#like I don’t even feel tired after all that

[jincapableoflove]

A Jar Full of Us | one-shot

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: best friend! jungkook, best friend! reader, college! au, unrequited love (?), idiots to lovers, best friends to ??? to lovers, angst, fluff, implied smut.

Summary: You never meant for him to find them. Hundred little confessions, folded away, never meant to be read. But now, they’re in his hands. And Jungkook—your best friend—knows everything. But he doesn’t say a word. He just watches you, with that same unreadable expression, like he’s waiting for something. And this Valentine’s Day, you might just have to find out what.

Inspired by: To All the Boys I've Loved Before

Word count: 10.2K+

Warnings: arguments, jungkook is a jerk, misunderstandings (a lottt of it), angstttt, reader and jk are huge idiots, mutual pining, implied smut (its not too detailed so that the story maintains the emotional connectivity), romantic intimacy, tooth-rotting fluff.

MOODBOARD

A/N: HERE IT ISSS! this is the longest fic ive written! tysm for all the support yall have given me in the teaser of this fic. i put out a taglist thinking no one would actually want to be a part of it but so many of yall asked to be tagged 😭 im so grateful! tysm i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writng it. lmk ur thoughts abt it after u read too <3 ALSO HAPPY VALENTINES DAYYY (someone date me pls)

The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the dorm, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.

It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to study.

Joy, your roommate, is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside your bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box. You pull it out carefully, as if it were a fragile secret, and place it on your lap.

A soft breath escapes you as you grab a nearby pen and a book, neatly tearing out a tiny slip of paper. The motion is second nature now. Without even thinking, you let your emotions spill onto the paper, crafting a fleeting moment into something permanent.

Tonight’s memory is simple, but it still tugs at your heart. Jungkook had sent you another blurry picture of the moon, captioned with a casual, “Looks kinda pretty, right?” He knew how much you loved the moon—how it fascinated you in a way you could never quite put into words. And he had remembered. Of course, he had remembered.

A fond smile tugs at your lips as you write:

Jungkook remembers the little things.

Once the ink dries, you fold the note with care and add it to the collection. The box is almost full now, brimming with countless tiny confessions—whispers of feelings you’ve never had the courage to say aloud. A hundred little moments, a hundred little thoughts, all dedicated to the boy who had unknowingly stolen your heart.

Jungkook.

Jungkook, your best friend, who always saves you the last bite of his food, even when it’s his favorite. Jungkook, who sends you blurry pictures of the moon just because he knows you love them. Jungkook, who insists on studying with you, despite his major being entirely different from yours, just so he can make sure you actually open a book instead of procrastinating.

This little tradition of yours had started as a joke. One night, after an especially soft moment where Jungkook had wordlessly placed his hoodie over your head because you were shivering, you had scribbled on a piece of paper: Jungkook is warmer than the sun.

You had smiled to yourself as you rolled up the paper and dropped it into the box. It had felt oddly nice—preserving that moment, capturing the feeling of it in something tangible. So you did it again. And again. And again.

Until, one day, you realized you had written over a hundred of them.

You hadn’t meant to fall in love. And you certainly hadn’t planned to confess.

But each tiny slip of paper holds a truth your heart refuses to say aloud.

And you're going to keep it a secret forever.

You met Jungkook almost three years ago, during freshman year. The first time you met him, he had been infuriatingly kind.

You had been struggling under the weight of a precariously tall stack of books, barely able to see over them, when suddenly, a few disappeared from the top. Startled, you looked up to see Jungkook grinning at you, effortlessly holding the books you had nearly dropped.

"You looked like you were about to tip over," he teased, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement.

With a playful huff, you had responded, "Maybe I wanted it to tip over."

Jungkook had only laughed, shaking his head. "I'll catch you next time," he had promised.

That night, you had written a tiny note and slipped it into your box: He wants to catch me when I fall, even without me asking.

From that moment on, your friendship grew in ways you hadn’t even noticed at first. Midnight walks and late-night study sessions became routine, pulling you closer together with every shared moment. What had started as swapping notes for the one class you had together turned into sharing secrets. Somewhere along the way, before you even realized it, Jungkook had become your favorite person.

The box was almost full now.

You had written so many things over the years, each note capturing a small piece of him, a fragment of your feelings. Some were simple observations:

Jungkook frowns when he eats something delicious.

His hair is always a mess in the mornings. He hates it, but I love it.

His eyes smile before his lips do.

But one night, you had written something different. Something deeper. Something that felt like the truest thing you had ever put to paper.

I love him.

The moment the ink dried, panic had set in. You had almost torn it up, almost removed it from the box as if keeping it there would somehow make it real. But in the end, you had left it. Because the box was safe. No one was going to see it.

Especially not Jungkook.

One afternoon, you came back from your classes, ready to relax and unwind before the stress of exams fully set in. You had been looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe even a movie marathon with Jungkook to take your mind off things for a while.

But the moment you stepped into your dorm, you felt something was off.

Joy was sitting on the couch, sipping her coffee, her expression smug—too smug. A knowing smirk curled at the corners of her lips as she watched you walk in, and instantly, your stomach twisted with unease.

You narrowed your eyes. "What did you do?"

"I did you a favor," she said casually, taking another slow sip of her coffee.

A cold shiver ran down your spine. "What favor?" you asked, dread creeping into your voice.

Joy grinned. "I found that little cute box of yours."

Your heart stopped. "What?"

"Don't look at me like that," she waved a hand dismissively, as if what she was about to say wasn’t about to shatter your entire world. "It was just sitting there collecting dust, and I thought—what a perfect Valentine's Day gift for Jungkook. So…I wrapped it up and dropped it off at his place."

Silence.

A deafening, all-consuming silence as her words echoed in your head.

"You WHAT?!"

Your entire body froze in place, your breath catching in your throat as horror washed over you in waves. Your chest felt tight, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Joy merely raised an eyebrow, seemingly unbothered by the sheer panic on your face. "You're welcome," she said cheekily—before promptly sprinting out of the room for her life.

But you couldn’t chase after her. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the ringing in your ears.

No. No. No.

This couldn't be happening.

Still desperate to deny the possibility, you dropped to your knees and scrambled to check under your bed, your hands shaking as you reached into the familiar space where you had hidden the box for years.

Empty.

It was gone.

The tiny wooden box that held a hundred little moments, a hundred little secrets—your secrets—was gone.

And now it was in Jungkook's hands.

Of all people…Jungkook.

Jungkook lived in an apartment a little further away from your dorm. The second the realization hit, you bolted out the door without a second thought, heart pounding so hard it nearly drowned out the sound of your footsteps against the pavement.

Your plan was simple—get to his apartment before he did. You knew his habits well enough to guess that he was probably grabbing a late lunch at that fast-food place near campus. If luck was on your side, you still had time.

He hadn’t seen it yet.

He couldn’t have seen it yet.

As you ran, your mind spiraled into chaos, bombarding you with every possible scenario—each one worse than the last.

What if he had already opened it?

What if he read through every single note?

What if he found the one that said I love him?

Your stomach twisted painfully at the thought.

Jungkook was your best friend.

He was your person.

And now, he might know that you wanted to be more than just friends.

The mere thought made your chest tighten as memories of the two of you flashed through your mind. The times you spent together at the arcade, the countless movie nights, the time you and Jungkook had crashed Jimin’s birthday party with a ridiculous amount of booze.

And then…there was that moment.

The moment you almost confessed.

"I wish I could find someone who truly understood me," he had said one night, his voice softer than usual, lost in thought.

And you had almost said it. The words had been on the tip of your tongue, so painfully close—"I do."

But you swallowed them down.

Because what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if saying those words ruined everything?

And now, thanks to Joy, you didn’t have a choice anymore. The truth was out there, sitting in a neatly wrapped box in Jungkook’s apartment.

The thought of his reaction sent your mind into overdrive.

Would he laugh?

Would he think it was weird?

Would he—

Would he reject you?

No. No. No.

You shook your head violently as you rounded the corner, lungs burning from the sprint. You’re going to get there before he does. You’re going to take the box back, and he’s never going to know about it.

That was the plan.

It had to work.

As soon as you reached Jungkook’s apartment building, you barely paused to catch your breath. Your legs ached from running, but panic kept you moving. You made a beeline for the mailbox section in the lobby, frantically scanning the names, searching for his.

Box 109.

You yanked it open.

Empty.

Your stomach sank.

Maybe his roommate took it upstairs? Yeah. That had to be it. Maybe it was sitting untouched on the kitchen counter, still wrapped, still safe, still unseen.

You latched onto that sliver of hope as you rushed up the stairs two at a time, unwilling to wait for the elevator. By the time you reached his floor, your hands were shaking. You raised a fist and knocked on the door, urgency making your knuckles sting.

No response.

You knocked again, harder this time.

Then—finally—you heard shuffling from inside. A few footsteps. The creak of the floorboards. A pause.

The door swung open.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

Standing right in front of you, framed in the dim light of his apartment, wearing an oversized grey hoodie that draped over his frame in a way that shouldn't have been so unfairly attractive. His dark hair was slightly damp, messy from a shower, strands falling into his eyes. His lips were parted in surprise, his brows slightly furrowed, and the expression on his face—confused yet soft, dangerously soft—made your already erratic heartbeat lurch violently.

But then, your gaze dropped to his hands.

And the world stopped.

The box.

The open box.

Your box.

Your secret, sacred collection of unsent confessions, of words meant only for the safety of your own solitude. The pieces of your heart you had never dared to show him.

You felt like you were going to be sick.

No, no, no, no—

"You—" You gasped, barely able to form words, chest rising and falling rapidly as you fought for air. "You opened it?"

Jungkook blinked, holding the box loosely in one hand, fingers curled around the edges as if he had been going through its contents just moments ago. He tilted his head, his expression unreadable.

"Yeah," he said simply, as if the weight of the universe hadn’t just come crashing down on you.

Oh. Oh no.

Your legs wobbled. You had to physically stop yourself from collapsing right there in front of him.

His gaze flickered downward, and you followed it instinctively. In his other hand, he held one of the notes. One of your notes. The handwriting was unmistakably yours, a little smudged, a little rushed, but still legible.

He cleared his throat, then read aloud.

"I don’t know when it happened. But one day, he became my favorite person."

Silence.

It stretched on for what felt like an eternity.

You thought you might actually pass out.

"Jungkook, I—" Your voice cracked, but before you could even attempt to explain, he looked up and met your eyes.

And then, to your absolute horror—

He smiled.

Not a teasing smirk, not an awkward grimace, but a real, genuine, knowing smile. A little shy, a little amused, as if the weight of what he had just discovered didn’t terrify him nearly as much as it did you.

And then—oh god—he spoke again.

"So… do you still think my hair looks best when it’s messy?"

Your breath hitched.

Your brain went blank.

You wanted to scream.

The change was almost instant.

In the days that followed, Jungkook became… different.

Not in the way you had imagined, though.

You had been bracing yourself for a talk—a conversation where he’d tell you gently, maybe even apologetically, that he didn’t feel the same way. Or, at the very least, a moment of awkwardness before things slowly went back to normal.

But instead, Jungkook just… pulled away.

It started subtly at first. He stopped texting as much. The late-night calls that once lasted for hours dwindled into one-word replies and seen messages. The casual lunch meetups, the spontaneous arcade runs, the easy, natural way he used to gravitate towards you in a crowded room—all of it changed.

And yet, despite the distance, he never fully let you go.

Instead, he turned it into a joke.

Like today, when he leaned in—far too close for comfort—during your shared class. His voice was low, teasing, the warmth of his breath fanning against your ear.

"So, I’m warmer than the sun, huh?"

You stiffened instantly, your hands tightening around your pen. He pulled back with a smirk, his dark eyes glittering with mischief as he watched your reaction unfold in real-time.

It was unbearable.

He kept doing it.

Whenever you tried to talk to him—really talk to him—he would either dodge the conversation entirely or turn it into something lighthearted, something unserious.

Like the time you finally found him alone, determined to just get it over with, to ask what had changed between you two. Before you could even get the words out, he cut you off with another one of those smirks, his voice laced with amusement.

"So I look best in black? Good to know."

And then he walked away.

That was when you finally got the message.

Jungkook had taken it as a joke.

He didn’t care about your feelings.

It was like the caring, affectionate boy you had known for years had vanished the moment your heart had been laid bare. Like now that the truth was out in the open, he didn’t know how to handle it—so he chose to mock it instead.

And worst of all?

He was pulling away from you completely.

The time you used to spend together? Gone. He was hanging out with other people now, filling his days with anyone but you. And when you did manage to cross paths, he only acknowledged you through those insufferable little comments, those cruel reminders of the things you had never meant for him to see.

It hurt. More than you wanted to admit.

Because maybe—just maybe—you had hoped that if he knew how you felt…

He wouldn’t push you away like this.

The next week brought the on-campus career fair—an event mandatory for all students. You weren’t particularly excited about it, but at least it was a distraction, something to keep your mind occupied.

Or so you thought.

Because that’s when you saw him.

And he wasn’t alone.

He was walking around with Hana, a junior from your college. They moved easily through the crowd, side by side, completely immersed in conversation. And then, to make things even worse—he laughed.

A real laugh. The kind that made his nose scrunch up and his eyes crinkle, the kind you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

Your stomach twisted.

You weren’t expecting him to make it this obvious.

If he wanted to reject you, fine. If he didn’t feel the same way, you could live with that. But did he really have to parade it around like this?

Maybe this was his way of sending a message. Maybe he wanted you to know, without actually having to say it out loud.

A silent rejection.

What a jerk.

These days, you barely have the motivation to attend classes. You go through the motions—waking up, dragging yourself to campus, sitting through lectures—but your mind isn’t really there.

Because no matter how hard you try to distract yourself, the brutal reality of rejection lingers like a shadow, following you everywhere you go.

Jungkook threw away your feelings like they meant nothing.

You should have expected it, right? You should have known this was how it would turn out.

Maybe you were never meant to be anything more than a friend to him. Maybe, the moment he realized you held deeper feelings for him, he got scared. Or worse—maybe he just didn’t care at all.

The thought makes your chest ache.

Jungkook has always been a romantic at heart. You’ve seen it in the way he talks about love, in the way he watches romance movies with a dreamy look in his eyes. But clearly, you were never part of that dream.

And now, because of your stupid feelings, you’ve ruined everything.

You used to be his best friend. The one he joked around with, the one he trusted, the one he leaned on.

But now?

Now he barely looks at you.

And if he does, it's only to throw some teasing remark your way—like your feelings were some kind of joke.

The person you were most angry at was Joy.

Not Jungkook. Not yourself.

Joy.

Because none of this would have happened if she had just left that damn box alone.

That day after the box incident, the moment you stepped back into your dorm, she was there, lounging on the couch like nothing had happened. She glanced up as you walked in, a smirk already forming on her lips.

“I didn’t expect you to come back so early. I thought you guys would—” she wiggled her eyebrows—“get freaky after the whole confession, you know?”

She laughed, expecting you to groan or throw a pillow at her like usual.

But then she saw your face.

Her laughter faded. “Wait… what happened?”

You didn’t answer. You just walked past her and sank into the couch, staring at nothing, your mind still replaying every moment from earlier—Jungkook’s teasing, his smirk, his distance.

You heard Joy shuffle closer, her voice softer now. “I… I’m sorry. Did I send the gift too early? Did Jungkook not like it?”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, no, he loved it.” You turned to her, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you so much for your help, Joy.”

Her expression faltered. “Wait… what do you mean?”

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “Jungkook probably thinks I’m pathetic now.”

Joy winced. She sat beside you on the couch, guilt written all over her face. “I— I really thought—” she hesitated, chewing on her lip. “I was so sure, though. That boy always had heart eyes for you.”

You let out a bitter chuckle. “Well, now you know he didn’t.”

Silence settled between you both.

And for the first time, Joy didn’t have anything to say.

The next time you see Jungkook, he’s with Hana again.

They’re standing by one of the campus notice boards, deep in conversation. You don’t mean to eavesdrop—you’re not even sure why you stop—but the moment you hear them talking, something in your gut tells you to listen.

Hana tilts her head, her voice low but clear. “Are you sure she won't find out?”

Jungkook sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know… Maybe it's better this way”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Your first instinct is denial—maybe they’re not talking about you. Maybe it’s about someone else entirely. But deep down, you know.

As far as you’re aware, there isn’t another she in Jungkook’s life. Not before. Not when you were still close.

You’ve already been replaced.

Your chest aches as you piece it together. He doesn't want you to find out—because he's probably in a relationship with Hana now. Because he doesn’t want to hurt you with a direct rejection, he thinks hiding his relationship with her is the kinder option.

It isn’t.

You swallow the lump in your throat and force yourself to step back, turning away from the scene before you can hear any more.

You decide then—no matter how much it hurts, no matter how pathetic it makes you feel—you can’t bear being apart from Jungkook.

Even if he doesn’t love you back.

Even if he only sees you as a friend.

Losing him completely? That’s not something you’re ready for. Maybe you never will be.

So, you do the only thing you can think of.

You wait for him after class.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you watch the door, your hands clammy with nerves. When Jungkook finally steps out, your breath catches. He looks the same—same hoodie, same soft brown eyes—but everything feels different now.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward.

"I get it, okay?" you say, voice firm despite the way your throat tightens. "You don’t like me. And that’s fine. I hope she makes you happy."

Jungkook halts mid-step.

His jaw clenches. His fists curl at his sides.

"You don’t understand," he mutters.

"Then make me understand, Jungkook," you plead. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to keep going, even as your last shred of dignity slips through your fingers. "Can we still be friends, at least?"

Silence.

Jungkook doesn’t reply.

And somehow, that hurts more than rejection ever could.

There's a party happening, hosted by one of the biggest party animals on campus. Everyone is invited, and Joy insists that you go.

After much convincing, you finally give in. You've mended things with her—finally forgiven her. Maybe it wasn’t entirely her fault. Maybe you just needed someone to blame.

You decide to go, hoping for a distraction. Maybe the music, the drinks, and the endless chatter will help you forget, even if just for a night.

But you already know Jungkook will be there.

Probably Hana too.

And that's fine.

You'll just stay out of their way.

The party is in full swing when you arrive—loud music, flashing lights, bodies moving wildly on the dance floor, and the unmistakable smell of booze in the air. Bottles are being passed around, and the energy is electric.

A few friends from your classes spot you and pull you in, offering drinks. You take them all without hesitation, reaching for the strongest ones, letting the alcohol burn away the ache in your chest.

Jungkook is nowhere in sight.

Good. Maybe he didn’t come. Maybe you can actually enjoy yourself tonight.

With the alcohol settling in, your limbs feel lighter, your mind a little hazy. You dance to the outdated playlist blaring through the speakers, laugh with strangers, and let yourself let go—just for a while.

But after some time, it all feels like too much. The heat, the noise, the overwhelming buzz in your veins. You slip away from the crowd and make your way to the rooftop, breathing in the crisp night air, letting it cool your flushed skin.

And then you sense it—someone else's presence.

You turn, your head spinning slightly, and there he is.

Jungkook.

You blink, wondering if you're imagining him, but his gaze is fixed on you, a slight furrow between his brows. There's something like concern in his expression as he watches you, taking in your drunken state.

Your heart stumbles in your chest.

The alcohol makes everything feel lighter—your body, your thoughts, your inhibitions. So when you see Jungkook standing there, looking at you with that unreadable expression, the words just spill out before you can stop them.

“I liked you, you know,” you mumble, swaying slightly. “But now I realize… I was just wasting my time.”

Jungkook doesn’t react. No apology, no denial, not even a flicker of emotion across his face.

He just exhales softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’ll be fine,” he says simply, then turns on his heel and walks away.

Just like that.

