“She was your first girlfriend,” you continued, your voice cracking slightly. “And I remember how you two were. Everyone thought you were perfect together. And now, seeing her again, I can’t stop thinking that...”

“That what?” He tilted his head, his eyes filled with concern.

“That I’ll never be good enough,” you confessed, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Dave was silent for a moment, but before you could say more, he shook his head with a soft, incredulous laugh.

“Are you serious?” he asked, his voice full of almost overwhelming tenderness.

You looked at him, confused.

“I broke up with Katie years ago,” he said, as though reminding you of something obvious. “And yeah, it was important to me. She was my first girlfriend. But that doesn’t mean anything now. She’s part of my past, that’s all. You’re my present. And my future, if I’m lucky.”

You tried to process his words, but the lump in your throat only seemed to grow.

“But what if I’m not enough?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“You already are enough,” he answered immediately, without hesitation. He stepped closer, so close that you were almost nose to nose. “More than enough. And you don’t need to compare yourself to Katie or anyone else. Because no one comes close to you, got it? No one.”

His eyes were so intense, so full of emotion, that you felt tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I’m here because I want to be here,” he continued, his voice now softer. “Because you’re who I want. And nothing—absolutely nothing—is going to change that.”

You closed your eyes, trying to hold back the tears, but it was impossible. When you opened them again, Dave was already pulling you into a tight embrace, wrapping you in a tenderness that felt both overwhelming and comforting all at once.

Dave’s arms tightened around you as if he were trying to shield you from the outside world—or maybe from yourself. The warmth of his body surrounded you, and for a moment, the only sound you could hear was the steady beat of his heart, like a reassuring rhythm that seemed to absorb all the anxiety that had consumed you until then.

“You’re more than enough,” he repeated, his voice low and steady, as if it were something he needed you to believe more than anything else. And you wanted to believe it.

Minutes passed like that, in a cocoon of quiet comfort, with him holding you as if the whole world had disappeared. And you stayed there, letting yourself surrender to that sense of relief, of not needing to worry about anything else. Just the present. Just him.

Finally, you lifted your head, your face warm and your eyes still a little teary but calmer. You looked at him, and he looked back at you with an intensity that made you feel as if you were being seen in a way no one else ever could.

“Do you really think I’m enough for you?” you asked, your voice softer now but still tinged with uncertainty. You knew he’d answered, but you needed to hear it again, to be sure.

Dave smiled, a smile that made his eyes shine with a mix of affection and certainty. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lightly grazing your skin, and answered with a tenderness that warmed your chest.

“I don’t just think,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “I know. And if you let me, I’ll show you that every single day. Because to me, you’re everything. And nothing, no one, can change that.”

His words echoed softly but with a force that was impossible to ignore. And in that moment, with your heart racing and your breath unsteady, you finally understood what he was trying to tell you. It didn’t matter what had happened in the past or the insecurities you carried. What mattered was what he was offering you now. It was real. And you wanted to believe it. Wanted to allow yourself.

You gave a small smile, the tears still falling but now accompanied by a growing sense of peace that began to fill the spaces left by doubt. “I don’t want to compare myself to anyone,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “But sometimes it’s hard.”

Dave gave a small laugh, gently cupping your cheeks. “I get it,” he said. “But never forget: you’re who I chose. And you don’t need to be like anyone else. You’re unique to me, and that’s all I need.”

He pulled you closer again, and this time, instead of insecurity, the embrace was filled with something softer yet stronger—a sense that you’d found your place, a safe place full of care.

Time passed slowly, and you felt calmer, as if his words had cleared the chaos in your mind. When you looked into his eyes, you no longer saw doubt or fear—just certainty. And you felt it too. The certainty that, with him by your side, everything would be okay.

“I love you,” you whispered, not thinking too much, but with a truth that burned through your skin and filled your chest with something so profound that words couldn’t fully translate it.

Dave smiled, that genuine, happy smile of his. “I love you too,” he replied, before leaning in for a gentle kiss that made the world seem to pause for a moment. A kiss that needed no explanations. A kiss that said everything about who you were—and everything you were still about to become.

[everyonewooeverywhere]

NSFW BLOG | MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

chapter 2 : dirty bastard

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

summary: when you come into his shop to get your boyfriend's car fixed, yunho can help but wonder what a hardworking, pretty girl like you is doing with someone so...pathetic. and maybe, just maybe, he feels like he could treat you better.

pairing: cowboy mechanic!yunho x female!reader

genre: non-idol au | strangers to lovers | angst | fluff (no smut yet, but there will be eventually)

rating: pg-13 (18+ for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually)

word count: 4.7k

content/warnings: pet names (sweetheart, doll), toxic relationship, yeonjun slander 😞 (again, sry baby)

notes: again, thank you @ateez-main-yapper for being my ride or die with this one 🫠 literally would have never finished this without her (and yes im gonna say that for every chapter get used to it ☺️💗)

The apartment was quiet for the rest of the evening. You’d stopped going to Yeonjun’s gigs ages ago, so you usually had the entire evening to yourself. It was nice, a relaxing way to wind down. It felt like you lived alone in this little apartment for a few short hours. After clearing away all the scattered beer cans and paper plates scattered around the living room, you could live in your little bubble of delusion. A single girl, just enjoying her quiet after a long day.

You tried to keep your previous argument with Yeonjun out of your mind. It wasn’t really a new one. He’d always been wildly insecure around any of your male friends, even though most of them were the boyfriends of your female friends, and it was a disagreement you’d had several times. 

He’d never acknowledge the hypocrisy of him having plenty of female friends who hung around him and his bandmates, though. Girls who either didn’t care that he had a girlfriend or simply didn’t know. Being the man that he was, you couldn’t help but assume the latter. 

No more Yeonjun thoughts. You told yourself. He was going to be gone the rest of the night, so it was better that you kept him out of your head. 

And as you watched the TV you found it was pretty easy to keep him out of your mind, especially when thoughts of another man slipped in so much easier.

The feeling of Yunho’s arms wrapped around your shoulders lingered. The way he’d held you so close and rubbed your back was so comforting. His soft whispers of reassurance floated through your head as if he was still there. As if he was curled up on the couch next to you, holding you because he knew it brought you comfort.

You were baffled at your lack of guilt over the fantasies of being cherished by a man who was certainly not your boyfriend, especially when said man had made it pretty clear that he would’ve made advances toward you had you been single.

But you couldn’t find it in you to care.

And when Yeonjun stumbled into the apartment at two in the morning, you were lying awake in bed. You felt the bed dip as he rolled himself toward you, drunkenly wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into him. “Mmh…Love you, baby,” you let him place a wet kiss on the back of your neck, “M’sorry.”

You didn’t pull away. Letting him hold you close. Imagining the slurring of his voice in a charming southern accent. And wishing the smell of alcohol on his breath was gasoline.

Yunho called you at noon the next day telling you the car was ready for you to pick up. He said that it had been a much quicker job than he’d first anticipated. 

His soft southern drawl floated through the phone's speakers, “You need a ride over? I can bring ya some coffee, too.”

A heartfelt smile spread across your lips, “Oh thank you, Yunho. But I think I’ll just have my friend drive me over... If you…happen to still be getting coffee, though…”

The sound of his chuckle made your stomach flip, “I’ll grab ya somethin’, Doll.”

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem. Send me your order and whatever your friend wants, and I’ll have it ready for you when you get here.”

He hung up not long after. Huffing and complaining that “Mingi’s being needy.” 

“Okay,” you let out a breathy laugh, “Bye Yunho. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“See you later, Doll.”

You felt an odd sort of guilt over how excited you were to see him, and you felt like you had to consistently remind yourself of your own relationship when you were around him. But it was so hard to mask the way he made you giddy every time he called you “sweetheart.” And nothing could compare to the way “Doll” rolled off his tongue.

You quickly saved his number in your phone before calling up your friend, praying that she was free so you wouldn’t have to call Yunho back and tell him that you actually did, in fact, need a ride.

She picked up in seconds, “Hey, babe! What’s up?”

“Hey Ro, you free this morning?” 

You heard an excited gasp, “Yes, please! I don’t care what it is. My mom set me up on another blind date, and I’m like ninety percent sure he’s her pastor’s son. And I’ve met the guy a couple times, and he really gives me the creeps. Please give me an excuse to not go!”

“Rosie, how many times do I have to tell you that you can stay at my place if you need to avoid your mom and her date choices?” 

“Babe, I love you, dearly. But there is no way I am sleeping on that couch of yours. I don’t think Yeonjun could keep it clean if he tried.”

You shrugged, “We could always kick him to the couch.”

“Yeah, not sure I want to deal with that, either.”

“Ok, well I actually need to go pick up his car from the mechanic today. Do you think you could give me a ride?”

She gasped again, and you swear you heard something thump against the floor on her end, “Oh my god! Please please please tell me you went to the shop I suggested!”

You laughed, “I mean, I didn’t really have any other options.”

There's a rushed squeal of joy, followed by the sound of her bedsprings crying out in pain as she launched herself off of it, “Hold on, let me put on a better outfit, and I’ll see you in like an hour, okay?”

“Take your time. There’s really no rush.”

“Oh no no no. There absolutely is a rush. Can’t leave any opportunity for someone to swing by and swoop Mingi off his feet before I get the chance.” You loved her dedication to this, “Hey, by the way…just out of curiosity, what color was his hair while you were there?”

“Uhh, it was platinum, I think,” clearly you hadn’t spent much of your time thinking about Mingi’s hair. Or any part of him for that matter. You had other things on your mind.

Her groan bordered on a moan, “Fuckkk, girl, he’s so hot. I need that man more than I need air.”

“Ok, well, finish getting ready, and then come pick me up, and you can get your fix! Oh! And tell me what kinda coffee you want.” 

“Alrighty!” Her excitement was clear as day in the tone of her voice.

She pulled up to your building a little over an hour later. Looking absolutely stunning. Her hair was perfectly done up, and she was wearing the purple cardigan and white pleated skirt she had bought when you two went to the mall last month. 

“You look cute.” You pulled her in for a hug.

A bright grin pulled at her lips as she squeezed you tight, “Thank you.” She leaned back but held onto your shoulders, “So do you!”

You smiled softly at her, “Really?”

“Yes.” You knew she’d never tell you otherwise, and you truly believed she'd never even considered that she could be wrong. But part of you really needed to hear her reassure you on it today.

She finally let you go after a few seconds and looked around the kitchen, “Where’s the coffee?”

“Oh! Actually the mechanic is getting it for us.” 

Rosie raised an eyebrow at you, “The mechanic is getting us coffee?”

“Mhm. He was actually so sweet yesterday. Drove me home, too, because Yeonjun refused to give me a ride,” You sighed as the events played through your mind, “Jun and I actually got into a huge fight in front of him, and he was nice enough to…check on me after it was all over.”

Her eyes were wide as she grinned up at you, “And he’s buying you coffee this morning?”

“Yep.”

She looked beyond excited at this knowledge, “Is he cute?”

“Rosie.” You glared down at her. 

“What? I’m just curious,” A giggle bubbled out of her throat

“Curiosity should have its limites Ro, I’m in a committed relationship” 

Rosie scrunched her nose and mumbled something under her breath. You couldn’t make it out, but you had a clue. There was no bigger Yeonjun hater on the planet than her. And as much as she tried to keep in underwraps out of respect for you, there was no hiding how deep her distaste for him ran.

But you placed a hand gently on her shoulder, gestured her to the door, “Come on, girl. Let’s go.”

As you pulled up to the shop for the second time in the past twenty-four hours, you couldn’t help but start to feel a little giddy. You fidgeted with your hands in your lap, trying to control your excited anxiousness, but you couldn’t deny the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach when that baby blue pickup came into view. 

