#i do think his eye is starting to look a little better so maybe... just maybe he'll be a little bit more chill when it hurts less

[svgarseason]

𖹭 cw: fluff, suggestive, mdni

You really threw a wrench in mean bf sukuna's plans when you totally forgot about Valentine's day. You told him from the start that you didn't care about stuff like that, but he thought you were just playing the Cool Girl™. Realistically, all girls care about that shit. It's ingrained in their fluffy, pink, little brains, right? You're going to be mad as hell when he tricks you into believing he's completely ignored your first Valentine's day together.

That works just fine for mean bf sukuna, who just so happens to think you're super hot when you're mad. So, he ignores you all day while he shops. He smirks to himself as he thinks about how you must be scowling at your phone screen, waiting for a text that never comes. He outright laughs when he imagines the shock on your face when you see what he has planned for you. Maybe you'll do that thing where you bang your fists on his chest while he pulls your body against his. Maybe your eyes will be shiny with tears when you look up at him and say, "I thought you forgot!"

Turns out he's the one scowling at the screen when the whole day passes without a peep from you until you text him "picking me up?" Just before your shift ends.

"Yeah, I guess," he grumbles as he types it out. What kind of passive aggressive, feminine sorcery is this anyway?

His scowl only deepens as he listens to you chatter on about your busy day the whole ride home. You don't seem angry at all. In fact, you plop down next to him on the couch, as usual, practically sitting on top of him as you giggle at the TV and dig into your dinner. You don't even notice that he hasn't touched his own food. He's actually getting pissed in a serious way. And he looks it, even more so than usual, you notice. You fucking finally notice. "What's your problem?" You ask around a mouthful of your favorite takeout.

"Tch, nothing," he says, crossing his arms and looking away. Is he... is he really pouting?

"If you say so," you shrug. You know better than to press him too much, unless you want him angrier and even less prone to discussion. "I'm gonna get changed," you say as you stand to head towards the bedroom.

"No!" He says, just a little too loud.

"Why not?" You ask narrowing your eyes at him over your shoulder.

He would have physically stopped you, but you're a little too small and a little too quick not to slip through his grasping fingers.

"What's all this?" You ask, standing in your bedroom doorway staring at the array of pink and red bags, flowers, your favorite candies and snacks.

mean bf sukuna winces at the sight of the veritable mountain of gifts he had spent the day heaping on the linens. He may have gotten a little carried away, but he kept thinking of things. That bag you pointed out at the mall. And the necklace. And the sunglasses. Then he remembered you said you wanted to go to that concert, so he got tucked the tickets into your card. Then he thought you'd want to wear those shoes you pointed out.

"Oh, my god," you say in a small voice. "It's Valentine's day. I totally forgot."

You turn to him, but the apology that was on your lips dies in a fit of laughter when you see his face is as red as the gift wrap.

"You'll pay for that, brat," he growls as he tosses you right on top of the pile, fully intent on getting his money's worth out of you.

[rebelfell]

Sooo this started out being all cute and fluffy but veered over the edge into the flangst canyon…my bad. 💌 1.8k

Thinking about bestfriend!eddie who shows up your boyfriend on Valentine’s Day.

Unintentionally, of course.

It was never something he planned to do. 

He just happened to be in CVS the night before, blazed out of his mind and wandering aimlessly while the guys argued about what snacks to get. And when he made the mistake of turning onto the designated holiday aisle, he was met with a barrage of pink and red glitter and sparkles and hearts exploding off every shelf—an absolute affrontal assault to his cynical sensibilities. 

But then he picks up this one card that catches his eye. It’s got a watercolor painting of this cute little porcupine who’s holding a heart-shaped box of chocolates, and there’s a speech bubble at the top that says “I Porcu-PINE for you!”

Eddie absolutely loses it.

He stands there making these stuttering giggling sounds and they’re coming out way louder than he intended, and the pimply and dead-eyed clerk behind the register leans over to give the laziest evil eye Eddie has ever seen. He does his best to stifle himself, but more little snickers still eke out as he picks up the envelope that goes with the card, and starts scanning the shelves for the Valentine’s variation of your favorite candy.

(Because it would be weird just to do the card, right? If he throws in some other stuff too, maybe it’ll be less conspicuous. Yeah? That makes sense, doesn’t it? Yeah, totally it does.)

Before he knows it, he’s collected a whole armload of crap. Two bags of the candies (they’re 2 for $5, that just makes good business sense), a little plushie with giant sparkly eyes (its stare is hypnotizing in an odd way, it kind of reminds him of you), and a small (tiny, honestly) bouquet of daisies wrapped in crinkly cellophane (he knows you like those way more than you like roses.)

He puts it all down on the counter and gets another withering glare from the cashier after he’s rung it all up. Eddie wonders if this guy is judging him; thinks he’s some lazy, loser boyfriend buying a bunch of junk gifts at the last possible minute. But Eddie doesn’t have the mental capability at the moment to explain that he’s not even buying these for a girlfriend—they’re all for his best friend, who he sometimes, occasionally, has some slightly inappropriate thoughts about, which yeah, is kind of inconvenient in a lot of ways, but it’s cool, he’s fine with that—

There’s another huff from the cashier as he repeats the total due, and Eddie realizes this guy doesn’t give a shit that Eddie might be a crappy boyfriend, he’s much more annoyed by the fact that he has yet to take out his wallet. And as he scrambles to do so, the rest of Corroded Coffin comes up to the front, still loudly arguing about the snacks they’re carrying in their hands.

They all give Eddie a funny look when they see what he’s getting, Grant being the first to bluntly ask who it’s for. They fall silent, exchanging wary glances when Eddie mumbles your name under his breath as he hands over a creased and wrinkled bill to pay at long last.

“That’s super weird, man, don’t do that,” Jeff argues immediately. “Just give it to Gareth, and he can give it to Annie instead. Problem solved.”

“Excuse me,” Gareth snaps, “but I’ve gotten my girl her gifts and they’re a hell of a lot better than this crap. Er, uhh…no offense.”

Their drummer winces, and his eyes dart guiltily between Eddie and his purchases.

“No—” Eddie’s face scrunches and he shakes his head defiantly. “They’re not, like, serious gifts. It doesn’t mean anything. And she’s dating that rich asshole, I’m sure he’s gonna bury her in expensive shit. This is barely gonna land on her radar,” he insists, now clutching his bag in his fist.

“So then why bother?” Jeff asks, widening his annoyingly perceptive eyes under arched brows. 

But Eddie doesn’t respond. He just stomps out to the parking lot and waits by the car. All the while thinking about all the things he can never quite manage to say out loud when it comes to you.

The next day, Eddie’s rethinking everything.

Sober now and staring down at the offerings piled up in the van’s passenger seat, he can’t help but think this might be the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his life. And that’s saying something.

He talks himself in and out of going through with it about twenty times just in the ten minute drive it takes him to get to your apartment. And even as he climbs the stairs and raises his hand to knock, he has yet to decide if this is a good idea or not.

He came over semi-early, figuring you’d likely be busy later getting ready for some fancy dinner at some restaurant where Eddie probably couldn’t afford to order so much as a glass of water. 

But when you open the door, he can’t help but frown at your appearance. You don’t look like you are getting ready to go out, if anything you look like you’ve retired for the evening before 5pm.

Your face is bare except for a couple spots of zit cream, and you have on an old headband pushing your hair back out of your face. You’re swathed in the kind of baggy, oversized clothes he only sees you in when you’re ass deep in a cold or some other similarly debilitating illness. 

You don’t look sick, though. Just…sad?

How can you be sad on Love’s birthday?

“Hey, uhhh,” he says, forcing a tight smile. His palms start to sweat around the plastic handles he’s clutching behind his back. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” you reply.

There’s no sharpness to it, yet it still comes out kind of flat. Like you’re trying not to sound upset. But Eddie doesn’t push it as he follows you to the kitchen, sliding into his usual seat at your bar.

“What’s that?” you ask, eyes falling to the bag he plopped down on top of the counter.

“It’s stupid,” Eddie starts, “just some dumb little things I picked up.” For you, he adds in his head.

A small smile finally breaks the thin line your lips had been set in since he arrived and Eddie’s back broke out in a cold sweat under his leather jacket as he bashfully pushed the bag over to you.

He then watches, choking on his own heart, as you start pulling things out one by one.

You grin at the daisies, bringing them to your nose to sniff even though they probably smell more like weed than flowers after spending all night in the trailer. You squeal over the plushie, holding it up next to your face and squishing it. You hum excitedly at the first bag of candies, and laugh when you pull out a second one.

Then you get to the card.

Your eyes roll, but you can’t help smiling when you see Eddie’s nickname for you scrawled on the front of the envelope in his chicken scratch. And you’re still smiling as you slide your finger under the flap to tear through the bright red casing.

Then you read it, and your smile falls.

Your whole face does, in fact. It starts with a minute tremble of your chin that escalates into your brow pinching and your mouth crumpling into a frown. And you seem to clench every single muscle in your face to stop yourself from crying, but you just can’t keep it from happening.

“Hey, hey, wait, no, no, nooooo—”

Eddie doesn’t think, he doesn’t take a second to consider doing anything differently, he just jumps to his feet and comes around the counter to your side. He puts his arms around you automatically, letting you bury your face in his chest as you cling to him and try to settle yourself.

“I’m so-sorry, I’m s-so sorry, I’m sorry,” you babble, blubbering through the words.

“No, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I swear, I just thought it was cute, I didn’t mean to—”

“It is cute,” you wail as tears stream down your cheeks, “It’s fucking adorable!”

“Okay, then what’s the problem?” Eddie chuckles, pulling back slightly and ducking his head to look you in the eye, trying to get you to smile back.

You sniffle a few more times before you manage to collect yourself and swipe your fingers under your eyes to smear the wetness of your tears across your cheeks. Eddie’s fists clench at his sides to stop them from reaching up to do it again for you when you miss a stray one.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been in such a weird funk all day since Matt, um…”

Your voice wobbled again and Eddie’s expression turned stony, scolding himself inwardly for letting even a tiny bit of excitement rise in his chest at the thought that you might have broken up.

“Is everything okay?” he asked. “I mean, did you guys…are you…”

“No, nothing like that,” you inhaled shakily. “He just…he doesn’t really do Valentine’s Day. And it feels so stupid to get upset over it. Like it’s just a dumb holiday, and I don’t need, like, presents or a dinner or flowers or anything like that. I just…”

Your arms crossed, as if you were trying to hug yourself. Eddie wished he could do it for you.

“I don’t know, I thought we’d do something,” you finally add quietly.

“He’s not even coming over?” Eddie scoffs. Suddenly the outfit made more sense. “At all?”

Your eyes closed in a pained wince. “Don’t make me feel worse, please,” you beg him somberly.

“No, I—” Eddie sucks in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to upset you. Honest.”

His head dropped guiltily, eyes glued to his sneakers that stood out against the tile in your kitchen. He glanced one last time at all the stupid stuff he bought now strewn across your counter.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you told him firmly. “That was really sweet, Eddie. Seriously, like the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Your hand reaches out for the plushie again and you cradle it in your palm as you swoop in to drop a light peck on his cheek. The warmth of it makes Eddie’s whole face hot and he feels his neck tense from how much he wishes he could turn his head to the side and allow for his lips to meet yours. 

But of course he doesn’t. He wouldn’t dare.

He sure would think about it, though.

Eddie was still staring at his feet, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off you for long. He glanced back up to see you pushing through all of the extraneous things you were feeling to give him a smile, small as it was. He nodded and opened his arms, welcoming you back into them.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispered into your hair. Too quiet even for you to hear him.

I thought for a while about whether or not this is them, but I think this might be an entirely different set of idiots.

also is it just me or is v-day particularly oppressive this year?

[deansbeer]

ೇ WORTH EVERY PENNY. ☆

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

📖 LIBRARY !

PAIRING. dean winchester x f!reader.

SYNOPSIS. he ruined your other sheer lace bra last time while cleaning baby, so you bought a new one. when he sees you in it, though, all he can think about is sliding his cock between your tits—you don't stop him.

WARNINGS. smut | s1 dean | titfucking | use of oil | praising | dirty talk | dean's obsessed with ur tits (as he should) | strong language.

KARI TALKS. the link below is what inspired me to write this filthiness. listen !!! do not come for me !!! or i'll shoot u w my glock <3 because 🖕🏻 n e ways … i love smookums SO bad !!! he's such a lil slut <3 + this is lowkeyyy ass … but in bree's words! fuck it we ball.

🔗 P LINK.

dean owes you a bra. or at least, he owed you a bra.

but instead of whining about it—because let's be honest, you didn't actually care—you just went out and bought a new one. a better one.

it wasn't like you couldn't afford it.

your dad was loaded, ran a huge company known around the world, and you were his only daughter. money was never an issue. but when he made you choose between your inheritance or dean, the choice was easy.

you cut him off without a second thought.

and yeah, maybe that pissed off dean at first—because he had his whole pride thing going on—but you didn't give a shit. you were happy. you had him.

and right now? well, right now, you had his full attention.

"jesus, sweetheart. that's new."

you're lying on your back, your arms bent at the elbows, biceps pushing your tits together, giving him a perfect view of the new sheer lace bra wrapped around you.

it's delicate, expensive, barely even there.

dean's staring. openly. shamelessly. his green eyes dark, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip like he's already imagining all the ways he wants to ruin you.

and honestly? you love it.

"figured i deserved a new one," you say, tilting your head, acting all innocent. "since you completely soaked my last one."

he smirks, kneeling beside you on the bed, his hands already reaching for you. "not my fault you looked so cute all wet and pissed off."

"you drenched me, winchester."

"and you loved every second of it."

you roll your eyes, but you don't stop him when his fingers slide along the lace, tracing the curve of your tits, palming them through the fabric.

he exhales hard, cock already hard in his boxers, straining against the fabric.

"baby," he mutters. "this thing's barely even doin' its job."

you grin. "good."

he groans, squeezing a little rougher, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the thin material.

"you know," he starts, voice dropping, "i've always wanted to try somethin'."

you raise an eyebrow. "yeah?"

dean nods, his smirk turning downright filthy.

"lemme fuck these pretty tits."

you don't even hesitate. "whatever you want, baby."

dean looks too good, sitting back on his knees, muscles flexing, his cock heavy and hard in his hand.

he groans at your response, muttering a low, "fuck, you're perfect," before reaching over to grab something from the nightstand.

you hear the pop of a bottle cap, and then suddenly, his hands are lathering something warm and slick over your skin—oil, maybe?

whatever it is, it makes his touch glide like silk, his fingers sliding over your tits, spreading the shine, making them glisten under the dim motel light.

you hum, arching into his hands. "this your thing now, winchester? oiling me up?"

he chuckles, but his voice is strained. "nah, just wanna make sure i can slide in nice and easy, sweetheart."

you bite your lip, heat pooling between your thighs.

he positions himself, straddling your waist, his cock nestled right between your tits, the tip red and leaking, aching for friction.

"press 'em together for me, baby," he murmurs.

you obey, pushing your oiled-up tits around his cock, squeezing just right.

dean chokes out a groan, his head tipping back, hands gripping your ribs as he thrusts for the first time.

"yeah," he breathes. "just like that, sweetheart."

dean is a mess.

he starts slow, watching himself slide through the tight, slippery space, his cock disappearing and reappearing between your tits.

his breathing is ragged, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the headboard behind you as he picks up the pace.

"jesus—fuck—"

his words send a shiver down your spine, and honestly? you're just as turned on as he is.

the sheer lace bra does nothing to hide the mess—his cock gliding between your slicked-up skin, the fabric barely covering your hard nipples, everything shiny with oil and precum.

dean loves it.

his eyes are blown out, fixated on the way your tits bounce with every thrust, his groans getting louder, rougher, more desperate.

"so fuckin' good—"

you giggle breathlessly, looking up at him. "you're really into this, huh?"

his eyes snap to yours, his hand is on your chin, tilting your face up.

"you have no idea," he rasps, before spitting right onto your tits.

you moan, clenching around nothing, the slick mess making everything even filthier.

"fuck, fuck—baby girl," he groans, thrusting harder now, his abs flexing, his hips snapping sharp and fast.

you love seeing him like this—wild, desperate, completely wrecked over you.

then—he loses it.

"shit—gonna cum—"

dean pulls back at the last second, his cock twitching, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he finishes all over your tits and that expensive, see-through lace bra.

he groans, long and deep, his head dropping forward, his body shuddering as he coats your skin in thick, warm ropes of cum.

you watch him, breathless, your thighs clenched, your own body aching for more.

"damn, baby," he mutters after a second, blinking down at you, his chest rising and falling.

you glance down at yourself, sticky and shiny, your new bra absolutely ruined.

"well," you hum, amused. "guess i'll be needing another one."

dean snorts, flopping onto the bed beside you, still catching his breath.

"yeah?" he smirks, glancing over. "that means i get to ruin another one, right?"

you roll your eyes, turning to straddle him instead.

"only if you make it up to me first."

he grins, grabbing your hips, pulling you down against his already half-hard cock.

"pretty girl," he murmurs, voice dripping with promise. "y'know, i can do that."

꒰୨୧꒱ SPECIAL TAGS. @titsout4jackles @daylighted @bluemerakis @beausling @aileenunfiltered @honeyryewhiskey @figthoughts @lacydollette @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @soldiersgirl @sunsbaby @abox-of-rocks @whisperingdaze @eepwtf @deanswidow @voidsuites @jasvtsc @cowboysandcigarettes @stereotypicalbarbie @unfortunate-brat

[rafesbabygirlx]

can you do something with Rafe and a very naive reader who doesn’t know when a guy is flirting with her and she’s just super friendly? like rafe will get confrontational and possessive but he’s never mean to his girl because she doesn’t know any better and he drags her out of the bar angrily but then is super sweet to her and they have car sex and maybe like the guy walks by and sees them and Rafe smirks at him through the window.

Pleaseeeeeeeeeee??????

Oooooff YES

I feel like I might get a little carried away with this one (I just finished and yes... it is long lol)

𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎!𝚋𝚏!𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚗𝚊𝚒𝚟𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚡 (𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢, 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐)

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

The bar was alive with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. You were seated in a booth with Rafe, Kelce, Topper, and a few of your girlfriends, all of you were caught up in conversation, shouting over the music. Between stories and bursts of laughter, you finally glanced down and realized your glass was nearly empty.

Slipping away from the table, you made your way toward the bar, leaning in slightly to get the bartender’s attention.

“Vodka soda, please,” you ordered.

As you waited, you felt someone step up beside you. You turned slightly and saw a tall brunette guy—broad shoulders, sharp features, a confident stance.

“You here with anyone?” he asked casually, his voice smooth but loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Yeah,” you nodded, gesturing over my shoulder toward my group. 

You didn’t think anything of it, but he moved a little closer, resting his elbow on the bar. “Nice. You come here often?”

You shook my head. “Not really, just whenever my friends want to. What about you?”

“Every now and then,” he shrugged. “I’m Eric, by the way.”

“y/n.”

The bartender slid your drink over, and you picked it up, but you didn’t rush back to the table. Eric was easy to talk to, and after all, it was just casual conversation.

“So, y/n, what do you do?” he asked, taking a sip from his own drink.

“I’m a senior in college,” you said. “Studying fashion.”

His eyebrows lifted with interest. “That’s cool. So you’re into fashion?”

You laughed. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

He smirked. “Alright, be honest—do I look like I know anything about fashion?”

You gave him a once-over, eyeing his fitted black t-shirt and well-worn jeans. “You’re doing alright,” you teased. “No major offenses.”

“Good to know. I’d hate to be a walking fashion crime.” He leaned in slightly. “So, what’s the dream job?”

You hesitated for a second, taking a sip of your drink. “Marketing for a fashion brand, something creative. I love the behind-the-scenes of campaigns and branding.”

“That actually sounds really interesting,” he said, nodding. “Ever thought about starting your own thing?”

“I mean, maybe one day,” you admitted. “I’d want to work somewhere first, really get the experience before diving into anything myself.”

“That’s smart.” He tilted his glass toward me. “To future success, then.”

I clinked my drink against his, smiling. “To future success.”

“y/n.”

The sound of my name in a familiar voice made me turn, and there was Rafe, standing just a few feet away, watching the conversation unfold. His expression was unreadable, but his sharp blue eyes were locked on Eric.

afe walked up behind you, placing a hand on your waist. "Oh hi, Rafey!" you greeted, wrapping your arm around his waist as he moved in close to you.

"And who's this?" Rafe asked, his tone even but laced with something unreadable.

"This is Eric," you said casually. "We just started talking. He's really nice. We should hang out with him."

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, is he now?"

"Yeah, he is."

Rafe’s gaze didn’t shift from Eric as he spoke. "And what have you and my girlfriend been talking about exactly?"

Eric shifted uncomfortably under Rafe’s stare. "Look, man, she didn’t say she had a boyfriend."

Rafe let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Oh, so it's her fault you're a creep?"

"Rafe, we were just talking, I don’t understand," you said, your grip around his waist tightening as you started to feel nervous.

But Rafe broke your hold, moving around to the other side of you, stepping directly in front of Eric. His presence alone made Eric take a step back.

"Listen, man," Rafe said, his voice low and firm. "I watched the whole interaction. You saw her with a group, you saw her ring, and you still thought you had a shot?" He leaned in slightly, his jaw tight. "Next time, when a girl gives you a polite response, take the hint and walk away."

Eric put his hands up. "Dude, I didn’t mean anything—"

"Did I say you could talk?" Rafe cut him off, his voice steady but dangerous.

Eric glanced between you and Rafe, clearly realizing he was outmatched. "Alright, man. Chill. I was just being friendly."

"Then be friendly somewhere else, before I make you regret it," Rafe said coldly, taking a step closer, forcing Eric to back away further.

Eric muttered something under his breath before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Rafe exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Then he looked down at you, his expression softening slightly. "You okay?"

