#ive been kind and patient with her

[iesuroo]

Abby looked me in the eyes while putting her claws in the fabric of the mat that holds her food and water and I got the honor of watching her dump her water everywhere as she flipped it. This was after her acting up all night not letting me sleep so I just start crying. Luckily my husband is home today so he cleaned it up and has been loving on her while I sleep. Abby senses change and is acting out because of that, we're not going to punish her for that. She's been so vocal today too like more than the past two days. Her meows are powerful when she's always been a soft meower. I'm definitely going into labor sometime soon. I have an appointment Monday so we will see what my doctor thinks about my contractions I've been having.

[ardate]

.

[girlivealwaysbean]

real

[bangcakes]

.

[bas-rouge]

I think I can swing that Labour Day weekend show. I know it's pretty far but since it's a long weekend I can probably make a weekend trip out of it, plus it's at the beginning of the semester which is probably the best time to do something. I say "pretty far" like I don't semi-regularly drive 3 hour round trips for local shows and this would only be a 4 hour round trip for two days, but it seems sort of annoying when we could be making a fun weekend out of it.

But yk, as always, lmk if anyone happens to be attending any confo shows in Colorado. Chances are I'll be around.. 👀

[zetaglobin]

Sorry I can't make it. I'm overwhelmed with love for my girlfriend and need to shower her with cuddles and affection. Yeah it's gonna be all day.

[raine-exe]

Healing

It takes time, and it isn’t always linear,

But you can always rely on the people you love and who love you,

[tvdfan23]

The NP I work for is mad that she can't have two nurses help her and she was told she'd have to trade me if she wanted another new hire and she was like sure 🙃 and then we were told there's nowhere else to put me because I was hired for her so I was awkwardly floating between clinics just to be told today I need to go back and work for her after this week because we're just too understaffed-

[rosierin]

not so easy | atsumu miya

synopsis; atsumu didn’t mean to spiral. but jealousy hits different when the girl you’re kinda-maybe-sorta in love with starts laughing at someone else’s jokes. now the apartment’s tense, the silence is loud, and his pride is doing everything it can to keep him from saying what he actually means.

(aka: i miss you. i’m sorry. i don’t know how to do this—but I want to.)

disclaimer; this fic will bounce between atsumu and (y/n)'s pov!

a/n; dont worry this aint super angsty, just a bit more introspective than what i usually write. ive weaved in a soft suna moment and some light-hearted bro talk :p

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

Atsumu Miya rarely got jealous.

Not because he’d never been given reason to—but because, in his eyes, he was the reason.

He had the looks. The charm. The talent. A fast mouth to back it all up and the skill to make sure it never sounded hollow. He knew what he brought to the table, and he brought it loudly. With flair. With confidence. With certainty.

Even when it came to Osamu—his twin, his mirror, the one everyone always loved in a quieter, steadier way—it had never been envy. No, with Osamu, it was rivalry. Pure and simple. The kind that lit a fire under his skin and pushed him forward. Faster, stronger, better. It made him hungry, sure—but not bitter. Never bitter.

That wasn’t jealousy. That was drive.

But (y/n)?

(Y/n) was different.

The only person who’d ever made something ugly twist in his chest and settle there like it belonged.

And it wasn’t even that she did anything. That was the kicker. She just was.

Sweet smiles, soft hands, warm eyes. Always so patient with him, even when he didn’t deserve it. Always seeing through the noise, the flash, the jokes—cutting clean through to the part of him he didn’t know how to talk about. She had this way about her—like she didn’t just look at people, she read them.

And for someone like Atsumu, who’d always been so loud about who he was… it was equal parts thrilling and terrifying to be understood so quietly.

She got under his skin without trying. Without even knowing.

And maybe that was why the first time he’d ever truly felt jealous, it had come out of nowhere. Like a sucker punch. No warning. Just a quiet ache and the unmistakable sense that something was his, and someone else was about to take it.

He remembered the moment vividly.

It was stupid, honestly.

They were just picking her up from class.

The three of them had done it a dozen times—Atsumu, Osamu, and Suna strolling across campus like they owned it, waiting outside the writing building for her to appear like clockwork.

It was routine. Familiar. A comfort.

But not today.

The simple reason being? She wasn’t alone when she walked out.

Atsumu noticed before anyone else, mid-conversation with Suna about something most likely irrelevant. His voice trailed off when his eyes locked on her. She was standing next to a guy. Tall. Kinda clean-cut in a “tries but not too hard” sort of way. He had rings on his fingers, a journal tucked into one arm, and the relaxed confidence that rubbed Atsumu the wrong way instantaneously.

They were talking. Close. Closer than necessary.

His smile was easy, practiced. And worse—(y/n) was smiling back, her laughter ringing through the campus.

It wasn't just a polite chuckle, either. Not just a soft smile. She was laughing. Head tilted slightly, eyes crinkled, the way she only did when something genuinely caught her off guard.

Atsumu’s steps faltered.

Suna glanced sideways. “You good?”

“Huh?” Atsumu blinked, covering it up with a grin. “Yeah. Peachy.”

But he wasn’t. Not when he could already hear it coming—like a freight train on a collision course with his mood.

“Don’t forget to send me those notes, sweetheart.”

Atsumu stopped dead.

His breath hitched.

Did he…?

Osamu made a noise. Suna raised a brow. Nobody said it, but they all felt the shift in the air.

“Did I hear that right?” Atsumu started, his voice cracking somewhere between disbelief and irritation.

“Uh-huh,” Suna said flatly.

“Who does he think he is?” Atsumu muttered, voice dropping into something lower. More personal.

Osamu and Suna exchanged a look. Osamu was the one to diffuse the tension, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

“Ain’t that yer line?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu replied—too firm. Too quick. Too obvious.

“Didn’t realize you trademarked it,” Suna added, dry as always.

(Y/n) spotted them and waved, her smile lighting up like always—blissfully unaware that a war had just begun inside Atsumu’s chest. She jogged over, cheeks flushed, still catching her breath.

“Hey! Sorry, we ran a little late. That’s Tetsu—he’s in my poetry elective.”

Sweetheart.

Sweetheart.

Sweetheart.

It echoed like a drumbeat in Atsumu’s skull.

He forced a grin. “Sweetheart, huh?”

(Y/n) blinked. “Oh—yeah, he just… says stuff like that—kinda like you do. It’s not a big deal.”

No big deal.

Right.

Totally.

Atsumu stared at her, pulse tapping loud behind his ears. “‘Kinda like me,’ huh?”

He'd almost hissed.

She blinked again, her smile faltering just enough to make something in his chest twist. Her brows pinched, just slightly, like she was trying to figure out what she’d said wrong.

“S’wrong with you?” she asked lightly, eyes flicking between him and Osamu like the latter might have answers.. “You’re acting a bit weird."

“Nothin's wrong,” he shot back—too fast. Way too fast. “Just didn’t know we were handin’ out pet names now, s’all.”

Osamu gave him a warning look. The kind that meant, pull it together.

But Atsumu was already halfway gone. His fists were already clenched in his hoodie pocket, and the words were already bubbling up.

It was the first time he’d ever hated someone for being nice—for being funny.

For making her laugh.

He didn’t say a word the rest of the walk.

He kept his eyes fixed ahead. Not because there was anything worth looking at—he just needed something to anchor him. His stare went vacant, unfocused, like his brain had gone somewhere else entirely. The path in front of him blurred at the edges. Everything around him—the footsteps, the breeze, the faint hum of traffic—faded into background noise.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Osamu making light conversation with (y/n), mulling over dinner ideas like nothing was wrong. Her voice chimed in now and then, soft and bright, completely at ease. Suna lagged behind, phone in hand, probably on Reddit.

But Atsumu barely registered any of it.

His brain was too loud. Too hot. Churning, hissing, burning.

He felt like a kettle left on the stove—lid rattling, steam building, seconds from boiling over.

He was stuck on that one stupid word. That name. That guy.

Tetsu.

He’d said it so casually. Sweetheart. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like he hadn’t just kicked over a landmine.

Atsumu bit the inside of his cheek.

It wasn’t even the word, not really. It was the ease of it. The way (y/n) had smiled when Tetsu said it. The comfort. The familiarity. Like it was something she expected from him. Like she liked it.

Atsumu didn’t know when she’d gotten close to this guy. Didn’t know he was part of her writing class. Didn’t know they walked together after class. Exchanging smiles. Laughing at his jokes.

All things she used to do with him.

The thought settled in his gut like a stone.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Later that night, back at the apartment, (y/n) padded into the kitchen in search of tea—only to pause when she saw him. Atsumu stood in front of the fridge, bathed in dim light, staring blankly inside like he’d forgotten why he opened it.

He didn’t reach for anything right away. Just stood there a moment longer, eyes flicking lazily over the shelves like nothing in there was quite worth the effort.

He hadn’t noticed her yet.

“Hey,” she said softly.

His head jerked slightly at the sound of her voice, like he’d been pulled from far away. “Oh. Hey.”

He offered her a glance—brief—before turning back around. No smile. No warmth.

(Y/n) watched his back as he grabbed a carton of milk, lifting an arm to take a long swig.

She raised an eyebrow. She didn't approach him right away. Just stood at a reasonable distance, observing. Assessing, rather.

“You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he replied, voice dripping with fake charm.

She gave him a slow blink. There it is.

It wasn’t the first time he’d deflected, but this time it landed harder than usual. She wasn’t oblivious. She had a very solid idea what was bothering him—and she wasn’t about to spell it out for him. Not yet. Not when she was giving him the chance to say it himself.

Part of her wanted to scoff at her own restraint. Fat chance.

“You were kinda quiet earlier,” she probed, still gentle, still coaxing.

“Just tired."

A lie. So obvious it was almost insulting. His voice didn’t have that worn-out drag she recognized after long practices or late nights. This wasn’t fatigue. This was avoidance, plain and simple.

Why couldn’t he just admit it?

Her jaw ticked once. That was the worst part—he didn’t even try to sell it. Like he was hoping she’d let it slide.

But she didn’t.

Not tonight.

“Right. Just tired.”

A pause stretched between them, taut and humming.

“I talked to Tetsu,” she added casually, watching him from the corner of her eye. “He texted me after we left. Said you seemed… intense.”

That got his attention. She didn’t miss the slight twitch of his brow.

“Oh, did he?” His voice had gone flat. “Glad I made an impression.”

(Y/n) hummed. “You did. He asked if you hated him or if you were just having a bad day.”

“Sure he did.”

(Y/n) folded her arms, watching as he tinkered aimlessly around the kitchen. Looking for a distraction. Back turned, facing her like a stone wall.

“He’s actually really nice, you know.”

She could've sworn she heard a scoff. “I’m sure he is."

There it was again. That clipped tone. The snide edge.

“Funny. You made more of an effort hiding your frustration earlier when I was laughing at his jokes.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t even look at her.

Her eyes narrowed. “You know, if you’ve got something to say, you could just say it. Instead of sulking and being passive-aggressive about a guy who—surprise—was literally just talking to me.”

“I’m not sulkin'.”

She scoffed. “You’re definitely sulking. You’ve been avoiding me since the second I walked out of class.”

Atsumu’s mouth opened like he wanted to argue—but then he just sighed and ran a brisk hand through his hair.

“Listen, ’m not in the mood.” He finally turned to her, giving a look that landed somewhere between warning and weariness. “I’m gonna head up. Long day.”

“Nope,” she said, stepping aside to block his path, her expression sharp. “You don’t get to pull the moody card and ghost the conversation.”

Atsumu’s brow twitched. “What conversation?”

(Y/n)’s gaze didn’t waver. “The one where you admit you were jealous and being kind of an ass about it.”

His jaw ticked.

And for a second, neither of them moved.

The air thickened.

His voice dropped into a velvet-coated jab. “Cocky little thing.”

Before she could retort, he leaned in. Just enough to make it infuriating. His breath brushed her skin. His eyes darkened.

“If it’s eatin’ at ya so much,” he murmured, voice curling into a sneer, “why don’tcha vent to Tetsu about it?”

He didn’t bother hiding the distaste. The name rolled off his tongue like a slur.

(Y/n) opened her mouth to argue—but he was already brushing past her, his shoulder bumping hers with just enough force to make it feel deliberate.

Prick.

“See ya tomorrow,” he muttered.

And just like that, he was gone.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Morning sunlight filtered through the slats of the kitchen blinds, catching dust in its beams and painting the floor in pale, hazy stripes. The house was unusually quiet for this hour. No footsteps. No clatter of cutlery. No muffled Osamu humming through breakfast prep. Just the low, humming quiet of a place still steeped in sleep—or maybe something heavier.

(Y/n) stepped into the kitchen barefoot, hair tied back messily, a faded hoodie swallowing her frame. Her footsteps were soft against the tile, the kind that came from habit, not caution. But even still, she paused at the threshold.

He was already there.

Atsumu stood by the counter, hunched slightly, shirt wrinkled, cradling a mug in both hands. He wasn’t doing anything—just staring into the steam, eyes distant, jaw slack. Whatever expression had hardened on his face overnight hadn’t softened with sleep.

She lingered by the doorway a beat too long.

He didn’t look up.

(Y/n)’s chest pulled tight, something quiet but sharp blooming in the space between her ribs. This wasn’t new—Atsumu avoiding eye contact when he was pissed. What was new was the ache behind it. The fact that she’d stopped knowing what version of him she was going to get.

