#it’s like I’ve hit a spiral or something | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

isabelckl · 13 hours ago

Text

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 4

nerdy loser!ellie x popular mean fem!reader

bored in english, you reply to a girl named E you’ve been talking to on an anonymous gay dating app—without knowing it’s that lesbian nerd girl, ellie williams.

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 3

You were already home when you opened your conversation with her.

i have to tell you something.

You frowned the second your eyes landed on it.

You were already curled into bed—fresh from the shower, hair damp against your neck, oversized shirt slouching soft over your thighs. The room was dim, lit only by the weak orange buzz of your fairy lights. That Friday exhaustion still clung to your bones, but none of it mattered.

You were settled. Cozy. Warm.

There was nothing better than the thought of spending the whole weekend like this—no plans, no noise. Just your room, your phone, and her.

Something about the message hit different. Not her usual caps-locked chaos or horny emoji spiral. Just plain. Sharp. Hanging in the air like a loaded pause.

You stared at it longer than you meant to, thumb hovering.

You:

heyyyy

yeah?

what is it

You watched the read receipt appear, vanish, then return—followed by the word Typing, then nothing, then Typing again, like she was wrestling with whatever it was she couldn’t quite say.

nevermind lol it’s dumb

just had a brain moment

u ever think a thing and go wait no i’m actually insane?

that was me. carry on.

You stared and your frown lingered.

There was something in it. Something unfinished, like she’d swallowed the thought halfway. It pressed at your chest—not hard, but enough to make you pause.

You let it sit there and tapped your thumb slow against the screen.

You:

don’t do that

if it mattered to you, it’s not dumb.

A beat and you double texted her.

You:

but fine. i’ll stop bugging

just tell me when ur ready

even if it’s weird

i like weird

okay but what if it was like “i was possessed by a sexy ghost” weird

or “i’ve been thinking about ur mouth for 5 days straight” weird

bc that’s the category i’m working in rn

You snorted, the knot in your chest loosening instantly.

You:

girl what

this is ur fault.

ur criminally hot and i’m emotionally unstable.

i almost sent u a poem today and had to physically restrain myself

You:

wait u wrote me a poem???

no one’s ever gonna see it

unless i die then u can publish it posthumously

You rolled onto your side, laughing into your pillow, smiling so hard it made your face ache.

You:

SO how was ur day, poet

other than spiraling over my mouth

did the tragic lesbian survive algebra?

barely

i almost died. they tried to silence me.

i doodled boobs on my notes again. staying humble.

You:

u say that like it’s a coping mechanism

it is. ur boobs specifically

You snorted again, tension bleeding out of you with every stupid message that followed.

You:

do u miss them ??

should i send u some again so u can cope better?

don’t tempt me rn i’m weak and unsupervised

You:

so that’s a yes

that’s an always

You bit your lip, grinning into your pillow like an idiot.

She was back to herself—unhinged and dramatic, talking about how her math teacher was probably a demon who fed on the dreams of students. Complete with all-caps outbursts and at least two conspiracy theories. You kept laughing. Kept typing.

Eventually, your thumbs started to cramp.

You:

i swear my thumbs are buff now bc of u

hot

You:

everything i say u turn into gay

it's given

You bit your lip. Your heart thumped—stupid and full.

You didn’t ask again about the message. You didn’t have to. Whatever she’d meant to say, she clearly couldn’t yet.

You stayed texting until your phone went warm in your palm, until your eyes stung from grinning too long. By the time you checked the clock, it was 3AM.

You didn’t mean to stay up that late, but that’s what always happened with her. The later it got, the more chaotic the messages became. If it wasn’t full-blown unhinged, it was weirdly horny. And if it wasn’t horny, it got accidentally deep—like two sleep-deprived idiots trying to figure out the meaning of life between memes and finger-smash typing.

You:

do u ever wonder what we’d be like if we met in real life?

or would we combust instantly?

You barely had time to brace for whatever ridiculous answer that would get when your phone buzzed again—this time from a different notification.

From Ellie.

You blinked at the name—Ellie, already saved in your phone—and still typed:

You:

who is this?

Ellie:

It’s Ellie. From school.

A faint smirk tugged at your lips.

You:

i know

Ellie:

Just wanted to let you know I’m starting the draft for our project. It’s nothing serious, just bullet points. I figured I’d organize ideas before Monday.

You stared at her message, already smiling.

You:

you couldn’t tell me that earlier in class??

Ellie:

I didn’t think of it until now.

Also I'm still awake, so.

You:

why r u still up anyway ?

Ellie:

I wanted to be productive while the ideas were still fresh.

You snorted.

You:

nerd.

Ellie:

Sure.

You paused, glancing at your other chat. E hadn’t replied yet. Your thumb hovered, tempted to double text.

But right before you did—

sorry went blank for a sec i was picturing how u say my name in a whisper lol anyway what were we even talking about

You laughed out loud, the sound muffled into your pillow.

You:

do u want me dead

yes but like sexily

Another buzz.

Ellie:

Let me know if you’d rather read the notes now or wait for Monday. Either way works.

You laid your phone on your chest for a second, staring at the ceiling. One of them wanted to die at your hands. The other was politely offering to share bullet points at 3AM.

And just like that—when you’re happy, when it’s fun—time moved stupidly fast.

The hallway pulsed with the usual Monday mess—shuffling sneakers, lockers clanging shut, someone already yelling, and of course, that one kid running like it’s a sport.

You felt obnoxiously good for a Monday. The kind of good that only came from two straight days of texting someone who made your brain feel like soda bubbles. You were still carrying a smile that hadn’t fully faded since 3AM.

You suddenly spotted Ellie.

Standing at her locker, blue flannel shrugged over her usual black tee, one side of her hair still sleep-creased. Headphones rested around her neck. She looked a little worn—like sleep hadn’t been a priority. Like someone who’d stayed up too late doing something they didn’t regret.

You didn’t stop walking. Just drifted right up beside her locker, leaned against the one next to it like you had all the time in the world.

She didn’t look at you at first—just shifted her books with one hand, nudging her sketchpad into place. Her fingers lingered at the edge of a notebook you knew too well now. The one she said she started drafting in.

Finally, a glance. Quick and dry.

Then a sigh.

You smirked at her reaction. Tilted your head like you were observing something mildly amusing.

“So,” you said. “How was your weekend?”

Ellie didn’t answer right away. Just reached deeper into the locker like she was debating throwing herself inside it.

“Quiet,” she said without looking at you.

You raised your brows. “That’s it?”

She shoved a pencil case into her bag and shut the locker with a dull thud. “What do you want me to say? I spent it drafting our project.”

You leaned in slightly, voice lowering. “Mm. So productive.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can’t help it if you’re easily impressed.”

“Who said I was impressed?” you shot back, one brow raised. “I’m just asking.”

Ellie adjusted the strap of her guitar case on her shoulder, finally meeting your eyes. “Right. You’re just asking. Because you care deeply about how I spent my weekend.”

You shrugged, unfazed. “Maybe I do.”

That got you a blink. A pause. Her gaze flicked over your face—just for a second too long.

You smiled, all teeth.

“Wanna guess how I spent mine?”

Ellie didn’t say anything—just glanced away, too fast to be casual.

You tapped the locker with your knuckles, straightened up slowly. “See you in class, Williams.”

And with that, you walked off and didn’t look back.

But if you had, you might’ve caught the exact moment Ellie muttered under her breath—barely audible over the hallway noise.

“Jesus Christ.”

You slipped into your usual seat, still warm from your walk through the halls and encounter with Ellie. One of your friends tossed a lazy “hey,” but you barely glanced up—already pulling your phone out, screen lighting up with that soft blue glow.

You:

wakey wakey

i’m already in class

don’t blame me again if you end up being late, poet

Your grin was immediate. Unchecked. You bit it back behind your palm, thumbs still hovering when someone cleared their throat right beside you.

You looked up.

Ellie.

You didn’t hide your expression—still smiling like a dumbass, phone in hand.

“Yeah?” you asked, one brow raised.

She was holding out the notebook. The one she told you about. She didn’t quite meet your eyes.

“Just—here,” she muttered, placing it down in front of you.

Your gaze dropped to the familiar cover, then back to her.

You smiled wider. “Thanks. I’ll look over it later.”

She nodded, quiet. “Cool.”

She turned without another word and made her way to her own seat. You tapped the corner of the notebook with your fingers, still smiling.

Your phone buzzed.

why are u like this

i was gonna be late but now i’m getting up just to annoy u

also maybe to see what u look like in class all smug and pretty

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh.

You:

haha u wish

i wish u were my classmate for real tho

i can only think of many things 👀

what things ??

You:

idk

maybe like… we’d be seatmates

and i wouldn’t wear any undies on purpose

Three dots appeared immediately. It vanished and came back again.

ok well. i just flatlined in my desk chair.

thanks a lot

You:

just trying to motivate u to get to school on time

I'M ALREADY AT SCHOOL BRUH

i am not responsible for the thoughts i’m having rn

You grinned, legs curled up in your chair, heart stupidly light.

You:

am i making u…?

right now?

Another pause.

Typing..

ma’am this is a public institution

You:

answer the question :)

let’s just say i’m sitting very still rn

and ur going to hell. congrats.

You bit back another grin so hard your cheeks hurt.

You:

worth it.

i hate u

Your thumb hovered over the screen, still smiling like a complete idiot as the bell rang.

You:

ur really gonna hate me when i say

i’m not even wearing a bra rn

YOU’RE A MENACE

i hope you’re proud of yourself for what you're doing to me

You:

just a little

really huh

if i were ur seatmate

i’d sit too close

thighs touching, shoulder to shoulder

and i’d keep dropping my pen just to bend down and grab it

and yk

You:

AND I KNOW WHAT?

GO ON I BEG U

okay actually u don’t need to

because i already am..

good.

that’s what you deserve.

you wanna play? let’s play.

You:

worth it again

every damn single time

Your phone buzzed again, and you bit back another grin.

UR INSANE

You:

okay well tytl nerd

class starts

but thank u i guess for giving me something to think about while i touch myself tonight

or maybe right after this class ;)

Time blurred.

Class, lunch, class again—standard Monday drag. Nothing special. Just the usual shuffle between subjects and half-awake conversations that barely counted as human interaction.

Now, you were in the library for your last period. Final class of the day. The room was quiet in that stiff, almost sacred way libraries get—like if you breathed too loud, someone would smite you.

Ms. Alvarez, who walked in balancing a thick binder and a tired expression. She barely made it past the first five minutes before clearing her throat and announcing, “Alright, class. I have a faculty meeting in ten. You’re allowed to continue working on your project in pairs, but you must stay in the classroom or within school premises. No one leaves early. Understood?”

You were sitting across from Ellie. She was fully immersed in whatever she was typing on her laptop—jaw tight, brows drawn, fingers moving like she was coding national security protocols instead of organizing character arcs.

You tried to match her energy for a grand total of three minutes before your attention span gave out completely.

Your gaze dropped to the window. From the second-floor view, you could see a couple of students loitering around the quad, stretched out across benches and grass. Someone was dramatically eating a banana. You didn’t know why that annoyed you.

Without thinking, you reached for your phone.

One unread message.

WHAT THE FUCK

IF UR GOING TO TELL ME SOMETHING LIKE THAT IN CLASS AT LEAST LET ME WATCH

FOR COMPENSATION

but yes?

You bit your lip hard—so hard it almost hurt—not wanting to smile in front of Ellie. You slipped the phone away like it burned, then reached toward her side of the table.

She didn’t look up when you slid her notebook over, flipping straight to the page.

Possible Story Structure – v1.0

You stared at it for a beat. Then made a face.

“This is so boring,” you muttered.

Ellie kept typing. “Don’t start.”

“I’m serious. This is criminal. Look at this—no dramatic kisses? No one cries? This is actual villain behavior.”

“They’re just notes,” she said without looking up.

“They’re rules. And they suck.”

“They’re guidelines,” she corrected, finally glancing your way. “And they exist because someone—you—suggested glitter-induced closet sex as a turning point.”

“And yet, you wrote it down.”

Ellie sighed through her nose. “So you’d shut up.”

You jabbed your pen at the “Maybe a forehead touch??” line. “This. Right here. What is this. This is loser behavior.”

“It’s called restraint.”

You let out the fakest gasp imaginable. “Loser and pretentious.”

Ellie leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. “You want them crying in the rain after a juice box incident.”

“Because that’s real storytelling, Ellie.”

“You literally renamed the central conflict The Tragic Juice Box Betrayal of 7th Grade.”

“It was a betrayal. And it was orange. It stained. It’s metaphorical. You just don't understand.”

You were staring back at each other.

You leaned forward just a little. “Also, I know you sketched the supply closet scene in the margin of your algebra notebook.”

“That was a box,” she said flatly. “It was a literal box.”

“Sure,” you said, unconvinced.

Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose like she was trying to summon patience from another plane of existence.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“You’re just repressed.”

She blinked. “Says the girl blushing at her phone two minutes ago.”

You froze.

Ellie tilted her head, a little too smug. “Hmm?”

You cleared your throat. “That’s classified.”

She smirked—barely. “Suspicious.”

You slid the notebook back toward her. “Fix your outline before I submit a new draft with a title you won't really like.”

She rolled her eyes casually, shaking her head as she went back to her laptop.

You leaned back in your chair—annoyed, stretching a little before grabbing your phone again—this time not even pretending to be sneaky about it.

Ellie didn’t look up, but you could feel her noticing.

You opened your chat with E, thumb already moving.

You:

i’m literally sitting across from the most insufferable person alive

she’s so bossy and uptight and acts like she’s above dramatic plotlines

like okay sorry i want EMOTION in my fake scenarios??? sue me???

she actually said “restraint” like it was a flex. loser behavior actually.

You smirked, shot a glance up, then kept typing.

You:

also she keeps pretending she didn’t sketch the closet scene

it was OBVIOUSLY not just a box

You huffed quietly, shifting in your seat. Ellie was still typing—completely zoned in, not looking at you.

You looked back down at your screen.

You:

she’s doing that thing again

getting all serious like we’re submitting this to sundance

like relax. it’s two fictional lesbians and a tragic juice box. let me work.

You paused for a beat, then kept going.

You:

WHATEVER

idk. don’t wanna argue about it

i just wanna talk to you

remember what i said before about making out in the nonfiction aisle?

i’m here at the library ;)

i can imagine our kiss

HOT

i'll have you finger me 'till I cum and my legs shake

and we go back to class like nothing happened

You stared at the message for a second, then laughed under your breath and set your phone down on the table, face-down. You suddenly felt silly—teasing, sure, but also a little giddy. Like you were getting away with something. Especially with Ellie right in front of you, looking like the literal opposite of whatever that text had just suggested.

She was still focused. Still typing. Her MacBook open, her hand flicking her pen across the margins of her notebook. The light hit her rings again. She was chewing her bottom lip.

You grabbed your pen and started doodling in the corner of your notes. Hearts, stars, little lesbian stick figures making out beside bookshelves.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught something—Ellie’s posture had shifted. Her brow furrowed deeper, her eyes narrowed at the screen.

Then she bit her lip again, harder this time. Her hand came up, fingers scratching just above her eyebrow like she was trying to stay grounded. Her expression pinched for a second—like she was trying to keep her face neutral and failing.

You glanced out the window instead. Golden light, slow-moving clouds. You imagined E, imagined her standing on the other side of this table, all smirking confidence and chaos. You smiled to yourself, tapping your pen twice before reaching back for your phone.

Still no reply.

You frowned a little. Refreshed the app. Nothing.

Right then, Ellie stood up.

You looked up immediately. “Where are you going?”

She didn’t meet your eyes. Just grabbed the edge of her chair like she needed to move. “Getting a book,” she muttered, already walking.

You blinked, confused. “You already have like, four.”

She didn’t answer and just walked off. You watched her disappear down the aisle, your phone still in your hand.Still no message from E.

The empty screen felt louder than it should’ve.

A few minutes passed. Ellie didn’t come back.

You tapped your fingers once against the table, then got up, quietly making your way until the nonfiction aidle, farthest row in the back, where no one really went.

You found her there, tucked at the very end of the aisle, half-hidden behind the shelves. She was leaning slightly against them, phone in hand, her eyes fixed on the screen—expression unreadable, but her ears flushed just a little too pink to ignore.

She didn’t notice you right away.

But the second she did, she quickly lowered her phone and reached for a nearby book, flipping it open like she’d been studying the whole time.

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

Instead, you glanced at the shelves around you, trying not to smile—because of course it had to be this aisle. The same one you’d texted E about, half-joking, half-not.

“What’s funny?” Ellie asked without looking up, now looking so serious.

“Nothing,” you said, too fast.

“Really?” Her tone was dry, eyes still on the page.

You grabbed a random book from the shelf and flipped it open. “I just remembered something.”

“Uh huh.” She said it flatly, like she didn’t buy it.

You sighed and rolled your eyes. But you didn’t answer her. Just turned another page, pretending to read.

Ellie shifted beside you, thumbing through her own book.

“What are you even doing in the nonfiction aisle?” you asked, still not looking up. “It’s not like we’re writing nonfiction.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Well, actually… sometimes good fiction pulls from nonfiction. Real stories. Background stuff. It makes things feel more grounded.”

You peeked over the edge of your book. “Okay, nerd.”

She shrugged. “Just saying.”

You didn’t respond, but your thoughts were anything but neutral.

Okay sorry I'm just here because I’ve been thinking about making out with someone against these shelves for three days straight.

You stared down at the page—something about memory and neural pathways—but none of it stuck.

Your mouth twitched into a grin again. E’s dumb chaotic message echoed in your head.

You couldn’t wait to talk to her again tonight.

You glanced up.

Ellie was still there, head tilted slightly, lips parted in concentration, bathed in soft afternoon light spilling through the high windows.

She looked unreal. Sharp in some ways. Gentle in others.

She wasn’t even trying. Her flannel sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and her hair was half-messy like she’d forgotten to fix it after leaning against her hand too long. A strand curled near her cheek. Her rings caught the light again when she shifted the book. And her mouth—soft, slightly parted as she read—moved just a little when she wet her lips without thinking.

“Actually…” you started, voice light. “Can I ask you something?”

Ellie didn’t look up. “What?”

You waited a beat. “Have you ever thought about making out with someone in the library?”

That got her attention.

Her head lifted slowly, like she wasn’t sure she heard you right. “What?”

You grinned. Tilted your head. “I mean—have you ever thought about it? Like. Right here. This exact aisle.”

Ellie blinked once. “Do you mean making out with someone who’s… here in the library?”

Her voice had a weird edge. Something unreadable.

You scoffed, playful. “No. Just—like. Making out with someone in a library. Someone you like. A girl or whatever.”

She blinked again. Then scoffed lightly, like you’re ridiculous.

“No.”

You frowned. “Why not?”

She leaned her shoulder against the shelf. “Why would I make out with someone here?” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s the library.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, well—where would you bring them if you wanted to make out with them?”

That made her pause.

You watched her carefully.

She stared at you, then down at the book in your hands.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

You grinned. “That’s not an answer.”

She sighed and turned the page, trying to ignore you. “Not everyone makes out in public places, you know.”

“Yeah,” you said, shutting your book and letting it hang at your side. “But it’s fun to think about.”

She looked at you again.

“And you think about it a lot?” she asked, voice casual—but not quite.

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “I do.” You added, a smirk playing in your lips.

Ellie exhaled slowly, her eyes flicking up to your face—and lingering. You could almost feel her gaze pause on your mouth for a second too long.

Then she shook her head, barely, like she was trying to snap herself out of it.

Without another word, she turned and walked off, heading back toward your table with quick, quiet steps—like she needed to leave before she did something she’d regret.

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mylovesstuffs · 16 hours ago

Text

More or less, I’m still recovering.

This absolutely had me by the throat, the heart, and all the hidden corners of my domestic-romantic soul. Like, at face value, it’s a simple premise: a petty (?) [though y/n was just trying to help—but also she kinda should've let go BUT Jun didn't have to do that] little argument that gets out of hand. But insofar as emotional realism and character dynamics go, this was brutal in the gentlest, most well-written way.

From the very beginning, there’s this slight tension between the excitement of a new chapter [baby clothes!!!] and the weight of unspoken stress — and needless to say, that contrast hit so hard. You see reader trying to be sweet, trying to preserve the joy, and you know something’s about to go south. And when it does... Oh, it hurts 😭😭😭😭 THE FIGHT. Generally speaking, I’ve never wanted to shove a fictional man [yes bc hesunot real here] into a wall while also hugging him in the same breath more than I did Jun. He’s so stupid [affectionate], like sir why are you saying that?? Why are you yelling?? Be that as it may, his spiral into guilt and panic was portrayed SO WELL, like what the heck June???? The tossing and turning, the desperate planning of his apology, the flowers in the vase, the cereal logic??? Like he thought him arranging flowers [though I think this worked AFTER their conversations], making breakfast and dinner could fix emotional devastation and honestly?? I respect the hustle

And let me just say: I was going “ah” every five seconds like I could only make one sound. That’s how wrecked I was. The argument scene was the hardest thing I’ve read in a while. You captured that feeling of being completely disconnected from someone you love so well. The silence, the sting of being left behind in the middle of emotional mess… it physically hurt to read. And that means it was written perfectly 🥲 And yet here’s the thing, I still understood both both of them. I could see where Jun was coming from, his the frustration, the overwhelm, when your brain short-circuits when you're upset and you say things you don’t mean. And her hopefulness and her trying to hold things together. The heartbreak of being left to sit in silence with all that love and pain at once. Neither of them was perfect, and that’s what made it work imo.

And then, to rephrase the feeling: pure devastation when he realizes she’s not home. The overnight bag, the toothbrush, the absence, that moment cracked my soul open like a soft-boiled egg iykwim even though I don't know how to explain what I mean by boiled egg 🤡 but that how Ielt. Boiled egg 🥚[imagine it's a soft boiled egg with oozy center lol]. But the cherry on top is him knowing where to check. Knowing her routines. Knowing her heart, even if he just temporarily forgot how to handle it.

All things considered, the scene where she returns home and he doesn’t even let her walk in properly before apologizing... I cried. No exaggeration. I was holding my breath. The way he loves her and the way she, even after everything, still says “I love you” — my god. Reader is so emotionally mature 🥹 I just want to wrap her in a blanket and give her warm green tea. Jun too. After I lightly slap him once [sorry June]. And the ending with the flowers, the blueberry/strawberry waffles, the baby clothes [still dk when he bought those], the forgiveness... It didn’t erase the hurt, but it layered comfort on top of it in a way that felt earned, and so, so loving.

Again, this fic wrecked me in the best way. To some extent, I am now a ghost writing this. But be that as it may, I would read it again and again. Thank you for this perfectly painful little piece of comfort, @junkissed It was everything.

Under the cut is me again... live commenting in my head [my notes app]

what do you do now? no— you know exactly what you need to do, and it’s a long list of things. the real question is, where do you begin? — this actually a valid concern to have.

but you remembered he’d mentioned so many times about how excited he would be to pick out clothes once you got pregnant. you would want him to have the honor of picking out the very first one, going to the store together and looking through the whole section before finally settling on the perfect one.— ahhhhh I wanna see Jun picking out baby clothesssss. It's gonna be so cuteeee.

but you’re still on a high after everything today, so you decide on being a little bit sweeter to him in the hopes that your happiness will be contagious and that it’ll lift his spirits, despite what was probably a really awful day at work.— Ah, it could all go south now 😬 eeeee I’m scared.