You nodded, still processing the sudden shift in energy. "Yeah. Rafe, that was—"

"He was too close," Rafe interrupted, sliding an arm back around your waist protectively. "And I don’t like people thinking they can just walk up on you like that."

You sighed, resting your head briefly against his shoulder. "Let’s just go, okay?"

Rafe nodded, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head. "Yeah, let’s go."

With his arm still around you, he led you back through the bar, his grip just a little tighter than before.

Rafe tossed you gently into the back seat, sliding in right after you. His eyes were dark, filled with something unreadable.

"You're too sweet for your own good, baby," he murmured before crashing his lips against yours.

You pulled away slightly, breathless. "I don't know what you mean."

He exhaled, shaking his head with a small smirk. "You see the good in everyone. So much so that you don’t even realize how he was coming onto you. I’m not mad at you, you don’t know any better, but he was taking advantage of your kindness. Thinking he could have you. Take you away from me."

You frowned. "No, Rafe, he wasn’t. He was just being nice."

You let out a small laugh, but Rafe’s hand was suddenly on your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. Your smile faded when you saw the seriousness in his eyes.

"See what I mean?" he muttered.

You swallowed. "No, Rafe, I don’t. Why can't someone just be nice?"

His jaw clenched. "It’s the actions, baby. He was no good."

You sighed, shaking your head. "Whatever you s—"

Before you could finish, Rafe leaned in again, kissing you deeply, possessively. His hands gripped your waist as if grounding himself in you.

"Show me who you belong to," he whispered against your lips, pushing you down to the car floor.

He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he unbuckles his pants. You stare up at him with those big sweet doe eyes of yours and grab a hold of him once he's free, peppering kisses on his tip. Rafe throws his head back once you lower your mouth on him.

"Fuck- just like that," he speaks through gritted teeth.

You bob your head up down, taking in as much of him as you can. He moans at how good you make him feel. But in a split second, the vision of - that guy- all over you pisses him off and he grabs the back of your head and begins to buck up his hips jamming himself into the back of your throat. He doesn't mean to take his anger out on you, his sweet girl, but that shit really pissed him off.

You gag on him and grip onto his thighs, trying to breathe through your nose as best you can. Rafe thrusts a few more times before releasing himself from your mouth. He lets you catch your breath for a second before lifting you back onto the seat and laying you down.

He bunches up your dress around your waist and pulls down your underwear, tossing them into the front seat. He puts his thumb in his mouth getting it wet and brings it to your clit, rubbing it softly. You buck up at the feeling but Rafe grabs your waist and pushes you back down.

"Baby, you are the sweetest girl I know," Rafe murmured while not letting up from your clit.

You moan at his sweet words.

"You mean everything to me. No man could ever take you away from me. You’re mine."

You find it hard to speak, but need to let him know. "Rafe, I’m always yours. You know that."

His grip on your waist tightened. "I know, but I don’t want anyone else thinking they have a chance. I love you too much for that."

You smiled, placing a hand on his chest. "I love you too. Always."

Rafe sighed, leaning down to you for a deep kiss. "Good. Because I don’t plan on ever letting you go."

He moves down and attaches his mouth to you. Swirling his tongue around your clit, replacing his finger. He then sucks on it and you put your arm over your mouth to let out a loud moan into it, considering you're in the middle of a parking lot. Rafe puts a stop to that quickly.

"Let me hear you, no one's around." He smirks up at you and you smile back.

He continues to eat you out before moving up and pushing his pants down more and lining up to your entrance. Wasting no time in wanting to be inside you. He slowly pushes in and you throw your head back into the leather seat. Rafe doesn't take a second to adjust before pulling out and slamming back into you.

He sets a relentless pace, his motivation- that asshole back in the bar and loving the way you squirm beneath him. After a few moments, there is chatter outside the car, you panic but Rafe doesn't let up. Someone comes by the window to the car next to Rafe's. You can't hold back your moans and go to move your hand, but Rafe pins both of them over your head.

Rafe notices that familiar face to be Eric. He's nosy and moves over to the window to see what the faint noises are. Rafe stares at him through it and smirks wickedly.

"Wanna come, sweet girl?"

"Yes," you cry out and let out a loud moan signaling your end.

Rafe continues to fuck you through your orgasm, finding his own coming deep inside you, all while that dipshit from inside stands and watches like the creep Rafe knew he was.

tags + some moots 💗

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @maybankslover @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @percysley @aupernatural-teenwolflover @slut4you @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @diasnohibng @slut-4-gojo @akobx @jjmaybankmylovee @slurpdew @rafesheaven @cameronsprincess @littlelamy @inthelibrarybtw @frankoceanluvr11 @writingroom21 @v3n1ce-bxtch

[girlbeatings]

⏦ﾟ♡︎ bff!abby who you hooked up with during your experimental phase in college, giving you for sure the best orgasm of your comphet life, and yet you still fall for a douchbag guy that doesn't treat you as well as you thought he would. poor thing.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ bff!abby that helps you get ready for your wedding with said douchbag, forcing a smile and making sure you looked the part of a future lobotomised, white picket fence house wife. she felt bad for you, you had no idea what you were signing up for by accepting this ring as a sign of your 'love' and 'fidelity'. you'd probably realize way too late in life, maybe late 30s, that this is not what you wanted.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ bff!abby that feels just so sorry for you, that she holds you close and tells you how pretty you look today, the happiest day of your life. "always knew you'd make such a pretty little bride.. i mean, look at you..." her voice trails off as she tilts your chin up to guide your attention to the full length mirror. you did look pretty, the fancy white dress, perfect makeup and hair. perfect.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ bff!abby who stares at you through the reflection and gets an idea. a trip down memory lane, before you walk down the aisle.

"this fucking dress... makes you look so cute," she mumbles, her voice slightly forced as she stares at the lewd scene in the mirror. you pant and tremble, white heels dangling off your toes and the dress bunched up at your hips.

abby groans as she watches your cunt leak around two of her thick fingers, sat between her spread thighs and your back against her chest as you struggle to keep yourself together. "does he fuck you this good, baby? bet his dick isn't as big as mine, huh."

it wasn't, you know that much. abby's fingers with girthy, just two of them made you writhe and squelch, and that fucking strap she whipped out a few years ago had your sexual fantazies in a chokehold. the way you were so soaked that it just slipped in and out of your pussy without any struggle at all, the faux veins rippling against your insides and hitting all the right spots until you couldn't take it— and what did abby do then? she held you down and made you cum over and over.

your fiancé couldn't compare even if he tried, which he didn't. you were lucky if he even looked at your clit, never mind the sort of tricks abby was doing on it now.

"my pretty little girl, all dressed in white..." she murmurs, her fingers tapping firmly on your clit before rubbing in circles, watching your face scrunch up and your hips roll against her hand. "he's such a lucky man."

there's jealousy clear in her tone, because god she wants you. not just your body, she wants your fucking soul. your dna intertwined with her own. but she can't have that, because you don't like girls.

though, your face says different when her fingers stuff you full again. your head's empty at this point, so there's no lame excuse as to why you were happily letting your best friend fuck you minutes before your wedding, your soon to be husband already stood at the altar.

her fingers curl up to find that spot, smiling when your body almost lurches forward off the bed at the singeing pleasure that spikes through you. luckily, abby's arm is locked around your waist, and you stay pressed against her as she finger fucks you just how you remember— maybe even better. she clearly had more experience now. are you jealous?

"gonna fuck every vow out of that empty head." she promises, her thumb starting to abuse your clit in time with her plunging fingers, tears starting to bubble in your eyes as you writhe.

"a-abs, i'm— mmph, abby.."

"i know, wifey... pretty pussy's missed me so much, hasn't she?" she whispers, pressing a kiss to your neck as her hand continues to work perfectly between your spread legs. you know you'd think about this on your honeymoon, you'd think about her when your laid next to your husband, unhappy and yearning for her to come save you. and who knows? maybe after a few glasses of wine with your old college friend, she fucks you until you ruin that marital mattress for good.

happy valentine's day !!

⏦ﾟ♡︎ taglist !

@uhh-lana @pearlcigs @abbyspup @sunrxxyz @graciedollie @starrrcane @lilyyx0 @444fernz @tqlepatia @nvr4getme @2012wannabe @jaywritessometimes @jinxedbambi @tohoko @sapphicloverwlw @shadowmythe @fict1onallyobsessed @pornoangelz @milanyas @powderpinkandsweeet @femmecannibal @aeroti @eatencupcak3 @lils-1979 @sobersonder @dozybunny @fawncritter @nahcala @lesbones @sapphicantichrist @ethereaally @ruelezz @90yearoldbear

[rosenclaws]

Valentines Day Blues || Worst!Logan x Reader

summary: Logan has never really cared about Valentines day until he met you, but despite his best efforts nothing seems to be working out for him.

warnings: angst to fluff, a little spice at the end but no smut, logan's self doubt and slight anger issues, happy ending.

wc: 2.8k

a/n: This is my entry for Loveuary event by @lubdubology and @yxtkiwiyxt! I had pick worst logan my love and add some angst bc I love angst but it all works out for our boy <3 Happy (Early) Valentines day guys!!

Sometimes Logan wonders why he even tries anymore. It's like the world is out to get him specifically. All he wanted was to plan one perfect day. Just one day where he can prove to you, to himself that he's more than a fuck up.

Logan has never really cared about Valentines Day. He's celebrated before. You know gone to dinner, to the movie, had a few hook ups. When he lived at the mansion he remembers the heart decorations and all the red and pink. The kids sharing valentines and watching them experience their first love. But thinking back on his long life there just wasn't anything about the holiday that stood out to him.

For Logan, things just never seemed to work out. Love wasn't his thing. He had lost the ones he loved. He hadn't thought about it, felt it, for years. It never even crossed his mind anymore. Too afraid of losing yet another lover. He went about his life, a shell of the man he used to be. A disgrace to the name X-Men and a monster parents tell their children about at night.

Until Wade showed up and everything changed. He's a hero now, well he's not a villain in the eyes of citizens. He'll take it. He could be free to live again, to make friends, enjoy life. To heal and live in memory of his fallen friends rather than run away from the pain. He doesn't think he'll ever forgive himself, but he can start by being a better man.

It's been so long since Logan felt love that he didn't even recognize it at first. He didn't understand why his heart beat faster, why he felt sweaty, why his stomach twisted and turned by just your mere presence. He thought it was something else.

Maybe you're a mutant and were using your powers on him. Maybe you had heard what he had done and decided that he wasn't worthy of redemption. He avoided you like the plague. Unable to shake whatever you were doing to him no matter how hard he tried. It wasn't until Wade slapped him on the back of the head and spelled it out in big bold letters.

He had a crush.

Logan just scoffed. A crush? That word...It felt so juvenile. A crush is something between two kids who stare at each other from across the classroom. A crush is small and innocent and Logan is far too old and far too worn to be crushing on Wade's friend. But he could only lie to himself for so long. It wasn't a crush. No that wasn't the right word.

He was in love. When he started creeping back into your life it hit him full force. Took him by the neck and shook him until it all clicked. He longed for your attention, to be close to you. To make you laugh, to watch you smile. He wanted to hold you at night, to hear your voice when he drifted off to sleep and to wake up the next morning with you by his side. He was utterly fucked.

It was funny really. Especially to Wade, I mean how clueless could a man be? You would think two hundred years of experience would mean he could pick up on these things. But Logan doesn't notice those things anymore.

He's so in his own head he never even noticed that you were mirroring his feelings. That the mere sight of Logan was enough to make you weak in the knees. That his laugh, as rare as it was to hear, was music to your ears. That you were heartbroken when he started to avoid you, anxiety filling your brain about why the man just couldn't stand to be around you.

Wade treated it as his own rom com. Making popcorn and watching the longing looks shared between the two of you. Except Wade wasn't a patient person and he wasn't trying to watch a slow burn where both of you refuse to talk. So he pushed you two together. Spilling both your secrets right in front of each other and walking away like he didn't just change your lives forever. But it worked. You had to give him that at least. Even if Logan really didn't want to give Wade any credit ever.

Logan remembers that night like it was yesterday. You took his hand, so nervous to look him in the eyes. He locked your fingers together, squeezing your hand softly and tilting your chin to look at him. Colossus passes by and using the man as cover he kisses you. He could hear a faint "Oh come on! What is this Disney Channel?" From Wade but he pays it no mind.

Since that day Logan has vowed to spend every moment being the man you deserve. You tell him that you love him but sometimes it's hard to believe. How could someone like you love a man like him? Your heart was too good for him. Too bright to be with a man who wasn't even sure he had a heart just a year ago.

But nevertheless you're still here and Valentines day is fast approaching. This is his chance to show you how much he loves you. To buy you the perfect gift and plan the perfect date. If he could do this, he could be just a fraction of a man good enough for you.

He wanted to make you breakfast. To dress up nice and proper for once with flowers in his hands. A picnic at the park. To watch the sunset together all wrapped up in blankets. A night time drive that ends in a passionate night.

But life has other plans.

The day starts with a broken alarm clock. Logan groans as he wakes up, reaching out for you only to feel an empty bed. He shoots awake, looking at the clock to see that it was well past breakfast time.

"Fuck!" He hisses as he throws the covers off and scrambles to the kitchen. To his dismay you're already awake and eating. His heart sinks, failure number one.

"Hi honey, how did you sleep?" You ask sweetly as you wrap your arms around his waist, sighing happily as you hug your boyfriend.

"Alright, I meant to wake up earlier than this." He mumbles as he holds you tight. He tries not to show his disappointment as he covers it with a smile. He still has his other plans, the day is just starting.

"That's okay, I'm glad you were able to get some rest." Logan huffs but nods along with you.

He pours himself a cup of coffee. He suddenly realizes to tell you something and pulls you back into him, kissing you fiercely. You squeak in surprise but melt into his embrace.

"What as that for?" You tease as he pulls away. Logan shrugs and kisses you again.

"Happy Valentines Day Sweetheart." He purrs. You giggle as he buries his face in your neck.

"Happy Valentines Day Logan."

"Now, I have the whole day planned so go get ready." His disappointment from earlier fading as he thinks about the rest of the day. "How romantic of you." You kiss his cheek and turn to go back to your bedroom. Logan smirks and gently slaps your ass as you walk away.

"Logan!" You scold him but he just grins wider.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself."

Logan packs the picnic basket as you get ready. He made sure to buy all your favorite things and handmade chocolate covered strawberries last night after you went to bed. Those were romantic right? The clock ticks by faster than he realized and it dawns on him that the flowers he ordered have yet to arrive. His phone buzzes and he growls as he checks it.

Of course.

A text from the florist shop that they can't complete his order despite the fact he ordered these weeks ago. Fuck. Well maybe he can grab something on your way to the park? No he can't buy them right in front of you. Plus what store even has flowers right now. Maybe he can cut a few from the neighbors garden. They won't miss a few roses.

"Logan? Everything okay?" He snaps out it and shoves his phone back in his pocket.

"Just fine sweetheart," His eyes land on you and he lets out a low whistle.

"You trying to kill me or something?" He says with a smirk as he takes in your outfit. Fuck you're perfect.

"This old thing? I just had it laying around." You joke.

You grab onto his belt and pull him into you, his lips capturing you in a hot kiss. His hands slowly slide up your body. You could get lost in this kiss forever.

A loud boom breaks you apart. Your heads whip towards the window and see the sky darken before your very eyes.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Logan growls as he lets go of you. Stalking his way to the window to see rain pouring down outside. There goes the picnic plans. He slams the window shut. Frustration taking over his mind.

"It's supposed to rain all day," You say as you check your phone. You notice Logan's mood turn sour and you start to get worried.

"Of course it is." He scoffs. Logan searches for something in his brain to fix this day. Maybe he can just drive out of the city and you can still go on a picnic or watch the sunset.

"Logan are you okay?" You ask softly. He grunts as his phone buzzes once again in his pocket. Wade's picture flashes up on the screen and it takes everything in Logan to actually answer.

"What."

"Hey so...I might have borrowed your car last night for reasons that are not important to you and well lets just say its going to be out of commission for a couple days k sorry gonna hang up before you process this bye love you!" Wade speaks fast and hangs up faster.

No breakfast, no flowers, no car, no park, no sunset. Just fucking great. He can't even do one fucking nice thing for you. Logan crushes his phone in his hands without even thinking. He's done, he just. He doesn't get it. Why can't he just do one nice thing for you?

"Logan!" You hurry over and try to comfort him but he just holds his hand up.

"What's wrong?" He just sighs, stands up and shoves his hands in his pockets.

"There are no plans anymore. I'm sorry." He says lowly. Disappointment seeping into his tone.

"I had everything planned, I had the perfect day. A day where I can just... you know what? Forget it. I don't even know why you bother with me anymore." He mumbles.

He ignores the calls of his name as he walks out the door and leaves. The rain soaks him right to his metal bones. He just sits on the grass. Letting the rain hit him. Dramatic? Maybe but he's defeated. Just. Purely defeated.

His inner thoughts swarm with attacks, the happiness he had hoped to feel was draining. Being replaced with self doubt that can only scream that he's not worthy of you, not worth the love.

"Logan you get your ass back inside right now!" Your voice cuts through the harsh patter of the rain. He turns to see you marching forward, your pretty clothes all ruined now as you walk over to him.

"Go back inside, you're going to get sick." Logan says with concern but you don't care.

"No, not until you talk to me." You say stubbornly. He huffs and takes off the jacket he had put on earlier to hold it above your head. Rain pelts his back but its stopped hitting you.

"It's nothing."

"Stop that! Stop shutting me out Logan. Look I know this is hard, that sometimes you get wrapped up in your own head. But that's why I'm here." You grab his face, making sure he can't get away from you. You don't know how many times you need to drive this into his thick skull but you will if that's what it takes.

"A bother? Do you really think I'm just putting up with you? I fucking love you, you idiot! I don't care about if the date is perfect or if you get me flowers or chocolate. I care about you."

"Everything got fucked up today sweetheart. Literally everything I wanted was ruined. Don't you think that's a sign? That the universe is trying to fucking tell me something?" You scoff and shake your head.

"Tell you what? Huh? What could the universe possibly tell you that I can't. I'm telling you right now. That you are the love of me life. I love our lazy mornings, the soft kisses, the movie nights, the way you make my day brighter and my stomach flutter. Fuck the universe. Logan, I'm right here." Logan does so much for you that he doesn't even notice.

He loves you and his love is more than enough. It bleeds into everything he does. The way he looks at you, how he talks to you, the pure love and adoration in his eyes.

"I wanted today to be perfect for you. I wanted to show you that I'm worthy of every part of you." He confesses.

You pull him in for a kiss. Not caring if he drops the jacket that was once covering you. You let the rain fall as your lips move passionately with each other. Logan groans as he wraps his arms around you. Your hands reach up to grab at his wet hair, pushing it back and running your fingers through it. His hands grip your waist tightly, pulling you impossibly close to him. Reluctantly you pull apart, needing to catch your breath. He's got this dopey smile, his eyes softening as you rest your hands on his chest.

"You idiot, you're already are worth that and more." You whisper. Thunder rolls through the sky and you tug on Logan's hand.

"Come on, let's go back inside. I don't need to find out if your metal skeleton attracts lightning." He chuckles but follows you back inside. After drying off and changing back into your pajamas he finds you trying to push the couch back.

"What are you doing?" He asks as he walks over and picks it up with ease.

"Show off." You mumble. You grab a blanket it and lay it on the floor.

"You wanted a picnic, so let's have one." Placing a couple pillows on the floor, you and Logan sit in your living room with the food he had packed earlier.

The sound of the rain hitting the windows was oddly peaceful. Your heart warmed at the sight of everything Logan had packed. He really put thought and care into this. You were practically in his lap at this point. His hands wanting to be on you at all times.

"Here," You lift a chocolate strawberry to his mouth and he takes a bite.

"Sweet, not as sweet as you though." He says with a cheeky smirk.

"Cheesy," You roll your eyes playfully. He chuckles, his thumb rubbing the side of your mouth where some chocolate was. His face softens, eyes brimming with an emotion you can't read as he stares at you.

"Hey, I love you."

You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. You're everything. I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life. Logan feels it all, you're it for him. But he doesn't know how to say it quite yet, so he settles for I love you and hopes you understand how much he truly means it.

"I love you too Logan, more than anything." He presses a kiss to your cheek and peppers them down to your jaw. His teeth grazing your pulse point.

"There's still one more thing I had planned that we can do right here." Logan purrs. You giggle as he flips the two of you so that you're on your back, your head on a pillow.

"Oh really?" You tease as you slip your hands up his shirt.

"Happy Valentines day Logan." You hum as he nibbles on your neck.

It's not the day he had expected to have, but it's turned into one he'll never forget. Maybe this holiday isn't so bad. He smirks as he sits back on his knees, still in slight disbelief that you're his. You know what? The universe can suck it. Because he's happy and for once he won't let anything get in his way.

"Happy Valentines day sweetheart."

Here's to many, many more.

[rottenk1sses]

thinking of corrupting innocent art, maybe he grew up religious and his chastity ring is his most prized possession, but he can't say no to your advances, doesn't say yes either— but he never stays away for too long, anyway comes crawling back wordlessly like a puppy w his tail between his legs

cw : corruption, coercion/elements of dubcon (18+)

pastor’s son!art donaldson who stays in his hometown instead of going off to college; opting to help his father with the church as the months tick by, only fueled by a sense of duty and maybe a bit of religious guilt..

you knew the very instant you set eyes on him that you had to have him.

he always looked like an angel when he was stood behind his dad during services—the yellowed overhead light shining suspiciously brighter on him alone; his neatly groomed golden curls bouncing in front of his forehead with every obedient and devout nod of his head to the words of the verses. pretty, you had thought, pure.

the first time you ever tried to seduce him, the church had already emptied out to give you the perfect opportunity to slide into a pew and call him over to ‘talk’. of course, he was more than happy to do so. he talked with everyone, it was like a second nature to provide comfort to others.

he found you really attractive when he finally got a good look at you, sexy even. but the idea of perceiving you that way had curdled a gross feeling in his gut. it wasn’t right—it wasn’t him—and he knew that. but he still chose to sit down next to you that particular evening and indulge that disturbing part of himself. could it really be so wrong to appreciate one of god's fellow creations?

he knew deep down that god would be ashamed.

you had chatted him up for less than ten minutes (making up a sad story about how awful your life was going) before your hand was sneaking over his thigh, sliding over the dark fabric of his church slacks. he'd frozen completely stiff at the feeling, like he was scared of how he felt about the touch and petrified of the consequences.

art chuckled nervously and looked to your eyes, almost pleading.