Still, she moved toward the kettle, reaching over to grab a mug. Her arm brushed his.

He stepped away like he hadn’t noticed her at all.

Right.

Of course.

She inhaled slowly through her nose, counting the seconds it took for the kettle to boil, willing herself to stay grounded. Calm. Collected. Not bothered.

But the silence scraped at her like sandpaper.

"So we're doing this, then?" she asked quietly. No heat. No sharpness. Just a weary tilt of her voice.

Atsumu didn’t move. Didn’t answer.

She turned slightly, just enough to see the angle of his profile. His eyes were downcast. Still wrapped in thought, or maybe just pretending to be.

“I said one thing. One,” she murmured. “And you made it a whole thing.”

That got him. She saw the twitch in his jaw.

But again—no answer.

Her hand tightened around her mug. She could feel the ache of it now. Not just his silence—but the effort it took to pretend she didn’t care. To match his pettiness stride for stride.

“Tetsu texted me again last night,” she added, deliberately casual.

Nothing.

She let that hang between them. Like bait. Like a challenge.

He sipped his coffee. Still didn’t meet her eyes.

Coward.

Her voice was quieter this time. Flat. “You didn’t say goodnight.”

He set the mug down a little too hard, the ceramic clink echoing through the quiet kitchen.

And then, like a final blow, he turned and left.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t glance back. Just walked out, hoodie sleeves bunched at his wrists, footsteps heavy and retreating.

She stood there, heart stinging, tea forgotten.

Some fights had shouting. Some had tears.

This one had silence.

And silence, she was starting to realize, hurt a whole lot more.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Movie night wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

The living room was warm, lights low, a blanket tossed over the back of the couch, a half-finished puzzle pushed to one corner of the coffee table. Everything looked normal—comfortable, even. But (y/n) could feel the tension in the room like static. It clung to the air, heavy and unspoken.

She sat curled into the armrest, legs tucked beneath her, a cushion hugged to her chest. Across from her, Atsumu slouched in his usual spot—hood pulled up, expression neutral, thumbs idly tapping the rim of a water bottle like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to drink it or launch it across the room.

Osamu handed her the popcorn with a soft, “Here,” like he was passing a truce flag.

“Thanks,” she murmured, barely glancing at him.

The movie played on, some half-hearted action film Suna had picked. It barely held anyone’s attention. He was slumped low in his armchair, feet on the ottoman, phone balanced on his thigh, thumb flicking lazily through some feed even as the screen ahead flashed and boomed.

Halfway through a loud car chase scene, her phone buzzed quietly in her lap.

Rin: y’all break up or sth?

(Y/n) stared at the message for a second, then glanced at him. He didn’t look up. Didn’t even blink. Just kept scrolling.

She rolled her eyes and typed back.

You: we’d have to be dating for that.

A second passed.

Rin: mhm coulda fooled me

She let her phone drop to the couch cushion beside her, face down.

Still, Atsumu hadn’t said a word.

Not to her. Not since last night.

Every word was filtered through Osamu or aimed at Suna. She could’ve been a coat rack for all he acknowledged her presence. Like she’d been demoted to background noise.

The thing that grated wasn’t the distance—it was the performance. The calculated effort to pretend everything was fine, that they were fine. Like he hadn’t iced her out in the kitchen the evening he picked her up from Uni. Like he hadn’t dropped that little dagger of a line and walked away without looking back.

She glanced at him.

He was still staring straight ahead. Jaw tight. Fingers twitching.

“Had coffee with Tetsu today,” she said suddenly, voice light.

The silence that followed was immediate. Dense.

Suna’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Osamu shifted in his seat.

Still, Atsumu said nothing.

Not even a glance.

Look at me.

“He read me one of his new pieces,” she continued, picking a kernel of popcorn, twirling it between her fingers. “He’s been working on this stream-of-consciousness thing. It's nice. Really vulnerable.”

Osamu cleared his throat. “Huh. Sounds... poetic.”

“Mhm.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I told him it reminded me of Atsumu, actually.”

A breath hitched across the room. Quiet, but she caught it.

Still, he didn’t bite.

Instead, he stood. Abruptly. Walked to the kitchen under the guise of grabbing a drink. A drawer opened. Closed. Too loud. A bottle cap clinked against the counter.

(Y/n) let out a soft breath and sagged slightly into the couch.

Suna didn’t look up. “You’re really gonna keep poking him like that?”

“I’m not poking,” she replied. “I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

She turned her gaze to the glowing TV screen, unreadable. “For him to grow up.”

The words left her mouth cooler than she meant them to. She hadn’t planned to say them. Hadn’t even realized she felt them until they were out in the air between them, heavy and uninvited.

Suna didn’t reply right away. Just glanced sideways, his expression unreadable in the TV’s flickering light. Then, without a word, he leaned forward, grabbed a handful of popcorn, and sat back like he hadn’t just witnessed a relationship quietly unraveling beside him.

(Y/n) pulled the blanket a little tighter around her legs. Onscreen, someone was shouting. Something exploded. The room stayed quiet.

Atsumu never came back.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Atsumu hadn’t planned on going to the library.

He hated the place. Too quiet. Too cold. Too many rules and not enough snacks. If hell had a waiting room, he was convinced it looked like this—rows of dusty books, stiff-backed chairs, and the constant, smug silence of people who actually enjoyed being there.

But his apartment was too loud, the team lounge was full of idiots, and his brain wouldn’t shut up long enough to let him nap. So here he was. At rock bottom. In the library. With a textbook under one arm and a pen he already wanted to snap in half.

It was fine. He’d find a table. He’d get his notes done. He’d move on.

Until the universe—as always—decided to make a complete joke out of him.

Of course the library was packed. Midterms or whatever. Every table was full. Every chair taken. Except—

His stomach sank the moment he saw her.

(Y/n). Back turned, head tilted just enough to catch the soft edge of her profile. Sitting across from none other than Tetsu Fucking Poetry Boy.

Atsumu stopped walking. Just for a second. Just long enough to internally scream.

And then, like fate had a sick sense of humor, he spotted the only available seat in the entire damn room—tucked in the far corner, across from a broken heater, a table that was just far enough to be forgotten but just close enough to give him a perfect, unobstructed view of her and her stupid, flowery friend.

Fantastic.

Absolutely fantastic.

He dropped his stuff on the table with more force than necessary and sat down with a grunt that earned him a glare from the girl at the next table. Whatever. He didn’t care. He opened his book, flipped to a random page, and tried to focus.

He really did.

But the thing about libraries? Quiet meant every little sound stood out.

Every scrape of a chair. Every soft murmur. Every laugh.

Especially her laugh.

That gentle little breath of sound—the one she tried to hold back when she found something really funny. Like now. Apparently Tetsu had cracked some hilarious observation about metaphors or whatever the hell he wrote about.

Atsumu’s jaw clenched. His pen hovered uselessly over his notebook. He hadn’t written a single word. He could feel his pulse in his temple.

Another laugh.

A quiet, almost bashful, “You’re so dumb,” from (y/n), and then a hushed giggle that sliced right through him.

His grip tightened around his pen. He didn’t even realize how hard until his knuckles ached.

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

Of all the places, of all the tables, of all the goddamn days—

A shadow passed over his table. Then another.

“Ya look like yer about to shit yerself,” Osamu said, rounding the table.

Suna followed, dropping his bag with a dramatic sigh. “Aw, did we miss the meltdown?”

Their arrival was both a curse and a lifeline.

Atsumu didn’t answer right away. He just shoved his notebook away with a quiet swoosh and dropped his pen like a man resigned.

“Didn’t realize this was a group project,” he muttered.

Osamu and Suna dragged their chairs in unison, the legs scraping against the floor loud enough to draw a look from a girl at the next table.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Atsumu asked, narrowing his eyes at Osamu. “You bored or somethin'?”

“Speak for yourself,” Suna added. “You haven’t voluntarily stepped foot in a library since high school.”

“What can I say?” Osamu shrugged and pulled a battered notebook from his bag, slapping it onto the table. Loose pages fluttered out across the wood like confetti. “Finals got me in a chokehold.”

The paper rustling stirred the girl next to them again—her eyes already narrowed over the rim of her glasses like she’d been waiting for an excuse to hate them.

Suna turned in his chair, met her gaze dead-on, and jerked his chin like he was silently asking, something wrong?

She didn’t dignify him with a response. Just rolled her eyes, gathered her books, and stormed off with the fury of someone who’d only gotten four hours of sleep and took that very personally.

“Charmin’ girl,” Osamu muttered, flipping a page.

Atsumu sniggered and stretched, arms overhead as his joints cracked audibly—like he’d been buried in his notes for hours when in reality... He glanced down at the desk. His notebook lay open in front of him, still blank. A glaring reminder of his unproductivity.

“What about you?” Osamu asked, already digging out a sandwich from his bag like this was a picnic. “You studyin’ or tryna chat-up some cute bookworm?”

Suna reached for the half-empty pack of jelly sticks peeking out of Osamu’s bag, his movements obnoxiously smooth. “Aw, 'Samu, you shouldn’t have.”

Osamu shot him a withering glare.

Atsumu huffed a dry laugh, arms folded on the table as he angled his head downward. “I wish.”

He flicked lazily through his notes, nose wrinkling like the very act disgusted him. “‘M here for the same reason you are.”

Then, under his breath—eyes drifting toward that one table in the distance—

“’Least that was the plan.”

Neither of them missed the shift in his tone.

They didn’t say anything at first. Just exchanged a quiet look as they started unpacking their own notes.

Then, like clockwork, Suna leaned to the side, following Atsumu's line of sight. He didn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Oh,” he said. Just that. One syllable, dragged through understanding.

Osamu followed his gaze. “Seriously?”

Atsumu didn’t answer.

“Yer pathetic,” Osamu said flatly, peeling the crust off his sandwich before plopping it into his mouth.

Atsumu gave him a glare that could’ve soured milk.

“Were ya spyin’ on her?” He asked between mouthfuls.

“Fuck no,” he hissed. Neither seemed convinced. “I ain't lyin’! You think I’d willingly set foot into this dweeb cesspool just to spy on ‘er?”

The duo exchanged a long, knowing look.

Atsumu clicked his tongue, agitated. “I ain't,” he repeated, more defensive. “They just happened to be here. I walked in and bam—there they were. Right in my face.”

“You could’ve walked out,” Suna offered, shrugging as he bit into a jelly stick.

Atsumu scoffed, mildly offended. “Yeah, right—and what would that make me?”

“A whiny little bitch."

Atsumu lunged for him on instinct, arm swiping across the table. Suna jerked back, grinning around the purple jelly stick.

"Leave 'em be," Osamu said coolly, reading over his notes. He didn’t even glance toward them—clearly didn’t see the appeal, unlike the other two. "They're only talkin'."

“She’s gigglin',” Atsumu hissed, barely above a whisper. “Ya don’t giggle at someone unless they’re funny. Or cute. Or both.”

“God forbid someone be funny," Suna drawled, rocking lazily on the back two legs of his chair, still sucking on that goddamn jelly stick. Atsumu resisted the urge to rip it out of his mouth.

���His jokes suck.”

“How would you know? You been on a date with Tetsu as well?"

Atsumu sneered at the word.

Date. Yeah, right. Who takes someone to the library for a first date?

But what if it wasn’t the first?

What if there had already been others?

How many others?

Atsumu swallowed hard and shoved the thought deep into the back of his skull. Clicked his tongue again.

“I don’t need to. Just look at him. He's a poetry major. I can smell his bottom shelf vanilla body spray from here.”

Suna snorted despite himself.

Osamu pressed a knuckle to his mouth to stifle a laugh.

Atsumu slumped further into his chair, eyes on his shut notebook, expression tight.

Then Osamu’s voice broke the moment. Low. Blunt. But not unkind, a rare flicker of seriousness settling between his words.

“You do realize this is yer fault, right?”

Atsumu didn’t reply, nor did he look up.

He knew.

God, he knew.

That didn’t make it hurt any less.

A beat passed. Long enough for it to feel like a decision.

Then Suna leaned forward, propping his chin on his palm. “Y'know, there’s this thing you can do when you like someone…”

Atsumu narrowed his eyes. “What.”

“It’s wild,” Suna said, deadpan. “Really cutting-edge.”

Osamu glanced up from his notes, barely containing his grin.

“You just… tell them,” Suna finished.

Atsumu scoffed. “Yeah? And say what, exactly?”

“Dunno.” Suna slurped the last of his jelly stick. “That's something for the both of you to figure out."

Osamu hummed, nodding with what one might consider mild interest. “Ya wouldn’t be in this mess if ya just talked to 'er."

“I do talk to 'er.”

“Right,” Osamu drawled. “I mean properly. None of yer passive-aggressive bullshit.”

Atsumu let out a sharp breath through his nose. “She’s the one who’s all over that fuckin’ guy.”

“So what if she laughs at a few of his jokes?” Suna replied. “You sound like a 14-year-old.”

Atsumu scowled, shoulders squaring as he leaned back in his chair. “Ya don’t get it. I’ve never seen her giggle like that before. Not even with me or—” he gestured toward Suna, a flicker of emotion sneaking in. “Even him. Her childhood bestie or whatever.”