“i said, what do you want?”— ah 😰😭 he repeated ahhhh fttrxtdxrt I'm worried how it'll go

so he’s saying he doesn’t regret everything else, the cursing and the anger and the pointed words that were clearly meant to hurt you? — ah so now if you put it like this 😭

your heart drops even further when you realize it is, in fact, from jun, but not the news you want to hear.— AHHHHHH. The more I read, the more I worry. If they never let an argument sit for this long, then this one is big. Him staying overnight at Cheol’s and not coming home… omg. Both are really going through it 😩

you squeeze him so tightly you know it must hurt, but he doesn’t say anything,— oh seokmin :( he's the comforting friend we all need during our hard times :(

jun can’t stop tossing and turning. he’s fucked up, he knows he fucked up, big time.— uh now it's all coming back at him 😩😬

but in that moment all he could think about was what the next awful thing he might say to you was,— ahhh I wonder what he had to say. What was that awful thing in his mind?

he knows it won’t make up for how he acted, but the very least he can do it buy you a bouquet of your favorite flowers.— At least he’s trying to fix it. It won’t erase the fact that he left her in the dark last night, but both were hurting… yeah. I hope they figure it out 🥺

he plans out everything he’ll do in the car. he’ll bring the groceries in and put them away quickly; it’s still fairly early in the morning, so hopefully you won’t be awake yet. he’ll arrange your flowers all nice in a pretty vase, and he’ll come in and wake you up with the best apology of his life and hopefully a really big hug. after the last 24 hours he really could use a hug, and he’s sure you could too. and then he’ll explain how sorry he is and how he didn’t mean any of it and then everything will be better again. yes, everything will be okay.— AHHHHHH HIS SINCERITY AND REGRET TO THE WHOLE SITUATION is making me feel so happy and bittersweet 😭😭 but she’s not home…

you aren’t usually up this early, but maybe you hadn’t been able to sleep and you’d gone out for a walk, or maybe you’d gone to the store to get more cereal?— I’m sorry, bro, but that’s unfortunately not the case today. I feel so bad for both of them 😩

he walks back into the bedroom to confirm something, sliding open the closet door to check. your overnight duffel bag is gone. he ducks back into the bathroom to check something else. your toothbrush isn’t sitting in the jar like it usually is. he slides open the bathroom drawer to check one more thing, and— — OMG I love how he knows exactly where and what to check. AND OMG DID HE FIND THE PREGNANCY TEST?!?!?!??!?!?

he figures seokmin is his best bet, so jun takes a deep breath and finds the contact in his phone.— WOW. I mean yes, he’s her husband and he should know this, but omg, I love how well he knows her and can narrow it down like this.

“‘if you had known?’ so you won’t yell at me if i’m pregnant, but you’re just fine with yelling at me when you think i’m not? is that the only reason why you’re even apologizing to me right now?" — Oh I’m going to cry 😭 It’s so hard knowing both sides and not being able to step in and fix anything because IT’S JUST A STORY 😭💔 My heart breaks for both of them.

“…i love you," you add, changing your mind at the last second.— I LOVE Y/N. I LOVE YOU. YOU’RE THE REAL DEAL. I LOVE YOU!

before you can even respond his eyes widen, like he's just now remembering all the things he had planned, and he lets go of you, bounding into the kitchen. he returns seconds later with a huge glass vase full of flowers, practically tripping over his own feet in his rush to hand them to you. "and i got these for you, too. sorry they're not the best, it's all the store had this morning."— OH I LOVE YOU TOO JUN 😭 they’re such a cute couple 🥹 I’d love to be their friend or neighbor.

he laughs. "no crying anymore. and i did promise you that, so tell me: do you want blueberry waffles, or strawberry?"— aaaaaa so cuteeeeee

happy ending

member — husband!junhui x f reader genre — angst, fluff, hurt/comfort word count — 6.6k synopsis — a pointless argument escalates until both of you need some space, but it couldn't come at a worse time. warnings — female reader, planned pregnancy, there's a big argument but i tried to not make it too toxic (jun and reader have a happy & healthy relationship i promise), swearing, there is a happy ending lots of fluff !! notes — requested by anon — this has been sitting in my drafts for months bc every time i look at it i get shy and wanna change my mind but i'm proud of how this turned out so i'm posting it finally! i know pregnancy fics aren't everyone's favorite but this was honestly very comforting to write so i hope anyone who chooses to read can find comfort in it as well <3 also the last time i proofread this was like april and if i try to proofread it rn i'll get shy again and chicken out so if there's any mistakes pls ignore! i hope you enjoy :)

you sat on the bathroom floor, trying to comprehend the weight of the news you held in your hand. you couldn’t believe it. you could? you couldn’t.

after many months of trying to start a family with your husband, you had finally succeeded. the slim plastic stick with two tiny pink lines was the last piece of evidence you needed. it had been months of carefully tracked cycles, fertility doctors, and new positions that seemed too weird to actually do anything. but now, everything was finally falling into place.

you don’t know exactly how much time you spend sitting on the floor and staring at the pregnancy test; thinking, planning, and thinking some more. but when you finally stand up and place the positive test on the counter with shaking hands, it still hasn’t fully sunk in yet what’s happening. something you’d wanted for so long, and finally it was all right in front of you.

what do you do now? no— you know exactly what you need to do, and it’s a long list of things. the real question is, where do you begin?

you thought back to all the videos you’d watched over the last few weeks. somehow every social media algorithm knew exactly what you wanted to see, and it had given it to you in abundance; baby showers, gender reveals, those “get ready with me - new mom edition” videos. all getting your hopes up before you could confirm whether or not it had finally happened.

with your hopes high and expectations even higher, you were already beginning to plan how you would break the news to junhui. as your husband and your soon-to-be baby’s father, of course you wanted him to be the very first person to know, so you couldn’t wait too long to tell him. you couldn’t wait to see the look on his face.

maybe you’d get a little gift box and give the test to him before dinner. but, then again, it was literally a piece of plastic you’d peed on. surely you could give him… something a little nicer than that.

maybe you could buy a baby outfit and wrap it up for him. but you remembered he’d mentioned so many times about how excited he would be to pick out clothes once you got pregnant. you would want him to have the honor of picking out the very first one, going to the store together and looking through the whole section before finally settling on the perfect one.

what else was there you could do? bake a cake? make a crossword puzzle? buy him a t-shirt that says “dad-to-be”? so many ways you could do it, but none of them seemed perfectly right.

from the other room you hear the door opening, and hurriedly you stuff the test into a drawer, not wanting to tell him just yet. you need a plan first; waiting another day or two couldn’t hurt, so you’ll just have to figure out how to tell him later.

you flip off the bathroom light and stride into the hallway, barely able to contain the grin on your face. you’ve always been terrible at keeping secrets, and with news as big and exciting as this you have no idea how you’re going to be able to hide it from him for more than a minute.

but luckily you don’t have to wonder about it for long, because as soon as you see jun you can already tell he’s in a sour mood.

you know it’s usually best to let him have some time alone when he’s upset, but not for too long because he starts getting frustrated with himself and won’t stop working until he’s exhausted.

you find him sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, long fingers pressed against his eyes trying to block out the light.

“hey, junnie,” you call out, sitting down in a chair next to him. “bad day?”

“yeah,” he answers shortly.

“i’m sorry, baby,” you hum, putting your hand on his shoulder, but he flinches and your hand falls away in surprise. he’s never done that before. weird. you try something else. “um, any requests for dinner?”

“not hungry.”

“alright. well, i guess i can cook up some veggies and leave them out, you can heat them up whenever you get hungry.”

he moves his hands away from his face and onto the table, sighing as he leans back in his chair. “can you just— leave me alone for a while? i’m sorry.”

you nod and stand up. “no, it’s fine. i get it. i’ll bring you some tea later then, maybe. text me when you’re feeling better.” you reach out and gently touch his hand before walking away, leaving him alone at the table.

it’s definitely one of his worser days, you note, so you retreat to your bedroom to watch more videos on your phone, trying to bring back your excitement from earlier. hopefully later he’ll be more open and you can sit down and eat something, and maybe by then you’ll have come up with a good way to tell him the news.

an hour passes and you come out of your bedroom to look for jun, having a question from one of your friends about the dinner you’d arranged to have together next week. but he’s no longer in the kitchen, so you peek your head into his office room and find him exactly where you expect him to be, trying to work himself to death.

you clear your throat before you enter, not wanting to startle him again. “hey, junnie, i know you’re in a bad mood, and i’m sorry to interrupt, but—”

“what do you want?” he snaps, never turning around from his desk. just from the way he’s hunched over his computer, he looks like the most stressed you’ve ever seen him, and your chest tightens with worry before your brain registers what he’s just said to you.

“i— excuse me?”

“i said, what do you want?” he repeats, still facing away from you.

you resist the urge to glare at him, knowing he’s probably under a lot of pressure, and you aren’t trying to add to it. “you don’t have to be rude, jun. i just came in here to double check about next weekend, minghao’s texting me.”

he finally lifts his head, slamming his hand down on the desk. “i’m really trying not to snap at you, but— jesus, you make it so fucking hard sometimes.”

you raise your eyebrows in disbelief, your voice lifting in tone. “well, i’m so very sorry to inconvenience you then, but i really don’t appreciate you talking to me like that, jun.”

“and i don’t appreciate you talking to me like i’m a child! when will you get it through your head?”

his comment stings, but you brush it off. “well, maybe if you’d just talk to me like an adult instead of throwing a fit and hiding in your office then i wouldn’t have to treat you like one!” you’re starting to get tired of how he retreats in on himself every time bad shit happens. all you want to do is let him know he doesn’t have to do it alone, and he’s just… exploding at you for no reason, so you don’t try to hide the snarkiness behind your words.

he scoffs angrily and stands up, towering over you at his full height. “oh, grow up! you’re so moody all the time and you expect me to just put up with it! as if i don’t have enough other shit to worry about, i have to worry about what you think of this and that and everything all the damn time!”

you’ve never seen him get so angry like this, and it’s almost scary how completely different this jun is from the jun you know and love. “okay, jun, fine, i’ll just—”

“no, don’t fucking “jun, fine” me. it’s like you’re doing it on purpose at this point, you act like everything is just so perfect and then when it’s not you act like it’s your job to fix everything! you can’t fix everything!”

“i said fine! just forget it, i’ll leave you the hell alone like you always want!”

he pushes past you and crosses the room in two strides, grabbing his keys off the hook by the door, his hand already on the doorknob. “i need to get some air. i’ll be back later.”

you fold your arms over your chest, trying to look unphased but inside your heart is breaking. “you’re really gonna walk out like that? you’re just gonna run away from this? real mature, junhui.”

he spins around, and the look in his eyes is cold. “if i don’t get out of this house right now i’m gonna say something i actually regret.”

and in a flash the door is slammed shut and jun is gone. you can hear his car starting up in the driveway, and seconds later everything is dead silent.

you stand frozen in front of the door, unable to move. you can’t believe it. you can’t. what just happened?

jun has never just… walked out like that.

his words ring in your ears; though your argument wasn’t very long, a lot was said in a very short time and you can’t even begin to think about how to process it as it starts to hit you all at once.

say something he actually regrets? what the hell does that mean? so he’s saying he doesn’t regret everything else, the cursing and the anger and the pointed words that were clearly meant to hurt you?

minute after long minute passes and you realize he’s not coming back anytime soon. finally you drag yourself away from the door, dropping down on the couch in a daze.

there’s never been a time where you and jun haven’t made up immediately after an argument. sure, maybe you take a little bit to cool down in your own space, but neither of you like letting the tension sit unresolved for very long. so what was it this time that made him leave without even a goodbye?

so many reasons, so many excuses, so many words you could’ve said instead. you shouldn’t have reacted like that, you shouldn’t have kept it going, you should’ve just left him alone. would that have made him stay? if you’d backed down sooner and just let him work through it on his own?

despite all the what-ifs and the doubts in your mind, your conscience won’t allow you to let him worry about everything by himself without at least offering your help. you’re a team, husband and wife, and you’ll be damned if you let him forget that. maybe you trying to help actually made things worse in the end, but at least you know you tried… right?

it’s not until you check your phone and realize that jun’s been gone more than half an hour that you finally let yourself cry. you’d been so focused on worrying about where jun was and whether he was okay that you’d barely even thought about what might happen after this.

will he just… come back and pretend nothing happened? will he come back and still be angry at you? it would almost be worse if he was calm and acted like everything was normal. would he even apologize? would you even apologize? of course you would. both of you said things that were fucked up, and you’ll be the first to admit it if it means this whole thing can be over. right now all you want is to have junhui back.

the tears keep falling but you don’t even feel yourself crying, your face rigid as the tears continue to stain your cheeks.

after an hour you force yourself to get up off the couch and move somewhere, anywhere around the house to try and get your mind off things. but you can’t erase his voice from your head, the look in his eyes as he walked out the door and the way his shoulders hunched from anger mixed with exhaustion.

you find yourself back in your bedroom and you fall onto his side of the bed, wishing you would wake up to find that this has all just been a very bad dream.

it’s after 10pm when you hear your phone buzz on the nightstand and you sit up in a panic, scrambling to see if it’s something from jun. your eyes sting from crying so much, and you blink away the remaining tears as you unlock your phone with shaking hands. your heart drops even further when you realize it is, in fact, from jun, but not the news you want to hear.

you let your phone slip out of your grasp, tumbling to the carpet with a thud. when he’d said he’d be back later you had assumed that meant he’d be coming back tonight. clearly you thought wrong.

tomorrow seemed so far away; too much time to spend alone in a house that was supposed to be filled with happy memories, but now all you felt was pain. you felt it in your chest and in your stomach and in your head and everywhere. the whole room was suffocating, heavy weight crushing down on you from every angle.

you slide to the floor and pick up your phone. you don’t text junhui back. you’re not sure anymore if he’d even read your message.

instead you type in your friend seokmin’s phone number, listening to the line ring as you wipe the back of your hand across your eyes.

as soon as he picks up, he can hear the anguish in your voice and he’s begging you to tell him what’s wrong, but all you can muster up is a soft, “can i stay with you tonight?” because you can’t bear to be in this house another second without junhui.

and of course he says yes, and of course he’s immediately on his way over to pick you up. and of course he stops at mcdonald’s on the way back to his house to buy you something to eat, because you haven’t eaten and even though you don’t particularly have much of an appetite right now, seokmin would rather die than let you skip a meal, especially on a night like tonight when you could really use something to keep you going.

you throw your overnight bag on the floor of seokmin’s living room with a small sigh. in a haze you’d tossed in whatever items you thought you might need; a toothbrush, pajamas, something to wash your face with.

he gives you space for a while as he pulls out the folding bed part of the couch and brings out blankets and pillows for you to sleep with. you don’t say it, but you really appreciate his help. he’s been one of your best friends for so long, and you don’t know what you’d do without him.

you hadn’t thought about it while you were packing, but as you stand in seokmin’s bathroom you think about the cleanser you’d grabbed; your favorite one, the one jun had gotten you for your birthday last year and you’d never switched to another brand since.

every single thing reminds you of him, and you push down a fresh wave of emotion as you scrub the foam into your skin, trying to wash away all your tears.

when you’re done getting ready for bed you find seokmin in the living room with a pot of tea. he was just trying to help, but unluckily for him, he’d made green tea. it was your favorite… but it also happened to be jun’s favorite.

and this time you can’t hold back your tears, and seokmin is sitting wide eyed and bewildered, wondering why you’re crying over tea, but he doesn’t ask. he just reaches out to let you hug him, and you squeeze him so tightly you know it must hurt, but he doesn’t say anything, just lets you hug him as hard as you can and lets your tears stain his t-shirt.

it takes another half hour for you to calm down enough to talk. you’d spent the time watching whatever was on tv, not really paying attention and instead playing everything back in your mind. seokmin had just sat next to you, quietly keeping you company until you were ready.

“jun and i… had a fight,” you say finally, interrupting the commercial playing on the screen.

“i figured,” he says, offering you a comforting smile as he mutes the tv. “do you wanna talk about it?”

“i don’t know. there’s not much to talk about.” you take a shaky breath, remembering it all one more time. “we both said some awful things that we didn’t mean. at least, i know i didn’t mean them. then he just… left, and he texted that he’d come home tomorrow. that’s it.”

you don’t tell him about the pregnancy test. you’ve mentioned once or twice that you and jun had been interested in starting a family, but you’d never gone into detail about it and you weren’t going to now. you still wanted jun to be the first person to know, even though you didn’t know when that might be anymore.

you tell him about other things instead, about your day at work and your plans for the weekend. eventually you finish your tea, and seokmin retreats to his own room and shuts the door with a quiet click, leaving you alone in the quiet of his living room.

it takes you a long time to fall asleep, but soon your exhaustion catches up with you and you let yourself rest, physically and emotionally drained. at least the silence here isn’t as bad as the silence at your house.

across town in his friend seungcheol’s guest bedroom, jun can’t stop tossing and turning. he’s fucked up, he knows he fucked up, big time.

why did he leave? he shouldn’t have left. you had been absolutely right, he was running away from everything and it was stupid and dumb and immature. but in that moment all he could think about was what the next awful thing he might say to you was, and he knew if he had stayed for any longer he wouldn’t have been able to stop what came out of his mouth. he was out of control, and immediately he knew it.

not even the worst day in the world could make you deserving of all the things he said to you. you were the only thing that wasn’t bad in his life; even on shitty days like today, all you did was care about him. and all he did was hurt you.

jun barely sleeps that night, finally forcing himself out of the extra bed at dawn. he’d been too anxious to sleep, too frustrated with himself to do anything other than think about everything he did and wonder if you were okay without him.

he’d already gotten an earful from his friend last night, and he knew he was still in big trouble. the things he said wouldn’t just go away overnight. in fact, they’d probably gotten worse by leaving them to build up overnight, and again he’s kicking himself for ever leaving in the first place.

he packs up his things as quickly as he can, eager to get home and see you again. on his way out the door, he thanks seungcheol for letting him stay the night and he apologizes for bothering him so late.

“i’m not the one you need to apologize to. you better figure out how to fix this, jun.”

with a straight face he nods, bowing his head as he closes the door.

in his car, jun takes the long way home, trying to find an open grocery store. he knows it won’t make up for how he acted, but the very least he can do it buy you a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

he walks through the aisles, basket in hand, trying to think of something else for you. maybe he’ll get the ingredients he needs to make your favorite dinner tonight; he hadn’t eaten last night, though you had offered to cook for him and he’d shot you down.

he feels another pang of guilt at the thought, remembering yet another kind gesture you’d tried to give him that he’d brushed off like it meant nothing. it meant everything to him, and in the middle of the frozen vegetables aisle he swore he wouldn’t ever do it again.

he’d taken you for granted, and he was so lucky that things hadn’t ended worse than they did. he could’ve said something truly unforgivable, or he could’ve even lost your relationship altogether. but he was still yours, and you were still his, and he would just have to work extra hard to make sure you knew how sincere he was.

he’d been a little worried that you hadn’t texted him back last night, seeing that you’d read his message but never responded. you were probably still hurt, and he didn’t blame you; still, he’d hoped you would say something back.

with grocery bags loaded full of ingredients for dinner and the special things he’d bought for you, the drive back home feels a little more hopeful.

the first part of his plan goes perfectly. he sneaks into the house and when he’s met with silence he continues putting everything away, quietly so he won’t wake you up in the other room. then, he puts the flowers in a vase and with everything in place, he walks down the hallway to finally face you.

but when he twists the bedroom door handle, the bed is made and the room is empty. you aren’t there.

he frowns, leaving the room and poking his head into the bathroom, then his office. he calls your name loudly, hoping you’re just in a corner of the house and you’ll come out once you hear him. but no reply.

he goes back into the living room and sets the vase down on the coffee table, trying to think. you aren’t usually up this early, but maybe you hadn’t been able to sleep and you’d gone out for a walk, or maybe you’d gone to the store to get more cereal?

a sinking feeling rises in his chest, and he walks back into the bedroom to confirm something, sliding open the closet door to check. your overnight duffel bag is gone.

he ducks back into the bathroom to check something else. your toothbrush isn’t sitting in the jar like it usually is. he slides open the bathroom drawer to check one more thing, and—

his hand freezes on the knob, staring at something in the drawer that wasn’t there before. he’s not sure it is what he thinks it is, but either way there it is, clear as day in front of him: a little white piece of plastic, sticking out from underneath a tissue.

gingerly he pulls it out, holding it up to the light to see it better. when he sees the two pink lines he nearly drops it in shock, but he stops himself, setting it gently on the counter instead.

this is something special, something precious, and he knew he had to take care of it. you’d saved it for a reason; you could’ve easily just thrown it away once you knew the results, but you had kept it instead. were you going to give it to him?

he covers his mouth with his hand, still staring at the stick sitting on the edge of the sink. it was just a cheap piece of plastic, but to him it was the most important thing in the entire world.

he deflates when he realizes you’d probably been planning on telling him last night, before he’d blown up at you. if he’d been paying attention to anyone other than himself, he would’ve noticed your mood was happier than usual, your face glowing with contained excitement. he should’ve been paying attention.

there’s a sense of urgency in his stride as he dashes around the house, looking for any other sign of you, but it’s clear you weren’t there. there were so many places you could be, he can’t even begin to think of where to look. your parents, friends, family; hell, you could even have stayed in a hotel, alone and upset. he should’ve been there. none of this should’ve ever happened.

immediately he presses the speed dial for your phone, but of course– no answer. he calls again, and again you don’t pick up. he curses, resisting the urge to slam his phone down on the table in frustration. no, he has to stay calm. that’s what got him into this whole fucking mess in the first place.

he remembers that your parents are out of town on vacation, so you probably wouldn’t have gone there. you wouldn’t have gone to a hotel because you always lecture him about the importance of saving money “just in case”, so you wouldn’t have paid to stay somewhere. your sister is still in college and shares an apartment with three other people, so probably not the best idea either.

that narrows it down to one of your friends’ houses; seokmin, who lives a couple blocks away, or joshua, who lives on the other side of town.

he figures seokmin is his best bet, so jun takes a deep breath and finds the contact in his phone.

“what do you want?” seokmin’s usually cheery voice has an edge to it today, and jun knows he’s picked right.

“is she there?” he asks anxiously.

“she is,” he confirms, and jun exhales, letting out the breath he had been holding in. “but she’s asleep still. i’ll let her know you called.”

“wait,” jun adds quickly.

the line is silent for a moment, and he’s afraid seokmin’s already hung up, but finally he gets a response. “what is it?”

"can i–are you sure? please," jun pleads. if he could just talk to you, just explain what happened and that he's so fucking sorry—

“hold on,” seokmin says, and the phone goes quiet again.

jun’s heart is in his throat as he waits for a response, and he stops when he finally hears your voice. “hello?”

he breathes a sigh of relief. “sweetheart. i’m so sorry.”

you don’t reply, so he continues.

“i’m glad you’re okay,” he starts, trying to put the right words together. “i shouldn’t have said any of that last night, and i shouldn’t have left. i didn’t mean it. i’m sorry.”

“thanks” is all you say, and he hates how small and sad your voice sounds. it’s his fault you sound like that.

“i found your test,” he bursts out, unable to hide his excitement any longer.

“oh." you pause, swallowing. "so… you know.”

“yes, i do know, baby. i’m so sorry, if i had known before—”

you cut him off, your tone suddenly rising with anger. “‘if you had known?’ so you won’t yell at me if i’m pregnant, but you’re just fine with yelling at me when you think i’m not? is that the only reason why you’re even apologizing to me right now?"

“no— fuck, no, of course not. i shouldn’t yell at you, period. and i’m not going to ever again.” jun pauses for a second, rubbing his hand over his eyes. he’s done nothing so far but make everything worse. “i really messed up, honey, and i’m sorry. i can’t say it enough. but— please, come home. i don’t want to talk over the phone.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will away the tears that threaten to fall again. you don’t want to cry about this anymore. “okay,” you say finally. “i’ll be home in a little while.”

“thank you,” jun says, and the way his voice breaks makes your heart sink. you can tell he feels awful about everything, and you do really, really miss him.

“…i love you," you add, changing your mind at the last second.

“i love you, too!” he says immediately. “i love you, too, honey. text me when you’re on your way.”