“uhm,” he breathed out shakily, pushing your touch gently from his body, refusing your advances, “i don’t, uh.. im not—..”

he hoped that his lack of an actual explanation would be a good-enough one in of itself, but you pushed back anyway despite his protests. draping your leg over his, stroking his blond hair, leaning in to kiss his flushed neck. he was trembling all over. now god was really going to strike him dead.

“shhh,” you whispered, “just let me make you feel good, okay? that would really help me feel better…”

he wanted to say no. he wanted to shoot up from his seat and run away like a scared little pup, protecting the sanctity of his body and mind from whatever sin you were corrupted with, but he didn’t. a deeper, sicker part of him couldn’t. he was disgusted with himself.

an anxiousness started to brew just under his skin, and he felt it filtering through his blood like a petrifying poison. like a mess of flies buzzing around a decaying body that was buried deep in the midst of his morality. he couldn’t move; he couldn’t fight back.

but oh.. it.. it felt good..? and he did want to help you..

he was almost surprised by how quick he'd gotten an erection. it strained up against his zipper before you even got a chance to grope him properly.

and then you did.

and then he felt that awful, putrid, incredible feeling bubbling up from his pelvis; a feeling that he had only allowed himself to indulge in when he was at home, in the dead of night, tucked into the messy covers and rocking his hips into his mattress to chase the temptation.

an innocent loophole.

after all, he’d never physically touched himself there in a sexual manner, let alone with the hand of his that held a finger banded in silver—a symbol of his purity—so it would be alright in the end, right? he had only ever done it to scratch an itch. a forbidden itch, sure, but god wouldn’t want him to suffer like that. a quick bit of relief, and then it was over and done with. always.

but in that particular moment, when he was feeling someone’s touch over his pants for the very first time, he had decided that he wasn’t sure he wanted to indulge. maybe it really was as wrong as he knew it to be. he shook his head.

“wait—“ he gasped, squirming on the wooden pew as his head tipped back slightly, his trembling fingers squeezing the edge of the surface under him, “wait, wait, i— oh—oh-!”

he was letting out noises then that made him sound like an innocent fawn, wailing out in a mix of confusion and pleasure and shame and fear as he felt his cock spasm and flood his underwear with an overwhelming warmth. despite his verbal hesitation, he had pushed his hips up hard into your touch as he orgasmed—grinding against it as the shocks of release stung the finger that wore the ring of silver. he could almost feel the metal burning into his skin amidst all of the overstimulating ecstasy that caused his thighs to quake. guilt radiated through all of his bones; seeping into his marrow.

he had sinned, fully and wholly. he was a sinner.

your touch dirtied him. infected him.

you had made him this way.

he was supposed to be good; a good person, a good son, a good follower.

but you had ruined it. all of it.

he’d never been prone to anger, but right then he had wanted to shout. he wanted to shove you away, get down on his knees, and begin repenting. mumbling pleas and apologies with his hands clasped together and his head hung, bowed in penance. his body weighed down by the heavy stone of his own culpability in the situation; the realization that he hadn’t done enough to refuse your attention.

but, in the end, he couldn’t find it in himself to deny his body the gratification of being so close to you. he was no longer worthy of god’s forgiveness anyways, so he turned his head and looked to your eyes, tears pooling in his own. they dripped down his flushed cheeks as he pulled ragged, greedy gasps of air into his lungs. his chest rattled as he cried. the feeling of the slimy wetness soaking into his underwear had only made the sting of reality more pitiful.

if he had looked like an angel before all of this, he surely was a fallen one now.

“…th-thank you, i'm sorry…” he sobbed softly, “i’m sorry.”

he didn't quite know who he was apologizing to.

it had only felt right.

[ofbatsandballads]

so it’s a day early but have a little Valentine’s Day with Jason drabble except reader is a bit unhinged and very in love with Jason. inspired by me getting split knuckles and thinking “wow this would be so much cooler if I got them from punching someone.” also idc if damian is ooc here bc you can pry good brothers Jay and Dami from my cold, dead hands.

Jason Todd is used to fighting. He knows thrown fists, black eyes, and bloodied hands better than he knows himself. He’s been fighting so long that it’s second nature; sometimes he tires of the fight and sometimes he aches for it. It all depends on the day and his mood. Sometimes busted knuckles are a pain in the ass to clean and sometimes he enjoys the sting of a job well done.

Jason is used to seeing other people fight. It was the one constant in his formative years. He saw Gotham’s worst fight daily when he was a little kid doing his best to survive the city’s unforgiving streets. He saw Gotham’s best fight nightly and fought alongside him as a bright-eyed teenager. He sees his siblings fight routinely, knows how they do it like he knows the back of his hand. Dick is graceful; he floats through the air before he kicks you in the face. Tim is practical; he hits you where it hurts, seeks to destroy. Damian is ruthless; he toes the line between life and death like he was raised on it. He was; they both were.

Jason has not, however, seen you fight. Until tonight that is. Oh, he’s seen you argue before. You’ve got a smart fucking mouth—he loves it, even when it gets you both in trouble. But physically you’ve always been nothing but gentle and calm. He’s the one that intimidates, that scares off anyone who tries to flirt with either of you with his crossed arms and his face that screams “I’ll kill you”. Yet there you are in the middle of the ballroom where he left you, clutching your fist that has just connected with the nose of some CEO’s son. He freezes for a split second in pure shock. Then his brain comes back online and he’s trying to push through the crowd of people to get to you. His brother beats him to it. Dick picks you up around the waist and swiftly hauls you out of the ballroom.

Jason’s torn between running after you and cornering the guy you just punched to finish what you started. He doesn’t get to make that choice because a small but strong arm grabs him and yanks him hard toward the door that you just got dragged out of. He looks down and sees Damian, and something instinctual about this situation makes him follow wherever the kid goes. It wouldn’t be the first time Damian led him away from a fight and it probably won’t be the last.

“What the fuck just happened?” Jason asks his youngest brother as they wind through the mazelike halls of the penthouse.

“Well, akhi, your beloved just assaulted a man in the middle of father’s Valentine’s Day gala,” Damian responds coolly.

“Yeah, I kinda picked that up, saghir. Why did she assault a man in the middle of the gala?” Jason presses.

Damian bristles at the term of endearment. Jason can tell he’s about two seconds away from arguing that he’s not little anymore, Todd. He seems to consider your hitting a man a more pressing matter, though, because he starts to explain what happened. The guy you punched—some dude named Prescott—had decided it would be a good idea to flirt with you. You turned him down quickly and bluntly with a simple “No, I’m here with my boyfriend.” It all went downhill from there.

“He then asked who her boyfriend was, and when she said you, this imbecile asked why a girl such as herself would be with, quote, ‘a charity case like him’,” Damian relays with thinly veiled disgust.

Jason was used to comments like this. It was all he heard during the three years after Bruce adopted him. It used to make him mad or insecure, like maybe Bruce never truly wanted him. Maybe he just wanted to feel like he was doing something good. But then he died and came back. And he hated B for so long. Until he didn’t. Until he realized that maybe he never did, maybe he just wanted proof that his dad loved him and maybe he felt like he didn’t have it. But with time and patience and a lot of pain, he’s now reasonably assured that he’s not just some billionaire’s charity project. If that were the case, then Bruce would’ve stopped trying a long time ago with him. So the spoiled brat’s comment doesn’t really bother him. He knows that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t bother you, but he can’t figure why it would make you angry enough to deck the guy in the middle of a full ballroom.

“That’s it? She punched him for that?” Jason asks doubtfully.

“No. She first told him that he clearly lacked the empathy to even know what the word charity meant. She also made a snide comment about how his gala attire could, however, be seen as a charity case,” Damian chuckles, clearly amused by your silver tongue.

“Well what’d he say that made her hit him?” Jason demands, his anxiety starting to spike.

He had seen it happen, but he’d been mixing you your favorite cocktail and had missed the actual inciting comment. Damian pauses like he doesn’t want to tell him. All it takes is one hard look with those sea green eyes and Damian finds himself caving like he did as child in the League when Jason would catch him hiding from his newest (and soon to be deceased) sparring partner.

“He said that her tastes shouldn’t be counted considering she was with—” and Damian grits his teeth, forest green eyes absolutely seething, “damaged goods.”

Now that’s a different story. Jason doesn’t care what some privileged rich guy thinks of him, but the idea that other people could see what he already knows hurts. Jason knows he’s damaged goods, knows that you deserve far better than him. And apparently so do total strangers. So how long until you finally see it and leave him like you should have a long time ago? How long until the one truly good thing he’s ever had the pleasure of holding in his hands slips through his fingers and leaves him broken again?

“And then she broke his nose.”

Damian’s jubilant laugh shakes him from the angst he finds himself descending into.

“She what?” Jason asks dumbfounded.

“She broke his nose. I was standing right next to her, Todd. I heard it crack. You’ve trained her well,” Damian says proudly.

Jason’s in awe. You broke someone’s nose. For him. And you did it in front of a room full of people on Valentine’s Day. Jason’s sure this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for him. And either your love for him has finally settled into his bones or his new therapist is actually doing some good, because he’s suddenly not so worried about you up and leaving him because he’s damaged. You fucking clocked a guy for pointing it out.

Finally after what feels like far too long, Damian leads him to a bedroom tucked away in the penthouse. And there you sit, giggling away as Dick wraps your hand in an elastic bandage. You must’ve sprained your wrist breaking poor Prescott’s nose. Jason is by your side in an instant.

“Jason, there you are! Did you see what I did? Did you, Jay?” you ask enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I saw. Think you might’ve broken his nose, baby,” he teases.

He takes the bandages from Dick and starts to wrap your wrist himself. He gestures for his brothers to get the hell out and hopefully go clean up the mess that’s waiting down the winding hallways.

“That piece of shit deserved it. I would’ve hit him again too had Dick not dragged me away. Think I would’ve gone for his throat next,” you muse.

Jason wants to think he’s above finding this new violent streak of yours sexy. He’s also self aware enough to realize that he’d be deluding himself if he said it didn’t make him want to kiss you senseless.

“I’m sure he did, doll. That was very sweet of you, defendin’ my honor ‘n all,” Jason praises you.

“That was nothing. Child’s play, really. I would do anything for you, Jason. You’re my whole world.”

You say it with such sincerity, with so much love that Jason swears your eyes gleam with it. It makes his heart jump into his throat, makes his chest ache with the need to love you until the day that he dies. And if that day comes too soon? Well, he’ll drag himself out of the grave and come back home to you no matter what it takes. He’d like to tell you all that, but he thinks it might be a bit much. He settles for kissing you instead and nudging his nose against yours when you finally break apart to breathe.

“And you’re mine. C’mon, honey, let’s go home. Valentine’s Day isn’t over just yet.”

[arilevenatz]

Outscored 𝟐┃C.JH

Pairing: jock! Jongho x Reader

Genre/trope: enemies to lovers au

Word Count: 25.7k (💀) [it's gonna be a 2 parter]

Warnings: biker jongho (need I say more?), he is also a bit annoying, but he becomes a MAN at the end

AN: Ok I'm a sucker for jongho, u guys know it. And after he posted his picture I had a seizure. And I kinda slipped and wrote this whole thing. And yeah this is for all the jongho girlies out there like me. Please please please love this as I spent a lot of time writing this!

This is part two. Read part one here-

one | two

The project turned out better than either of them had expected, and when the professor handed back the grades, it was no surprise that YN and Jongho had scored the highest. The students in the class started whispering about them, dubbing them "the power partners."

YN, however, hated the nickname. She rolled her eyes every time she heard someone say it. “Why can’t people just mind their own business?” she muttered to Hanni one day in the cafeteria.

Hanni, ever the supportive friend, smirked. “Maybe because you and Jongho looked like an actual dream team. Admit it—you two killed that project.”

“Still,” YN huffed, stabbing her salad with unnecessary force, “I don’t like it.”

Over at the ATEEZ table, Jongho wasn’t exactly thrilled with the nickname either. He frowned as one of his friends, Wooyoung, teased him about it.

“Power partners, huh? Sounds about right,” Wooyoung said with a sly grin. “I mean, you two make a good team.”

“Shut up,” Jongho grumbled, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t like it either.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mingi teased, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t like it. But you don’t seem to mind being around her all the time.”

Jongho scowled, but before he could retort, Yeosang, who had been silently observing, spoke up. “Let’s be real, Jongho. Do you actually dislike her, or are you just saying that because you don’t want to admit something?”

“What’s there to admit?” Jongho snapped, crossing his arms.

Seonghwa, ever the voice of reason, sighed. “You’ve been weird about her since day one. You get irritated when she’s better than you, but you also can’t stop noticing every little thing about her. Either figure it out or let it go, because we’re tired of your denial.”

“Exactly,” San added with a grin. “Test it out. See if you actually like her or if she’s just in your head because she’s always in your space.”

Jongho glared at them all, but their words stuck with him. That night, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. About the way she had taken charge during the project, the way she had cooked for him, the way she had looked at him when she smiled after their grade was announced.

“Do I… like her?” he muttered to himself, the thought making him feel uneasy.

He shook his head, frustrated. No, it couldn’t be that. It was just… annoyance. Competition. Nothing more.

But the thought lingered, and for the first time, Jongho wasn’t so sure of his own answer.

Jongho’s dilemma had become everyone else’s entertainment. His friends, fed up with his constant denial, decided to take matters into their own hands. They came up with a "foolproof" series of tests to help him figure out his feelings.

Test 1: The Jealousy Test

Hongjoong kicked things off by walking up to YN during lunch. With his signature smirk, he leaned casually against her table and said, “YN, you’re looking gorgeous today. How about we ditch class and grab some coffee?”

Jongho, sitting across the cafeteria, froze mid-bite. His eyes narrowed as he watched Hongjoong laugh at something YN said.

“Dude,” Mingi whispered, nudging him. “Why are you gripping your fork like you’re about to stab someone?”

“I’m not,” Jongho muttered through gritted teeth.

“Uh-huh,” Yeosang said, amused. “Sure looks like it.” Wooyoung winked at Jongho. “Yep, he’s pissed. Jealousy level: high.”

“I’m not jealous,” Jongho growled.

“Right,” Wooyoung said, grinning. “And I’m not handsome.”

Test 2: The Compliment Test

The next day, San decided to push Jongho’s buttons. During class, he loudly announced, “You know, YN is really something. She’s smart, funny, and have you seen her hair? Shiny like silk. I bet she smells amazing too.”

Jongho, who was sitting behind YN, audibly scoffed.

San turned around, feigning innocence. “What? You don’t agree, Jongho?”

“She’s… fine,” Jongho said flatly, avoiding everyone’s amused stares.

“Fine?” San repeated, pretending to be offended. “That’s all you’ve got? She’s perfect, and you know it.”

Jongho slouched lower in his seat, muttering, “Shut up, San.”

Test 3: The Heartbeat Test

Seonghwa, ever the schemer, pulled out a fitness tracker with a heart rate monitor. “Okay, Jongho,” he said, strapping it onto his wrist. “Time to see how you react to her.”

“This is stupid,” Jongho grumbled, but he didn’t resist when Seonghwa placed the tracker on his wrist.

As YN walked into the room, Jongho’s heart rate spiked immediately. The boys stared at the tracker in silence before bursting into laughter.

“Calm down, lover boy,” Mingi teased. “You’re about to break the machine.”

Jongho yanked the tracker off, his face red. “It’s broken,” he insisted.

“Sure it is,” Yeosang said with a knowing smirk.

Test 4: The Accidental Touch

Mingi "accidentally" bumped YN into Jongho while they were walking down the hallway. She stumbled, her hand brushing against Jongho’s arm as he steadied her.

“You okay?” Jongho asked, his voice unusually soft.

“I’m fine, thanks,” YN replied, smiling politely before walking off.

The boys, watching from a distance, erupted into cheers.

“Did you see that?” Wooyoung howled. “He didn’t even yell at her!”

Jongho ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I hate all of you.”

“Face it, man,” San said, clapping him on the back. “You’ve got it bad.”

Despite the teasing and their ridiculous tests, Jongho couldn’t shake the growing realization. No matter how much he denied it, his friends were right—YN had gotten under his skin, and there was no turning back.

YN paced back and forth in her dorm room, arms crossed and brows furrowed as she fumed. “What is their problem? Why can’t they just leave me alone?!” she practically yelled.

Hanni sat on the bed, nervously watching her friend explode. She held a notebook in her lap but had completely forgotten about it as she tried to calm YN down. “Okay, okay, breathe. Don’t let them get to you, YN. They’re just… being their usual chaotic selves.”

“No,” YN snapped, spinning around to face Hanni. “This isn’t just their usual chaos. They’re deliberately messing with me, and I’m done with it.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “What do they even want from me?!”

Hanni bit her lip. “I mean… maybe Jongho likes you?”

YN stopped dead in her tracks, staring at Hanni like she’d grown another head. “What? Jongho? Like me? Absolutely not.”

Hanni shrugged, holding up her hands in surrender. “I’m just saying! It’s not like he goes out of his way to mess with anyone else like this.”

YN groaned, pressing her palms to her temples. “Even if that were true, how does this make any sense? His friends are involved now too! They’re all acting like lunatics, and I’m losing my mind.”

Hanni got up, placing her hands on YN’s shoulders. “Okay, listen. You want peace, right?”

“Yes,” YN said through gritted teeth.

“Then confront them. March up to their table, call them out, and demand an answer. If Jongho or his friends don’t give you one, I’ll personally throw my coffee at Wooyoung.”

Despite her anger, YN couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “You’d really throw your coffee at Wooyoung?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Hanni said with a grin. “I’d make it iced so it stings more.”

YN sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Fine. Tomorrow, I’m confronting them. But if I don’t get a proper answer, they’d better be prepared.”

Hanni gave her a thumbs-up. “Now that’s the YN I know. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

The next day, YN stormed into the cafeteria during lunch. The usual buzz of chatter filled the room, but she had her sights set on one table: Ateez’s.

Without hesitation, she marched over and slammed her hands on the table, startling them all. The entire cafeteria seemed to quiet down as people turned to watch.

“What do you want from me?!” YN demanded, her voice firm.

The boys exchanged glances, some smirking, some looking a bit guilty. Jongho, sitting at the center, raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?” he asked calmly.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” YN snapped. “I know you’ve all been messing with me. Whatever weird little game this is, stop it. I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

Wooyoung leaned back in his chair, grinning. “She’s feisty. I like her.”

“Wooyoung,” Seonghwa warned, giving him a look.

“Look,” YN continued, glaring at Jongho specifically, “I don’t care what your problem is. If you have something to say to me, say it. Otherwise, stay out of my way.”

Jongho leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he met her gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was low and steady. “Maybe I do have something to say.”

The tension was thick as YN folded her arms, her heart racing despite her anger. “Then say it.”

For a moment, it seemed like Jongho might actually confess something, but instead, he leaned back in his chair and smirked. “Not here. Later.”

YN rolled her eyes. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, turning on her heel to leave.

Behind her, the boys chuckled, but Jongho remained quiet, his smirk fading as he watched her walk away.

The lecture droned on, the professor’s voice blending into the background as YN’s attention started to waver. She rested her chin on her hand, her fingers tapping lightly on the desk. Her focus drifted from the lesson, and she casually let her gaze wander around the classroom, trying to keep herself awake.

It was an innocent habit. A quick scan of the room, her eyes briefly passing over her classmates. But when her gaze landed on Jongho, she froze.

He was already looking at her.

It wasn’t just a passing glance or idle staring. His eyes were locked onto her with an intensity that felt borderline magnetic. His dark brown eyes were sharp, unwavering, and inexplicably powerful. It was like he wasn’t just looking at her—he was seeing straight through her.

YN’s breath hitched for a moment. Her stomach churned with unease, but at the same time, something unfamiliar twisted deep within her. She hated to admit it, but he looked… ridiculously attractive. His expression was calm but unreadable, his jawline accentuated by the way he tilted his head slightly.

Why does he look like that? she thought, trying to keep her composure. And why can’t I stop looking at him?

It reminded her of that night at the red light stop—the same piercing gaze through the black helmet. But this time, it felt more personal. There was no helmet to mask his features, no physical barrier between them. Just those impossibly striking eyes.

She quickly averted her gaze, her cheeks warming despite herself. Get it together, YN. It’s just Jongho.

But her heart wasn’t cooperating. It beat just a little faster than usual, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of his stare lingering even after she looked away.

Unbeknownst to her, Jongho smirked faintly. He had caught the way her face changed, the subtle way her lips parted in surprise before she turned away. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him feel victorious.

Interesting, he thought, leaning back in his chair. So she’s not entirely unaffected after all.

Jongho was never the kind of person to overthink emotions. He dealt with things as they came, approaching life with confidence and logic. But when it came to YN, logic didn’t seem to work anymore. Every time he saw her, his feelings became more chaotic, more confusing, and undeniably more prominent. While he couldn’t fully grasp what he felt, his actions started to show it, whether he intended them to or not.

YN was seated in her usual spot, scribbling notes furiously as the professor explained a particularly complex topic. Jongho sat a few rows behind her, his eyes drifting toward her more often than his notebook.