“We’re here~” Rosie sang. Flipping down the visor to reapply her lip gloss in the mirror. She flipped it up just in time to see a very sweaty Mingi manually pulling open the garage doors. “Oh fuck.” She turned to you, “Babe, I love you, but will you be okay on your own?” 

The pleading look in her eyes made you giggle. “Go for it girl.” 

She giddily slid out of the car and jogged up to the building, leaving you to gather your things with a bit more apprehension in your step. It would have been a bold-faced lie to say you weren’t nervous. Crushing hard on a stranger when you were already in a relationship made you a little sick with guilt. As much as you and Yeonjun fought, being unfaithful to him was the last thing on your mind. Regardless of how you felt about him, you trusted your own character that much at least.

You watched as Rosie and Mingi talked with each other. The flirting blatantly obvious from both parties. You were so glad to see her enjoying herself. Dating had been a nightmare for her because of her mother’s incessant prying into her life. And it had gotten so much worse as of late. Rosie turning twenty-five last month with still no signs of marriage was turning her mother into a bit of a monster. Setting her up with men with questionable histories just because she knew that they would want to get married fast and give her grandchildren. 

And while you didn’t know him, Mingi seemed like a great guy. He was absolutely her type, at least. She always had a thing for rugged car guys, so maybe his occupation was a sign from the universe herself that he might just be the one.

A knock on the window of Rosie’s car startled you out of your thoughts, making you drop your purse on the floor, tearing your gaze away from your friend. Oh. Yunho was standing outside smiling at you. You pushed the door open.

He tipped his head toward you in greeting, “Hey Doll, how ‘re you?”

“Oh…I’m alright,” you grabbed your purse off the car floor and finally looked up at him. He looked…good. Really good. Wearing another button up flannel and that same fucking beige cowboy hat.

He held a cup out for you, “Your drink.”

“Oh! Thank you.” You couldn’t help the heat rising in your cheeks when his fingers brushed your own. 

He glanced over at your friends who were getting very close as Mingi showed her the engine of a car. Yunho chuckled, “I’ll leave hers on the workbench. I don’t wanna interrupt that.” “That’s probably for the best,” you laughed, following him into the garage. 

He set Rosie’s drink down on the bench, taking the opportunity to lean down towards you, “He’s talked about her a lot, you know?” He lowly whispered in your ear. 

Pulling back, you fought the urge to shiver at his breath brushing your cheek, “Really?”

He nodded, “Spent a long time gettin’ ready this morning, too”

“Well, she was beyond excited to drive me, so I’d say it’s pretty mutual,” biting your bottom lip. Trying to hide how giddy that knowledge made you feel.

You both glanced over at them and saw Mingi’s hand on the lower part of her back as he reached to show her something inside the hood.

“I think that part’s pretty obvious.” He chuckled and turned his attention back to you, “Well, I got ‘er fixed up for ya.” He patted the hood of Yeonjun’s car. 

Your mind was so focused on the proximity of Yunho’s body to yours that you hadn’t even realized that the car was right behind you, “Oh my gosh. Thank you so much, Yunho. This has been stressing me out for a while. I’m so glad it finally got done.”

The whisper of a smile on his lips did nothing to mask the pity in his eyes, “It’s not a problem at all, Doll. You’re an incredible partner for getting it fixed for him.”

An awkward laugh escaped your mouth, “I sure try.”

“You’re doin’ great, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” you muttered. A little embarrassed by his flattery.

“And before I forget! I gave her a full detail for ya, too.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that…” But your heart fluttered, “What do I owe you?”

He shook his head, “It’s on the house.”

“What? Yunho no. I can’t let you do that.”  You started fishing in your purse for your wallet, “Please let me at least pay you for the work yo–.” You peered into your purse to see nothing but your phone, a tube of lip gloss, and a panty liner you kept on you for emergencies. You grumbled, “I forgot my wallet.”

Yunho laughed, “Then I guess that’s settled.” He swung open the driver side door, “Here, have a look.” 

“Thank you,” you sighed in defeat.

“Oh! Before I forget.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a little pink digicam, “Found this on the floor in the backseat. Figured you might want it back.”

He placed it in your hands and watched as you tentatively flipped it over. Running your finger gently over the power button, but not pressing it hard enough to bring the device to life.

“Let me go grab some paper work, and then you’ll be good to go. Alright, Doll.”

You nodded but didn’t look up, too focused on the weight against your palm, “Ok.”

The cold metal felt unfamiliar in your hands. Its shiny surface reflecting a distorted, pink version of your face back at you. Yeonjun had never been the sentimental type, and the little heart stickers covering the front were not characteristic of him. You rested the beaded strap in your palm, the pearly white and blue glass beads smooth to the touch of your thumb. The name "Camryn" spelled out in bold, white lettering on powder blue hearts.

Yeonjun had female friends, you knew that. They weren’t exactly the quiet sort, their chatter and laughter usually spilling out the windows of Soobin’s car when he would pull up to your apartment. You’d never seen them as a cause for concern. But what would they be doing in his car? Yeonjun never drove himself to gigs or bars or parties. He always had someone else drive him, so how did his friend’s camera end up in the backseat?

Slipping your hand through the beaded strap, you flipped the camera over in your hands. The black screen staring back at you. Your thumb finally pressed the power button, and you watched as the little screen lit up. Flashing a logo at you before the lens pushed itself out and the screen showed your boots below you.

Hesitantly, you opened the gallery. The first photo was a selfie of a girl in a mosh pit huddled close by three other girls who all grinned up at the lens. And as you flipped through the gallery a bit of relief began to creep in. They all seemed to be photos of a girl partying and enjoying nightlife with her friends. But you kept scrolling. 

And you eventually reached a photo of Yeonjun. He was grinning at the camera. Happier than you had seen him in years. You frowned at the photo, trying to recall the last time he looked at you like that. 

It only took two more clicks for you to reach the first video. You pressed play without even hesitating for a moment.

A giggle seeped through the small speakers on the side, the sound coming out muffled due to the camera’s poor quality. A girl, who you assumed to be “Camryn” was placing the device on a table, clearly aiming to film something. You heard a male voice come from behind her but you couldn’t make out any of the words. When she turned around, you could see Yeonjun lounging on the couch in front of her. His arms splayed out on the back of it. 

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for what you knew was coming next. 

And as you watched the scene play out, your fears were unmistakably confirmed. She slid onto his lap and let him wrap an arm around her waist.You couldn’t make out his voice, but the way he called her “baby” was impossible to miss.

You could feel your heart pounding out of your chest. The video kept playing, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away. The way he held her and cupped the back of her head made your stomach turn. Her jacket fell away, and he pulled down her dress, exposing her bare back to you. He was leaning in to kiss her chest when you watched as the camera fell forward on the table she’d propped it up on. Your view became obstructed but you could still hear the muffled sounds of her moans.

You dropped the camera from your hands, letting it swing as it hung from your wrist. Everything felt so heavy. The legs under you didn’t feel like your own. Everything felt disconnected. You couldn’t stop the shaking in your hands or the bile that rose up in your throat.

It felt as if the floor was crumbling under you, and when your knees gave out, you would’ve tumbled into the cool cement beneath your shoes if it weren’t for the pair of arms that caught you before you hit the ground.

“Woah woah woah.” Yunho’s voice came from above you, “Hey, what’s wrong?” You couldn’t even muster up the energy to look up and meet his eyes.

“Y/n?” You heard Rosie run up behind you. Yunho let her take you into her arms. She saw the camera swinging from your wrist and slipped it off. And seeing the video playing on replay answered any questions she would’ve asked you. “Oh babe.” She pushed the camera into Yunho’s hands and wrapped her arms around you tightly., “I’m so sorry,” she whispered into your shoulder.

Just the comfort and familiarity of her arms around you made you break down to tears. You gripped onto her shirt for dear life. She ran a comforting hand over your hair. Letting you cry into her arms. 

You had no idea how long she held you like that. But when you pulled away, Mingi and Yunho were clear across the other side of the shop, giving you your privacy.

Rosie wiped a tear from under your eye. “I asked Mingi if he could drive the car back,” she refused to even utter Yeonjun’s name, “I don’t think you should drive like this.”

You nodded, “Ok.”

“Do you want to go back now?” She asked apprehensively.

You took a deep breath, “Yes.” You didn’t have any other words. The sadness inside you was fading into anger, and you didn’t want anyone here to see that part of you.

Yunho came back over. He held the camera out to you, “I figured you might want this back. Might make it easier to…confront him.”

Your lips formed a tight smile, “Thank you, Yunho.” You looked up at him, missing the flutter in your heart that his eyes had given you just several minutes earlier, “You’ve been a really big help. I’m sorry you did all it for some asshole who…” You couldn’t say it out loud yet.

He shook his head, “I didn’t do it for no dirty bastard like that. I did it for you, Doll. Because that’s only the smallest fraction of what you deserve.”

You could only muster out another small “thank you” before Rosie was leading you to her car. And you watched as he stood in the garage door and watched you both drive away.

The numbness was starting to wear off by the time Rosie pulled her car into the lot below your apartment. You could feel the anger seeping into your blood as she parked and turned off the car. A million explanations for why your partner of six long years would cheat on you playing through your mind like a broken film reel. 

He’d stopped being attracted to you when your long work hours stopped you from putting as much effort into your appearance as you used to. 

He’d only stayed with you so he’d have a place to sleep and food on the table. 

He was using you. 

He never really loved you.

You wished he’d never really loved you. 

Gently, she grabbed your shoulder to get your attention, “Do you want me to come up? I’ll wait outside the door if you’d like. Or do you want me to wait down here?” 

“Can you just wait here?” 

She nodded and gave your shoulder a light squeeze, “Ok. Call me if you need me. I’ll be right there.” You couldn’t even formulate a response before you slid out of her car. Mute with anger as you rode the rickety elevator up to your floor. Racking your brain over and over and over again for some sliver of a reason for how he could do this to you. After everything you’d done for him and everything he’d put you through. After everything you’d been through together. Memories of the days back in college when you’d spend long nights out together at bars and crash out on the couch in each others’ arms swirling together with the anger swelling in your chest. Making you sick with distress and confusion. 

Where did it all go wrong?

When you stepped through the door, the quiet air of the apartment felt so unfitting for your swarming thoughts. Of course, he was still asleep. 

But not a sliver of your existence cared when you threw the bedroom door open, letting it slam back against the wall. He didn’t stir. In fact, he didn’t even show a single sign of life until you kicked the bed with the toe of your boot.

When did everything you’d given him stop being enough?

He groaned and lifted his head to glare at you, “What the fuck?”

He had to have loved you at some point, right?

“Get up.”

Where did that end?

“Oh god, what did I do now?”

How did those two carefree lovers end up here?

“Get. Up.”

He sat up and reached into the nightstand for a shirt, “Will you save the nagging for one fucking second? I have a headache.” He pushed himself up from the bed with a huff, striding past you to get to the kitchen, “Is this about yesterday? I don’t want to talk about that right now. Not like you ever fucking listen to me anyway. All high and mighty think you’re better than me beca–” 

Every bone in his body froze when he saw the camera sitting on the kitchen counter. He snapped out of his daze, realizing a little too late that you’d followed him out of the bedroom, and had been staring at him from across the counter. Watching his whole body stiffen in place.

Guilty. 

“Who is she?”

“Who the hell are you talking about?” 

Liar.

He wouldn’t even look you in the eye. Gesturing vaguely at the dusty pink digicam. “What even is this?” 

“I am not in the mood to play stupid games with you. Who. Is. She?”