“i will.”

he says “i love you” twice more before you end the call. you sit in silence for a second, processing everything before you stand up off the couch and head to seokmin’s room to give him back his phone.

"can you take me home now, please?" you tell him softly, and immediately seokmin stands up and hugs you, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

"of course. let me know when you're ready."

half an hour later you find yourself in the front seat of seokmin’s car once again, this time sitting nervously in his driveway as he puts your bag in the trunk for you. you're still not sure if you're ready to face jun yet, but you know you have to.

reluctantly you unlock your phone and open your text messages with jun, your eyes landing on the text he'd sent last night that had gone unreplied. with shaky fingers you type out that you're leaving seokmin’s house, and jun replies almost instantly with a long string of heart emojis.

seokmin gets into the car and starts it, and you exhale and set your phone in the cupholder.

"are you okay?" he asks, turning to look at you. "because you can always let me know if you need anything. anytime, day or night."

"i'm alright," you say, taking a deep breath. "i'm fine. but thank you, seok. i really appreciate everything."

he smiles, shifting the car into reverse. "of course. it's no problem at all."

the second he hears the car pull up outside the house, jun jumps up off the couch, smoothing his shirt down anxiously. through the window he watches seokmin hand you your bag and close the trunk, giving you one last hug before he gets back in the car. he doesn't drive away until you're at the front porch, and with a deep breath jun swings open the door, before you can even knock.

you both stand there in silence for a second before he blurts out another apology. "i'm sorry," he rushes to say. "i'm really sorry."

you give him a weak smile. "can i maybe… get in the house, first?" you ask quietly, motioning with your free hand at the doorway.

"yeah, i— yeah, shit, of course," jun says as he practically jumps out of your way, holding the door open for you to walk inside.

you set your bag on the floor by the couch as he closes the door behind you. the sound of the lock clicking seems too loud in the uncomfortable silence that settles over the room.

"can… can i give you a hug? please?" he asks, and you stay quiet but nod.

he closes the distance between you in one stride and wraps his arms around you, squeezing you so tightly and holding you close to his chest. "i'm so sorry, honey. i didn't mean any of it. i promise."

"i believe you," you finally manage, your voice a little muffled from how he's pressing you against him.

he doesn't say anything more, just holds you and holds you, and it feels so good to be home where you belong. there's a lot that needs to be said, but for right now you don't need any more words. you're just glad to be back together again.

after a while you pull your head away from him so you speak. "i'm sorry."

"why are you apologizing? you didn't do anything wrong, baby. i'm the one that needs to be apologizing."

you shake your head. "no. i said some things last night, too. granted, not as bad as you, but…"

jun breaks out into a grin at your joke, and you feel your mood start to lighten. "…which is true. and i'm sorry."

"jun, you can stop apologizing now. i get it, you're sorry. you don't have to tell me a million times," you say, trying to laugh a little.

now it's his turn to shake his head. "well, i'm going to anyway. because i am sorry." you look away from him, feeling embarrassment start to boil up, but he continues talking. "i'm serious. i'll say it as many times as it takes to make it right."

you turn your head back to him, struggling to keep a straight face. "why did you leave, jun?" you ask softly.

he takes a deep breath, and still trapped in his arms you can feel his chest expand with the breath.

"it was stupid," he says finally. "i left because i didn't want to stay and risk hurting you more. but i realize i did that anyway, by leaving. i was just… i needed some air. but i shouldn't have stayed away, and i'm not gonna do that again. i won't do it, ever again."

"i just don't want you to leave me," you manage, trying and failing to hide the crack in your voice as you feel your eyes start to well up with tears.

he hugs you tighter and one of his hands comes up to cup the back of your head, gently smoothing your hair with his thumb. "i know, baby, i'm sorry. i'm not going to, i promise."

you don't respond, but you know he's telling the truth. the last 24 hours have been hell for the both of you, and you don't doubt he means every single "i'm sorry" he's said.

"so…" jun starts, and you tilt your head up at him.

"so?" you know what he's going to say next, and despite the excitement you had yesterday you feel yourself dreading this part of the conversation.

"you're pregnant?"

you sigh, looking down and avoiding his eyes. "yeah."

he hums. "but you don't sound excited?" he asks.

"well, i was, last night."

"i'm sorry," he winces. "do you wanna tell me now and i'll pretend this didn't happen and i don't know about it?"

you shake your head. "no, it's fine. the moment's kinda… ruined, already."

he sighs. "yeah, i know. i'm sorry i ruined it."

"i said it's fine, jun."

"no, it's not fine," he says firmly. "it's one hundred percent my fault. this is important to you, and to us, and we should be celebrating right now. last night should never have happened."

"jun, it's in the past. it was messed up, but i forgive you," you say, lifting you head to look at him once more. "it's not a big deal. we're okay now."

"i just want you to be happy about it," he says with a sniff. "we've been trying for so long, and finally…" he trails off, staring at you with watery eyes.

you smile at him. "i am happy about it, junnie. i'm so happy, you can't even believe."

"did you tell seokmin?" he asks, and his brows furrow when you shake your head no.

"no, i didn't. i wanted you to be the first i told," you say shyly. "i knew you would want to be the first to know."

"i love you so much," he says, still hugging you. he's never going to let you go, never again. "do you know how far along?"

"no, i didn't go to the doctor. probably like two or three weeks, though, if i've been counting it right."

"wow," he sighs, a smile on his face as he stares off into the distance behind you. "i can't wait."

you watch his eyes, practically able to see the thoughts running through his head.

after a while he loosens his grip around you, moving to swipe at his eyes quickly with the back of his hand. "well—anyway," he starts, giving you an awkward chuckle. "i bought stuff for breakfast. if you haven't had any, yet. and i'm making dinner tonight, too."

"junnie, if this is the best the store had, then i don't think i wanna see their best," you laugh, holding the flowers up and admiring the dozens of bright blooms. "this is gorgeous, but you really didn't need to get me anything."

"but i wanted to," he counters, still running around the room to grab the gift bag sitting by the couch. "consider it an 'i'm very sorry' slash 'congrats you're having a baby' gift."

you set the vase down on the table next to you and take the bag from him, pulling out the tissue paper and crumpling it into a ball.

"i didn't have a whole lot of time to look this morning, but i found these," he says nervously, waiting for your reaction.

from the bag you pull out a miniature plastic hanger holding a set of tiny pajamas covered in little kitties, attached to a matching set of striped orange socks.

"i wanted to be the first person to get you baby clothes," he explains as he fidgets with his hands.

"i knew you would," you smile at him, setting the empty bag and the clothes on the table along with the bouquet of flowers. "and they're perfect. they're so… you."

you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him back in for another hug. "i love all of it. thank you, jun."

he grins, rocking you back and forth in his arms and leaving kisses all over your cheek. "i love you too, baby. i missed you so much. i won't ever do that again."

"i know," you smile. "now… you promised me breakfast, isn't that right? because i'm starving. crying is exhausting."

he laughs. "no crying anymore. and i did promise you that, so tell me: do you want blueberry waffles, or strawberry?"

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hcvney · 23 hours ago

Text

“ The One I’m Looking For ”

During a tense game of hide and seek, you hide from Dae-ho, fearing he wants to kill you — only to learn he’s been trying to protect you all along.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho / player 388 x F!Reader

Warnings: injury, blood, obsessive behavior, yandere undertones

The worst part wasn’t getting Blue Team.

It was looking up… and seeing him get Red.

Dae-ho held the knife like it was an extension of his arm. His stare found you immediately across the lineup.

Not blinking. Not moving. Just watching.

Your fingers trembled around the key the guards shoved into your hand.

He had a weapon. You didn’t.

And yet—his eyes never left you.

Not the guards. Not his teammates. Not the other Blues.

You.

He looked like he was locking on to a target.

Is he going to kill me?

Did I cross a line?

Does he hate me now?

Panic spiraled fast.

You found a Red Team player — someone unfamiliar — and rushed toward him. “Switch with me,” you whispered. “Please. I’ll take your place. I just… I don’t want to be on Blue.”

The guy scoffed, shook his head. “No thanks. You’re better off.”

“Please—”

“You’re shaking,” he said. “You’d die in ten minutes over here.”

You turned away, helpless.

And Dae-ho was still staring.

Unmoving. Knife still in hand.

When the game started, the chaos exploded.

But Dae-ho wasn’t chasing like the others.

He wasn’t stabbing through doors or dragging players out of hiding.

He was moving with purpose — slow, focused.

One direction.

Only one.

“You looking for the girl?” a raspy voice said behind him.

He turned.

The shaman lady from the dorms stood behind him, staring straight through him.

“She ran that way,” she said, nodding to the hall. “Left a trail of blood, too. Limping.”

Dae-ho’s expression changed instantly. Something sharp cracked beneath the surface.

“She’s hurt?” he said, voice low.

The woman nodded. “Ankle. But she’s fast. You better go.”

He ran.

Faster than he had the entire game.

He followed the trail — smeared prints, streaks against the concrete. Until they stopped at a narrow stairwell.

And then nothing.

Just silence.

He stood still, breathing heavy, knife in one hand.

His head turned toward the door behind him.

But something… something in the air—

A faint creak.

Behind him.

Behind the door.

He turned slowly, eyes narrowing.

You were behind it.

Holding your breath. Eyes wide. Key trembling in your fingers.

You heard the footsteps. Then silence.

Your lungs burned from how still you were.

He’s going to kill me.

And then — the door opened.

Your eyes met.

He didn’t lunge. He didn’t raise his knife.

He froze.

Blood stained his shirt. His hair was damp. His chest heaving.

“You’re hurt,” he said — not angry, not cold. Worried.

You didn’t speak.

“Why are you hiding from me?”

He took a step forward. You flinched.

“You thought I was going to kill you?”

Silence.

He dropped the knife immediately.

“I’ve been looking for you this whole time,” he said, breathless. “Not to hurt you. To keep them away.”

“You think I care about anyone else on Blue?” He took a slow step forward, still not reaching. “I only wanted to find you.”

Your eyes welled up. Your breath trembled.

You lunged past him.

Your shoulder shoved into his chest — hard — catching him off guard. You slipped out the door and limped, fast as you could, toward the stairwell.

Your ankle screamed with every step, blood damp in your shoe, but you didn’t care.

You didn’t want to die like this.

“Wait—!” Dae-ho shouted, recovering quickly.

“Stop—! Just let me talk to you!”

You gritted your teeth and pushed harder, using the stairs to drag yourself up step after step.

But he was already behind you.

His shoes hit the stairs — two at a time.

You reached the top. Almost.

Your hand fumbled for the door handle. Your vision blurred. The pain in your ankle seared sharp and sudden—

Your body gave out.

You collapsed on the cold floor, just short of escape.

And then… he was there.

Above you. Hovering. On top of you.

His hands pressed against the floor on either side of your head — not restraining, but close. His chest rose and fell, fast and uneven.

You stared up at him, breath shaking.

“Please—please don’t kill me,” you whispered, voice breaking.

“Please, Dae-ho—don’t—”

His brows furrowed, like the words physically hurt him.

“I’m not—” he tried. His voice cracked. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Tears spilled fast. Sharp. Raw.

The adrenaline, the confusion, the fear — all of it came crashing down at once.

Your breath hitched and broke into sobs beneath him. Your hands curled into fists against your chest like they could somehow shield your heart.

Dae-ho froze.

His eyes went wide.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t know what to do.

“No… hey—no, don’t cry,” he said quickly, voice cracking again.

“Please don’t cry.”

He looked like someone had stabbed him.

“I didn’t mean to scare you—this wasn’t how—”

“I thought I could protect you. I thought you’d understand—”

You turned your head, trying to hide your face, but the sobs kept coming — quiet and sharp, your body trembling under him.

And Dae-ho’s expression shattered.

“I never wanted you to look at me like this,” he whispered.

“Like I’m the enemy.

You couldn’t answer.

So he sat up slightly — still close, still not letting you go, but his hands hovered like he wanted to touch you and didn’t dare.

His voice was trembling, low and messy.

“I didn’t follow you to hurt you,” he said. “I followed you because I’d rather die than see someone else get to you first.”

The words were too honest.

And in his silence afterward — the moment where even he realized how unhinged that sounded — he just stared.

Breathing uneven. Bloody. Broken. Obsessed.

Still above you.

You didn’t even realize you were crying out loud — not until you heard footsteps echo from the stairwell below you.

You turned your head just as a Red Team player rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes landed on you lying beneath Dae-ho.

“Don’t,” Dae-ho warned lowly, knife still on the floor beside him. “Leave.”

“Screw that,” the guy snapped, rushing up the stairs toward you. “She’s Blue.”

You scrambled to your feet, limping fast toward the next hall — away from both of them. Your breath hitched. Pain shot through your ankle again. Your blood left a trail behind you.

Doors. Doors everywhere.

You opened one—locked.

The next—just a room.

Another—please, let there be an exit.

“(Y/N)!”

Dae-ho’s voice again — chasing you.

“Don’t run! Please, just wait!”

You didn’t listen.

You limped through one final door, shut it behind you, and ducked into a dark corner of the room — breathing like you were underwater. Chest rising, ears ringing.

Then—he was there.

He opened the door.

And this time, you screamed.

“No—no, stay back!” you cried, arms curled over your head. “I didn’t do anything—I didn’t do anything—please, don’t—”

Your eyes were wide with panic. Every part of your body tense.

“You think I brought him?” Dae-ho snapped, stepping inside.

“You think I was gonna let him touch you?”

You didn’t answer — your back hit the corner, your eyes wild and darting for anything to protect yourself with.

Dae-ho’s voice dropped low.

“He’s dead.”

Your breath hitched.

“He followed us. Tried to grab you. So I pushed him.”

A pause. The words came quieter.

“He fell down the stairs. Hard. He’s not getting up.”

You stared at him.

Your stomach flipped.

He looked down at you — blood on his arms again. A haunted look in his eyes. But no regret.

His eyes stayed locked on yours.

“You can keep running if you want,” he whispered.

“But I’ll always find you.”

You stayed curled in the corner of the room, your ankle throbbing beneath you, your heart still trying to calm down.

your voice broke through the silence, raw and scared.

“Why were you looking at me like that… earlier?”

Dae-ho blinked.

“At lineup,” you clarified, eyes darting to the floor. “Like I was your target.”

Your voice cracked.

“Like you were going to kill me.”

He stepped forward — slow, controlled — and crouched down in front of you, giving you space but close enough for you to see the way his jaw clenched.

“I wasn’t looking at you like that,” he said gently. “I wasn’t going to hurt you. Never.”

“Then what was that look?” you whispered.

His eyes searched yours.

“I was scared,” he admitted. “I was scared I’d never get the chance to talk to you again. To stay near you. They put us on opposite sides, gave me a knife, and you—”

He exhaled shakily.

“You looked so far away from me. And all I could think was: what if someone else got to you first?”

Your breathing slowed, but your hands were still tight against your chest.

“I know it didn’t look like it. but I just—”

“I care about you. Way too much.”

You stared at him.

And for the first time, you saw how much he meant it. His voice, his eyes — they weren’t unstable now. Just aching.

He shifted closer and cupped your face gently, thumb brushing the tear track from your cheek.

“Let me help you,” he whispered. “I’ll carry you to the exit. I swear. I won’t let anyone near you.”

You didn’t speak. Just stared into his eyes, trying to believe him.

And somehow… a part of you did.

You gave him a small, hesitant nod.

His face lit up. Relieved. Soft.

“Okay,” he murmured, smiling slightly. “Okay.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours. Once. Gentle.

You didn’t pull away. Not fully.

Your body was still stiff, still scared — but you kissed him back, just barely.

“I love you,” he whispered. “You don’t have to say it back. Just let me protect you.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time — and for a second, the world faded. Just you and his warmth, his breath, the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

His hands moved to your sides. Then lower. Until it was too much too fast.

You stiffened slightly.

And that’s when he stopped.

Dae-ho pulled back immediately, breath catching.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low. “I— I didn’t mean to push it.”

He stood and offered his hand gently.

“Let’s get you out of here, yeah?”

And this time, you let him lift you up.

Your heart was still racing — but not from fear anymore.

He reached out and helped you up — carefully, like you were made of glass. His arm curled around your back to steady you, fingers tightening ever so slightly at your side.

You winced as your injured ankle touched the floor, but he didn’t let go. His grip only got stronger. More protective.

You looked up at him.

His jaw was tight. His brow furrowed — not with anger, but with fear. Like he still wasn’t sure if you meant what you’d done. The nod. The kiss. The fact that you’d stopped running.

Your heart beat hard in your chest.

And before he could pull away—

“I love you too,” you said softly.

It wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t panicked.

You meant it.

His breath caught. His eyes widened — but not with doubt. With something like… relief. Like your words were the only thing holding him together.

“You do?” he asked, voice nearly breaking.

You nodded again — this time without hesitation. Your hand reached up, brushing his arm.

He exhaled, shaky and overwhelmed, and leaned down — pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then your cheek. Then your lips again, slower this time, steadier.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispered. “Not now. Not ever.”

His smile was soft, but you could still see the fierce promise burning behind it.

“Let’s get out of here together.”

And this time… you believed him.

#dae ho squid game #dae ho x reader #dae ho x y/n #dae ho x you #kang dae ho x reader #kang ha neul #kang ha neul x reader #player 388 x reader #squid game x y/n #squid game x reader #squid game x you #kang dae ho x y/n #kang dae ho x you

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yourlittlebunnyy · 11 hours ago

Text

loving you softly

Azriel x reader - masterlist

Summary: After a bad day at work, your Azriel is always there to help you.

Warnings: none, just pure fluff!

W/c: 2,5k

The door closes behind you with a quiet click, but the sound seems to echo in your bones. It’s been a day — that kind of day. One of those days where everything felt a little too sharp. Where your chest felt too tight, your voice too small, your light too dim.

You’re not even fully inside before the tears sting your eyes, blurring your vision as you set your keys down with trembling fingers. You don’t want to cry. You’ve been holding it together all day — through the clipped tones, the impossible demands, the exhaustion you’ve been swallowing like poison. But now…

Now you’re home. And something inside you just gives.

You don’t even make it to the couch. You just stand there, frozen in the middle of the hallway, head hanging, breathing in ragged, shaky gasps.

And that’s when you hear him.

Soft footsteps. The familiar rustle of wings. And then his voice — deep, quiet, and gentle, like the first stars rising at dusk.

“Sweetheart?”

You can’t look up. You don’t want him to see you like this. Not after how hard you tried today. Not when your makeup is probably smudged, your heart cracked open, your hands clenched so tightly they tremble.

But Azriel doesn’t need you to look up. He’s already crossing the room, already gathering you into his arms, already holding you like he’s been waiting to do it all day.

You fall into him like a tide hitting shore.

There’s no judgment in the way he wraps you up — only warmth. Only strength. His wings curve around you protectively, shielding you from the world you just escaped. His hands cradle the back of your head, one gloved thumb brushing your cheek as your tears soak his shirt.

You don’t speak, and he doesn’t ask.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “You don’t have to do anything now. Just let me hold you.”

And you do.

You don’t know how long you stay there. Minutes blur together. But Azriel never moves until you do. When your sobs finally soften to hiccups, when your trembling eases just enough, he presses one last kiss to your forehead and pulls back.

His gaze finds yours — those deep, fathomless hazel eyes, full of moonlight and shadow and love.

“Let me take care of you,” he says, and his voice is so tender it makes you cry all over again.

He lifts you without asking, one arm beneath your knees, the other curled around your back. His shadows swirl like they’re worried, nuzzling at your cheeks and brushing your hair with barely-there touches, as if trying to help.

He carries you down the hall, past the warm flicker of faelight, past the soft scent of bergamot he always keeps burning in the evenings. When you reach the bathroom, it’s already warm — lit in low, golden hues. The bath is drawn, steam rising in lazy spirals, the scent of lavender and vanilla curling in the air.

“How did you…?”

“I heard your breathing change before you even opened the door,” he says simply. “You sounded tired.”

You try to laugh, but it cracks halfway out. He doesn’t push it.

He kneels before you as he helps you undress, his movements slow and reverent. Like you’re something precious. Something breakable. He meets your eyes each time he peels away a layer, searching for any sign of resistance. There is none. Just exhaustion. Just the quiet, unspoken need to be held, to be cared for.

He guides you into the water and settles behind you, fully clothed, sitting on the edge with his sleeves rolled up. You lean back against the porcelain wall, sighing as the warmth wraps around you.

Azriel’s hands are in your hair next. Strong hands made for war, made for shadows and flight — now massaging lavender-scented soap gently into your scalp like he’s trying to coax the pain right out of your bones.

He rinses you with care. No rush. No words needed. Just the rhythm of water, the soft press of cloth to skin, the quiet hum he sometimes makes when he’s focused.

Eventually, your eyes flutter shut, your breathing evening out.

“Still with me?” he whispers, kissing the crown of your head.

You nod sleepily.

After the bath, he wraps you in a thick towel and dries you off slowly. The towel’s warm — of course he warmed it — and it smells faintly of cedar and him. He leads you to your shared bedroom and helps you into your softest clothes: the oversized shirt you always steal from him, the fuzzy socks you wear when you’re too tired to feel like a person.

Azriel pulls back the covers for you, but you don’t climb in just yet. Instead, you follow him back to the kitchen, if only because you want to stay close.

He makes the hot chocolate exactly the way you like it — dark, with cinnamon and a bit of nutmeg. Marshmallows, yes. But only two. He remembers. He always remembers.

You sit at the kitchen table, legs curled beneath you, cradling the mug as the warmth sinks into your chest. He watches you over the rim of his own cup, those shadows still flickering protectively around your feet.

“I know today hurt,” he says softly. “But none of it changes how strong you are.”

You glance at him, and he leans forward, brushing his fingers along your cheek.

“Even strength needs rest. Even the stars need the night.”

You don’t have words. But you don’t need them. You just set your mug down and crawl into his lap, curling into his chest. His wings wrap around you again, his arms strong and sure.

He carries you back to bed in silence.

Once you’re tucked in, he lies beside you, pulling you close with one arm around your waist and the other gently carding through your damp hair. His lips brush your temple once. Then again.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, like a promise.

You’re just beginning to drift off, the tension in your chest finally loosened by warmth, chocolate, and the solid weight of Azriel wrapped around you — when you feel his hand shift slightly.

He doesn’t let go, not even for a second. One arm is still curved tightly around your waist, anchoring you to him like he’s afraid you might float away. But now his thumb is moving in slow, steady strokes over the fabric of your shirt. Back and forth. Back and forth. Gentle as a lullaby.

“You’re not asleep yet,” he murmurs into the crown of your head, his breath warm against your skin.

You smile faintly but don’t open your eyes. “How do you always know?”

His voice is a low hum, barely more than a breath. “I know your breathing. And your heartbeat. I know you.”

You turn slightly in his arms so you’re facing him now, nose brushing his collarbone. He’s already watching you, even in the soft glow of the faelights, eyes half-lidded and full of something you don’t have a word for — something deeper than love, heavier than adoration.

“I’m sorry I broke down like that,” you whisper.

His brow furrows. “Don’t apologize for feeling, ever. Especially not with me.”

You try to speak again, but he cuts you off gently by pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to carry everything alone. Not when I’m here.”

Your heart cracks open all over again, but this time, not from pain. From relief. From the weight of love too big for your chest.

You reach up and run your fingers lightly through his hair. He melts into your touch immediately, the tension in his jaw easing.

“You always know what I need before I do,” you murmur. “It’s a little unfair.”

He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through your bodies where they’re pressed together. “You deserve to be known that well.”

A silence settles over you — not awkward, not empty. Just full of the quiet understanding that no words can improve upon. His hand slides beneath the hem of your shirt, settling warm against your bare back, and you sigh at the contact.

“You’re warm,” you mumble, already slipping back toward sleep.