The cool night air suddenly feels suffocating, the weight in your chest heavier than ever. You watch his retreating figure, your heart shattering all over again.

The next morning, you wake up with the nastiest headache ever. Your head throbs, your mouth is dry, and your body feels like it’s been wrung out. You groan, forcing yourself to sit up as the hazy memories from last night slowly piece themselves together.

Jungkook. The rooftop. The way he just… walked away like he didn’t care.

You shake the thought from your mind, dragging yourself out of bed. There’s no point dwelling on it. Your exams are approaching, and you need to focus.

Deciding to get some studying done, you head to the library. The quiet atmosphere should help clear your head—or at least distract you from the mess that is your life.

But the moment you step inside, your breath catches.

Jungkook is sitting at the table you both used to frequent, completely absorbed in scribbling something into a notebook. For a second, you consider turning around, but then something catches your eye.

He rips out a small piece of paper, folds it neatly, and—without hesitation—slips it into a glass jar sitting beside him.

Your heart clenches.

Is it for Hana?

You don’t stick around to find out. Before Jungkook can notice you, you turn on your heel and walk away.

February 10th. Your birthday.

You wake up with a small flicker of hope. Maybe today would be different. Maybe Jungkook had been ignoring you all this time because he was planning something—some kind of surprise. That had to be it, right?

Surely.

So you wait.

By 3 PM, your phone is filled with messages—friends, family, even distant relatives reaching out to wish you. Everyone but Jungkook.

Not even a single text.

The hope that had carried you through the day starts to crumble, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You don’t go to class. What’s the point? This might just be the worst birthday ever.

That’s when Joy bursts into your room with a grin.

"You got a package!" she announces, holding out a neatly wrapped box.

Your heart leaps.

Jungkook?

You rush over, fingers fumbling as you tear open the wrapping—only for your stomach to drop.

It’s from your parents.

Disappointment washes over you, but you push it aside. They went through the trouble of sending you something, and you should be grateful. You take a deep breath, forcing a smile as you pick up your phone and call them.

"Thank you," you say, voice steady. Because at least someone remembered.

There was still time.

It was only evening—plenty of hours left before midnight. Jungkook would surely text before then. He had to.

Joy, noticing your gloomy mood, tries to lift your spirits. "Come on, let’s go out drinking. Have some fun, at least for your birthday."

But you shake your head. "I’m not in the mood."

She sighs, clearly frustrated but doesn’t push you. Instead, she flops onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. "I hate this," she mutters. "I hate seeing you like this. And I hate him for treating you this way."

Her voice is laced with anger, but there’s something else there too—guilt.

Because deep down, Joy still blames herself.

If she hadn’t sent that gift early, if she hadn’t tried to play cupid, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way. Maybe you wouldn’t be spending your birthday like this—waiting for a boy who might never come around.

Jungkook didn’t text that day.

He forgot your birthday.

You waited all day, checking your phone every few minutes, hoping for a message that never came. Midnight passed, and still—nothing.

The realization settles deep in your chest, heavier than you expected. You feel pathetic.

Pathetic for hoping. Pathetic for waiting. Pathetic for still caring.

It’s the day before Valentine’s Day.

You can’t afford to miss any more classes. You haven’t stepped foot on campus since your birthday, but today, you decide to go.

You have no motivation to see or talk to anyone. You tell yourself that you’ll just quietly attend your classes and head straight back home. No distractions. No unnecessary interactions.

But as soon as you reach campus, you notice a crowd gathering. There’s some kind of matchmaking event happening for Valentine’s Day tomorrow.

Great. Just great.

Everything about it feels like the universe is mocking you, rubbing salt on an already raw wound. Heart-shaped decorations, pink confetti floating in the air, and couples laughing—completely oblivious to how suffocating it feels for you.

You try to move past the crowd, but suddenly, someone pushes forward, and you get caught in the chaos. You stumble, losing your balance—bracing for impact—

But you don’t hit the ground.

Because Jungkook catches you.

His hands grip your arms, steadying you out of instinct. His touch is firm and warm, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.

For the first time in days, you look up at him. And for the first time in days, he looks right back at you.

He doesn’t let go of you immediately.

His grip stays firm, his fingers pressing into your arms like he’s grounding himself, like he’s hesitating. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his lips parting slightly—like he’s about to say something.

The music playing in the background fades into a distant hum. Everything around you slows. The laughter, the chatter, the festival lights—it all blurs.

All that’s left is him.

Still holding you.

Your voice barely comes out, a whisper against the space between you.

“Do you even care, Jungkook?”

His hands tighten for a fraction of a second. His jaw clenches. And for a brief, fleeting moment, you think you see something—something raw and unspoken flash through his eyes.

But then, like a switch flipping, he lets go.

So fast that you nearly stumble again.

"No, Y/N. I don’t."

His words cut through the air, sharp and merciless.

Then he turns. Walks away.

And you’re left standing there, alone in the middle of a festival meant for love.

This is it.

This is your answer.

Jungkook has made his choice.

And now, it’s time for you to make yours.

You have to move on.

That night, you decide—Jungkook was never meant to be yours.

It’s a painful truth, one you’ve been avoiding, but tonight, you accept it.

Needing a distraction, you start clearing out your closet, pulling out old clothes, forgotten trinkets, anything to keep your hands busy. That’s when you see it.

The pink heart-shaped box.

Your breath hitches.

You had snatched it from his hands that day, barely able to meet his gaze before bolting out of his apartment and driving straight back to your dorm. You had shoved it deep into your closet, hoping that if you buried it away, you could bury your feelings too.

For a moment, you consider throwing it away. What’s the point of holding onto it now? Jungkook knows. He read the notes, saw every piece of your heart laid bare. And in the end, it changed nothing.

Your fingers tremble as you lift the lid.

One by one, you pull out the little folded papers, unfolding memories you once held so close.

"I don’t know when it happened, but one day, he became my favourite person."

"His laugh is my favorite sound."

"I wish he knew how much he means to me."

Tears blur your vision.

You never wanted him to know.

Because you never wanted to lose him.

And now, you have.

The weight of it crashes over you all at once, and before you can stop it, the tears spill over, hot and relentless.

You clutch the notes to your chest as silent sobs wrack your body.

You’ve been holding the pain in for too long.

So tonight, you let the dams break.

And you cry yourself to sleep.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

You feel miserable.

Forget having a Valentine this year—you don’t even have a best friend anymore.

So you stay in bed all day, buried under the covers, refusing to acknowledge the world outside.

Your mind drifts, unbidden, to last year’s Valentine’s Day.

You and Jungkook had gone out for dinner—not as lovers, not as anything more than friends, just two people who didn’t have dates. You remember how he laughed at the terrible restaurant music, how he stole fries from your plate like they were his.

You miss it.

No—wait. You shouldn’t be thinking about him.

Shaking off the thought, you grab your Nintendo Switch and start playing, trying to distract yourself.

Then the doorbell rings.

You ignore it. Joy is probably home—she’ll get it.

But it rings again.

What is Joy doing?

Then it hits you—she probably stayed over at her boyfriend’s place last night.

With a groan, you push off the covers and make your way to the door. You swing it open, ready to shoo away whoever it is—

But there’s no one there.

Your gaze drops to the ground.

And then you see it.

A singular jar, placed carefully on the doormat.

You stare at the jar, a strange sense of familiarity creeping in, but you can’t quite place it.

Where have you seen something like this before?

Your mind scrambles for an answer, flipping through memories like pages in a book, but nothing surfaces.

With hesitant fingers, you reach down and pick it up, feeling the cool glass against your palm. It’s heavier than you expected.

That’s when you notice the writing on the lid, scrawled in red marker.

"To Y/N."

Your heart stutters.

You blink, trying to steady your breath, but the moment feels unreal—like you’ve stepped into a dream.

It’s only then that you notice the jar is filled with tiny rolled-up notes, crammed inside like secrets waiting to be unraveled.

Your mind starts spiraling.

What is this? Who left it? Why does it have your name?

Your hands tremble as you twist the lid open, the slight pop of the seal echoing in the silence.

You reach inside, fingers brushing against the countless little slips of paper.

With bated breath, you pull one out.

You carefully unroll it, eyes scanning the words scribbled in rushed, familiar handwriting.

"I lied."

That’s all it says.

Two words.

Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes trace the messy yet unmistakable handwriting.

Jungkook.

Your fingers tighten around the note as your pulse quickens.

It’s his.

The realization slams into you with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned.

Your breath turns shallow as the memory crashes into you—

Yesterday.

The crowd. The music. The overwhelming blur of people around you.

You had stumbled, nearly falling, only for Jungkook to catch you. For a fleeting moment, he held you close. His grip was firm, his expression unreadable.

You had searched his face, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you even care, Jungkook?"

You had wanted him to say yes. Even a little. Anything to make the ache in your chest feel less unbearable.

But instead—

"No, Y/N. I don’t."

His words had cut deeper than you ever thought possible.

And then he had let go. So fast, like touching you had burned him. Like you meant nothing at all.

You remember the way your heart had cracked, the way he had disappeared into the sea of people, leaving you stranded in the middle of a festival meant for love.

But now—

Now you stand here, gripping a jar full of his words.

"I lied."

Your hands fumble as you reach into the jar again, pulling out another note.

Unrolling it with shaky fingers, you read:

"I thought if I pushed you away, it’d be easier for you to move on. But the truth is, I don’t want you to."

A sharp pang strikes your chest.

Your mind reels, and suddenly, you're back at the rooftop party—drunk, vulnerable, spilling your heart out in slurred words.

“I liked you, you know? But now I realize I was just wasting my time.”

Jungkook had stood there, silent, unreadable, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

No apology. No denial. Nothing.

And then, just as effortlessly, he had turned away.

"You'll be fine," he'd said before walking off, leaving you alone in the cold night.

The memory burns like an open wound, and yet, here you are, standing in your doorway, holding the truth he should have told you that night in the palm of your hands.

Your fingers tremble as you pull out the next note.

"I missed your birthday on purpose because I wanted to give you something that lasts longer than a text."

Your breath hitches.

He didn’t forget?

He chose not to text?

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips, but it fades just as quickly as the weight of his words settles in.

You reach into the jar again, pulling out another note, heart pounding against your ribs.

What you didn’t know was—

Jungkook had spent hours writing your birthday note.

He had sat at his desk that night, a dozen crumpled papers around him, rewriting the same message over and over, never satisfied. His hands had been shaky when he finally folded the note and slipped it into the jar.

Because words were permanent.

Because he was afraid.

Because deep down, he knew—if he told you how much you really meant to him, he wouldn’t be able to push you away anymore.

And that terrified him.

Your grip on the jar tightens as you pull out the next note.

"I was scared you’d see me in the library that day. And you did. I almost stopped writing. But I wanted to finish this for you."

Your breath catches in your throat as a memory rushes back—

The library.

That afternoon, when you had finally dragged yourself back to campus to study for your exams, you had seen him sitting at your usual table, scribbling something into his notebook.

At the time, you thought nothing of it—until you watched him tear out a tiny slip of paper and slip it into a jar.

A jar.

The very same one you now hold in your trembling hands.

Back then, you had turned away, assuming it was for Hana.

But it wasn’t.

It was for you.

Every note in this jar was for you.

Your vision blurs as you stare down at the tiny rolled-up messages still waiting to be read.

He had been writing to you all along.

By the time you reach the last few notes, your hands are trembling. Maybe you can’t even read them through the tears clouding your vision. The weight of all those misunderstandings—every ignored confession, every painful silence, every moment you thought he didn’t care—crashes down on you all at once.

Your breath is uneven as you unroll another slip of paper.

"You thought I didn’t care. But I did. I always did."

A sob escapes your lips, the ache in your chest unbearable.

You clutch the jar against you like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held—because it is. Because it’s him.

Every unspoken word. Every hidden feeling. Every truth he was too afraid to say aloud.

And now, you finally know.

Your breath catches as you reach the bottom of the jar, realizing the significance—there are exactly 100 notes, just like the box you once gave him.

With shaky hands, you pull out the 99th note.

“I was always bad at saying things out loud. So I wrote them instead. I just hope it’s not too late for you to read them.”

Your chest tightens.

You take a deep breath and reach for the last note, your fingers trembling. Slowly, you unroll it, heart pounding in your ears.

“Y/N, will you be my Valentine?”

The paper almost slips from your fingers as your vision blurs with fresh tears. A shaky laugh escapes your lips, somewhere between disbelief and overwhelming emotion.

After everything, after all the silence, the pain, the misunderstandings—he’s finally saying it.

And suddenly, all that matters is what you’ll do next.

The moment the words register, you don’t think.

The jar nearly slips from your grasp as you scramble to your feet, your heartbeat hammering louder than the thoughts racing through your mind. Jungkook. He couldn’t have gone far—he must have just dropped it off.

You fling the door open, barefoot, barely even stopping to grab your keys. The cold air bites at your skin, but you don’t care. You sprint down the stairs, nearly stumbling in your rush to get outside.

Your eyes dart wildly around the street, your breath coming out in frantic puffs. Where is he?

Then, you see him.

A few feet away, Jungkook is walking slowly, hands in his pockets, head low like he’s already bracing for disappointment. Like he’s already convinced you won’t come after him.

But you do.

“Jungkook!”

He freezes.

You don’t stop running until you’re right in front of him, breathless, clutching the jar close to your chest like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the moment.

His eyes widen when he sees you—messy hair, no shoes, trembling hands still gripping his gift like it’s the most important thing in the world.

You swallow hard, voice shaking. “Did you mean it?”

Jungkook looks at you for a long moment, the night stretching between you like a fragile thread.

Then, barely above a whisper—“Yeah.”

Your chest heaves, breath uneven, voice shaking as you clutch the jar tighter.

"You absolute—jerk." Your voice wavers, but the anger, the hurt, the sheer weight of everything he’s put you through spills out in every word. "You sat there, letting me think I meant nothing to you. And the whole time, you were—" You shake the jar, almost laughing in disbelief. "—writing these?"

Jungkook doesn’t answer. He just stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets, jaw tight, like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say next.

"You could’ve just told me, Jungkook. You could’ve just—" You pause, gripping the jar like it’s the only thing holding you together. "Why? Why lie to me?"

He exhales sharply, his voice rough, like he’s been holding it in for too long.

"Because I was a coward."

You blink. You weren’t expecting him to admit it so easily.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, looking away. "I thought pushing you away was the right thing to do. If I let you think I didn’t care, maybe you’d move on. Maybe you’d find someone who wouldn’t hurt you like I did."

Your throat tightens. Your fingers dig into the glass of the jar. "You were the one hurting me, Jungkook."

His eyes finally meet yours, and the weight of them almost knocks the air from your lungs. He looks wrecked.

"I know." His voice is barely above a whisper.

"Then why?" Your voice trembles, frustration bubbling over. "Why did you let me think I was chasing something that wasn’t even there?"

His jaw clenches, and for a second, he doesn’t answer. But then, his voice comes, low and raw.

"Because I was afraid you’d realize you deserved better."

Silence settles between you. A silence so thick it presses against your chest, making it hard to breathe.

You stare at him, your vision blurring. You should walk away. You should scream, cry—anything. But instead, you do the only thing you can think of.

You reach into the jar, grab a note at random, and shove it into his hand. "Read it."

Jungkook hesitates. Then, slowly, he unfolds the paper. His fingers tremble as he reads the words he once wrote.

"If I had been braver, I would’ve told you every single day how much you meant to me."

He sucks in a sharp breath, gripping the paper like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes flick back up to yours, burning with something you can’t quite name.

"Say it now," you whisper.

Jungkook's breath catches. His grip on the note tightens like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

You wait. Trembling, heart pounding, eyes locked onto his. Daring him to finally, finally say it.

He exhales shakily. His voice is low, rough—like it hurts to speak, but he does anyway.

"Y/N…"

You don’t look away. Don’t let him run from this.

His throat bobs. His hand curls into a fist at his side, then slowly unclenches.

"I love you."

A sharp inhale cuts through you. Even though you were waiting for it, the words hit like a tidal wave.

Jungkook shakes his head, almost laughing, but there’s no humor in it—just raw, aching regret.

"I loved you then. I love you now. And I don’t think there’s a single version of me that won’t love you."

Your vision blurs, the weight of everything pressing down on you all at once.

"Then why—" your voice cracks, "—why did you let me think you didn’t?"

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. His face twists with something close to pain.

"Because I was scared." His voice is barely above a whisper. "Scared that if I let myself have you, I’d ruin you. Scared that you’d wake up one day and realize I wasn’t worth it."

Your hands clench at your sides. "You don’t get to decide that for me."

He nods. Swallows hard. Takes a step closer.

"I know." His voice is softer now. "And if I could go back, I’d do it all differently. But I can’t. All I can do is stand here and tell you—"

Your lips crash into his, years of longing and heartbreak unraveling in a single, desperate moment. Your fingers fist into his jacket, pulling him closer, closing the distance like you’ve been waiting forever. Because you have.

Jungkook catches you. His arms wind tight around your waist, grounding you, anchoring you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. His grip is firm, unyielding, as if holding you is the only thing that makes sense anymore.

The kiss isn’t soft—it’s frantic, raw, filled with all the words you never got to say. It’s a confession, an apology, a plea. His lips move against yours with urgency, pouring everything into it, like he’s trying to make up for every second he spent pushing you away.

Jungkook tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and a shiver runs through you as his fingers tangle into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. His other hand spreads against your back, pressing you impossibly closer, like even this isn’t enough, like he’d fuse you together if he could.

You melt. Every wall you built, every ounce of anger, every misunderstanding—crumbling, dissolving into the heat of him. The way he kisses you feels like an answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking. Like a promise.

When you finally pull apart, neither of you lets go.

Jungkook rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours, still uneven, still shaken. His hands remain on your waist like he’s afraid that the second he lets go, this will all disappear.

Your fingers stay curled in his shirt, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

His voice is raw when he finally speaks, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.”

You exhale, shaking your head, the weight of everything still pressing against your chest. Your voice is quiet, but steady. “Then spend every day proving that you do.”

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh—one that sounds broken and real, like he can’t believe he’s still allowed to have this moment with you.

“Deal,” he murmurs.

And then he kisses you again.

The door barely clicks shut before Jungkook is on you again, his hands framing your face as his lips crash into yours. There’s no hesitation now, no careful restraint—only heat, only the raw, aching need that’s been simmering between you for far too long.

His body presses against yours, pushing you back into the door, and you gasp against his lips. He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping over yours with slow, deliberate intent. He tastes like something addictive—like want, like longing, like the kind of hunger that makes your stomach tighten and your knees go weak.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer. His hands roam down, slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips skimming along your bare skin. His touch is scorching, leaving a trail of fire wherever he moves. He pauses, his breath ragged, lips barely brushing yours.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, voice rough, uneven.

You shake your head, tilting your chin up until your lips ghost over his again. "I don’t want you to stop."

The words break something inside him.

His mouth crashes onto yours again, hungrier this time, more desperate. His hands slide up your back, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the hard lines of his body, the way his chest rises and falls unsteadily against yours. One hand grips your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you shudder, while the other slides lower, gripping your thigh and hitching it up against his hip.

A quiet moan escapes you at the feeling, and he groans in response, pressing harder into you. His lips leave yours, trailing a path down your jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, where he lingers. His teeth scrape lightly against your skin before he soothes it with his tongue, sucking gently, enough to make you arch into him, enough to make your breath hitch.

"Jungkook—" His name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper, and he exhales sharply against your skin, like the sound is enough to undo him.

His grip tightens as he lifts you effortlessly, hands settling under your thighs. Instinct takes over, and your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you across the room. He lays you down on the bed with care, but there’s nothing careful about the way he follows you down, covering your body with his own.