The class was halfway through when the professor announced a quick pop quiz. Everyone groaned, including YN, who had just run out of ink in her pen.

“Great timing,” she muttered under her breath, shaking the pen in frustration. She rummaged through her pencil case, but it was clear she didn’t have a spare.

Jongho noticed immediately. He reached into his bag, pulling out an extra pen without hesitation. Instead of handing it over himself, he nudged the guy sitting next to him, gesturing toward YN.

“Pass this to her,” Jongho said, his voice low.

The pen made its way to YN, who blinked in surprise when it landed on her desk. She glanced over her shoulder to see who it came from, her eyes landing on Jongho. He didn’t say anything, just met her gaze briefly before looking away, as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“Thanks,” she whispered, though he didn’t acknowledge it.

It was a small gesture, but it left YN feeling oddly unsettled. For someone who usually went out of his way to annoy her, the act of kindness felt strange—almost deliberate.

YN sat at her usual corner table, flipping through a thick reference book for an upcoming assignment. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice Jongho entering the library until he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.

She looked up, startled. “What are you doing here?”

“Studying,” he said simply, pulling out his notebook.

She frowned. “There are plenty of other tables.”

“This one’s fine,” he replied, not looking at her as he started writing.

YN sighed, deciding to ignore him and focus on her own work. But as the minutes ticked by, she couldn’t help but notice him stealing glances at her. She tried to brush it off, thinking it was her imagination, until she reached for her coffee cup and accidentally knocked it over.

“Crap,” she muttered, quickly grabbing a tissue from her bag to clean up the spill.

Before she could fully manage, Jongho slid his notebook aside, pulling out a small packet of tissues from his jacket pocket. He handed it to her without a word.

YN paused, staring at him. “You carry tissues around?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “You never know when someone’s going to be clumsy.”

She rolled her eyes but took the tissues. “Thanks, I guess.”

Jongho smirked faintly but said nothing, leaning back in his chair as she cleaned up the mess.

As she continued working, YN couldn’t help but feel his presence more than usual. There was something different about him lately—something softer. And though she hated to admit it, it was starting to mess with her head.

Jongho, on the other hand, was quietly observing her, trying to figure out why watching her focus so intently on her work made him feel strangely… content.

It was one of those days where the world seemed to be falling apart for YN. She sat in the library, her head buried in her arms, tears streaming silently down her face. Her phone lay on the table next to her, the call from her mother still echoing in her mind. Her dad had suffered a stroke. The news had hit her like a freight train, and the helplessness of not being able to reach him was eating her alive.

She had tried everything—calling for train tickets, searching for buses, and even looking into flights—but nothing seemed to work. The distance to her hometown suddenly felt insurmountable, and it left her feeling trapped and powerless.

Hanni sat beside her, her own heart breaking at the sight of her best friend in such despair. She had never seen YN like this—so vulnerable, so broken. Hanni tried to console her, rubbing her back gently, but she knew words wouldn’t fix this.

“You need to go to him,” Hanni said softly.

“I can’t,” YN choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. “There’s no way to get there.”

Hanni clenched her fists, her mind racing. If no one else could help, then there was only one person who could. She didn’t hesitate. Standing up, she grabbed her bag and stormed out of the library, leaving YN behind.

Jongho and his friends were lounging in their usual spot outside the gym, the air filled with their loud chatter and occasional bursts of laughter. Mingi was tossing a football back and forth with San, while Wooyoung was busy showing off some absurd new trick with a deck of cards. Hongjoong leaned against a bench, scrolling through his phone, while Jongho sat quietly, sipping on his protein shake, his usual stoic presence anchoring the group.

The peace was shattered when Hanni stormed into the scene, her expression a mix of frustration and desperation. The group turned to her, their conversations dying mid-sentence.

“What’s this?” Wooyoung smirked, tossing the cards onto the table. “The library queen has graced us with her presence?”

Hanni ignored him completely, her eyes locking onto Jongho. “I need to talk to you.”

Jongho raised an eyebrow, setting down his drink. “What is it?”

“It’s YN,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Her dad had a stroke, and she needs to get home, but there are no tickets available. She’s stuck, and she’s losing it. You have a bike. You can take her.”

The guys exchanged glances, the playful atmosphere immediately shifting into something more serious.

“And why do you think he should do it?” San asked, crossing his arms.

“Because he’s the only one who can!” Hanni snapped, her tone sharper than she intended. “I wouldn’t trust you to get her there safely. Jongho can handle it.”

Jongho’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why me?”

“Because,” Hanni said, her voice softening, “for all your stupid games and ego battles, I know you care about her.”

The group went silent, all eyes on Jongho. He didn’t say anything at first, his jaw clenching slightly as he processed her words. Then, without a word, he stood up, grabbing his bag from the bench.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“The library,” Hanni said quickly.

“Alright,” he muttered, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

His friends watched as he started walking off, a mix of surprise and curiosity on their faces.

“Wait,” Wooyoung called out, smirking. “Is this your knight-in-shining-armor moment, Jongho? Should we start calling you Prince Charming now?”

“Shut up,” Jongho shot back, but there was no real heat in his tone.

As Hanni led him toward the library, she couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of her eye. Despite his usual stoic demeanor, there was a determined look in his eyes that gave her hope. Maybe, just maybe, YN had someone who would always be there when it truly mattered.

The library was eerily quiet as Hanni and Jongho stepped inside, the soft sound of turning pages and the occasional rustle of papers filling the air. Hanni led the way to the corner where YN was sitting, her head buried in her arms, silent tears streaming down her face.

Jongho’s jaw tightened at the sight. He didn’t hesitate. Striding up to her, he stopped just a step away and cleared his throat.

“YN,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

She lifted her head slowly, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She blinked up at him, confusion crossing her face.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

“I’m taking you home,” he said bluntly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Get your stuff and pack a bag. We’re leaving now.”

She stared at him for a moment, stunned by his words. Normally, she would’ve protested or argued back, but she was too emotionally drained to put up a fight. Instead, she just nodded, her movements slow and robotic as she stood and grabbed her bag.

Hanni watched the exchange with a mix of relief and curiosity. She had never seen Jongho so direct, so...caring, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

“Thank you,” Hanni whispered to Jongho as YN gathered her things.

He didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on YN the entire time. Once she was ready, he turned on his heel and led the way out of the library, his stride confident.

The ride was quiet, the hum of the bike engine filling the silence as they sped down the highway. YN sat behind Jongho, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist as the cool night air whipped past them.

Jongho didn’t say a word, but he drove with an intensity that YN couldn’t ignore. Despite everything—the teasing, the bickering, the games—she felt a strange sense of safety in that moment.

She rested her head lightly against his back, her tears drying as the rhythm of the bike soothed her nerves. She didn’t know what to say, and for once, she didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.

Jongho, on the other hand, was acutely aware of her presence. Her warmth against his back, the way her arms tightened around him every time they turned a corner—it was all making his thoughts spiral. He didn’t understand why he felt so protective of her, why her tears had struck such a chord with him.

But one thing was certain: he would do whatever it took to get her home, no questions asked.

As they entered the hospital, the smell of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the muffled sounds of machines and quiet conversations. YN wasted no time running toward the general ward, her heart pounding as she navigated the maze of hallways. Jongho followed closely behind, her bag slung over his shoulder, his usually calm expression now tinged with concern.

When she finally reached the ward, her heart sank. Her father was lying on a general bed, his face pale and drawn, wires and monitors attached to him. Her mother sat by his side, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, exhaustion etched into her features.

“Mom,” YN called, her voice trembling as she approached. “What’s going on? Why is he here? Why isn’t he in a proper room?”

Her mother looked up, her tired eyes meeting YN’s. “The hospital is full, sweetheart,” she said, her voice heavy. “There aren’t any rooms available right now. This was the only space they had.”

YN clenched her fists, her heart breaking at the sight of her father in such a crowded and uncomfortable setting. She looked around, taking in the other patients crammed into the small ward, the lack of privacy, and the impersonal atmosphere.

“This isn’t right,” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. “He needs proper care.”

Just as the air in the room grew heavier with worry, a nurse approached them, her voice soft but clear.

“Excuse me,” she said, looking at YN’s mother. “A private room has just been arranged for your husband. We’ll move him there shortly.”

YN blinked, her mind racing with confusion. She looked at her mother, who appeared equally surprised, and then back at the nurse.

“Wait, what?” YN asked, standing up abruptly. “How did that happen? Who...who arranged it?”

The nurse didn't say anything, YN was shocked, glancing at Jongho, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“Someone already covered the charges,” the nurse said quietly.

YN’s gaze snapped to Jongho, her heart sinking and racing all at once. She stared at him, her eyes wide with a mix of disbelief, confusion, and something she couldn’t quite name.

“You...you paid for it?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly.

Jongho shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “It’s no big deal,” he said, his tone casual. “Your dad needed a proper room, and you didn’t have time to deal with all the red tape. That’s all.”

“No big deal?” YN repeated, her voice rising. She took a step closer to him, her emotions swirling in a chaotic storm. “Jongho, private rooms in a hospital cost a fortune! You can’t just—why would you even—”

He finally looked at her then, his gaze steady but tinged with something soft, something almost vulnerable. “Because you needed it,” he said simply. “That’s all that matters.”

For a moment, YN couldn’t speak. Her throat felt tight, and she wasn’t sure if it was from gratitude, anger, or something else entirely. She glanced at her mother, who was watching them with a knowing look, and then back at Jongho.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper.

“I wanted to,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The nurse cleared her throat gently, breaking the tension. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go make sure everything is ready for the transfer,” she said before walking away.

YN stood there, her emotions a whirlwind. She wanted to thank him, to argue with him, to understand why he would do something so selfless after everything they’d been through. But instead, she just nodded, her voice trembling as she said, “Thank you, Jongho. Really.”

He gave her a small nod, his stoic facade firmly in place. But as she turned back to her father, he allowed himself a brief moment to watch her, his chest tightening with an emotion he was finally starting to understand.

The hospital lobby was quiet except for the occasional announcements over the intercom. YN sat on one of the plastic chairs, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the floor. Jongho sat beside her, his legs stretched out, arms crossed, silent as ever. The check-up was still ongoing, and the wait felt endless.

She didn’t know why, but the weight in her chest felt unbearable. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the emotions swirling in her head. Or maybe it was because, for the first time in a long while, someone was sitting beside her, just… there. No judgment. No empty words of comfort. Just Jongho, quiet and solid.

Without really thinking, she spoke. “My dad is an alcoholic.”

Jongho turned his head slightly, his brows furrowing, but he didn’t say anything. He just listened.

“He wasn’t always like this,” she continued, her fingers clenching the fabric of her hoodie. “He used to be a good dad. He worked hard, took care of us, made stupid dad jokes. But then… something changed.”

Jongho didn’t ask what. He let her talk.

“He started drinking. At first, it was just a little. Stress, he said. Just a way to unwind. But then it got worse. He started losing jobs, coming home late, spending money we didn’t have. And the worst part was…” She swallowed. “He got angry. All the time. At everything.”

Jongho’s jaw tightened, but he still didn’t interrupt.

“He never hit us,” she clarified, her voice quieter now. “But the words… sometimes they cut deeper. The yelling, the accusations, the way he would just explode over the smallest things. My mom tried to handle it, but it wore her down. And me? I—I couldn’t stay. I had to get out. That’s why I left. That’s why I stay in dorms or anywhere but home.”

Jongho exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice lower than usual, he finally spoke.

“That’s why you never go back.”

YN blinked, turning to look at him. His face was calm, but there was an edge to his voice. Like he understood more than he let on.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t awkward. It was heavy, filled with things unsaid.

Then, Jongho shifted, resting his arms on his knees as he stared ahead. “Must’ve been hard.”

YN let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, well. Life’s not exactly a fairy tale.”

He glanced at her, his gaze softer than usual. “No. It’s not.”

Another silence. This time, it felt… different.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “You’re stronger than you think, you know that?”

YN turned to him sharply, caught off guard. “What?”

Jongho shrugged, looking away. “I’m just saying. You left. You got out. You built something for yourself instead of letting it trap you. That takes guts.”

YN didn’t know what to say to that. She wasn’t used to people saying things like this to her—especially not Jongho of all people.

Jongho leaned back in his chair, exhaling sharply. He rubbed his hands together, as if debating whether to speak or not. YN was still staring at him, her eyes searching, waiting.

“I guess… it’s only fair if I tell you something too,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual.

YN didn’t push. She just nodded, silently telling him to continue.

“My parents,” he started, pausing for a second. “They never really cared about me.”

That caught her off guard. She had always imagined him coming from a well-off family, considering the way he carried himself, the expensive apartment, the confidence.

“They weren’t bad people,” he continued, staring at the floor. “They just… weren’t really parents. Their world was business, money, social status. I was more like a project than a kid. Something to mold into their perfect successor.” He scoffed. “But I wasn’t interested in any of that.”

YN stayed quiet, letting him talk at his own pace.

“I grew up in empty houses. Big, expensive places with no warmth. I had tutors, trainers, all that. But never them.” He clenched his jaw. “They were always too busy. Too far away. And when they were around, it was all about expectations. I had to be the best. Had to be strong. Had to be exactly what they wanted. If I wasn’t, I wasn’t worth their time.”

YN felt a strange tightness in her chest. She had never heard him talk like this before.

“But my friends?” He huffed a small laugh. “They’re my real family. They were the ones who actually cared. Looked out for me. Picked fights for me when I was pissed off. Made sure I ate when I was too stubborn to admit I was hungry. Taught me how to survive outside of what my parents wanted me to be.”

He glanced at her, his expression softer now. “That’s why I’m the way I am. Why I fight, why I stick with them no matter what. They’re all I’ve got.”

Silence settled between them again, heavy but not uncomfortable.

YN finally spoke, her voice gentle. “You’re lucky, you know?”

Jongho raised a brow. “Lucky?”

She nodded. “You found people who care about you. Even if it’s not in the way you expected.”

Jongho stared at her for a long moment, then smirked slightly. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

She didn’t say anything, just gave him a small smile in return. And for the first time since they’d met, they weren’t rivals, weren’t enemies. Just two people, sitting in a hospital lobby, understanding each other in a way no one else ever had.

For a moment, neither of them moved. YN had acted without thinking, driven by the strange warmth in her chest. She had never hugged him before—never even considered it. But right now, it just felt right.

Jongho stiffened, caught off guard. It's not like he was not hugged before, wooyoung and san always hug him, but this was different.

It was YN.

She held onto him tightly, her face buried in his shoulder, gripping his hoodie like she was afraid he’d disappear. She didn’t say anything, didn’t explain. She just stayed there, holding him like she needed him.

And what she didn’t know was that Jongho needed it just as much.

Slowly, his tense shoulders relaxed, and he let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. His arms moved on their own, wrapping around her waist, holding her just as tightly.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

For once, there was no competition, no rivalry, no mind games. Just them.

Jongho closed his eyes, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head. He didn’t understand his feelings completely, but he knew one thing.

He didn’t want to let go.

Jongho had never felt this out of place before. Hospitals weren’t his thing—too quiet, too sterile, too full of emotions he didn’t know how to deal with. But YN had dragged him inside, refusing to let him just stand outside like some outsider.

“If you’re uncomfortable, you can just stand in the doorway,” she had said.

And that’s exactly what he did. Arms crossed, leaning against the frame, watching silently as YN sat beside her father’s bed, her mother beside her.

Her father was awake now, looking tired but stable. He still had that roughness to him, even as he weakly talked to YN, but it was clear he wasn’t the same man she had once feared.

Jongho didn’t say much, didn’t interfere, but YN’s mother noticed him. She had been watching him carefully, taking in his presence, the way he lingered like a silent guardian.

Then, with a warm but firm voice, she said, “You should come to dinner at our house.”

Jongho’s head snapped up. “Huh?”

“My daughter wouldn’t have made it here without you,” her mother continued. “Let me properly thank you.”

Jongho hesitated. Dinner? With YN’s family? That was… new. He wasn’t used to things like that.

“I don’t—” He started to refuse, but then he saw it.

The way YN was looking at him.

She wasn’t saying anything, but her expression said everything. She wanted him to say yes.

And damn it, if there was one person who could make him agree to things he normally wouldn’t… It was her.

“…Fine,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

YN smiled. And Jongho, despite himself, felt a little warmer inside.

Jongho had never really thought about how YN lived. He knew she stayed in the dorms, but seeing her actual home was… different.

The house wasn’t tiny, but it wasn’t big enough for three people to live comfortably either. There was only one bedroom, and judging by the way her mother moved around the space so naturally, it was clear that privacy wasn’t really a thing here.

As they paced around the room, Jongho’s sharp eyes caught every little detail—the slightly worn-out furniture, the faint scent of home-cooked meals, the single bed pushed against the wall, the small study desk that was clearly YN’s. She didn’t even have her own room.

He didn’t say anything, but YN must have caught the way he was observing everything because she suddenly crossed her arms and looked up at him.

“I know it’s not as big as your fancy apartment,” she said, a teasing edge to her voice, “but you’ll have to adjust.”

Jongho scoffed, shaking his head. “You think I care about that?”

YN blinked. “Don’t you?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who has to live here. I’m just visiting.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying you wouldn’t survive in a smaller home?”

Jongho leaned against the wall, smirking. “I’m saying you clearly think too much about what I think.”

YN opened her mouth, ready to argue, but before she could say anything, her mother called from the kitchen.

“Dinner’s ready!”

The conversation was left hanging, but Jongho didn’t miss the way YN shot him one last glare before turning on her heel and walking towards the dining table.

He shook his head, suppressing a small smile as he followed her.

Dinner was… different. Not in a bad way. Just different.

Jongho had expected it to be awkward. Maybe some polite conversation, a few “thank yous,” and then he’d be on his way. But YN’s mother? She was nothing like he expected.

From the moment they sat down, she treated him like he was one of her own.

“Eat more, Jongho. You need to keep up that strength, right?” she said, piling more food onto his plate before he could even respond.

Jongho blinked. “Uh—yeah, I guess.”

YN stifled a laugh as she watched her mother practically adopt him on the spot.

“You must work out a lot,” her mother continued, eyeing his broad frame. “No wonder you’re so strong! You know, YN never brings home any friends. I was starting to think she didn’t have any.”

“Mom!” YN groaned, her face heating up.

Jongho smirked, looking at YN. “Yeah? I’m the first?”

“She never even talks about anyone,” her mother added. “But I can tell she trusts you.”

YN glared at her mom like she just exposed a national secret, while Jongho simply took a bite of his food, feeling… warm.

The conversation flowed so naturally. Her mother asked him about his studies, his life, if he was eating properly, even scolding him a little when he admitted he mostly ordered takeout. She fussed over him in a way no one ever had before.

It was strange. It was new.

But it felt… nice.

For the first time in a long time, Jongho felt like he had a place at a family dinner. Not just as a guest, but as someone who belonged.

YN noticed. She watched the way Jongho let his guard down, how he actually smiled—a real one, not his usual cocky smirk. It made her feel happy.

He deserved this.

He deserved to feel this warmth.

After dinner, YN grabbed the trash bags and headed outside, leaving Jongho alone with her mother to clean up.

Jongho wasn’t used to doing dishes with anyone—he usually ate alone or with his friends, where everything was chaotic and someone else always handled the cleaning. But standing here, washing dishes beside YN’s mother, it felt… peaceful.

As they worked in comfortable silence, her mother suddenly spoke.

“She didn’t have a great childhood, you know.”

Jongho paused, glancing at her. He had already known that from what YN told him at the hospital, but hearing it from her mother hit differently.

She let out a soft sigh, scrubbing a plate. “I did my best, but… I still feel like I failed her.”

Jongho didn’t know what to say to that. He had never really thought about parents blaming themselves before. His own never did.

“I just want her to be happy,” she continued, her voice quieter now. “She pretends she’s strong, but she’s been through a lot.”

Jongho set down the dish he was holding, wiping his hands on a towel before turning to her.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice firm but sincere. “As long as I’m here, she will be happy.”

Her mother looked up at him, studying his expression. Then, she smiled—soft and knowing.

“I believe you.”

It had been a month since that night at YN’s home, and things between her and Jongho had… changed.

They weren’t enemies. They weren’t exactly friends either. But they had fallen into a routine—one that felt strangely domestic.

Jongho would casually grab an extra coffee for her in the mornings, placing it on her desk with a simple, “You looked half-dead, don’t read too much into it.”

YN, in return, would remind him to eat properly, sometimes even handing him snacks with a nonchalant, “I don’t want you fainting in the gym or something. That’d be embarrassing.”

They walked to class together, studied together, and even sat next to each other during lectures. If Jongho wasn’t around, people would ask YN where he was. And if YN was late, Jongho would just roll his eyes but keep the seat next to him open.

They bickered over stupid things.

“Why are you staring at me?” YN asked one day, feeling his eyes on her.

“I wasn’t.”

“You literally were.”

“I was just zoning out,” Jongho huffed, looking away.

Or when YN handed him an umbrella on a rainy day.

“Here,” she said, shoving it into his hands.

Jongho frowned. “I don’t need it.”

“Then get soaked. Not my problem.”

“Then why’d you bring me one?”

“You're too noisy. Shut up and take it.”

They acted like they were just tolerating each other, but everyone else saw the truth.

They were basically a couple.

Just two idiots too stubborn to admit it.

YN felt… different.

It wasn’t something she could explain easily, but it was there—a strange pull toward Jongho. Like a force of nature she had no control over.

And, of course, Hanni wouldn’t shut up about it.

“You’re in love,” Hanni declared one day, arms crossed as if she had just solved the biggest mystery of the century.

YN, horrified, immediately shut her down. “Shut up. No, I’m not.”

“Oh, really?” Hanni smirked. “Then why do you always look out for him?”

“I just—he’s stupid sometimes, I need to make sure he doesn’t die.”

“And why do you get sad when you don’t see him?”