Azriel shifts so you’re tucked fully into his chest, legs intertwined beneath the sheets, one of his wings folding over you like a blanket. Safe. Hidden. Sheltered.

He kisses your hair again. “You’re safe now, love. I’ve got you.”

And he holds you like that — heart to heart, skin to skin, shadow to shadow — until your breathing slows. Until your tears dry. Until your muscles go soft and your mind floats somewhere between dreams and reality.

Just before sleep finally pulls you under, you feel his lips brush your ear, soft and careful as a prayer.

“You’re everything to me. Even on your worst days.”

And in the quiet dark, you believe him.

You fall asleep wrapped in his arms, and for the first time in days — maybe weeks — you don’t dream of the things that hurt. You dream only of wings and warmth and home.

You wake slowly, reluctantly — as if even your dreams knew better than to leave his arms.

The first thing you feel is warmth. The second is weight — the protective press of a muscled arm draped over your waist, and the solid curve of a wing still tucked half over you like a second blanket. The third thing you feel is… peace.

You blink your eyes open, slow and bleary. The room is still wrapped in dawn light, soft and pale, the color of cream poured into tea. Faint birdsong filters in through the cracked window, and the scent of Azriel’s cedarwood skin still clings to your sheets.

He’s still asleep. Or at least, you think he is — until his thumb starts tracing slow circles against your hip again. His voice, low and rough with sleep, slips out against the curve of your neck.

“Morning, sunshine.”

You hum, burying your face into the crook of his shoulder. “Mm. It’s not morning yet.”

“It’s been morning for twenty minutes.”

“I don’t recognize that time zone.”

He laughs softly, and you feel it — the vibration through his chest, where your palm is still resting. He’s shirtless, of course. Which is unfair. He knows what he’s doing. One glance down at the exposed plane of his chest, warm and golden in the early light, and you feel a different kind of heat stir in your stomach.

But you’re still tired. Still soft.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asks, voice a little clearer now. His hand rises to push the hair from your face, and his thumb lingers at your cheekbone.

You nod against him. “Because of you.”

Azriel doesn’t respond immediately. Just watches you for a long, still moment, like he’s trying to memorize you in this exact second — sleepy, safe, curled into his chest in a tangle of blankets and love.

Then he leans in and kisses you.

It’s not rushed. Not greedy. Just the kind of kiss that says everything words fail to — I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re loved. His lips are warm, and soft, and familiar in a way that makes your entire body sigh into him.

You kiss him back.

When you pull away, you expect him to settle again. But instead, he gives you a soft look — all mischief and shadow — and brushes his nose against yours.

“You hungry?”

You blink, caught off guard. “You’re making breakfast?”

Azriel raises a brow. “I do know how to cook.”

You squint. “You also know how to threaten entire war camps with a stare. That doesn’t mean you do it for fun.”

He smirks, already sitting up. His wings stretch behind him, catching the morning light as he rolls his shoulders. “I’ll take that as a yes. Don’t move. Stay cozy.”

He leans down to kiss your forehead, then again at the corner of your lips, then your jaw, as if he can’t help himself — as if he needs to kiss every inch of your face before he leaves the bed.

And then he’s gone, his bare feet whispering across the floor, shadows curling playfully behind him. You watch him move — shirtless, hair tousled, so casual and lethal and beautiful all at once — and you wonder how you ever survived a day without him.

You stay wrapped in the blankets like he told you, smiling faintly to yourself as you hear cabinets opening in the kitchen, pans shifting, the soft sizzle of something being cooked in butter.

You think maybe he’s humming.

Ten minutes later, he returns — shirtless, smug, and carrying a tray.

Two slices of thick, golden toast. Eggs, fluffy and perfectly seasoned. Stewed fruit. And beside it, a steaming mug of your favorite tea with a tiny drizzle of honey. Not too sweet. Just right.

You sit up slowly, blinking at the display.

He sets the tray across your lap and kisses your temple. “Told you I could cook.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “Okay, fine. I surrender. You’re the full package.”

Azriel smirks. “Took you long enough.”

The two of you eat together in bed, your legs tangled beneath the covers, his hand resting on your thigh when he isn’t reaching for his own mug. You feed him a bite of your toast and he leans in without hesitation, smiling around it. Your heart aches in the best way.

When the plates are empty and your stomach is warm, he takes the tray back to the kitchen — only to return moments later, climbing back into bed and pulling you onto his lap like you belong there.

And gods, you do.

You curl into his chest again, letting your fingers trace the faint scars across his back, the ones he never flinches at anymore when you touch.

“Thank you,” you whisper, because you can’t not say it. “For last night. For this morning. For everything.”

He presses a kiss into your hair.

“You don’t have to thank me for loving you,” he says quietly.

You bury yourself deeper into his embrace.

“I love you too,” you whisper, and feel his arms tighten around you, just a little. Like he needed to hear it, even if he already knew.

He leans back into the pillows, one hand stroking your spine, and murmurs sleepily, “We don’t have to do anything today. Just stay right here.”

You nod, already half asleep again in his arms.

And that’s exactly what you do.

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howlsofbloodhounds · 1 day ago

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regarding Dust's depiction in the fandom.

i’m not sure if i’m the right person to speak on this, especially since my diagnosis has changed multiple times. at first, i was told i had hallucinatory delusional disorder—only to later be told that diagnosis doesn’t even formally exist. another psychiatrist changed it to bipolar II, and eventually, all of that was scrapped. i’m still in the process of trying to find real answers.

My therapist just told me that I don't even have delusions, just very extreme intrusive thoughts and severe depersonalization.

what i do experience is intense dissociation, and what could be described as “hearing voices,” though it’s not exactly a sound. it’s something between a thought and an external voice. sometimes i can hear a direction, or distinct tones like different people speaking, but what they’re saying rarely makes sense. it’s like fragments of a conversation, but the context is missing.

for me, what’s pushed me into dangerous territory hasn’t necessarily been the voices themselves, but the nightmares that come with them—and how much i’ve overanalyzed what they seemed to be telling me. trauma plays a huge role in how that spirals. i won’t go into it here, but it’s a big part of the picture.

that’s why i’d really love to see a more layered depiction of Dust. i actually have my own fanfic where i try to explore these kinds of things, but looking back, i worry that in trying to vent through him, i might’ve accidentally written something that came off as ableist. it’s hard to toe that line when you’re writing from pain.

i think what i want—more than anything—from portrayals of Dust is for his symptoms to go beyond just “hallucinating Papyrus.” i want to see the paranoia, the delusions, the intrusive thoughts, the nightmares, the flashbacks. the dissociation. the disorganized thinking and speech. the whole picture of what it feels like when your mind isn’t a safe place anymore.

right now, i’m still going through a diagnostic process. i’m crossing my fingers that i don’t get hit with another heavily stigmatized label—and honestly, that whatever i have is something treatable. but more and more, i feel like it all traces back to trauma. i relate to Dust so deeply it almost scares me sometimes, he has so much potential.

You and I are on the same page about wanting to see more depictions beyond hallucinations, although I was of course thinking of wanting to see more of those depictions with Killer.

Unfortunately, it’s very common in this fandom for Killer’s own psychosis to be ignored, overlooked, or just not know about—which is one reason why the common depiction of Killer making fun of Dust’s hallucinations doesn’t make any sense, given Killer hallucinates too.

And he has various forms of hallucinations, from vivid and real, to shadowy figures that watch him or attempt to reach out and touch him. He has full on and back forth conversations with “Chara” despite them not being real, when asked where Chara is he points directly at his own head—“it’s all in your head” is a common phrase associated with Killer.

He has flashbacks, hears multiple voices in his head in different ways—voices from flashbacks, the internal voices he relies on to make any choices on his own—he dissociates heavily, he experiences black out amnesia with Stage 4 and loses control over his own body. He struggles to tell what is and isn’t real thanks to the constant Resets, he constantly feels like he’s being watched by Chara.

He views himself as just something with Sans’ face. He often is showing having back and forth conversations internally and externally as if he’s watching himself argue with himself, his internal conflict is so severe that he sometimes even verbalizes it—which often comes out in confused, contradictory statements, especially when asked anything about himself. When asked how he’s feeling, he answers like “I’m fi—I don’t know. …I’m okay.”

And that’s just one example of it, the entire first page of the Something New comics shows his fragmented thought processes pretty clearly. He shows a deep awareness that something about him has changed, that he’s not the same as he was, but he doesn’t why and he doesn’t seem to know how to stop it.

He seems to struggle a lot with distressing cognitive dissonance, such as killing because he wants to feel something but knowing it doesn’t actually make him feel anything—seemingly believing he only exists because someone else wanted him to. [“Killer Sans exists because of you.”] Feeling more like a role or script than an actual person living a life.

All of this comes from both trauma, and externally induced dissociation + coercion, manipulation. This is a man who doesn’t know who or what he is anymore.

Both Murder and Killer are characters where their mind has become a deeply unsafe place, but for different reasons. For Murder it’s trauma and mental illness, for Killer it’s because of intense prolonged external control and manipulation—and as a result, he is suffering from trauma and mental illness. Even Killer’s own body has become his enemy.

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camficdiner · 20 hours ago

Note

I’ve loved reading all the other fic diner fics you’ve posted. You’re genuinely such a talented writer!

Could I get 1.1, 2.13 & 2.17, 3.5, and 4.3?

☕️ Cams Fic Diner – Order 071

🍒: thank you for spiraling with me into all things Jack Hughes — you’re the reason this one hit so hard

💬: “The flowers meant nothing, right?”

✨description and prompts

• character: Jack Hughes

• prompt: exes to lovers • he sends flowers but you’re not talking • jealousy & possessiveness explode at a party

• type: angst • emotional tension • smut

• wc: 1.2k

✨🍒🛼🧁

It started with something small. A text he didn’t reply to. A night out he forgot to tell you about. But you knew it wasn’t about the little things — it never was.

You loved Jack. Quietly, deeply, stubbornly. But he didn’t always make it easy. He could be flaky, distracted, moody after games. You gave, and gave, and one night you snapped.

“Do you even want this?”

“You want too much from me.”

“You’re scared of anything real.”

“And you’re impossible.”

The fight wasn’t just loud. It was cruel. You said things you didn’t mean, and he said things you couldn’t forget.

“Maybe I never wanted you.”

He apologized the next day. You didn’t answer.

You didn’t answer for five months.

⸻

After every single game, they showed up.

Bouquets. Lavish. Specific. Like he remembered every flower you ever pointed out, even in passing.

Aster, ranunculus, orchids.

No return address.

Just a card, every time:

“Still yours. I’ll wait.”

You left them on the counter. Sometimes in the bedroom. Once, you fell asleep with one of his notes in your hand. But you never called him.

You weren’t ready. Or maybe you were afraid.

Because if you opened that door again, you’d never be able to close it.

⸻

It’s Quinn’s birthday — a backyard party at a waterfront rental, drinks flowing, warm night air humming with music and too many people.

You show up in a backless dress, heels, and a date.

He’s tall. Striking. Looks good in pictures. Perfect for the optics.

You see Jack the moment he arrives. Tousled curls, button-down rolled to his elbows, throat lined with tension.

You look away first.

He doesn’t stop looking.

And then you do it.

“Jack, have you met Julia?”

“She plays in a charity league. You guys should talk.”

She’s lovely. Athletic. Friendly.

You walk away with a smug little smile and your date’s hand on your waist.

It doesn’t last long.

⸻

You’re at the outdoor bar when you feel it — that weight. That heat.

You turn and see him, across the lawn, back stiff, drink forgotten in his hand. Julia’s trying to flirt, her fingers grazing his knee. His jaw is clenched so hard, you think it might crack.

And then he sees your date — leaning into you, whispering something. He brushes your bare shoulder with his lips.

Jack’s glass slams to the counter before you even process what’s happening.

He walks straight to you. Doesn’t say hello. Doesn’t ask. Just curls a strong, firm hand around your wrist and says:

“We need to talk. Now.”

“Jack—”

“You brought him here. And you set me up? You’ve lost your goddamn mind.”

“Let go of me.”

“Not until we settle this.”

You don’t fight when he pulls you into the hallway and shoves open the guest bedroom door. The door slams. The lock clicks.

“You think flowers mean nothing?” he growls. “You think this means nothing?”

You’re too stunned to speak.

⸻

He doesn’t wait. His mouth crashes into yours, teeth and tongue, pure fury and want and months of held-in desire. He walks you back until your thighs hit the edge of the bed, then lifts you like you’re weightless.

“Jack—”

“You didn’t call,” he whispers into your neck. “So I’m done being soft.”

He drops to his knees.

His hands slide up your thighs, slow and unforgiving, fingers hooking your panties and dragging them down with one swift pull. His mouth meets your core, hungry, wild — his tongue dragging long, slow strokes that have you gasping.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he groans against you. “Missed you.”

He eats you out like it’s all he’s thought about — hands on your thighs, tongue curling against your clit, switching between slow suckling and sharp flicks that make your hips buck off the mattress.

You come embarrassingly fast — his name gasped, one hand in his curls, the other gripping the sheets.

He stands, licking his lips, watching you shake.

“You think he could’ve made you come like that?”

You don’t answer.

He rips your dress down the middle. Literally — fabric tearing, pooling at your waist.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Jack. Fuck, you—”

He groans and thrusts into you with no warning, burying himself deep in one hard, desperate push. You both moan at the same time, heads pressed together, bodies locked like they never wanted to let go in the first place.

He fucks you hard — hips slamming into yours, one hand braced against the headboard, the other on your throat, thumb just enough pressure to make your breath catch.

“You wanna play games? Bring a fucking model to piss me off?”

“You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

You come again — louder this time. Filthy. Ruined.

He’s not far behind. He pulls out just in time, groaning your name, spilling hot across your stomach while your eyes are still rolling back.

⸻

After, you’re both breathless. Silent. Shaking.

Then he lies beside you, hand brushing your jaw.

“I sent you those flowers because I love you.”

“I didn’t answer because I didn’t think I deserved it.”

He pulls you into his chest.

“You always did.”

⸻

You leave the party an hour later, his hoodie covering your torn dress.

You don’t say goodbye to your date.

You go home with Jack.

Because you’re done pretending you don’t want to.

#camficdiner #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes smut #jh86 #jack hughes imagine #jh86 x reader

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kingofmyborrowedheart · 5 months ago

Text

Me reading my light and fluffy romance book and then unexpectedly getting my trauma bone walloped in the last act.

#had to stop and cry for like a few minutes #it just like came out of nowhere and that is always what happens when it’s something that hits my trauma bone #it just comes up on me so fast and the next thing I know I’ve got tears streaming down my face #made me have a little self loathing spiral while I tried to fall asleep so that was fun #didn’t get to enjoy the ending as much as I probably would’ve because of it

0 notes

2kidult · 1 month ago

Note

hey congrats on shifting again omg!!! if it’s okay to ask, did you use any method this time around or was it more like mindset + letting go? i’ve been trying for a while now and i’m super curious if something in your routine changed or if it just happened 😭 either way i’m so happy for you fr <33

hiii thank you so much!! <3

after almost 2 years of trying literally every method on the menu (including redoing my nighttime routine 40 different ways), i hit a point of cognitive fatigue. i realized i wasn’t failing because i wasn’t doing enough. i was failing because i kept assuming i had to do specific things in order to shift. so i used @hrrtshape’s anti-method (linked here) and let the assumption unravel. i laid down, let my brain spiral, and held a single thought like a match in the dark:

“what if i already shifted and just forgot?”

that was it. not a hypothesis, not a question to test, but just an epistemic interruption. something that bypassed all my intellectual resistance. the shift happened when the assumption collapsed. i stopped treating the dr like a destination and started recognizing it as default. i wasn’t locked out. i was just still playing along with a story that said i was.

and yeah, my brain fought it. it tried to fact-check me back into place. “you're still in your room.” “you're not shifting.” “you're still in your cr.” and that’s fine. it’s supposed to do that. i didn't argue back. i just kept holding that thought that i'd forgotten i'd shifted. once you let go of the narrative, the mind doesn't know how to defend its own limitation.

so if you’re exhausted from trying? good. that’s your entry point. that’s the system cracking. let it. not in defeat, but in relief. the void isn’t something you summon. it’s what’s left when you stop performing.

i didn’t shift by effort. i shifted because i stopped assuming i hadn’t. you’re already in your dr, you have already shifted.

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mywritersmind · 3 months ago

Text

WANT ME IN RED - LN4

summary : Lando Norris is the bane of your existence, him following you into your drivers room yelling about on track drama is enough for you to spiral. What you don’t realize is that you both have been dancing around one specific issue, something that you solve. Something that involves his mouth on yours and his hands on you.

listen up : something everyone’s been waiting for… smut!!!!! p in v. dirty talk. unprotected sex. yelling. hot people doing hot things.

words : 2105

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“Get the fuck out of my driver room, Norris!” He doesn’t listen. Lando slams the door behind him, storming after me as if he owns the place.

“What the hell was that!?” He yells at me as I roll my eyes, too mad to even speak. I’m sweaty, i’m sore, and i’m really fucking pissed off.

“I could ask you the same thing!” I spin around, my suit now half unzipped and hanging around my hips, “You cut into my line and you fucking know it!”

“Cry me a goddamn river, Y/n! A second later you ran us both off track and put me into the wall!” I bite back a smirk, the memory fresh and completely true in my mind.

“Deserved it.”

This makes him even angrier, his cheeks red and his eyes dark, “I cannot stand you!”

“Poor baby,” I fake sympathy, “Did you forget we’re racing to win?”

“I’m racing to win!” He points at his own chest, his suit undone and his hair wild, “One of us hasn’t gotten there yet.”

“I could have if you hadn't tried to do more than you’re capable of!” Another loss because of a bitch in orange got on my nerves. “Are you ever not an absolute cunt? Or is it just your nice fancy car that gives you all this false confidence?”

“Oh please don’t pull that shit! You lost because you’re batshit crazy!” I scoff, throwing my Ferrari hat down and stepping closer to him.

“It’s called aggressive driving but you wouldn’t know that, would you? Mr. gave a win away!”

He shakes his head, “Keep my moves out of your bitchy little mouth.”

“Can’t own up to your mistakes?” I pout, his eyes dropping to my lips, “Or is it your pathetic team that’s making you such a pussy?”

He’s backed me up into the wall, staring down at me as if he wants to hit me. Or worse, kiss me.

“Has the red dye gone to your head already!?”

“Has the vocabulary of only ‘papaya rules’ gone to yours?” I laugh in his face, “Get off your high horse, Norris, you’re not all that special.”

His arm braces itself next to my head as he leans in closer, “Wanna know what I think?”

I cross my arms over my chest, “Not particularly.”

“I think that you want me.” his voice lowers, his head dipping closer to mine, “And it fucking kills you.”

My heart is beating faster than in our cars. I stand my ground, blinking as if he has absolutely no effect on me, “Are you still sour that I said no to being your teammate?” He scoffs, looking away from me and giving me a face full of his hardened jaw, “Because it really was the idea of doing everything with you that made me physically ill. That, and I don’t look good in orange.”

His eyes find mine again before trailing down my body. “It’s gotta be better than red.” He catches his lip between his teeth, pulling at my skin tight fireproofs and snapping the fabric against my side.

“Do you wanna know what I think, Norris?” I look him dead in the eye, his body tensing as a smirk forms on my lips. I stand taller, leaning into him and whispering so close to his ear that my lips dust his cheek. “I think that you’re a horrible fucking liar.”

Our bodies are against each other now, waiting for one of us to make the first move. I snap my head back against the wall, his eyes zoned out as I grin to myself. I’ve got him and he knows it.

His gaze finally meets mine, dark and full of lust. “Admit it.” I say, looking up at him mischievously. His breath is calmer than I'd expected, but something tells me his heart is beating like crazy. Just the thought makes me want him even more. “You want me. Right here. Right now.”

He doesn’t say anything, just drops his head and closes his eyes. God… he looks hot when he’s pissed off and sweaty. Especially when he knows damn well that both of us want him to take it out on me.

I watch his head sway from side to side, thinking… contemplating. Then, he looks back up, his back hunched and his eyes at my level. I know what he’s waiting for. I know we both want it.

My eyes lock on his, “Wanna fuck me in red, Norris?

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. His lips are on mine in an instant, a hand already on my waist and shoving me into the wall. I’ve never kissed Lando before, every moment I've shared with him was one of us aching for each other.

Now that I have, I can confirm that the rumors are true.

He mumbles something against me but I can’t even register it because the second he runs his hand under my fireproofs and over my nipple, I groan. Christ, he’s quick with it. His hands are huge, exploring my chest, waist, and slipping below my race suit.

“Lan-” I’m about to tell him to slow down but my mind is quickly changed by his hand snaking up my leg and moving it off the ground so he’s gripping my thigh.

His mouth is hot against me, straying from my mouth but never leaving my skin as his lips navigate to my neck. My skin is on fire, a warmth that pools between my legs and makes me grind against him.

He clearly likes his, pushing me harder against the wall and tugging at my race suit. I bring Lando’s lips back to mine, grabbing his chin forcefully and not missing the breathless smirk that plays on his lips.

That look tells me all I need. I don’t really know how it happens so quickly, both of our rushed movements and hurried kisses end up in my race suit on the floor.

“You’re so-” Lando kisses my neck, making his hands slide down my waist to where he snaps my panties back against my skin, “Fucking… hot.”

“Everytime we’ve fought- you’ve wanted to fuck me, huh?” I moan at the contact of his hand to my core, sliding over the fabric and teasing me to no end.

“Every. Damn. Time.” I kiss him again, resting my hands on his neck as his fingers explore the thin black of my underwear.

I breathe against him, pushing him away which earns me a slight whine from his lips. My hand goes to his hair, his head leaning into my hand as I do so. He’s eager for me.

I push down and he goes right with my movement, his eyes locked on mine as one knee finds the floor. I’m testing him and he’s too pathetic to even care. He looks as if he’s drooling for me, his mouth slightly parted as his lust clouded eyes stay on me.

I can’t help but smirk, grabbing the collar of his race suit and pulling him back up. Like I've got him on a goddamn leash. He doesn’t look mad- just in a hurry. “Tease.” He says against my lips as the satisfying sound of a zipper rips through the room.

“Slut.” I say right back, my hand moving down his body and letting the suit fall below his waist.

I can feel him against me now. The Calvin Klein waistband staring at me as his dick throbs under the fabric. His hands are on me again, now onto my ass which he squeezes as if he owns it.

His hands are something worth fantasizing about, cupping my ass like it’s nothing as one of his fingers, too big for his own good, slides my underwear down.

“Tell me you want this.” He says quickly.

“I want you.” my words make him shiver, his underwear long gone and his dick staring right at me. “You want me?” I whisper, my hand drifting over him just enough for him to whimper in my ear.

“If I ever say no to that question, kill me.” His hand covers mine, dwarfing me as he positions himself to my entrance. He lifts my lips for me and in a moment of intimate silence, he pushes into me.

My head goes back instinctively as I feel him in me. He groans when I accidentally slip down the wall a bit, “Fuck, I hate you.” I love it when he lies to me.

He starts going now, pushing into me like i’ve always dreamed of. His hand slams next to my head as his head lulls in between us. I moan, watching his arm tense against the wall as he quickens his pace.

I can’t even tell if my feet are on the ground anymore, he’s holding me so tight as if i’ll slip away. As if I'd want to.

I moan louder as my body squeezes against him, matching his whines before he moves his hand over my mouth. “Fuck you.” I bite out before he pushes against me harder, mumbling my voice and making him grin.

“Check.” He chokes on a laugh, turning it into a whimper and taking his hand off my mouth, “Gotta stay quiet.”

I can’t do anything but nod, feeling him so intensely as I grind into him more, wanting all of it. “So fucking good for me.” He mumbles, watching his dick move in and out of me.