Suna’s brows lifted—not quite a challenge, but close.

Or maybe that was just how Atsumu chose to take it.

“She does,” Suna said evenly. “You’ve just never been around to hear it. (Y/n)’s a pretty giggly person by nature.”

Atsumu tried not to let his irritation show.

Tetsu was the problem right now. Tetsu.

Osamu leaned forward to grab a highlighter, casually creating a barrier between the two. “Y’know, if yer this insufferable when yer not datin' her, I’m terrified to see what happens when ya are.”

“Shut up, 'Samu. No one asked."

"I'm serious. Yer lack of communication is astoundin'."

“Plus she doesn’t owe you anything,” Suna added, smooth as ever.

Atsumu’s jaw tightened.

Right. Because they weren’t dating.

Just like Osamu had conveniently pointed out.

He already saw where this was going, and he hated it.

If they were about to lecture him on feelings and intentions and his goddamn love life, he was out.

It was none of their business. Whatever he felt for (y/n)—vague as it was, loud as it got—it didn’t concern them.

Feelings were messy. Conversations were messier.

And if there was one thing Atsumu had learned about liking someone, it was this:

You either commit, or you run.

And he’d never been good at choosing.

Not when it came to this.

Love.

"Relax." Osamu's voice sliced through Atsumu's thoughts like a knife through hot butter. “We’re not here to lecture ya. All we’re sayin’ is—talkin’s an option. You know (y/n). She’ll listen. In fact 'm sure she'd be more than happy to discuss with ya."

"She's always been the more vocal type," Suna added, shrugging calmly.

“Yer clearly bothered by the idea of them datin',” Osamu said. “So ask 'er about it.”

“'M not bothered.”

Osamu and Suna gave him the exact same look. Flat. Devoid of humour.

Atsumu cringed.

Okay. Whatever. Point taken.

So maybe he was a little peeved.

How could he not be?

The guy wore v-necks and chinos—chinos! (Y/n) could do better. She should do better.

Atsumu slumped lower into his seat.

Then, quieter. More careful:

“...I just hate how easy it looks.”

Osamu looked up. Suna’s chair landed back on all four feet.

“With him,” Atsumu added, not quite meeting their eyes. “Like... he don’t gotta try.”

That sobered them just a little.

But only a little.

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Osamu said.

Atsumu looked up, brows furrowing—almost like that stung more than he expected. Like he was trying to figure out if Osamu meant it as an insult.

“But you do,” Osamu added, voice steady. Clarifying. Grounding.

Suna nodded. “And that’s not a bad thing.”

Atsumu didn’t say anything. Just glanced across the library again—at (y/n) and Tetsu, still talking, still laughing like no one was watching.

Then she looked up.

Caught his stare.

Even from this far, he could’ve sworn her eyes widened—surprise, confusion, maybe even guilt. He didn’t know.

Didn’t want to.

He sucked in a breath through his nose, heart jumping in a way he blamed on being startled.

He hadn’t meant to get her attention.

Still, as he toyed with his pen between his fingers, his friends’ words lingered.

Talking to (y/n)...

God.

Where would he even start?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

(Y/n) hadn’t even looked up when the door to the library opened. She didn’t need to—her back was already straightening at the sound of three sets of footsteps, too loud, too confident, and far too familiar.

She glanced up. And there they were.

Atsumu. Osamu. Suna.

She blinked, stunned for half a second—not at the sight of them, but at the sheer audacity.

What the hell were they doing here?

No, seriously—what were they doing here?

The library, with its creaky chairs and strict “no snacking” policy, was sacred. Quiet. Orderly. Full of mild-mannered English majors and caffeine-fuelled med students. Not... jocks. Not six-footers in hoodies and joggers who made every chair they touched squeak like a scream.

She stared for a moment longer. They looked so out of place it almost made her laugh. But the amusement quickly gave way to something tighter. Something warmer.

Annoyance.

Surely—surely—this wasn’t on purpose. Atsumu couldn’t have known she was here. There was no way he’d actually come all the way to the library just to eavesdrop.

Osamu wouldn’t let him do that. Suna definitely wouldn’t.

…Right?

She must’ve looked as annoyed as she felt because Tetsu lightly tapped her arm, pulling her attention back.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low.

She blinked. “Yeah. Sorry. Zoned out.”

Tetsu smiled politely, but his gaze flicked to where she’d been staring. His expression didn’t change, but something in it cooled.

(Y/n) tried to focus again, nodding along as Tetsu talked through the reading. She picked at the cuff of her hoodie absently, resisting the urge to glance over.

She managed to concentrate for a few minutes.

...Until a soft thunk drew her attention again.

She looked.

Atsumu had tossed a pencil at Osamu. Osamu had dodged. And the girl behind them—bless her—had taken it square to the forehead.

The sharp What the hell?! that followed echoed through the library.

(Y/n) slapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh.

The poor girl stood, flushed and furious. A heated whisper-argument broke out, heads turned, and thirty seconds later, the librarian was shooing the trio toward the exit.

She caught Atsumu’s eye right before he disappeared behind the shelves. His expression unreadable. She didn’t bother trying.

Tetsu turned back to her, one brow raised. “They're your friends, right?” A pause. Then he sucked in a breath—almost like a wince.

(Y/n) caught it. Just a flicker.

But she blinked it away. Maybe she was reading too much into it.

“They sure are lively,” he added, a dry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She exhaled through her nose—half sigh, half laugh. “That’s one way to describe them.”

Tetsu nodded slowly, like he was trying to piece something together. “The blonde one… Asumo, right?”

Her jaw tensed.

“Atsumu,” she corrected, almost automatically. For some reason, the mispronunciation irked her more than it should’ve.

“Right,” Tetsu said, still smiling. “He your boyfriend?”

She spluttered. “What—no.” A scoff, her hand waving the idea away like smoke. “God, no.”

Then, after a beat—because she was curious. Because she couldn’t help herself—

“What makes you think that?”

Tetsu gave a small shrug. "He seemed... irritated the other day. I figured it was about the nickname.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think he was mad because that’s what he usually calls me.”

Tetsu arched a perfectly groomed brow, his tone dipping into something almost… accusing. “He calls you sweetheart?”

(Y/n) blinked once. “Yeah— all the time. But it's not romantic."

She said it like it was obvious. Like it meant nothing.

Because, in Atsumu’s world, it didn’t.

In fact, he called her plenty of nicknames, each one as flowery as the next. That’s just who he was: a flirt. Loud, casual, effortless, charming. He’d say it to anyone. Probably had.

She just happened to be around the most.

She lived with him, after all. So yeah—perfectly normal. Completely harmless.

Still, Tetsu didn’t look convinced. His jaw had tightened slightly, mouth flattening into something too neutral.

“Sure,” he said. “Whatever you say, (y/n).”

The use of her name—so pointed, so deliberate—made something in her clench. She didn’t like the tone. Didn’t like the implication. Didn’t like having to read between the lines again.

She was tired of that. Tired of guessing how someone felt. Tired of almosts and maybes and weird, strained silences.

Suddenly, she didn’t feel like reading poetry anymore.

She grabbed her bag, slinging it over one shoulder as she stood. “I think I’m gonna head home,” she said, forcing a smile. “Not sure I can take another stanza about tragic lovers and unspoken longing.”

Tetsu blinked, glancing up at her. “Oh. You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ve hit my limit for symbolism today.”

He nodded, but his eyes followed her a little too long as she turned to leave.

And as she walked toward the exit, her phone buzzed.

She swiped it open.

Rin: did you see us get kicked out the library lol

(Y/n) huffed a laugh, thumbs already moving.

You: unfortunately yes 🙄 what the hell were you all doing there anyway??

The response came fast. Typical.

Rin: studying. obviously. ‘samu brought snacks. got us kicked out.

You: sure. snacks. i’m sure that’s all it was. pretty sure i saw a pencil fly across the room

Rin: lol that was atsumu but the snacks played a part the librarian confiscated them can you believe that

You: the audacity

Rin: ikr

She smiled a little. Just a flicker. But it faded as quickly as it came.

A beat passed before the next message popped up.

Rin: you alright?

She stared at the screen for a second. Then typed, slowly.

You: not really.

Another pause. Then:

Rin: wanna talk about it?

You: yeah. if that’s okay.

Rin: where are you?

You: heading home. passing near the park.

Rin: omw

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The park hadn’t changed much.

Same creaky swings. Same chipped blue paint. Same patch of wildflowers that looked like they’d been planted by accident. The sandbox was mostly abandoned, save for a single forgotten shovel sticking out like a gravestone. A breeze swept through the trees, rustling the leaves like a lazy hush.

It was quieter now—most of the kids had gone home, and the sun had dipped low enough to cast everything in a soft, hazy gold. The kind of light that made you want to stay still a little longer. The kind that made memories feel like they could sneak up on you.

(Y/n) curled her fingers around the cool metal chains of the swing, trainers skimming slow figure-eights in the dust.

Across from her, Suna was perched on the monkey bars like he had been since they were kids—legs slung over one bar, back leaning against another, phone held lazily in one hand. The golden light filtered through the trees, catching in his lashes, painting half his face in sun and shadow.

“Trying to get a good shot?” she asked, voice light.

“Mm,” he hummed. “Sun’s cooperating for once.”

She watched him adjust the brightness, zoom in, tilt slightly left. His thumb hovered over the screen longer than necessary—like he was waiting for the exact second everything clicked into place.

Then, quietly—“Did Atsumu say anything?”

He didn’t look up. Just tapped the screen one more time. “About you?”

She scuffed her shoe in the dirt. “Uh-huh.”

Once satisfied with the photo, Suna hopped down in that unbothered, fluid way of his and wandered over. The swing beside hers groaned as he dropped into it, long legs stretching out, tucking his phone into his hoodie pocket.

“Yeah. We spoke briefly. But before you ask, I’m not telling you what he said.”

She turned toward him, brows furrowed. “Why not?”

He shrugged, watching the wind tangle a leaf mid-air. “S’not my place.”

“But I tried talking to him,” she muttered, frustrated. “He just brushed me off. Couldn't get a word out of him. It's annoying. I know he's jealous—he doesn’t exactly try to hide it. But then he ignores me. Or shuts me out. I don’t know what he wants from me.”

Suna didn’t answer right away. Just sat quietly, rocking a little, watching a squirrel skitter across the gravel.

It was always like this with him. He never rushed to respond. Letting her words hang in the air like low-hanging fog. The silence between them wasn’t heavy—it never was with Suna. Just thoughtful. He let moments breathe. Let the thoughts come in their own time.

She heard the gentle jingle of his chains as he shifted. Then came his voice, soft and even.

“Just give him time. Like I said, we talked. It wasn’t much, but… he came forward in the end. I think he’s thinking about it just as much as you are.”

She didn’t respond right away. Her gaze followed the light bleeding through the treetops, catching flecks of dust in the air like glitter.

“Really?” she asked eventually, more hopeful. “You actually think so?”

Suna nodded slowly. “Mhm. Just be patient with him. You know what he’s like—he hasn’t got it all figured out yet.”

(Y/n) let out a dry laugh. “That sure is a nice way of phrasing it.”

He huffed, something that could’ve been a laugh of his own. Then, for the first time, he turned to look at her. His smirk was soft. Teasing. Familiar.

“What are you two like, eh?”

She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gave her a flat look. Raised a brow. Said nothing.

When she didn’t drop it, he finally leaned back against the swing, arms resting on the chains, eyes skyward.

“You and Atsumu. Always dancing around each other. When are you gonna fess up?”

“There’s nothing to fess up,” she said quickly. Too quickly. Her voice went quiet. “I don’t know.”

Suna didn’t press. He just… stayed. Listened.

And so, she kept talking.

“It’s hard to tell with Atsumu. Some days it’s like he’s pulling me in, and other days it’s like I don’t exist. I try not to let it get to me, but... it does. It makes me feel stupid. Like I’m chasing something that’s only real in my head.”

The words fell out easier than she’d expected. She didn’t usually say things like that. Not even to herself.

Suna was quiet for a while. He didn’t look at her. Just let the chains creak beneath him as he rocked gently back and forth.

Then—just once—he glanced her way.

Something flickered in his eyes. The kind of look you only catch if you’re really paying attention. And she was. But it was gone just as quickly.

He leaned back again, legs stretching farther. “You’re not stupid.”

She breathed out slowly. “Thanks.”

Another silence passed, this one lighter.

“I’ll wait,” she said after a while. “Like you said. I’ll be patient. I just…” she shifted her grip on the chains, “I hope he doesn’t take too long. The house feels weird lately.”

Suna nodded once. “He’ll come around.”

“You sure?”

“No,” he said, smirking slightly. “But it sounds better than ‘maybe.’”

She laughed. That soft, airy kind—the kind you don’t even realize you’ve been holding in.

The sun dropped lower, casting the swings in long shadows. The wind stirred the trees. In the distance, a dog barked. Somewhere nearby, wind chimes tinkled lazily.

They didn’t talk much after that—just sat there, rocking slowly, watching the sky turn honey and then violet.

No drama. No tension. Just quiet company.

And for a while, that was enough.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

Which was stupid, really—because most days he’d kill for some peace. But now, with the sun low and bleeding orange through the living room blinds, all that quiet did was piss him off.

He paced.