“Do I have to say it twice? I don’t fucking know.”

Did he think you were an idiot?

You slammed your hand down on the countertop, trying to stop yourself from screaming for the neighbor’s sake, “Will you fucking stop!? Turn around, look me in the eyes, and tell me you’re not fucking cheating on me!”

Maybe you were an idiot.

His shoulders slumped in defeat. “She’s just a groupie. Comes to our shows sometimes.” He turned to you, mood shifting to desperation, “It wasn’t anything serious, I swear. We never did more than kiss. She doesn’t mean anything, baby please.”

An idiot for buying into his apologies and excuses for so, so long.

You were thankful in that moment that you were still too numbed by shock to cry. A bitter laugh bubbling out of your throat instead, “A groupie? You don’t fucking have groupies, Yeonjun. And there is practically a sex tape on that camera. Don’t play dumb with me.”

“Shit, baby, come on. I’m sorry. It really didn’t mean anything. I was just drunk and stupid and got caught up in the moment.”

You were done. 

“Stop! Stop lying. Stop making up excuses! I don’t care! You cheated on me Yeonjun! That’s the fucking issue here!” You paused to take a deep breath, “I don’t care why. I don’t care what the circumstances were. I don’t care how bad you feel. I care that I’ve spent six years making sure you have a roof over your head and food on the table without you ever having to lift a finger, and instead of a ‘thank you, baby’ all I get is you fucking around with other girls.”

He grabbed your hand, and you let him bring it up to his lips and kiss your knuckles. Beyond numb to the feeling.

“We’ll work this out, baby. I swear. I’m so sorry. I’ll help out around the house! And I’ll start looking for a job I swear.” 

You nearly scoffed. 

“That’s great, Yeonjun,” and you saw him get excited at the prospect of winning this, “But you can do that somewhere else.”

Panic rose in his eyes, “Baby, no. Come on! We can work through this.” His hands started shaking as they held your own, “I can’t lose you.”

“I want you gone by tomorrow afternoon.”

“What?” He froze, “What the fuck? You’re kicking me out!? Where do you expect me to go?”

“Fuck if I care. You should’ve thought about that before you cheated on me. For fuck’s sake you should’ve thought about that before you decided to put your pathetic excuse for a band before me. Before us.”

Anger flashed across his face, and he dropped your hands as quickly as he’d held them. “You know what? Fine. You were never anything but a bitch anyway. You never supported me or my music. At least she knows talent when she sees it.” 

The sound you made was more than a little unnerving, laughter ringing through your small apartment. “Nice to know you already prefer her over me. Hope she’s got room for you on her couch tonight.”

He ignored you completely. And you watched as he threw on his shoes and stormed out of the apartment. Slamming the door behind him. You had no idea where he was going, but you didn’t care. It would only take you a couple of hours to pack up all his stuff, and maybe you could leave it at the curb so he’d never have to step foot in your home ever again.

But as his footsteps faded down the hallway, silence enveloped the small space. You could feel the anger collapsing in on itself.. The pain you’d been bottling up for the past couple of hours finally overflowing. And the man who you’d spent years of your life trying to “fix” couldn’t have cared less about anything you did for him. 

He couldn’t care less about you.

And as you sank to the floor of your kitchen, you felt the weight of all the time and energy you’d wasted on him. Of all the tears you’d shed and money you’d spent. All the love and youth you’d given. And you knew deep down it was as much your fault as it was his.

ok cowboy: @saintriots @ateezswonderland @fairyofhueningkai @acetyu @kyeomofhearts

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[liiixsturniolos]

bf!matt helping reader cum

warnings!: f masturbation, f oral

You had been having...uhm.. issues lately. You couldn't finish. It was probably the stress of exams soon, it wasn't fun. Nobody knew this. You had kept it from your boyfriend Matt for until you could fix your problem.

You lay on your boyfriends bed, phone in one hand, and the other sliding below your waist band. Your hand shuffles beneath the blanket as you play with yourself, reading some random smut story from your screen.

You're unaware of the silver handle turning quietly and the door opening. Your nervous eyes wander upward to greet Matts face, his eyes staring back at you and his lips slightly parted.

You pull your hand up, and your underwear makes a snap noise as it folds back against your waist.

"What were you doing?" Matt asks, lifting one eyebrow and walking towards the bed.

"N-nothing." You stutter in embarrassment, your face turning a scarlet shade of red.

"Were you-" he starts to ask,

"No!" You cut him off. Embarrassed.

"You were, weren't you -" he smirks, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"No." You reply. There's no use lying, but you'll never admit it.

"Did you finish?" He asks.

"What!" You shout.

He chuckles, walking over to you.

"No-i-uh.. can't." You whine.

"If you need a little help..." He smiles.

"I don't need help, I'm perfectly capable." You whine in embarrassment.

"Well, you haven't been able to so.. maybe I can fix that -" he smirks.

"So you were touching yourself?" He chuckles, circling the conversation back to his discovery.

"No!" You scream.

"Let me help, okay?" His demeanour changes from making fun of you, his eyes on yours and his head tilted at you.

You nod in defeat. Its your last hope.

He pulls the blanket off of you and pulls off your underwear. Within moments, he's begun to lick and suck on your dripping heat. He's eating you out like he's hungry, starving,ravenous. His tongue pressing on you, swirling and circling your clit.

Your back is arching as he holds your hips down from moving with his hands, his fingers digging into the skin on your hips, pulling you back down onto the bed as he plunges his head into you deeper.

You tangle your fingers up into his hair, searching for something to grab so you don't accidentally move away from him. You couldn't risk this ending too soon. Matts groaning into you at the feeling of his hair being tugged and the noises escaping your hung open mouth.

"Good?" he murmured against you. He'd always ask this. At first, it was because he worried if he was doing well enough. Now it's because he wants to hear you tell him how good he is.

"S-so.. fucking good Matt don't stop." You moan out in agony, your cunt aching from the relentless pace of his tongue.

His hands slide to the back of your knees, pushing your legs up higher so he can get his head closer, his tongue in deeper. He was determined to get you to finish, on his face too.

He was going to get just that. Your thighs were trembling as his tongue curled against your clit. You were pulsing, the feeling in your stomach getting nearer. He pushes in two of his fingers, pressing them against your clit, at the same pace as his tongue, he curled them inside of you.

With a loud gasp, you finally came. Your body relaxes as he works you through your high with his fingers, now wet and coated in your release.

He pulls his head up and pulls out his fingers, "Feel better now hm?" He asks.

You roll your eyes, "Yeahhhh..."

"Damn, I'm getting good at this." He says, sitting up and folding his arms with a smug, proud-of-himself look.

"Shut up." You say, slapping the back of his head.

thanks for reading! sorry for being sort of inactive the past few weeks, but I'm back now with this, and I'm hopefully gonna try and write more stuff!!

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[daenysx]

Maybe some James potter smut since it’s his birthday? (Idk if it’s still his bday where you are but whatever)

happy birthday to the loveliest boy ever ♡

-send me drabble requests!

james potter x fem!reader, smut

James tells you he's proud of you all the time.

Every time he does it, his words leave a gentle rush of waves in your stomach. Something crawling slowly, like he's gonna ruin you. He looks at you with widened eyes, a small smile curled up on his lips, and you are dying to kiss him.

He whispers it, the first time in three days, and your fingers on the keyboard slow down. His voice sends shivers down your spine and it's a delicious feeling how he can make your mind go blank with only a few words. You press your cheek on your shoulder, a lazy attempt to get back to your senses. James takes the opportunity to kiss your exposed neck.

"Jamie," you murmur. He knows what he's doing, never clueless when it comes to you. "I have to finish this."

"You've got an entire night ahead of you, angel," he mumbles. "Can I maybe have some of your attention?"

Fuck him for being so sweet. He plays his part well to distract you, craving your attention like he's been starved for it all day.

"I can help you with your work later," he offers when you stay silent. "If you take a break with me."

James has a pair of convincing eyes and when he watches you like he needs you, you can't keep doing your work properly. You turn your face to him, recognize the vulnerable look in his face.

"Are you okay?" you ask with concern. He nods.

"Just tired," he replies. "I, um, kinda had an argument with Tom today."

Tom is one of his closest friends on the team, a person who makes his long training sessions more bearable. They don't really argue, this might even be the first time. Your brows get together with worry.

"I'm sorry, Jamie," you say, standing up and leaving your laptop.

"That's okay, we'll probably fix things tomorrow," he says. Sunshine personified, your favorite person in this world. "I just don't want to think about it now."

You take his hand, lead him to bed. It's messy with the blankets thrown over four different colored pillows. A silent practice, how you get your body tangled with his. He lifts his leg to settle it down between your thighs and you press yourself without being embarrassed at all. No need for that, he keeps telling you.

"What were you whispering?" you decide to distract him with a lazy tease. "Before you took me away from my stuff?"

"I'd say you willingly left, but the details are not important, huh?"

He gets on top of you with half of his body, looks at you with hazy eyes. Gorgeous boy.

"And I was just talking about how good you are at what you're doing," he whispers and kisses your cheek. "With that frown on your face when you're upset with it. Or with you biting your lip in pride when you got something right."

"You were watching me."

"I'm always watching you."

You kiss him and he closes his eyes. It's been a long day. He got through it somehow, but being able to relax after a day like this is not easy. Even James Potter needs to be taken care of sometimes.

His fingers are wanting, stroking your waist eagerly. The kiss lasts for a few minutes, whispers of affection lingering in the air between you. Your hands play with his hair, big waves falling in your palms as you move.

You take off your shirt. Nothing happens too fast and it's a good thing. How could he rush this when he got it after wanting so much? Desire pooling in his belly, legs shaking and James swears he could moan when you rub yourself on his thigh.

His shirt's on the floor, too. Every piece of clothing on both of you gets lost and James kisses your inner thigh.

"Get under the blankets," James tells you. "It's cold in here."

You do as he says with his help, pulling his naked body under the soft fabric with you. "I'm feeling really warm," you tell him with a sneaky smile that usually belong to his part of teasing.

"Yeah?" he asks against your collarbones. "Can you show me where?"

You take his hand and drag it slowly to your belly. He does the rest of the job and moves his fingers to your wetness. Sticky sweet under his touch, lazy and wanting. You close your eyes and let him play with you.

James has long fingers and they are thick, but he makes sure they are warm enough every time he touches you. His thumb spends a few second with your clit and he uses others to spread the wetness all over you. You lift your hips when he presses just right, his eyes are glowing with something both exhausted and excited.

"Pretty," he whispers, his fingers find a nice rhytm. It's lazy and slow, a gentle touch on your body and he feels like he belongs here. Right here on the bed, under blankets and his hand never stops touching you. He keeps moving until he has you shaking with a tender wave of shiver.

"It's not gonna end," he murmurs on the side of your neck, his lips not kissing and letting you go mad. "I promise I'll keep going."

He sounds so in love, but so tired. You don't even try to stop yourself from accepting the rush his fingers bring, it's strong and you arch your back. Pleasure has you trembling, it's delicious, and you let out a songlike breath. You want to beg him to kiss your neck, he understands your shaky breaths and finally parts his lips against your pulse point.

His fingers keep moving the way you like. You can't see his face as he's kissing your neck, sucking a little bruise there, you hold the back of his head gently to look at him. A pair of lovesick eyes, his lips are swollen and cheeks warm with desire. You can almost feel him rubbing himself on the sheets, the thought of it is enough to let go.