He starts going harder, that dizzy feeling overtaking me as I roll my eyes back, “Norris-”

“Say my name, Y/n.” His voice, deep and gravelly, makes me reach my high even faster. He dips his head to my neck again, practically biting me.

“Lando.” I force out as my whole body catches fire. I cum just before Lando, pulling out of me and releasing on my thigh. I watch the milky substance drop down my leg as my own mixes in.

We both stand there for a second, out of breath and in shock. And then Lando and I collapse onto the floor, my head slumped against his shoulder, not caring about the mess or our suits.

“Y/n!” A voice comes from outside the door, “Just making sure you’re okay!” It’s my best friend. “You have an interview in twenty-“

“I’m good!” I yell back, still out of breath and achy, “I’ll be out in a sec.”

Lando leans his head back next to me, “Next time, we’re fucking in my room.”

I scoff, “Next time?”

He whips his head towards me, “Don’t do that- That’s not fair!”

I smirk slowly, “All's fair in sex and racing.”

He shakes his head, his curls still damn and his cheeks flushed, “You’re evil.”

“You love it.”

He cleans me up after that, being much gentler than he was during the act. I watch his hands- god I love his big hands, especially knowing that they were just all over me.

He slides my panties back on, slow and steady as if he doesn’t want to hurt me. Or he doesn’t want to stop looking. Then my race suit gets zipped back up, only halfway because his hands still on me means my skin still on fire.

He glances at my neck, “Just- pull that up a bit.” My eyes widen when I realize what he means. Standing up quickly and rushing to my mirror I stomp my foot.

“Norris!” There aren't many, but one hickey would be enough to make the media go crazy.

He appears behind me, grinning proudly as he looks at his handy work. He pulls up the neck of my fireproof just enough so it’s covered, “There.”

“You’re a lucky man.” I turn to him, my arms crossed.

“Trust me,” He grins, “I know that.”

I check both ways before we both step out of my room, going separate ways in the empty hallway. I watch him walk away, turning back and watching me walk backwards.

“Norris.” I say, biting my lip and impulsively grabbing the hem of my fireproof, pulling it up so I flash him my tits.

He groans immediately, looking like he’s ready for another round already. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” I shrug, still walking and pulling my shirt back down. “See you next weekend, love.” I say the last word in a mock accent, teasing him.

I can hear the whine in his voice after I turn around to walk fully away, “Suck my dick, red!”

I hold my hand, flipping him off and laughing, “Maybe at a later date.”

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando norris smut #f1 smut #smut

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misswynters · 7 months ago

Text

Jinx having a gf who’s touchy and affectionate

requested. @luc1dw0rld

Jinx’s hideout was always filled with chaos, half-finished inventions strewn across every surface, faint scorch marks on the walls, and the constant hum of machinery that never quite worked the way she wanted. But today, it felt different. Calmer, almost peaceful. It wasn’t because she’d finally decided to clean up the mess. She hadn’t. It was because of you.

You were sprawled out on her couch, an old, tattered thing she’d salvaged from a junkyard, but it felt like a throne whenever you were on it. Jinx sat cross-legged on the floor in front of you, tinkering with a grenade she’d been working on for days. Your legs dangled over the edge of the couch, and every so often, your foot brushed against her shoulder. Each touch, light as it was, sent a warmth through her that she didn’t know how to handle.

“Y’know, I think I’ve got this one right this time,” Jinx muttered, her tongue poking out as she focused on the tiny screws and wires in her hands. Her usual frenetic energy was dulled and her movements slower.

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” you said from above her. Your voice was soft, laced with the kind of unwavering confidence in her abilities that always made her stomach twist in unfamiliar ways.

She glanced up at you, her eyes wide and unguarded for a split second before she remembered herself and looked away. “Pfft. Don’t go jinxin’ it, babe,” she said, forcing a smirk as she set the grenade down. But her voice lacked its usual sharp edge, softened by the way you were looking at her.

You slid off the couch and onto the floor beside her, your legs folding neatly under you. “Need help?” you asked, even though you both knew your technical skills couldn’t match hers. It didn’t matter. The question wasn’t really about the grenade.

Jinx tensed for a moment, her fingers twitching against her thighs. She wasn’t used to this. To someone just…being there. It was a different kind of tension, though. Not the kind that made her fingers itch for a trigger or her mind spiral into chaos. It was much softer.

“Nah, I’m good,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. But she didn’t move away when your hand rested lightly on her knee.

You smiled at her, that small, knowing smile that always made her feel like you could see straight through her defenses. “Alright,” you said, leaning back on your hands.

Jinx’s gaze flicked to your hand on her knee, then to your face. She could feel the weight of your affection in the smallest gestures. The way your fingers curled slightly, as if anchoring her in place. It was overwhelming and comforting all at once, a contradiction she couldn’t quite wrap her head around.

“You’re all…touchy, y’know that?” she said, trying for a teasing tone, but it came out softer than she intended.

“Does it bother you?” you asked, tilting your head.

Jinx hesitated, her fingers drumming against her leg in a rapid rhythm. “Nah. It’s just…weird. Not bad weird. Just…weird weird.”

You chuckled, the sound light and easy. “I’ll take weird weird.”

She watched as you leaned closer, your fingers brushing a stray strand of blue hair out of her face. The gesture was so gentle, so casual, it made her heart stutter. She wasn’t used to people touching her like this. As if she was something fragile, something worth handling with care.

“Why’re you always doing that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Doing what?”

“Touching me. Like…like that.”

You tilted your head, your expression soft but serious. “Because I love you, Jinx.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to do with them. Love wasn’t something she was good at. It was messy and complicated and full of things she didn’t understand. Whenever she was with you, her entire world felt simpler.

She looked away, her cheeks flushing a faint pink. “You’re such a sap,” she muttered, but there was no bite in her words.

“That means you like it,” you said, your voice teasing but warm.

She rolled her eyes, but the faint smile tugging at her lips gave her away. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head.”

You didn’t respond, just leaned closer until your forehead was resting against hers. Jinx froze, her breath catching in her throat. She could feel the heat of your skin, the steady rhythm of your breathing, and it was…nice.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice shaky but sincere. “Just…not used to this. Feels…weird.”

“Weird weird?”

“Yeah. But, like…good weird.”

You smiled, your hand slipping into hers. Her fingers twitched, hesitant at first, but then they tightened around yours. She didn’t say anything, but the way her grip lingered said more than words ever could. For a while, the two of you just sat there, her hand in yours, her forehead still pressed against yours. The chaos of the hideout faded into the background, replaced by a quiet that was rare for her. It wasn’t the kind of quiet that came with loneliness. It was the kind of quiet that felt safe. Jinx absolutely loved the time she would spend with you. You are her world.

banner. @anitalenia

#arcane fluff #arcane fanfic #arcane jinx #jinx arcane #jinx x fem!reader #arcane masterlist #arcane fic #arcane x reader #jinx x y/n #jinx x reader #jinx x you #jinx imagine #jinx league of legends #arcane fandom #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #arcane x female reader

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nadvs · 2 months ago

Text

the power play (part seven)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

< prev

“When’s that part supposed to be done again?” the voice buzzes from your laptop.

You glance up at Rafe when he steps into the study room, locking eyes as he shuts the door behind him.

“By Wednesday night,” you answer, looking at your screen again. The other students in your group project stare back at you, three guys who haven’t even tried to pull their weight.

“And we have to do the peer evaluation, too,” you add. “She expects us to be transparent about how everyone contributed. And I’m planning to be totally honest.”

Rafe settles in his seat, diagonal to you at the corner of the desk like always. A smile pulls at his lips. He hates when that serious, disappointed tone of voice is directed at him, but watching you give that attitude to another guy is something else entirely.

He places his laptop on the desk and crosses his arms as he watches you in amusement.

“Is that review thing online?” one of the guys asks. You tap your foot against the floor in frustration. You’ve mentioned where to find it at least five times.

“I have an appointment now,” you say, “but everything you need to know is in the rubric. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

You exit the call, looking over at Rafe with wordless exhaustion. He doesn’t need you to tell him; that was about the group project you were venting to him about last week.

He digs his teeth into his bottom lip. It was hot to see you assert yourself like that. And he knows you’re just doing your job as his tutor, respecting the time you set aside for him, but it still makes his ego grow a little that you ended the call so quickly after he arrived.

And now he’s convinced you can’t do a single thing without it sending him into a mental spiral.

“Someone’s mad,” he murmurs.

“They’re killing me,” you say with a defeated chuckle. “I don’t know how many times I’ve had to repeat myself about things they can figure out on their own. Why do I have to hold grown men’s hands?”

“Damn,” he jokes, looking down and nodding, feigning offense.

“Well, I signed up to hold yours,” you laugh. “And you kind of hold mine with all the free therapy, so win-win.”

Rafe smirks. He’s not sure if he’s helped you nearly as much as you’ve helped him, if his version of therapy even comes close to how you’ve talked him down.

You need a physical reset after that frustrating call, a way to release the tension sitting in your body. You arch your back as you extend your arms above your head, stretching your muscles with a deep exhale.

Rafe’s mouth goes dry watching you dip your head back, your arms pulled high.

His thoughts are self-willed, running off with no warning, compelling him to imagine putting his lips along the column of your exposed neck, kissing you open-mouthed, cradling your head, hearing your sighs.

And because you have a special talent for driving him crazy, your shirt falls over your shoulder when you lower your arms. And you don’t fix it.

His eyebrows inch upward, left in stunned silence, fantasizing about planting his lips down your neck, over your collarbone, along your shoulder. Over and over again.

“Okay, I’m in tutor mode now,” you say, pulling his laptop towards you and opening it, oblivious to what you do to him. “Midterm on Monday. How are you feeling?”

How is he feeling? Like infatuation and lust are burning through him. Like he might lose whatever sanity he has left.

He clears his throat.

“Where is it again?”

“Should be in the same lecture hall the class is in,” you say, dragging your fingers over the trackpad. “But we can check the message board to be sure.”

You feel his stare on you, then look up to see humor twinkling in his eyes.

The realization hits you. He’s messing with you, acting like the guys you were just on a call with.

“Notice how I don’t get annoyed when you do it?” you chuckle. “I told you that you were my favorite student.”

Rafe’s smile slightly fades as you turn your attention back to his laptop.

He doesn’t like the reminder of the birthday party, of the bitterness that made itself a home in his chest that night when you made it clear what he is to you. Just the guy you tutor. Just a friend.

And he swallows his pain down, because he’s not going to unleash his silent grudges on you. Not anymore.

════════

There’s only four games left of the tournament. A loss means the season is over. And Rafe can’t lose.

He’s in the middle of a scoring drill, preparing for a nerve-wracking match against the visiting team. The rolling of skates cutting over ice, the smacks of sticks hitting pucks, the din from the filling stands, all fill his ears.

As always, not giving this his all is not an option. No matter how much the dread of his shoulder acting up again hangs over him.

Hockey gives him an outlet, a purpose. When he sets out to block a shot or hit the puck into the net, when he throws himself into a game with nothing but aggression guiding him, the fervor that courses through him is unlike anything else.

He can’t lose that.

You settle into your seat at the side of the rink, many rows up, chatting with Lyla. Your eyes have been almost exclusively on Rafe since you came in and you can’t believe you used to attend games without paying him any mind before.

Then again, you didn’t know who he really was. You didn’t know that under the hard exterior was such a complex man that would unexpectedly start turning anything and everything in your world inside out.

“There’s no way,” Lyla mumbles to you, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Look.”

She points forward and you lean closer to her to see a couple of girls a few rows ahead looking at a phone. They’re on the college’s athletic department’s website, on the men’s ice hockey team roster page.

Rafe’s headshot and name is at the center of the screen as they whisper and giggle.

“There are eyes on your man,” she laughs. “Watch out.”

The jealousy that swirls through you is hot and unwelcome. You don’t bother trying to hide it. It’s what his real girlfriend would do anyway.

You meet Lyla’s eyes, flashing her an exasperated frown.

“I guess it comes with the territory?” you say, tense.

“Oh, my God, they’re trying to find him on Instagram,” she chuckles, then looks at you again. “You obviously have nothing to worry about. He only has eyes for you. Everyone can see it.”

The same frustrating, overwhelming discomfort you felt the night of the last game fills your senses.

You meant it when you told Rafe that you need to take some time for yourself, to not date until Beck is no longer on your mind.

But you can’t deny that since then, it’s like Rafe is claiming the space in your heart that Beck once owned. Except Rafe is taking it over with a thousand times more force.

While you thought Beck was what you needed – friendly and level-headed and calm – you’ve seen him for who he really is after putting distance between you.

Whether he meant to do it or not, he strung you along. With a clearer head, you can see his flaws. And you’re pretty sure he’s a people pleaser.

And it kind of feels manipulative. You don’t doubt he’s a mostly genuine person; it’s just that he chooses the comfort of being liked over the discomfort of honesty. You used to love it about him, seeing it as kindness, letting it cloud your vision, letting it lull you into infatuation.

Rafe gives you an entirely new thrill. He’s not concerned with people liking him. He says what he thinks, and even though he can be harsh, you appreciate being around a man like that. He may be moody, with little control over his temper, but at least he’s direct.

And it’s because of that that you know you can’t take Lyla’s words that everyone can see it to heart. What everyone’s seeing is fake.

He’s playing it up, pretending to like you because that’s what you agreed to do. If someone like him felt something real, they’d cut the bullshit and tell you.

You think of the fleeting moments you’ve had with Rafe, the soft, gentle vulnerability and the heart-racing affection brimming with what you wish was chemistry.

Maybe he feels something, too. But probably not. Your mind is heavy with fog after years of pining for someone and being sure they felt the same, only for it to crash and burn in heartbreak.

This is why you’re trusting your instinct to stay away from romance for the time being.

The familiar pain of a confusing crush pinches in your heart. You can’t believe you’re back here, back to sitting in the stands, a spectator to your heart’s choices, dwelling over a man you can’t take your eyes off of.

You didn’t break the cycle.

You just started a new one.

════════

At the end of the second period, you head to the bathroom with Lyla. You’re washing your hands in the middle of the long row of sinks and instinctually glance up when someone appears next to you.

Tension crushes your chest when you realize it’s Emma. You make brief eye contact, then abruptly end it. You step away to dry your hands when, to your surprise, she speaks as she walks by.

“Do you not have any of your own shirts?” she murmurs.

You have to take a second to absorb her words as she storms out.

You look at your reflection, Rafe’s jersey draped over your body. You wish she wouldn’t have caught you off guard, so you could at least laugh off her dig.

Even though you’re annoyed, you’re not offended. Because if you lost Rafe after having him for real, you’d be bitter, too.

You leave the crowded bathroom and wait in the hall for Lyla, deep in thought.

You agreed to this whole thing to make two people jealous. Beck stares at you like you’ve broken his heart. Emma’s pissed that her ex has a new girlfriend. You’ve achieved your goal. You can end this now.

For your own good, you think it’s finally time to do just that.

════════

Rafe is coming down from a high. It was a tight game, but they took the win. Three games left and they could be the champions.

He’s down to his boxers in the locker room when he checks his phone before heading to the shower. A smile perks on his lips when he sees you texted him.

Congratulations! You were amazing. I won’t be able to come out to celebrate because I’m drowning in school work :( Try to have fun without me (even though you can’t)

You’re kidding, but you’re right. He can’t imagine having nearly as good of a time if you’re not there.

He slams his locker shut, donning a scowl.

════════

The next night, you step into the humid house, your arm linked with Lyla’s, the memories of the last time you were in a frat house fresh in your mind.

Rafe had you propped up on the counter, his steely blue eyes fixed on you, his large hands on your thighs. It was weeks ago at this point, but the thrill it gave you still lives in your mind. So does the sight of him shirtless the morning after.

Rafe’s eyes land on you as you pace into the living room through the pockets of crowds. He texted you about this party, offering to pick you up, and you told him you’d meet him here. He’s been practically staring at the front door since.

He’s never felt like this before. Like he’s constantly holding his breath and he can’t breathe easy until he sees the girl who possesses his every thought.

You’re saying something to Lyla, your smile bright and your eyes dazzling and God, of course you’re wearing a dress that shows more of your body than he’s ever seen before.

If he didn’t know how sweet you are, he’d think you were purposely torturing him. And he knows other guys are looking at you. It makes his blood boil.

“I just shouldn’t talk when she’s around,” Isaac murmurs.

“Huh?” Rafe looks to his friend, who’s standing beside him, taking another drag of his beer.

“Huh?” Isaac mocks with a grin. “I was in the middle of saying something.”

Rafe can’t even pretend to be annoyed. Not when you’re in the same room.

“My bad,” he says, looking forward again. When you find his eyes, you flash him that smile that both breaks and mends his heart, pressing through the crowds to close the distance.

Rafe’s palm is flat against your back when he hugs you, stroking his thumb between your shoulder blades, your skin warm and soft. His body buzzes from the relief of reuniting, even though it’s only been two days since he saw you at the library.

“I have to thank you,” Lyla says to Rafe, half-shouting over the noisy chatter and music. “She never came to this many parties before she dated you.”

“You’re welcome,” Rafe replies, his eyes on you even though his words are directed to your best friend.

“Funny,” Isaac says to you. “He used to go to everything, but he wouldn't come out last night because you weren’t there.”

Your brows knit, pleasantly surprised, hesitatingly touched as you look up at Rafe.

“Really?” you say.

Rafe needs to play it off. He’d thoughtlessly admitted it to Isaac yesterday after leaving the locker room, saying you weren’t coming out anyway, so why would he?

“Can’t have fun without you,” he replies, repeating your text back to you. You’re unsure if he’s just saying that as your fake boyfriend, or if he really feels that way.

“That’s cold,” Isaac mutters in his usual joking way. “I’m right here.”

Lyla laughs, then squeezes your forearm.

“I saw some girls from my film class,” she tells you. “Do you want to go say hi with me or stay here?”

“I’ll stay here,” you reply.

“Thought so,” she says with a knowing grin. “I’ll be right back.”

“What’s the deal with your friend?” Isaac asks the moment Lyla scurries away.

“The deal?” you say.

“What’s her type?” he asks. “If I ask her out, would I get laughed at?”

“Ohhh,” you say with a conspiratorial smile. “Are you trying to get a date?”

“I’ll owe you big, okay?” he replies, putting his hand to his heart. “For that and for my essay. What do you think of it, by the way?

“I’m halfway through,” you reply, having taken a look at it that morning between your classes. “I think you need more annotations, but I’ll get it back to you by tomorrow night with my notes.”

“Awesome, thanks,” Isaac says. “Be honest. Who’s the better writer? Me or Rafe?”

“Rafe,” you reply immediately, gazing up at him. He’s pretty sure that the sound of you saying his name is better than anything he’s ever heard.

“Well… obviously you’re going to pick your boyfriend,” Isaac mumbles, then gazes past your shoulder. “So? Do I stand a chance?”

You follow his eyeline to see he’s staring at Lyla. You can imagine her liking Isaac.

“You might,” you say, then turn back around. “She likes when guys are direct, but don’t be presumptuous.”

“Whatever that means,” Isaac says, then looks at Rafe. “Is she always using big words?”

You chuckle, “Be yourself. And don’t be too forward. Be a gentleman.”

Right now, Rafe would be wondering what your type is, what you like guys to do. But he knows. It’s Beck, who’s different from him in every way.

“So, don’t be yourself,” Rafe chides.

Isaac flashes him a humored, but sarcastic smile, flipping his friend off before downing his drink.

“See you guys,” he says, stepping past you.

You let out an amused exhale, resting into the first private moment you’re having with Rafe tonight.

“Hi,” you say, taking his strong features in as he towers over you.

“Hey.” His eyes drift over your face. The bass of the music filling the thick air is no match to how loud his heart is thumping in his ears. “I know you can hold your own, but you don’t have to help him.”

“Back up,” you say, your smile widening. “Hold my own? Did you just give me a compliment?”

“That call I walked in on was intense,” he says with a half-chuckle. “It’s obvious you don’t take any shit.”

It’s meaningful praise, not only because it’s coming from him, someone who’s usually so aloof, but also because of how many times people have mistakenly seen your kindness as a sign that you let others get away with mistreating you.

And it’s unexpected. You never imagined feeling like Rafe sees a part of you that so many don’t.

Your crush on him was supposed to stay noncommittal. Meaningless. Shallow.

The squeezing sensation in your heart is telling you that might not be a possibility, because seeing this kind, tender side of him is proof that maybe he could be the type of boyfriend you’d want.

“I would’ve told Isaac no if I couldn’t do it,” you reply, “but I’m happy to do a favor if I can manage it.”

He still looks worried. A warm, comforting sense of endearment zips through you. You weren’t lying to Lyla when you’d told her that you liked Rafe’s protectiveness.

“I appreciate you looking out for me,” you add, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest.

Silence sinks between you, your gazes locked, your smiles slowly fading as tension replaces every remaining sense of amusement.

Rafe breaks the stare. He looks down, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a hard swallow. He can’t have these types of moments with you. He’s fighting everything in him not to kiss you.

“You want a drink?” he asks, looking towards the dining room. “If you can pace yourself.”

You glance at the beer bottle he’s holding.

“Is that all they have?” you ask.

“I grabbed the first thing I saw,” he replies.

“I never tried that kind before.”

Rafe doesn’t think. He just holds it out, perching the neck of the bottle towards you.

Your fingers brush over his as you accept the offer, taking the cold bottle and lifting the smooth cusp against your mouth, your knees weak as you think about how he just had his lips right where yours are.

You take a small sip, promptly cringe at the sourness, and hand it back to him with a look of disgust. He laughs that sweet, innocent, boyish laugh you’ve only heard a few times before.

“No?” he murmurs, his smile bright.

“You really enjoy drinking that?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says with a shrug.

“Awful,” you mumble.

You shuffle in place, remembering what you’ve been eager to tell him.

“Oh, I have two things to tell you,” you say. “First, these girls sitting in front of me yesterday were looking at you on the school website. You know how they say a determined girl investigates better than the FBI? Just a warning, they’ll find you. If they haven’t already.”

Rafe smirks, unable to believe he ever found your rambling anything but entertaining. And cute as hell.

He should probably be taking your words to heart and thinking about dating for real, going out with girls who actually like him, but it’s unimaginable when he’s certain that he couldn’t find the feeling he gets when he looks at you in anyone else’s eyes.

“And you got jealous and lost your shit?” he quips.

“Yeah, they had to kick me out,” you play along. “How has your shoulder been, by the way?”

The sudden question is an intrusion, an assault on the happiness he’s been feeling since you walked in. He’s still getting used to it, to how you prod, to how you try to saunter past the wall he has up as if you don’t even see it.

You gaze up at him as he looks away, raking back his hair and offering a tense, “Good. I’ve just… been in my head about it. It’s messing with my game.”

A crease forms between your brows as you gaze at him in confusion, hoping he’ll say more. But he doesn’t.

“Are you worried you’ll hurt it again?” you ask.

You step just an inch closer, craning your head to look up at him, wishing he’d just lean down instead of being so unnecessarily impenetrable. He’s quiet and cold, drawn into himself like he was the day you met him.

“Yeah,” he says. “One wrong move and…”

Rafe’s convinced you’re about to judge him, to look at him like he’s a wuss. But the confusion on your face fades and is replaced with sympathy.

“That makes sense,” you say. “You want to give it your all like you always do. I bet playing it safe just feels wrong.”

He’s in awe. How do you take the tiny pieces he gives you and still get him? You’ve teased him for being perceptive, for reading people so easily, but it’s nothing compared to you.

“Yeah, I – I don’t know how to just half-ass it,” he says with a sarcastic chuckle. “I’ve never done it that way.”

You study him, curiosity stirring in you, along with a certainty that there’s nothing but beauty behind the front he puts up.

“You said you were better after you started playing in high school, right?” you press. “It must mean a lot to you.”

He scratches the back of his neck. It’s a tell. You know he does it when he’s nervous.