Not on purpose. Not even consciously. Just… back and forth, socked feet dragging along the scuffed wooden floor. One hand tugged at the collar of his t-shirt, the other stuffed deep into his pocket, pulling the fabric down like it might ground him.

Where the hell were they?

He didn’t need to ask. He knew.

(Y/n) and Suna were out. Probably talking. Probably somewhere breezy and warm and not here, while Atsumu stewed in a thick, molasses-flavoured mix of annoyance, regret, and something else he refused to name.

He paused by the window. Squinted.

Still no sign of them.

“Quit pacin'. Yer gonna wear a hole in the floor,” Osamu said from the couch, voice lazy. Barely looked up from his phone.

“‘M not pacin',” Atsumu snapped.

“You are.”

“Well maybe I wouldn’t be if someone—” he cut himself off, jaw tight.

Osamu just looked at him. That stony expression that always made Atsumu feel like a ten-year-old throwing a tantrum. He turned away before his brother could say something actually annoying.

He hated this. The waiting. The guessing. The not knowing where she was or what she was thinking. Who she was laughing with. What she was saying.

He’d seen the text on Suna's phone. Hadn’t read it—just saw the preview flash up on the lock screen. A little part of him itched to unlock it. To see if maybe they had said something about him.

It didn’t.

And even if it did, what then?

Was he gonna scroll through their conversation like some jealous ex-boyfriend?

He wasn’t even her boyfriend.

God.

Atsumu scrubbed a hand over his face and slumped onto the edge of the couch, elbows to knees, head in his hands. The silence buzzed louder now, filling all the cracks in the room that she usually softened.

He missed her voice. Her laugh. The way she always had a mug in her hand, never drank from it, just carried it around like a comfort object. He missed her random shower thoughts. The way she kicked her feet sometimes when she was on her phone, unabashed when an edit of her favourite character came up on her 'for you' page. The sound of her bedroom door creaking.

He missed her.

And it was ridiculous. Because she wasn’t gone. She was just… elsewhere. With Suna.

And Suna got her. Always had.

That part didn’t usually bother Atsumu—except now it did.

Now, it bothered the hell out of him.

She’d gone to him, hadn’t she? When everything got awkward. When Atsumu had snapped at her in the kitchen. She’d walked away, and she’d gone straight to someone else. Which, fine. That was fair. That was her right.

But it still stung.

Atsumu sank into the couch, tilted his head back and let out a slow exhale, like maybe if he breathed deep enough he could push the weight off his chest.

“She’s not mad at ya,” Osamu said, out of nowhere.

Atsumu blinked. “Did I ask?”

“No,” Osamu replied, cool as anything. “But yer face is loud.”

Atsumu muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothin'.”

They sat in the golden hush of almost-evening. The kitchen clock ticked in the distance, the kind of mundane background noise that felt cruelly loud when you were going insane inside your own head.

“I don’t get it,” Atsumu muttered, half to himself. “She knows ’m jealous. So why won’t she just… say somethin'?”

He hated saying it. Jealous. But Osamu knew better than anyone, was privy to all the ugly feelings that stirred inside his brother's heart. He'd perhaps be the only person Atsumu would ever admit them to.

Osamu didn’t look up from his phone. Just hummed low in his throat and replied, “Say what?”

Atsumu opened his mouth.

Closed it.

What did he want her to say?

That she noticed? That she cared? That she liked him back?

His mouth twisted. “I dunno,” he said lamely. “Somethin’. Anythin’.”

Osamu finally set his phone down, the click of it hitting the table louder than necessary.

“Were ya expectin’ her to apologise?”

Atsumu bristled. “No. I—no.”

“What, then?”

He didn’t answer.

Not right away.

Because the truth was—yeah. Kinda.

Not an apology, exactly. But some kind of… recognition. Like maybe she’d look at him and say I see you. I get it. I feel it too.

And maybe that made him a jerk.

But still.

Still.

“I don’t know,” Atsumu said again, voice sharp now. Frustration gnawing at him like a bloodhound. “I don’t know, okay? I just—"

He cursed under his breath. Pushed his back off the couch again. His head dropped low.

Osamu watched him quietly for a moment before sighing. “Maybe she’s tired of bein’ the only one who says stuff.”

Atsumu didn't raise his head, just glanced at his twin. “Huh?”

“She always meets you halfway,” Osamu said. “Always puts in the effort. Maybe she’s waitin’ to see if you’ll do the same.”

Atsumu went quiet.

Because deep down, he knew Osamu was right.

He never said it first. Not when it mattered. Always wrapped it up in jokes, or flirty one-liners, or fake indifference. Anything but real words. Anything but actual feelings.

Because actual feelings?

Those meant vulnerability.

Those meant risk.

And he wasn’t ready for that.

...Was he?

His eyes drifted to the front door again. Wondering if she’d walk through it. Wondering if she’d look at him. Wondering if he’d know what to say when she did.

He didn’t.

But maybe… maybe he wanted to try.

He ran a hand through his hair, mumbled into the room, “Think I messed up.”

Osamu didn’t gloat. Didn’t tease. Just leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“Then fix it.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The front door creaked open with a push of her palm, the familiar groan of the hinges dragging out into the quiet apartment.

She stepped inside, soft-footed, like her presence might echo.

Suna followed behind, wordless as always, slipping his shoes off with that same lazy, practiced ease. For a second, they just stood there in the entryway, the stillness stretching around them like plastic wrap—tight, uncomfortable.

The hallway smelled like soy sauce and garlic. Osamu was cooking.

(Y/n) didn’t hear music though, which was strange. The kitchen was never silent when he cooked. No playlist humming through a speaker. No news show playing in the background. Just the hiss of something on the stovetop, the low clatter of utensils. And—

A sound.

The couch creaked.

She didn’t look.

She knew.

Instead, she toed off her shoes and offered a quiet “thanks” to Suna, who gave a non-committal nod and wandered off in the direction of his room, phone already out. Her own fingers curled slightly at her sides. Her palms felt hot. She wasn’t sure why.

Or—no. That was a lie.

She knew exactly why.

He was here.

And she could feel it.

Feel him.

Even without looking, she knew he was sprawled across the couch like always. She could practically hear the way he was pretending not to notice her. The quiet shuffle. The strained stillness.

God.

Why did it feel so different?

Why did the air feel so heavy?

(Y/n) cleared her throat and headed for the kitchen, willing her steps to stay even.

Osamu stood at the stove, stirring something in a pan. His eyes flicked toward her, brief but not unkind.

“You eat yet?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. Wasn’t hungry earlier.”

He nodded once, like he understood. “It’ll be ready in ten.”

“Thanks.”

The silence was less awkward here, but still not comfortable. Not really. Osamu, ever the unbothered one, didn’t push. Just continued cooking with the same practiced calm he always carried.

(Y/n) lingered near the fridge, fingers tapping idly against the handle. She wasn’t thirsty. She just needed something to do.

“So,” Osamu said after a pause, “how'd the date go?”

She turned sharply, blinking. Oddly enough, she couldn't tell who he was referring to. Her study session with Tetsu, or her impromptu outing with Suna.

Not that it mattered. She knew what he was trying to do.

His face was neutral—but his eyes were teasing. And that said enough.

She clicked her tongue, but it was anything but hostile, if not a bit thankful. “Zip it, you."

A soft chuckle. “Just tryna ease the tension."

She huffed, but it soothed something in her chest.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the faintest movement—just a shift of a leg over the side of the couch, the tiniest rustle of fabric. Her throat tightened.

Still, she didn’t look at him.

Didn’t give him the satisfaction.

Didn’t trust herself to, anyway.

Osamu slid the pan off the burner and lowered the heat. “He was a pain while you were gone.”

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

They both knew who he meant.

She glanced toward the stairs. Her room upstairs. Her retreat. Her escape.

“Alright,” she murmured. “I think I’m gonna go—”

“Wait,” came a voice behind her.

Not loud.

Not urgent.

Just there.

Like it had been waiting.

(Y/n) froze. Turned her head slightly. Atsumu stood halfway off the couch, one hand gripping the back of it like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the room.

His eyes met hers—and dropped just as fast.

The silence that followed was jagged.

“Are you—” he started. Then stopped. His mouth opened again, but no sound came out. His shoulders sagged the tiniest bit, like whatever fight he’d worked up had drained out of him the second he saw her.

She tilted her head.

Waited.

But he said nothing.

Just sank back onto the couch with a muttered, “Never mind.”

Osamu didn’t hide the sigh that escaped his chest.

Suna, reappearing at the hallway edge with a protein bar half-unwrapped, squinted at them all like he'd walked in on an unfinished scene.

Nobody said a word, letting the awkwardness hang in the air.

Osamu was the first to break it.

He scratched the back of his head. “Honestly.”

(Y/n) didn’t look back to the couch.

Didn’t stay, either.

She turned and climbed the stairs.

Every step heavier than the last.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

He didn’t move at first.

Not when she turned.

Not when she climbed the stairs.

Not even when her door clicked softly shut—quiet, polite, final.

He just sat there.

Still.

Sprawled across the couch like dead weight, eyes fixed on the ceiling as the last sliver of sunlight bled out through the windows.

For a second, he thought he might actually fall asleep.

But that would’ve required peace. And tonight, peace was in short supply.

He groaned—loud, frustrated, full-bodied—and dragged both hands down his face until his cheeks burned.

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, to no one in particular.

Then he pushed himself up, stomped toward the stairs loud enough to draw attention, and slammed his bedroom door a little too hard.

The room was dim. Warm gold edged the corners of his blinds, spilling faint strips of light across his desk. It painted soft shadows on the wall—shapes that didn’t matter. Nothing in here really mattered. It all felt too small. Too hot. Like he couldn’t stretch out without touching something that reminded him of her.

He sat on the edge of his bed.

Stared at the floor.

And then, slowly, like it might explode if he moved too fast, he reached for his phone.

The screen lit up with a dozen stupid notifications. Group chats. A calendar reminder for weights tomorrow. Osamu sending him a TikTok with a caption that just read: you. He ignored all of it.

Opened her name.

And stared.

Just stared.

The chat window was blank.

He hadn’t messaged her all day. Or the day before. Not since—

He swallowed. Didn’t finish the thought. He'd never gone this long without texting her.

He started typing.

hey.

Then:

sorry i’ve been weird.

Then:

i know ive been an ass lately. i didnt mean it. okay, maybe i did. but its not because of you. not really. i just

He stopped.

Read it back.

Scowled.

Deleted all of it with one angry thumb.

Started over.

you and tetsu a thing?

Deleted that too.

do you wanna talk?

Backspaced it, letter by letter, like each key was pressing into his brain.

He tossed the phone onto his comforter and flopped backwards onto his bed, arms flung wide like he might summon answers from the ceiling.

What the fuck was he supposed to say?

Sorry I got jealous because another guy called you sweetheart?

Sorry I don’t know how to be normal when it comes to you?

Sorry I think I like you but I don’t know how to say that without making it weird and fucking everything up?

He groaned again, dragging a pillow over his face.

He hated this. He hated feelings. Hated how they sat on his chest like bricks, heavy and unrelenting. Hated how they didn’t go away just because he ignored them.

And God, he’d tried to ignore them.

He really, really had.

He thought maybe if he flirted like usual, if he brushed it off with jokes, if he let it simmer beneath the surface without naming it—maybe it’d go away. Maybe it’d stay casual.

But it didn’t feel casual anymore.

Not when her smile was the first thing he looked for in a room.

Not when silence from her felt like punishment.

Not when the idea of her with someone else made his skin crawl.

He sat up again, dragging a hand through his hair.

This was ridiculous.

He was ridiculous.

He looked at the door. Then back at his phone. Then back at the door.

Then stood.

Walked to it.

Paused.

Stared at the handle like it was a detonator.

If he knocked, there was no going back. No pretending nothing was wrong. No more brushing it off. He’d have to face it. Face her. And maybe that scared him more than anything.

He sighed.

Then—

The door across the hall cracked open.

Light spilled into the hallway.

And there she was.

They both froze.

Two doors, two hearts pounding, one painfully timed coincidence.

Like idiots in a teen drama. Like deer caught in headlights. Like everything was about to change and neither of them knew what to do about it.

He hadn’t meant to see her.

She hadn’t meant to see him.

Yet here they were.

Atsumu’s hand was still on the doorknob. Her hand was still curled around the railing. The soft lighting from her room spilled out into the hall, warm and golden, catching the strands of her hair and painting her in a glow that made his breath stick in his throat.

Her eyes widened when she saw him. Not in shock. Not quite. More like… hesitation. Surprise layered with something he couldn’t name.

“Hey,” she said, her voice soft.

“Hey,” he echoed, quiet. Tight.

His fingers slipped off the doorknob.

She stood straighter, but didn’t move. Didn’t leave. The silence between them clung like fog—thick, hesitant.

He looked tired.

She saw it in the slope of his shoulders, the set of his mouth, the pinch between his brows.

He looked at her like she might vanish.

She looked at him like she was bracing for impact.

“I was just…” he gestured vaguely toward the stairs, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Dunno. Nothin’. Forget it.”

She didn’t.

“Were you coming to talk to me?”

He hesitated.

Then—too slow to pass as casual—he nodded once.

“Oh.”

Her fingers tightened on the railing. He noticed.