"James," you whisper, desperate to touch him with your free hand. He stays still. "Don't do it yourself, I wanna help. Please, oh-"

He doesn't listen. He can't. His hands are busy and he can't breathe, he needs to come undone. Adjusting his hips, he gets some stimulation from the sheets, enough to make him moan. "I'm so tired, I need to come with you. I can't- can't wait, sweetheart, I'm sorry."

"Let me touch," you say in a demanding but soft voice. "Let me help."

James listens to you this time, he knows you'll do a better job. He comes up a bit higher in bed for you to reach him, you eagerly extend your hand to feel. It's not difficult to get him right there with you, the moment before the peak. He closes his eyes and puts his head on your chest, lazily sucking on your nipple to ground himself. He's moving his hips against your hand, a big breath ready on his chest.

You come with a moan. James thinks it's the prettiest sound ever. With the rush of the moment, you move your hand faster and he follows you. Your mind goes blank, the world gets blurry. James stays on your chest, his body feels heavier now that he's relaxed. You love seeing him like this, without the anxiety his day left behind.

"Need to clean us up," he mumbles. He's half asleep. "It's uncomfy."

You smile softly. He doesn't even have the energy to blink. "Stay for a while," you tell him, your hand in his hair to fix his waves. "We can do it later."

It's tempting and James is easily convinced. Your chest is the perfect pillow, his head moves as you take calm breaths. Rubbing the tired muscle between his shoulder and neck, you urge him to fall asleep. He forgets everything other than your touch.

[moonstruckme]

Hi 🥺 can I pretty please ask for a fic with emt!marauders treating and helping reader get through getting stitches? Maybe having a huge fear of needles and they always make her so faint and nauseous so the boys fix up their clumsy girl and coach her through getting them because it’s just the absolute worst time ever?

Hi lovely, thank you for requesting! These always get so long because I get wrapped up in the semantics haha. I don’t think this is an accurate reflection of how things work for paramedics, but for the purposes of fiction we’re gonna ignore that :3

Cw: needles, hospital, mention of nausea

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 2.1k words

James is murmuring what you imagine to be placations into the side of your head, so quietly you can’t make them out, and you’re doing your best to keep your hand completely still as a nurse cleans the cut on your palm. 

Sirius is watching you from beside the small bed with tension written all over him. He’s digging his fingernails into his biceps and looking like he might actually jump the nurse if she makes a wrong move. 

“Where’s Remus?” he asks, not for the first time. 

“He’s just finishing up with another patient,” she answers again. “He’ll be here shortly.” 

As eager as you are to see your boyfriend, dread curls like vines around your ribcage. James, sensing this, presses his lips to your temple. 

Ordinarily, paramedics don’t handle stitches, but at your request and after some sweet-talking on James’ part, the director agreed to let Remus see to you. What was staunchly not allowed, however, was for anyone not currently on shift to step in, so your remaining two boyfriends are stuck providing emotional support. James seems to be taking this better, whereas Sirius has been antsy and overprotective since you’d arrived. 

A fraction of the tautness in his biceps dissipates when a familiar set of quick footsteps draws closer on the tiled floor outside your curtain. The nurse is the only one who doesn’t seem to notice, the three of you perking up like meerkats the moment before Remus pulls back the curtain, stepping inside. 

“Hi,” he says, a small, automatic smile curving his lips at the sight of all of you. 

The nurse finishes with perfect timing, tossing the wipe into the trash as she starts to leave. You and Remus both thank her, and once the curtain closes the four of you in together everything feels suddenly more right. You hear James sigh softly.

Remus gets closer than he was willing with a colleague present, wrapping a kind hand around your elbow and soothing upward from there. “Hi, darling,” he says again, softer now. “They tell me you’ve had a kitchen accident.” 

“Totally intentional,” James jokes. “We all just really missed you, needed an excuse to visit.” 

You try to laugh for his sake, and though it’s not fully felt it still helps to loosen the knot of unease in your chest. 

Remus smiles gently. His thumb strokes up and down the back of your arm. “How are you doing?” he asks you. 

You do your best to smile back at him, though from Sirius’ expression it must not be very good. “Honestly? I already feel kind of nauseous.” 

“That’s okay,” he promises, and you can tell he’s making his voice extra low and smooth on purpose. Any other time you might laugh at him for it, but actually it’s quite helpful. “It makes sense to be a bit nervous, yeah? But you won’t feel anything, and so long as you don’t look at it while I’m working I think we’ll be all right.” 

Remus looks you in the eyes for a moment longer to make sure you understand. His eyes are the color of tea steeped just the way you like it, warm and honey-sweet. And maybe you’re feeling vulnerable and mushy, but you think you fall a little more in love with him. 

You nod, letting him take your injured hand. 

“I have to numb it,” he warns you, “and that will likely be the hardest part, but once it’s done things will go fairly easily. Okay?” 

You press your lips together, nodding again not because you want to but because you know you don’t have much choice. James readjusts his hold on you, gripping you tightly with one arm around your shoulders and the other folding your head into his chest. You suspect it’s partly to keep you from moving and partly because he knows you need it, but it feels as though he’s just doing his best to give you a continual hug. You appreciate the effort. 

You follow the movement of Remus’ hand as he picks up a syringe from the tray the nurse had brought in. There’s that odd tingly feeling of the blood draining from your face, the awful queasiness in your stomach. 

“Don’t look,” Sirius tells you, voice just as caring as it is tense. You can tell he’s trying to calm himself for your sake, even if he’s not very good at it. You’ve heard from James and Remus that he’s cool as a cucumber when he works with other patients, but when it’s you or someone he cares about he can’t help getting a bit rattled. “You’re okay, baby, just close your eyes. Think of something else.” 

You can manage the first but not the second. When you feel Remus shifting his hold on your hand your breaths shallow. 

“Quick poke,” he murmurs, and your grip on James tightens as his does on you. 

Though you think you’re prepared for it, a mortifying pained sound rises in your throat at the sting. Both James and Sirius make their own sympathetic shushing sounds, but then it’s done, and Remus is murmuring praises while James presses kiss after kiss into your hair. 

You open your eyes to find Sirius has moved closer. He passes you a vomit bag, and you take it thankfully, trying to breathe through the closure in your throat. 

“You’ve got it,” he tells you, brows knit together by both sympathy and concern. “You’re okay, it’s already over with.” 

“I don’t really feel like I’m completely out of the woods,” you try to joke. The truth to it tightens something in you nonetheless. 

“You won’t even feel the rest,” James assures you, still with his lips stuck to you like it’s his job. He smells nice, his eucalyptus shampoo cutting through the icky hospital scent. “You’ll hardly know it’s happening, lovie, we’ll just talk about other things and be out of here before you know it.” 

“I really don’t want to faint,” you say. “I feel like today has been bad enough without fainting.” 

“I’m inclined to agree,” says Remus. You’ve been avoiding looking at him, wary of catching sight of another needle or worsening your nausea by seeing your cut, but his gloved hands are empty. He cradles your injured hand in one, the other drawing a tranquilizing path up and down the side of your thigh. “You won’t faint, sweetheart. We’ll do our best to keep you distracted, and if you need to take breaks we can do that. It’s whatever you need.” 

You blow out a long breath, nodding. Remus gives you a small smile. 

“I only ask that you don’t hold any of this against me,” he teases. “I’m going to require lots of assurance that you’re not upset when I get home.” 

James coos, sounding like he’s considering pulling Remus into your hug as well. 

“No, I know this is all my own fault,” you admit. Sirius huffs his agreement. “I could never hold my clumsiness against you.” 

“I appreciate that.” Remus sends Sirius an intrigued look. “Though maybe I’ll have to make it up to you by cooking, since it seems like you could be barred from the kitchen for some time. Can you feel that?” 

You blink at him. “Feel what?” 

“Good.” 

Remus starts messing with things on the tray again, and both James and Sirius seem to come to attention, James putting his arm around your head again while Sirius pulls up a chair by the bed. 

“The medicine’s working,” Remus tells you, “so I’m going to go ahead and get started, okay? Just try and relax for me, sweetheart.” 

Your eyes go automatically to what he’s doing, but Sirius says sharply, “Hey.” 

That gets your attention, and he gives you an apologetic look, gentling his tone as he takes your good hand. 

“Just look at me,” he tells you. You don’t know if he knows it, but his thumb is tracing a line below your thumb that’s exactly where your cut is on your other palm. “Are you okay to talk, pretty girl?” 

You hum. It comes out high-pitched and shakier than you would’ve expected. 

“Why don’t you tell us about that book you want Remus to read?” 

For a moment, surprise eclipses your anxiety. “You really wanna hear about that?” 

Sirius grins. “No, but you’ve got a captive audience. If I were you I’d seize my chance.” 

You start to smile back at him, but then there’s an odd tugging sensation on your hand. Sirius notices the change, moving to block your view with his hand before you can look towards Remus’ work. Still, your stomach rolls uneasily. Your head feels unnaturally light. 

Sirius says your name firmly. “Tell us about the book, baby.” 

“It’s…” You fight to solidify your thoughts. “It’s a true story.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I thought it was fiction, but it’s not.” Another tug, and you whimper. “Sorry, I don’t feel well.” 

“You’re doing great,” James says, and Sirius takes the bag from you, opening it up in case you need it. “Just stay relaxed, we’ve got you.” 

“What’s the true story?” Sirius asks, trying to get you back on task. “What’s it about?” 

“This guy,” you answer. “He’s from Syria, but he lives in New Orleans and he’s there when Hurricane Katrina hits. I’m not that far in, but so far it’s about, like—” you swallow “—how he’s discriminated against even when he’s helping people.” 

Though you try to stop it, a tear skids down your cheek. Sirius wipes it away gently. “Yeah?” he asks you. “Are you liking it so far?” 

You nod, feeling more in your own body as you try to focus on the conversation. Even the panic is a bit of a relief, better than the strange weightlessness of your head when you’re on the brink of passing out. 

“I don’t think I would have picked it up if I’d known it was nonfiction,” you tell Sirius. He smiles wryly, which looks like it takes effort. “I usually only read fiction, but this was done really well.” 

“I think you’re right,” he replies. “Remus absolutely should read that.” 

“Not you?” James teases. 

Sirius shoots a mean look over your head, though you can tell he’s relieved at the familiar banter. “Are you volunteering?” he asks James. “No? Didn’t think so.” 

“Surely there’s a movie version we can watch instead. Lovie, do you know?” 

“I haven’t heard of one,” you admit, “but the book’s a bit older, so maybe the movie came out before I’d heard about it.” 

“We’ll have to look it up,” Sirius decides. “If it’s really that good, there’ll be a movie.” 

That’s something you could argue about forever, and he knows it, but just then you hear something snip and Remus says, “There.” 

“There?” you echo. 

Sirius looses a breath, and James hugs you tightly. “You’re all done, angel,” he says brightly. 

“Oh.” You feel, perhaps, not as relieved as you ought to, and Sirius chuckles at your confusion, taking your face between his hands and planting a kiss between your brows. 

“You really are done,” he promises you. “You killed it, babe.” 

James loosens his grip on you and Sirius moves his hand, letting you turn your head to see Remus securing a bandage over your palm. He looks up at you when he pulls off his gloves, pride and fondness mingled in his expression. His eyes narrow at the look on your face. 

“Hug?” he guesses, and you nod as you sit forward, wrapping your hands around his shoulders. 

It’s the closure you need, relief dissolving the tension in your muscles and gut as Remus’ thumb strokes your nape reassuringly. “Thanks,” you mumble into his shoulder. 

“You did it, darling,” he tells you. “Nothing to thank me for.” 

“Before I bled all over our counter, I was cutting tomatoes for pasta tonight,” you say. “I’ll finish it up when I get home so I can thank you with dinner.” 