“Yeah,” he admits. “Hockey did so much for me and it – it makes me me, you know? I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“Bad word,” you remind him with a soft smile. “It’s not stupid. Tell me more.”

Rafe bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t want to go back there, to when he was a kid, needing a place to let everything festering in him out. Not here, with other people around. Not now, when he’s unsure if you feel something, too.

“What was the other thing?” he says.

“What?”

“You said you had two things to tell me.”

You flatten your lips. It hurts how he’ll begrudgingly give you some vulnerability when you’re insistent, but most of the time, remind you that he keeps you at a distance.

“The other thing,” you eventually say with a nod, willing yourself to go back to how you used to be when Rafe’s mood drops didn’t affect you as much. “Your ex made a little dig at me.”

His face hardens, wearing that look you know well by now. The one that silently, impatiently tells you to explain.

“Something about how I’m always wearing your jersey,” you say. “Like I don’t have any shirts of my own.”

“When?”

“Yesterday at the game,” you chuckle. “She left before I could even react. But she obviously noticed me wearing it before. That girl is jealous. And very, very mad.”

He wants to ask if you’re okay, but he can tell by the amused smile on your face that you are. It takes a lot to shake you. Still, he hates that his ex tried to embarrass you. That you were in that position because of him.

“Is this the point where we call it?” you ask.

“What?”

“Do you want to still keep this up?” you clarify, motioning between you.

This is how his last breakup happened. In the throws of a party. Unexpectedly. But even though this one isn’t real, it hurts a thousand times more than the last one.

“You’re… done?” Rafe asks, embarrassed at how thin his voice sounds.

“I don’t want to care about what Beck thinks anymore,” you say. You swallow down that Rafe’s the reason why. “And we got what we wanted, right?”

You both agreed to an easy-out clause. He owes you to follow through on that. If you want to cut and run, you should be able to.

The thought of not getting to touch you, to hold you, even though it is just to make another person in the room jealous, makes his blood run cold.

But you deserve to get what you want.

“Yeah, we did,” he says. “Good luck getting over me.”

“Thanks,” you laugh. “We don’t have to announce it or anything. We just have no reason to lay it on thick anymore. Friends?”

You hold out your hand, and he gently squeezes it, shaking on it just like you did when you started all this.

“Friends.”

════════

The next night, you and Lyla and a couple of your mutual friends go out to dinner to unwind from studying. The off-campus restaurant is elegant, the entrance decorated beautifully. Lyla asks the hostess to take a photo of you all before you sit.

When you settle at the table, you look at the photo and post it to your story. You put your phone down, just to pick it up again a minute later, the impulse to see who’s looked at it too strong to ignore.

You got so used to doing it with Beck, eager to pick up on the breadcrumbs he’d leave for you. Now, you’re doing it to see if Rafe looked at it.

You tap to see who’s viewed the story and see two familiar icons. Beck’s. And Rafe’s.

It’s almost taunting to stare at, one man who led you on and another who helped you get back at him for it.

You can hardly stomach how desperately you crave indifference. How badly you wish Beck had never taken so many years from you. And for the first time, how deeply you regret putting on this ploy with Rafe.

Because all it led to was allowing another man into your heart and having to tell yourself not to let him steal it.

You lock your screen and put away your phone, determined to be present with your friends.

════════

As you finish up dinner, Lyla suggests going to a bar.

“It is a school night,” she says, mainly looking at you, “but we don’t have to stay out late. We could invite some boys if anyone feels inclined.”

“Do you have a boy in mind?” one of your friends asks her.

“Isaac’s cute,” she says, pointing to you. “He told me he asked you about me.”

“He better be following my advice to be a gentleman,” you reply.

“Do you want to invite Rafe?” she asks. The mention of his name makes your heart drop.

“No,” you say, sure you didn’t do a good job masking your sadness. “He has a midterm tomorrow.”

“Are you guys doing okay?” Lyla mumbles, surprised by how quickly you declined. This isn’t the time to drop the bomb that you’re technically broken up.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“Good,” she says, taking her last bite. “I really don’t want Beck to be right.”

You tense up.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“He told me not to say anything,” she explains, the way her face is twisted in confusion making it clear that she has no idea why her brother wanted to keep this from you. “He’s worried about you. He thinks Rafe isn’t the best guy and you jumped into this with him too fast and that you’ll get hurt. I told him you wouldn’t be with someone who treats you badly, but you know Beck.”

You’ve managed to stay composed up to this point. You’ve held yourself together, even in private.

But this might be the thing to finally break you. The cold, hard confirmation that Beck isn’t jealous, was never jealous. He was just concerned.

Because he’s a friend and nothing more. And you were delusional to think otherwise.

“He shouldn’t be worried,” you say, forcing a smile. “Anyways, you guys go without me. I’m pretty tired.”

════════

Rafe watches you walk to his car through the dark, rainy night air as he idles in front of the restaurant’s front doors. You’d texted him ten minutes ago, asking if he could give you a ride home.

You’d said goodbye to your friends and waited for Rafe behind the front doors, fighting the urge to cry.

You open the passenger door, the interior light fades on, and his stomach drops when he sees that the girl who’s always smiling has tears in her eyes.

You settle in the car, putting your seatbelt on, staring at the dashboard. Rafe stills.

He’s witnessed you disappointed, happy, sad, annoyed, but he’s never seen you like this. Like all the joy has been drained from you, not a single trace of optimism or humor or anything left.

“You okay?” he rasps. The car light fades off, blanketing both of you in darkness.

He stares at you, moonlight just barely pricking the edges of your profile, your eyes gleaming with tears.

“No,” you utter, your voice fragile over the sound of the rain pattering on the roof.

Rafe leans in just a little closer to get a better look at you, but you’re only gazing ahead, stuck in place. He wishes he didn’t have to ask. It’s like he’s losing you, like you don’t want to tell him what you’re thinking anymore.

“What happened?” he rasps.

You don’t know how to say it. He surely already knows that he has a bad reputation, but you care too much about him to repeat any gossip. There’s so much more to him that people don’t see and you don’t want him to not believe that.

“I need a moment,” you say. “Can we go?”

He grimaces, his brows furrowing, shaking his head slightly.

“We’re not rushing anywhere,” he says quietly. You haven’t heard his voice like this before. It’s soft. Soothing.

You can’t think of what to say.

This doesn’t feel fair to Rafe. You pick at him and expect him to open up to you, but now, you’re shutting him out.

He grew to love how you share what you’re thinking, rambling so he’s completely clear on what’s running through your mind. Now, he’s on the outside, behind a wall you never had up before.

It feels like rejection.

“Can we go?” you repeat. “Please?”

He scoffs in disbelief and hurt. And then, he switches gears and steps on the gas pedal.

════════

Rafe pulls up to your dorm. You haven’t said anything to each other the whole ride.

You’ve caught discreet glances at him. His jaw is tense, a grimace on his face. He’s mad. Of course he’s mad. He’s always mad.

You’ve been silent, sniffling and wiping away tears with your sleeve.

He’s losing his mind. You’re just sitting there, your breaths shaky, like you’re breaking right in front of him and he can’t do anything about it.

“I’ve never cried over him,” you finally snap the silence.

He’s caught off guard. The sympathy you’ve been needing is etched into his face, the scowl replaced with tenderness.

“Even when I felt the worst over it, I… managed to keep myself together. But tonight, Lyla told me that he doesn’t like me and it just made it all crash down on me. I wasted so much time.”

He puts the car in park. Kills the engine. Looks at you.

“What the hell did she say?” he says sharply, his anger directed at your best friend now.

You’ve been thinking about how to tell him without causing any collateral damage. You don’t want to hurt him or risk the dynamic between him and his teammate.

“You know that I never dated anyone before,” you tell him. “To jump into something so intense with you is unlike me. Beck thinks I’m being impulsive. He’s just worried I’ll get hurt. That’s all. It was never jealousy.”

Rafe scratches his jaw. He thinks back to how every time you’re in a room with Beck, his eyes are on you.

“I thought you said you saw it for yourself,” he says after a moment. “He’s into you.”

“He was just looking at me like a concerned friend,” you mumble, your throat feeling raw again. “You’ve fed my delusion enough.”

He sighs. It’s impossible. There’s no world where a guy gets to know you and doesn’t feel something.

There are too many possibilities. Beck could simply not be into you. Or he is and he hasn’t told his sister. Or he is and he has and she’s been sworn to secrecy. Or a thousand other things that you can’t know for sure.

It’s all a confusing disarray of what you know and what you don’t, so uncertain about where you stand with Beck that it’s forcing your heart into a knot.

“I need to talk to him and get everything out into the open,” you conclude. “I don’t care if it makes things weird. I can’t keep overthinking.”

When your eyes meet Rafe’s again, an uncontrollable shudder escapes your lips, a result of how hard you’ve been crying.

And he can’t stand it. He puts his palm on the back of your hand, the words sitting in his throat, awkward but necessary to say.

“He’s not good enough for you, you know that, right?” he murmurs.

“Rafe,” you laugh sadly, his words wringing your heart. “You’re just making me cry harder. Stop being nice. It’s unlike you.”

A smile pulls on the corner of his lips. There’s the glimpse of you that he’s been craving. It’s like the sun is finally rising after a long, cold night.

“What do you want, then?” he says.

“Tough love,” you joke. “Call me annoying or something.”

“No,” he says with a shake of his head.

He can’t even do it as a joke. He’s told himself he feels too much his whole life. He’s not going to do it to you, too.

You sigh, looking down at his hand on yours. There’s nobody around to fool. He’s doing this because he wants to.

“I’m… so mad I still care,” you say. “I don’t even like him anymore, but I need to tell him that he was cruel to string me along. And then I’ll finally be done with it.”

You look out the window, seeing your reflection in the side mirror.

“And I need to be on my own and live my life without worrying what a guy thinks,” you continue. “I don’t think you see how much you’ve helped me through all this.”

Rafe is sure that he hates Beck. He fucked with you for years, stringing you along, making you question everything. You shouldn’t have to cry all because that idiot refuses to be upfront with you.

He wouldn’t treat you like that. But he’ll never get the chance to prove it. You’re blind to how fast his thoughts are racing, how hard his heart is pounding. To what he’d give to you if you felt what he does.

“You helped me, too,” he says. He wishes he was better at this, that he could say more, but there’s no way he can utter what he’s really thinking without opening up a wound that you can’t patch up.

That’s the last thing you both need right now. Especially after you told him you’re not looking to tie yourself to a relationship anytime soon.

“I’m glad,” you say. You shift your hand to unbuckle your seatbelt, leaving him to pull away. “Thank you for the ride. You should get back to studying now.”

“Who said I was studying?”

“Pretending I didn’t hear that,” you quip with a small smile, meeting his eyes one last time before you push the door open and step out of the car.

════════

It’s Wednesday night and Rafe’s sitting in an unfamiliar locker room, two periods into a vicious game.

They’re down by two goals. He’s exhausted, his shoulder is aching, yet all he can think about is you, in your dorm room four hours away.

You’d texted him twice since the night he picked you up at the restaurant. The first was on Monday, a good luck message for his midterm. The next was last night, letting him know that you can’t make tonight’s away game due to the long distance and the fact that you have a huge paper due.

If they win this game, they’re in the semi-finals. The hunger he’s feeling for a victory is the one thing driving him right now.

He’d love it if you were in the stands, behind the penalty box again, holding your phone up against the screen, lightheartedly counting his indiscretions, giving him brightness in his otherwise bleak life.

Rafe stares down at the scuffed floor, chest rising and falling rapidly, the tension thick in the room as he holds his helmet in his hands. Coach enters the room, jumping right into his pep-talk.

“We’re missing scoring opportunities,” he eventually says, his voice booming through the room.

“That’s on me, Coach,” Beck pipes up from the other side of the room.

“Then step up,” Rafe mutters with vitriol, meeting his eyes. “Instead of being such a kiss-ass, try playing better.”

“Whoa,” Isaac mumbles beside him. “Chill, man.”

“I’ll do the coaching here, got it, Cameron?” Coach says sharply.

Rafe stares down at the floor again, rage flooding him. He’d swing at Beck right now if he could, if there was nothing on the line.

Not because of the game. Because of you.

════════

When the team is back in the locker room, all the stress that was previously cutting through the air has dissipated, replaced with pride. They managed to secure the win. They made it to the semi-finals.

Rafe gets to his locker and tries to take off his equipment. But the pain in his shoulder is so blinding, so hot, that he can’t ignore the agony.

It was a hard body check, minutes left in the game. The sharp stab he felt was undeniable.

He knows that this is it.

════════

“Thank you,” you say to the security guard who walked you over to the athlete’s dorm.

It’s nearing midnight and, as promised, Isaac texted you that they’re back on campus. He’d sent you a message that Rafe got injured near the end of the game.

You called him then, learning that Rafe could barely move his arm, that he was taken to urgent care, that he was muttering about being sure his season is over.

You texted Rafe right away, concern burning through you: Isaac told me what happened. Can I come by when you get home?

He replied: yes. And then hours later, the text came in a minute after Isaac’s.

Home. Don’t walk by yourself.

You’d planned to text Isaac to open the front door for you, but you’re lucky to sneak into the building as a resident leaves. You rush in, take the elevator, and scurry down the hallway.

Your heart is pounding when you knock on Rafe’s door.

“It’s open,” you hear grumbled from the other side.

Rafe is in the dark, a pinch of moonlight gleaming into the room through a crack in the blinds as the door shuts behind you.

He’s sitting up in his bed, resting against the headboard, and when you see the sling on the same arm that he’d injured before, your heart cracks down the middle.

You don’t bother turning on the light. You have a feeling he doesn’t want to be seen right now. You settle on the edge of his bed, the side of his thigh against your lower back.

Rafe stares at your profile in the dark, his breath evening out, the dread he’s been battling losing some of its power now that he’s with you.

When Isaac said he let you know what happened, Rafe was glad he hadn’t told him about your breakup. And he was relieved that Isaac shared the news, because Rafe’s not sure he would’ve been able to tell you himself.

“Hey,” you say. “How bad does it hurt?”

“You got security to walk you here, right?”

“Yeah,” you reply. The fact that he’s thinking about your safety right now is unbelievable. “What happened?”

“I tore my rotator cuff,” he says into the dark.

“Your season’s done?” you ask, although you know it is. That’s too serious of an injury to play with.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Yeah.”

Your throat tightens. His fear came true and now he’s like this, in pain, miserable. And surely blaming himself.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice trembling.

His heart shifts when he catches the fragility in your tone.

“Don’t cry,” he says.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

He can’t help but huff a quiet chuckle. Leave it to you to make him smile at a time like this.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask.

“No.”

“I’m going to hug you because I need to do something,” you decide, giving into the impulse to get closer to him.

He shifts lower, resting his head on his pillow, and you turn to your side, leaning on his good shoulder, making sure to stay as far away from his injury as possible.

Your arm is draped over his torso, your cheek at his upper chest, feeling the faint thumps of his heart. The soft, rhythmic beating is what beckons the tears threatening to fall finally come out.

“How bad does it hurt?” you ask again, your voice thick with sadness.

He doesn’t see a reason to lie.

“Like hell,” he admits, the painkillers barely numbing the pain.

Rafe shuts his eyes, grimacing, angry at his body for betraying him.

Your arm around him brings him a sense of peace. And the fullness warming his heart doesn’t come from simply liking someone.

This is love.

But you’ve told him so many times that you need to be on your own. He can’t mess that up for you just because he wants you for himself.

He’s never been this worried about his selfishness. He’s never really liked himself and he’s always wanted to be a better man and being with you is the first time it feels achievable.

“Why’d you come here?” he asks, desperate for you to tell him you feel it, too. That he’s worth breaking your rules.

“Because I care about you,” you say with an offended laugh. “Should I leave?”

“No,” he says quickly.

“Then try being a little more welcoming,” you joke.

If you want to feel welcome here, in his room, in his bed, in his heart, in his life, he’ll make it happen.

And he’s always been the type to show, rather than tell.

He still feels a pinch up his neck, but he fights through the ache to sit up half an inch. He brushes his lips against your forehead to leave a chaste, featherlight kiss on your skin.

“How’s that?” he rasps, settling back on his pillow.

Your body numbs, the air heavy with pressure. It’s an avalanche coming down on you, the excitement of his touch, the confusion of his intentions, the fear of giving another person all the power to break your heart.

And it’s like you’re buried under your overwhelming emotions, barely able to move.

You don’t know what to say.

So, you nuzzle closer, squeeze him tighter, and close your eyes, hoping that whatever happens next doesn’t hurt you anymore than you’ve already been hurt.

next >

author’s note um so i think we’re at 50k words and all we have is a forehead kiss... next part will be the last and the slowburn will be OVER. i promise. don’t hate me <3

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n

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flwrkid14 · 7 months ago

Text

Tim Drake’s Unhinged Power Move (ft. Marriage, Ra’s al Ghul, and an Uncomfortable Batfamily)

No one really understood how it started. One moment, Tim Drake was Red Robin—tired, overworked, and fueled by caffeine. The next, he was dropping a bombshell in the middle of a routine debrief:

“Oh, by the way, I married Ra’s al Ghul.”

The room froze.

Dick’s dumbbell hit the floor. Jason choked on his beer. Damian’s sword slipped from his hand. Bruce, staring at Tim like he’d grown a second head, barely managed a strangled, “Tim. What did you do?”

Tim took a sip of his coffee, utterly unfazed. “It’s a power move.”

Jason, wheezing with laughter: “Oh my god. You married Ra’s out of spite? Replacement, I’ve never been prouder.”

Tim smirked. “Something like that.”

-----------

It wasn’t really spite.

Ra’s had been obsessed with him for years. The offers of succession, the constant attempts to lure him to the League—it was never-ending. Tim was tired. Tired of being hunted, tired of the games. So, one day, he called Ra’s’ bluff. If Ra’s wanted him so badly, he’d have to deal with all that came with it. Including Tim’s unrelenting need for control.

Ra’s agreed.

And just like that, Tim Drake became the most terrifying in-law the batfamily had ever seen.

-----------

Talia didn’t know what to think at first.

She’d seen it all before—people manipulated by Ra’s, twisted into tools for his will. But Tim? He didn’t play by those rules. He sat at Ra’s’ desk, sifting through League reports like they were Gotham case files. He didn’t bark orders; he made suggestions. And then, the soup happened.

Talia returned from a mission, bruised and exhausted. Tim, barely looking up from his paperwork, said, “Sit. You’re hurt.”

She scoffed. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity. It’s soup.”

Talia stared. “Why?”

Tim shrugged. “You looked like you needed it.”

It became a routine. She’d return from missions, and Tim would be there. Not with judgment. Not with manipulation. Just quiet support. He listened. He offered advice. He treated her like a person, not a pawn.

Somehow, they started having regular bonding time. Shopping trips. Quiet conversations on the balcony. Tim became a person Talia could trust—a concept she hadn’t believed possible.

-----------

Damian was losing his mind.

“Drake!” he hissed, cornering Tim in the Batcave. “You’ve… corrupted my mother!”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Corrupted? She’s thriving.”

“She smiles at you!”

“I’m very charming.”

Damian’s finger trembled as he pointed. “This makes you… my grandmother.”

Tim smirked. “Respect your elders, grandson.”

“I REFUSE!”

-----------

Bruce was spiraling.

“Tim, this is dangerous.”

“Relax,” Tim replied, sipping his coffee. “I’ve got it under control.”

“You married one of our greatest enemies!”

“Think of it as an undercover op,” Tim said, voice calm and unyielding. “I’m playing the long game.”

Jason, from the sidelines, grinned. “He’s playing 4D chess, and you’re still on checkers.”

-----------

The Real Chaos?

Tim didn’t marry Ra’s to make him happy. Hell no. If anything, it made Tim sick to his stomach knowing Ra’s was smug about it. But if putting up with Ra’s al Ghul meant protecting Talia, stabilizing the League, and giving Damian a family that didn’t break apart at the seams?

He’d endure.

Because Talia was healing. Damian’s mother was smiling. And Ra’s… well, Ra’s thought he’d won.

But the real winner? Tim Drake.

Gotham’s most unhinged vigilante had just become the League of Assassins’ terrifying step-parent. And honestly? It suited him.

-----------

Damian, whispering to Alfred: “I need… therapy.” Alfred: “We all do, Master Damian. We all do.”

#tim drake #batfam #talia al ghul #ra's al ghul #grandma tim drake #league of assassins #tim drake power moves #damian in a crisis #tim joins the league in the most unhinged way possible #I want to see tim and talia bonding #tim would be the greatest step parent ever and you can't convince me otherwise #he literally raised bruce out of his grief #talia deserves to be cared for and tim is going to be the greatest step dad for her because she deserves so much #tim helps talia be more present in damian's life and somehow ends up parenting the rest of the bat kids as well #with the exception of tim of course #brain rot and silly post moment

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chrissssssmut · 2 months ago

Note

After reading that I’ve cat girl smut, I feel like I need a lesserafim cat girl smut instead!

COME OVER

Cat Girls Le Sserafim OT5 x Male Reader

AN: Last fic for this week! Need to rest and get back to work tomorrow T____T

The walls were thin.

Like, weirdly thin. Paper-thin. You discovered that on the first night.

You were still unpacking boxes when you heard it: a long, soft mewl coming from the other side of your bedroom wall.

"Meowww~... ngh, mmhh..."

You paused, hand frozen around a roll of socks. That… that didn’t sound like a regular meow. It sounded human. It sounded... breathy.

Then a low, husky voice filtered through the wall. “Stop moving your tail like that, you’re making me horny.”

You blinked. “What the f—?”

Another voice, whinier and higher pitched, answered. “I can’t help it, unnie! I’m itchy!”

“I swear, if you go into heat again, don’t expect me to help this time—”

Smack.

“Ow! You always hit me!”

Your jaw dropped. The argument continued, filled with hisses, giggles, and the occasional unmistakable moan. You had no clue what was going on over there, but you were 100% sure it wasn’t normal.

And the second night, too.

And the third… that was when you broke.

The sounds were worse that night. More rhythmic. More intentional. Soft moans bleeding through the thin wall, playful giggles that sharpened into whimpers. You heard Yunjin’s voice—low, breathy, teasing someone. Kazuha gasping. And then a high-pitched, drawn-out whine that had to be Chaewon.

You weren’t sure who was touching who anymore.

Or if they were just putting on a show.

Your cock ached beneath the sheets, pulsing with every noise. You clenched your jaw. Tried to turn away. You even pressed a pillow to your ear at one point—but your imagination filled in what your ears couldn’t.

You lasted maybe five minutes.

One hand slid beneath your waistband, trembling. You gritted your teeth as your fingers curled around your cock, already slick with precum. Every little stroke felt wrong—like you were eavesdropping on something sacred. But it also felt impossible to stop.

You came fast. Too fast. Shamefully fast.

Right as Eunchae let out a high, giggling moan that sent your brain spiraling.

You came with your fist over your mouth, your hips jerking, your whole body flushed with guilt and heat and need.

And when it was over, you stared at the ceiling, breathing hard.

There was a quiet laugh on the other side of the wall. You couldn’t tell if it was Eunchae or Sakura.

But it felt like someone knew.

By the fourth night, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You were lying in bed, sheets bunched around your waist, just trying to finish your damn math assignment—and there it was again. A soft thumping. A whining moan. The sound of something dragging along the wall. Then a voice:

“...Mmm, I can smell him again…”

Your heart stopped.

“I told you he was cute,” another voice whispered, sultry and amused.

“Do you think he’s awake?” someone purred.

You froze. You didn’t want to be, but now you were rock hard. And a little scared.

Were they talking about you?

You got out of bed and, after a moment of debate, tiptoed to the hallway. The unit next to yours was #505. Your trembling fist hovered over the door.

You knocked.

A pause.

Then, the door creaked open.