“That’s… that’s normal! I see him all the time, it’s weird when he’s not there.”

“And why do you get weird feelings when you’re together?”

YN froze.

Because that was true.

She did feel weird things when they were together—like her heart deciding to sprint for no reason, or how she found herself staring at him longer than necessary. She noticed the way his jaw clenched when he was focused, how his voice was deeper when he was tired, and how his hands were always warm even when it was freezing outside.

Oh no.

Hanni grinned, seeing the realization dawn on YN’s face. “Yeah. You’re so in love it’s embarrassing.”

YN groaned, covering her face. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Jongho was losing his mind.

It started subtly—little things he noticed during their daily interactions. Like how small her hands were compared to his when she shoved a snack into his palm. Or how short she was, always tilting her head up to glare at him when they bickered.

And then it got worse.

One day, she was rambling about something, waving her hands dramatically, and all he could think about was how badly he wanted to squish her cheeks.

Another time, she got mad at him over something stupid—probably about stealing her drink—and the way her nose scrunched up made his fingers twitch. She looked like an angry little kitten, and he… he was the big bear who wanted to scoop her up and keep her in his arms.

“Are you even listening?” she huffed, crossing her arms.

No. No, he wasn’t.

Because his brain was too busy fighting the cuteness aggression building up inside him.

So instead of answering, he just reached out and flicked her forehead.

“Hey!” she whined, rubbing the spot. “What was that for?”

Jongho smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Dunno. Just felt like it.”

If only she knew it was to stop himself from doing something even worse. Like pinching her cheeks until she smacked him.

He was doomed.

Like when they had gone out for ice cream, and YN, being herself, had managed to make a mess.

She was eating too quickly, and suddenly, a small drop of melted ice cream landed on the tip of her nose.

Jongho stared.

She blinked up at him, confused. “What?”

His grip on his cone tightened.

Was she real? Was this actually happening? Was she actually standing there, looking up at him with big eyes, ice cream on her nose, completely unaware of how devastatingly cute she was?

He exhaled sharply, leaned in, and—

Flick!

She yelped as he wiped the ice cream off with his thumb, scowling at her. “You’re a mess.”

She pouted. “You could’ve just told me.”

Yeah, well, if he had told her, he would’ve also had to admit that he was two seconds away from pinching her cheeks and calling her cute.

So no, thanks.

Or like when YN had forgotten her hair tie, so she dug into her bag and pulled out a tiny, pastel pink hair clip.

Jongho watched as she struggled to keep her hair out of her face with that.

The tiny clip was fighting for its life against her hair, barely holding anything in place. She kept adjusting it, pushing stray strands away with a frustrated huff.

Jongho’s jaw clenched.

It was too much.

The stupid little hair clip, her pouty concentration face, the way she kept huffing when the strands fell back—

Before he could stop himself, he reached out, plucked the clip from her hair, and smoothly tied it up with his own black hair tie which he conveniently had on his wrist.

She blinked at him. “...Oh.”

He crossed his arms. “There. Now you won’t look dumb.”

Her lips parted in offense. “Excuse you! My clip was working just fine—”

Jongho just flicked her forehead again and walked off before she could see the stupid grin threatening to break out on his face.

She was going to kill him one day.

Or worse—he was going to fall harder.

Jongho had always paid attention to the little things. It was something he’d always done, but now it was a bit more… personal.

The way YN would subtly try to avoid the topic of her birthday when it came up, how she’d always change the subject or even just shut it down completely. He never understood it until he saw it written in the corner of her notebook one day, almost as if it was an afterthought—her birthday was coming up.

Something about that made him pause.

He couldn’t help but wonder why she never celebrated it, why she never talked about it. It bothered him more than he realized. No one should feel like that about their birthday. It was supposed to be a day to feel special, to be loved.

But for YN… it didn’t seem that way at all.

YN stepped into Jongho's apartment, not knowing why he suddenly called her, but what she saw made her stop in her tracks. The entire place was decorated—soft, pastel colors, fairy lights hanging delicately from the walls, and small touches of things she liked scattered around the room. It felt like a scene straight out of one of those Pinterest boards she had secretly admired but never thought she'd experience herself.

On the table was a small cake, decorated with cream and flowers—exactly the way she liked it. But what really caught her eye was the little crown placed beside it.

Jongho stood by the door, hands in his pockets, nervously watching her reaction. His heart pounded as he waited for her to say something.

"Jongho..." YN started, her voice barely above a whisper as she took in the effort he’d put into everything. "What is all this?"

He scratched the back of his neck, feeling a little embarrassed now that she was actually here. "Well... I know you don't like big celebrations, but I thought you'd like something a little special, you know? Something just for you."

She blinked, stunned. "But... this is all for me?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's your birthday, right?" Jongho said casually, though there was a small, nervous grin tugging at his lips.

YN couldn't hide the smile that tugged at her own. She looked around, noticing the little details—soft cushions, a few of her favorite books stacked neatly on the shelf, the little crown, and the cake that seemed to have her name written all over it.

"Why the crown?" she asked, half-laughing, half-teary-eyed.

Jongho shrugged, a little embarrassed. "You deserve to feel like a queen today. No one should ever feel like they don't deserve to be celebrated."

That did it. YN's heart swelled, and for a moment, she couldn't speak. The thoughtfulness behind everything hit her hard. Her birthday had always been a quiet, unnoticed day, but here Jongho was, treating her like she was the most important person in the world.

He stepped forward, holding out the little crown. "Here, your majesty."

YN laughed softly, taking it from his hands and placing it on her head, feeling a warmth in her chest she hadn't expected. "This is... this is too much," she whispered, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

"You deserve it," Jongho said, his voice low but warm, his eyes locking with hers in that moment. "Happy Birthday, YN."

Her heart skipped a beat, her emotions rushing to the surface. "Thank you," she whispered back, her voice cracking slightly. She looked at him, her gratitude overflowing. "Thank you for seeing me."

Jongho stepped a little closer, the two of them standing there amidst the cozy decorations, the soft glow of the fairy lights casting a warm hue on their faces.

"You’re welcome," he said simply, then took a step back, a playful grin appearing on his face. "Now, let’s eat this cake before I eat all of it myself."

YN laughed, feeling lighter than she had in a long time, her heart full of warmth from the little moments that had made this birthday unforgettable. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this special—this loved.

Jongho had done it. He had turned her quiet day into a celebration of everything she had ever wanted.

After cutting the cake and sharing a few playful bites, Jongho leaned back in his chair, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Alright, birthday girl, close your eyes."

YN raised an eyebrow, suspicious but amused. "Why?"

"Just do it," he said, rolling his eyes but still holding that teasing grin.

With a little sigh, she closed her eyes, sitting still as she waited. She could hear him moving around the room, the sound of rustling paper and something being set down on the table in front of her.

"Okay," he finally said, his voice a little softer than before. "You can open them now."

YN opened her eyes—and immediately, her breath hitched.

In front of her was something she never expected but instantly adored—a bouquet of books, beautifully wrapped in soft-colored paper with a ribbon tied neatly around them. Not just any books, but ones she had casually mentioned wanting to read, ones she had stared at in the library but never picked up, ones that he must have noticed her lingering over.

She blinked rapidly, her fingers tracing over the spines as if making sure they were real. "Jongho… you—"

"You like them?" he asked, voice steady but eyes betraying a hint of nervousness.

YN couldn't speak. The warmth in her chest was overwhelming, emotions bubbling up faster than she could control. Instead of answering, she got up from her seat and wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder.

Jongho stiffened for a second, but then, slowly, he relaxed into the hug, his arms coming around her just as tightly.

"You idiot," she mumbled against his hoodie, voice muffled but full of emotion. "This is the best gift ever."

Jongho let out a small chuckle, resting his chin lightly on her head. "Good," he said, a smile forming on his lips. "Because I wasn’t sure if you’d think it was lame."

YN shook her head against him, gripping onto his hoodie tighter. "It's not. It’s perfect."

And for a while, they just stayed like that, wrapped up in warmth and something unspoken between them—something soft, something real. Neither of them said it aloud, but they both knew.

They were falling, and this time, neither of them wanted to stop.

Jongho felt his heart race when he saw the small blush creeping up her cheeks, her eyes glistening with emotion as they met his. Her gaze lingered, vulnerable yet trusting, and something inside him clicked. All the words he'd been holding back, all the feelings he couldn't quite define-they came rushing forward.

Before he could even think, he cupped her face gently with his hands, tilting her chin up just slightly. She didn't pull away, her breath hitching as she stared at him, her lips parted slightly in confusion.

Without a second thought, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tentative kiss. His heart pounded in his chest as the moment stretched between them-gentle, slow, and full of everything they had been holding back.

YN's breath caught as she froze for a moment, her mind catching up with what was happening. But then, instinctively, she closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss, her hands finding their way to his chest.

The world around them seemed to disappear as everything fell quiet, just the warmth of their bodies and the undeniable pull between them. Jongho's hand slid to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss, and YN's fingers clenched slightly around his hoodie, her heart thumping in her chest.When they finally pulled away, they were both breathless, their foreheads resting against each other. Jongho looked down at her, his thumb brushing her cheek as he caught his breath.

"YN," he whispered, his voice rough, "I... I don't know what this is, but I can't stop thinking about you."

YN's heart fluttered at his words, her cheeks still flushed. She could feel the sincerity in his voice, the way his hands were slightly trembling as they stayed gently on her face.

"I think I feel the same," she whispered back, her voice just above a breathless murmur.

His hands were still cradling her face as if she were something fragile—something precious. His usual sharp gaze was softer now, almost uncertain, but there was something firm in the way he held her.

“I don’t know what love is supposed to feel like,” he admitted, his voice low and honest. “But I know that when you’re not around, I don’t like it. And when you are, I feel… lighter. Like I actually want to be better.”

YN’s heart pounded against her ribs, her breath catching at his words.

“I want to stay with you,” he continued, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks. “If this is what love is, then let it be.”

Her eyes widened slightly, emotions swirling inside her. He was never the type to say things without meaning them, never the type to hesitate. And yet, here he was, standing in front of her, vulnerable and real.

She felt warmth bloom in her chest, something overwhelming yet comforting. Her hands slowly reached up, resting over his.

“Then let it be,” she whispered back, her lips curling into the softest of smiles.

Jongho exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath this whole time. He leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes for a second, just taking in the moment.

Neither of them needed to say anything more. They had already said everything that mattered.

After his confession, YN quickly realized one thing—Jongho was insanely clingy. Not in the physical sense, no. He wasn’t the type to smother her with hugs in public or demand constant attention. But mentally? Emotionally? He was all over her.

Her phone never knew peace.

Jongho: Where are you?

Jongho: Why aren’t you answering?

Jongho: You’re not dead, right?

Jongho: Hanni said you left the library 15 minutes ago. Where are you now?

And if she didn’t respond fast enough? Oh, he’d find a way. One time, he literally called Hanni when YN ignored his messages during a movie marathon.

“You’re ignoring my texts,” he accused when she finally picked up.

“I was watching a movie,” she sighed.

“Oh,” he paused. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because… it’s a movie?”

“Tell me next time.”

YN groaned, but deep down, she found it cute—annoying, but cute.

Another time, she was just grabbing a coffee on campus, and before she could even sit down, she received a message:

Jongho: You didn’t tell me you were going to the café.

She blinked. Looked around. And there he was, sitting at a distance, sipping his own drink while watching her like a hawk.

She marched up to him. “Are you spying on me?”

He raised an eyebrow, completely unbothered. “I was here first. You should’ve told me you were coming.”

YN threw her hands up. “I didn’t know I needed permission to get coffee!”

“You don’t,” he said smoothly, “but if you told me, I would’ve gotten your order ready.”

And the worst part? He actually did. Because as she was about to go order, the barista handed her a drink. “Your boyfriend already paid for it.”

Jongho just shrugged at her bewildered expression, sipping his own coffee like nothing happened.

Yeah. He was absolutely clingy. But the way he looked after her, worried for her, cared for her in ways she didn’t even realize she needed?

She wouldn’t change it for the world.

You could never stay mad at him. No matter how much he annoyed you with his endless messages, his possessiveness, or his constant need to know where you were—one look at his big, boba-like eyes, and you were done for.

And he knew it.

That slight smile he had whenever he looked at you? It was because he knew you couldn’t resist him.

Whenever you pouted at him, complaining about how clingy he was, he’d just chuckle, pull you into one of his signature big bear hugs, and squeeze you tight. You always acted like you wanted to escape, but deep down, you never really tried.

And when you were alone? Oh, Jongho had no shame.

He’d squish your cheeks, stretching them like you were some kind of stress toy. “Why are you so cute, huh?” he’d mutter, poking at your puffed-up cheeks.

“Jongho, stop—”

Squish.

“Jongho!”

Squish.

And the moment you’d glare at him, trying to act serious, he’d just lean in and kiss you, completely ignoring your protests.

“Yah—”

Another kiss.

“Stop—”

Another.

And by the time you finally gave up, he’d smirk, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “You talk too much sometimes.”

But you couldn’t even be mad. Not when he was him. Your annoying, possessive, clingy, yet completely lovable Jongho.

Though you and Jongho never officially announced your relationship at college, he made it clear as day that he was yours—and that you were his.

And he had his ways of making sure everyone knew.

Jongho had always been intimidating, but after you two got together, his death glares became ten times worse. If a guy so much as looked at you for too long, Jongho would lock eyes with them from across the room. No words needed—just a single, cold stare, and the poor guy would scurry away like a frightened puppy.

Hanni once joked, "You don't need a security system, girl. Just let Jongho sit outside your dorm and scare people away."

Jongho wasn’t big on PDA, but when it came to making a statement, he had his own subtle ways. A hand on your lower back when guiding you through a crowd. A strong arm thrown over the back of your chair when another guy was getting too friendly. Holding onto the strap of your bag like it was a leash when you were walking together, just so he could keep you close.

The message was clear: Don’t even think about it.

His friends suffered the most. Jongho was always bringing you up in conversation, even when it wasn’t relevant.

“Jongho, pass me the notes.”

"YN already explained it to me. You should ask her—she’s smarter than all of us.”

"Jongho, do you want to come to the gym later?"

"Nah, I'm meeting YN. She gets grumpy if she doesn’t see me enough."

"Jongho, stop flexing your relationship, man—"

"I’m not flexing. I just have a girlfriend who happens to be better than yours."

“…None of us have girlfriends.”

"Exactly.”

The moment that really sealed it?

One day, some guy—clearly new to the college—had the audacity to flirt with you in the cafeteria. Nothing serious, just casual small talk.

Jongho, who had been sitting a few tables away, calmly stood up, strolled over, and without a word, took the spoon from your hand and ate your food from your spoon and even drank water from your cup.

You nearly choked.

The guy looked confused. Hanni was losing her mind in the background. Jongho? He just stared down at the poor guy, smirking slightly.

"Oh, were you saying something?" sitting down, he asked, his voice low and smooth, his arm resting on the back of your chair.

The guy got the message.

Jongho had never been the type to update his Instagram often. His feed was mostly filled with scenic shots—sunsets, cityscapes, the occasional black-and-white aesthetic post. He rarely posted selfies, let alone anything personal.

But now? Now his Instagram was practically a shrine dedicated to you.

It started subtly. A blurry candid of you sipping coffee at a café, captioned: “Not the coffee, just the person.”

Then came the next one—a picture of you reading in the library, chin resting on your palm, completely unaware of the photo being taken. “Genius girlfriend era.”

And then it became a habit.

— A mirror selfie of him at the gym… with you in the background, struggling with a dumbbell. “She’s trying.”

— A plate of food with your hands reaching for it. “I don’t get to eat in peace anymore.”

— A side-profile shot of you laughing. No caption. Just a red heart emoji.

Jongho wasn’t dumb. He knew there were girls lurking in his DMs, waiting for an opening. So he made sure they saw exactly why they had no chance.

Every post? Tagged @yn2001. Every story? Tagged @yn2001. Even in the comments, when someone asked, “Where’s this?”, he’d reply, “With @yn2001.”

Even his bio, which had previously been empty, now had:

“Taken. @yn2001.”

One day, he posted a picture of your intertwined hands, your fingers laced together on top of his lap. No faces, no explanation—just that.

And the caption?

"Mine.”

The DMs? Silent. The message? Loud and clear.

You were never the type to crave attention. Growing up, you had learned to blend into the background, to be self-sufficient. No one had ever really gone out of their way to make you feel special.

But Jongho? He changed everything.

The way he made it so obvious that you were his. How he walked beside you, making sure you were always safe. How his arm would find its way around your shoulders in crowded hallways. How he’d subtly block anyone who got too close.

The Instagram posts were one thing, but it was the little things that made you feel like a princess.

Like when he casually handed you his hoodie when you complained it was cold—without a word, just draping it over you like it was second nature. Or when he adjusted the straps of your bag because “It’s too loose, you’ll hurt your shoulder.”

Or how he always paid attention. If you so much as mentioned craving something, you’d find it mysteriously appearing in your dorm the next day. Kinder Joy? There. Your favorite drink? Waiting for you in class.

And the way he looked at you.

Like you were the most precious thing in the world.

For the first time in your life, you were someone’s priority. And you loved it.

The winter air was biting as you arrived at Jongho’s apartment for the night. He had asked you so politely—almost shyly—that you couldn’t say no.

After dinner, which you cooked while he hovered behind you like a baby bear, occasionally wrapping his arms around your waist or resting his chin on your shoulder, you both settled in for the night.

Jongho sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone while you went to do your skincare routine in the bathroom. You were halfway through when you felt his presence at the door.

"What are you even doing?" he asked, arms crossed as he watched you pat a serum onto your face.

"Skincare," you replied, giving him a pointed look.

He scoffed. "Looks like sorcery to me."

You rolled your eyes and grabbed an extra headband, walking over to him. "Sit."

He raised an eyebrow. "No way."

"You asked me to stay over. This is part of the deal," you said with a smirk.

With a grumble, he let you pull him onto the bathroom stool. You pushed back his hair with the headband, suppressing a giggle at how unexpectedly adorable he looked with it on.

"Don't laugh," he muttered, glaring.

"I'm not!"

You squeezed some cleanser onto your hands and started rubbing it into his face. He blinked rapidly at the sudden sensation, grabbing your wrist.

"What the hell—"

"Relax, big guy. Just let it happen."

He huffed, but let you continue. His face was surprisingly soft under your fingertips, and for a moment, you were lost in the closeness of it. Jongho, however, was glaring at his reflection.

"Feels weird," he grumbled.

You chuckled. "You’ll thank me later when your skin is glowing."

After washing off the cleanser, you moved on to toner and serum, explaining each step. Jongho just sat there, staring at you with those soft, unreadable eyes.

"What?" you asked.

"Nothing," he mumbled, looking away.

But his ears were red.

By the time you finished with moisturizer, he was pouting. "Feels sticky."

You flicked his forehead. "Beauty is pain."

He rolled his eyes but didn’t stop you when you applied lip balm on him, his lips parting slightly at the contact.

"All done," you declared, stepping back to admire your work.

Jongho looked at himself in the mirror, rubbing his face slightly. "Huh… not bad."

"Told you."

He turned to you, a sly grin forming. "So if I have good skin now, does that mean I get more kisses?"

You gaped at him, heat rushing to your cheeks. "Jongho!"

But he was already pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist as he nuzzled into you.

"Thanks, princess," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

And just like that, your heart was gone.

You sighed, sitting on the edge of Jongho’s bed, your fingers idly playing with the hem of your oversized sweatshirt. He had just finished brushing his teeth, stepping into the room with his usual confident ease. His damp hair was slightly tousled, and his sharp eyes softened when they landed on you.

He tilted his head, noticing your hesitation. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated for a moment before sighing. “I sleep weird.”

Jongho blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. “What do you mean weird?”

“I mean…” You sighed again, fidgeting with your hands. “I move a lot in my sleep. I might—” You glanced at him briefly before looking away. “I might throw my leg over you. Or shove my feet under yours. Or, you know, hug you.” You rubbed the back of your neck. “I don’t want to disturb you.”

For a second, he just stared at you before a small, amused scoff left his lips. “That’s it? I thought you were about to say something serious.”

You frowned. “It is serious.”

He crossed his arms, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “What, you think I’m gonna throw you off the bed?”

“No, but—”

“You can do whatever you want. It won’t bother me.”

That was a lie. Jongho never liked being hugged in his sleep. He never liked people clinging to him or invading his space while he rested. It had always felt suffocating, and he never hesitated to shove someone off if they got too close.

But you? You were different.

So when you eventually curled up beside him, shifting in your sleep and unconsciously draping your arm over his waist, he didn’t push you away. When your leg tangled with his, searching for warmth, he let it be. And when, in your sleep, you tucked your cold feet under his, he only let out a small huff, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.

What surprised him the most was the way he naturally responded. Without thinking, his arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer. His hand found the curve of your waist, his thumb absentmindedly stroking small circles into your skin through the fabric of your sweatshirt.

You sighed in content, unconsciously burrowing into his chest. Jongho glanced down at you, his lips twitching at the sight of you so comfortably nestled against him.

If it were anyone else, he would’ve been annoyed, but with you…

With you, he found himself pressing a lazy, almost absentminded kiss to your forehead before resting his chin atop your head.

Yeah. He loved this.

Divider from @/cafekitsune

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy V

a yandere art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... (also featuring Matt from River's Edge) masterlist/chapter map

V. 

“You missed all the fun,” Matt tells you with a shy smile the next time you see him. “Our van wouldn't start. We spent half the night getting it running again.”

You lift an eyebrow. “Sorry to hear that. What was wrong?”

“Dead battery. And a flat tire.”

“Tough break.”

“Yeah. Kinda weird though, right?”

“A little.”

Professor Wick listens with half an ear from across the room, fighting to suppress a smirk.