Sirius scoffs loudly. “Yeah, fat chance. You’re not going near another knife for the rest of your life.” 

You roll your eyes as you pull away from Remus, but he raises an eyebrow at you, smiling faintly. “I’m with him on this one,” he says. “At least a temporary kitchen ban is in order.” 

You groan, leaning sideways until your shoulder rests on James’ chest. He wraps his arms around you automatically. “You guys are so lame,” you gripe. 

“Don’t worry, lovie,” says James, kissing the side of your nose lightly. “I’ll finish your pasta when we get home. Everybody wins.”

[seungfl0wer]

*Seungmin Calling You Clingy*

Pairing: Seungmin x Reader (GN)

Genre: Angst

Warning: Not Proof Read, Idk if there’s any real warnings for this if you think so please message me🩵

This is part of a series find the others here:

Bangchan, Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin

-🩵

Sitting in the living room getting ready for a movie seungmin came and plopped right down beside you. As you watched the movie you couldn’t help but get annoyed by the person in it. “Why’s this person so up there boyfriends ass?” You said shaking your head “she’s just being clingy no wonder why he’s getting upset with them.”

Seungmin laughed a bit “you know you’re like that sometimes” he teased not meaning anything bad by it however it hurt hearing. “Are.. you saying I’m clingy?” You said looking back at him. “Yeah you are sometimes.” He shrugged. He didn’t seem to see why it might hurt you which was even worse. Seungmin was always blunt with his words but this time his words really dug deep into you. “Do you really think I’m clingy?” You said your voice a bit shaky. “Well yeah I mean you can be clingy sometimes maybe not like that person but definitely can be.”

He saw how you looked upset and continued with “it’s not a bad thing just sometimes you can be a bit much.” Those words hurt even more. ‘Do I really bother him a lot? What if I’m being too clingy and push him away?’ Your head was running about a mile a minute. All you could do is just nod and go “oh” softly. Laying back just zoning off as you watched the movie.

After a few minutes sung kept his eyes on you looking over once in a while “you ok?” He said pulling you a bit to him. You nod “mhm.” He sat there studying your face “I’m sorry if I upset you with what I said you know I don’t lie to you.” He said his voice soft. “It’s fine” you said looking over at him giving him a fake smile. He sighed a bit “well if you wanna talk I’m here ok?” He said kissing your temple.

After that night you started to distance yourself a bit, every little move you made you second guessed yourself. His words just circling in your head. It felt like you were being beaten up by your own brain. You sat in your room crying feeling like you weren’t good enough anymore. Your messages had become short with Min making him feel bad as well, he knew you were upset but didn’t know how to help. He was afraid of pushing you away even more or saying something worse.

Seungmin had went to talk to Chan, to get advice about what exactly to do. “You said what to them?” His voice almost a yell. Sung lowered his head “I didn’t think it would hurt them like this though.” Sung said shaking his head. “Seungmin, they’re giving you what you want. They think they’re being clingy so they’re giving you space” he sighed “you know how much they’re probably hurting right now?” He said shaking his head at him. “You need to fix this before it ends your relationship.”

Seungmins head shot up “you think they’d leave me because of this?” He cried out. Chan shrugged “I don’t know man but I do know you need to go make this right.” He said patting his back. Seungmin nodded getting up, almost running out the door. He drove fast running a stop sign to get to your place.

You were lying in bed curled up in a ball, blankets covered you as you sobbed hard into your pillow. Everything just hurt it hurt so bad you felt like you were gonna throw up. Seungmin didn’t know he got his key and just ran in. He searched the house for you looking around, until he heard you crying. Opening up the door to your room his heart sunk.

It completely shattered at the sight of you. “Y/n” his said his voice low as he walked towards you. You didn’t move at all, as you felt him sit in the bed. You buried your head into the pillow as seungmin rubbed your back. You didn’t wanna look at him you felt like a wreck, I mean you were a wreck. You felt the bed move Sung making his way to your bathroom, you could hear water running as he moved around.

A few minutes later he patted your back softly “hey come here” he said softly helping you up. He wiped your face with a nice cool cloth before leading you to the bathroom. He kissed your forehead softly as he took your clothes off leading you into the bathtub he had filled for you. He took the shower nozzle wetting your before he started to wash it. He softly hummed one of your favorite songs as he washed your hair.

You felt your body finally relax the feeling of the warm water on you. His hands running through your hair massaging your scalp as he ran his hands down your back a bit massaging your shoulders as well. “Do you want to talk right now or do you wanna wait till we get back in bed?” He said softly as he rubbed your shoulders. “Bed” you said your voice raspy from crying so much. He hummed at your answer rinsing your hair before kissing your head again. “You stay here and relax a bit ok?” He said before leaving walking back into your room.

He grabbed some clothes out for you before he took your sheets off your bed. He wanted to clean everything and make everything fresh for you. He changed the sheets, your pillow cases and your blanket out. As he made your bed he also grabbed a glass of cold water and a cup of warm tea for you and sat it beside your bed. He also grabbed a few snacks to sit with the drinks he had grabbed. Placing your favorite stuffie on your pillow he heard you getting out. He placed your clothes on the sink for you and sat at the edge of your bed.

You walked out feeling a lot better than he had been, you smiled a bit seeing all the things he had done for you. Seeing you he stood up motioning you to come to your side of the bed. You nodded laying down in your spot chugging some of the water he had sat for you. Your curled back up in bed feeling Seungs arms slink around you, you both laid in silence for a few minutes before Seungs started to talk.

“I’m sorry your boyfriend is dumb and can’t stop saying jerky things.” He breathed out squeezing you tightly. “You don’t deserve the words I said, but I really didn’t mean it in a harmful way.” He continued trying to find the right words to say “I enjoy how clingy you are, I love that you want to be around me all the time, that you wanna talk to me about everything. I didn’t want you to stop.. I never want you to stop..” his voice trailed off hearing him sniffle a bit “I want you to always cling to me it makes me feel so loved by you like you cherish every moment with me.” He said his voice cracking.

You started to cry a bit burring his face into your back “I can’t believe I hurt you though, I’m sorry it took me so long to come to you I thought you needed space. I thought-“ he stopped you could feel his hands start shaking “I thought my words made you hate me and you’d just end up breaking up with me when you’d see me next.” He cried harder into your back. He’s never really cried infront of you especially not like this. You turned your body to face him wiping his tears away “Min” you said softly kissing him.

“I could never do that, I just- I wanted to give you space and not be clingy. I didn’t wanna cling to you and end up pushing you away. I’m sorry.” You said running your hand through his hair. “No im sorry im the one that said the stupid stuff i did, I love you y/n with all my heart I need to start explaining myself more.” He said softly looking up at you. “I love you babe I love you so fucking much” you said pulling him tightly. “Let’s lay here and calm down hmm? I’ll order some food and we can talk more later if you want.” He said mumbling through your chest.

You nod kissing him again “sounds perfect my love, can we cuddle for a bit before we order?” You smiled making him smile too “of course” he said kissing you lovingly.

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

[sturnsblogs]

maybe this is a weird request but a angst/ smut based of the song “the heart wants what it wants” by Selena Gomez for the frat boy Chris au… would lowk eat down🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️

THE HEART WANTS WHAT IT WANTS

Fratboy!chirs x toxic!fwb!reader

warnings- smut. smut w plot. f receiving.

—

The heart wants what it wants.

Today was Chris’s day to make the birthday thing up to you—for real this time. Not just rough car sex, not just a rushed apology. Something genuine.

He showed up around 11:00 a.m., earlier than you expected. When you opened the door, he was just standing there with two bags in hand and a tired smile like he hadn’t slept, like this mattered more than he was letting on.

You ended up in your room, sitting on the bed. His arm was wrapped around your shoulder while you curled into his chest, one leg lazily draped over his hip like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He reached down into one of the bags and pulled out a bracelet—silver with tiny emerald stones. It shimmered like dew under sunlight.

“Thought of you…” he murmured gently, fastening it around your wrist. You smiled, the smallest one, but it was real.

He went one by one, slowly pulling out each piece of jewelry from the little velvet pouches like he was unwrapping parts of his heart. A silver ring with a little wave etched into it. A small charm bracelet with random trinkets that reminded you of moments only he’d remember.

And then he pulled out the necklace. Silver. Simple. An infinity symbol hung delicately at the center.

“Here…” he said, softer than the rest. His fingers brushed the back of your neck as he moved your hair aside and clasped it gently. You felt the cool metal settle on your collarbone.

You looked up at him. “Does it mean anything…?”

He hesitated. Just for a beat. His fingers lingered on the clasp longer than they needed to.

“Nah…” he said, shaking his head with a little smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You nodded like you believed him, even though you didn’t. And then you leaned in, your lips pressing against his in a kiss that felt different this time. It wasn’t rushed or hungry. It was soft, sweet. Safe. A rare thing between you two.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his lips.

He nodded, pulling you closer by the waist. “Go get ready, baby. Let me take you out… yeah?”

You pulled back slightly, straddling his lap now, your arms loosely looped around his neck. “I know you’re making it up to me,” you said gently. “But you don’t have to go all out. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he replied, his eyes on you like you were the only thing that existed in the room. “But I want to.”

You paused, playing with the fabric of his hoodie. “Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you gonna ruin this?”

He sighed. The kind of sigh that said he didn’t have an answer he liked. “Probably,” he admitted quietly.

You gave a small laugh, pressing your forehead to his. “At least you’re honest.”

He closed his eyes, breathing you in. “I’m trying… for real. Just for today… let me try.”

And you nodded, because the heart wants what it wants—even if it hurts later.

You finally peeled yourself off his lap with a sigh, your legs wobbly and your heart doing that annoying thing where it felt like it was way too involved. Chris stayed on the bed, leaned back on his hands, watching you move around the room like he had all the time in the world. Like you were a movie he’d already seen a hundred times but still couldn’t stop watching.

You opened your closet, pulling out a dress, something simple and soft, and his voice followed almost immediately.

“That one,” he said, pointing. “You look so fucking pretty in that one.”

You rolled your eyes but grabbed it anyway.

When you disappeared into the bathroom to change, you could still hear him shuffling around your room, probably being nosey. You slid the dress on, adjusted your straps, fixed your hair a little, but even you could tell you were smiling for no reason. That soft kind of smile you only ever gave him when he wasn’t looking.

As soon as you stepped back out, Chris sat up straight, his eyes trailing over you in a way that wasn’t even sexual—it was just awe.

“Damn,” he mumbled under his breath before standing up and walking over to you. “Come here.”

He reached for your hand and pulled you closer, his fingers looping loosely through yours. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then just under your ear.

“You’re so fucking pretty it’s actually unfair.”

You laughed, a little flustered, trying to turn away, but he gently turned your face back toward him, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose. “Stop hiding. Lemme look at you.”

You sighed, cheeks warming. “You’re annoying.”

“I’m obsessed.”

He smirked and trailed his hands down your sides, to your waist, swaying you gently. “Can I kiss you again?”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t say no. So he did—slow, sweet, warm.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. “I’m gonna spoil you today, okay? No bullshit. Just me and you.”

You blinked up at him. “Promise?”

He nodded. “Promise.”

And it almost felt like that could be enough. Like, just for today… it could really be just you and him.

Dinner was perfect.

He took you to that little place on the corner you’d mentioned once months ago, the one with fairy lights strung across the ceiling and mismatched silverware that somehow made the whole place feel like magic. You didn’t even realize he remembered, but when you pulled up and saw the entrance, your eyes lit up and Chris grinned at your reaction like he’d won something.

“You remembered?” you asked, stepping out of the car, fixing the hem of your dress.