He hovers above you, his breath warm against your lips, his dark eyes searching yours. His thumb brushes over your cheek, then lower, tracing the curve of your bottom lip, his touch unbearably light.

"You’re sure?" he whispers, voice thick with something heady.

Your only answer is a whispered "Yes," breathless, certain.

Something shifts in him at your words. His lips find yours again, but this time, he takes his time—exploring, savoring, as if he wants to memorize every inch of you. His kisses trail downward, along the curve of your neck, across your collarbone, his mouth mapping out a path of heat and sensation. His hands move with just as much purpose, slipping under fabric, pushing it aside, fingers tracing bare skin with an intimacy that makes your pulse stutter.

Every brush of his lips, every slow, deliberate touch sends waves of electricity through you, igniting something deep and primal. Clothes are discarded in slow, teasing movements, the heat between you building with every layer that falls away.

His lips ghost over your shoulder, down your arm, over the curve of your breasts, his breath hot and uneven. He watches you, eyes dark with something intense, something almost reverent, as his fingers trace slow, lazy patterns along your bare skin.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmurs, voice filled with something deeper than desire.

You reach for him, pulling him back up, needing his mouth on yours again, needing more. He obliges, kissing you fiercely, like he never wants to stop, like this moment has been waiting to happen for far too long.

His hands explore moving towards your heat, his touch reverent yet possessive, like he’s memorizing every inch of you, like he’s making up for all the lost time. You arch into him, breath hitching, hands gripping onto his shoulders as heat coils low in your stomach.

"Jungkook," you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a plea.

His breath catches, and he exhales shakily. "I’ve got you," he murmurs against your skin, voice barely above a whisper. "I’m right here."

And then there’s no more talking—only movement, only passion, only the feeling of finally, finally being exactly where you both belong.

The air is thick with warmth, bodies tangled beneath the sheets, hearts pounding in tandem as the last echoes of your shared breaths settle between you. The world outside might still be turning, but in this moment, it doesn’t exist. It’s just you and him, skin against skin, the weight of what just happened pressing down like the softest, heaviest thing in the world.

Your body is spent, muscles trembling faintly from the aftershocks, but you don’t move. You can’t.

Jungkook is still holding you. One arm draped lazily around your waist, the other tracing absentminded patterns against your back. His touch is slow, soothing, like he’s still trying to convince himself you’re real. Like if he lets go, you might slip away.

You stay like that for a while, chests rising and falling in sync, your head resting just above his heart. The rhythm of it is steady now, no longer racing like it had been just moments ago. Still, there’s a softness to it, an unspoken question lingering in the quiet space between you.

It’s you who finally breaks it.

“So…” You shift slightly, fingers trailing absentmindedly along his chest. “Hana knew about the jar?”

His hand stills for the briefest moment before he exhales a small, breathy laugh. His voice is thick with exhaustion, but there’s amusement in it too.

“She didn’t just know about it.” His fingers resume their slow, idle circles against your bare skin. “It was her idea.”

You blink. “…What?”

Jungkook hums in confirmation, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Yeah. She was the one who told me to do it—to fill a jar with everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.” He pauses, then adds, “She also threatened to expose me if I didn’t.”

You scoff, though you can’t help the warmth blooming in your chest. “So let me get this straight… You couldn’t tell me how you felt, but you told Hana?”

Jungkook turns his head slightly to look at you, eyes still heavy with sleep, but the amusement in them is undeniable. “I didn’t tell her. She just… figured it out.”

Of course, she did.

You huff, feigning annoyance, but your fingers betray you, tracing soft, aimless patterns along his collarbone. “Still. She knew before I did.”

Jungkook grins, rolling onto his side to face you fully. One hand slips beneath the sheets, finding your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. His voice is low when he asks, “Are you jealous?”

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

His laughter vibrates against your skin, rich and warm, before he dips down to kiss you—slow and lingering, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into it. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet.

Then, softer now, more serious, he murmurs, “Are you gonna answer me?”

Your brow furrows slightly. “Answer what?”

Jungkook leans over, reaching toward the nightstand where the jar still sits, its notes untouched—except for the last one.

“The question,” he says, retrieving the single unfolded slip of paper. He holds it between you, and even though you already know what it says, your heart still stutters when your eyes skim over the words again.

Y/N, will you be my Valentine?

Earlier, you had left it unanswered, too overwhelmed by everything that had come before it. But now, after everything—after confessions, after heartbreak, after finally finding each other again—there’s no hesitation.

You reach out, plucking the note from his fingers. Slowly, carefully, you fold it again, tucking it beneath your pillow like something precious, something worth keeping. Then, meeting his gaze, you whisper, “You never needed to ask.”

Jungkook exhales, slow and shaky, like something inside him has finally settled. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin like he’s memorizing the moment.

“Good,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “Because I wasn’t planning on taking no for an answer.”

Your breath catches. Not because of his confidence—but because, deep down, you realize you’d never wanted to say no in the first place. Maybe you had tried to fight it. Maybe you had convinced yourself that the past had built too many walls between you. But now, lying here in the warmth of his arms, the truth settles into your bones like something that had been waiting for you to accept it all along.

It had always been him.

Your fingers tighten in the sheets as you search his gaze, looking for hesitation, for doubt—for something to make this feel less like a dream. But there’s nothing. Just him. Just you. Just this moment you both fought so hard to reach.

Jungkook watches you, waiting, always waiting, his hand still resting against your cheek as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

So you close the distance.

You kiss him slowly this time, letting it sink in. The warmth of his lips, the taste of him still lingering, the way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. When you pull away, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing the same air, hearts beating in time.

And then, with a quiet, knowing smile, you whisper, “Then don’t.”

Jungkook’s lips part slightly, his expression shifting—softening, melting—as if those two words had knocked down every last barrier between you. And maybe they had. Because before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you against him again, tucking you close, his hand slipping into yours beneath the sheets.

Neither of you speak for a long time after that. You don’t need to.

Outside, the world keeps turning, time moving forward just as it always does. But here, in the hush of your dorm room, wrapped up in him, it feels like the universe has paused just for you.

Not to make up for lost time.

But to remind you that some things—some people—were never really lost at all.

And maybe, just maybe, they never would be.

EPILOGUE : Years Later – Valentine’s Day

The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the apartment, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.

It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to pick a restaurant instead of saying, “Anything’s fine.”

Jungkook is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside the bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box.

But this time, there’s something else.

Your fingers find the jar—the one that started it all.

You pull them both out carefully, as if they were a fragile secret, and place them on your lap.

Soft footsteps approach. Then, a familiar weight sinks onto the mattress beside you.

Jungkook’s voice is quieter now, fond. “Didn’t think I’d see those again.”

You smile, running a thumb over the worn edges of the box before glancing at him. “I don’t know what made me reach for them.”

He hums, gaze flickering between the objects in your hands. “Habit, maybe. Or fate.” Then, smirking, “You always did have a thing for digging up answers.”

Rolling your eyes, you pop the lid off the jar, fingers fishing out an old note. The paper is creased, the ink slightly faded, but you already know what it says.

"Y/N, will you be my Valentine?"

Jungkook watches you, expectant. “You never actually answered me, you know.”

You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. “Jungkook, we’re literally married.”

“And?” He leans in, teasing. “I’m just saying, a verbal confirmation wouldn’t hurt.”

You scoff but humor him anyway, fingers curling into his sweater as you whisper against his lips—

"Yes, Jungkook. I’ll be your Valentine."

His arms wrap around you, pulling you in. The jar sits forgotten on the floor, the pink box nestled beside it.

Once upon a time, you had pulled it out, searching for clarity. Looking for a sign.

You didn’t realize then—you never needed the answers inside.

Because you’d already found them.

Because you’d found him.

And maybe that was the answer all along.

taglist: @iamstilljk @hirochan112 @withluvjm @amarawayne @jeon-has-left-you-on-seen @blueofocean @tattzjeon @tsick @stuti2904 @gukkiebabysblog @taekritimin123 @whisperingonyx @sadgirlroo @nerdycheol @hoshiskimchi @blueberriesm @kooksrqcer @minimoninini @dreamersparacosm @yok00k @whothefuckisthishoe @prxdajeon @darkangelfei @sunainasworld @kia091106 @khadeeeeej @welcometomyworld13 @noshametempo @bakuhoethotski @ohyeah35sworld

thank you so much for reading! let me know what u think about it <3

[rcvcgers]

Rotten Apples, pt. 2

part one

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: you run into a familiar face at work.

word count: 4.9k words

warnings: extreme loathing, kinda funny, kinda sad, a good mix of everything! a hint of foreplay! not proofread!

author's note: thank you for all the love on part one! here's part two! should there be a part three? also, enjoy a pic of caleb i grabbed from the game today!

taglist <3 : @kebarney @pinkismyfavcolor @romils @erisnxxi @rik0shii @reni502 @spacehopper27 @llamabois @likesvader @pandoras-rabbit @princessfruit @lukassafespace @jexizia

Caleb couldn’t say how long he’s been standing outside your door for. Had it been an hour? Three? Maybe it’s only been thirty minutes…time truly flies by when he’s with his love.

It doesn’t matter, though. Caleb would stand guard outside your door if it meant that you were safe.

Safe and alone inside your apartment…no other specimen in there to protect you.

Caleb wouldn’t let them come in if they came. He’d use his evol to shove them towards the side stairwell. He’d shove them down and watch as their bodies crumbled together, bones breaking, finding their screams of pain and agony satisfying.

It would all be worth it because you’re safe. All because of his much needed protection.

You’re his.

His to protect. His to look after. His to care for. His to love.

He glances to the side and notices that Skyhaven’s clouds have slightly parted. A smile spreads across his face, the man sneaking towards the hallway window, looking out at the morning sky. The weather is still undoubtedly gloomy, but the slight sight of sun is sign enough for him that you two are meant to be.

Caleb prances down the hallway, stopping by your door one last time. He slowly inhales, his eyes feeling heavy, and flattens his palm against it.

He’ll be seeing you soon.

The Colonel exits your apartment building, his phone attached to the side of his face. His voice is cheery and if you were to hear it, you’d think that his face would be all smiles and joy. It isn’t, though, and is instead a stoic expression.

“Hey, buddy. Remember that favor you owe me? Well, it’s time to cash in. I need you to get me information on someone. Yeah, yeah, I’ll send her name over to you now. Great! Thanks!” He hangs up and settles into a spot across the street.

People pass in front of him, his back pressed against the outside wall of a convenience store. Caleb barely pays attention to other woman who pause to get another look at him. He doesn’t have time to entertain their fantasies. He’d prefer to cater to your wants and needs. You deserve it after all your years of being apart.

Caleb tilts his head up and finds your window. His sick smile returns to his face, waiting for you to appear.

Except, he doesn’t know that you don’t peer out the window in the morning. Instead, you stay in bed for as long as you can, face and body covered by your sheets and obnoxious amount of blankets. 

Your arm sticks out, slicing through the chilly morning air.

Shit. You think to yourself. Did the heater not kick in?

Your toes feel inexplicably cold despite being buried under a behemoth of blankets. Slowly sitting up in bed, your tired eyes look around your dark room before they float to the butterfly that hangs from your window. You love how the orange and blue hues grace the floor, softly turning the cold environment into something warm and welcoming.

It reminds you of home and most importantly, it reminds you of him.

You can’t help but laugh, slapping your forehead as you slip out of bed. Last night was a trip and a half!

Your date with George was so bad that you actually hallucinated Caleb being alive. Ha! It’s laughable, really, and you can’t even fathom who was there to witness your crazed haze. You definitely sounded like a crazy person, probably looking like the other blacked out people on the street who struggled to get home.

“Poor guy,” you say aloud, filling in your apartment’s silence, “I hope we never run into each other again.”

Oh, the irony.

You slowly get ready for your day. You take a quick shower, already running late, and stumble into your closet with your toothbrush hanging from your lips. You snatch a clean uniform jacket from the hangers, sliding it over your white blouse. You tuck your shirt into your black pencil skirt and make for sure there are no wrinkles in the fabric.

You hesitate, staring at yourself in the mirror. 

Who are you trying to impress, anyways? It’s not like you’re going to find your Prince Charming at work.

Finally ready for your day, feeling rejuvenated and having shaken off your hysterics from the previous night, you step out of your apartment. You chew on a last minute attempt at making toast. The bread is dry instead of being lathered with butter, a complete oversight on your part.

You don’t even have time to stop for a coffee for a boost of energy. How the hell are you going to get through the day?

The rain stopped but the clouds still hang low in the sky. You’re used to the gloomy days, you actually welcome them with open arms. Too much sun reminds you of home and all of the misfortune you went through and, well, Linkon has a Wanderer problem that you want to avoid. Skyhaven still has them but it’s significantly less. You have the Fleet to thank for that.

And you definitely don’t have to thank a certain hunter who always seems to be at the scene of the worst attacks. As long as she stays away, you can live in peace knowing that if a Wanderer were to show up, she wouldn’t be the one to save you.

Your job as a translator stresses you out. Your boss, Darryl, is a weird, perverted dick that abuses his power. Whenever you don’t accept his daily flirts or go to HR about his behavior, you’re rewarded with horrible assignments that take years off of your life because you’re surrounded by men who are exactly like Darryl. You swear that you’ve seen a gray hair or two sprout from your head.

Being a translator under Darryl is a soul sucking job. You’ve applied to different departments in the Deepspace Aviation Administration, but Darryl has decided that you’re only good enough for translating documents and transcripts.

Your dream is to be a live translator, one that sat in a hidden room during negotiations and meetings between presidents and generals. Hell, you’d be fine with translating between the generals’ secretaries! It’s a thrill that you’ll unfortunately never be able to experience.

A big fuck you to Darryl.

You step through the shiny and clean doors of the Deepspace Aviation Administration. The building is eerily tall, shooting further into the atmosphere. You’ve managed to stay within the clouds, though, barely able to move past the fifteenth floor. Your security clearance is less than desirable, but it hasn’t stopped you from inching your way to the top.

You hope to see the secret levels soon enough but sincerely doubt it.

You smile at Abel and Remy, who work the entrance of the building, manning the security clearance that you pass through every weekday. You place your bag down on the conveyor belt, scanning your I.D. card in the little pad before stepping through the metal detector.

“Good morning you two,” you greet them with a familiar smile.

“Morning!” Remy chimes with a smile. He hands you your bag and nudges Abel’s side. He barely looks up, waving, before sinking his head back into the computer. “He slept like shit. Don’t mind him.”

“It’s all good,” you shrug, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Just as you are about to step away, Abel’s head shoots up.

“Stay here. You were flagged.” Abel waves his hand in the air. Two nicely dressed soldiers approach you, guns slung on their sides. Your eyes widen, looking around for any kind of sign that this is a prank that Remy and Abel were pulling on you.

When the soldiers approach you and take your arm, a weight forms on your shoulders. 

It’s not a prank. It’s very fucking real.

Terror rips through your body. Your eyes widen as the masked soldiers stare down at you, their eyes dark and unwelcoming.

“Ma’am. Follow us,” one of the soldiers barks at you. You nod, ready to comply, but are unable to move your feet. You try to move your leg but it doesn’t budge. You awkwardly laugh to yourself, looking down at the unresponsive limb.

Move, dammit! You internally scream, cheeks heating up. 

Remy gives your back a gentle tap, nudging you forward. You stumble over your feet, pushing through the gap between the soldiers.

They track you from behind and occasionally bark a direction for you to take. They guide you towards the elevator that is reserved for higher ranking officials and officers. Your gulp, heart pounding in your chest. Your ears begin to ring, heating up as nausea overtakes your body. You close your eyes and grip the railing in the elevator, clinging to the cold metal for some kind of relief.

Where did it all go wrong?

Did you translate something wrong? Is it your fault that a world war is about to erupt? You knew you should have told Darryl to not give you assignments on the language you’re weakest at! He should have given it to Miranda!

Your foot rapidly taps against the elevator floor. Each ding from a new floor heightens your anxiety, body shivering at the thought of what could happen to you.

Ding.

Goodbye cruel world!

Ding.

It was nice knowing you all!

Ding.

Don’t forget about me! Use my death as an example on what not to do!

You have heard many stories of what happened to translators that interpreted a word incorrectly. They simply disappeared off the face of the earth and were never heard from again. Or they ended up teaching languages at a community college far away from Skyhaven and the Fleet.

You’d rather disappear off the face of the earth than succumb to that fate.

The elevator doors slide open. You look up from the floor, surprised to see a normal looking work environment. One of the soldiers place their hand on your back, pushing your forward. You move with his hand, not particularly enjoying his touch. You shoot him a glare, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’ll take her from here.”

You freeze. Goosebumps spread across your skin and chills run down your spine. You focus on the wall in front of you, a figure sliding in front of your vision. Your eyes are met with a black uniform, the typical red, white, and blue accents that the Fleet uniforms have.

Your eyes float up, taking in the figure before you. Purple eyes stare down at you, your haze focusing on the golden spot that lays on the bottom of his iris. The nausea you once felt disappears but is quickly replaced with an even worse feeling of complete and utter dread.

“Caleb?” His name rolls off your tongue like butter, melting the ice that surrounds your heart.

So last night was not a dream. Caleb was the one to save you from George, not some random stranger who was there at the time. It was your ex-childhood best friend.

A semblance of a smile flashes across his face before his gaze sharpens. He looks you up and down, hands behind his back. Your gaze drops, taking him in his entirety.

Fuck…he looks great in his uniform.

“Long time no see,” he quips, stoic expression remaining on his face. “Follow me.” Without missing a beat, he turns on his heel and begins to walk away. You look around, blinking as if it’ll snap you out of the dream you’re clearly inside of.

When you don’t follow, Caleb walks back. His fingers curl around your wrist, his touch shocking your body to life. You fumble over your words, random sounds fleeing from your lips, as Caleb guides you away from invasive eyes.

His hair is still short but is just shaggy enough to remain charming and add to his looks. Your squint your eyes, noticing a few light scars on the right side of his body. They creep up his neck from under his wrinkle-free uniform. Caleb opens a door and you step inside, swallowing whatever confusion you had left in your mouth, and turn to him.

“Caleb?” Your voice is breathy. Caleb’s eyes fix themselves on you, the man leaning against the closed door with his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re…what?”

“Take your time,” he chuckles. Your breath gets caught in your throat. His chuckle makes you want to jump for joy. “We are on a time crunch though, pipsqueak—”

“Don’t call me that,” you interrupt him, hissing as your instincts take over.

Any positive feeling you felt towards him in the past five minutes has vanished. You glare and cross your arms over your chest.

How dare Caleb call you that? That was always her nickname, alongside other ridiculous pet names that always made you gag whenever you looked back in your memories.

You made for certain that you’ll never be his pipsqueak.

You groan, rolling your eyes, and turn away from him. To him, it feels like you just drove a knife into his heart. He stares at the back of your head, his gaze falling for a brief moment, noticing the curve of your ass, before circling in front of you.

“I won’t call you that…noted,” he breathlessly chuckles. Once you tilt your chin up to show your glare, his chuckle gets caught in his throat. He covers it with a cough, suddenly feeling nervous around you.

Caleb has never felt this way with you before. In the past, everything was so easy! It was smooth sailing with you, low maintenance. He knew that you didn’t need the constant validation from him whereas she always needed it.

Maybe that’s been his foolish mistake all along. He should have paid more attention to you instead of her.

Is this what loathing feels like? Complete and utter contempt towards someone? Caleb hasn’t experienced this kind of negative feeling before, at least, not with her.

He had always felt so alive whenever she looked his way. Her beauty and innocence was so captivating. He adored playing the hero she needed.

Where was your hero? Who was there to call you pipsqueak or any other cheesy nickname? God, he’s been a fucking idiot.