Standing there was a girl. Short pink hair, twitching ears poking out from the top of her head. A tail—yes, a literal tail—wrapped around her thigh. She blinked at you, huge eyes gleaming gold in the dim light.

“…Hi?” you managed.

She sniffed.

Her eyes widened. “You’re the neighbor.”

“Uh. Yeah. I… I just wanted to say—”

“You smell nice.”

“…Thanks?”

Before you could react, she reached out, grabbed a fistful of your hoodie, and yanked you into the apartment.

You stumbled in and were instantly hit by a wave of warmth, the scent of incense, and—catgirls. Catgirls everywhere.

On the couch, a tall one with long dark hair (and equally long legs) was sprawled upside down, reading a book with her tail flicking lazily in the air.

Another sat at the kitchen counter, licking what looked like whipped cream off her fingers while purring to herself.

Two more were tangled up on a giant floor cushion, play-fighting and making questionable noises.

“…Who’s this?” the one on the couch asked, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s the one we’ve been hearing,” the pink-haired one chirped. “His scent’s been all over the wall.”

You stood there, dumbfounded. “…Is this, like, a cosplay thing? Are you guys part of a… club or something?”

The tall one snorted. “You think these are fake?”

She swished her tail and flicked her ears.

You blinked.

“…You’re real.”

“Duh.”

The pink-haired one tugged you by the sleeve, grinning. “I’m Eunchae. You live next door. And you’ve been jerking off thinking about us, haven’t you?”

You choked. “What?! No—I mean, I—what?!”

“You moan louder than we do,” said the one with whipped cream on her fingers, grinning. “I’m Yunjin, by the way. Welcome to our den.”

Your face was on fire. “I have not moaned—”

“Last night. Ten forty-two PM,” Eunchae said. “You were panting...”

“Wha-what?!”

“Dunno. But it wasn’t my hand doing it, so I got mad.”

“Pfft,” the long-haired one scoffed. “You’re so horny all the time.”

“Shut up, Chaewon-unnie!”

You had never been more confused. Or aroused. Or terrified.

And yet… you didn’t leave.

Not right away.

You stood there in the middle of their living room, flushed and breathless, surrounded by five cat-like silhouettes in the dim light. Their eyes glowed faintly. Their tails swayed behind them in slow, deliberate arcs.

The air still buzzed with heat—not from the act, but the temptation. The tension was suffocating.

But no one touched you.

No one pulled you in.

Instead, they just watched.

Eunchae had that same sly grin as before, one finger twirling around the end of her tail. Sakura leaned against the counter, arms crossed, still flushed from earlier teasing. Kazuha stood tall, calm, but you could tell her breathing hadn’t settled yet. Yunjin was behind you somewhere, too close, her warmth against your back like a brand.

And Chaewon…

Chaewon stood right in front of you.

She tilted her head.

“You’re hard,” she said flatly, almost amused.

Your cheeks burned. You moved to cover yourself, but she stepped aside—graceful, teasing, giving you just enough room to pass.

You hesitated.

Yunjin’s voice came from behind you, low and husky:

“Don’t jerk off this week.”

You froze.

Eunchae giggled. “We heard you last time.”

Your ears went hot. Your fingers twitched against the doorknob.

Chaewon leaned a little closer, her voice quiet, firm, final.

“You don’t need to do that anymore. We meant what we said.”

You looked at them—all five of them. Their expressions weren’t cruel. Just sure. Like they knew exactly how much space to give you before you came crawling back on your own.

You opened the door. Stepped out into the hallway.

You didn’t say goodnight.

You didn’t sleep either.

That weekend, you stayed up late. Again.

And at around 11:00 PM, you heard it. The soft tap on your window.

You turned slowly. Outside, perched catlike on your balcony railing, was Yunjin. Naked. Except for a hoodie. Your hoodie.

She slid the door open like it wasn’t even locked.

“…Hey, neighbor.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wha—how did you—what are you doing?”

“I got bored.” She strolled in like she owned the place, her tail swishing behind her. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought you might need help… with something.”

You backed up until your legs hit the bed. “Help with…?”

Yunjin smirked and knelt on the bed between your legs. She pulled your sweatpants down with one smooth motion.

“You smell so good when you’re turned on…”

Her tongue flicked out, catlike, teasing the tip of your cock.

“Y-Yunjin—”

“You can say no,” she purred. “But your cock’s already begging for me.”

She wrapped her lips around you, slow and steady. Her tail curled around your thigh. You groaned, hands trembling as they gripped the sheets.

She sucked with skill—gentle pressure, wicked tongue, taking you inch by inch until her throat clenched around you.

You could barely breathe.

But then—

Click.

The door opened.

“…Yunjin,” came Chaewon’s voice. Flat. Dangerous. “What the fuck.”

Yunjin pulled off your cock with a pop, licking her lips. “Oops.”

“I called dibs,” Chaewon growled, stalking over. “You always do this—”

“You were too slow,” Yunjin said smugly, leaning back against you.

“I don’t care.” Chaewon shoved her aside and pushed you back down. “I’m next.”

Yunjin rolled her eyes. “Fine. But he’s not gonna last with you.”

“I don’t need him to,” Chaewon whispered, lowering herself onto your cock in one slow, hot, dripping movement. “He’ll last when I say so.”

You gasped—she was so tight, her warmth clenching around you, her claws digging into your chest.

“You like this, huh?” she said in your ear. “Being used. Being fucked by a needy cat in heat.”

You tried to answer—tried to form a word—but all that came out was a strangled moan. Her walls squeezed around you like a vice. Her rhythm was agonizingly slow. Deliberate. Each downward push sank you deeper, and every upward grind left you dizzy with need.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, “Chaewon—”

“I didn’t say you could speak,” she snapped, suddenly pinning your wrists above your head. “Kittens stay quiet unless they’re begging.”

“K-Kitten—?” you choked out, and she smirked.

“You’re mine tonight. Got it?” Her tail flicked behind her, sharp and dangerous like a whip. “And if I ever hear you moaning for Yunjin again…”

“I’ll share him with you later,” Yunjin sighed from her spot on your desk chair, her long legs crossed and her hoodie slipping down one bare shoulder. “For now, just don’t break him. I wanna see his face when he cums.”

“Oh, I’m gonna break him,” Chaewon purred. “Slowly.”

Her hips started moving faster—grinding into you in short, forceful thrusts that sent wet slaps echoing through your tiny apartment. Her claws gently scratched your chest, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to leave faint red lines. Her ears twitched every time you whimpered.

“You’re twitching already,” she whispered, dragging her tongue up the side of your throat. “Don’t you dare cum yet. Not until I tell you.”

You could barely think straight. Her tightness, her weight, her scent—musky and sweet—was overwhelming. It clouded your mind. Made you want to give in. Made you want to mark her. To fuck her until her smug little smirk turned into desperate cries.

Then she did something dangerous.

Her tail wrapped around your thigh. Slowly slid inward. And curled around your cock at the base—pressing right where your length met her heat.

“C-Chaewon—!”

“You like my tail?” she asked sweetly, her hips rocking faster now, grinding your tip right against that spongy spot inside her that made her eyes roll back. “I trained it just for this. Just for you.”

You couldn’t hold back. Your hands flew to her hips, gripping her so tightly she gasped.

“Ohh, now he wants to take charge?” she teased, letting you push her down harder, deeper, faster.

“Chaewon,” you gasped. “I—I’m gonna—”

“No,” she growled, slamming her hips down once, hard. “You wait.”

She clenched around you. Her tail tightened.

“Beg for it.”

You couldn’t help it.

“Please… please let me cum—fuck—Chaewon, please—”

The second you said her name like that, she lost it.

She leaned down, eyes gleaming gold, and kissed you hard. Tongue first. Hot. Messy. Possessive. Her thighs trembled as she cried out into your mouth.

“Cum in me,” she moaned, voice high and needy. “Now. Now. Fill me—make me your cat—fuck—!”

You groaned, hips jerking up as you spilled inside her. She slammed down one more time, grinding her clit against you as she came with a sharp, broken cry.

Her entire body shivered. Her tail spasmed against your thigh.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just panting. Sweaty. Twitching from aftershocks.

Then—

“Oh my god,” Eunchae’s voice piped up from the open doorway, breathless. “You didn’t wait for me?!”

You and Chaewon both turned, dazed.

Eunchae stomped in wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt, her ears flat with indignation.

“I wanted to go next!”

Yunjin snorted. “Told you it wouldn’t take long.”

Chaewon sighed and slid off you, panting. “He’s still hard. You can have your turn.”

Eunchae’s face lit up.

“Ohhh~! My turn my turn my turn~!”

She was already climbing into bed before your head even cleared. Her tail flicked excitedly, her eyes shining with mischief.

“But,” she purred, crawling over you, “if I feel even a little bit left out…”

She leaned down and whispered against your lips.

“I’m gonna scratch so deep you’ll be bleeding all week.”

Eunchae’s hips straddled yours like she was claiming her throne.

Her oversized shirt slid up just enough to reveal a flash of pink panties—and the flick of her twitching tail. Her pupils were blown wide, her breath shallow, and her grin?

Downright feral.

“You came already?” she cooed, trailing her nails down your chest as her eyes locked on your still-hard cock. “But you didn’t wait for me, oppa… That’s mean.”

She leaned down until her nose was brushing yours.

“So now you have to make it up to me,” she whispered. “And you better pet me right.”

Her nails scraped your jaw. Then her fingers reached down, curling around your length—still slick and throbbing from Chaewon’s heat.

“Mmm~ You’re still twitching.” She gave it a slow, tight stroke. “You came so deep in her, but your cock still wants more… Am I not enough? Huh?”

“Eunchae—fuck—” you groaned, hips bucking into her fist.

“Oh? What’s that?” Her voice dipped low. Her other hand slipped between her legs, pushing her panties aside to reveal soaked folds already glistening. “You’re hard for me now?”

She didn’t wait. She lined herself up and dropped.

You both gasped.

“Oh my goddd—” she whined, trembling, her hands clenching against your chest as you filled her inch by inch. “You’re so big—f-fuck—wait—”

You gripped her hips to steady her. She was so tight, snug in a way that made your vision blur.

“You came in her just now,” she whimpered. “I can feel it inside me… I’m gonna mix it, okay? I’m gonna ride you till your cum becomes mine.”

Then she started moving.

Chaewon, still dazed and panting next to you, blinked at the sight. “She didn’t even ask. God, you’re such a spoiled kitten.”

Eunchae just smirked over her shoulder. “Jealous I ride better?”

Her rhythm was frantic from the start—needy, fast, grinding her clit down with every bounce. Her claws dug into your chest, hard enough to sting.

“You’re gonna cum in me next, right?” she panted. “Right? Say it.”

You grabbed her by the waist, slammed up into her, and she squealed.

“You want it so bad?” you growled, fucking up into her faster, harder. “You’re dripping all over me. You’re shaking. Just say it.”

“Y-Yes—yes—oppa please—breed me—fill me up—I need it—I need it—!”

From across the room, a soft gasp echoed.

You turned your head.

Standing by the open door—dressed in silk shorts, hair messy from sleep—was Sakura.

Her cheeks were flushed. Her thighs pressed together.

“I… I was just checking the noise,” she mumbled.

But she didn’t leave.

She stayed. Watched. Bit her lip.

Eunchae noticed too.

“Ohhh~ Are you getting wet watching us, unnie?” she purred between gasps. “You wanna ride him next? Or should I let him eat you out while I sit on his cock again?”

“I—!” Sakura blushed deeper, eyes fixed on where you and Eunchae were messily joined. “You’re insane…”

“Jealous,” Eunchae replied smugly, grinding her hips down until she was trembling. “Say it. Say you wish you were me.”

Sakura’s breath hitched. “...I wish I was you.”

Then—

“Move,” came a flat voice from the corner.

You all turned.

It was Kazuha. Standing near your closet. Wearing your shirt. One of your boxers underneath. Her ears were pinned low. Her eyes? Dangerous.

“You’ve all been fucking him without me,” she said quietly.

You froze. “Wait—how long have you—?”

She stepped closer. Calm. Controlled. But every inch of her radiated heat.

“I’ve been watching since the first night.” Her tail twitched. “When you moaned into your pillow. When you came thinking about us. I smell everything, remember?”

Eunchae slowed down, panting hard. “Zuha…”

Kazuha ignored her.

She walked to the bed, gripped Eunchae by the waist, and lifted her off your cock with shocking strength.

Eunchae gasped, legs trembling. “H-Hey!”

“Your turn’s over.”

And before you could even blink, Kazuha straddled you—silent, graceful, deadly.

Then she sank down.

All the way.

No teasing.

No games.

Just a single, slow thrust that made your eyes roll back.

“…You feel even better than I imagined,” she whispered. “So warm. So full.”

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

Eunchae was whining on the floor. Sakura had crept to the edge of the bed, thighs clenched together.

Kazuha rocked her hips once.

Twice.

Then she leaned in, lips brushing yours.

“Let’s see how many times we can make you cum before the others beg to join.”

Kazuha rode you in perfect silence.

Every rise and fall of her hips was precise. Deliberate. Each slow roll dragged your cock deeper into her tight, wet heat. She didn't moan. She didn’t whimper. She just stared down at you with glowing, hungry eyes—like she was memorizing every twitch of your face.

“I waited,” she murmured, her voice low, dangerous. “Watched you play with the others. Touched myself while you groaned Chaewon’s name. And now…?”

She clenched.

Hard.

You gasped.

“Now you’re mine.”

“Zuha—fuck—” You grabbed her hips, fingers digging into her soft skin. Her walls were like velvet wrapped around steel. You were so close already—too close—

And then a pair of soft hands touched your chest.

“I wanna taste,” came Sakura’s soft voice, almost a whimper.

You turned your head.

She’d finally climbed onto the bed—knees tucked under her, wearing nothing but a sheer lace bralette and silk panties that were soaked through. Her tail curled shyly behind her. Her pupils were blown wide with heat.

“Can I?” she asked. “Can I taste him while she rides you?”

Kazuha didn't even pause.

“Do it.”

Sakura crawled over, cheeks burning, and dipped her head down.

And then you felt it.

Her tongue—soft, shy, kitten-like—licking the trail of cum dripping from your base, licking along your balls, up the edge of Kazuha’s slick folds where she’d slammed down to the hilt.

Her lips closed around your base while Kazuha ground down harder.

The stimulation was insane.

“F-Fuck—Sakura, I-I’m gonna—!”

But before you could finish the sentence—

A weight shifted at the edge of the bed.

You blinked—and there she was.

Yunjin. Crawled up from the corner like a panther. Hair messy. Top gone. Her breasts rising and falling with every heated breath.

Half-naked. Eyes wild.

And completely unamused.

“You bitches think you can have him all for yourselves?!”

Eunchae, still on the floor, panting and covered in hickeys, giggled. “Told you he wouldn’t last.”

“I’m gonna break him,” Yunjin growled, storming in. “Get the fuck off, Zuha—move.”

Kazuha didn’t flinch. “Wait your turn.”

Yunjin climbed onto the bed like a lioness on the hunt. Her hair was a wild mess, her tail lashing back and forth like a whip. Her chest heaved with every breath.

“You think I’m waiting now?” she snapped. “I’ve been soaked since Chaewon pinned him. I’m in heat. I can smell it on all of you. It’s in the sheets. The air. His skin.”

Then her eyes dropped to your cock—still inside Kazuha.

And pumping cum out with every bounce.

Yunjin's breath hitched.

“God… he’s still hard?” Her voice cracked. “How the fuck are you still hard?”

“I-I don’t—fuck—know—!”

Sakura, still licking you while Zuha rode you, smiled. “He likes when we fight over him…”

Yunjin pounced.

She didn’t wait. She forced Sakura back with a kiss—tongue-first and filthy—before grabbing your face and kissing you even harder. Her body was burning up. She was purring against your lips.

“Get ready,” she whispered. “When it’s my turn, you’re not getting a break. You’re gonna fuck me till I can’t stand.”

Kazuha came with a strangled cry—back arched, thighs shaking. She clenched around you so hard it was like she was trying to milk the cum out of you.

And you gave in.

You came again.

Deep, hot spurts that filled Kazuha to the brim.

She slumped forward onto your chest, panting.

“Still… not done…” she murmured.

But Yunjin was already pulling her off you.

“Fucking move.”

Your cock slid out of Kazuha with a wet, obscene sound, coated in slick and cum.

Yunjin stared at it like it was the last drink of water in the desert.

“Ohh, baby,” she moaned. “Look how messy you are already… You gonna make me messy too?”

You couldn’t even answer before she slammed down on your cock—no teasing, no prep, just heat and desperation.

“Yunjin—fuck—!”

She rode you like she was trying to erase every girl who came before her. Her thighs slammed into yours, her breasts bouncing wildly, sweat dripping from her temples. Her claws raked your chest and shoulders, leaving hot red marks.

“You belong to me now,” she growled. “You’ll remember my name. Not Chaewon’s. Not Eunchae’s. Mine.”

You couldn’t last. Your body was shaking. Overstimulated. Drenched in sex and heat and the overpowering scent of five heat-crazed catgirls.

Chaewon reappeared at your side—naked again, lazily stroking herself as she watched you get ruined.

“Think he can go one more round?”

Eunchae crawled back into bed, planting kisses down your neck. “Mmm… I want him while he’s twitching. He gets cuter.”

Kazuha just curled against your other side, purring.

Yunjin moved with a feverish desperation. Her hips slammed down onto you like she was trying to take everything—all your cum, all your attention. Her fingers dug into your chest, claws scraping with each intense, needy thrust.

You barely had time to recover from Kazuha’s tight grip before Yunjin began to bounce—hard and fast.

“Did you think they were the only ones who would claim you?” she growled, lips brushing your ear. “You’re mine now. I’m taking what I want. And I don’t care who gets in my way.”

Her hips snapped against yours, making a wet, obscene sound that filled the room with every thrust. Your cock buried deep inside her, and you felt every tight squeeze, every wave of heat. She was so tight—it felt like she was milking you dry, dragging you into her rhythm until you thought you might explode.

“Yunjin—fuck—I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” she taunted, her voice dripping with need. “Can’t handle me? You’re going to have to. I’m not letting you go till I get everything.”

Her claws scored your skin again, but this time it was more forceful. Her eyes flashed wild, her face twisted in pure lust. She was so fucking dominant.

And she wasn’t the only one.

As Yunjin continued to ride you, you felt something soft and wet against your neck. A familiar, teasing tongue. It was Sakura, who had silently snuck up behind you. Her body pressed against your back, her breath hot against your skin.

“I’ve waited patiently,” Sakura whispered, almost too softly. But you felt her hands grabbing your shoulders, pulling you back to face her. She kissed you with all the gentleness of someone who had been holding herself back for too long.

“I’ve been watching,” she confessed against your lips. “Watching them claim you, while I’ve been so fucking desperate to touch you.”

You groaned into her mouth as she slipped her tongue inside, deepening the kiss. She didn’t stop there. Her hands wandered down your chest, brushing over your stomach before slipping into your boxers and wrapping around your cock—the one still buried deep inside Yunjin.

“Fucking perfect,” Sakura breathed. “I’m going to make you cum so hard, you won’t even know which hole to fill.”

Her pace was fast and eager as she stroked you, her lips never leaving yours.

But the pressure of the situation grew. It was too much. You were so overstimulated already, and every girl had a way of pushing you to the edge and keeping you there. The scent of their heat, the sounds of their breathing, the way their bodies moved with animalistic desperation—it was overwhelming.

You felt Eunchae’s hands on your legs, spreading them open wider. Her lips trailed down to your inner thighs, leaving wet kisses that burned hotter with each touch.

“You’re so sensitive now, oppa,” she whispered, her voice full of mischief. “I wonder how much longer you can last. Maybe I’ll make you cum just from my kisses…”

She kissed the inside of your thigh, and you jerked against her, already on the edge of breaking.

But Eunchae had no intention of stopping. Her mouth moved closer, closer, until she licked a slow stripe from your balls all the way up to your cock.

“Oh god—Eunchae—”

Her lips wrapped around your tip, and you felt a surge of heat flood your chest. She sucked with intense pressure, using her tongue to tease the underside of your cock in slow, teasing motions.

“Ohh—fuck—you’re going to make me cum so fast—”

You didn’t have time to breathe before Kazuha—who had been content to watch from the side—grabbed your hand and dragged you back to her. Her eyes were hungry, demanding, and she wasn’t going to wait for you to come up for air.

“You’re not ignoring me again, are you?” she purred. “We’re going to share this.”

And without warning, she kissed you—hard. Her tongue explored your mouth as she kissed you deeply, her body pressing down on you again. Her fingers gripped your wrist, guiding your hand to her slick, dripping pussy.

“Touch me.” Her voice was soft, but there was a command behind it. And you obeyed.

You slid a finger into her—slippery and warm—and she moaned against your lips. Her hips ground against your hand, desperate for the same kind of release she had seen from the others.

“Fuck,” she gasped. “So deep. Just like that.”

It wasn’t long before the heat in the room intensified even further. The catgirls were starting to melt into each other—skin slick with sweat, breaths heavy and erratic. The air thick with the scent of their arousal. And you were caught right in the middle of it all, being pulled in every direction at once.

You were so close to breaking, so close to giving in entirely. You couldn’t decide who to focus on. They all wanted you. Needed you.

But then you felt Yunjin’s hot breath in your ear. Her hips still grinding against you, making that maddening friction between you both.

“You’re gonna give me all of it,” she demanded. “All of it.”

And that was it. The pressure was too much.

You let go.

You came hard.

And the room erupted into chaos.

Sakura was the first to push you onto the bed completely, straddling your face, her body dripping with anticipation.

“Lick. Now,” she hissed, grinding her pussy against your mouth.

Kazuha and Eunchae moved around, claiming your other limbs. Kazuha bit your shoulder, marking you as hers while Eunchae wrapped her tail around your neck, pulling you into her as she panted into your ear.

And all you could do was give in to their demands—over and over again. The heat, the pressure, the insatiable hunger of the Le Sserafim catgirls, all demanding their turn.

Your body collapsed against the bed like a ragdoll.

Sweat clung to every inch of your skin. Your chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, twitching with the aftershocks of yet another intense orgasm. Your cock throbbed — spent but still hard, twitching from pure overstimulation.

You didn’t even realize they had flipped you over until your legs were lifted — not by hands, but by soft, coiling tails.

Yunjin’s tail hooked under one thigh. Eunchae’s curled around the other. Sakura’s and Kazuha’s looped under your arms and chest, holding you up like a sacrificial offering.

You were too weak to resist.

Your body was suspended, helpless, every muscle trembling. And your cock—still slick with a mixture of cum and spit—stood upright, twitching in the open air.

Chaewon leaned over first, dragging her tongue up your shaft with a low, hungry moan.

“Mmm,” she purred, voice sultry. “He still tastes like Yunjin.”

“And Kazuha,” Sakura added, her lips already planting kisses along your inner thigh. “And Eunchae. And…”

She paused. Her pink tongue slid across the head of your cock in a slow, teasing swirl.

“…Me.”

You gasped.

Your hips tried to jerk, but the tails held you perfectly still.

“Poor baby,” Kazuha murmured. “He’s shaking.”

Eunchae crouched down next, her tongue flicking across your balls. “He’s twitching too. I think he’s still sensitive…”

“Good,” Yunjin growled. “He needs to learn what happens when you make all of us go into heat.”

And then — all at once — three mouths descended on you.

Chaewon’s lips wrapped around your tip, slow and methodical, her tongue swirling as she sucked softly. Eunchae licked underneath, tracing your shaft from the base up with kittenish strokes. And Sakura kissed along the side, purring the whole time, her tail tightening slightly around your chest in delight.

It was too much.

The sensation of multiple tongues—soft, warm, wet—lapping at you from every direction made your whole body convulse. You could barely breathe, barely think. Your head lolled back, groaning helplessly as the girls feasted on you like you were their favorite meal.