There was that twitch in his jaw again. The same one from the other day. She could see him wrestling with himself.

“Can we…” he gestured toward her room. Then flinched. “I mean—only if yer okay with it.”

She nodded, wordless.

He followed her inside.

Her room smelled like her. Like strawberries and peony and something warm underneath—comforting, familiar, terrifying. He didn’t sit until she did. When she dropped onto the edge of her bed, he took the desk chair across from her, backwards, arms resting on the top like a makeshift shield.

They didn’t speak.

For a second, they just sat there.

Her eyes flitted to his face. She could tell he was thinking. Could feel the war in his head.

Say it, she wanted to tell him. Say what you came here to say.

He cleared his throat.

“I’ve been…”

He trailed off. Then tried again.

“I’ve been actin' like a dick.”

She blinked, caught off guard. Then, slowly—“Yeah. Kinda.”

He huffed something that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so self-deprecating.

“I didn’t mean to take it out on ya,” he said. “I just…” His hand opened, then closed. “I dunno. I get… weird. When I don’t know how to say shit.”

“Uh-huh. 'Weird' isn't exactly the word I'd choose."

He glanced up—saw the faint smile tugging at her mouth, despite everything. It made something loosen in his chest.

“It ain't about him,” Atsumu said quickly. “Well—okay. It is. But not like that. I'm not mad ‘cause ya talked to 'im. I'm mad because—fuck, this sounds so stupid.”

“Go on?"

He stared at the floor.

Then: “I didn’t like how easy it looked.”

She frowned. “What did?”

“You. With him. Laughin'. Like it wasn’t hard. Like it didn’t take effort.”

(Y/n) stayed quiet, watching, waiting...

He met her eyes again. “I don’t know how to be easy with you.”

The words landed.

Heavy. Honest.

Something in her throat tightened.

She needed to make sure...

She shifted slightly. Her legs crossed at the ankle. Her fingers knotted in her hoodie sleeve. “When you say ‘easy’, you’re not just talking about making me laugh… are you?”

Atsumu's gaze drifted to the floor again.

God, he hated this.

Hated the tightness in his chest. The erratic pulse hammering in his throat. The heat coiling beneath his skin like it was trying to crawl out through his pores.

He made her laugh all the time. That wasn’t the problem. He could make her wheeze, snort, cry real tears from laughter—he knew that. He relied on that.

But that wasn’t what he meant.

Not really.

Easy meant... simple. Uncomplicated. Clean.

Tetsu didn’t hesitate around her. He didn’t second guess every word, didn’t overanalyse every glance, didn’t wrestle with the sick twist in his gut when she smiled and it wasn’t at him.

Easy meant: no stakes.

No fear of ruining everything.

No trembling line between friendship and something else.

Whatever this was with (y/n), it wasn’t easy.

He was too aware of her. Of her presence. Of the way his heart did stupid shit when she touched his shoulder or said his name just a little too softly.

Feelings like this weren’t easy.

They were messy.

And loud.

And goddamn terrifying.

Saying that out loud took more nerve than he had in him tonight.

His eyes flicked up once, lingered on her for a second too long, then dropped again.

“No.”

More silence.

She could feel her pulse in her throat now. Her hands had gone cold.

He hadn’t said it—not outright—but she knew.

She always knew with him.

His silence said more than any overconfident one-liner ever could.

She breathed in through her nose, slow and measured. “You’re not supposed to try so hard,” she said at last. “If something bothers you, you just have to... talk to me. Like this. Like right now.”

“I didn’t know if I could.”

“Why not?”

He swallowed. “Because…”

Because I think I like you.

He couldn’t say it.

Not now.

Maybe in another universe. One where he didn’t fumble every good thing that landed in his lap. One where he didn’t ruin things before they ever had the chance to bloom.

Maybe then.

But not here. Not now.

Fear. Doubt. Pride.

They wrapped around his heart like a vice.

Whatever expression he was wearing must’ve given it away, because she tilted her head just slightly, and her voice came gentler.

“If now’s not the right time, then… don’t. I’d rather you didn’t say anything if that's the case. Just… don’t hide behind attitude. Don’t shut me out.”

And that—god—that did him in.

Because she was too kind.

Too patient.

Too good.

He didn’t deserve that softness. Not after everything. Not after the way he’d acted. Not just about Tetsu—about everything. Every time he made her doubt, every time he backed away. Every time he was too much of a coward to commit to anything more than... this.

She should be mad at him. She should be cutting him down with a few choice words and turning her back on him for good. She should be—

But she wasn’t.

She was still here.

Still looking at him like he was worth understanding.

Still giving him the grace to figure it out.

It made him feel worse.

But it also made him want to be better.

For her.

“I thought if I ignored it, it’d go away,” he said, quieter now.

She smiled—sad, knowing.

Something twisted in his gut. “It never does.”

He looked at her again.

Really looked.

And she let him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. Voice small. Stripped.

A beat passed. Maybe two.

Her face didn’t change. But her body relaxed a fraction.

She nodded once. “It’s alright. We’re alright.”

He blinked. “Really?”

“Really.”

She smiled then—soft and honest.

His heart pulled taut in his chest, stretched so tight it nearly gave out. But he smiled back anyway.

It was lopsided. A little wobbly.

A little too hopeful.

The silence between them softened, turned companionable—like a blanket pulled just barely up to the chin. Safe, but not quite warm.

She moved first, rising from the edge of the bed with a sigh, brushing non-existent lint off her sleeves.

“I’m heading down,” she said lightly. “Osamu’ll start mourning that stew if no one eats it.”

Atsumu stood, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. ‘Samu gets all dramatic when he’s ignored.”

(Y/n) gave a soft laugh, passing him on her way to the door.

Just before she left the room, she paused. Turned her head.

“I’m glad we talked.”

He swallowed. “Yeah. Me too.”

Then, because it felt like the only thing he could do—he reached out.

Just a little.

Just enough to catch her pinky in his for a second as she passed.

She glanced down at their intertwined fingers.

Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t linger, either.

The door clicked shut behind her.

And Atsumu was left standing there.

Hand still curled like it remembered.

Chest too full.

Room too quiet.

And somehow, still not ready to follow.

[456-is-the-way]

hiii so ive had this idea for a while now but i just dont have the skills to write it myself, its not really a reader x character but more of a maybe actor!reader x the actor of the character if u get me??😭😭

so the idea is actor!reader plays a character that is also played as the love interest/partner of hwang inho (lee byung hun's character) and during their scenes together (like an intimate scene between their characters) reader just keeps messing up her lines or having trouble staying in character because she keeps getting flustered/shy by lee byung hun causing them to redo the scene over and over again so him and the whole cast just keeps laughing and teasing her about it😣😣🙏🙏🙏

A/n: So I will be going in order of the requests I get in my ask box then I will start on some suggestions I have in the comments. Once again, I do Actor x reader actor! So here is one of those ideas and I love it. I was going to do a tag list but I don’t know why it won't let me tag people!

Trigger warnings: Talks of smut, Partial Smut (lol?)

Squid Game Masterlist

Lee Byung-hun x reader

Quiet On Set

(Y/n) knew this scene would be the hardest to film. Sure as a professional actor, she filmed multiple movies that had intimate scenes. However, (Y/n) never had a romantic interest in the other actors. There was an instant spark when she met Lee Byung-hun. His character happens to have a complex background and in this season goes undercover to destroy Gi-hun, Lee Jung-jae, in an attempt to show him no matter what, people are greedy. Thats when (Y/n) character is introduced. (C/n) is written to be the complete opposite of The Frontman, In-ho. She is kind, patient, understanding, caring, and meant to show the good in humanity even though she has been dealt only hardships in life. Throughout the season their love builds up, soft touches, knowing glances, and quick kisses in secret. All the while (Y/n) had been falling helplessly in love with Lee Byung-hun. Of course, the fans did not let this go unnoticed during their recent interviews. Social media had blown up with edits and multiple bloggers posting about the chemistry they shared. (Y/n) would not admit her guilty pleasure is watching those edits and making comments herself which and fans foaming at the mouths. Lee Byung-hun even found it humorous that people not only shipped their character but them as well. When any with him and (Y/n) not on set but together was posted the fans always blew the comment section up within minutes. 

“Alright places everyone!” Hwang Dong-hyuk called as the crew rushed to make sure everything was set up in the correct frames. “(Y/n), Byung-hun are you all ready?” He asked kindly always wanting to double-check checking the actors were comfortable in scenes where they would be partially on display. (Y/n) nods even though slightly hesitant she walked onto the set and stood by the bathroom wall where the scene was going to be shot.

Byung-hun walked behind her with a smile, “Don’t be nervous (Y/n) this scene will be over before you know it.” It earned a shy smile from the actress leaning against the wall. 

“I am not that nervous… It’s a while since I have done scenes like this. Alright, I think we are ready.” She told the director and Byung-hun nodded in agreement. 

“Quiet on set, Take one, action!” He yelled and silence filled the room. (Y/n) could swear her heartbeat could probably be heard by how badly it was beating against her chest. 

Byung-hun fell into character without hesitation moving to press (Y/n) the cold tile. She breathes heavily cheeks flushed looking into his eyes. “In-ho we can’t” She whispered as he began aggressively kissing up her neck pressing their bodies together. (Y/n) let out a whimper from the pleasure she felt. 

“But you (C/n)” His voice went low showing his absolute dominance. (Y/n) wasn’t used to this side of the sweet Byung-hun. As scripted their jumpsuits were quickly discarded. The heavy breathing filled the room as the two actors stood almost nude in front of each other. His leg slipped between (Y/n). 

She arched up and moaned softly feeling him rub his knee against her covered core. “Byung-hun!” (Y/n) gasped causing him to instantly freeze. “Fuck I’m sorry.” She said as the director yelled cut. 

“Let's roll again.” As the scene had to be started over (Y/n) continued to be a flustered mess messing up the lines or using Byung-hun’s name instead of Young-Il.

“You are a mess.” He chuckled as the team thought it was hilarious she could not for the life of her finish the scene. Byung-hun smirked and leaned down whispering in a low sexual voice. “Do it in one shot this time and I’ll let you cry my name tonight.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widen looking into her costars eyes with a grin. Let's just say she didn’t mess up again.

[helenanell]

You’re Good || Dr. Abbott

Dr Jack Abbott x DoctorReader

(In my head, this is an OC, but it’s written first person, with no name or physical description)

Summary: It’s been years since I walked into The Pitt as an Intern and yet amongst the devastation of the shooting, my confidence in myself wavers. Then, Dr Abbott appears by my side.

Notes: Minor Spoilers - Takes place in the aftermath of the shooting. Blood, trauma.

I also have to credit and thank @madsmilfelsen whose posting about Abbott x Mohan got me on that ship and consequently had me thinking about this dynamic.

Part Two

Having just successfully inserted the chest tube into my patient, I step back. It’s only once I’m still that I realise my breathing is shallow. I shut my eyes and work to rectify it. You can’t go to pieces. I tell myself. It’s selfish and you don’t have the luxury. Get a grip.

Besides Covid, I have never worked such a major trauma event, and I know I’m faltering. Faced with such devastation–too much to process let alone confront and help heal–I feel utterly useless. Even as Princess informs me my patient is stabilising, I can’t shake the feeling I’m faltering. Failing.

When I lift my hand to push the protective glasses back up my nose, I pull up short at the sight of my gloves. The blue latex is utterly subsumed by blood. Or maybe it isn’t, and the red is all that I can see.

I let out a ragged breath and take another step back from the patient, as if my internal panic will somehow hurt him, undoing all of our work to save his life.

“Doc?” Princess calls out, but it bounces off me. The concern falls at my feet instead.

I look around, searching for Dana, Langdon, or Robby, anyone that usually makes me feel a little less helpless when the trauma of the day lashes at me a little too hard. But they’re barely keeping their heads above water, awash with blood and doing their best not to swallow down the cries of pain and choke—

There’s a flash of orange in my peripheral vision. The luminous vest that identifies a Primary Emergency MD. For a second, I think I must have made a mistake and Dana isn’t across the department and is instead by my side. But it isn’t her.

“Turn.” Dr Abbot gently, but firmly, knocks his hand into my arm, forcing me to angle myself to face him.

His vest is smeared with blood, but he must have changed his gloves recently because he’s able to reach out and push my glasses back up the bridge of my nose without me catching a glimpse of red.

There’s something grounding about the gesture, and I make myself believe it’s because it’s jarring to receive any kind of aid from a man who seems constantly perturbed. If not by me specifically, then just from having to engage with anyone for an extended period of time.

“Thanks.” There’s a tremor in my voice, but at least it’s not a mortifying shake.

Dr Abbott’s an ass, but having his respect would feel almost like a career milestone. I’m definitely not there yet.

Dr Abbott just nods, casting his eye over the patient I just put the tube in. I wait for disapproval but none comes.

“You just saved that man’s life, Doctor.”

Seeing as I expected him to move away without another word, as is normal for our interactions, all I manage is to blink at him in slight shock.

“I’d hope so.” I say. “It’s sort of a requirement of the job.”

He gives me a suffering look. I’m sure he is going to leave now, both of us standing around for even the minute this conversation has taken feels like a luxury. A luxury we have no right to when we’re standing in a storm.

“Okay.” I nod myself, preparing to move away, but Dr Abbott stops me.