-One afternoon you are poking around your neighborhood thrift store when you see a familiar crop of raven hair through the shelves. With mischief in your heart you take down a mangy-looking jackalope taxidermy from a shelf, using it like a puppet to peek around the corner. In a funny voice you say, “Pssst? Hey mister…wanna buy some milk duds?”

You peek around a moment later to find him smiling slightly, one eyebrow raised. “Young lady, do you have a license for that cryptid?” 

You can't stop yourself from grinning at him. “I fed it and it followed me here.” 

“They do that.” 

You have no idea how badly this man sympathizes with a stuffed rabbit defiled with deer antlers at that moment. 

You stand looking at each other for a very long, pregnant moment, which at least in your part is filled with a burgeoning longing you just don't quite know what to do with. You notice he's in the book section. 

“Looking for something particular?”

“Just…looking for books to rescue. It’s kind of a hobby.” He holds up a Victorian cloth bound edition of Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Other Stories. It’s seen better days.

“You're…going to fix it?”

“With luck.” He flashes a shy smile that sets off fireworks in your heart. “What are you hunting for?” 

“This and that.” You show him your basket filled with bric a brac. Boxes you want to turn into dioramas, fabric with prints you like, tin cutouts and costume jewelry by the pound you intend to glue onto things…for no better reason than it makes you happy. You do have some purpose to this trip though. “I’m…working on my submission to the Monster Masque. Have you ever been?” 

He shakes his head, that fluffy hair swinging into his face in an unfairly adorable way. “I’m kinda new in town.” 

You sort of knew that. You found out that he’d moved here to take the place of the professor who went on sabbatical.

“Well, it's the Halloween party around here. You have to try it at least once.” Part art show, part masquerade, part rave, it takes place in a warehouse by the river, and the art scene puts on their best. No commercial costumes allowed, everything must be handmade. Part of the fun is guessing who's who beneath their masks…and part of the fun is being anything or anyone you want to be. 

“Sounds like too much fun for an old fogey like me.”

You snort. “As if. You're not old.” This seems to hearten him, somehow. 

“Are you submitting one of your miniatures?”

You pause for a moment. You don't remember telling him about them, but they're not exactly a secret. “Yeah. I'm making a tiny haunted airstream trailer with ghosts who are like…glamping.”

“Glamping?”

You put on a serious air. “Am I commenting on the death of the American Dream, or do I just like cute creepy things? Who can say…”

He huffs with laughter, a sparkle in his dark eyes. “Interesting.”

“Do you…have any projects you're working on?”

He shakes his head and offers you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “I…haven't been too motivated, since my wife passed,” he admits, looking down at the stacks of books on the table before him. 

“I'm so sorry.”

“Thanks.” He sighs, putting on a brave face, and when he meets your eyes…you don't think you imagine the warmth that kindles between you, out of your own desperation. 

You don't know where you get the cheek to say, “Maybe something will inspire you soon.”

He holds your gaze, and it's like withstanding a lightning bolt straight through your heart. Yet somehow, you stand fast, resisting the urge to wilt before a wildfire.

“If I'm lucky,” he answers, and your heart lodges in your throat, tasting of ash.

You browse the rest of the store together, chatting lightly and chuckling over some of the treasures you find. By the time you are ready to leave you have filled your basket with odds and ends. He has three books–and the jackalope.

“What are you going to do with that?” you laugh as he tucks it under his arm when you leave. 

“I think I’m going to make you pose with it next class,” he jokes. 

You cackle with delight, your mirth filling the street. People shoot you odd looks as they walk by, and you try to look contrite, smiling sheepishly. 

“Should I bring a cowboy hat?” you tease, more in the spirit of being silly than suggestive, but you can tell immediately that your offer hits a different way. You’re not sure how it’s possible for this man to appear equally flustered and wolfish, his eyes darkening to true black as his attention sharpens upon you.

“That…might be too much…for all of our sakes,” he answers diplomatically, and once again you feel too hot under your collar, wishing the sidewalk would open up and swallow you. Why do you always have to ruin everything by running your mouth?

“Ok.” You look around, wondering which way would prove your quickest escape. The least painful option would probably be to walk straight into traffic. “I guess…I’ll see you Monday.”

You have to go crawl into a hole. 

You have no idea how badly he does not want you to go, but before he can think of another thing to say to ease your embarrassment or possibly pry his big foot out of his mouth you’re already halfway down the block.

He watches you go with a sigh.

[saoirsezz]

ᯓ LOVESICK | 리키

PAIRINGS ⊹ ࣪ ˖ grumpy!riki x sunshine!reader

GENRE ⊹ ࣪ ˖ fluff, grumpy x sunshine

WARNINGS ⊹ ࣪ ˖ light swearing

SYNOPSIS ⊹ ࣪ ˖ convincing riki to be partners with you seemed to be light work, maybe because actually getting to be his friend takes up 99% of your energy.

🂱 part two of “beneath the ice” !

RIKI HAD HIS HEADPHONES ON, blasting clearly loud music that was seeping through. he leaned against his chair, sketching lightly on his pad. you tapped him gently on the shoulder— he looks up at you, the light in his eyes making you a bit flustered.

“sorry.. did I disturb you?” you say, nervously fiddling with your fingers.

he puts his head back down, resuming his agenda. but replies, “no, you're good.” you let go of the breath you didn't even know you were holding. “oh, thank god. anyway uhm.. where do you want to work on the project? a cafe or somewhere out is good, but I don't think we'd get to work on it properly with a crowd around us. and in my house or yours may give us a better privacy, and stuff.. but still! I'll be alright where you're more comfortable.”

he paused for a moment, probably debating in his mind. “yours,” he said. it's really a handful with him barely saying sentences. but atleast you can talk to him. you just hope he'll warm up more as time passes and you can actually get a good, working conversation.

“alright, I'll meet you by the gates after class.”

you stood outside the gate, scrolling through your phone while you waited for riki. soon enough, tiny drops of rain hit your head. it's raining. you quickly grab an umbrella and shield yourself, though you start to worry about riki, if he had an umbrella. since the umbrella you had could only fit one.

a little while later, he tapped your shoulder, revealing him with his hoodie, the hood up on his head. “do you not have an umbrella?” you asked, he shook his head. you just nodded and proceeded to lead him to your house, walking slowly as the rain poured slowly. you tried your best to shield both you & him, but his taller figure makes it hard for you.

he notices your struggle, and takes the umbrella without a word and holds it for the both of you. you look up at him, seeing him covering you with your umbrella, but due to it being just enough for one person, you see the rain still hitting him. causing one side of him to be damp and the other to be dry.

“hey, you're getting we—”

“I'm fine.”

his tone wasn't rude or anything, but you knew better than to fight it. luckily, your apartment wasn't that far.

you both arrived soon enough, and you pet semi (your cat) before finally settling in.

“uh, riki?” you glance at him, his figure sitting on the couch.

“I have some spare clothes from my brother. he doesn't live with me, don't worry. he just has some here incase he visits, go and borrow some so you don't have to stay in that wet uniform. you can return it to me the next day.” you said as you handed him your brother's clothes. he mumbled a quick thanks before changing in the bathroom.

you waited until he finished before you started the project, opening your textbooks & doing some research.

TWO HOURS LATER

it's currently 8:06pm. you looked at the clock then back to your work. you've done quite alot in terms of work, but if it means any progress on you and riki's 'friendship', then nothing was made. in the whole hours of working, only small talks like “pass me that,” or “are you done with that?”. you didn't want to pressure him nor force him, but it really was frustrating you how difficult this was.

“it's a bit late. we can finish this the next day or two, the rain stopped too. do you want to go home?”

he got up and nodded, “yeah. I'll get going. thanks, __.” you smiled, leading him out the door.

“text me when you get home.”

“okay.”

UNKNOWN CONTACT: it's me, riki. I'm home.

to your surprise, he actually texted you. you grinned.

CHEOL Y/N: oh, that's good!

[CHEOL Y/N SET NICKNAME TO 'RIKI']

[RIKI REACTED '♡' TO YOUR MESSAGE.]

you smiled, knowing you'll be going to school on the next day with a grin on your face. you tucked yourself to bed, anticipating tomorrow.

tomorrow came, you got yourself ready, getting in your school uniform and tying your hair. you walked to school, as you got there, you already started looking for a specific dark haired boy— riki.

you went to the class, confused to not see him in his seat. he's usually early, earlier than everyone. this was new. classes passed, and he still was nowhere to be found. you were starting to get worried.

your lectures ended, it was 5:05pm. you quickly texted riki.

CHEOL Y/N: riki? why were you absent?

RIKI: oh, sorry. I got sick because of the rain last night. I had a fever and a cold. sorry.

seeing this you instantly made your way to his house. grabbing your bags and heading your way.

the doorbell rang, riki wondered who it could be. to his surprise, he saw you—standing right infront of him as he opened his door.

“are you okay- was it my fault? 'm sorry! my umbrella was small, I'll repay you, I promise. I'll take care of yo—”

“how'd you get my adress?” you chuckled nervously, embarrassed. “.. well, i asked the professor. he has records of student's addresses in case of emergency. and I knew you wouldn't give it to me if I asked..” you rubbed the back of your neck.

“but anyway! how are you feeling?” you turned to him, he looked really tired. “I'm fine.”

you put the back of your hand to his forehead, feeling his temperature. “you're not, you feel hot. go back to bed I'll prepare your meds. I bought some on the way.” you exclaimed, shuffling through your bag.

“but—” before he could protest, you were already leading him up his bed.

after taking his meds, you put a damp lukewarm towel on his forehead to aid with the fever.

“just, relax. you won't get better if you don't get rest.”

you say as you sit at the chair near the bed, “I'll go home once you sleep. I need to make sure you actually listen.” you laugh.

“okay ma'am,” he joked, closing his eyes.

time passed and he started to make little snores. you observed his features, this was the first time you saw him this close.

you didn't realise how detailed and beautiful he actually was. your heart pumps a little faster.

you didn't realise you slowly started drifting to sleep, resting your head on the edge of the bed.

THE NEXT DAY

he stirs in his sleep as he woke up, surprised to see you sleeping on the edge of the bed with your body still on the chair. though, he figured you got tired after taking care of him. it confused him why you cared so much. others would've loved if he weren't present in the class anyway.

he glanced at you, noticing your half parted lips and your chest rising up and down. he would be lying if he said he didn't find it endearing.

he stayed still for a few minutes, just loving the comforting silence between the you & him world

© work of saoirsezz | sho

[queenbrucewayne]

Batman Doesn’t Get Sick.

This was definitely a rare occasion. You and Alfred both stood there watching as Bruce was at his computer in the Batcave. Surrounded by tissues, two empty glasses of orange juice and different types of medicine bottles.

“He’s refused to eat the soup I’ve made, insisting it’s just allergies..” Alfred raised an eyebrow, clearly tired from probably dealing with his stubbornness all morning.

“Allergies? You’re kidding..” You watch as he took another pull from the bottle, popping it in his mouth and going back to whatever he was doing.

“I’m almost certain he’ll over dose on vitamin D at this point…” Alfred shook his head in annoyance.

“It’s okay,” you put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take it from here. There still some of that soup right?”

“Hot and ready on the stove, good luck.” He said, just before walking back upstairs.

Funny, good luck… you would definitely need it.

Whatever it was Bruce was doing definitely had all his attention, he wasn’t really paying any kind to you at all. It was kinda funny though, seeing him still in his gear without the cowl. His under eyes were darker then normal, and he kept sniffling. Which is probably what resulted in the mountains of issues all around the desk.

“Bruce?”

He didn’t even turn his head to look at you.

“Bruuuce.” You kept going, taking a few steps closer to him.

This time you got right behind his right shoulder, leaning down you wrapped your left arm around his neck…he definitely had a fever.

“Sweetheart.”

He grunted, but it was better then nothing.

“Maybe you should come upstairs, Alfred still has the soup hot, take a break since you’re-“

“I’m not sick.” He cut in.

Oh… so he was being in denial.

“Really? I think the state of your desk would disagree.” You rested your chin on top of his head, moving to wrap your arms around his neck.

He sighed, raising one of his hands and placing it on your forearm. At least he was reacting to you.

“It’s just-“

“Allergies… right”

He turned his head to look at you, clearly not amused. “I’m fine.”

You pulled back from him, raising your hands in surrender. “Okay okay, my apologies. Here I thought the runny nose, droopy eyes, and extra body heat was something other then your charming personality.”

“Y/n..” He had a warning to his tone now.

You turned around to walk upstairs, “I’ll come check on you in a bit, try not to get snot all over the keyboards.”

He rolled his eyes, ignoring you and going back to his computer.

You grabbed a few things from upstairs, a glass of water, Alfreds soup, a cold damp hand towel and a throw blanket. Bruce still had tons of pills downstairs so it was probably best to ease up on the drugs.

Finding him in the same spot you left him, you set the tray down on his desk next to his keyboard. He glanced over at everything, but no attempt to stop what he was doing.

Taking the blanket you slowly started to put it around him, suddenly he grabbed a hold of your right hand stopping you from moving.

"Y/n..." He warned.

"It's just a blanket, it's not a straight jacket."

"This isn't necessary."

"Stop being stubborn."

He looked at you, that adorable grumpy face that he would always pull when he was too tired to argue with you. He loosened his grip and just let you continue.

"Thank you." You said, placing the blanket around his shoulders. "What are you working on?"

He glanced at you for a moment, seeming too hesitate before answering. "A case Gordan is working on."

"So this is what's got you so busy lately... What's it about?" You asked, seeing he was still giving you suspicious glances, but continued explaining the details.

At some point while he was talking you casually started running your hand throughout his hair. It gave you the opportunity to slip your hand pass his forehead, which was still warm.

Reaching over to grab the cold damp hand towel, you pull his messy hair back just a bit to show his forehead. Placing it gently on top you smiled as you heard a little sigh of relief come from him.

“Hey, maybe you should change out of your gear, I can run upstairs and bring some sweatpants and a T-shirt.” You pulled back from him, but he quickly took ahold of your waist, moving you to be sat across his lap.

“I know what you’re doing darling, and I’m not fond of it.” He leaned forward to talk in her ear. “I’m not sick, I don’t need soup, I don’t need anything. And I can’t go change, I might go out tonight.”

You eyes widened, taking a hold of his chin you made him face you. “You are not going out tonight, absolutely not in your condition.”

“Y/n… I said might, I’m not even sure myself yet if I need to but-“

“Why? So you can get somebody killed?”

He frowned at you, “Where did that come from?”

You sighed, leaning your head against his shoulder you started to play with the hair on the back of his neck. “You got shot last week…. You didn’t even let yourself recover from that.”

“Alfred told you…”

“Of course he did!” You looked up at him, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t like to worry you.”

You rolled your eyes, sitting up to try and get off his lap. He pulled you back to him this time with your back facing him.

“I worry anyways Bruce, I will always worry.” You Leaned back into his chest further. “You tend to forget you’re human sometimes.”

“I always come back to you.”

“Until the day you don’t…”

You felt his grip on you tense, knowing you probably stuck a nerve.

This was a back and forth conversation you two would have every so often, normally it wouldn’t lead to anywhere but Bruce would try his best to avoid it all together by not telling you if he was seriously injured.

“Alright, I’ll give it another day, now hand me that soup, it smells good.”

You smiled, sliding off his lap and handing over Alfred’s soup. “Here, it’s still hot.”

He nodded, taking the first bite and feeling the soothing feeling of it going down his throat. It didn’t occur to him that this was exactly what he needed. This reminded him of when he was a kid, Alfred would bring him soup and talk to him till he fell asleep.

Bruce glanced over to see you staring at him, your arm holding up your head with a soft smile on your face.

"What?"

"You look the most laid back that I've seen you all week."

“Alfred’s cooking… it makes me feel.. at ease I suppose.”

You nodded, “He has that affect on people.”

“I probably should apologize for giving him a hard time earlier.”

Your eyes widened, “wow, you must really not be feeling well.”

“Shut up.”

You laughed, taking his empty bowl from him, “here, take these pills and try to make your way upstairs at some point tonight please. You could use a shower.” You teased, taking the tray to start your way upstairs.

Bruce quickly reached out his hand and gripped your arm to stop you. "Y/n."

You looked down at him, "Yes?"

"Thank you..."

"Always... Can't have the batman out of the game for too long." Leaning down to kiss the top of his head, you made your leave.

When you made your way to the elevator you saw Alfred was standing there, waiting for you. "A warm bath will be ready soon."

"You think he'll actually listen and come upstairs?"

"I believe he would do it to make you happy. He's stubborn, however when he knows you're upset with him, he tends to be a bit more compliant" Alfred took the tray from your hands. "You get yourself ready for bed, I have no doubt he will be joining you soon."

Nodding, you made your way upstairs, smiling to yourself when you just saw him start to stand up and shut off the laptop.

@christianbalefanatic

[altacctforastarion]

The Orange Peel Theory

Astarion x reader, no pronouns, no y/n, no warnings for this one.

Crack fic treated seriously. It was supposed to be kind of angsty, but I made myself laugh so it’s really just fluffy humor now.

You’re not really a fan of the newspaper after your encounter with the people who distribute it trying to ruin your reputation, but the kid just looked so disappointed when you said no to buying one, and really it’s not expensive, so you go back and tell him you changed your mind, and he was so convincing and good at his job while you pay him and take it with you on your way back to Elfsong. The fight with Orin had left your group a little worse for wear, so the group unanimously agreed to take the day off.

It was early morning still, some fog still lingering in the eerily empty streets, and you really don’t like that the city is this quiet, despite hating how loud it usually is, but you needed supplies and with some healing potions and food in your pack you were happy to go back to the tavern and relax with the others. Or at least Astarion in your private room, though he may still be trancing when you return. You’d placed a note on your pillow, just in case he woke up and came looking to save you from some unknown danger with the others in tow. Though, your group half-asleep running around the town like lunatics does sound like an interesting morning, and you laugh to yourself just thinking about it.

When you get to your room Astarion is still trancing, and you throw away the note before climbing into bed with your newspaper, and after awhile you’re about to toss it to the side, sick of reading about nasty rumors written about people who obviously didn’t just sneak in and change the paper like you had, when something catches your eye.

It’s an article that explains “the orange peel theory” stating that if you ask a man to peel an orange for you and he doesn’t your relationship isn’t strong. You’re sure the article means well, maybe it’s even helped some people, but Astarion watches your back in battle, is rude to everyone but you, steals things to repair or replace with something better, and shows you every part of him. He doesn’t need to peel an orange for you to prove he loves you.

You laugh quietly, and put the newspaper off to the side before curling up in bed and getting more sleep. Usually you’d curl up with him, but you don’t want to wake him, so you keep your distance.

—

When you wake, curled up on your side facing Astarion, you’re met with him staring at you. You jump, surprised, but calm down quickly, this is normal for him, watching you sleep and not having the sense to move away when you start to wake up. What’s unusual though, is that he looks slightly afraid? You can’t really tell, not a happy look though.

“Astarion? What’s wrong?”

“I’d do anything for you.” He says, reaching for your hands, one of his holding both of yours.

“I- thank you?” You’ve no clue what he’s talking about. He’s acting so strange, you’ve never seen him this way before.

He finally stops his staring, getting out of bed and leaving the room. You sit up, confused and alarmed, thinking of following him but then you hear banging on the door to the room next of yours, where all of your companions are and decide to see where this goes.

“Astarion? Why are you-“ you hear Gale as he opens the door, and then some scrambling in the other room, along with some of your companions asking Astarion what in the hells he’s looking for, or just groaning as their sleep is interrupted. “Are you mad? You could have just knocked and asked, you know. Instead of whatever this is.”

“Shut up, Gale. I’m making a point.” You hear your partner growling out the words, and then he’s opening the door to your room again, with something in his hand.

“Astarion! Will you please tell me what all of this is about?” You demand answers, and maybe later you’ll demand he apologize to the rest of your companions, but for now you just need to know why he’s worked himself up this much.

He sits on the bed next to you, not answering and not looking at you, too focused on whatever he has in his hands.

Oh. He must of read the paper.

It’s an orange. And he’s peeling it, carefully, as if disarming a trap. You watch him wordlessly, as he’s slowly peeling this orange that’s caused so much havoc.

When he’s done, he delicately takes one of the pieces off the fruit and finally looks at you, as he starts moving the piece towards your face, “I’d peel an orange for you. You didn’t even have to ask. Now open your mouth.”

You don’t, that’s weird, all of this is weird, instead you reach up and take the piece of fruit and put it in your own mouth, chewing and swallowing, stopping his hands from getting you another piece.

“Thank you but this is entirely unnecessary, though I do appreciate it.”

“ I saw the article, and you weren’t lying with me when I woke up. Obviously you were upset I haven’t peeled any oranges for you, I apologize, now have another piece. Open your mouth, you don’t even have to do any work, just lay back and I’ll give you orange slices.”

“I bought the paper, I read it, I thought it was stupid- Astarion put the orange down or so help me- and then I went to sleep. I didn’t want to wake you so I kept my distance, and then I wake up to you assaulting Gale and trying to force feed me an orange. All caught up?”

“You didn’t go to sleep upset with me?” He asks, so open and vulnerable and sad that it hurts.

“No, and I don’t even like oranges that much. You’ve done a million things that show me you love me, including this disaster. I don’t need an orange.”

“Right then.” An awkward smile graces his lips, “So you don’t want this orange?”

“No, and never try to force feed me again, please.”

Once again he stands and leaves the room, and you just close your eyes and wait for his return this time, wondering how angry they’ll be about whatever he’s gone to do this time.

“Astarion, I’m not letting you in again, you’ve made a mess, and Lae’zel wants you dead. What do you want this time? An apple?” Gale is whispering, like he’s afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t, and you can barely make out what he’s saying.

“Darling! Would you like an apple?” He’s yelling, because he’s a lovely, kind man with no gods damned sense. You hear Lae’zel loudly curse him.

“No thank you.” You do not yell, because you do have sense.