“Is there…a nickname you’d like me to call you? For old time’s sake?” Caleb’s question earns him an angered scoff from you.

“You can call me by my name, thanks,” You look at him, eyes flickering down to his exposed neck.

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. His gloved hand reaches for the collar of his shirt, wanting to loosen his restrictive tie, but falls. When your eyes meet again, his shoulders tense before relaxing.

Is he…is he nervous?

“Tell me, Colonel,” you begin. Caleb’s head perks up and he looks at you, hanging onto every word that comes from your lips. “Why am I here?”

“I heard you’re the best translator we have,” Caleb’s compliment makes you raise your eyebrow, “I only want the best. I need you to translate something for me.”

“Sure, I can do that. Not like I have much of a choice, right?” Your half-joke earns a loud laugh from Caleb. You raise an eyebrow at him.

Really? You think to yourself. That’s what made you laugh?

“I forgot how funny you are,” Caleb comments. He pokes your nose and your face scrunches up, watching as he turns on his heel, opening up the door. You stare at his back and the memories of him from your childhood come pouring in.

You sit alone on a bench. You watch as Caleb stands in line with her at an ice cream stand. You watch them with close and steady eyes, your gaze transfixed on how she plays with his fingers. They laugh and lean into each other, undoubtedly whispering secrets that only they can know to one another.

It pained you, yes, to always be pushed to the sideline. You got used to it with time. You didn’t notice it the first year of knowing them. You were all careless and innocent children. Of course there was no malcontent with their actions!

However, the constant repetition of being left out only to be covered with half-asses apologies and sorries became very old really quick.

And it definitely felt like a stab in the back when you hear their mingled laughter through your open window. You’d catch your self sitting by the window, sighing to yourself as they played knight and princess in Josephine’s backyard.

Whenever you played with them, she always made you the monstrous dragon that held her captive. Caleb had to the the one to kill you. You had to watch from the ground, covered in dirt and dust, as he brought her into his arms, swinging her around.

Her thrilled shrieks and giggles were like poison to your soul.

You were only eight.

With thicker skin and a heart beginning to protect itself with a shield of ice, you braved the final days of your friendship with them. When it grew to be too much, you left.

It was the best decision you could have made, right?

It felt so easy to leave, even as they excluded you from the ice cream line. What’s funny is that they forgot to get you your sweet treat, meaning that you had to eventually stand in the line by yourself while they relaxed on the bench.

You were always left with sticky fingers while he cleaned hers, calling her by that stupid fucking nickname while he wiped away the melted ice cream from her fingertips. They were clean and pristine while yours were left with sticky residue and bits of napkin that lingered behind.

You were almost always determined to ditch them after moments like these. You laid in bed, holding your favorite plushie to your chest, when a small pebble hit your window. You walked over, pushing the glass open, as you poked your head outside.

Caleb stood on the ground below. He smiled up at you and held up a small plastic bag. You watched as he climbed up the side of your house with ease, using the vines to reach your window.

The anger slowly left your body the closer he got to you. He’d poke his head instead and you plucked the plastic bag from his mouth, revealing a small metal butterfly you had saw in town earlier that day.

“I got it just for you,” he said, resting his elbows on the windowsill. You watched him with wide eyes, your ice heart melting from his actions and words. “A token of my appreciation.”

Maybe sticking around for a little longer isn’t a bad idea, you thought to yourself.

You always loved butterflies after that day.

“You coming?” Caleb asks, head tilted to the side.

Looking around, you realize where you are and shake away the bittersweet memories from your childhood. You let out a ragged breath. Your lungs burn and your vision blurs.

His purple orbs memorized every detail of your face. When he noticed the small amount of tears in your eyes, he reached forward, wanting to catch them before they had the chance to fall. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You slap his hand away and push past him, entering the main room.

As you walk, you realize that what’s left between you two has expired.

The apple of his eye is not you. You were a Granny Smith while she was a Honeycrisp.

You were perpetually sour and she was always refreshing. Everyone always lavished in her presence while you faded into the background. You were left out in the sun while she was carried inside and taken care of.

It’s no wonder why you’re rotten to the core. 

Daggers of pain stabbed into his sides, slipping between his ribs, leaving him breathless. His perfect demeanor finally reveled a crack, head lunched over. He follows you into the hallway, planting himself at your side.

Clearly, there is something wrong with you. Not in a way like there is with him, you know, having failed his psych evaluation, but something that is deeply rooted in your core. He wants to rip your chest open and to pull your heart out. He wants the slowly pull away the thorns that pierce your heart and kiss the wounds. He desperately wants to mend your internal wounds and hold you until you fall asleep in his arms.

“Where’s the file?” You ask him, the tears now gone from your eyes. A slow and ragged breath leaves his mouth, unable to look away from your remarkable face. You snap your fingers in his face, irritation blossoming inside your chest.

“Oh, right,” Caleb recovers. He lays his hand on your lower back. Warmth seeps through the thin fabric of your blouse. Despite the anger you felt a minute ago, you can feel your body relax under his touch. You can tell that he notices it too when his cocky smile returns to his face. You tear your gaze away from his, heat tingling your ears from embarrassment.

He leans down to whisper something in your ear but you turn your head away, not wanting to hear anything else from him. Thankfully, he catches on and straightens his posture.

The office is foreign to you. Many hallways lead in different directions. People in uniforms turn left and right, catching you off guard as Caleb pulls you out just in time before you collide with them. They barely look up from the papers in their hands or leave their conversation to say sorry or apologize.

Caleb swiftly guides you through the floor. The two of you weave and bob through the organized chaos. People stop and salute Caleb as he passes by. He nods in their direction, his charming smiling disappearing as he puts his Colonel mask back on.

He opens a door and reveals an almost empty interrogation room. There’s no two way mirror nor are there the usual cameras in the corner. At least, that’s what you’ve seen on your favorite television show. You step inside, flinching when the door slams closed, the faint click of a lock making goosebumps form all over your skin.

“No need to be nervous, Caleb says, sitting down into one of the chairs at the metal table. He spreads his legs open, making himself comfortable. He looks up at you, gesturing to the chair in front of him. You hesitate, having to force your eyes to look away from his legs, and sit in the chair beside him.

The table only has a few items. Caleb takes off his hat, placing it near the edge. He plucks off his gloves, taking his time since you’re watching him, and set them on top of his hat. In the center sits a neat stack of papers with a few pens and pencils on top. Beside that is an audio recorder with an attached set of earbuds.

“You know how to be discreet, right?” Caleb asks. You sneak a glance at him, throwing a bit of side eye, before picking up the audio recorder.

Ha. Do you know to be discreet…how do you think I got through high school? I was discreet with my hatred of your beloved pipsqueak

“I’ll manage,” you cooly respond.

You already know the drill.

You put on the headphones, you write down whatever it is the people on the other side are talking about, and you hand your work over to Darryl.

Except…Darryl isn’t here. Caleb is.

And you aren’t at your usual workstation using your computer to type. You’re actually writing these words down. What kind of mission is this?

“Then you know that you’ll be working directly under me for the assignment,” Caleb leans closer to you. You pay no attention to it.

“Will I?” You play coy and look at him, batting your eyelashes at him.

Caleb has to picture Josephine naked to stop the tent from forming in his pants.

“Yes…” his word comes out as a whisper.

“May I know any background on it? You know, for translation sake.” You can feel him slowly draw you in.

Those purple eyes that you quickly get lost in. The way his fragrant cologne smells. The way his canine tooth flashes whenever he smiles.

And that fucking uniform. Fuck me. You think.

“It’s classified,” he breathes back, your faces mere inches from each other. Caleb is so thankful that there are no cameras inside. If this keeps going the way he wants, he’ll have you bent over with your panties in your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Shame,” you quickly quip back. You tear yourself away from Caleb, leaving him hanging in the tension you two created. You grab the earbuds and slide them inside your ears. The first piece of paper is placed in front of you and you opt for the pen, knowing you never make mistakes.

Caleb watches you with close eyes. Your hand moves at a furious pace, swiftly scribbling down the words from the audio file.

He sits up in his chair, resting his elbow on the table beside him, placing his chin on his raised palm. The Colonel’s eyes close and he slowly inhales. That sweet yet spicy scent of apples and cinnamon fill his nostrils. He slowly exhales, hoping that your perfume lingers on his uniform long after you leave.

His eyes open when he hears you switch to a new paper. You slide him the filled one, you fingers grazing against each other, before you continue to write like you have a gun to your head.

Caleb chuckles to himself. He leans to the right. With the slight movement, he’s able to get a better look at your face.

Your brows are pushed together, no more space between the two. The skin below your bottom lip is sucked in, slowly moving back and forth. Are you…eating yourself? Your eyes flit to him for a brief second. Your face relaxes before it immediately returns to its focused state.

You are so beautiful. Even when you focus on the assignment at hand, Caleb can see the dedication you have for the things you love.

He hopes that soon, he’ll be number one on the list of things you care about. Caleb can brag about it to his already minuscule group of friends, showing off the future photos and selfies you’ll take together. He’ll be able to say that you’re his and nobody else’s.

If someone like George were to come in the way of that, well, he’ll deal with them and lock you away so you don’t have to witness it.

“What are you looking at?” You question, not even looking up from the paper. You slide it to him, drawing your hand away before he can touch your delicate skin, to feel just how soft it is even if it was for a fraction of a second.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” His question surprises the both of you. It slipped from his thoughts before he could stop it from escaping. Caleb’s face remains stoic. On the inside, though, he’s screaming at himself for coming off as too strong.

Your pen scratches to the side, destroying the perfect lines you’ve made from transcribed words. The tip of the pen pierces the paper. Black ink pools around the sharp metal tip. Your fingertips turn white from how tight you grip the pen.

Caleb reaches over you, his muscular arm passing in front of your gaze, trapping you in your chair. He grabs the audio recorder, the device looking minuscule compared to how large his hands are. Veins are prominent in his hand, leading up his wrist before disappearing under the fabric of his uniform jacket.

Your gaze starts from the tips of his fingers, gently dragging past his exposed skin and up his dark material of his uniform, sliding up his shoulder, hovering on the bare skin of his neck. The audio recording in your ear pauses. Caleb retracts his arm, hooking his finger under your chin. He eases your eyes the rest of the way up to his.

Your breath hitches. Lips barely parted, your cheeks flush from his touch and how close he is to you. His lips are mere inches from yours.

All it takes is one…gentle…push…

“I asked if you were doing anything tonight,” the raspiness in his voice makes your lower stomach purr. Your eyes fall to his lips. You gnaw the inside of your cheek, slowly leaning closer to him.

“Are you asking me as Caleb? Or as my Colonel?” You whisper.

“Which one will you say yes to dinner with?”

“Hmm…” you quietly hum. You reach out, fingers curling around his uniform’s tie. You give it a firm tug. A low groan emits from Caleb’s throat. You smirk. “Neither.”

Caleb matches your smirk. His hand snakes up your arm. His long, slender fingers wrap around the entirety of your hand. He overpowers your grip and the tie falls free from your hold. He brings your knuckles to his lips. He plants a firm kiss to them, his eyes locked onto yours.

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

You push away from the table. Cheeks red, unable to breathe, you step away from him and to the interrogation room door. You tug on the cold door handle, the metal immediately warming due to you body heat. The lock clicks and you shove the heavy hunk of metal forward, escaping into the public eye of the office.

[steveseddie]

come sleep with me

written for @steddielovemonth day 14 “come sleep with me: we won’t make love, love will make us” | the @steddiebingo kissing booth mini event, prompt: mutual pining | the @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: love

rating: t | wc: 915 | no cw | tags: friends with benefits, mutual pining, idiots in love

read on ao3

Any other day Eddie would be thrilled to have Steve like this– half-naked under him, flushed and squirming from Eddie kissing all over his chest. 

Part of him sure is interested, but the rest knows that when Steve called earlier and asked him to come over, he probably should’ve said no. 

But if there’s something Eddie isn’t good at, it’s telling Steve no. 

Otherwise, how would he end up hooking up with Steve on the regular while knowing fully well that he was setting himself up for heartbreak?

So Eddie said yes, and he came over despite being physically and mentally exhausted from an entire week of awful nightmares. He thinks he’s doing a decent job at shoving it all away to pay attention to Steve. That is until he feels Steve’s hand grab hold of his neck and use it to pull him up so he can look at his face and ask– “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

Eddie shakes his head, his hair falling around them. “Nothing,” he lies. Badly if the way Steve arches an eyebrow at him means anything. Eddie heaves out a sigh. “I– I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ve had nightmares all week. I’m so tired and there’s just so much in my head right now–”

Of course, Eddie doesn’t expect Steve to act mad or disappointed but he’s still surprised by how gently he brushes Eddie’s hair off of his face, his eyes soft as he stares up at him. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Eddie lets out a snort. “Yeah because telling the guy you’re making out with that you can’t stop thinking about demobats ripping into your flesh is such a turn-on,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Tugging at Eddie’s hair, Steve half-heartedly rolls his eyes. “I meant earlier, Eds.” 

“I guess I was hoping that this was what I needed,” Eddie admits, shrugging. 

“What you need is sleep.”

Eddie sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

When Steve gently shoves Eddie off of him, he takes that as his cue to leave. Especially when Steve walks over to his closet and puts on some sweatpants. Now that he knows nothing is happening between them tonight, it makes sense that Steve is getting ready for bed.  

Which means Eddie should probably get out of his way. 

He just found his jeans and is about to put them back on when Steve tosses something at him. It lands at his feet– a pair of sweatpants.  

“Do you need a shirt too or are you sleeping shirtless?” Steve asks, still rummaging through his closet. 

Eddie stares blankly at his naked back. “Um, what?” 

“Do you want to borrow a shirt?” He asks, glancing at Eddie over his shoulder. His lips tug up into a smirk when he adds, “I have a Tears for Fears shirt you’d look great in, I think.” 

Eddie takes too long to think of a comeback and Steve frowns, probably expecting him to jump at the thought of wearing a shirt of a band that plays anything other than heavy metal. And he would, if he wasn’t busy trying to wrap his head around the fact that Steve seems to think he’s staying over. 

He’s never done that even after they started hooking up. 

Steve’s eyes dart to the jeans Eddie is holding in his hand. “You weren’t planning on sleeping in those, were you?” He asks with a chuckle. 

“No, I– I was gonna go home.”

Steve’s mouth twists downward. “Why?” 

Because they don’t sleep together. They have sex and then Eddie leaves. It hurts every time, but he knows it would hurt more if he stayed and woke up next to Steve –or, god forbid, in Steve’s arms– only for it not to mean anything to him.

“I– we never– we don’t do that–”

“I know,” Steve says, sucking his lip between his teeth. “But what– what if I want us to do that?” 

Eddie blinks. “Sleep together?” 

“No, yeah,” Steve rubs a hand against his neck, “but also, um– other things.” 

Eddie’s breath hitches. “Like?”

“Like going on dates and cuddling and holding hands, maybe not in public but like, in front of our friends if you’re okay with that and–”

“Steve, Stevie, are you– are you saying you want to date me?” Eddie asks, his voice an octave higher, his heart threatening to beat right out of his chest.

“Yeah,” Steve softly admits and Eddie can’t help but gasp. “But I– I promise I didn’t feel this way when we started this, and I was going to say something to you, but I was nervous that you didn’t–”

“I did! I do! Feel that way. Since before we started this, even. If anyone should’ve said anything, it’s me,” Eddie stammers out. “I thought I was setting myself up for heartbreak when you eventually found someone else and stopped wanting me–”

“I wouldn’t, I won’t. In fact,” Steve says, starting to smile. He moves closer to Eddie, one of his hands brushing against his fingers. “I’m crazy about you, Eds.”

“Jesus, Steve,” Eddie mutters, and then he’s cupping Steve’s face and bringing him closer so he can kiss him squarely on the lips. It’s not the first time they’ve kissed, but it’s definitely different.

“So,” Steve starts, pulling back only enough to get the words out. “Is that a yes?” 

“To dating you?” Eddie asks, their lips brushing together. Steve nods. 

And well, Eddie still can’t say no to Steve, so he says–

“Yes.”

[gdinthehouseee]

Gentle: CHOI SEUNG-HYUN x READER

summary: you come home after a long day of work and seung-hyun takes care of you

word count: 1432

tags: fluff; extremely self-indulgent (you work as a film production assistant) kinda basic but i wrote this half-asleep

ao3 link

Another day at work meant another night of crashing as soon as the front door to your home shut behind you for the night—not after discarding your stuffy, professional clothes as soon as possible, of course. Today had been particularly difficult. 

Being a production assistant meant the director felt entitled to bark orders at you left and right, the assistant directors acting all high and mighty, not to mention the producers with their ‘holier-than-thou’ attitudes. Your body weighed down by hours of standing, lifting, running back and forth under the harsh glare of the lighting rig; your muscles throb with a dull ache, your head foggy from the endless problem-solving and last-minute changes thrown your way. It was too much. All you want is to collapse—to let go of the tension gripping your shoulders, to shut your eyes and forget how long today dragged on.

The moment you step through the door, you feel like you’ll get your wish—to collapse. Every muscle in your body protests as you force yourself to toe off your shoes, your movements sluggish and drained. Before you can take another step, a warm hand catches your wrist.

“Hey.” Seung-hyun’s voice is soft but firm, his brows knitting together as he studies your face. “You look exhausted.”

You manage a small nod, but words feel like too much effort. Instead, you just let out a quiet sigh, your shoulders sagging. He doesn’t push for a response. Instead, he gently tugs you forward, wrapping his arms around you without hesitation. His hold is steady, grounding—one arm around your waist, the other smoothing up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes.

It breaks him a little to see you like this—to watch the way you barely manage to nod, too drained to even form words. He has always admired your dedication, your ability to push through anything, but right now, all he can see is how much it’s costing you. The dark circles under your eyes, the slump of your shoulders, the way you just melt into his arms as if you don’t have the strength to hold yourself up anymore. It isn’t fair. You work so hard, give so much, and yet, no one seems to notice how much it takes from you. But he notices. And he hates that he can’t take that exhaustion away, that all he can do is hold you and hope you’ll let him ease even a little of the weight pressing down on you.

“You’re overworking yourself again, aren’t you?” He murmurs, his voice low, laced with quiet concern. “You need to slow down, aein.”

You nod again against his chest, unable to argue—not because you don’t agree, but because you’re too tired to say anything at all. He exhales, his grip tightening just a little as if trying to absorb the weight you’re carrying.

“Alright,” he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “No more talking, no more thinking. Just let me take care of you tonight.”

And for the first time all day, you let yourself lean into the comfort he offers, too exhausted to do anything else.

He doesn’t say anything as he leads you into the bathroom, but his hand stays firm around yours, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin. The sound of rushing water fills the space as he leans over the tub, adjusting the temperature with practiced ease. Steam curls into the air, carrying the faint scent of lavender—calming, warm, inviting.

“You don’t have to do this,” you murmur, trying not to get emotional about how gentle he’s being with you.

He glances at you over his shoulder, his expression soft but unwavering. “I know,” he says simply. “But I want to.”

Once the bath is full, he turns back to you, his fingers moving to the hem of your shirt. He undresses you with a tenderness that makes your chest ache—not rushed, not expectant, just careful, making sure you move as little as possible. When you finally sink into the water, a long sigh slips from your lips, the warmth wrapping around your aching muscles like a promise. Then, he kneels beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves before reaching for the washcloth. He runs it over your skin with slow, deliberate strokes, tracing over your shoulders, your arms, down to your hands, his touch reverent. Every movement is delicate, as if he’s afraid of pressing too hard, of adding even the smallest bit of strain to your already exhausted body.