“Wait.”

I look back over to him. He’s focused on my ankle where, just like him, I have a blood bag secured, an IV in my arm feeding into it.

I frown down at it. Surely he can’t have an issue with me doing exactly what he is? It’s not like I’ve copied his homework.

“What’s wrong?—“

I barley have the question out when he’s dropping down into a crouch, his assured hands finding the bandage that’s keeping the blood bag against my ankle. He repositions it and then begins to secure it back into place.

“Sloppy work.” He grumbles, brow drawn tight.

I look up at the ceiling for strength. There’s the jab.

“I’m so glad you’re here to uplift me during this horrifically stressful time, Dr Abbot.”

He lets out an irritated huff and I narrow my eyes down at him when I feel the bandage tighten unnecessarily.

“Sloppy is never good enough, no matter the time.” He says.

“Well, next time I have to cut into someone whilst bleeding myself dry, I’ll emulate your grace.” I say, a smirk grows when he glowers up at me. “You don’t think you’re graceful, Dr Abbott?”

“Sure I do.” He deadpans. “Call me twinkle toes.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Oh, I absolutely will. We’ve just found your new nickname.”

Dr Abbott taps my ankle when he finishes and then straightens up. “See, I am capable of uplifting you.”

I gape at him and find maybe the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. Maybe.

Is he really trying to stop me from spiralling or is this just him taking an opportunity to goad me? I hate that I can’t tell. He has a frustrating capacity to fry the circuitry of comprehension. I don’t understand anything he does.

He considers my expression and then says, “I’m not fucking with you, Doctor.”

To ignore the warmth that ignites within me, I look down at my ankle.

“So,” I begin carefully, “how does it feel to be a trendsetter? Soon everyone will have blood bags for anklets.”

“Wonderful.” He says flatly, his good humour vanished. Well, that didn’t last long. “Okay, you’re good.”

I look around the Emergency Department, struggling to catch a glimpse of anything close to hope. Hope that things are calming down so we can start giving proper care, not just desperately trying to keep people’s hearts beating.

“Am I?” I ask shakily. “It feels like the bare minimum.”

“You’re saving lives.” Dr Abbott answers sincerely. “That’s not the bare minimum, that’s everything.”

I meet his eyes and attempt a smile. “Yeah, it is.”

He sees I’m struggling to convince myself but he doesn’t push it. “You’re doing great work.”

“I’m just trying to match the example that others have set for me.”

Something flickers in his gaze and I think maybe he’s remembering that first day, years ago now, when I first walked into The Pitt and he’d been my attending. I had been so intimidated by him, yet so in awe. Desperate to impress.

Six years later, not much has changed. No matter how self-assured I am, there’s something about him that makes me feel like that intern all over again.

Dr Abbott takes a step closer and leans in, his voice low, breath ghosting the side of my face. “You are the example, Doctor. Look around and you’ll see the med students trying to follow you.”

“I-“

I don’t get a chance to answer, not that I really know what the hell I’d say to that, because he’s already turning away.

“Keep up the good work.”

Then he’s gone, swept up in the emergency tidal wave. I linger for only a second before forcing myself back into action.

There are lives to save. Always.

Part Two - I'll Be Seeing You

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

V ║Raw Edge

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part IV: Notch | Behind the Seams: Part V | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E, a proper E!

Summary: One lazy afternoon, Joel tests your patience.

Warnings: Sexual tension, some language, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, flirting, fingering, explicit grinding, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!domestic!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 2k

Notes: It's been a long and winding road y'all, but I'm finally back with an update on the main series. It is a short one, more of an interlude, but it will get us where we need to go for the next chapter. Thank you for your patience, I don't take you guys' understanding and love for granted for even a second. Releasing this during the Seams sleepover, more drabbles coming your way for the remaining month of March!

Raw edge - the raw, raveling, and unfinished, cut edge of the fabric.

It’s fitting that Joel is a patient man. He’s built for it, after all.

Those broad shoulders, the sturdy thighs, his sure hands - he’s steadfast as the mountains that loom over Jackson.

As the sun shifts over the ridges and valleys of the sierra through the seasons, bringing shadows into light, so does Jackson on Joel, and you learn that he’s many kinds of patient.

On lookout duty, even in the depths of winter, he becomes one with the stillness of the night, patiently watching over the safety of the town in the loneliest hours.

When townsfolk stop him on the high street for neighbourly chit chat, he obliges with polite patience, never rushing, but careful not to encourage conversation that is longer than necessary.

With Ellie, when she prattles on with a long-winded story from school, he listens with amused patience, letting her run her half-full mouth over dinner with half-hearted admonishment.

And with you - he is agonisingly patient with you, and yet, never in a way that leaves any doubt of his want for you.

You cannot be more grateful.

And in turn, you’re patient with him. As the green of summer softens with the tail end of the season, you pick up bits and pieces. You hear whispers of names. Tess. Bill. You glimpse ghosts of his past. Sarah. Frank.

You don’t expect him to, but you have the audacity to hope, that one day, if he finds it in him to let you in, you have shoulders to spare.

When the heat fades and the brisk autumnal chill starts to linger in the morning mist, you start to find that you like it when he’s not patient.

Not necessarily for the lack of patience thereof, but the fact that it’s worn thin by something else.

The way heat bleeds into his eyes when Lucy holds you up after your shift ends, fingers twitching, as if the caveman in him wants to grab you and drag you home, where you have planned on dinner - and more.

When you’re two bodies tangled in your sheets, breath short as he kisses his way down your neck and nips the underside of your breasts, bra cups pushed up only halfway because you’re still too shy to take it off completely. You feel him shudder, nails digging into your skin, nostrils flaring like he’s holding back from ripping the scant fabric off of you.

And late one evening, when you ask him for it, in heated whispers and your lower lip caught in your teeth, he oh so patiently works his fingers inside your wet heat - 

One, then two; 

Slow, then fast; 

Tender, then frantic - 

Until he feels you clench tight around the crook of his fingers for the first time, watch you arch clean off the bed, he bares his teeth and lets out a primal growl at the cry of his name on your swollen lips.

You find the thrill in getting under Joel Miller’s skin.

As the fall deepens, and trees start to shed in golden surrender, you’re caught off guard when he turns the table on you.

You don’t see it coming, your desperation, that lazy afternoon. It’s just another Saturday when Ellie is on her shift at the Outfitter with Lucy, and Joel is spending those free hours with you.

You’re not sure what got him into the mood, but the man is relentlessly teasing that afternoon, almost bratty in the way he toys with you. His hands go everywhere while you’re cooking, squeezing the swell of your ass then going north to cup your breasts, and stopping off everywhere in between.

Tips of your ears burning, you smack the back of his hands - so big and mapped with veins - just so you can get drain the pasta. Joel chuckles and kisses the corner of your mouth. ‘I like it when you’re bossy, sweetheart.’

He insists on eating on the sofa, with you between his legs, and you can feel him already hard and straining through his jeans. Neither of you really make a real go at the rapidly cooling marinara, and the plates are quickly pushed to the side as them meal degenerates into a full-blown make out session.

Not yet ready to let him strip you bare or for him to disrobe him completely, clothes hang half unbuttoned and unzipped on you both. The part of your brain that still has enough blood to reason likes it though - the demure flashes of skin under creased fabric, blindly touching and feeling where you can’t see.

Your jeans are pushed halfway down your thighs, bra pushed down under your breasts, the elastic straps digging into your shoulders. His shirt is open down to the second last button, bare chest rubbing against your nipples, the contact making you whine. His belt hangs open and his jeans are unzipped, but before you can reach down, his fingers slide inside your panties, twisted and sticky, teasing your wet folds. 

‘Joel,’ you whimper as he pushes two thick fingers inside you to the knuckle, your pussy slickly opening around him. 

‘Does that feel good, sweetheart?’ he asks, mouthing at your collarbone.

‘More,’ you gasp.

‘I got two in you already -’

Your voice cracks in a sob, your nails digging into his back. ‘Joel, I want more. Please.’

He glances at the clock ticking away on the wall and hesitates. The rational part of him knows that he has to leave in less than twenty minutes to pick up Ellie. But feeling you leak onto his fingers, pushing your hips against him to get his fingers even deeper, his cock twitches painfully hard in his pants.

He breathes through his nose to steady himself. ‘Sweetheart, we don’t have time -‘

‘Joel!’ you whine, almost petulantly.

He stares down at you, eyes wide at your desperation. He’s never seen you like this before, and fuck, he wants to give it to you. Wants to give you what you want, what he wants. What he’s wanted for long fucking months, woken up hard and throbbing dreaming about. But he steels himself - no, not when he’s on the clock, he won’t rush it. He will give you what you deserve, and not an ounce less. 

So he kisses you, long and deep, and bargains with you. ‘Listen, sweetheart, we can’t right now - but if you want to, we can try something new.’

‘Ok,’ you reply without hesitation.

A sharp breath catches in your throat when he eases his fingers out of you, and he brings them up to his mouth to lick them clean, his brow furrowing at your taste, thick on his tongue. Then you watch, transfixed, as he pushes his unzipped jeans down with his boxers, kicking them off his ankles - and his hard cock springs free of its confines. 

It’s taken you many months to drum up the bravery to map his body with your touch, and you’ve mostly done so in the safety of darkness, your shyness holding you back. To see all of him, jutting hard and thick in the stark afternoon light, you don’t even hear yourself whimper at the sight.

Joel holds your gaze as he slowly wraps his fingers around the swollen length and strokes himself, lips parted, watching you watch him. ‘You trust me, sweetheart?’

‘Yes.’

‘Gonna make you feel good, ok?’

His words make you squirm beneath him. ‘Ok.’

Grabbing the base of his cock, Joel shifts, looming over you and pushing your thighs apart so they’re bent at the knees to accommodate him. Then with a delicate finger, he traces under the seat of your panties and pulls them to one side, baring your spread pussy to his eyes. 

Your jaw goes slack the same time Joel bites out a filthy fuck. You know this is the first time he’s laying eyes on you there - you’ve been demure about that, preferring to be nose-to-nose with him while he buries his fingers inside you. But now, watching his eyes go black, nostrils flaring, an inexplicable high goes to your head, and you feel yourself clench around nothing.

His eyes fly to yours, and your lips part. Did he see that?

Before you can find out, Joel moves, and you hold your breath when he bows his head right where your legs are splayed open. Distracted by the beautiful chisel of his nose from this angle, you would’ve jumped right off the couch if not for his hands holding you in place when he dribbles spit onto your clit.

You cry out wordlessly, not understanding the visceral reaction of your body to the unexpectedly lewd act.

‘You’re plenty wet for me sweetheart, but this will feel even better,’ he says, spitting again, lower this time, and you tremble at the unfamiliar sensation of the wetness trailing down your folds. 

Tracing a thumb over you, Joel makes a low noise of satisfaction in his chest when it glides over your lips, frictionless. Taking a hold of the base of his cock, he positions the underside of his length in the seam of your folds - and thrusts. 

‘Joel!’ you whimper as the full length of him glides over the lips of your spit-wet pussy, from entrance to clit. He braces himself over you, and you hang onto his impossibly broad shoulders as he carefully rolls his hips, again and again. Rubbing along you just so, making sure you feel all of him despite not being inside you - that will have to wait.

You can feel your panties getting wetter, sticking to your skin, and Joel jolts a gasp from you when he roughly tugs the fabric hard to the side, baring more of you to his drunken gaze, witnessing the mess he’s making of you.

‘Listen t’ you,’ he slurs through gritted teeth, the lewd, wet slide of skin filling his ears. ‘Gonna sound even sweeter when I make you mine, sweetheart.’

With a whine, you arch off the couch, as if chasing the possessiveness in his words. Joel finds a rhythm that has the swollen head of his cock grinding against your clit with every thrust, and above you, he smears open-mouthed kisses over the secret spots he’s patiently unearthed by trial and error, until you’re shaking all over. It’s just what you needed, what you wanted - the elusive more that you didn’t know how to articulate. More than his fingers, but not yet ready to take everything that he can give you.

‘You’re close,’ Joel says, a quiet confidence to his verdict that coaxes a whine out of you. Holding a thumb over his cock, it presses even harder against your clit. His hips quicken in pace, and you know he’s chasing his own release as much as yours. 

‘It’s ok sweetheart, you can let go, let me feel you cum for me, let me feel that pretty pussy -’

And then you’re gone. Any illusion of control over your body is just that, an illusion, when the bubble bursts. White hot pleasure burns through your bloodstream, tendrils of heat blooming and swelling from deep inside you, spilling out your fingertips twisted tightly into his graying curls. 

Over the rush of blood in your ears, you hear Joel stutter fuck, fuck, fuck! before warm cum gushes over you, pooling in your belly button, spilling down your pussy and streaking your thighs. 

Limbs heavy and eyelids drooping, it’s hard to care when the cum stains your panties or the couch below. Not when Joel wraps his arms around you, lips brushing the nape of your neck softly as he brackets you from behind. 

Clinging onto the last vestiges of consciousness, you murmur, ‘You have to pick up Ellie soon.’

He grunts. ‘The little punk can wait.’

You smile, struggling to feel apologetic that the teenager might be waiting a while as Joel’s breathing slows, whistling softly by your ear. 

In the quiet aftermath, his words echo in your head. 