Chris walked over to your side, casually tossing his arm around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Course I did. You wouldn’t shut up about the pasta.”

You hit his chest lightly, but your face hurt from smiling. It wasn’t even just the place—it was him. He opened every door, let you order first, made you laugh so hard with dumb impressions and dramatic storytelling that you accidentally snorted into your drink. He just looked at you when you did, like he loved it. Like he loved you. But he didn’t say it. Neither of you did.

At one point, you were looking down at your plate, trying to stop giggling from something he said about the couple sitting behind you (“They’ve been fighting since the appetizer, babe, I’m about to slide her my number.”), when you looked up and caught him already staring at you.

“What?” you asked, cheeks warm.

He shook his head slowly, leaning on his elbow. “You’re just so fucking beautiful, dude.”

You raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile. “You get soft after mozzarella sticks?”

He laughed, leaning back. “Nah. I get soft around you.”

You tried to brush it off, hide behind your water glass, but he reached for your hand across the table, lacing your fingers through his. It shut you up instantly. He was rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand absentmindedly while talking about something dumb—skating, music, the flea market—but you didn’t even hear the words. You were just watching him talk, watching his jaw move, the way his eyes lit up when he was excited about something.

By the end of the night, he paid—refused to let you touch your wallet—and pulled you out the door with your fingers still tangled. The air was cool, and his hoodie was already draped over your shoulders from earlier. He walked you to the car but stopped before opening your door.

“Okay,” he said. “Now give me my moment.”

You tilted your head. “Your moment?”

He nodded, holding your waist gently and leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, slow and careful like he was memorizing you again. When he pulled back, he looked dazed. “There. Now it’s the perfect night.”

You blinked, a little breathless. “Cheesy.”

“You love it,” he said, opening the door for you.

And maybe you did. Maybe you really, really did.

The car ride home was quieter, but not in a bad way. That kind of quiet that felt full—like the air between you was thick with something neither of you were quite ready to say out loud yet.

Chris had one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. His thumb drew slow, lazy circles over the fabric of your dress. You leaned into the seat, head turned toward the window, smiling softly to yourself every time he squeezed your leg like he just needed to remind himself you were really there.

When you got back to your place, you slipped your shoes off at the door and Chris followed behind you, shutting it gently, his eyes never leaving you. You started walking toward your bedroom, already undoing the small buttons on your dress, but he caught your wrist.

“Wait.”

You turned around slowly. “What?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stepped closer, looking at you like you were something he didn’t think he deserved. Like he didn’t wanna ruin it by rushing. His hands landed gently on your waist and his lips brushed your neck, soft and slow. A warm exhale hit your skin right after, and you felt your knees go a little weak.

“You looked so pretty tonight,” he murmured into your neck. “All night. I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and he kissed just under your ear. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty, you know that?”

You nodded silently, a little breathless again, and he smiled against your skin before kissing you once more—lower this time, right on the curve where your neck met your shoulder.

“Let me take this off,” he said, fingers brushing the back zipper of your dress. “Wanna see all of you.”

And you let him. Let him unzip the dress slowly and guide you to the bed. There was no rush. No roughness. Just the two of you, tangled in each other like the world had finally slowed down long enough to let it feel real.

He laid you down carefully, like you were breakable. His hands ran along your thighs, your stomach, your arms, but never greedy. Just warm. Worshiping.

“I should’ve done this for your birthday,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I should’ve done all of this.”

You only nodded and whispered his name like it was the only word you remembered.

And when he leaned down to kiss you again—really kiss you—it was slow, gentle, a little desperate. Not for your body, but for your heart. Like he was hoping you’d feel just how much he meant it, even if he still wasn’t brave enough to say it.

Chris’s lips were soft against your skin, trailing slow, deliberate kisses down your body, each one a quiet promise. His hands rested lightly on your hips, his thumbs brushing gentle circles over your skin as he moved lower, his breath warm against your stomach. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent, like he was speaking to something sacred. “I can’t get enough of you.”

Your heart twisted at his words, but you pushed the feeling down, knowing this was just what he did—what you both did. Friends with benefits, nothing more. Still, the way his eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and unguarded, made you wonder if he meant it more than he should. You knew this was only an act, and he’d be gone by tomorrow, but could you help but maybe doubt he wouldn’t? The thought lingered as his lips brushed just above your hips, sending a shiver through you.

He kissed the inside of your thigh, slow and lingering, his tongue darting out to trace a soft line against your skin. “So perfect,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, his hands gently spreading your thighs wider. He looked up at you, checking in without words, and you nodded, your breath catching as his lips hovered over you.

Then his mouth was on you, warm and soft, and you gasped, your fingers curling into the sheets. He started slow, his tongue circling your clit gently, teasing, like he was savoring every second. The sensation was light at first, almost maddeningly so, as he flicked the tip of his tongue against you, then flattened it, dragging it slowly over your clit in a way that made your hips twitch. “You taste so good,” he murmured against you, the vibration of his voice pulling a soft moan from your lips.

He didn’t rush, didn’t push too hard—just kept that steady, deliberate rhythm, his tongue alternating between soft circles around your clit and long, slow licks that made your toes curl. His hands stayed on your hips, holding you gently, his thumbs still brushing those soothing circles, grounding you as the pleasure built. He sucked lightly on your clit, just enough to make you gasp, then released, going back to those gentle, teasing circles, his lips brushing against you like he was kissing you there, soft and intimate.

“Chris,” you whimpered, your voice trembling, and he hummed against you, the sound sending a jolt through your body. He focused in, his tongue flicking faster now but still so controlled, circling your clit with precise, gentle strokes that made your head spin. One of his hands slid down, his fingers brushing your entrance, not pushing inside, just teasing, adding another layer to the sensation as his mouth worked you closer to the edge.

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous like this,” he said, pulling back just enough to speak, his breath hot against you. “Love seeing you fall apart for me.” Then he was back, his tongue pressing a little firmer now, circling and flicking, sucking your clit softly between his lips before releasing it with a wet sound that made your cheeks burn.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, and he groaned against you, the sound low and needy. He doubled down, his tongue moving in tighter circles, each one sending sparks through your body. He knew exactly what he was doing, reading every twitch of your hips, every shaky breath, adjusting his pace to keep you teetering on the edge without pushing you over too soon. His fingers pressed a little harder at your entrance, still not entering, just circling, teasing, making you ache for more.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing your clit as he spoke, and the praise hit you almost as hard as his touch. You felt the pressure building, slow and deep, your body trembling as he worked you closer. His tongue flicked faster now, still gentle but insistent, circling your clit in tight, perfect loops that made your vision blur.

When you finally came, it was like a wave crashing over you, your body arching, a soft cry spilling from your lips as pleasure rolled through you. Chris didn’t stop, his tongue still moving, slower now, gentler, drawing out every aftershock until you were trembling, oversensitive and breathless. Only then did he pull back, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, your hips, your stomach, as he made his way back up your body.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice tender, his thumb brushing your cheek as he hovered over you, his lips still glistening from you.

You nodded, catching your breath, and pulled him down for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. “More than okay,” you whispered, your heart aching because it felt so real, so much more than it was supposed to be.

He smiled, soft and a little shy, and reached for a condom, rolling it on with steady hands. “You sure?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

“I’m sure,” you said, guiding him closer, needing to feel him, to hold onto this for as long as it lasted.

He entered you slowly, inch by inch, watching your face, pausing to let you adjust. “You feel so good,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours. “So fuckin’ perfect.” His thrusts were slow, deep, gentle, each one pulling a soft gasp from you as he moved with care, like he was trying to say something with every motion.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I can’t believe you’re here with me.” His hands roamed your body, one sliding under your back to pull you closer, the other tangling in your hair. Every touch, every word, felt like more than it should, like he was giving you his heart even if he’d never admit it.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, whispering, “I’m here,” even as that voice in your head reminded you: He’ll be gone by tomorrow. But the way he held you, the way he kissed you—slow, desperate, like he was afraid to let go—made you doubt it, made you hope.

“You’re everything,” he said, his voice rough with emotion, his lips brushing your ear. “Everything, baby.”

The pleasure built again, slower, deeper, and you clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you came undone, a soft moan escaping you. He followed moments later, his breath hitching, a low groan against your neck as he held you tight.

He didn’t pull away, staying inside you, his lips brushing lazy kisses along your shoulder. “I meant it,” he whispered, his thumb tracing your lip. “All of it.”

You smiled, but your heart was heavy. You knew this was only an act, and he’d be gone by tomorrow. But as he pulled you against his chest, his fingers tracing your back, you let yourself doubt he wouldn’t. You let yourself hope, just for tonight.

The night ended with his arms wrapped tightly around you, your head resting on his chest as his fingers gently traced circles into your back. After everything—the dinner, the kisses, the slow and tender sex—it felt like maybe, just maybe, you could believe it meant something. You were warm, full, and so stupidly safe in that moment. The sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear, the way his hand tightened around you whenever you shifted in your sleep—it felt like home.

But when you woke up the next morning, that warmth was gone.

His side of the bed was cold. Empty.

Your brows furrowed, still groggy as you sat up, the sheets wrapped around your chest. You looked around the room—no shoes, no hoodie, no Chris. Your heart dropped.

You grabbed your phone off the nightstand and checked the time—9:42 AM. No text. No call. Nothing.

You stared at your screen for a second before your fingers moved fast.

You:

you’re fucking kidding me right?

You:

you really just disappeared? again?

You:

you seriously left after everything last night? after everything we said and did?

You:

fuck you chris. seriously. fuck you.

you always fucking do this. you act like you care for a night, make me feel safe, and then leave me feeling like a fucking idiot in the morning.

You:

don’t ever do that shit again. don’t touch me like that. don’t kiss me like that. don’t fucking hold me like i mean something when i clearly don’t.

You:

you don’t get to pretend anymore.

Chris:

damn, calm the fuck down. it’s not that deep.

You:

not that deep??? are you actually fucking serious right now?

You:

you made me think it was different this time. you kissed me like i meant something. you held me like you fucking cared.

You:

and now you’re telling me to calm down?? you’re so fucking heartless.

Chris:

we’re not together. you knew that. stop acting like i made you a promise or some shit.

You:

you literally did. “let me make it up to you,” remember that?? or was that just something you said to get in my bed again?

Chris:

i didn’t make you do anything. you let it happen. that’s on you.

You:

wow.

you’re fucking disgusting. seriously.

You:

don’t ever come near me again. don’t text me. don’t show up. don’t try and act like you care when it’s convenient.

i’m done being your second fucking choice. your backup. your ego boost.

Chris:

lmao you’re acting crazy. i dipped for a couple hours and now you’re blowing up like this?

You:

yeah. cause you “dipped” after making me feel like i was something to you.

you always fucking run.

say what you want but you knew exactly what you were doing last night. you wanted me soft for you. you wanted me sweet.

and i was stupid enough to fall for it. again.

Chris:

whatever. i’m not doing this over text.

You:

of course you’re not. because that would actually require being honest.

You:

go fuck yourself, chris. seriously.

You threw your phone across the bed, tears blurring your vision. your hands clenched in the sheets again as everything hit her at once—he had your heart in his hands and didn’t even fucking care. And for the first time, you really meant it when you said you were done.

But were you? The heart wants what it wants. It wants chris. and will always want chris.

—

A/N- AHHHHHHH SO MUCH ANGST

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @cherryystemfemme @realuvrrr @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k @eeyoresturnz @elizasturn @ribread03 @sturnslux3 @costalgirlyr @pizzapocketpocketpizza @arianna1342

[digitaldaydreamm]

in the unclaimed au - does rafe still have a coke problem?