He reaches for the shampoo and tilts your head back slightly, his fingers threading through your hair with delicate attention. As he massages your scalp, working the lather in slow, rhythmic circles, warmth seeps into your bones, lulling you into a haze of exhaustion and comfort. His touch is so gentle, so methodical, that your eyelids grow heavy before you even realize it. Your breathing slows, your body sinking deeper into the water, and just as you start to drift off—

“Are you seriously falling asleep right now?”

Your eyes flutter open, and you blink up at him, still dazed. “…No.”

Seung-hyun smirks, clearly unconvinced. “Mhm, sure. That cute little head tilt? The way you just sighed? You were definitely about to pass out on me.” His fingers keep massaging slow circles against your scalp, his voice filled with quiet amusement. “Am I that relaxing?”

You groan, embarrassed, and attempt to sit up, but he gently presses you back into place. “Stay still,” he chides, still grinning. “I’m almost done.”

The moment you step out of the tub, he’s already waiting with a soft, oversized towel, wrapping it around you before you can even shiver. His hands move with quiet care, gently patting away the droplets clinging to your skin. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push—just takes his time, making sure you’re warm and comfortable.

“You’re like a sleepy kitten,” he murmurs with a small smile, watching as you sway slightly in exhaustion. “Barely standing on your own.”

You hum in response, too tired to argue, and he chuckles, wrapping an arm around you to steady you. “Alright, let’s get you dressed before you collapse on me.”

He then leads you to the bedroom, where a set of warm pajamas is already laid out on the bed—your softest pair, the one you always reach for when you need comfort. He helps you into them with the same quiet attentiveness, guiding your arms through the sleeves, pulling the fabric over your shoulders, making sure you don’t have to lift a finger.

Once you’re dressed, he sits you down on the edge of the bed, positioning himself behind you as he grabs a towel and starts drying your hair. His fingers comb through the damp strands with gentle precision, his touch slow and methodical. Every now and then, he ruffles your hair playfully, just to hear you mumble a sleepy protest.

“You’re going to fall asleep on me again, aren’t you?” He teases, amusement lacing his voice.

“No,” you grumble, but your body betrays you, leaning into his touch, eyelids fluttering.

“Let’s get you comfy, then.”

Without another word, he lifts you effortlessly, carrying you over to the bed. He settles you beneath the blankets before climbing in beside you, pulling you against his chest as he reaches for the remote.

“Movie night,” he announces, keeping his voice low, soothing. 

“I’m not sure I even wanna think about movies right now,” you partially joked. 

“With the way you keep almost falling asleep, I bet you’ll barely last ten minutes.” He returned with a soft laugh. 

You try to huff in protest, but as the warmth of his embrace surrounds you and the soft glow of the screen flickers in the dimly lit room, you know he’s right. Honestly? Who could really blame you for falling asleep in your sweetheart-of-a-boyfriend’s arms after he’s taken such attentive care of you? He spent the entire night making sure you felt nothing but comfort, from the way he washed your hair to the way he dressed you in your coziest pajamas, to the way he’s holding you now—safe, cherished, adored. His fingers absentmindedly trace gentle patterns along your back, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your ear. The exhaustion that once weighed you down now feels lighter, replaced by something softer, something sweeter. And as your lashes flutter shut, you swear you hear him murmur something against your temple—something tender, something that makes your heart melt even as sleep finally pulls you under.

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey

[chleem]

are you taking requests?

Frat!Drew taking care of his sick gf ❤️‍🔥

⋆.˚ Warnings: fluff, swearing, making out, symptoms of fever mentioned, (still, read at own caution

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: okok i really enjoyed writing this one btw happy valentines!

word count: 4.7k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

The door creaks open with a faint squeal, the unmistakable sound of keys jangling through the room. 

You peek from underneath your covers, and you see Drew, your boyfriend, coming into your dorm. It’s not surprising, since he always tends to drop by after his classes, knowing you’d be here. 

But today, you wish he wasn’t here. The last thing you want is for him to see you like this—sick, drained, and barely holding it together. 

And trust, you’ve seen yourself this morning, and you looked like a mess—felt like one too. Your hair’s tangled, face pale, and eyes heavy with exhaustion. The feverish sheen on your skin isn't helping either. 

Definitely not the best version of yourself, and you’d rather he didn’t see it.

He doesn’t seem to notice right away, his eyes lighting up when he spots you in bed. 

“Hey, babe,” he calls out, lazily dropping his bag on the chair, “I’ve got, lunch.”

You don’t even sit up, barely managing a faint smile. You should’ve at least looked excited, or at least, when he walked in, greet him. 

But the burning sensation in your throat prevents it, along with what felt like the sun riding your face.

Drew hesitates for a moment, his eyes flickering over to you, before he puts the food down on the desk and moves toward you.

He’s quiet for a moment, brows furrowed with his smile fading, his eyes scanning over your features. The concern in his eyes overtakes the blue in them, and it’s like you can see every worry he has for you reflected there.

He mutters something under his breath, the realization sinking in. 

His hand comes in contact with your forehead, cold compared to it, “you’re, shit, burning up.”

Without another word, Drew stands up, moving towards your mini fridge. 

He pulls open the door, kneeling down to inspect its contents. You could only assume he’s getting something cold to press against your forehead. 

“Drew…” you choke out, your voice weak and strained. "I’m fine, I’m fine, really.”

You watch as he gets up with a cold water bottle in his hand, making his way back to you. 

“No, you’re not,” he says, his voice soft but firm. 

The bed creaks under Drew's weight as he sits down beside you. 

He raises his hand to press the bottle against your forehead, but with all the energy left inside of you, you move away.

“No—no, I—I don’t need…” you protest, your words shaky. 

You can see the way Drew has a little smirk forming on the corners of his mouth, like he finds this amusing, or cute, even. But that’s impossible, with how disgustingly sick you are right now. 

“Come here,” 

His other hand wraps around your wrist, attempting to pull you back in. 

“No-“

“Babe-"

“No,” you whine, trying to shake off the grip he has on you. It’s not tight, but it’s enough to make you feel like there’s no escaping his care. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, and with one final tug, you’re lying close next to him again, your body too tired to resist. 

He takes the cold bottle, pressing it to your forehead gently, the coolness almost immediately providing some relief from the heat that's been overwhelming you.

You flinch slightly at the contact, then slowly melt into it.

Drew's hand stays steady, a comforting presence you can’t deny even if you try. 

“How long have you been like this?”

“Just this morning,” you mutter, and you take his hand around your wrist, interlocking his fingers with yours, the simple act grounding you in the moment. 

Your attention drifts to the way his hands look around yours—rough yet soft.

“Didn’t even text me,” you hear him scold, his voice holding a touch of playful frustration. “Not even a call-“

“I can’t even sit up,” you excuse, your voice cracking slightly. 

His thumb moves absently over your knuckles, “y’know why- why you’re sick?”

You tear your eyes away from his hand, meeting the blue eyes of his. 

“Because of this small, small ass dorm,”

A playful smile tugs at his lips, his eyes teasing as they look down at you. You can’t help but smile too, having heard this from him many times before. 

You already know what Drew’s next lines will be-

“Y’know how much better my frat is,”

-and it makes you chuckle weakly.

Your hand comes up in an attempt to push him away, and it causes his signature deep, throaty laugh to escape him.

“I didn’t text because-“ a cough escapes you between words, “I look ugly right now.”

You watch the way Drew’s eyes settle on your face, lingering on every little detail, his mouth slightly open, as if he’s speechless, and for a moment, you almost forget that you’re sick.

“…you do,” he finally speaks up, after what felt like eternity, “look worse than ever.”

"Oh my god," you mutter, a smile on your lips. You make another attempt to push him away, that only brings him closer, his laughter low and genuine. “Get out-“

“Shhh,” he lightly coos, the smile wide on his lips, “y’know I don’t mind.”

"That's worse," you whisper, a pout forming on your lips as you look away from him. The warmth of his teasing makes your chest feel lighter, even as you try to act annoyed.

You hear him chuckle again, then you feel his hand leave yours. It rests gently on your chin, tilting your face back toward him, forcing you to meet his gaze.

His eyes are softer now, the teasing giving way to something deeper, a tenderness that makes you feel seen in a way you didn’t expect.

“Y’know I don’t mind,” Drew repeats, this time more softer and, with a certain, almost promising tone in them. 

And with the way he's slowly leaning down, eyes locked into yours, lips parted, you know what’s going to happen next. 

For a split second, all you can focus on is the closeness, the warmth, the anticipation…

But then reality hits you.

“I’m sick,” you whisper, hand resting on his chest as you push against him, your face flushed not from the fever, but from the sudden rush of nerves.

Drew pauses, hovering just inches away from your lips, his breath warm on your skin. “I don’t care,” he murmurs, the need to kiss you obvious, as if it’ll physically harm him if he doesn’t do so. 

“I’m sick,” you repeat, eyes flickering to his lips. 

“Mhm,” he bites down on his lower lip, his hand gently cupping your cheek. 

You don’t even realize that he’s dropped the bottle that was against your forehead. 

“I’m sick, Drew,” your voice cracks, and you giggle, noticing how it cracked. 

“I missed you,” he suddenly confesses, his breath against your skin not as hot as the blush on your cheeks. 

The admission catches you off guard, but it melts something inside of you. 

Without thinking, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close. It’s like an automatic response, one that brings him to lay gently on top of you, the pressure light.

“I’m sick,”

You repeat, for the thousandth time. 

“I’know,”

And just like that, Drew kisses you.

It’s gentle at first, like he’s testing the waters, a light brush of his lips against yours. But the more you let yourself melt into him, the deeper the kiss becomes, a massaging of tongues. 

Despite the burning, sickening feeling coursing through your veins, Drew’s kiss seemed like the cure. No, it was better than the cure itself. 

You could feel yourself go breathless, the arch of your back enough to prove how much you enjoyed this. 

Drew does too, a low groan escaping him. 

You could feel him shift above you, supposedly to bring his whole body onto the bed. 

Your legs instinctively spread underneath the covers, feeling one of his knees between them, then your hands threading through his hair. 

Drew’s lips trail down to your neck, leaving soft love bites that make your heart race. The warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips, everything feels like a perfect moment.

But like all good things, it all comes to an end.

A cough erupts from you, deep and nasty, the kind that only old people seem capable of producing. It causes your entire body shake.

Drew’s movements come to a halt, his reaction buried into the nape of your neck. 

You could feel your face flush from embarrassment, your grip on his hair tightening. 

Then, slowly, he pulls up, his face inches from yours.

The way his blue eyes are looking at you, so close, it’s almost overwhelming.

“…sexy,” 

he says, a chuckle following after, his lips curling into a mischievous grin.

You don’t even realize you’ve been frowning until laughter comes out of you. The sound surprises you, your chest lightening from his teasing and the absurdity of it all.

“Shit,” you say between laughs, your hands leaving his hair to cover your eyes. 

Drew watches you, his grin softening. He loves it when you laugh, especially if he’s the one that makes you laugh like that- genuine, free, and unburdened by everything else.

“Sexy, just my type,” he adds on, and you laugh even harder, despite the stinging in your head. 

“Oh my god,” you exhale, the words a mix of disbelief and amusement, as your laughter gradually comes to an end.

The sound of it lingers in the air for a moment, filling the space between you two.

You lightly push him off of you, and Drew lands on your small bed next to you with a soft chuckle, his body sinking into the mattress.

“I’ll fuck you even though-”

he starts, his voice teasing but with an underlying sincerity. 

The words are strange, but the way he says them makes you glance over at him, his body fully angled toward you, his arm tucked under his head. “-you’re dangerously sick.”

You shift your body to face him, mirroring the way he tucks his arm under his head.

“I wouldn’t,” you whisper back to him, eyes locking into his. 

He’s studying your features again- intensity in his eyes as he lingers a beat too long. 

“What?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“If you were me? Or if I was sick?”

“If I were you-“

“So if I was sick, would you fuck me-“

“What?”

“Yeah, if I was-“

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I?” You chuckle, your lips curling into a playful grin, as you raise an eyebrow at him.

“God, now I feel stupid for saying that-“

Drew laughs, but you can tell he’s not really embarrassed. He doesn’t feel stupid for saying it. If anything, he’s being completely genuine and honest, even if the words were a little out of field.

“You’re stupid no matter what you say,” 

You tease, a chuckle following after. 

He doesn’t laugh. 

Instead, his gaze lingers on you, more intent than before. His eyes are gentle, yet there’s a depth to them that makes you feel like he’s seeing you in a way that’s more than just surface level. It’s clear he’s not joking anymore.

“…I guess I am,” he mumbles, almost like a whisper.

You can’t help but look at Drew the same way, taking in the way his hair falls messily around his face, the natural plumpness of his red lips, and blueness of his eyes.

“…yeah, you are,” you whisper, more to yourself. 

Your eyelids start to feel heavier, the exhaustion from being sick catching up to you. 

You let out a small yawn, knowing that you’re unable to fight the sleepiness anymore.

Your eyes flutter just enough to see Drew’s hand reach out, landing gently on your waist to pull you closer to his embrace. He wraps his arms around you, your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. 

At that moment, you can feel yourself relax into the familiar scent of Drew. The steady rise and fall of his chest is soothing, and the sound of his heartbeat lulls you further into comfort.

A soft sigh escapes you as you finally let go, finding peace in the safety of his arms, letting the quiet of the moment carry you off into a restful, much-needed sleep.

——

hours later

You wake up slowly, a soft grogginess lingering in your mind as your room comes into focus. 

The bed feels a bit colder than before, and you blink a few times, confused at first.

You stretch your arms out, only to realize you’re spread across the bed, your body tangled in the covers. 

You also realize that Drew's missing, the entire warmth of him gone, and for a moment, panic flutters in your chest.

“Drew?” you murmur, your voice raspy and thick from sleep.

As you turn your head to look around, you finally spot him. 

He’s sitting beside your pillow, leaning back against the headboard. 

You blink again, a little surprised. 

He gives you a small smile, “hey sleepyhead.”

You rub your eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, but that’s when you feel the cool, almost damp cloth on your forehead. Your hand reaches up, and you tug at the cold bandage, frowning. “What?-“

“Cooling patch,” Drew says softly, a light chuckle escaping his lips at your reaction.

Your mind stirs as you process how he managed to get one, but before you could ask more, you feel one of his arms hook under against your boobs, pulling you to sit upright.

“Oh,” you giggle stupidly, noticing how effortlessly he does it.

Drew laughs too, and lets his hand rest there, his thumb gently rubbing small circles against your skin, his touch soothing.

His other hand reaches to your nightstand, and he hands you a glass of water. 

“Here,” he murmurs, glancing down at the cup as he holds it out.

You reach to take it, but just as your fingers touch the glass, his hand doesn’t let go. His fingers curl gently around yours, enveloping your hand as he guides the glass to your mouth.

You laugh softly at his persistence, feeling his warm touch around yours. His lips curl into a small, playful smile as you take a few sips, the cool water soothing your dry throat.

“Better?” he asks, his gaze soft and patient, still holding the cup for you.

“No,” you tease, a playful smirk tugging at your lips, though part of it is true. You still feel a bit off, but the way Drew is looking after you makes it all feel a little more bearable. 

His expression softens even more, a faint chuckle escaping him as he tilts his head slightly, “you want me to kiss you again?”

The sudden question catches you off-guard, your eyes widening. 

“Seemed to work earlier,” Drew adds, with a playful wink.

“Is that your cure for everything?” you tease back.

“Sadly, no,” he shakes his head, before planting a quick kiss to your temple, the warmth lingering there. “But, I do have this-“

He sets the cup on back on the nightstand, before leaning down to the floor, and your eyes follow his every move in anticipation. 

The sound of plastic bags rustling fills the air, and then, Drew pulls out the all-too-familiar packaging of that disgustingly, bitter fever medicine.

Your face scrunches up at the sight, the thought of it already making your stomach turn. “Ugh, seriously?” you laugh, already imagining the taste.

He smirks, holding it up like it's some sort of prize. “Yup,” he teases, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he watches your reaction.

“You need to eat first, though,” Drew adds, and before you can protest, he leans down once more, rummaging through the plastic bag at his feet. 

This time, he pulls out a takeout box, different from the one he had earlier.

It hits you: so that's how he got everything. The medicine, the cooling patch, the food—it all makes sense now. He must've gone out to buy it all while you were still sleeping.

He carefully sets the box on your lap, smiling as he opens it to reveal fried rice, from your favorite Chinese place. Even through your clogged nose, you can smell the delicious taste of it. 

Your heart swells at the thoughtfulness of this man, your boyfriend. 

The way he’s gone out of his way to make sure you’re taken care of, to comfort you, and to help you feel better—despite everything, it’s like he’s always a step ahead.

You can't help but smile, and for a moment, you forget the sickness, simply basking in how lucky you are to have him by your side. 

“Thank you,” you say softly, your voice laced with genuine appreciation. The smile on your lips tugs a little wider, and you look up at him, meeting his eyes, your gaze soft and filled with gratitude. 

It’s not just the food or the medicine, but the kindness behind it all. The quiet reassurance that, in moments like these, you’re not alone.

Drew’s mouth is slightly open, and he seems a little taken aback by your sincerity. He quickly shakes it off, almost shyly, the hand around you pulling at the fabric of your shirt. 

His voice is quiet as he murmurs, “It’s nothing… I told you, I've got you.”

His words hang in the air, and despite the simplicity of the statement, they resonate deeper than anything he could say.

You nod, whispering, "I know.”

As your eyes drift down to the food in your lap, a realization settles in for the both of you - you need utensils. 

“Fuck,” Drew chuckles softly. He leans down again, the soft rustle of plastic filling the silence before he effortlessly tears open the packaging with one hand.

He hands the chopsticks, and you take it, starting to eat. 

The familiar taste hits your tongue almost immediately, and you let out a small moan due to how good it is.

Drew watches you, his smile softening. “Good?” he asks, a hint of pride in his tone.

“Perfect,” you smile, his attention making you feel light. 

You laugh, leaning your head on his shoulder as you continue to eat, savoring both the meal and the comfort of his presence.

——

True to his word, he really does got you. 

Over the next few days, Drew was with you, stuck to you, almost. At least, whenever you were awake, he was there—by your side, ensuring you had everything you needed. 

Whether it was fetching you water, making sure you were comfortable, or just sitting beside you quietly scrolling his phone, he was always present.

Showering? Thankfully, your dorm had its own private bathroom, so Drew could help when needed. Whether it was holding you steady, washing your hair, or just sitting on the bathroom seat watching over you.

Meals? Takeout or deliveries. Drew made sure you ate, even when you didn’t feel like it.

And the medicine? Drew was strict about it. He made sure you took it on time, never missing a dose.

Last but not least, your class notes. You never quite figured out how he did it, but somehow, Drew had them. You’d notice a stack of neatly organized notebooks by your desk, or catch a glimpse of him typing away on his laptop. 

You knew you had to find a way to repay him for everything he’d done for you. It felt like a huge debt—which you would have to find a way to pay once you were back to full health.

The opportunity came sooner than you expected. 

Just two days after you started feeling better, you got a message from Drew—a photo of him lying in bed, looking completely miserable. 

He had that all-too-familiar expression on his face—exhausted, feverish, and looking like he’d just been hit by a truck. The same look you had just a few days ago.

Without hesitation, you grabbed the essentials: fever medicine, water, tissues, cooling patches, etc.

When you arrived at his frat house, one of his roommates answered the door, clearly expecting you. “He’s upstairs,” he said, yawning, probably tired from whatever party he was at the night before. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, before heading upstairs, knocking gently on Drew’s door before opening it. 

There he was, sprawled out on the bed, looking like he was in no mood to move, his face flushed and eyes barely open.

“Aww, poor baby,” you say softly, making your way over to his bed. 