“Then no, no apple. Here is this back, you all have a lovely day, especially you, my very angry, very close friend.” She growls out some more curses, but you don’t hear her drawing her sword, so you consider it a win.

“Astarion, I don’t want your orange.” Gale protests, but Astarion is already coming back to your room, locking the door behind him. He comes back to the bed, laying down and pulling you towards him.

You decide against scolding him, kissing him instead, and telling him that you’d do anything for him as well.

[scoops404]

for the writing prompts: dnf (or dream team) karaoke??

Hi there!! I have fulfilled this prompt. It's not beta'd so don't hate me

Under the cut, ~2K

“You have to sing, George, what are you, a pussy?” Sapnap asks, leaning back and crossing his arms. The music is blaring in George’s ears, the off-key rendition of Defying Gravity grating on his nerves.

“I’m not singing, idiot,” George says, because he knows his boundaries and he simply doesn’t want to.

“Pussy, then,” Sapnap says with an easy shrug, like he’s always suspected it and now it’s confirmed to be true.

“Leave him alone,” Dream says, coming back and placing three drinks on their table. He insisted on buying the first round and if history has shown anything, he’ll likely be buying all the rounds.

George grabs the vodka cranberry and sips it through the little black straw that came with it. It’s tart and heavy on the vodka. He makes a face.

“Can’t sing karaoke, can’t sip his little fruity drink,” Sapnap lists off, being an asshole. “Tell me, what can you do successfully?”

“I can fuck your mother successfully,” George says.

Sapnap’s face turns ruddy, but Dream puts a hand on his shoulder before he can say anything else. “Alright, that’s enough you two. Settle down.”

“He started it,” Sapnap says, childishly. George almost denies it on principle, eager to make sure it’s known that he did not, in fact, start it. Sapnap did by trying to coerce him into signing up to sing in front of a live audience.

Not fucking happening.

“Well, I ended it,” Dream says easily, a smirk forming around his straw like he’s pleased with himself. He takes a long drag of whatever cocktail he ended up going with—some blue monstrosity that was probably the bar’s special or something.

Sapnap huffs under his breath.

“What are you singing, Dream?” George asks, even though he’s already listened to Dream ramble about this for the last week.

None of them want to steal the stage or anything, but Dream was talking about missing performing and then George was finding a way to give that to him—just a once a month bar that does live band karaoke. And it was a plan. George read all the reviews and learned they needed to get there early for seats and to sign up before all the slots were filled.

Dream lists off a few different songs and then stands up, declaring that he’ll figure it out as he’s filling out the form by the DJ booth.

“You’re not going with him?” George asks Sapnap, taking another sip of his drink.

“What am I, crazy?” Sapnap asks, though he should know better. That’s like giving George an alleyoop.

“Do you really want me to answer that? George says.

Sapnap rolls his eyes and takes a large gulp of his beer, downing at least half of it. He takes a deep breath when he comes up for air and then belches.

“Gross,” George says, but he’s rather impressed.

“No way am I singing,” Sapnap says. “At least not without like ten more of these bad boys.” He lifts his drink up and cheerses George’s glass, like maybe George wasn’t sure what he was talking about.

“And yet you wanted me to?” George says.

“Well, yeah, because that would be funny,” Sapnap says, unashamed. “I was going to film it and put it up on Snapchat.”

“Like I’d let you get free content like that from me,” George says, shaking his head.

The night’s entertainment starts. Dream comes back to the table with a fresh round of drinks, prompting George to chug his last vodka cran so that he can get started on this one.

The first girl to sing chooses a Disney song and George pays little attention to it. Sapnap’s been eyeing a girl across the bar with a black crop top on when he thinks no one is looking. Dream’s foot taps under the table, close enough to George’s that sometimes the sole of his shoe lands on top of George’s foot.

“Don’t mess up my shoes,” George tells him seriously.

“I would never,” Dream promises, crossing his heart with his fingers.

A few more people sing and George drinks another vodka cran for lack of anything better to do. Cell service is terrible in here for some reason, so it’s too annoying to do anything on his phone.

“And now, we have Clay!” The DJ host announces, the cue for the next person to stand up and go onto the stage. George turns to Dream immediately. He’s nervously tapping his fingers, but stands up, finishes his drink, and then winks at George.

“Yeah, go get ‘em, baby!” Sapnap calls, hootin’ and hollerin’.

George shakes his head at Sapnap, but his eyes follow Dream’s form up to the stage.

“Singing the song ‘Spotlight’ by artist Dream, here’s Clay, everyone!”

George’s stomach swoops. He’s singing that song. Here. George can’t take his eyes off of Dream. This is nothing like those concerts George went to, that he performed at, this is so different. It’s so much more intimate—just a group of people getting drunk and Dream—Dream is singing this song that so many people speculate to be about George and—and he’s staring down at George.

Time stops, or so it feels. He’s stuck in the music, in the feeling of the room. Paralyzed and hypnotized by the way Dream’s mouth moves and sings the words that George has wanted so badly to be about him.

Turn off the cameras, now you’re all mine…

He wants that. He wants to be Dream’s so badly.

Sapnap might be trying to say something to him, but George doesn’t pay any attention. He’s hooked on Dream, high on the way he moves, the way the crowd is warming up to him—clapping and screaming. Neither he nor Dream are paying attention.

A superstar in my bed…

Oh fuck.

We close the curtains now it’s our time…

It’s not a very long song, but to George it feels like it’s going by too fast. He wants to live here. He wants this moment to last forever, where he can pretend this is his song. This is Dream’s song for him. He wants to be the celebrity in Dream’s head.

When the last notes play out, the crowd applauds enthusiastically. George’s reaction is delayed, waiting too long before he joins in. He doesn’t want to appear unsupportive.

“Wow,” Sapnap says while Dream hands the mic back and heads to the stage stairs. “That was really ballsy of him.”

“What do you mean?” George asks, though he’s barely paying attention to Sapnap.

“Singing that song,” Sapnap says. Dream’s back at the bar, getting another round it looks like. George watches him like a hawk, seeing the women in going out outfits coming up to talk to Dream. “Especially here. Why didn’t he just chose, like, an Eminem song?”

“You’re dumb,” George says. “Dream shouldn’t sing an Eminem song. He can’t rap. What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m just saying…” Sapnap says, throwing back the rest of this beer because he’s also noticed Dream’s coming back with more drinks.

“I liked his song,” George says, hoping he can pass this off as being a supportive friend and not, like, massively in love with Dream.

“Of course you did,” Sapnap says.

Dream clinks drinks onto the table. They must have had them ready for him with how quickly he was served. Not that it takes more than a second to even make a vodka cranberry.

“Hey,” Dream says. There’s some sweat in his curls at his temples.

“Hi,” George says.

“Cool song, bro,” Sapnap says. “I can’t believe you sang George’s stupid song. You should sing the one about me.”

“There is no song about you, Nick,” Dream says, amusement rife in his voice. He sits down heavily in his seat.

“Well, maybe you should fix that,” Sapnap says, but George’s lost the plot because Dream’s words are sinking in.

He hasn’t denied it. He didn’t say George doesn’t have a song either.

“He doesn’t need a song for you, when he has one about me,” George says, the vodka making him brave enough to brush his ankle against Dream’s under the table.

“And I have a song with you,” Dream says. “Our McDonald’s song. That’s epic.”

“You two are disgusting,” Sapnap declares. “I am going to sign up now, I think. I’m hoping they have a song called, like, Fuck You or something. Maybe Get a Room and Fuck Each Other Already, the remix. I don’t fucking know.” And he stalks off towards the booth to talk to the DJ.

“I guess those beers kicked in,” George says and then wants to punch himself.

“The list is already too long,” Dream says. “He’s not getting to sing tonight.”

“I hope everyone here knows how lucky they are,” George says, intending that to mean that they won’t hear Sapnap sing, but in the saying of the words, he realizes there’s another meaning. “They got to hear the original artist sing his song. That’s, like, really epic.”

“I bet literally no one here knew that except you and Sap,” Dream says. “Kinda made it funny, to be honest.”

“It’s not really a funny song, though,” George says.

“No, not a funny song,” Dream repeats. His eyes are dark under the lights of the bar and his face drifts closer to George, ankle hooking around George’s. “Kind of a painful song for a long time”

“What?” George asks. “Why?”

Dream takes a sip of his water before he answers. “I dunno, because the subject of the song, like…”

“What?”

“The subject of the song doesn’t feel that way about me?” he says, and looks down at the table. His hands wrap around his water glass.

“The subject of the song takes offense to that,” George says. “When are the curtains closing? There’s been no discussion of curtains closing, because I would remember if there were. I have—I have things to say behind curtains, Dream.”

“Really?” he asks, looking up.’

“Yeah, idiot,” George tells him. He leans closer. Dream smells perfect—like the cologne he wears when they go out and some fruity shampoo or conditioner. It’s so Dream. He still can’t believe he didn’t know it for so long.

“What kinds of things do you want to say behind the curtains?” Dream asks, voice tight.

“Things like ‘harder’ and ‘right there’,” George says because the alcohol has made him brave.

“So you just want—you just want the bedroom part,” Dream surmises. He’s trying to hide it, but George can sense his disappointment. God, for someone so smart, he’s so dumb.

“Not just,” George says, because he can’t make himself say more, but he can get that part out.

“Really?” Dream asks, perking up.

“Ask me properly and find out,” George says.

Sapnap wanders back over to their table. “Fucking clowns signed up too many duds and now I can’t sing,” he says, throwing himself into his chair.

“Yeah, it’s their fault,” George says, shaking his head. He doesn’t look away from Dream. He can’t. He’s not imagining it.

They’re… getting somewhere.

Outside the bar, the air is chilly for Florida. Dream calls them an Uber and Sapnap yaps away about everything and nothing, and George… George lets himself lean into Dream’s strong body in the car. George watches the lights fly by while they drive home. George waits with Dream after they’ve been dropped off back home, while Sapnap beelines inside to take a slash.

And out here with the crickets chirping and the sound of the Uber driving away, George can hear his heart over all of it.

Until Dream leans over and all he can hear is the question, “George, you wanna go out with me sometime?”

[p3achslimes]

caught in my web !

spiderman!charlie x gn!best friend!reader

fluff | tw for a lil bit of blood ig? reader is a little dense LMAO, also swearing

wc. 6k (what in the actual fuck happened here)

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

when he first discovered that such a simple and seemingly harmless spider bite had such irreversible effects on him, charlie, to put it bluntly, was petrified.

even from the moment the spider bit him, for all he knew he could soon be literally petrified by the way the bite was making his arm feel weird already and though he can’t say he’s necessarily well versed in arachnids, that was not a spider he’d ever seen before.

he knew most likely it was just paranoia, but his brain was swirling with worst case scenarios.

nonetheless, it was very late at night and a college student such as himself did not have the money nor the means for an emergency room visit, so he decided to attempt to sleep it off, and if it seemed to be worse in the morning he’d see what he could do.

well, maybe that’s an oversimplification of events.

he’d called you, practically hyperventilating and saying his goodbyes, scaring you shitless as well for a good minute before you’d finally pried out of him what had happened.

luckily, entomology was something you were actually studying, and you had enough knowledge of various spiders that when you arrived at his apartment (for his own peace of mind and yours) you were able to calm him enough to the point that planning his own funeral was no longer at the forefront of his mind.

with the strange spider safely captured in a small jar (as afraid as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to kill it) he felt a little better even just from your calming presence.

(“charlie why did you put a piece of cheese in there?” “i wanted to be hospitable.” “.. cheese.” “i don’t know what spiders eat!”)

you spent the night on his couch that night as well (he hadn’t asked, but you knew if you left he might start typing up a will) so you were able to keep an eye on him.

the next morning charlie wakes up feeling fine, albeit a bit groggy. he flops out of bed, and he rubs the sleep from his eyes as he wanders across the hall to the bathroom.

grabbing his glasses and sliding them on, he looks down at the spot on his arm that he’d been scratching at to check it’s status.

but its.. blurry?

he rubs at his face again and blinks to focus his vision, and the same thing happens.

its not until his hand pushes his glasses up and he gets a view without a lens that he realizes that its actually his glasses that are the issue. he moves them out of the way, and to his shock he can see completely clearly without them. he lifts them up to sit on his head, looking at himself in the mirror, absolutely dumbfounded.

“what.. the fuck?”

“charlie?”

he jumps, banging his knee on the counter.

“jesus! sorry,” you chuckle, hands up. “not a spider!”

“har har,” charlie mocks, massaging his leg, a cute pout on his face.

you step into the bathroom, reaching up to adjust his glasses that had fallen from the crown of his head to the tip of his nose. he squints, rubbing at his temple.

“you.. okay?” you venture, watching him blink hard a few times.

“yeah! uh-“ more blinks, eyes wide- “i’m good.” a fake smile. its your turn to squint, not quite believing him.

you see him instinctively clenching his fist, shaking out his arm a little. you grab it and drag him forward a little to examine the splotch on his forearm.

“mm.” you hum. you brush your fingers along the bump, making a shiver roll up charlie’s spine. he watches you over the rim of his glasses.

“its a little red, but it looks okay. i don’t think it was poisonous.”

“great! uh- cool, that’s good news,” charlie bumbles, an awkward smile on his face.

he stares at you.

you stare at him.

your face is blurry.

he adjusts his glasses.

“right..”

he gulps.

“well. i have a lecture soon, so i should get going.” you give his arm a little pat and release it from your fingers. he nods, scratching at it absentmindedly again.

“still on for movie night later?”

charlie answers without thinking through it.

“of course.” shit.

you grin at him. “great.” shit shit shit.

but the twinkle in your eyes and the way your fingers ruffle through his messy hair makes his heart flutter less with anxiety and more with something.. warmer.

you turn and round the hallway corner and charlie lets out a tense breath he didn’t know he was holding. he knocks into a small table from his lack of clear sight as he follows you, and swiftly blames it on lack of sleep when you quirk a brow at him.

a minute later you’ve gathered your things from the living room, the bottled spider included to take to your class to be studied, and give him a wave as you walk out his front door.

“see you tonight, spider man.”

charlie takes off his glasses once the door is closed behind you, sighing heavily and rubbing a hand down the side of his face. he rubs his thumb across his forearm, your touch lingering in his mind.

“spider man.” he scoffs, but he can’t help the fond smile that turns up his lips.

—🕸️🕷️🕸️—

“where are your glasses?”

“i got contacts.” charlie lies through his teeth.

“today?” you question incredulously.

“… yeah.”

you clearly don’t believe him, if the way your brow furrows is anything to go by. you’d seem him just a few hours ago.

“is it because i always call you a nerd? you know i mean that affectionately right?” charlie hears the hint of guilt in your voice and panics.

“no! yeah i uh, i do- i just-“ he trails off. he isn’t sure where else to go with this. you catch the awkwardness, watching as he scratches the back of his neck, and decide to let it go before he starts sweating.

“well if you can’t see the screen don’t ask me what happened,” you joke, lightening the mood to charlie’s relief. you set down the snacks you brought and plop down on the couch, propping your feet on the coffee table, remote in hand.

charlie relaxes in his spot next to you, ripping open a bag of chips. “you’d probably be asleep even if i did.” you roll your eyes and smack his arm. charlie lets out a laugh.

fourty five minutes later, charlie does have to ask a question about the movie you’re watching (but not because he couldn’t see, he’s just been daydreaming for most of it.)

and lo and behold, you are asleep, so he’s left to wonder.

charlie starts to reach for his drink on the table in front of him, but you, wrapped around his right arm and sleeping comfortably, tighten your grip when you feel him start to move.

he moves just the left side of his body forward, ever so slowly, wiggling his fingers as he strains to grab his can without disturbing you.

but suddenly, something knocks into the can, denting the side and sending it falling over with a tinny clang against the wood. liquid spills from the opening and dribbles over the side and onto the floor.

“how the fuck-“

“shhh,”

he freezes, looking down at you. you pull him back again, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. your cheek presses up against his sleeve, smushing up your face and charlie’s heart almost explodes. he reaches up gently, pushing a tuft of hair away from your face, and you hum happily.

charlie thinks for a second that maybe a stain on his carpet is worth it if he can stay like this forever.

something stuck to his wrist catches his attention.

its a strand of web.

charlie yelps before he can catch himself, frantically flicking his arm to detach it and startles you awake in the process. you let out a similar yelp in practically the same octave as his was, jumping up and clutching tighter onto his bicep.

“what!! what happened?” you squeak.

he doesn’t answer, just continues his task of brushing off every square inch of his body to rid himself of any potential dangers. when he deems himself safe, he looks over at you, and is met with crossed arms and a disgruntled look.

“sorry! sorry,” charlie huffs apologetically. he clears his throat, his face flushing red from embarrassment as he explains, “spider web.”

you chuckle incredulously, rubbing your eyes and letting out a yawn. “spider web,” you giggle through a playful smirk. you stand, stretching your limbs, and hobble in the direction the bathroom.

“try not to die out here without me, alright?” you quip as turn the corner.

charlie groans. he gets up himself to grab a towel from the kitchen, coming back to crouch down and sop up the mess still dripping from the table. he picks up the can and tries to set it back on the table top, but it sticks to his hand. even when he uncurls all five fingers from it, its still stuck snugly to his palm.

he uses his other hand to grab it and pry it away, and it disconnects with a sticky snap, leaving multiple strands of web connecting his skin to the metal.

“jesus fucking christ,” he gripes, watching the web strands flutter under his breath.

“oh, there really was a spider web,” it’s charlie’s turn to startle, jumping a bit as he sees you crouched down right beside him, observing the wiggly webs.

charlie gives you an indignant look, one that reads ‘did you think i was lying?’

“honestly i just though you were being paranoid.” charlie rolls his eyes, nudging you with his shoulder.

“sorry! not my fault you’re a scaredy cat!”

“i am not!” he defends, pressing the towel further down into the carpet plush.

you glide your fingers up the back of charlie’s neck in a gentle tickle, and right on cue he lets out a little ‘eek!’, slapping your hand away. he pushes you softly and you giggle, falling back from your crouched stance on your toes and onto your butt. you hug your legs, resting your chin on your knee as you watch him continue to dry up the mess.

“they probably just like you, i know i do.” you drop a little hint at the end. he never seems to catch on.

“they can like me all they want, just far away from me please.” he grumbles, taking the can to the kitchen to toss it in the trash.

“spiders are friends!~” he hears you sing from the other room.

he drops the can into the bin, hoping this is the last of his spider related worries.

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

charlie never thought he would ever be friends with spiders. let alone be one.

it took him a while to realize that the spider bite had caused him more trouble than just a slight fear of the nooks and crannies of his apartment. much more trouble.

he discovered that it was him creating the webs he was finding around when he dropped his pen once while writing out some notes for a class, and when he tried to grab it before it hit the ground, he’d caught it with a collection of web strands that shot out of his wrist instead.

he discovered how strong his webs were when he tripped on the staircase while running late one day, spurting out a web that stuck to the wall and caught him, and tugged him upright before he hit the ground.

and he discovered how useful this strange new talent could be outside your apartment.

“so, any news about that spider? you brought it in to study it, right?” charlie asks as nonchalantly as he possibly can.

“oh, actually yes! we think it might be a-“

suddenly a hooded figure runs by, snatching your backpack from right off your shoulders, and sprinting down the sidewalk through a dense crowd of pedestrians.

the stranger nearly knocked you to the ground with the push and shove of stealing your belongings. charlie caught you, steadied you on your feet, and booked it after him, leaving your confused cries to stop behind him.

his speed and reflexes seem to be heightened as he caught up in a few seconds flat, and in a fraction of that time he had a web wrapped around the strap of your bag, pulling it directly into his chest to wrap his arms around, and a leg out to sweep the thief’s legs straight out from under him, sending him face first into the pavement.

you caught up to charlie after a moment, heaving heavily from your tired lungs. your eyes widen at the scene in front of you; a completely unscathed charlie and a nearly unconscious criminal bleeding from the nose below.

“how did-“ you struggle for a full breath. “how did you do that?”

“uhm- adrenaline, i think?” honestly, charlie isn’t quite sure how he did this either.

“charlie, you could have gotten hurt!” you scold him, trying your best to sound steady and serious, but by the way your hands tremble and your voice wavers it tells him you were more worried for his safety than anything else.

“i wasn’t gonna stand there and do nothing,” he says like its the most obvious thing in the world. he settles your bag back on your shoulders, looping your arms through the straps for you. your eyes gloss over and you’re gnawing at your lip like you’re trying your best not to cry.

“your laptop is expensive. we can’t have you lose that,” he jokes, attempting to lighten the mood.

you let out a trembling laugh, and yank him into a hug him with a full crushing force. “you’re such an idiot,” you whine, and he returns the hug with a chuckle of his own.

charlie isn’t sure how he did this or what exactly is going on, but what he is sure about is that whatever is happening to him, using it to protect you will always be his first priority.

—🕸️🕷️🕸️—

the idea to become a “hero” of sorts struck charlie one day like a bolt of lightning.

the notion sounds absolutely crazy, charlie knows that, but the circumstances have fallen directly into his lap, and he knows that if he has the ability, the real ability to protect people, he should take it.

he practices his web slinging in private, and he’s gotten quite good at it; he now can do it on command instead of at random, and can control it when he needs to.

(and yes, he’s made all of the jokes, even if he’s the only person around to laugh. he can shoot sticky white goo from his wrists, did you expect him not to be a little silly with it?)

he practices his dexterity in the air out in an old alley that no one has any reason to frequent. in doing so, his muscles have bulked up significantly, and he was flustered beyond belief when you of all people were the one the pointed it out.

he told himself that if he was going to be this new face of justice, he should protect his identity and keep it separate from his personal life. he didn’t want anyone he knew and loved getting involved; if someone got hurt because of him he wouldn’t be able to bare it. so he’s made a few suit prototypes from old clothes and green acrylic paint. he may not be the craftiest, but he made do, and he learned some sewing basics in the process (though you really wouldn’t be able to tell. overall he commissioned someone to make a suit for him.)

the last thing he really needed came to him after he’d successfully helped a woman with an issue involving a man following her down the street late one night. after making sure the woman was safe enough to leave, he attaches his web to a fire escape and is about to swing away.