“You’re not allowed to cum yet,” Yunjin warned from behind. Her hand ran down your chest, claws tracing a light path down your stomach. “Not until everyone’s had a taste.”

Kazuha leaned in next. Her lips joined the others at your tip, sharing your cock with Chaewon like it was a lollipop.

“You’re so warm,” she whispered between licks. “So full of our scent…”

Chaewon moaned against your cock. “And there’s still so much of you left inside.”

Then she pulled off with a wet pop, only to kiss Sakura, open-mouthed, tongues meeting in a filthy exchange of taste and slick. They both moaned into each other.

“You two are insane…” you managed to whisper.

Yunjin grinned above you. “No, love. We’re in heat.”

Her tail tightened as she slid down to join them. Now four girls were on you—licking, sharing, purring. Their tongues lapped over each other as much as you. One girl would suck your tip while another licked underneath it. Then they’d switch. One would kiss your shaft while another kissed her.

It wasn’t just oral.

It was worship.

They weren’t just trying to make you cum again. They were tasting you, savoring you.

“His cum’s changing flavor,” Eunchae giggled, licking up a bead that had dripped down your shaft. “Sweeter now.”

“Let me—” Sakura cut in, tongue replacing hers. “Mmm… yeah. Sweeter.”

“You’re lucky we like sharing,” Kazuha whispered, dragging her tongue up your length with an agonizingly slow lick. “But next time? I might keep you to myself.”

Yunjin moaned, licking your slit. “No way in hell. We’re all addicted now.”

Your cock pulsed again, and your body tensed—right on the edge.

They knew it.

You felt Chaewon’s lips wrap around the tip one last time.

“Cum for us,” she whispered, her breath hot.

And your body exploded.

Cum spilled across Chaewon’s tongue, dripping out of her lips. She didn’t pull away—she shared it. Pulled Sakura in for a deep kiss, letting the taste linger between them.

Eunchae licked the rest off your shaft. Kazuha cleaned your balls with slow, loving strokes. Yunjin dragged her tongue across your abdomen where a drop had splattered.

And they all looked at you the same way.

Starving.

Satisfied.

The room was quiet now.

Heavy with heat, sure—but also something softer. The kind of silence that followed a storm, where every breath felt slower, deeper. The air still tingled with scent—sex, sweat, a faint trace of jasmine from Sakura’s shampoo—but it wasn’t chaotic anymore. It was… content.

You lay sprawled on the bed, entirely bare. Skin glowing, chest rising and falling slowly, lips parted in exhaustion. There were faint scratch marks across your sides. A few teeth marks on your neck. Your thighs were still twitching with aftershocks.

But you weren’t alone.

Kazuha curled up against one arm, her cheek on your shoulder. Sakura lay across your stomach, purring softly as she traced circles on your chest with one finger. Eunchae sat between your legs with her head resting on your thigh, half-asleep but still lazily playing with your now-soft cock. Yunjin was at your side, one leg thrown over yours, her lips pressed against your pulse point like she didn’t trust you not to disappear in your sleep.

And then there was Chaewon.

She was the last to move. She hadn’t been the loudest or the wildest, but now, in the quiet, she was the one who mattered most.

She shifted closer, her tail flicking behind her as she leaned on one elbow and looked at you.

“Hey,” she said softly.

You blinked up at her. “Yeah?”

Her eyes—sharp but warm—searched yours for a moment. Then she leaned in and kissed your cheek. Slow. Tender. It was different from everything else that had happened tonight.

Chaewon brushed your hair back with a gentle hand.

“You’re not just our heat toy, you know,” she whispered. “That’s not what this is.”

You swallowed. Your throat felt tight.

“I know…”

She smiled—just barely. But it was real.

“There’s no more secrets to hide, okay? You’ve seen everything now. All of us. What we are. What we want.”

Her hand rested on your chest, right over your heart.

“And what we want… is you.”

You opened your mouth, but she cut you off with a kiss—just a breath against your lips.

“You have five girlfriends now,” Chaewon whispered. “So you better start acting like it.”

Your breath hitched. “Girlfriends?”

“Yeah,” Yunjin murmured sleepily from beside you. “We voted.”

“Unanimous,” Sakura giggled, nuzzling into your chest.

“You’re ours,” Kazuha said. “No running. No hiding.”

Eunchae yawned, licking a fading mark on your hip. “And we’re not letting you sleep alone ever again.”

You looked around the room at all of them. Their tails tangled over the sheets. Their eyes glowing in the dim light. Their bodies pressed against yours like they couldn’t bear to be apart.

And you knew it was true.

You weren’t just some neighbor anymore.

You were theirs.

And maybe… maybe that was exactly where you wanted to be.

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fushiguro-megloomy · 7 months ago

Text

strawberry wine

[part 2] pairing: modern au!viktor x artist!reader prompt: “if somebody were to kiss me, i’d want that person to be you” tags: you're jayces childhood bff, no use of y/n, alcohol, heavy kissing, drunk kissing, basically just a bunch of buildup towards a smutty fwb part two???, viktor being a menace wc: 4k notes: AU where nobody is sick or dying yay! also i think i managed to keep this pretty gn!reader but any future parts will be afab/fem art is from pinterest, dividers from chachachannah & webc00re

You never meant for things to get this far. You told yourself it was just a little fun, harmless and fleeting—nothing more. You had a career to focus on, friendships in the balance. But now, here you are, pacing the living room carpet thin, your cuticles raw from nervous chewing, and your thoughts spiraling into places you swore they’d never go.

It feels juvenile, almost laughable, like some smitten teenager waiting by the phone and sneaking kisses in shadowed corners. You were supposed to be above this, weren’t you? I mean, as a grown adult you should know how to keep it casual, uncomplicated.

But nothing about this is simple anymore. Not the friendship. Not the secrets. And certainly not the way your heart betrays you every time his name crosses your mind.

It definitely wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Moving back to the city hadn’t been on the bingo card for this year, but here you were. Your life had been tucked away in the quiet of rural landscapes, where your art had room to breathe—endless skies, rolling hills, and the kind of solitude that made inspiration flow without any distractions. But your career had expanded, and with that expansion came the relentless pressure of galleries, art buyers, and a future that demanded more from you than that peaceful escape ever could.

So, the city had called you back. Concrete towers, crowded streets, the city offered more. Shows. Opportunities. Jayce. The only thing about this cold, steel jungle that still felt like home. Jayce—your childhood friend, your constant in a world that had never stopped changing. Thrown together since you were practically in diapers, he was the one piece of your old life that had somehow survived the years and distance between you two. And now, after what felt like an eternity, here he was, sprawled across your tiny couch, looking too comfortable for someone who was just supposed to be a guest. The apartment was a bit small, as city apartments tended to be—packed between towering neighbors—but Jayce’s presence was the only thing about it that felt remotely like home.

"You know," he said, half-lounging. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

You didn’t look up from your canvas, your brush already dipping into the paints like second nature. “Who?”

“Viktor”

You paused, only long enough for your brush to hover midair before you flicked your gaze in his direction. “Ah, yes. The famous business partner.”

Jayce’s grin didn’t falter, but there was something softer behind it now. “Yeah, something like that. But seriously, he’s a good guy. Brilliant, actually. You two would get along.”

You didn’t reply at first. Instead, you let the brush finish its arc, eyes back on your work, moving with the rhythm of a familiar task. “mhm” you murmured, distracted by the way the strokes of paint were bleeding together. “If he’s anything like you, how bad can it be?”

But Jayce, of course, wasn’t done. His voice took on that soft tone he reserved for moments when he really wanted to get his point across. “I’m serious, okay? I want you two to meet. You both mean a lot to me, and I think you’ll really hit it off.”

You didn’t look up, but you felt a weight behind his words, pushing against you with silent pressure. “Yeah? I’m sure it’ll happen, then.”

Jayce’s eyes lit up, a flash of triumph in them, like he’d just won some small but important battle. “You’ll see. I’m telling you—when you meet him, you’ll click. I know it.”

You leaned back in your chair, releasing a slow exhale, the kind that said everything without saying anything at all. A nonchalant nod was all you offered, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of saying more. “Fine. Fine. I’ll meet him. But don’t make a whole thing out of it.”

Jayce chuckled, and there was an odd note of relief in the sound, like he’d just been granted some unspoken permission. “No big deal, I swear. But you’ll see. You two are more alike than you think.”

When you finally did meet Viktor, Jayce was practically vibrating, his energy as unsubtle as ever. It had been after one of your gallery openings, a night you’d half-dragged yourself through on fumes and politeness. Your heels had barely cleared the threshold of his apartment before the faintest twinge of suspicion began to creep in—something about the way he hovered, grinning like a man with a secret.

“You deserve a good meal after tonight,” Jayce had said, ushering you in with the kind of charm that usually preceded one of his schemes. “Thought you’d want to celebrate somewhere that doesn’t reek of overpriced wine and small talk.”

You rolled your eyes but let yourself be corralled, the promise of food outweighing the odd note in his voice. His large apartment, at least, was familiar territory: warm, cluttered with bits of tech and sentimental junk from years past, the faint scent of whatever candles he refused to admit he hoarded lingering in the air.

And then you heard it—the low murmur of another voice, sharp-edged and vaguely amused, drifting from the kitchen.

Jayce froze, his grin faltering for a split second before it reappeared, brighter than ever. “Oh, right,” he said, far too casually. “Viktor’s here.”

You blinked, narrowing your eyes at him. “You conveniently forgot to mention that part.”

“Come on,” he pushed, throwing an arm around your shoulders and steering you toward the source of the voice. “It’s no big deal. Just dinner. You’ll like him, I promise.”

And there he was, perched by the kitchen counter with a faintly perplexed look on his face. He was slimmer than you’d expected, pale and sharp-featured, with hair that looked like it hadn’t met a comb in days. His amber eyes flicked up to meet yours, narrowing slightly as if he were trying to solve a puzzle that had just been placed in front of him.

“Ah,” he said, his accent lilting and crisp, “so this is the infamous artist.”

You shot a glare at Jayce, who was already heading for the stove with the kind of forced cheer that made it painfully clear he’d orchestrated the whole thing. “You owe me for this,” you muttered under your breath, stepping further into the kitchen.

Viktor’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk appearing. “And here I thought I was being ambushed. Seems we’re both victims of his enthusiasm.”

Jayce turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand, his expression utterly unrepentant. “You’ll thank me later.”

The dinner was simple but undeniably good—Jayce’s doing, of course. The man couldn’t let anyone step into his apartment without insisting they be properly fed, and tonight was no exception. Roast chicken, buttery vegetables with rice, warm bread that filled the space with its yeasty aroma—it was the kind of meal that made you feel at home even when you weren’t.

Conversation flowed easily around the table, mostly carried by Jayce, but Viktor wasn’t exactly quiet, either. He had a way of chiming in at just the right moment, his dry humor landing squarely between Jayce’s more exuberant anecdotes and your own occasional contributions.

“You mean to tell me,” Viktor said at one point, leaning back slightly in his chair, “that Jayce still hasn’t learned to cook rice without burning it? After all these years?”

Jayce, halfway through explaining some disastrous culinary attempt from his youth, turned to glare at him. “Excuse me, this rice was cooked perfectly.”

“It was fine,” you agreed, though the memory of a slightly crunchy bite or two made your lips twitch in amusement.

Viktor’s amber eyes sparkled as he gestured broadly. “Oh, fine! A glowing review, truly. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Jayce groaned, but there was no real bite to it. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Viktor said, raising his glass in a mock toast, “here I am. Invited to dinner. Again.”

Jayce just rolled his eyes and went back to his story, leaving you to glance at Viktor with a small smile. He caught it, of course, and gave a little shrug as if to say, what can you do? For all his sharp humor, he was easy to talk to, his wit balanced by an underlying warmth that kept him from coming off as too cutting.

Which was why you were only mildly surprised when the spoon incident happened.

Dinner was winding down, Jayce had disappeared into the kitchen to fuss over coffee, leaving you and Viktor to handle the cleanup.

He moved with a surprising ease, balancing a stack of plates in one hand, his cane steady in the other. It was a casual sort of competence, as though he’d long since adapted to whatever limitations life had handed him. You hadn’t thought much of it, impressed by how naturally he maneuvered, until the soft clatter of a spoon hitting the floor broke the quiet rhythm of tidying.

“Ah,” Viktor said, glancing down at the rogue utensil with a faint frown as he set down the plate stack. “Of course.”

You paused mid-step, glancing between him and the spoon. “Need a hand?”

He tilted his head, his expression a little too innocent. “If it’s not too much trouble. You know, the leg and all...”

“Oh, for—” Jayce’s voice floated from the kitchen, half-annoyed but not quite committed to intervening.

You sighed, setting down the napkins you’d been folding. “Yeah, sure. I’ve got it.”

But just as you crouched down, Viktor shifted. A casual tap of his cane sent the spoon skittering across the floor, its metallic clink faintly echoing as it landed farther away.

You froze, staring at the spoon in disbelief, then turned your gaze to him slowly. “You’re kidding.”

Viktor’s lips twitched, the faintest glimmer of amusement flickering across his face. “What?”

“You just—”

“What?” he repeated, wider-eyed this time, his free hand gesturing vaguely toward his cane. “I’m handicapped.”

Jayce reappeared in the doorway, a coffee pot in hand and a look of pure exasperation on his face. “Viktor.”

“What?” Viktor said again, his voice laced with mock indignation. “I am!”

Jayce muttered something unintelligible as he poured coffee, his focus shifting between you and Viktor like he couldn’t decide which one of you deserved his scolding more. Meanwhile, you straightened, crossing your arms as a grin tugged at the corners of your mouth despite your best efforts.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” you said, stepping across the room to retrieve the spoon—again.

“Very generous,” Viktor agreed, his tone breezy. “Honestly, it’s quite inspiring. Jayce, you should take notes.”

Jayce groaned, setting the coffee pot down with a little too much force. “You’re both ridiculous.”

But you were already laughing, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. As you returned the spoon to the table with a pointed look, Viktor gave you a small, almost triumphant smile. And maybe, you could see what Jayce meant when he’d said you’d get along.

The first time you realized you might feel more than just friendship for Viktor was when you noticed the way your sketches had started to change.

It had been weeks—maybe even a couple of months—since that dinner with Jayce, when you had awkwardly danced around each other, getting to know one another. The initial weirdness had faded into easy companionship, and you found yourself spending more time with Viktor than you expected. You hadn’t quite noticed it happening, but somewhere along the line, you’d become an unintentional trio. Jayce had been bursting with barely-contained glee at how easily the two of you seemed to get along, and it made your chest warm, knowing how much that mattered to him. It felt... right, this newfound ease between the three of you, a quiet sort of harmony that made you smile more than you expected.

But as the days passed, something shifted without you realizing it. You were at home one evening, flipping through your sketchbook, the soft pastel dust smudging the edges of the pages as your fingers moved. The forms you’d drawn were abstract models, capturing shapes and shadows in a fluid, organic way. It wasn’t anything new—nothing that stood out. But then, you stopped.

There, in the shadows of the page, you saw it.

The subtle arch of a jawline. The curve of lips that you knew too well. Even the moles, small and almost unremarkable, but there they were—on the page, right beneath your fingertips. You blinked and flipped to another sketch, only to see it again. A line here, a shadow there. It wasn’t him exactly, but it was.

To the untrained eye, maybe it wouldn’t have been obvious. Hell, maybe even to you on any other day, it might’ve gone unnoticed. But now, in the quiet of your studio, the shapes were almost unmistakable. The soft angle of his nose, the way his eyes looked when he was thinking too hard, the way his smile would pull up on one side when he was being particularly smug.

You frowned, setting the sketchbook down, your hands hovering above it as if it had betrayed you. Was this some kind of coincidence? Or was it something more, something you had been avoiding realizing? You’d never consciously set out to draw him, but there he was, tucked into the lines and curves of your art like an uninvited guest you hadn’t known you were entertaining.

It was ridiculous, you told yourself. Of course it was just... coincidence. But even as you tried to convince yourself, there was a small, unspoken truth sitting in your chest, heavy and undeniable, and the first time you realized Viktor might see you as more than just a friend was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it hit you all the same.

He mentioned a piece you’d shown him, his tone thoughtful. “You’ve been doing something different lately. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s a change. It’s...” His gaze flickered to yours, then dropped back to the floor, but the brief flash in his eyes sent an unexpected flutter through your chest. “...more. More than what you usually show.”

The words themselves were harmless, even complimentary, but it was the way they hung between you that made something inside you stir—something you couldn’t name, not yet. You didn’t think much of it at first, but the way his eyes lingered just a second longer than necessary made your breath catch. The way the corners of his mouth lifted into a half-smile, not teasing, but... fond.

It was a simple thing. A fleeting moment. And yet, it lingered in your mind as you retreated to your apartment, your thoughts whirling with the possibility that Viktor—your friend, the one you had so casually laughed and bantered with for months—might be seeing you differently, too.

The shift was subtle, but it was there. And it unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

Everything came to a boiling point one night at your apartment. You’d ventured into town earlier that day, mostly for a change of scenery, and happened upon a small farmers market. You couldn’t resist grabbing a few bottles of strawberry wine, its sweetness and fruity undertones practically calling your name. Jayce had scoffed at it when you got back, claiming it was too sugary to have any real punch. “There’s no way I’ll even get drunk off this,” he’d muttered with a dismissive wave.

An hour later, he was sprawled out on your pullout, snoring softly with a stupid grin plastered across his face. You and Viktor stood nearby, both trying—and failing—to suppress your amusement at how quickly Jayce had succumbed to the wine’s effects. For all his size, Jayce was a surprising lightweight.

“I swear, every time,” you said, laughing quietly.

Viktor, leaning against the doorway, gave a soft chuckle. “Some people just don’t know when to stop.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing over at the slumbering man. “Guess we let him sleep it off.”

“Let him have his beauty rest,” Viktor teased, his voice light as he nodded toward the bottles. “We can always finish it ourselves.”

So you did, winding up on the roof with the cold night air around you. The worn-out couch up there had seen better days, but it was still enough to settle into and talk, a simple quiet comfort settling over you both. The soft glow of string lights and the silvered moonlight made the world feel like it was wrapped in a quiet hush despite the never ending sounds of the city. You both settled into the couch, the cushions sinking in the middle, which pushed you just a little closer to Viktor than you'd anticipated.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was easy, like you had spent years in it. You noticed how close you were sitting now—your thighs pressed together, and when you passed the bottle of wine, your fingers brushed his. A small spark of awareness ran through you each time, and you tried to ignore it, feeling your face warm despite the cool air.

The wine was sweet, fruity, and a little stronger than you expected, especially when you found yourself reaching for another sip and another, the soft buzz in your head gradually growing stronger.

By the time the bottle was halfway gone, you were both leaning more heavily into the couch, and you couldn’t help but giggle at how little wine was apparently needed to bring Jayce to the brink of passing out. You felt... lighter. Almost giddy, as if the laughter that came so easily was spilling out along with the alcohol. And Viktor, sitting just beside you, didn’t seem to be immune to it either. His face was flushed in the soft light, his lips curling into an easy smile.

“You know,” you said, leaning back and feeling the warmth of the couch soak into your bones, “I don’t do this enough. I’m so... wrapped up in work and life and... I just forget to relax.”

Viktor tilted his head, eyes slightly narrowed as he watched you. “Relaxing can be overrated,” he said with a smirk, the words a little slower than they’d been earlier. He took another drink from the bottle, his thumb brushing against the glass in an unconscious rhythm. When he passed it to you, your fingers brushed once again, and you lingered just a bit longer than necessary.

“Well, maybe for you,” you chuckled. “But, for me, it’s like... it's like a luxury, I guess. You know? I don’t remember the last time I just sat with someone and... and didn’t feel like I had to be somewhere or do something.”

“You eh–... don’t have to worry about that here,” Viktor said quietly, his voice light, with that usual teasing edge. But something was different in his tone, something that made the words feel heavier than they should have been. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but the air seemed to shift, the quiet between you stretching into something almost… charged.

You took another sip, your hand a little unsteady now. The whole situation felt absurd—awkward, even, yet strangely intimate in a way you hadn’t expected. Your gaze drifted toward his lips without thinking. It was brief, but enough to send a flutter through your stomach, and suddenly, your mind couldn’t focus on anything but that soft, confident curve of his mouth. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was something else entirely, but you couldn’t seem to think straight anymore.

Viktor shifted closer again, and the couch beneath you groaned as it sank with the weight of it. The space between you closed, and you could feel the warmth of his body pressing against yours shoulder to shoulder, like the alcohol spreading through you, making your pulse quicken.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. His presence was a solid thing beside you. His eyes were locked on yours, studying, but still so calm. You could feel the punch of his gaze on you, like it was seeping through your skin, sending heat rushing to your cheeks. It wasn’t just the wine now—you could feel it all over, heat blooming beneath your skin, making you fidget slightly.

“Sometimes… you get caught up in what you’re doing, and you forget about everything else,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the way your nerves were tightening your chest. “I’ve been focused on my career and—god, I’ve probably been a little… I don’t know, closed off.” You laughed lightly, but it was nervous, unsure of where this was even coming from. But suddenly all your senses were barraged by him, his smell, his eyes.

“I just—I haven’t thought about it. Relationships, I mean. Not in a long time. I don’t know if I’m even ready for anything like that. Not now, not with everything I’m doing.” You trailed off, self-conscious, suddenly feeling like you were saying too much, rambling without stopping. The words seemed to just slip out of you, tumbling over each other.

You took another shaky breath, your heart thudding in your chest as you tried to make yourself stop, but you couldn’t. It was like you were helpless.

“And, I mean, if anybody were to kiss me…” You faltered, realizing too late just how much you were giving away. Your pulse quickened, your thoughts jumbled as your mouth just kept moving. “I would want that person to be you.”

The air between you thickened, the silence stretching long and heavy. Your heart pounded in your chest, a nervous rhythm that drowned out everything else. You waited for him to say something, to break the tension that was suffocating you. But there was nothing. Just the weight of his gaze on you, steady and searching.

When you finally dared to glance at him Viktor's expression was unreadable. One thick eyebrow was cocked slightly, and his mouth hung open just enough to suggest he was about to say something, but didn't. He was so close but somehow the distance between you felt infinite.

You opened your mouth to say something, to fill the silence, but before you could speak, his hand moved, his fingers brushing against your jaw in the gentlest touch. The sudden warmth of his palm made your breath catch, and before you could even fully process it, he was pulling you in. His lips met yours, soft at first, as though testing the waters, as if the moment itself was delicate. But that softness didn't last, between the buzz of alcohol, the closeness, the heat between you—it all blurred together. The kiss deepened, quickly turning urgent, hungry. His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the bottle slipped from your grasp, its clang against the concrete floor echoing in the quiet of the rooftop

You didn't care. You were too lost in the feeling of him against you, his lips moving against yours with a desperate kind of need. The kiss grew messier– clumsy, teeth scraping, tongues tangling. You could taste the faint sweetness of wine on him, the mix of flavors making everything feel dizzying overwhelming.

You found yourself gripping his shirt, pulling him closer, as if trying to merge your bodies together, desperate for the contact, for whatever it was that had been building between you two for so long.

The next day was a harsh slap of hangover reality. Your head pounded, your mouth was dry, and every time you glanced at Viktor across the room, your stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with the booze.

Jayce, of course, was none the wiser. He chatted away over breakfast like nothing had changed, blissfully unaware of the shift that had unraveled everything you thought you’d had under control. And you? You were wholly committed to keeping it that way. It was a one-time thing, you told yourself. Just a fleeting, drunken thing—something you could both quietly bury and move on from.

At least, that was the plan.

Until it happened again. And then again.

Now it feels like a thread being pulled tighter and tighter, until you’re not sure if you’re going to unravel completely or snap under the weight.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. But here you are. And you don’t know how to stop.

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