You sat down beside his pillow, watching him as he slowly turns his head to look at you, a weak but amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You came?” Drew murmurs, his voice hoarse. “You didn’t have to-“

His words are cut off by a sudden cough, loud and rough, and you instinctively reach out, running your hand through his hair in a soothing gesture. 

“Well, you sent me that picture,” you start, talking about that selfie, “was I suppose to ignore it?”

Drew gives a tired chuckle, “…it’s that kiss.”

“What?”

“That kiss-“

“-which one?”

“Aw, fuck,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut, clearly bothered by the headache that's making him wince.

You brush his messy hair out of the way, your palm resting against his forehead. Yep, he’s burning up, just like how you were a few days ago. 

You reach into the plastic bag, pulling out the cooling patches, the ones Drew had used for you not long ago. 

You peel one off, carefully pressing the cooling patch onto his forehead. You note the look of relief across his features, his lips curling up into a faint smile.

“Every- every kiss we shared,” he murmurs, answering your playful question from earlier. 

Drew might have kissed you a bit too much, while you were sick. 

You chuckle quietly, remembering how his lips always seemed to find their way to you, even when you could barely keep your eyes open or your head from spinning.

“Are you blaming me?”

Drew shifts in his spot, and you can tell he’s trying to sit up, but the fever has him weak. You move quickly to help him, your hands gentle as you support his back and guide him into a sitting position.

“Yeah,” he mutters, leaning back into his headboard, a lazy look in his blue eyes, “you’re- too fucking hot.”

You shake your head, a smile on your lips, “gosh- even a fever isn’t enough to shut you up.”

You reach down to get the bottle of water from the bag, the sound of Drew’s laugh softly echoing through the room. 

You open the tightly sealed bottle of water with a little more force than necessary, and as you glance up to hand it to him, you find Drew already staring at you. 

His gaze is either starry-eyed or unfocused, with his lips parted.

And the combination of his flushed face and the cooling patch on his forehead makes him look comically adorable.

You try to hide the grin tugging at your lips, but it's impossible.

“Drew?” You call out. 

Out of nowhere, he leans down, his movements slow but deliberate. Before you can even register what’s happening, he’s hugging your waist, pulling you closer to him with a surprising amount of strength.

You blink, caught off guard, the warmth of his embrace making your heart skip. 

“Drew?” you repeat, voice hitched. 

He stays there for a moment, face muffled into your lower abdomen. His grip into your shirt tightens just a little, as if he doesn’t want to let go. 

His breath is warm against the area there, his weight slowly pressing into your lower stomach. 

The way he’s clinging onto you feels more intimate than it should, his back rising and falling with every breath he takes, your hand slowly finding itself trailing under his shirt, rubbing onto the skin there. 

“Just... need this,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against you.

“…okay,” you whisper, as you give him the comfort he craves.

He then murmurs something else to your lower stomach, which causes him to shyly rub his face deeper down. 

You furrow your eyebrows, fingertips coming to a halt on tracing his back. 

“…did you say something?” You ask, looking down at him. 

He says it again, but it’s too muffled in. 

“…I can’t hear you,” you tell him, genuinely unable to hear whatever he just said. 

He lifts his head slightly, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of blue, shining up at you. For a moment, you can see the tiredness strip from his eyes, replaced with something much deeper. 

“I- keep doing that,” Drew says, referring to the way your hands trace over the outline of every muscle on his back. 

“Oh,” you smile, doing it. 

You don’t know why, but you thought he was gonna tell you something important. Something he hasn’t said before. 

And Drew didn’t know why he didn’t say it- why he didn’t say it directly to your face. 

He didn’t know why the simple act of saying ‘I love you’ felt so difficult, especially when it seemed like the perfect moment (at least for him) for it. 

His heart was full, yet the words stuck in his throat. It pounds loudly in his chest, making him nervous in ways he wasn’t sure of. 

Maybe it was the fever rush, or maybe it was just the closeness, the way you were here, holding him.

Maybe it wasn’t the way he’d imagined it—said into your eyes, clear and strong. No, he said it to your lower stomach, muffled by his own vulnerability.

But the words were out there, and even if they weren’t exactly how he intended, Drew knew he meant them with every part of himself.

Then, interrupting his thoughts, another nasty cough ripped through him, causing his body to shake violently, you shaking along too. 

“Oh- babe,” you chuckled gently, patting his back to get those coughs out, “sit up and drink some water, mhm?”

Drew gave a small nod, though he didn’t make an immediate move. His exhaustion weighed heavy on him, but your gentle encouragement was enough to coax him into action. 

With your support, he shifted slowly, leaning back just enough to reach the water you had brought earlier.

You watched him take a few sips, his hands steadying on the bottle. 

“Better?”

“No,” he teases, the corner of his lips curling into a grin. The familiarity of that line makes you roll your eyes at him, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

He chuckles too, but then his grin fades into something softer, more sincere, as he leans back against the headboard, sliding a bit further into his pillow.

The look in his eyes is a quiet invitation, asking you to lay down with him.

You don’t need to think twice. You kick off your shoes, urging him to scoot over, and slide under the covers with him. 

This time, it’s Drew who rests his head into your chest, his arms holding you tightly to him. His leg comes up between yours, almost as if caging you in completely. 

His grip on you is possessive yet gentle, and it makes you feel like nothing else matters in this moment but the two of you, tangled up in each other's presence.

And maybe, holding you is just what Drew needs too, as a ‘cure’ for his fever. 

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

bit long- but only bc i had so much fun writing this, hope you like it!

elevator | other

[soleilapproves]

Hi can you please make boxer!Sukuna and boxer!Toji fighting for the reader's affection? Like they are close friends but when it comes to reader they just become competitive and rival to see who has her attention. OH AND THEY DO A BOXING MATCH TO SEE WHOEVER WINS GETS THE READER BUT NO ONE WINS AND THE READER TENDS TO THEM(sorry I yapped)

Of course I can <3

cw: fem!reader, light descriptions of fighting, jealousy and rivalry, not proofread (yet)

Toji ran his tongue along the cleft of his scar. His eyes raked down his face and pecs in the mirror as his Adam’s Apple bobbed in his throat.

He didn’t know why he was so nervous. Women usually fawned over him without him needing to give even a morsel of his attention. Free drinks at his side of the bar counter, hastily written numbers on lipstick marked tissues shoved lazily in the pocket of his jeans. He knew he was irresistible.

He just wasn’t sure if you, his friend and clueless crush, thought the same way about him. Blissfully unaware of how he’d constantly clear his throat to prevent his voice from embarrassingly cracking while speaking to you. He was so mortified the first time it happened that he didn’t look you in the eye for a whole week.

The man was tired of waiting and was going to ask you out no matter what. Friendship be damned, his feelings for you were growing stronger by the day, festering in the core of his chest every time you’d look up at him through your lashes.

While Toji was mentally prepping himself in locker room, Sukuna was sitting in the middle of the gym’s boxing ring, elbows resting on his knees with his head in his hands.

To say that he was in a dilemma was an understatement.

What’s worse than having an unrequited crush on your best friend? Knowing that your other friend and coincidental sparring partner, likes her too. For the past few days, Sukuna had his doubts that Toji had a crush on their friend, and it was soon confirmed when Toji didn’t help Sukuna up after defeating him in a practice match.

The dark haired man simply sauntered over to you, making sure to flex his sweaty abs as he wiped his face with a towel around his neck.

That sly motherfucker—

But Sukuna couldn’t blame him. He would’ve the same too. If it all came down to objectification, he would’ve happily posed for a cliche racy calendar as long as he knew you’d buy it.

“Can we talk?” Sukuna looked up to see Toji standing outside the ring. He was shirtless. He always did that when he knew you were coming over to watch a practice match.

Sukuna cursed under his breath as he got up, not bothering to leave the platform. His ego prevented him from feeling like Toji’s equal. His coach would never approve of his behavior.

“Look, I’m tired of pretending like we both don’t know how we feel about her.” Sukuna only shot daggers at Toji’s unfairly handsome face as he said that. The pink haired man was starting to think that he should’ve just gone to the nasty part of town to get a facial scar instead of tattoos.

He hated the way you’d always fawn over the story of how Toji got his scar. There was something so beautiful yet harrowing about seeing your eyebrows furrow and soft lips jut with a slight wobble over that man in particular.

“And I wanna let you know that I’m gonna tell her how I feel,” he added.

There weren’t a lot of things that surprised Sukuna. Hell, he wasn’t surprised when he realized Toji liked you too. Who wouldn’t? You’re a total sweetheart.

But Toji’s sudden urge to confess and seek a serious relationship was unexpected. Sukuna didn’t remember the last time the man had called a woman after taking her out on one date.

He didn’t want you to end up as just another number in his phone book.

“And sacrifice your friendship with her for a good one-time fuck once you realize that you’re thinking with your dick? Sure, go ahead. But just so you know, she doesn’t deserve that,” Sukuna angrily countered.

“Oh, shut up. You’re only saying that so I’ll back off. You’ve started treating me differently ever since you started liking her too. Well, just so you know, I’m not afraid of a little competition. It’s obvious who she’ll pick.”

Toji cursed himself internally. He didn’t want a pick a fight with his friend, but when it comes to you, he could never rationalize his actions. He angled his head and folded his arms, tucking them by his pecs, trying to be as imposing as possible, “at least I don’t ignore her when she’s feeling down.”

Desperate times call for passive aggressive and triggering measures.

Sukuna chuffs as rage fills him to the brim, vermillion eyes trained on his peer. “Well, since we’re both obsessed with her, let’s settle this like men. Let’s spar-no gloves, no helmets. Whoever wins confesses to her first.”

Tension permeates the gym much like the thick musk of sweat. Toji licks his bottom teeth as he glares at Sukuna.

“Fine.”

The two men walk over to the opposite ends of the ring, wrapping their fists with white bandages. Warriors getting ready for a battle that would determine their fate.

Over the years, Sukuna had built himself to be a formidable fighter, often scaring his opponents by the sheer mention of his name.

His image, of course, never intimidated Toji. Their staunch friendship made it easy for him to not cower under Sukuna’s larger frame and daunting gaze. They’d been through thick and thin together. A brotherly bond like no other.

Though, when you were added into the equation, things changed. Exponentially.

Toji felt like he was having an out of body experience when he turned down a woman for yet another one night stand, feeling guilty for what you might think about his habits. He started styling his shaggy hair better, trimming it out of his eyes in hopes of you seeing him as a kempt man, unlike the unpolished ruffian he used to be.

Sukuna changed his vocabulary when you complained about him swearing too much. Though there were a few slips of tongue, he’d apologize soon after, only to feel rewarded when you’d giggle and tell him all was good. He found himself truly changing when he debated keeping the stray cat you found while walking to the gym one day. That cat still hangs out at his apartment. Until he finds a suitable owner of course (and not because it makes him feel like you’re both raising a child together whenever you ask about the little rascal).

The two men harnessed their emotions in every punch, each hit impacting harder than the last. By now, there were red splotches of both their blood on the bandages. They couldn’t tell if it was a mixture or their own.

Toji had landed a particularly hard punch in Sukuna’s stomach when you had walked in, chatting Uraume’s ear off about some Greek restaurant you discovered.

“I’m gonna go call Coach Yaga. You try to deescalate the situation,” Uraume instructs you before jogging towards the office.

You gasped as you heard the loud thump. The men were too busy brawling to notice that you had walked in.

“Oh my God!” You ran towards the ring, hand stamped to your mouth when you saw blood coating your friends’ bodies.

Toji looked at you momentarily, sending you a quick smile before ducking away from Sukuna’s attack. “Hey, you’re here early.”

“Yeah, and I’m glad I did. Why are you guys hurting each other like this? Stop it!”

“Oh, just relax, we’re only practicing,” Sukuna cajoles as he lands a hard punch on Toji’s jaw.

You could only wince at the sound. “You guys never fight without your gloves. What is going on?”

“Don’t worry about it,” both men said in unison.

There was no way you could’ve stopped the fight by entering the ring. You did not want to accidentally hurt yourself while trying to pry the two fighters apart.

So you watched and cringed each time someone got a gnarly punch, bruising them like a peach.

Toji peered up at you through his sweaty and matted bangs as you placed an ice pack on his bloody knuckles. He hissed as you pressed the cold brick even harder, trying to numb the area.

The boxers rash decision led you to where you stood right now: between them in the locker room with an opened first aid kit sitting on the same bench as them. By the time Coach Yaga arrived to break them apart, both men had battered each other to a pulp. Sukuna was sporting a painful purple eye that matched Toji’s (mainly because it was given in retaliation).

Toji had bruises all over his chest and both men had sent each other so many punches that the friction from the knuckle bandages had rubbed their skin raw, leaving their hands covered in blood.

As punishment, Coach Yaga sent them both to the locker room to fix their injuries themselves, but you couldn’t handle seeing them wince in pain every time they touched something so you followed them in.

Sukuna groaned as he lightly touched his purple eye and you immediately moved to where he was sitting to attend to it. You grabbed another ice pack and placed it by his brow bone. His hand was quick to cover yours, preventing you from moving it away immediately.

“What were you both thinking? Did you guys argue over something?”

You were met with silence, both men sitting like toddlers who had been caught trying to secretly stay up past bed time. “I don’t understand how you both can be so immature.”

You try to move your hand away from Sukuna’s ice pack but his hold is rigid. “Let me go, I need to look at Toji’s injuries and my hand’s going numb.”

Toji sends a smug smirk to Sukuna when you turn around to dig through the first aid box. Sukuna only replies to his friend by baring his fangs.

“I didn’t expect this at all. You guys are friends,” you continued as you dabbed ointment on the small cut on Toji’s jaw.

The raven haired man gulps as your scent enshrouds him. It’s much better than the amalgamated miasma of bleach and Old Spice in the locker room.

All while Toji was enjoying being close to you, Sukuna scoffed internally while watching the scene with his good eye. Two could play that game.

“Hey, could put a muscle relaxing patch on my back? I think I’ve got a huge bruise there,” Toji’s head whips towards his sparring partner as he chews the inside of his cheek.

You nod sweetly, and the place the ointment filled cotton pad in Toji’s palm so you could attend to Sukuna instead. Toji watched with betrayed eyes as you gasped at the sight of Sukuna’s back.

“Oh my God, you’re right. This looks horrible.” You glare at Toji. “You really didn’t hold back, didn’t you?”

“Are you seriously gonna blame all of this on me? What about my face?” Toji counters.

“You’re right. I can’t just blame this on you. You’re both at fault for ending up like this,” you reprimand both men as you stick a muscle relief patch on Sukuna’s back. The softness of your hands makes him momentarily forget about his pain.

“Meat-headed oafs,” you mumble under your breath.

“I think I’ve got a bruise on my back too. Can you apply a patch there?” Sukuna throws a middle finger to Toji when you turn your back to them.

When you’re about to go back to the first aid box after applying Toji’s patch, Sukuna pulls you to him again, “I think I need more patches on my ribs.”

Exhaustion begins to settle into your bones, but you listen to your friend anyway. You’re about to leave until Toji grabs your waist and pulls you into his direction.

He looks at you with puppy dog eyes. “Can you massage my biceps? They’re very sore—“

“Hey, I think my patch’s adhesive isn’t strong. Can you apply another one?” Sukuna interrupts.

Jealousy bubbles in both of them and it threatens to spill out.

“I asked her for help first!”

“But I can’t reach my back. You can touch your biceps just fine—“

“Both of you shut up! I’m not your slave. Uraume will help you. I’m mad and I’m going home. You’re both such babies.” And with that you walk out of the locker room with a sulking faces and folded arms.

“This is all your fault,” Toji blames. Sukuna simply slaps his friend’s bicep and Toji’s lack of a whimper makes him scoff.

“You just wanted an excuse for her to touch you. I needed real help.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do to get attention. I’m gonna confess to her before you know it.”

Sukuna knows he’s being warned. And he knows he shouldn’t wait around for too long or you’ll be swept away when he least expects it.

[iamhereforfunnzies]

Chapter 1: I see you

Bruce overlooking his paperwork and plans of capturing crimminals and crime rates, he felt his stomach grumble. Seeing the grandfather clock tick a 11:15 p.m. he smiled “Just in time for Lunch.” He felt a bit sad knowing he is eating alone today, Dick being Bludhaven, Jason never really visiting, Tim out somewhere with Conner, and Damian out doing voluntary work in a animal shelter. What a lonely time to be in the manor.

    Scratch   

              Heavy breathing was on the otherside of the door he saw you , (Name) how different you were usually … out? But it’s better than eating alone and it would be nice to converse with you , he called you but why do you look at him like that. You arm is bleeding from your intensive scratching , eyes forcing itself not to cry what happened? Why do you look like you died?  “(Name), what are you doing?” you turn to him. “OH- um… Just anxious that’s all” Bruce narrowed his eyes as you look down slowing down on the scratching. “About what?” He sat next to you ,why is he so tall?!

              “Just…I had a nightmare.” GREAT (NAME) (MIDDLENAME) WAYNE , he’s gonna think you’re a huge incompetent baby. Nice going , idiot your mind screams at you. Bruce blinks he feels so amused , how adorable he just wants to pinch your cheeks and coax you to sleep. He chuckled lightly “What happened in your nightmare?” he can’t believe he is having a normal parent to child conversation.  Honestly, your not sure if you can tell him , since it wasn’t a dream you died and then you just time travel back 2 weeks before your death. “ I was walking back to the manor after work.” Bruce hid his shock as you mentioned having a job. “There was a man …” your head throbbed as you try to see your memory clear. “He touched , choke, then…No, No it was choke , someone else touched me, then  a gun was shoved in my mouth.” Your head throbbed harder as your heart was trying to break out your ribs. “Something happened , c’mon remember” you hit your stupid head trying to make your death clear as you start mumbling curse words.

                Bruce stood still not knowing how to respond , he held your hands. “Don’t . Stop. Just don’t think about it.” He was comforting you , now that he had a good look at you. When did you get so tall? Weren’t you just a seedling a month ago? (Name) when did you get your nails done? Why are your eyes so tired? Weren’t you trailing Dick and Tim to play with you? When did your hair changed? Alfred eyes widen as he see’s Bruce hugging you with what looks like a panic attack.  “Lunch is here”

What is wrong with you? Why the hell did you cry infront of him! Never once did Bruce took the time with you. He always seemed so occupied with his little only boys squad doing who know’s what! It’s so weird they are always fighting at the gym with Dick , Tim , and Damian (Rarely Jason), they are so secretive that you just stopped asking questions. Pacing in your quaint room with all this awards from last place to gold , you stare at them how much you lost and won over the years. Yet, you held every lost with pride because you tried well that’s what Alfred tells you.

              A sudden text came in your phone as you see your manager asking you if your free in 2 weeks in Tuesday. You stared at your phone , you died at Tuesday. A normal Tuesday nothing special about the date but you died. You died, you left the message seen.  Staring at yourself in the mirror you said to the mirror. “Am I doing enough to worth living?” Years , hours , days and seconds of awards in your room but not one moment of them stood out. All of this rewards weren’t for you , they were for them.

                             You look at the photo stand of your family I the gala, you were always the one who they claim to protect you but they never tell you anything . Laughing among their little group never explaining to you or care to want you to join in. Even in movie nights it feels like your watching them instead of the movie. Game nights were just you being some extra player they never needed. You grimace as you hid the photo frame of your table. Your childhood was dedicated to appease their eyes , your life to make interesting so they can be interested in your welbecoming but you died. Dead with nothing to remember.

                            A robin in a tree chirping in the trees as the gotham sky in a rare moment glows gold  like heavens gate, the sun shinning, the air crisp and fresh . The robin turns it’s head to you tilting it’s head but flies away with the other birds in the sky. “Fucking heavens , God if this a sign I am not gonna take this second chance for granted.” You muster a trembling smile. “I am gonna lived.” You took your phone.