When I make you mine. 

Little does he know, he doesn’t have to - you’re already his.

Notes: Time has really flown by since the last main series update. I've gone through so many ups and downs since, and I really need to thank you guys for giving me the time to figure things out in terms of my writing and how this story will go!

As I mentioned in Behind the Seams: Part V, I have 2 more full length chapters planned for the main series. I don't know if there will be any more after that, but at the very least, I hope that I will be adding to the Seams universe through drabbles and oneshots. I wouldn't write off the possibility of more chapters to add to the main series if I find the inspiration.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter ❤️

[81folklore]

robin - LECLERC

pairings charles leclerc x fem!singer!reader (fc: gigi hadid + pinterest)

summary fans get a look at charles’ family

warnings a baby + pregnancy (the baby is the entire plot point and one pregnancy mention) poorly translated french, some taylor swift songs are used as readers songs. HUGE TIMESKIPS (sorry lol)

notes we are BACK!! for the time being at least,, sorry for being gone again😣 also im using gigi again because i had this one specific photo in mind of her pregnant!!

notes 2 kind of short but i want to try and gain some more motivation buuuut in my absence from writing ive created a rec blog so i can show you all my favorite works by all the incredible writers on here! @81folklore-library

masterlist

yourusername • may 2020

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton and 1,283,693 others

(im)patiently waiting to meet you tiger 🐯🩵

view comments

charles_leclerc you are glowing mama🌟

yourusername charlie🥹

lewishamilton cant wait to meet the little one, you’re doing amazing yn!

yourusername thank you lewis💜

user44 you are gorgeous omg

user23 i can’t believe charles is going to be a dad soon

user2 it feels like its flown by

user17 i love that they call their baby tiger☹️

user6 me too!! i hope it sticks as a nickname

arthur_leclerc lunch again soon?

yourusername of course art! let me know when🤍

yourusername • january 2021

liked by charles_leclerc, lorenzotl and 3,930,519 others

our little tiger blessed our lives a few months ago and we couldnt feel more overjoyed to have her. we want to thank those around us for their continued support during our first months of parenthood

tiger, we cant wait you grow into a beautiful young girl and we are already so proud of you🐯🩵

tagged charles_leclerc

view comments

charles_leclerc so happy i get to be a dad with you🩵

charles_leclerc i love you so much im so proud of you

yourusername i love you charlie, thank you for everything

lorenzotl toi et charlie êtes de merveilleux parents 🩷🩷 (translation you and charlie are wonderful parents)

yourusername merci! revenez bientôt, vous êtes toujours le bienvenu! (translation thank you! come back soon, you are always welcome!

user55 theyre parents🥹🥹

user80 oh im sobbing this is so lovely😭😭

user17 they still call her tiger☹️☹️

user49 im confused is that the babies name?

user17 no they just call her tiger in public, we dont know her name! they started calling her tiger when they found out they were going to be parents and it seems to have stuck!!

liked by yourusername

user32 i was listening to never grow up when i saw this post🥹🥹

user47 congratulations guys!!

yourusername • september 2024

liked by charles_leclerc, olliebearman and 5,291,649 others

happy birthday little tiger, it has been a joy to watch you grow into the wonderful girl that you are (please stop mama cant handle you getting bigger🥹)

you are so incredibly loved and i hope you feel that every day, i hope you have a wonderful day today and everyday baby!

happy birthday love mama and papa🐯🩵

view comments

charles_leclerc happy birthday angel, we love you🐯

olliebearman happy birthday tiger!!

yourusername see you soon darling🩷

lewishamilton i can’t believe she is already four🥹💜

yourusername time really flies by🥹

user67 SHES SO BIG NOW😭

user5 right?! i remember when yn posted her on charles back☹️

user52 these pictures are so cute oh my god😭😭☹️☹️

user60 actually my favorite family ever🥹

user21 i feel so emotional knowing ive watched this family grow

user19 is anyone else sad charles hasnt posted the annual story?

user37 theres no way he just stops,, she has so many more songs☹️

user66 wait im new what are we talking about?

user37 because charles and yn write the birthday captions together, charles started posting a picture of tiger with a song yn has written about children or babies etc (example: last year it was never grow up!) and she has so many more songs that would fit but he hasnt made one this year :(

yourusername & charles_leclerc • september 2024

liked by lewishamilton, pierregasly and 6,280,740 others

tiger its your birthday surprise; Robin out now🐯

comments on this post have been limited

yourusername📌 ps robin is not tigers name🩵

charles_leclerc thank you for letting me on a song🫶

yourusername always baby

charles_leclerc we love you tiger🐯

charles_leclerc added to their story

[song used: Robin by yn text: way to go tiger🐯🩵]

seen by yourusername, pierregasly and 1,279,940 others

replies are turned off

twitter

[goatgoesmbe]

THANK YOU!!

Hi, it's simons petty gf anon.

Just a thought, because she's only passive aggressive with her anger but always in a kind way simon is worried that if a physical altercation would happen that she would freeze up. But in reality, she's the dirtiest fighter he's ever seen. (Both of my parents were cops, military grandfather, youngest of 3 only girl) she has no honor in her fighting style, when asked about it, she says there's no honor in a fight. Only life or death.

Alright, ive been wanting to write this properly- but its been sitting in my draft for too long i just need to get it out so- no beta, I hope u still like it tho <3 u_u

All i could think about when i read this is the meme 'call the ambulance, but not for me'

short continuation of this

tw : assault, mention of violence, mention of blood, stalking

You were Simon's sweet little bird. Known to always be kind to everyone, even to the worst assholes, even to people who didn't like you.

And while you appeared to be nice and patient, with a smile that never faltered no matter what you've gone through, he eventually learned that you were not a pushover despite what everyone thought.

You could stand your own ground, you had your own way of dealing with people who disrespected you.

However, that didn't mean Simon would be less protective of you

Because the world wasn't a safe place, there were things far worse than a little quarrel with strangers, arguments with your mother, an altercation after accidentally bumping into a stranger, or verbal harassment.

He was thinking about real danger.

You were always so soft and gentle, so naturally, it triggered his instinct to protect you from any harm.

That was why he was the way he is right now, heavy boot putting it's full weight on the gas, the sound of the engine rumbled loudly, cutting through the night. Hands gripping on the steering wheels while his eyes were sharp, focused. While his ears fell deaf to the blaring of the other cars honking as he sped past them.

"Simon. Can you send help? I think i'm being followed.. can't really talk or call 911 myself rn" Your text read.

He was lounging at the couch when his phone buzzed. Content on watching the football game that was playing on TV, only to drop everything when he saw your message.

You were having a girl's night out with your besties at this women-only club that had just opened in the city. While he was one protective bastard who always wanted to watch over you, you insisted on him staying home because you wanted to spend the night with just your friends. It was reasonable, so he agreed.

But now? he regretted agreeing to that.

Tires screeched against the asphalt, making a sharp, piercing sound that sliced through the air followed by a loud slam of the door as he stepped out of his car.

With his gaze blurry from dread, he looked at the screen of his phone. He had a tracker planted in your devices, smart watch, laptop, phone. And so he followed the red dot shown in the map, finding himself standing in front of a dark alley.

"Simon" He couldn't be more relieved when he heard your voice and immediately took a few steps into the darkness, turning on the flashlight on his phone before aiming it forward.

The air was thick with the lingering scent of sweat, iron, and damp asphalt, mingling with the distant stench of rotting garbage. A dented trash can lay on its side, its contents spilled and trampled, a mess of torn paper and shattered glass glinting under the weak light. Blood stained the ground in dark, irregular splotches, soaking into the filth of the alley floor. The brick walls bore fresh smears where hands had braced against them, the rough texture now streaked with sweat and something darker.

And at the bottom of said walls, a lone figure was sat. Beaten and stripped off his shirt which was now ripped and used to tie his arms behind his back. Said figure didn't react at his presence, but Simon could see the subtle raise and fall of the person's chest.

"Simon" You called out to him again, snapping him out of his thoughts as he shifted his gaze to you.

You stood there with a smile that he always saw on your face, which was now sported with a fresh bruise, purple blooming beneath your skin. A dark welt shadowed your cheekbone, and a small cut on your lip still glistened with fresh blood. A smear of crimson streaked your jaw—and he didn't know if it was yours or someone else’s.

Your clothes were a mess, your skin tight dress were wrinkled, clinging to your curves like they had been grabbed one too many times. The faint imprint of a handprint marred the fabric near your collar, evidence of the struggle that had just unfolded.

And knuckles were raw, the skin split in places, thin trails of blood tracing along your fingers. Which told him what he needed to know.

Because despite your battered appearance, it was nothing compared to the state of the git who was leaning against the wall.

"Called the ambulance yet?" You asked, gesturing at your victim with your chin.

He didn't know if he could fall in love with you even more, but somehow, he just did.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Replaced

Summary: Rhysand thinks Azriel has become oldand deserves rest. And while Azriel loves his friend a lot, who the hell does he think he is telling Azriel what to do? The apprentice Rhysand has ordered Azriel to train isn't lessening his frustration either.

•○●⛦●○•

Word count: 1697

Warnings: azzie being a thirsty teenager, reader being sassy, azzie deciding he wants to be a flirty lil hoe lol

A/n: JDVNJDMSNCSDMCN OMGGG I LOVE YALL SOO MUCH I CANT TELL YOU HOW HAPPY I AM RN 😭😭😭 as a thank you gift for you all being so nice and supportive of me for over a year now, i present to youuuu my first fir for the celebration week hehe hope you all enjoyyy 🤭

p.s: I WOULD LIKE TO SAY THIS HERE AS WELL EVEN THO I THINK IVE SAID THIS BEFORE IN PRIVATE TO MY WIFEY POO. @berryzxx THANK YOU MY LOVE MY LIFE FOR LISTENING TO ME RANT ABOUT ALL THE FICS I EVER WRITE BUT ALSO ESPECIALLY THE CELEBRATION FICS AND HELPING ME COME UP WITH IDEAS🥹

p.p.s: based on an indian song i used to listen t nonstop which me and berry concluded i should not have been listening to lmaooo like what even was that 😭

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

"Any questions?"

Y/n shook her head, eyes fixed on the neat scribbles on the pristine white paper in her hands, going through the schedule handed to her for the tenth time.

"Perfect then," the high lord muttered, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the mahogany wood of the table in his office. "Be on time for your training, starting tomorrow. You know, my spymaster is a rule follower and hates tardiness."

Y/n dipped her head, finally meeting the glittering violet of her new employer, essentially.

She stood, knowing she was dismissed, and fell into a deep bow. "Thank you for this opportunity again, my lord. I might not be a shadowsinger, but I will prove to be an amazing spy."

"Looking forward to working with you, Y/n. Hope you will live up to your reputation."

As Y/n now stood in the training ring, sweat rolling down her body in rivulets, she wished she had asked Rhysand more questions about his spymaster. For starters, she should have asked if the male was a grown adult or a terrifying toddler.

Because by the way the high lord had sung praises in the illyrian’s name, talking about how patient, composed and kind he was, Y/n would have assumed he would be a pleasure to work with.

The overgrown manchild she had been training with was anything but.

As she stared into his hazel eyes, trying not to snap his pretty neck, Y/n wondered if he had serious personality disorder or he was going through some sort of mood swing. Because the male glaring down at her panting form was not the sweet, caring and soft spoken male Y/n had envisioned.

"You still have three laps left, and then hand to hand combat. Or are you as forgetful as you are untrained?"

Y/n straightened her back, her mouth shut tight as she released a frustrated breath through her nose. "I know how many laps are left, thank you very much. I am not old enough to forget things, especially not old enough to be replaced by someone better and younger."

His eyes flashed, his shadows thickening. The side of Y/n’s lips kicked up in satisfaction. Her remarks had found their mark. Without waiting for whatever words he was going to throw at her next, Y/n turned away, sprinting her way through the barely visible dirt path around the training ring.

He looked murderous the next time her eyes met his, but at least he wasn't yelling at her to speed up or your posture is shit.

Even though he put her through hell for the rest of the afternoon, it all passed in a blur, because the moment he turned away from her, his hands flicking in a dismissive gesture, she stalked over to the water station and gulped down two glasses of water.

In that moment, only she existed, the glass attached to her mouth and her parched throat weeping with joy.

Mother, thank you for giving us mere peasants water.

When she was done, she moved to retrieve her jacket discarded near the exit, only to find Azriel still present, now conversing in furious whispers with the Warlord.

Y/n had no interest in engaging with them, and by the way the general glanced at her, worry written all over his face, she knew he would try to corner her.

Swiftly, she picked up her jacket, slung it over her shoulders and began retreating towards where the two illyrians stood, hoping to sneak out of the space they weren’t blocking off when she heard their low voices.

"Still, you’re being too harsh Azriel-"

"If she wanted to be a spy for Rhys, she has to go through this training-"

"She’s already trained to be a spy, Az. quit being an asshole."

"If this is too hard for her and if she is going to go cry about it, then she doesn’t deserve this position."

Y/n stopped and turned to look at the bastard, who had the audacity to stare back with his eyebrows raised.

"Yes?" He grumbled, impatience rolling off him in waves, as if he couldn’t wait to be out of her presence.