If so, how does reader react to this / help? Or does she also want to do coke lmao?

unspoken claim

rafe x childhood friend!reader

| summary | back when rafe was struggling with his addiction

warnings: mentions of addiction, cocaine, insecurity, angst, cursing, toxic rafe, jealousy, angst angst angst

a/n: good question!! rafe doesn't have a coke problem anymore but here's a little snippet of how their relationship was like when he did

masterlist

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

Tannyhill was suffocating lately.

The house was too big, too empty, yet somehow it still felt like the walls were closing in. You moved through the darkened hallways with quiet steps, the weight of the air pressing down on your chest. It smelled like old money and cologne, but beneath it was something sharper—something sour.

Rafe’s door was cracked open, the glow from his bedside lamp spilling into the hallway. You hesitated for a second, but then your fingers wrapped around the handle, pushing it open.

The room was a mess.

Clothes strewn across the floor, drawers left open like he had torn through them looking for something. His nightstand was cluttered with half-empty water bottles, a forgotten pack of cigarettes, and something else—something white, dusting the surface like residue.

And Rafe—

Rafe was sitting on the edge of his bed, his skin slick with sweat. His hands were clasped together, elbows digging into his knees, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against each other.

You exhaled softly, stepping inside.

He didn’t look at you.

“Rafe.”

His fingers twitched, his knee bouncing rapidly. He dragged a hand over his face, inhaling sharply through his nose. “I told you not to come.”

“You didn’t mean that."

His lips parted like he was going to argue, but he just exhaled harshly instead, shaking his head. His gaze flickered to you then, and the way his eyes looked under the dim light—blown wide, almost feverish—made your stomach twist.

“You’re just gonna leave...” he muttered.

The words caught you off guard.

“What?”

He scoffed, his jaw tightening. “You heard me.”

Your throat felt tight. “Rafe, I’m not—”

“Everyone fucking does,” he cut you off. “So don’t sit there and pretend like you won’t.”

There was something ugly in his voice, something bitter and sharp that scraped against your ribs.

You took a step closer, but his foot stopped bouncing. His whole body went rigid, like he was bracing himself for a hit.

Your chest ached.

“I’m not leaving you,” you whispered.

His eyes snapped to yours again, searching, dissecting. He looked so exhausted, but so wired at the same time, like his body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to collapse or explode.

His fingers curled into fists, then relaxed again. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me understand.”

He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back slightly. His throat bobbed, muscles flexing. Then, suddenly, he stood up.

You forced yourself not to take a step back.

He didn’t touch you. His presence alone was suffocating, overwhelming.

“You think you can just waltz in here and fix me?” His voice was quiet, but laced with something dangerous.

“That’s not—”

“You can’t,” he cut you off, and this time his voice broke just a little. Just enough for you to hear it.

“You’re not a fucking savior,” he murmured, gaze flickering over your face like he was memorizing it. “You should’ve given up on me a long time ago.”

You shook your head. “I—”

He reached out then, his fingers brushing against your wrist, barely touching, but it still sent a shiver down your spine.

Rafe’s stare was unblinking, almost too still, but you could see the way his fingers twitched at his sides. Like he was holding something in.

You should’ve expected the explosion when it came.

“You know what?” His voice was quieter now, but somehow worse. “Maybe you should go.”

Your stomach dropped. “What—”

“No, really,” he scoffed, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Maybe you should stop wasting your fucking time here and go back to him.”

Your brows furrowed. “Rafe, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You think I don’t see it?” His voice was rising now, sharp and jagged, like a blade. “You think I don’t fucking notice when you’re always with Topper now?”

You took a step back before you could stop yourself, and that—that made something in his expression shift.

“You’re scared of me,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “I fucking knew it.”

“Rafe, I’m not scared of you.”

“Then why are you acting like it?” His voice cracked, his breath coming heavier.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold your ground. “I don’t know what you think is going on, but—”

“You’ve been with him more than me.” His chest rose and fell in quick bursts. “Every time I call, you’re busy. Every time I look for you, you’re with him.”

“That’s not true—”

“Then where were you last night?”

Your breath hitched.

Rafe let out a dry laugh, but it didn’t sound amused. It sounded wrecked.

“Yeah,” he murmured, shaking his head. “That’s what I thought.”

You exhaled sharply. “I was home.”

“With him.”

“No, Rafe!” Your voice came out more desperate than you intended. “I wasn’t with him. I wasn’t—”

“But you could’ve been.” His eyes were wild now, dark and unreadable. “You want to be.”

Your stomach churned. “That’s not true.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, kid,” he sneered, but it wasn’t playful. It was cold. “Just fucking admit it.”

Your heart pounded. “There’s nothing to admit.”

His jaw clenched. Then, just like that—

His hand shot out, grabbing the lamp off his nightstand, and before you could even react, he threw it.

It hit the wall with a sharp crack, glass shattering, the light flickering once before going out completely. The room plunged into partial darkness, but you could still see the way his chest heaved, his knuckles white from how hard his fists were clenched.

Your breath came fast, heart slamming against your ribs.

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling shakily before his fingers curled into his hair, tugging hard. “Fuck.”

You didn’t move.

For a second, neither did he.

Then, in one sharp motion, he swept an arm across his nightstand, sending everything crashing to the floor—bottles, cigarettes, that white residue smearing across the hardwood like dust.

You flinched. He noticed.

And for a moment, something in his expression cracked.

But he didn’t apologize.

He just stared at you, something dark and almost desperate behind his eyes, like he wanted to break something else.

Maybe even himself.

“You should’ve left,” he muttered, voice raw.

But you didn’t.

[luvst4rc0r3]

HII so idk what's going on with the whole pregnant reader thing but I feel like u stabbed me bcz why u gotta make it so sad😭 but I thought about the idea that after reader's miscarriage and Jinx takes in Isha, she gets a taste of what it's like to be a mom and it gives her the hope to try again. But then after Isha dies, everything all goes to shit again (events of act 3 play out), but then after Jinx gets out of jail and teams up with Ekko, she goes to reader and says something like "once this is all over, we're getting out of here." And they move to bildgewater together and have an actual child there in a more healthy and happy space :)) maybe for a time skip part but idk lol, anyway just thought I'd leave this here!! Live laugh love Jinx

request: Your “I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

It was super interesting.

And also made me cry😭😭

Can you write a happy ending for it?

TY if you do

request:I'm gonna need a good ending where Jinx and r have the baby and live happily ever after because that last ask fucked me up😭😭😭😭

"But good things don’t always last forever"

Jinx x F!Reader

WARNINGS: DEATH, MENTIONS OF MISCARRIAGE!! WC: 3165

NOTE: erm I hope yall are ok now.

Summary: After a heartbreaking miscarriage, you fall into despair, but Jinx—determined to bring light back into your life—unexpectedly finds a little girl named Isha, who needs a family just as much as you both do.

PT.1

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

The hideout was quiet. Too quiet.

Jinx hated it.

She sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing her leg as she watched you, curled up with your back to her, shoulders trembling under the blanket. You’d barely moved in hours. Days. It felt like weeks.

Jinx wasn’t great with words, but she knew that whatever she said wouldn’t make it better. The grief sat heavy between you, thick and suffocating. She wanted to tear it apart, blow it up, do something—but this wasn’t something she could fix with bombs or bullets.

So, she stayed. As much as she wanted to run from feelings, from pain, she stayed.

She reached out, brushing her fingers over your arm.

“Hey, toots…” Her voice was softer than usual. Hesitant. “Y’wanna get outta here? Just for a bit?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t even stir.

Jinx sighed. She pressed a quick kiss to your shoulder before getting up.

“I’ll be back,” she muttered.

You didn’t respond.

Jinx wandered the streets of Zaun, hands stuffed in her pockets, trying to ignore the ache in her chest. She hated seeing you like that. Hated knowing there was nothing she could do to take away your pain.

She needed to find something. Something that could help.

It had been weeks since everything fell apart—since the baby was gone. Since your heart had shattered into something unrecognizable. You barely left the bed, barely ate, barely breathed.

Jinx never said it, but you knew it scared her.

She’d always been the reckless one, the impulsive one, the wild one. But now, you were the one slipping away.

And Jinx? She didn’t know how to stop it.

So, she did what she always did when the world felt like too much. She ran.

Jinx wasn’t looking for a kid.

She was looking for a fight, for trouble—something, anything to pull her out of her head. Out of you and the way you wouldn’t even look at her anymore.

But what she found was a girl.

Small. Filthy. Silent.

Fell on top of her while some guys chased her.

Once Jinx shot off the guys she crouched in front of her, frowning.

“Hey, shorty. What’s your deal?”

No answer.

The girl just stared.

Jinx clicked her tongue. “Oh, great. You’re broken too.”

Still nothing.

Jinx was about to leave—she wasn’t in the business of picking up strays—but then she saw it.

A fresh bruise, deep and purple, blooming along the girl’s cheek.

Jinx’s stomach twisted.

“…Shit.”

She wasn’t good at this stuff. She wasn’t you. But you… you would’ve stopped. You would’ve helped.

And maybe, just maybe, if she brought this kid home, you’d look at her again.

Jinx sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.

“follow me or not. I don’t care”

She followed.

She studied the kid. Dirty, scared, alone. Just like she used to be.

Maybe… maybe this was it. The something she’d been looking for.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

You didn’t know what to think when Jinx came home with her.

You sat up in bed, blinking blearily as Jinx strolled in, dragging a small, silent child behind her.

“Babe, meet Isha. Isha, meet Babe.” Jinx grinned like this was normal. Like she hadn’t just brought home a whole person.

You just stared.

“…What?”

Jinx flopped onto the bed beside you, throwing an arm over your waist.

“She fell on me. Didn’t say a word. Figured, y’know, she could use some better company. We could use some better company.”

You looked at the child.

She was thin. Too thin. Her hands were curled into tight little fists, her lips pressed together in an unreadable line. She looked… wary. Not scared, not trusting. Just waiting.

For what, you weren’t sure.

But you knew that feeling.

Jinx sighed against your shoulder. “You’re not mad, are ya?”

You swallowed. No. You weren’t mad.

You were just… tired.

But when you looked at Isha—really looked at her—something deep inside you cracked.

Maybe it was the way she wouldn’t meet your eyes. Maybe it was the way she stood, stiff and defensive, like she expected you to tell her to leave.

Or maybe it was the way, despite all of it, she still stayed.

“…She can stay,” you murmured.

Jinx made a triumphant noise.

Isha didn’t react.

But when you got up and grabbed a blanket, draping it over her tiny shoulders, she didn’t flinch away.

That was enough.

For now.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

The first few days were quiet.

Isha barely made a sound. You barely spoke. Jinx bounced between watching you both like a hawk and blowing things up in the dead of night, like movement could stop her from thinking too hard.

But, slowly, something shifted.

It started small.

You’d wake up in the morning, roll over, and instead of being met with an empty bed, you’d find Isha sitting on the floor, drawing.

She wasn’t great at it—her little hands were too shaky, the colors smeared—but it was something.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you wanted to do something, too.

So, one day, you sat beside her.

She tensed—always waiting for rejection—but when you picked up a crayon and started drawing next to her, she hesitated. Then, slowly, she handed you a blue one.

That was the first good day.

Jinx practically vibrated with excitement when she saw the two of you, sprawled out on the floor, doodling nonsense.

“Holy shit, progress!” she cheered, flopping onto your back. “Babe, you’re alive again!”

You snorted, nudging her playfully.

“This is a miracle!” Jinx gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Someone get me a camera—this belongs in the history books!”

Isha watched Jinx’s antics with wide eyes, and when you turned to her, you swore you saw something flicker on her face.