(Name), are you free the week after this at Tuesday 8:00 a.m.?

Today 12:05 p.m.

                                                                                                                        

   I quit. Thank you for the experience.

                                                                                                                                    Today 12:15 p.m.

I genuinely hope this is readable

[wvyik]

you wanna?.. d.w. ᝰ.ᐟ

dean winchester x fem! reader

summary; dean’s been acting weird all morning, but you don’t think much of it — until he casually slides something across the table between bites of waffles. And just like that, your whole world tilts.

warnings; mdni!! pre-established relationship, aggressively casual proposal, dean being a menace as usual, fluff so sweet it might kill you!!… eventual smut (because let’s be real, this man does not propose without following through. is skip able though!!). dirty talk, dom! dean, oral sex, praise kink, unprotected sex, after care cause ima softie.

notes; AHH!! had so much fun with this one. tysm for all the support >ᴗ< i appreciate you all!! tbh this is the best thing I’ve ever written in a while. we love dean with a happy ending. ꒰˶  - ˕ -꒱ buckle up for the spicy stuff later!! as always, feel free to drop a comment or yell at me if you’re feeling some type of way about this. i’m here for it.

words; 4420

It’s early. Too early.

You’re exhausted in that way only hunters understand— the kind that seeps into your bones, makes your muscles ache, keeps you in that hazy space between asleep and awake, even with a steaming cup of coffee cradled between your hands.

Dean, of course, looks annoyingly good for someone who barely got any sleep. His hair is a mess, there’s a fading bruise on his jaw from last night’s hunt, but he’s still effortlessly him — green eyes warm with amusement, shoulders relaxed, mouth curling into a smirk as he watches you fight to keep your eyes open.

“You look like you got run over,” he says, the corners of his lips twitching.

You take a slow sip of your coffee, staring at him blankly. “Thanks. You always know just what to say.”

He chuckles, reaching for his own mug. “Just speakin’ the truth, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Not now, anyway. You’re definitely too tired for that.

The sound of Dean shuffling around the motel room pulls you out of your half-sleep. You crack open one eye, only to find him already dressed, boots laced up, and pacing with that ‘we’re about to hit the road’ look in his eyes. His leather jacket is hanging on the back of the chair.

You rub your eyes, groaning, and try to keep the sleepiness from spilling out of you. “Do we really have to go now?”

Dean grins, not even bothering to look at you. “You know how I feel about sitting still.”

You roll your eyes again, itching to bargain with him, but knowing if you did, he’d just drag you into whatever shenanigans he had planned for the day anyway. After a couple of minutes, the room starts to feel too small, and the silence is making your head spin, so you sit up. The plan— at least, the unspoken one — was to hit the road after a quick breakfast, and you’ve learned that when Dean Winchester says quick, he means quick.

The car ride isn’t long. Dean’s humming along to the radio, steering with one hand as he swerves around potholes, and you’re trying to ignore how damn good he looks in the morning light filtering through the car windows. Eventually, the sound of the engine and the warmth of the sun lull you into a comfortable quiet. You’re barely paying attention when you both pull up to an old diner on the side of the highway, a place that looks like it’s been around longer than you’ve been alive.

Dean parks and shoots you a look and smirks. “I’ll bet you ten bucks the pie here could change your life.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t question it. You know better than to doubt him by now.

The diner is quiet, just a few truckers scattered at the counter, the hum of conversation mixing with the low crackle of an old radio playing Blue Öyster Cult in the background. The air smells like burnt coffee and bacon grease, and the vinyl booth seat sticks slightly to your thigh where your jeans have a tear, but it’s…nice.

Comfortable.

It’s one of those rare, normal mornings. No hunts lined up. No immediate danger. Just you, Dean, and a crappy little diner on the side of the road.

You should’ve known he was up to something.

Dean’s been acting weird all morning.

Not in an obvious way. He’s still teasing you, still stuffing his face with an ungodly amount of waffles and bacon, still shooting you that signature smirk every time you make a face at him.

But his knee is bouncing under the table. His fingers keep drumming against his coffee cup. And every once in a while, you catch him looking at you — this soft, thoughtful expression flickering across his face before he shakes it off.

You think about asking. But then your waitress swings by again, and Dean immediately perks up, flashing her a charming smile as she tops off his coffee.

“Another round of waffles, darlin’?” she asks, clearly smitten. You don’t blame her.

You smile softly behind your mug as Dean leans back, cocky as ever. “Wouldn’t say no.”

The waitress laughs, shaking her head. “You got a hell of an appetite.”

“That’s what she said,” Dean mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You kick him under the table. He deserved that one.

By the time the waitress walks away, Dean is already back to his food, completely unfazed. You shake your head, cutting into your own waffle, stealing one of his bacon strips just to be a menace. He lets you.

And then— casual as anything, like he’s commenting on the weather— he reaches into his pocket, pulls out something, and slides it across the table toward you.

A ring.

Just sitting there. Between your plate and the salt shaker.

Your brain short-circuits. You stare at it, then at him. Then back at it.

Dean, the absolute menace that he is, doesn’t even look up from his food. Just swipes some syrup with his fork, chews, and— without a single ounce of drama — says,

“You wanna?”

You blink. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Because what the hell is happening right now?

Dean finally looks at you, chewing like this is just another Thursday.

“What?” he says around a mouthful of food.

Your heart is slamming against your ribs. You feel warm all over, but you can’t tell if it’s from the crappy diner coffee or the fact that Dean Winchester just proposed to you like he was offering you the last french fry.

“That’s your proposal?” Your voice comes out hoarse, disbelief and laughter mixing in your throat.

Dean tilts his head, squinting at you. “What, you want me to get down on one knee in a greasy diner?”

“You literally just slid it across the table like it was a packet of sugar!”

He shrugs, still watching you, still unreadable in that way that makes your stomach flip. “Ain’t exactly my style, sweetheart.”

Your fingers shake as you reach for the ring. It’s simple— silver, understated, perfect. It feels warm from being in his pocket, the edges smooth against your skin.

Dean’s watching you carefully now. The teasing is gone, replaced by something softer, something quieter.

And that’s when it hits you.

Dean Winchester— who has faced monsters, demons, literal hell — is nervous. Like he’s bracing for impact. Like there’s a real, tangible fear in him that you might say no.

Your throat tightens.

“You really want this?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Dean exhales through his nose, sets his fork down. He leans forward slightly, arms resting on the table, eyes locked onto yours.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice steady now, sure in a way that makes you melt. “I already got you. This is just making it official.”

Your heart stumbles. Because of course he’d say it like that. Like it was never even a question, like you already belonged to each other. Like you always would.

The ring feels solid between your fingers, grounding. It’s not grand or flashy. It’s him. It’s you. It’s perfect.

And god,

You don’t cry, but it’s a close thing.

You swallow hard, slip it onto your finger. It fits like it was meant to.

Dean watches, lets out a breath like he was holding it for years, and then— because you know him, because you love him— you smirk and say,

“You better get me a pie for this.”

That knocks the tension right out of him. His mouth quirks, the easy grin sliding back into place. “Damn right, I will.”

And just like that, you’re engaged. Not with a big speech. Not with grand gestures. Just this. Just him.

In a tiny diner off the highway, with bad coffee and waffles and the love of your life sitting across from you, grinning like a fool.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the flood of emotions building up in your chest. You weren’t expecting this. Hell, you didn’t even know you needed it. But now that it’s here, now that he’s here, you feel like your whole world is shifting into place.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you whisper, leaning your forehead against his.

Dean chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “You’re the one that’s perfect, sweetheart. I’m just lucky.”

You shake your head slightly, not sure how to respond. You’ve been together for so long now, and yet, this moment still feels like a beginning. Like everything that came before— every hunt, every stupid argument, every late-night conversation— it was all leading to this. To this small, simple, perfect moment in a stupid dingy diner.

Dean cups your face, tilting your chin up so you’re looking directly at him. There’s a quiet intensity in his eyes, and for once, you see a rawness that he doesn’t always show.

“You know that’s the thing,” he murmurs. “It’s not about what you deserve. It’s about what you’re willing to fight for. And you—” He pauses, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek. “You’re worth every damn fight, sweetheart. Always will be.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you realize you’re not even breathing properly. It’s overwhelming, the way he can say so much with so little. His words hit you deeper than you expected, more than you thought you needed.

“I’m in this. All the way, okay?” he says softly, like he’s reminding you, like he’s trying to make sure you know it, truly know it. “I don’t do half-assed. Not with you.”

“I know,” you reply, your voice barely more than a whisper, the emotions bubbling up.

His lips press against your forehead, soft and tender. And in that moment, you know—you know—that you’re not just his. He’s yours too. No matter what comes next, you’re a team.

Dean pulls back, a playful smile tugging at his lips again, trying to break the weight of the moment. “So, uh, you think I could maybe get a little ‘yes’ out of you? Just a tiny one?”

You laugh softly, your chest full. You tilt your head, looking up at him with a smile that feels too big for your face. “Yeah. Yeah, you could.”

Dean’s eyes light up, a twinkle in them like he’s won the lottery, like this was the answer he’s been waiting for. He presses another kiss to your lips—brief, but meaningful.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you can breathe. Like the world, in all its chaos, has paused just for you two. Like nothing else matters except the person standing in front of you.

You know there will be bad days, tough hunts, and fights, but for now, this moment is enough. This love is enough.

And you, you finally feel like you’ve found where you belong.

“Guess we should finish our waffles, huh?” Dean says, the mood lightening again, but his hand still resting on yours.

You chuckle, your heart still racing. “Yeah. But let’s take it slow, okay? We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Dean grins, that cocky, perfect grin you know so well. “Works for me.”

As you both finish your meal— laughing, talking about whatever random thing crosses your mind— there’s an understanding between you two now. You don’t need big gestures or flashy moments to know what’s real.

What’s real is here. What’s real is you two.

And it’s always been that way.

Back in the motel room, the door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud. The dim light from the lamp on the nightstand cast long shadows across the room, the only sound the faint hum of the old air conditioning. The weight of the night pressed in on you— quiet, comfortable, and full of possibilities you weren’t ready to voice just yet.

Dean kicked off his boots and tossed his jacket onto the chair by the door, then turned to face you. There was something different in his eyes now, something deeper, as if the last few hours had opened up a door neither of you could walk away from.

You stood by the bed, your heart thumping in your chest, but your feet seemed glued to the floor, unsure of what came next. His gaze flickered down to your hand, still resting in his from the diner, then back up to your face. That smile— always so effortless, so charming— pulled at the corner of his lips.

“You good?” he asked, voice soft, but with that low, steady warmth you knew so well.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your words barely escaping as your breath hitched. Your heart was racing, but you felt rooted to the spot, unsure if you should make the first move or wait for him to pull you in again.

Dean’s eyes never left yours as he slowly closed the distance between you, his movements slow, deliberate. You could feel the space between you getting smaller, the air in the room suddenly feeling thicker, charged with that same electricity you couldn’t ignore.

When he finally reached you, his hand came up to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was soft, but there was no mistaking the heat in his fingers, the way they lingered just a little longer than necessary, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of your skin.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, eyes fluttering shut for a second, just to take in the moment. He was so close now. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, close enough that the faint scent of the leather jacket he had left behind filled your senses.

Dean’s lips brushed against yours with a familiarity that made your heart skip a beat. This wasn’t the first time— far from it— but each time felt like it was. Every kiss was still a little bit like a spark, each one lighting a new fire. And tonight, there was something different. Something deeper, even though you’d been here before.

His fingers trailed down your arm again, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of your skin as if he couldn’t get enough of it. You shifted beneath him, feeling the tension of the moment settle between your legs, but it wasn’t rushed. It never was with him.

“You know what you do to me, right?” Dean’s voice was low, rougher now, but laced with that familiar tenderness. He didn’t need to say it, not really. You could feel it in every touch, every lingering kiss.

You nodded, your lips parting as you leaned up to meet him halfway, pressing your body closer to his. You’d been here before, but that didn’t mean it ever lost its power. It was still just as electrifying, just as sweet.

His hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, pausing for just a moment as his eyes locked onto yours, searching for any hesitation. But there was none. You didn’t need words; your body told him everything. Your jeans met the floor with a slight thud.

With a deep, almost frustrated sigh, Dean pushed your jeans down just enough to slide his hand under them, his fingers skating over the curve of your hip. It was familiar, comforting even, but the way he touched you now felt different. There was a slowness, an intentional care in every movement. Like he wanted to savor you this time.

His lips met yours again, but this kiss was slower, more languid, as if he was taking his time, soaking in the moment. He kissed you like he was letting his feelings pour into every movement, every press of his lips, until the rest of the world disappeared.

“You make me forget everything else, you know that?” Dean’s breath was hot against your ear, his hands expertly undressing you, but it was still slow. As if he was enjoying the feel of your skin more than the outcome of it. You could tell that this wasn’t about rushing, about getting to the end. This was about being with you, right here, right now.

You breathed his name again, a plea more than a whisper, and Dean, ever the attentive lover, responded immediately, his lips trailing down your neck, to your chest, as his hand wandered over you, knowing exactly where to touch to make your breath hitch.

But this time, it wasn’t about the heat of the moment— it was about the slow, delicious build of something bigger. His lips left a trail of soft, lingering kisses across your skin as his hand gently slid down your side, his touch grounding you to the bed. His body moved against yours with that familiar rhythm, but tonight, it felt like it meant more. Like you meant more.

He paused for just a moment, looking at you with those eyes—dark and soft all at once. “I love you, ‘s fucking much. I wanna make you feel so good, baby.” His voice was thick with something deep, something serious, and it made your chest tighten with emotion.

You nodded, pulling him back to you, pressing your lips to his with a fierce intensity. It wasn’t just the physical connection anymore. This was something that went deeper, something stronger than before. And you wanted it. You wanted him.

Dean groaned as you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he moved between your legs. You moan, as he skillfully worked his fingers in you, slowly climbing on top of you— as your head hit the not-so-soft pillows on the bed. You could feel the thrum of his heartbeat against yours, steady and strong.

“Dean…” The word came out like a breath, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you tugged him back up, wanting his lips on yours again. He smirked, just slightly, but there was nothing playful in the way his eyes held yours. It was all raw, all real.

“Easy,” he whispered, voice gruff but gentle as his thumb traced over your lip. “Atta girl, doing so good for me.. Don’t worry bout’ it, we can take your time.”

You nodded, your eyes heavy with desire but filled with trust. “I need you, De..” Your voice was soft, but there was a definite edge to it. The words felt like they had weight, like they meant something. Something more than just this moment.

He exhaled deeply, eyes darkening as his hand slid to your waist, guiding you beneath him as he moved down on you, slipping your panties fully off. The space between you was so minimal now that it felt like you were one.

His mouth lightly sucked on your needy clit, his thick fingers still working their magic inside you. You couldn’t help but let out an almost pornographic moan. You were so close, he could tell.

“Mhm, honey.. let it out, cum on my face,” he whispered against your needy pussy. The stubble on his jaw teasing you even more, as he practically buried his face in your wetness.

Oh, you were a goner. “Dean— fuck, I’m gonna—“ You didn’t even finish your sentence as the orgasm came rushing through you. As dean still worked, still slurping up your juices in his mouth like his life depended on it.

He finally let his face out of between your thighs, kissing you gently— letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You’re incredible,” Dean muttered, his voice raw as he pressed his forehead against yours, breathing deeply. “Never forget that.”

You met his gaze, your chest tight with emotion. “I won’t. Not with you.”

Dean’s lips found yours in a deep kiss, and as he slowly pulled back, his hand moved to your waist, gently coaxing your hips up against his. His jeans came off, so did the shirt — the sound of the zipper loud in the quiet of the room, and you felt a rush of heat flood your body again. He was so close, and yet, there was still something in the way he touched you that made everything feel like it was building to something more.

“Don’t tease me,” you whispered, your voice a little breathless, but there was a hint of playfulness too—something you knew he’d pick up on.

He smirked, his lips brushing your jaw as his body settled between your legs. “Me? Tease?” His voice was a teasing mockery of innocence, but there was nothing innocent in the way he touched you, nothing at all.

“Oh, yeah, and this? Off.” He gestured to your shirt, earning a chuckle from you. He skillfully pulled the shirt off of you, unclasping your bra with ease, gently touching up on your breasts.

Dean’s eyes never left yours, that fire still burning in them, but there was a softness there too, a tenderness that made your chest tighten. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, the words slipping from his lips like a prayer. His lips moved to your neck again.

You looked at him wide-eyed, as he pressed his lips back onto yours briefly, before sliding one hand down his boxers, pulling his hard cock out of its confinements, already leaking with pre-cum. You never get tired of seeing it, really.

There’s a hunger in his gaze, but it’s a hunger you recognize—one that’s been building between you two, one that isn’t just about tonight. It’s deeper, quieter, but oh so real.

“Y’ ready for me?..” he murmured, and you could only respond with a soft ‘mhm’ sound, too turned on to make any proper sentence.

You’re not just the next moment in line for him— you’re everything. His hand on your skin, his body pressed to yours, it’s all proof of the quiet trust that’s been growing between you since day one.

You can feel the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, as he slowly pushes inside of you, his heart beating steady against yours. It’s like he’s giving you all of him, in this simple, quiet way, and you know you have his heart just as much as he has yours

“That’s it— Jesus, sweetheart. You’re still so fucking tight, can’t believe it’” he chuckles slowly, and you whimper when he finally gives all of himself for you. And he waits for your permission to start moving.

“De.. okay— you can move.” You manage to say breathlessly after a little bit. Nothing can prepare you for that moment, though. As he slowly moves in and out you swear you see stars. And gosh, the sounds that fill the room, it’s so goddamn good, you think before biting down the moan.

“Mhm, yeah.. So fuckin’ perfect, angel, you’re doing so well for me.” He almost whimpered. Goddamn you, Dean — And your filthy mouth.

His lips found yours again, and the kiss was deeper this time— full of assurance, of trust, of a promise that nothing could tear apart. You could feel how much he believed in the two of you, in the bond you shared.

His hands roamed your body, confident and firm, like he knew exactly where to touch to make you lose your breath. Every movement was purposeful, a teasing promise of what was to come.

“De— m’ so close, please” you managed to whimper through the moans, trying to keep up with his pace with your hips.

His lips lingered along your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin, his breath hot against your ear. “I know baby, me too. You can come, sweetness, m’ right there with you.” he murmured, his voice a hushed growl that sent shivers down your spine.

As you both reached your climax, you can’t help but smile. After the world-shifting intensity of the moment, you both lay there, tangled up in sheets and each other. Dean shifted just enough to pull you close, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm against yours, as though he was grounding himself in the softness of your presence.

His fingers brushed gently through your hair, the touch so tender it was almost as if he was trying to memorize every strand, every curve of you. The warmth between you didn’t need words; it was enough to feel him there, still connected to you in every possible way.

“Are you okay?” Dean’s voice was low, but it carried that softness you’d only hear when the walls were down and he wasn’t trying to hide anything. There was a genuine worry in his tone, an unwavering need to make sure you were feeling just as safe and cared for as he felt.

You nodded against his chest, your hand resting over his heart, feeling the steady beat that reminded you of the calm after the storm. “I’m perfect,” you whispered, your voice still a little breathless, but full of warmth.

Dean chuckled softly, the sound low and comforting, like it always was when he felt content. “Good. ‘Cause I’ve got you, and I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, pulling you closer, his arm draping over you protectively as if making sure you stayed there, safe in his arms.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, the gesture soft and caring, his way of showing that there was more to him than just the physical connection. It was always about the little things—the way his touch lingered, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

There was no rush to get up, no need to fill the space with words that didn’t need to be said. You both understood each other in the quiet.