She let her eyes wander as she studied the illyrian with the red siphons, then back to Azriel. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Rhys has already discussed the time with you, has he not?"

"Aww, no need to get snappy, princess. I’m just making sure you are not backing out." she pouted, fluttering her lashes before turning away, grinning in triumph at the way his face turned red in anger.

Oh, was she going to have pleasant dreams tonight.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Azriel’s pov.

It had been a week since the fae female started training under Az, and he was beginning to lose hope.

He had put her through as much turmoil as he could, both mentally and physically. Still, she seemed determined to work for Rhys.

Maybe she only cared to prove Az wrong and stay, maybe she just wanted to annoy the fuck out of him.

Whatever the reason, she was resilient.

He put her through hours upon hours of gruelling work in the afternoon heat, yelled at her every chance he got, tried to get under her skin when he knew she would be most tired and likely to snap, put her through every torturous and unnecessary task under the sun. But still, she did not snap once.

Not once did Azriel think she was going to leave, not once did she threaten to leave, not once did she go to Rhys to ask him whether her training was supposed to be this gruelling when she was already trained from Prythian’s best spy training institution.

He was not going to pretend it did not make him respect her. Day by day, his curiosity increased, he wanted to know why she was still training under him, even though he did everything he could to bully her away.

And he was not going to pretend like it did not make him want to get to know her, maybe get closer, because he could not remember the last time a female had piqued his interest to this level.

He could feel it.

Feel himself falling, but of course, like the thick skulled bastard he was, he refused to accept the fact that his respect for her resilience was more than just that.

Sure, she made him wish for a taste, but he was not going to admit that.

He could already hear her soft pants as he got closer to the training area, his lips lifting on the corners unconsciously.

She was standing opposite one of the training dummies, honed in on the battered thing. It seemed like everything else had ceased to exist, like she couldn’t care less about anything going around her as she swung her sword at the dummy, again and again.

Her focus, the determination with which she trained even though her trainer wasn’t present…

It was hot.

She was hot.

She would probably have a sassy remark on her tongue if she knew the thoughts in his head, but she looked like she did not even realise he had arrived-

"Stop looking at my ass. And You’re late."

He glanced up, his eyes travelling slowly over her form as she turned to face him, her hands wrapped around the sword he had made her practice with yesterday. Her chest heaved, her shoulders moving along, the few strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail, that smug smile on her lips…

And her eyes. They shone with delight at having caught him being tardy.

Deep down, it warmed him, but on the surface, his lips shifted into a sneer.

"I think this is enough training-"

She let out a laugh. "What?"

He stared at her, unamused.

"Sorry, it’s just… Do you have a fever?"

He sighed as she stepped forward, slapping away the hand she reached out to touch his forehead.

"If you want to continue, I have no problems. Get started, twenty laps."

She smirked. "That’s more like it."

He stared at her, bewildered as she cackled, then stepped closer.

"I think it’s slipping, spymaster."

He blinked. "What’s slipping?"

She rolled to her tiptoes, her mouth dangerously close to his ear. It made shivers run down his spine as his eyes focused on the training dummy on the far end of the ring covered in long slashes, the filling spilling out in a few spaces.

"Your facade." She whispered, her hand coming to rest on the back of his neck.

He stiffened. "I don’t know what you mean-"

"Oh cut the crap spymaster, I see right through you."

Az turned his head to meet her gaze. "And what do you see?"

"I can see you, starting to like what you see."

It was like a cold breeze passed through the room, turning his body cold before his heat regulating system turned on again, making him feel hot all over.

"And what do I see?"

Azriel knew his game was over, knowing she knew he was beginning to like her, but he was not going to give in to her easily.

"Me. You see me, Azriel, and you like it." She stepped back, letting her hair loose as she manoeuvred around him. "Pity, you are not getting any of this. Not now, not anytime soon."

He turned on his spot, watching as she stalked away, and he knew damn well she was swaying her hips more than she usually does just to add salt to the wound.

Being a spymaster, he took note of the minute details, of course.

Before she vanished down the stairs, though, she turned to look at him. Her eyes roved leisurely over his figure, and when her eyes met his, she smirked, puckered her lips, blew him a kiss, and then sauntered off.

A challenge.

Azriel wasn’t known to be the most competitive person in the inner circle for no reason.

She had just challenged him, and Azriel would be damned if he lost.

He was going to win this one, and oh was he going to win spectacularly.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Permanent Taglist: @berryzxx @sarawritestories @milswrites @throneofsmut

@daycourtofficial @sweetorangeblossom @secret-third-thing

Acotar Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686

@cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1

@hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21

@mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @lady-of-tearshed @starsinyourseyes

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @byyalady

@lilah-asteria @girlswithimagination @garden-of-runar @girlswithimagination

@sunnyspycat @artists-ally @milswrites @kingdomofstarrynights

@buttermilktea11 @loving-and-dreaming @yucanbmylxdy

Azriel Taglist: @darthdumbasss @foreverrandomwritings @azrielsmate3 @celestialend

@stqrgirlies-blog @tele86 @bakananya @xyzmeh

@st4r-girl-official @caraaaaugh @nacho-nat @allllium

@fandomarchiveilyd @nickishadow139 @angel-graces-world-of-chaos

[violetseaslug]

I WOULD DIE for 18+ No-eul fanfic. Maybe the reader's first time ?! love u by the way:3

" ive fallen quite hard over you "

fem! reader x kang no-eul ୧ ‧₊˚ 🌷⋅ ☆

★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★

🌷 warnings: loss of virginity, smut (duh) but nothing rough

💌 a/n: thank you for your request cutie, i love u more <3!!!

+ im rlly sorry it took me awhile to complete ur req! i procrastinate my smut fics the most bc i hate how they turn out. the fluff is good but the smut js goes downhill </3 so i suck at writing smut but nonetheless i hope you enjoy ml! 💐 sorry for any mistakes!!! bc its 4am now so im going to bed (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★

You had known No-Eul for around four months now—four months filled with breathless laughter, stolen kisses, and late-night conversations that stretched until dawn. You’d gone on countless romantic dates, from quiet cafe mornings to moonlit strolls where your hands found each other effortlessly.

So when she stood at your doorstep one evening, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers in one hand and a handwritten letter in the other with its final question reading, Will you be my girlfriend?—how could you possibly say no? You already adored her.

The weeks melted into each other, and the more time you spent together, the deeper you fell. Nights at her apartment became your favorite kind of escape. Curled up in her arms, your head resting on her chest as she absentmindedly braided your hair, the two of you whispering about everything and nothing.

And somewhere between those quiet moments and the electric ones—between her gentle touches and the way she always looked at you like you were the only thing in the world—you realized you were ready to take the next step.

But it wasn’t as simple as deciding. This wasn’t just any step. This was the step.

You had never been intimate with anyone before, and the thought of it sent nervous flutters through your chest. Even now, sitting beside her, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater, you could feel your heart pounding.

Still, you took a deep breath and forced yourself to speak.

“No-Eul…” you began, your voice soft but steady.

She turned to you immediately, her warm, gorgeous eyes locking onto yours with an unspoken understanding. The way she looked at you was patient, expectant, and adoring and it made you feel like you could tell her anything.

Suddenly, you were ready to risk it all.

“I think I’m ready,” you admitted, searching her face for a reaction. “If you are too…?”

For a moment, she just looked at you, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. Then, a slow, knowing smile spread across her lips.

Without another word, she pulled you into her arms, lifting you effortlessly as she carried you toward the bedroom.

And in that moment, she gave you her answer.

As No-Eul carried you into the bedroom, a soft laugh bubbled from your lips, a mix of excitement and nervous energy. You buried your face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her familiar scent, notes of something musky.

She set you down gently, her arms still wrapped around your waist as she pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Are you sure?” she murmured, her voice warm and careful, her fingers brushing over your cheek like you were something precious.

You nodded, heart thudding. “I am.”

Her gaze searched yours for a moment longer, and then she smiled, that soft, knowing smile that made you melt every time. “Then let’s take our time.”

She moved with a tenderness that made your chest ache, as if she wanted to savor every second, every breath. Her hands skimmed over your arms, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake, and you couldn’t help but shiver—though whether it was nerves or anticipation, you weren’t sure.

No-Eul seemed to notice, and she chuckled lightly. “Relax, love,” she whispered, pressing her lips to your temple. “I’ve got you.”

And she did.

Everything about her—her touch, her presence, the way she whispered sweet things against your skin—made you feel safe, cherished. The nervousness you had felt before melted into something else entirely, something warm and intoxicating, something that made you feel like you were floating.

Her hands, as soft as freshly fallen snow, and as gentle as a breeze in the middle of spring, began travelling down your body. Starting at your chest but stopping at your nipples, already hard. She couldn't help but take them in between her fingers and rub them together. She was mesmerized by your body and just how gorgeous it was. Kissing your body lower and lower while continuing to play with your nipples, you started to let out little whimpers.

No-eul paused her administrations to glance up at you with a look filled with nothing but pure adoration and love. You looked back down at her with a small smile and your already disheveled hair and gave her a small nod, reassuring her you were okay and you wanted nothing more but for her to continue what she was doing.

She continued her trail downwards, getting closer and closer to your already soaking pussy. You had always wondered how it would feel to be really turned on and how genuine anticipation would feel, and you have no clue if you'll ever be able to live without the feeling again because no-eul has already ruined you for anyone else. Especially when she uses that talented tongue of hers to lick around your inner thighs and inch closer to your pussy.

No-eul, getting quite impatient herself decided to waste no time in glancing up at you from inbetween your legs as she shot her tongue out to begin lapping at your clit. And as the taste of your leaking cum settled on her tongue, she slowly began eating you out with more fervour. her tongue was exploring every inch of your pussy, it went from licking inside you to drawing figure eight patterns on your clit.

And as she eats like a starved woman, your moans get louder and louder. No-eul can't get enough and thats precisely the reason why she pulls back away from your pussy to sit on her knees and admire your already fucked out expression and tell you.

"You taste better than i could ever fucking imagine," she says as she admires the way your cum is shining against your swollen clit. "You're doing so good for me my love," Her tone begins to turn from sweet and loving, to teasing. "But ive seen the way you stare at my fingers. Do you want them inside you, baby?" Although shes smirking at you and her intention is to tease you, you know she'd never force you to do things you didn't want to.

You look up at her with glossy eyes and messy hair as you whimper out a weak little "please."

And No-eul is immediately resting her head on your shoulder, biting her lip in an attempt to conceal the whimper that threatened to slip past her lips. Her touch, yet again softer than you could've ever imagined, begun drawing closer to your pussy. Slowly pushing one finger inside, your jaw dropped as you let out a shameless moan, the feeling of her fingers inside you was overwhelming but in the best way possible.

And as she pushes her second finger in, you find yourself unable to contain your whimpers. But no-eul was beside you to talk you through it and praise you as much as you needed.

"So good for me baby, you're taking me so well, hmm?" She says while curling her fingers inside you slowly, feeling your warm and soft pussy clench around her.

You were feeling so fucking good and everytime you heard her teasing yet soothing voice beside your ear, your pussy tightened.

Suddenly, a particular and unfamiliar feeling started rising in your lower stomach. Instinctively, you began gently pushing her fingers and gripping her arm, but no-eul wasn't stupid.

"F-feels weird..." You managed to mumble out.

"Just trust me baby, i got you, okay?" She reassured you with a gentle but loving kiss on the lips, adoration written all over her expression as she lovingly looks into your glossy eyes.

And you were so glad you did trust her because the feeling that followed after the sensation in your stomach came crashing in, was nothing short of euphoric.

As soon you regained your steady breath and the two of you settled into the quiet hum of the night, No-Eul didn’t let you go—not even for a second. She tucked you against her, her fingers trailing lazily up and down your arm as she pressed slow, lingering kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, anywhere she could reach.

Time blurred, but what you would remember most was the way she looked at you afterward, like you were the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

“You okay?” she whispered, her voice softer than ever, as if she was afraid to break the tenderness of the moment.

When you nodded, she smiled and brushed a few stray strands of hair from your face. “Stay right here,” she murmured before slipping out of bed, only to return moments later with a warm towel and a glass of water.

She helped you sit up just enough to take a few sips, watching you with that same gentle expression, like you were the most precious thing in the world. Then, she pressed the cool rim of the towel to your skin, taking her time, murmuring quiet praises between each touch.

“You did so well,” she whispered. “I’m so proud of you.” And when she was sure you were comfortable, she pulled you back into her arms, wrapping you up in warmth, in safety, in love.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds in the room were your steady breaths, the occasional rustling of sheets, and the distant hum of the city outside. You felt weightless, completely at peace in her embrace.

Then, just as your eyelids began to grow heavy, No-Eul’s voice broke through the quiet.

“You know,” she murmured, her lips curving into a teasing smile, “I was so nervous when I asked you to be my girlfriend. I must’ve rewritten that letter ten times.”

You laughed softly, tilting your head up to look at her. “You? Nervous?”

She nodded, feigning seriousness. “Terrified, actually. What if you had said no?”

You grinned, tracing your fingers along her jaw. “I couldn’t have. I already adored you.”

Her smile softened. “I adore you too.”

The words settled between you, warm and certain.

You let your eyes drift shut, your head resting against her chest as sleep slowly pulled you under.

And with her arms around you, her heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you had never felt safer.