Something close to a smile.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

You couldn’t sleep much anymore.

ever since everything.

And tonight? Tonight was bad.

She woke up to the sound of you breathing too fast, fingers twitching in your sleep.

She didn’t hesitate.

Sliding closer, she brushed your fingers through your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“Babydoll,” she murmured. “Wake up, love.”

you gasped awake, eyes darting wildly until they landed on her.

She didn’t say anything. Just held you.

Your arms wrapped around you tight—desperate, grounding—and for a while, you both  just stayed like that.

Then, small movement.

You looked up.

Isha stood in the doorway, blanket clutched in her hands, staring with wide, uncertain eyes.

Jinx let out a breath, forcing a smirk. “Hey, shortstack. Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

Isha hesitated, then shook her head.

You lifted the blanket, silently inviting her in.

For a moment, she stayed frozen. Then, carefully, she climbed onto the bed, curling up between you both.

Jinx snorted. “Well, well. Looks like we’re officially outnumbered.”

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to Isha’s hair.

And for the first time in forever, you slept through the night, peacefully.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

It started with a rainy day.

Zaun’s skies were always grim, but today, the rain came in heavy, flooding the alleyways and making the apartment feel even smaller.

Isha sat by the window, watching raindrops race down the glass. Her little fingers traced them, following each droplet with quiet concentration.

Jinx groaned dramatically, sprawled upside down on the couch, legs hanging over the backrest. “I’m bored.”

You smirked, looking up from your book. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours,” she shot back immediately, flipping onto her stomach. “Entertain me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not my job.”

Jinx gasped, hand over her heart. “Wow. Rude.” Then, she perked up, eyes gleaming. “Wait. I got it.”

She jumped to her feet, startling Isha, who turned and blinked.

“Pillow fort.” Jinx grinned, pointing dramatically at you. “Right now.”

You raised a brow. “Aren’t we a little old for—”

Jinx was already tearing cushions off the couch.

Isha watched her with wide, curious eyes.

Jinx caught her staring and grinned. “Whaddya think, shortstack? Wanna help?”

Isha hesitated. Then, slowly, she nodded.

Jinx let out a victorious whoop! and tossed a blanket over her head. “Welcome to the chaos, kid!”

You couldn’t help but smile.

Within half an hour, the living room was transformed.

Blankets draped over chairs, cushions stacked like castle walls, fairy lights strung across the ceiling. It was warm, cozy, perfect.

Isha crawled inside, eyes wide as she ran her hands over the soft fabric.

Jinx flopped down beside her, arms behind her head. “Not bad, huh?”

You sat across from them, watching as Isha slowly, carefully, curled up between you both.

For the first time all day, she relaxed.

Jinx smirked, nudging you playfully. “See? Told you it was a good idea.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Alright, fine. You win.”

Jinx puffed out her chest. “Damn right I do.”

Isha watched your banter, something soft in her expression. Then—carefully, hesitantly—she reached out and took your hand.

Your breath caught.

She turned to Jinx, then did the same.

Jinx’s eyes widened.

Neither of you spoke.

You just squeezed her tiny hands, warmth blooming in your chest as the rain pattered softly outside.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

It started with Jinx.

Because of course it did.

She thought it would be hilarious to put blue dye in your shampoo.

You stepped out of the bathroom, dripping wet, staring at her with murderous intent.

Jinx, sprawled on the couch with Isha in her lap, burst into laughter.

“Oh—oh my god—babe, you look—” She was wheezing, wiping tears from her eyes. “I—I’m sorry, I can’t—”

Isha, sitting innocently beside her, covered her mouth, eyes shining with amusement.

You crossed your arms. “You think this is funny?”

Jinx gasped for breath. “Babe, c’mon, you’re literally blue!”

Isha let out a small, breathy giggle.

You smirked.

“Alright, Powder,” you said sweetly. “Game on.”

Jinx’s laughter stopped.

“…Wait.”

By the end of the week, it was war.

You switched Jinx’s sugar with salt.

She short-sheeted the bed.

You put hot sauce in her morning coffee.

She filled your boots with glitter.

Isha, watching the chaos unfold, was delighted.

And then—

The prank truce.

Because somehow, somehow, Isha got caught in the middle.

Jinx had set up an elaborate bucket trap for you, but you weren’t the one who walked through the door.

Isha did.

The bucket tipped.

Flour everywhere.

A long, long silence followed.

Jinx paled. “Oh. Shit.”

Isha, completely dusted in white, blinked.

You braced for tears.

But instead—

She grinned.

Then, the softest, most mischievous giggle bubbled out of her.

Jinx gasped. “Babe.”

You were already smirking. “She’s one of us.”

Jinx wiped a fake tear from her eye. “I’m so proud.”

And just like that, Isha became the ultimate prank war champion.

You had created a monster.

And honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

Your life finally feels complete again.

For weeks you felt alone and scared. 

Scared that you failed Jinx.

You saw Jinx actual feel like she has a purpose again.

But then—

when you both were finally settling in your guy’s new life.

she was gone.

But now—

you guys have Isha

finally feel full again.

but good things don’t always last forever.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

It happened too fast.

One second, you were all together—fighting, running, surviving.

The next—

Isha was holding a gun.

Your breath caught in your throat, legs moving before your brain could catch up.

Jinx screamed.

“Isha!”

Jinx lunged.

She almost made it.

Almost.

Isha’s eyes met yours—And then—

She was gone.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

And then—nothing.

Silence.

it wasn’t fair.

Not again.

Not her.

Not your baby.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

Everything burned.

Piltover was drowning in smoke, fire licking at the streets, sirens screaming in the distance. The air was thick with dust and blood, and the world felt like it was cracking apart.

And maybe it was.

Maybe you were.

Jinx stood beside you, gun smoking, eyes wild. Her fingers twitched on Fishbones, but her grip was steady. It always was in a fight.

She turned to you, breath ragged, face smeared with dirt and sweat.

“Once we’re out,” she rasped, voice raw from screaming, “we’ll get the life we always wanted.”

You swallowed, gripping your own weapon, heart pounding against your ribs.

“Jinx—”

“I mean it.” She reached for you, gripping your wrist like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. “No more running. No more fighting. Just us, babe. We’ll leave. Start fresh. We’ll have—”

She choked on the words.

But you knew.

She meant Isha.

She meant family.

She meant the life that was stolen from you both.

Your throat tightened. “Jinx…”

“I swear.” Her eyes burned, desperate, pleading. “Just hold on a little longer. Please.”

You exhaled shakily.

Then—slowly—you nodded.

Jinx let out a breath, pressing her forehead to yours.

For a moment, just one, the war didn’t exist.

It was just you and her.

Like it used to be.

Like it could be again.

If you survived.

If you made it out.

Jinx pulled back, smirking despite the blood on her lip. “C’mon, babe.” She lifted Fishbones. “Let’s finish this.”

And so, you did.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

The war ended in fire.

You made it out.

Barely.

With nothing but your weapons, the clothes on your backs, and the weight of ghosts in your hearts—

you both flew away.

Flew away from the wreckage. From the war. From everything.

And when you stopped running—

You were in Bilgewater.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

The first thing you noticed was the salt.

Bilgewater smelled like the sea—like salt and spice and damp wood. The docks groaned under the weight of ships, traders shouting over each other as people bustled past.

It was chaotic. Loud. Messy.

It was perfect.

Jinx stretched, arms high above her head, letting out a long, satisfied sigh.

“Smells like fish and crime,” she said, grinning. “I love it.”

You snorted. “You would.”

She turned to you, nudging your side. “You sure about this, babe? New place, new start—no more blowing stuff up for fun. You ready for that?”

You exhaled, looking out at the ocean.

The wind was soft here. The sun actually touched your skin instead of hiding behind smog.

You turned back to Jinx, taking her hand in yours.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I’m ready.”

Jinx’s grin softened.

She squeezed your hand.

“Then let’s go home.”

It wasn’t much.

Just a small shack near the docks—rickety, barely standing, but yours.

Jinx spent weeks fixing it up, scrounging for parts, muttering about “engineering genius” and “making this place badass.”

You just watched her work, heart full for the first time in what felt like forever.

Because she was happy.

You both were.

No more war. No more running.

Just waking up with Jinx tangled around you, her hair messy, her breath warm against your neck.

Just late nights on the rooftop, watching the waves, talking about nothing and everything.

Just peace.

And one day, as Jinx lay beside you, fingers lazily tracing patterns on your arm, she whispered—

“We made it.”

You turned to her, brushing blue strands from her face.

“We did.”

She smiled, soft and real, and for the first time in a long time—

There were no ghosts.

No war.

No grief.

Just you and her.

And the life you always wanted.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

Bilgewater had been home for a couple months now.

The war was a distant memory, just a story told in whispers between you and Jinx when the nights stretched too long and the past felt too close.

Life had settled.

Jinx still tinkered, still got into trouble, still stole things just because she could. But she was happy. She laughed more, slept easier, held you like she was afraid you’d slip away in the night.

And you?

For the first time in your life, you were at peace.

But something was missing.

Something you and Jinx didn’t talk about out loud—not for months, not after what happened.

Then one night, as you both lay tangled on the couch, a storm raging outside, Jinx spoke—soft, hesitant.

“…Do you ever think about it?”

You didn’t have to ask what she meant.

You turned to her, fingers brushing absentmindedly through her blue strands. “Every day.”

Jinx swallowed.

She sat up, looking at you—really looking—and her voice was barely a whisper when she said—

“What if we tried again?”

Your breath caught.

Jinx rushed ahead before you could answer.

“Not—not to replace her,” she stammered. “Never that. Just… I dunno. We had a good thing. A great thing. And I think we could—” She exhaled sharply, eyes darting away. “Forget it. Dumb idea.”

You caught her chin gently, making her meet your gaze.

“It’s not dumb,” you said. “It’s perfect.”

Jinx blinked.

Then—slowly—her lips curled into a small, hopeful grin.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

BONUS!!!!!

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

It took time.

But one day, finally, you held her.

Tiny. Fragile. A weight so light it barely felt real in your arms.

You stared down at the baby, throat tight, heart pounding in a way you hadn’t felt in years.

Jinx hovered beside you, practically vibrating.

“D’you think she’s defective?” she muttered.

You snorted. “Jinx.”

“She hasn’t said anything.”

“She was literally just born.”

Jinx huffed, poking the baby’s cheek. “Still. I expected more personality.”

The baby let out a soft, sleepy sigh.

Jinx melted.

“…Okay, that was kinda cute.”

You shook your head, smiling. Then, quietly, you whispered—

“Isha.”

Jinx froze.

The boat went silent, save for the distant sound of the waves against the docks.

You looked up, meeting Jinx’s eyes.

Her breath hitched.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—slowly—Jinx exhaled, her lips curling into something small, soft.

She reached out, tracing a gentle finger over the baby’s tiny fist.

“Isha,” she repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

Like it was something sacred.

You nodded, eyes stinging.

“She deserves to be remembered…both kids need to be remembered”

Jinx swallowed, blinking rapidly.

Then, suddenly, she grinned.

“Well,” she said, nudging your shoulder. “Let’s just hope this one doesn’t start a prank war.”

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to Isha’s tiny forehead.

“No promises.”

Jinx smirked.

Then she leaned in, brushing her lips against yours, whispering—

“We made it.”

You smiled.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “We did.”

And as Isha let out a tiny yawn, curling into your chest, the past finally let go.

The war was over.

The ghosts were gone.

And the life you always wanted?

It was here.

It was real.

And it was yours.

I love making angst and fluff stories!! They are so fun to craft!!

I want sleep.