“what do i call you?” she yells out from below him as he hangs from the rail.

he thinks for a second. web boy? no, that’s dumb. arachnid kid? a little silly, he likes that it rhymes, but it still doesn’t feel right.

and then it hits him.

“spiderman.”

he swings away, and within the next few weeks, ‘spiderman’ is everything that people are talking about.

you included.

“have you seen him?” you ask him excitedly, rocking back and forth on your heels as you both stand in line at your favorite ice cream shop. “he’s so cool!”

he chuckles a little. “i’ve heard of him.” a blush creeps up on his face he hopes you don’t see, but you’re too excited to even notice. “cool, huh?”

“so cool!” you thank the worker for your milkshakes and leave the small shop, the bell above the door jingling as you step outside. “i want to talk to him so bad, i bet he’s so interesting, and he’s probably so cute under the mask,” you daydream out loud as you walk down the sidewalk.

charlie coughs a bit in surprise. “what makes you think that?”

“don’t be jealous,” you poke, a smirk on your face. “just a hunch.”

in a split second you’re suddenly yanked to the very side of the sidewalk by charlie as you’re about to step onto the crosswalk. before you can comprehend why, someone comes barreling through on a bicycle, shouting a faint ‘sorry!’ as they whiz by, the wind fluttering your hair. your milkshake slips from your fingers, a small gasp leaving your lips, and charlie grabs it before it can splatter across the ground, placing it back in your hand for you.

“you okay?” he asks, brushing off your jacket. you don’t answer, still staring off in the direction the bike went in shock. as soon as everything catches up to you, you look at him, eyes wide. “that was insane! when did you get such crazy reflexes?”

“what do you mean?” charlie sweats a little. “didn’t you hear him coming?”

you shake your head. “no that’s not it, you did that so fast, and my drink-“

“i think- i think you were just caught off guard,” he excuses, checking both directions and ushering you forward to keep walking.

“so um. you were talking about spiderman?”

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

and talk about spiderman you did.

specifically, you talk about how you would love to meet him, to speak to him.

so, who would charlie be to keep that from you when he is the one you want to meet?

well unfortunately, it wasn’t his choice.

(how was he supposed to go about that? knock on your door and say “hello random citizen, i’m spiderman! your best friend charlie who i totally don’t know and definitely am not the same person as said you wanted to talk to me”?)

no, in reality, it was a total accident.

he finds himself crash landing onto the roof of your apartment building after a particularly brutal fight he’d gotten himself tied up in, his fatigue and pain not letting him swing any longer to make it all the way back home. he groans loudly, cradling his leg in his arms as he lays on the cold roof in the fetal position.

“spiderman??”

fuck. he knows that voice.

he lifts his head up in the direction it came from, seeing your head pop up over the ledge of the building. before he can say anything, you scramble up from the fire escape and run over to his side.

‘great,’ charlie thinks. this is the second worst byproduct of you having a top floor apartment. (he still remembers how sore he was after having to help you drag your mattress up several flights of stairs when you moved in.)

“are you okay?”

“i’m fine, i’m good, i just-“ he attempts to stand on his own, but groans again, and crumples under his own weight. its your turn to catch him before he falls.

“oh god, um, i can help! just- here-“ you sling his arm around your shoulder and huddle into his side, and you help him hobble to the edge. he clambers down the fire escape, using his webs to keep him relatively stable, and fumbles through the window and onto the floor of your apartment. he hits the carpet with a thud and a moan.

“sorry! um, i’ll get my first aid kit! i’ll be back!”

you leave and come back in a blind hurry, making quick work of rolling up the torn part of his suit to get a clear enough view of the gash in his leg to start your process. it hurts at first, a lot actually, but the pain subsides not long after. maybe because its you doing it, and he trusts you more than anyone, but he feels so much love and care in your movements.

he lets you focus in quiet for a while before he finally decides to say something.

“for someone who studies bugs and not medicine, you’re pretty good at this.”

you raise your eyebrows at him, wrapping a bandage around his calf. “how do you know i study bugs?”

shit. “just a hunch.”

you glance at him, not convinced.

“the pinned butterflies on your wall.”

“ah,” you say, nodding.

whew.

“maybe i just like butterflies.”

“that could be it too.” he chuckles under the mask. “i mean they’re pretty. like you. so it makes sense.”

you blush, a smile tugging at your lips. “smooth.”

“thanks, i know,” charlie drawls, leaning to suavely rest on his elbow next to him, and hits his head on a table. “ow.” you both laugh.

when you finally get him patched up, he thanks you (he almost leans in for a hug on accident, but settles for a firm handshake instead) and climbs over the windowsill in preparation to take his leave.

“hey, can i ask you something?”

charlie’s heart pounds. “sure.”

“can you.. come back sometime?” you twist your fingers nervously as you ask, avoiding his eyes. “i always wanted to talk to you but, this wasn’t really.. under the best circumstances, i guess.”

charlie’s brain doesnt know if he should say yes, but his heart knows he could never say no to you, spiderman or otherwise.

“of course.” your smile makes it worth it.

he slings a web up onto a bar of the fire escape and flings himself out.

“wait!”

he turns back, glancing back down at you leaning out the windowsill, the chilled wind fluttering your hair.

“i don’t just like butterflies. i like spiders, too.”

charlie grins.

“i didn’t used to like spiders. but i think they’re growing on me.”

and with that, he swings away.

—🕸️🕷️🕸️—

despite his better judgement, charlie does come back. more than once.

he knows he shouldn’t appear as spiderman in front of you more than he needs to, but it just makes you so happy, it was physically impossible for him not to when he knows he’s the reason for your smile every time.

he sits with you now on the roof of your apartment, the same place you found him the first time, and the same place you two always meet now.

“-and that’s the story of how i met my best friend charlie.” you finish your story, face flushed from laughing, and he’s forever grateful you can’t see his face under his mask. if he’s being honest (having lived through that torture with you) you actually told it way less embarrassing than he remembers it being. whether you perceive it less humiliating than he does or if you’re just gracious enough not to go into detail with strangers he’s not sure, but he’s thankful nonetheless.

“seems like you really care about him.”

“charlie?” you ask, leaning back to rest on the heels of your hands. “well, yeah. he’s my favorite person in the whole world. don’t you feel that way about your best friend, too?”

charlie feels his face heat up. “yeah, um. you pretty much took the words right out of my mouth.”

“yeah? tell me about them. what’s their name?”

“hey, whoa,” charlie lifts his hands in defense. “ask me about my favorite ninja turtle all day, but i can’t be giving out my best friend’s identity. why do you think i wear the mask?”

you laugh, nodding in understanding. “okay, okay, fair.”

a comfortable silence falls for a moment, and charlie watches you gaze at the stars above the city lights.

“you remind me of him, you know.”

“huh?” charlie snaps back into the present.

“charlie. you guys seem really similar, honestly. same mannerisms, same cologne-“ you know the smell of his cologne? “you say things sometimes that i definitely think he would say. same favorite ninja turtle, too.”

he never really realized you paid this much attention to him. his heart flutters.

“ehh, i don’t know. guy sounds like a total nerd.”

you snort out a laugh. “oh he is,” ouch?? “but he’s my nerd. i love him just how he is. i wouldn’t change a single thing about him.”

“.. you love him?”

another silence. this one a little more.. tense.

“i love all my friends, but charlie is.. different.”

“different how?”

“i’m not in love with my other friends.”

charlie’s brain nearly short circuits right then and there. how he gets a single comprehensible sentence out of his mouth after that is honestly beyond him. but he’s not charlie right now, he’s spiderman.

“i’m in love with my best friend too.”

“really?” you look at him, a sense of hope in your eyes, like you just found the only other person in the world in the same position as you. if you only knew.

“this,” he motions to his suit, and in turn the whole act of being spiderman at all. “its for them. i help everyone i can, of course, but,” he seems to be lost in thought for a second, drumming his fingers on his knee. “like you said, they’re different. i’d do anything for them. anything at all.”

you tilt your head at him. “wow, who knew a superhero could be so sappy.”

“yeah, yeah,” he waves his hand dismissively. “my bad, gotta protect my stone cold image.” you huff out a laugh.

“have you told them?”

“no.”

“why?”

“same reason as you, i’m guessing.”

“fear?”

“fear.”

a knowing look is passed between you.

“my best friend doesn’t actually know i’m spiderman.”

“wait really?” you ask, surprised.

“how am i supposed to tell them that? ‘hey by the way i’m risking my life every day for you!’ that seems like a horrible conversation.”

you chuckle. “yeah, i get that. i suppose its similar to the reason you haven’t confessed. the fear of rejection is present either way.”

“exactly,” he sighs.

after a second, a light bulb seems to come on above your head. “hey, i’ve got an idea. you tell your best friend you’re spiderman, and i’ll tell my best friend i’m in love with him.”

“that’s a terrible idea,” charlie admits through a chuckle.

“is it?” you feign indignant. “if they love us, they’ll accept us, right?”

charlie thinks it over for a second, his heart racing so fast he hopes you can’t hear it.

“okay. deal.”

you grin. “perfect.”

how the fuck is he gonna do that?

“charlie should actually be on his way, i’ll call him to make sure.”

shit. shit. he forgot about movie night.

you pull out your phone, tapping quickly to find his contact and press your phone to your ear. charlie panics, pulling his phone from his suit just as it starts to ring, and presses end as soon as he can reach the button.

you give him a puzzled look, and he huffs nervously. “sorry, scam calls.” he shoves his phone into his suit before you can see it.

“hm. it went straight to voicemail. that’s odd,” you muse, glancing at the ‘call ended’ screen.

“maybe he’s driving. yknow, gotta stay safe,” he bumbles, nerves flooding his system as he stands up and dusts off the back of his legs. “hey listen, its been great, but i just remembered i have to go-“

“wait, wait!” you jump up as well, grabbing onto his gloved hand. “can you stay for just a minute? i think charlie would really love to meet you!”

“i really uh- its- its important- i should-“

“it’ll just be a second! i promise! don’t move!” you plead, pointing at his feet as if that could cast a spell to keep him here. you give his hand a squeeze, and before charlie can stop you, you hop down the fire escape and scurry back into your apartment.

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

charlie is fucked. absolutely fucked.

as soon as he sees you disappear into your apartment to wait for, well, him, he slings himself down to an alley to ‘charlie’ himself up.

luckily, he has spare clothes stored across the city in case of emergencies like this. he stuffs his hand through a hole in the bricks of an abandoned building and pulls out a backpack, and as quickly as he possibly can, he pulls his clothes on over his suit, shoves his mask in and zips it up. he ruffles his messy hair in an attempt to seem a more presentable type of messy, and sprints out into the street.

now trekking up the stairs toward your apartment door, he thinks there wasn’t even really a logical reason to do this. he could have just told you right then that it was him, but something inside him told him that wasn’t the right time or place.

stopping in front of your door, he prepares himself, catching his breath before he knocks.

you swing it open, a huge smile on your face.

“charlie! i have something to show- why are you so sweaty?”

“i uh- i was running late so i ran.” he fumbles for an excuse. he walks in and is about to kick off his shoes when you grab his arm, dragging him across the living room to your window.

“come with me first! i have something to show you!” you say, brimming with excitement.

“hold on- i need to-“

“hurry!” you squeal, and hop out the window to climb the ladder. charlie internally groans, following after you.

he grabs the rungs and hoists himself up behind you. “can i tell you something first?” he calls upwards. “its important!”

“this is important too! he has to be somewhere!”

oh, so now you listen to that information.

when his head pops up above the ladder to see the rooftop, you’re already looking around, confused.

“where did he-“

“why are we up here?”

“i’m looking for someone! he said he would stay for a second,” you whine.

he never actually agreed to that, but he’ll let it slide.

you grip the barrier of the roof and pull yourself up to stand on the ledge, putting your arms out to steady yourself as you survey the area.

“what are you doing!” charlie yells, running up to you and grabbing your waist to prevent you from falling. “you have terrible balance!”

“relax, i’m fine. maybe if i fall he’ll come back to swoop in and save me.” you joke, lifting your hand up over your eyes like a lookout.

and as if the universe took that as some sort of sick challenge, a huge gust of wind blows through, knocking your balance off. you tilt forward with a strained yelp, flailing your arms. charlie tries to grip your belt loops but they slip from his fingers, and he lets out an exasperated ‘fuck!’

bracing yourself for a horrendous fall, you let out a scream, squeezing your eyes shut.

but it never comes. you’re suspended in the air, but there’s no wind rushing up, no sinking feeling in your gut, everything just.. stopped.

you pop an eye open, met with the rough red texture of the brick in front of you. you follow your arm that’s outstretched above you upward, expecting somehow to see charlie’s grip wrapped around your wrist, but instead you see a bracelet of weaved white. you lock eyes with him, a terribly worried expression on his face, the same white around your wrist attached to the underside of his.

for the first time, it all clicks together.

the webs in his apartment. the way they have the same voice, same habits. the way the spider on the suit is charlie’s favorite shade of green. his change in demeanor these past few weeks. charlie having a limp from the same leg spiderman injured at the same time. the fact that you called him spiderman the very first time. it all finally makes sense.

“you-.. you’re-..”

“surprise,” charlie whispers, a small, guilty smile on his face.

“can you. pull me up, please?” you tremble.

“oh! yeah, sorry.” charlie brings you in with ease, grabbing firmly onto your body until you’re sat on your knees on the safety of the roof. you lunge forward, trapping charlie in a bone crushing hug, like if you let him go you’d fall right back over the edge with no one to save you again. he feels that you’re still shaking, and wraps himself around you with equal fervor.

how could you have been so stupid? so clueless? you had every single piece of the puzzle, yet you were so blind to the placements.

it hits you then, that you had confessed to him without knowing it.

charlie pulls you back when you stop trembling, and holds onto your shoulders, scanning you for any injuries. “are you okay?”

when he locks eyes with you, he sees how flustered you look, the blush on your face, and he has to bite his lip to supress a smile.

“well, this is a little awkward,” he chuckles.

“you’re such an idiot,” you scoff, but he hears no real weight in your words.

“i should have known. no ones favorite ninja turtle is leonardo except yours.”

“don’t bring my boy into this.”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“well i think spiderman already explained that.”

you roll your eyes. “yeah, he told me quite a bit actually. some pretty gushy stuff.” charlie whines nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“big mouth on that guy, huh.”

“charlie.”

“hm?”

“i have something to tell you.”

he smiles shyly. “yeah?”

you grab charlie by the zipper of his jacket, pulling you together to connect your lips in a kiss. his hands immediately find your waist to pull you closer, practically falling on top of him. he tilts his head to kiss you deeper. you sigh happily in tandem.

after a second your hands find the sides of his face and you pull away, giggling at how you both can’t stop smiling and its making it hard to continue.

“i love you, charlie.”

“i love you, too.”

you run your thumb across his bottom lip, admiring the contours of his face and how his goofy grin and lidded eyes are so full of warmth.

“don’t you have something to confess to me, too?”

“i still don’t like spiders.”

“charlie!” you push him back by the chest and he laughs, wrapping his arms completely around your torso.

he wiggles his fingers up your spine in a crawling motion, making you shiver and swat him away in a fit of giggles. he leans in close to your ear, and whispers-

“i’m spiderman.”

— 🕸️🕷️🕸️ —

tagging @slcmml i hope u like it <3

[pedricos]

hector fort prompt #8? x

Héctor Fort – don't cry, i hate it when you cry .ᐟ

a.n: its been so long since i wrote a angst, sorry if its not so good.. also, english is not my first language, srry for any mistakes

warnings: light angst, comforting ending, light suggestive joke at the end (1,4k words)

why were they so mean to you?

you meet your boyfriend way before him becoming a barcelona star.

you two were only six when you met, both your families already being friends for ages. you basically grew up together! he was your first crush at middle school, when you would watch his games when he was still so little. he was also, your first kiss.

before entering high school, you never had kissed anyone. you were painful inexperienced, but héctor was the one teaching you how to kiss properly, and being patient with you, no matter how many times you got the tongue timing wrong. you can almost get a laugh from the way he tells the story.

he asked you to be his girlfriend when you both were 15, so young and full of love and admiration already. he thinks you're the prettiest girl ever, and he never liked a girl this much before, and for you, he's the cutest guy! he's just so sweet and always made you laugh so much.

and by the eyes of everyone around you, you two were the cutest couple! just by knowing eachother so well for so long and having so much charisma together. it was a joy to see how much you love and the good you do to each other. his family loved having you around in the holidays, and yours always welcomed him so well on the weekends.

but suddenly, nothing you do is enough anymore. you can't even tell the moment you started to try and prove yourself to the others. and you know, if he wanted, there would be thousands of girls by his feet, waiting the right moment of your fall.

in the stadiums, the hysterical girls screaming his name to get his attention wouldn't even bat an eye at you, completely ignoring your presence; pushing you to the side to crowd him and ask for a photo, or for him to sign their shirts.

you let slide. maybe this time they didn't see you. right? it happenes!

then, his fans cut you out of the photo he posted, but kepts his non-player friends in it. its okay, right? it's a fan page for him and not for you anyways.

but when when you post a picture, they did the same things. obviously cropping your whole body out of the picture. the picture you liked so much because it's you, walking hand in hand, with your boyfriend by the beach of the aphrodisiac island you were visiting with his family.

you let slide the comments on your body.

“she deff gained a lot of weight 🤣”

⠀⠀⠀→ “is she pregnant???”

“why your body look like that lool”

“héctor deserves better smh”

⠀⠀⠀→ “he so doeeess!”

what does this have to do with the photo? it was just a sweet picture of you and your boyfriend sat side by side in a nice restaurant, the photo was taken by his parents, who sat parallel to you.

and everything suddenly became too much.

why did they hate you so much? was because they wanted to get to héctor? was something personal? what did you do besides being his long term girlfriend? were they mad that you're not a plastic, fake-blonde, face sculptured ig model who was with him just for his fame?

you were so much better than them and their fake white teeth.

héctor always complimented your natural beauty so much, he even gets mad seeing you compare yourself with these full edited ig models. you have such a natural aura, your little crooked smile, your natural light freckles, the little moles caused by the sun, your natural blush.

sometimes he would think you're the one that is too much for him. he loved you so very much, but was just as scared of loosing you to a better player. but you never thought that way, because he was the one for you.

since you were 15, he was the one. since you were 6 years old holding a little flower he picked up for you. since you were 12 crying because nobody but him showed up for your birthday party. he was the one to be always there.

and why now being with him was so hard since loving him is so easy.

you didn't even noticed when you started crying in the shower. the water running along with the tears, a mix of your sobs along with the water running. you just ducked your head under the shower, letting it clean away your sadness.

you came out of the shower just as sad as you came in, but what could you do? the evening was silent as you wondered around the house by yourself, héctor still training. you only put on your comfiest pajamas and layed down on your empty king bed.

“i'm home!” your boyfriend announced, only to find a dark living room. he was so used to have you on his arms as soon as he stepped back home. he took his shoes off, wondering if maybe you were in the kitchen; but nothing. just as dark and empty as the sofa.

“y/n? hermosa?” he enters the shared bedroom, eyebrows immediately frowning as he found you crying your heart out on the bed. your eyes were puffy and your nose a dark pink color, signaling that you've been crying for a good while now, “hey, it’s me, it's fine” he pulls you in a tight hug.

you could only burry your face in his chest, smelling his fragrance as you tried to control your breath, sighing repeatly, trying to catch your breath. “qué pasó? why are you crying?” he cups your face to have a better look at you. (what happened?)

your puffy eyes and cheeks, tears never stopping to roll down your face and your nose pretty pink; he could almost find you cute. you tried to explain why you're so sad but couldn't even stop crying, chocking on your own tears as they fell uncontrollably, “shh, breathe first!” he runs his hands up and down your back.

“why do they hate me so much?” is all you can verbalize before hiding your face on his chest once again, letting yourself cry out loud, “who’s 'they', princesa?” he reaches to grab your phone as it sat unlocked next to your pillow.

he almosts cry along with you. if his fans really loved him, why would they attack the person he loved the most? they had no reason to call you all this names, you were his princess, his little girl, not any of these bad words on your comment section.

he pulls away your body from his, fixing a loose strand of hair that sat on your face, putting it behind your ear. one of his hand find your cheek, caressing it so softly with his thumb. why do they hate you so much? he was so full of love for you, why would anyone hate on you?

“i’m with you, y/n. i’m with you because i love you so much and i chose you! i choose everyday since i was fifteen years old, and i didn't stopped loving you a day ever since!” he kisses your forehead, hand creeping to the back of your head, caressing your neck through your hair.

“don’t cry, okay? i hate it when you cry” his words make you realize how luck you are.

after all, you're the one he comes home to, you're the one he brought a ring you can only buy once in your life, you're the one he's waiting to marry since he was a kid.

“i even brought flowers and your favorites snacks to celebrate our anniversary.. but i don't know if you're hungry” he sounds so calm, but you can't help but blame youself for forgetting such an important day, “no preparé nada... lo siento” you wipe away your last few tears. (i didn't prepared anything.. sorry)

“i don't mind it, i just want to be with you” he pulls you for a sweet kiss. no fight for dominance nor lust, just love and caring. just the longing he felt the whole day, thinking about you every second, wanting to be home as soon as possible, just to be with you.

“i can make you cry more later.. happy tears" he gives you a smirk.

“héctor!” you laugh as you slap his chest.

he's right here, with you.

check out my masterlist .ᐟ

i have such a annoying migraine rn, but ill try to write some more requests!! 🥹

i will be re-opening the requests soon!! bye bye, hope u like it 💋