Dean’s thumb brushed against your hand in a rhythm that made you feel grounded, like he was telling you he was there in ways that didn’t need to be explained. Slowly, you let your eyes flutter closed, wrapped in the softness of his care, feeling safer than you had ever felt.

He kissed your forehead again, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’re good, you and me. Always gonna be good.”

And in that moment, with the faintest smile tugging at your lips, you knew he meant every word. The world outside the room didn’t matter, not when you had this—this peace, this love, this feeling of being completely and utterly cared for.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos ⊹ ࣪ ˖

tysm for reading pooks! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡⋆

── all rights reserved © 2025 wvyik | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[st7rnioioss]

hiii i saw u wanted sub matt suggestions! you could do like matt wanting to try being a dom but he can barely last like 3 minutes and you have to take over and praise him and all that other shit… 🙂 anyways yeah lmk

SUB!MATT TRYING TO TAKE CONTROL

˚𝜗𝜚 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬... pure smut, p in v, unprotected sex (nuh uh!), implied overstimulation?, dirty talk, swearing, praise kink kinda, sub!matt, soft!dom reader, riding, matt lowk being fucked dumb idk

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟ matt’s blunt fingernails were digging harshly into your waist, his nose scrunched, and eyes squeezed shut. he was trying, he really was, but the pace of his hips meeting the back of your thighs was halting and going sloppy, nearly losing his grasp on reality. he wanted to take control so bad, just for once—but it was getting hard from the sight and feel of you.

his eyes occasionally opened to catch a glimpse at you. still, the sight only made him whine even louder: your eyebrows were twisted into pleasure, eyes droopy, and you had a faint smile planted on your lips while tugging on his hair. his eyes flickered to where his cock slipped inside of you so easily before you spoke. “d-doin' so well matty, yeah? i knew you could do it,” your voice was stern but whiny, each plow of his hips causing your eyes to roll back. matt couldn’t look, he couldn’t. “y’feel so- so good.. really good,” he whimpered, watching your tits bounce back and forth from the rocking of your bodies.

you chuckled dryly, listening to the sweet moans slip from his lips every here and there, his fingers leaving marks you were sure you could see and feel for days after today. matt was turning tired, the thrusts of his cock going in and out if your slick walls turning weak and slow, his features scrunched into pleasure and bliss. “m-m’sorry i can’t, i- feels too- too good,” he whined pathetically, his hands mindlessly roaming your chest while his thumb ran over your hardened nipples. “really sorry- i’m sorry, i’m trying..” you could kiss him senseless, running your hands down his back in a somewhat soothing manner, pressing him closer to kiss his face when his movements stilled completely. “it’s okay, it’s fine baby. wan’ me to make you feel good?” matt deepened the kiss when you finished your sentence, his tongue searching and exploring your own. “p-please.. yes, please.”

one thing led to another, and the pretty boy sat beneath you while you rode the daylight out of him, sweat trickling down his forehead that was resting on your shoulder. “yeah? is this better matt?” you moaned, head lolling back while you continued to move on top of him, the tip of his dick prodding at your sweet spot with every rock of your hips. “uh.. uh-huh.. much better,” his voice was mumbled against your skin, trailing kissing down your chest before latching his lips around your nub.

another moan fell from your tongue, his tongue swirling around your nipple while you tried to keep up your pace, harshly gripping his shoulder. “you’re so pretty matt.. so pretty like this,” matt was on cloud nine, his mouth detaching from your sensitive skin. he was being loud, and he knew it, the repeated whimpers of your name and babbles filling the room. your pussy was clamping around him, making every bounce edge him closer to fucking his seed into you. you laughed, watching as his head met the headboard behind him. “a little pathetic, don’t you think?” your tone was teasing, letting one hand slip from his shoulder to run through his hair, pushing it back to get a good look at his fucked out face. all he could do was nod embarrassingly in agreement, taking his bottom lip between his teeth while listening to the squelching his cock emitted from you.

“of course.. y’close baby?” your voice sent thrills down his spine, awkwardly nodding again while his hips jerked forward to meet yours. your warmth wrapped around his throbbing length was driving him inside, squeezing and clenching around his cock. “y-you’re.. you’re so wet, i- m’close..” he whined, his palms meeting your tits. you smiled proudly, letting dry chuckles slip between the angelic noises. “hm? it’s all from you matt, all you.. you make me so fuckin’ wet,” you groaned, your hand in his hair slipping to his chest. “wanna feel you fill me up so, so bad.. y’gonna cum for me?” matt’s lidded eyes looking up at you, continuing to knead the skin of your breasts between his fingers.

he whined, his words slurred and letting them fall uncontrolled from his lips. “y-yes, please can- can i cum? p-please i- i need to,” his pleading and begging made a strike of fire shoot through you, a moan of his name ripping from your throat while desperately tugging on his hair and shoulder. “it’s okay matty, you can cum.” your words were all he needy before he let go, his cock twitching before white spurts of his cum filling you to the brim. “o-oh my gosh,” he choked, a loud, and guttural groan falling past gritted teeth.

your lips parted in a gasp, feeling his seed paint your walls and insides. “you feel okay?” you panted, keeping up your pace on his cock while his sticky release oozed around his length. matt nodded slowly, “uh-huh.. mmhpp, i- i can’t..” he whimpered exhaustedly, his eyes catching the way your tight pussy enveloped his stretch. “well.. you’re gonna. c’mon, you’re gonna give me one more.” you smirked, noticing how his eyes glued to where the two of you connected, your own eyes going to do the same. “making a mess.. gonna make me cum now, huh? y’know you can, done it before..”

𝜗𝜚˚࿔ notes: i hope i didnt disappoint.. i love this request.

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @sturnvxz @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @toftomgmf @emely9274 @sturnioloangell @blushsturns @sierrraaaaxz @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @sophand4n4 @sturnihoelooo @unknvhx @chrisslut04 @sturniolossss @slvtf0rchr1s @blahbel668 @starkeysturniolo @miolos @user1smvtysturniolo @lizzyzzn @sturnslutz @decimatedxdreams @chrissturnioloswife88 @sturn777 @sturniolonationsblog @frankoceanfanpage @priscillaog @courta13 @sweetrelieef @loverboysturn @sturns-mermaid @cutseylady @sofieeeeex @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @mattsturnii @conspiracy-ash

❛❛ © 𝐒𝐓𝟕𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ❜❜

[w2mini]

RED MEANS TAKEN DUMMY! atsumu x reader

-happy valentines 𓂃۶ৎ warnings: reader is reserved, swearings, black cat x golden retriever (I'm never getting tired of this trope for atsumu) fluff only

For Atsumu, he's always been drawn to you—the quiet, pretty muse from unfortunately another class who never seemed to fall for his popular charm. And what's worst is that you weren't even doing anything to catch his attention. It was just a random Tuesday when you were introduced as a new student in Inarizaki, then went on with your day as a normal student like everyone would—and that?

That drove him crazy.

It was probably your reserved nature that felt refreshing to him since he's used to having a crowd of admirers around him. You weren't trying to stand out, be loud—you just always seemed like you had your own little world to be content with.

And he desperately wants to be a part of your life. But let's be real—he's probably not the type to immediately accept his feelings about you because this is genuinely the first time he's falling for someone, so with some ups and downs, denial, and winning a war with his own feelings—yep, he wanted you BAD.

So little by little, he would hang out with you during breaks, keep you company, and slowly become a part of your inner circle—you grew fond of him in your own quiet way. So with Valentines coming up, Atsumu decides it would be the perfect time to confess his undying love for you.

But of course this is an Inarizaki centered story, and it's not one without chaos.

"Yo, have you guys seen the new post from the student council?" The volleyball club were currently in the gym practicing as usual every after school times. Akagi, who was simply scrolling at his phone during break ends up with an interesting post from their student council's social media page regarding the event tomorrow. "The color-coded shirts? still haven't decided what I'm gonna wear to be honest." Aran replied, approaching Akagi to look at his phone, checking what each color meant. To celebrate Valentines, the student council announces a color-coded Valentine's event wherein students wear shirts that indicate their relationship status: Red meant taken, White meant single, Pink means friend-zoned, Black meant heartbroken, etc. Atsumu, who was already plotting his confession, grinned to himself. White it is, because, obviously, he's saving himself for you. So could you just imagine on a Valentines day morning, he's all excited walking at the school, ready to show off in front of you, and sees you in the hallway—

... wearing a red top.

aka TAKEN.

his soul shatters at the sight.

I—what—When—WHO???? Osamu and Suna who was with him—seeing the devastated face on Atsumu bursts into laughter.

He turned to Osamu, aggressively whispering "WHEN THE HELL DID THIS HAPPEN???”

"She's taken? tough luck Miya." Suna says in between giggles.

You on the other hand who was just simply talking to a friend—doesn’t recognize the chaos happening behind you for wearing a red top.

“You never told me you were in a relationship?” Your friend offhandedly asks, but they were also internally panicking because they know about Atsumu’s plan.

You tilted your head in confusion, “huh? but I dont?”

“what? it’s red though.” your friend points at your top.

“so? don’t people wear red for valentines?”

You friend’s expression drops.

“[name] you dumbass.”

—

Atsumu spent the whole day sulking, even during practice. He messed up the easiest receives, screwed up his sets, and almost hit Suna on the head with his serve.

that damn red top, he’s never been this furious over a color, and what’s worst is that you looked good with that top too!

How come he had already lost without starting?

And how come he never knew you were already in a relationship? You never gave hints or said anything about being in a relationship—

“If I were you, I would’ve confessed already rather than sulking like that.” easier said than done Aran.

“She was wearing red, RED!” Atsumu dramatically exclaims as he drowns on his own sorrows.

“What did red mean again?” Ginjima asks.

“Taken.” Suna replied bluntly, making Atsumu hiss at the word.

“Never stood a chance huh?” Osamu grinned mockingly.

“SHUT YER TRAP SAMU.”

Kita could only facepalm at the situation, but he’s rather amused since this is the first time he’s seen Atsumu like this, “You know Atsumu, have you ever thought that maybe she just wore the color and discarding the meaning?”

Atsumu’s ears perked up, then Ginjima suddenly had a lightbulb over his head, “Oh yeahhh, it could mean like that too, there were a bunch of guys wearing black for fun earlier despite not being in a relationship.”

“Maybe try asking her about it then?” Akagi suggested.

I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Actually scrap that, it would.

That is until knocking was heard on the doors of the gym.

The team looks over to the source of the sound then sees—

You… with a small box.

“Uhm, pardon me but can I call for Atsumu?” You asked, peeking over to the doors.

Atsumu immediately RAN and was suddenly infront of you, looking… nervous?

“Did ya’ uh, need anything?” he asks, his voice crackling a little.

Then, you hold out the gift to him. “For you.”

Atsumu froze.

“Huh…?”

“Thanks for always keeping me company,” you say softly. “I know I’m not the easiest person to approach.”

Atsumu finally finds his voice. “Wait—so yer not datin’ anyone?”

You blink. “No, why?”

His brain short circuited. He points at your top, “But—THAT’S RED.”

“So?”

That’s when he realizes.

You didn’t know shit about the color-coded event.

His entire face lights up, and lets out the most dramatic sigh of relief. “Wearing red means taken stupid.” He says, flicking your forehead.

It was your turn to get struck by realization now.

No wonder everyone kept asking if you were in a relationship, and no WONDER everyone was wearing different colors for valentines.

Oh you feel fucking stupid.

You then immediately took your phone out, opening an app then searching for your school’s official account page.

You face drops seeing the png file on the very first post that appeared, no wonder why your friend had asked that odd question.

“I—didn’t know…” you muttered, embarrassed about the whole misunderstanding.

Atsumu only chuckled in response, laughing at your misery. “Yer’ killin me ya know that? I though I lost my chance before I even tried.”

You perked up. “You were trying?”

“Obviously.” He grinned.

You smiled warmly, feeling funny about the situation. “Try harder then.”

Atsumu had the brightest grin on his face, he ruffled your hair then gently took the gift from your hands. “Oh I definitely will.”

“P-D-A ALERT” Osamu suddenly shouted from the gym, surprising you and pissing off Atsumu.

“MIND YER OWN BUSINESS!”

WOOOO KINDA SHORT IM SO SORRY GUYS but happy valentines!! and of course I had to celebrate it by writing my all time favorite character😻 hope you guys enjoyed HDJHFODK

💐 >> bouquets for those who don’t feel special enough on this special day <33

[lotties-ashwagandha]

LET IT BLEED AWAY BETWEEN US

(adult) lottie matthews x fem!reader.

she shows up at your door… (inspired by season three episode 2 babyyyyyy I wrote this at 4 fucking in the morning earlier bc I couldn’t sleep enjoy please read to compensate my suffering)

“So,” you start, unsure of how to begin. “How was it?”

Lottie blinks. “The mental institution?”

You were better off not asking.

“It was fine,” she answers in a dull tone. She sits across from where you stand as she occupies your armchair — in your living room, which she has infiltrated and made herself at home in. “It’s been worse.”

She’s told you before, stories of all she has endured. You sit very straight, unsure exactly of how to proceed — it hasn’t been long since you last saw her, but there is a gap between the two of you already, and even in such a short amount of time the two of you have changed. She no longer has her wellness center to lead, you no longer follow her in it. You have been thrusted back into the real world — real dangers accompany it.

“You have a nice place here,” Lottie gestures around your living room. “I’m surprised you could get a hold of it so quickly.”

Your old house you had lived in before moving into the wellness center. You’ve had it on the market for a while, but no one has put in an offer. You don’t tell her that, though — part of you wants her to bear the guilt, think you found some new place in a pinch.

“I had to find somewhere to go,” you say defensively. “While you were detained.”

Her expression sours, she doesn’t like your wording. Neither do you. You don’t enjoy being angry with her, especially after being apart. All you want to do is rush to her, pull her into your arms and let it all bleed away between you, but it was Lottie herself who always showed those who followed her to feel their anger.

Lottie sinks further into her seat, sensing your discontent, crosses one leg over the other and pretends she’s blind to the world. “I missed you.”

You hum in response. Silence lies heavily between you.

“Are you upset with me?”

You don’t respond.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

She sighs. “Then what?”

“You hunted Shauna through the woods. You got shot.”

Lottie stands and makes her way to you. She looks tired above all, but you can’t help but notice a fidgety manner about her — dark eyes always flitting to avert your gaze, hands spinning her rings around and around her fingers. There is a general restlessness to her that you aren’t used to — it’s worrying.

“I understand that you’re frustrated—”

“What if it had been me?” You cross your arms. “Would you have hunted me?”

Lottie scoffs.

“Answer me. Would you have?”

She hesitates. She waits a beat too long before answering. You see the same flightiness. “No.”

You let it drop for now. You don’t want to press her and end up with a different answer. “Did it hurt?”

She’s becoming quite done with this. Her tone is laced with sarcasm, sharp with it. “When I fell from heaven?”

“When you got shot.”

“Yes, it fucking hurt.”

“I want to see.”

Again she sighs, more dramatically this time — but after a moment’s hesitation Lottie pulls off her black jacket. Your eyes find it immediately, though the wound is tiny. It’s already beginning to scar: the small mark of the bullet you remember all too clearly embedded in her skin.

“Are you okay?” Lottie asks.

“Are you?”

She offers you a soft smile — it’s not really an answer, more mournful than anything, but momentarily you have been persuaded to put your anger aside when her hands take yours and again you are home.

“If you ever get shot again, I’m leaving you,” you threaten. It sounded much less surreal to say in your head.

“I don’t plan on it,” Lottie assures you. “Though I didn’t plan on getting shot the first time.”

You beg to differ. It doesn’t matter in any case, what’s done is done. Now you need her in your arms, anger and all, and she needs it too — gently, almost so as not to scare you away into a fit of rage, she kisses you.

You had been silent when she’d told you she missed you, but you had missed her just as desperately. You missed the warmth and security of her beside you as you laid in an empty bed, you missed the novelty of being able to pull her into your arms whenever you wanted and decide it’s where you both would stay for a while. You missed her, in every way, and you were still pissed at her for all she had done to lose you.

Lottie glances around the house when you pull back, trying to determine in her surroundings where the bedroom is. You can see the disapproval etched into her features — this is not her home, this is not the life you have built together.

You can’t, not yet. Too mournful still.

When you pull her back over to the couch, it is a domestic gesture. When you lean against her so that you’re nearly on top of her and gently run a hand through her hair. When her arms wrap around you and you find your gaze trained on the bullet wound and you can’t help but reach out to trace it and know that someday, when the world is less dark and mournful and all of your wounds have scarred, you will kiss it clean of the past.

sexy sexy taglist: @webism @chaithetics @ahauandthesun

reblogs/comments always appreciated! :)

[scoupsakakitty]

LOOOOOVE YOUR BLOG i'm literally obsessed with idol!scoups fics and u r soooo good in writing them <333

not sure if you are open to requests but in case that you are, i'd love to see an angsty one with idol!scoups, maybe one where they fight ??? and cheol has to go on tour or work or something so they're not okay for quite a while and make up once he gets home :(((

Silent Apologies | idol!Scoups x Reader | angst, fluff

The argument had started over something small—something stupid, really—but it had escalated far beyond what either of them expected.

"You always do this, Seungcheol!" Y/N's voice wavered with frustration as she stood in the middle of their living room, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "You shut me out, and then you expect me to just be okay with it!"

Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair, his patience already frayed. "Because I don’t want to fight with you, Y/N! I’m exhausted, I have so much on my plate, and the last thing I need is another argument!"

"So what? You think I don’t get tired too? That I don’t have feelings?" Her voice cracked slightly, but she refused to let it show any weakness. "You act like you're the only one who has problems, but you're never here anymore!"

His jaw clenched. "You knew what you were getting into when we started this! My schedule isn’t something I can just change!"

"I'm not asking you to change it, Seungcheol! I'm asking you to at least talk to me about it instead of pushing me away!"

He exhaled sharply, looking away. "I can't do this right now."

Y/N scoffed, hurt flashing across her face. "Of course you can’t. You always run away the second things get hard."

That was the last straw. His temper snapped. "You think I run away? I do everything I can to keep this together! I'm trying my best, Y/N! But maybe my best isn't enough for you!"

Silence followed his outburst, thick and suffocating. The words hung between them like a wound neither could take back. Y/N swallowed, blinking away the sting in her eyes. "Maybe it’s not."

The finality in her voice made Seungcheol’s stomach drop, but he was too proud—too angry—to reach for her. Instead, he turned on his heel, grabbing his jacket. "I have a flight to catch."

Y/N watched as he walked to the door. "Fine. Go."

The door slammed behind him.

The flight to Indonesia felt longer than it should have. Seungcheol sat in his seat, staring blankly at the screen in front of him, but all he could think about was her. The look in her eyes before he left. The way her voice had cracked. The way he had let his anger win instead of fixing things.

His chest ached with regret.

By the time the concert rolled around, he was running on autopilot. His members noticed. His energy was off. His mind wasn’t there. Even as he stood in front of thousands of fans, singing and dancing like he’d done a hundred times before, his heart wasn’t in it. Because his heart was somewhere else.

With her.

When the final song ended and the cheers filled the venue, Seungcheol barely let the sound settle before he rushed backstage. He ignored the cameras, the staff, the lingering adrenaline. He needed to get home.

Y/N had spent the last two days drowning in her own guilt. She hated the way they had left things, hated the last words they had exchanged.

What if something happened to him while he was away? What if those words were the last thing they ever said to each other?

The thought alone had made her sick to her stomach. So, instead of wallowing in regret, she did what she could to make things right. She cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, made sure everything was perfect. And then, she cooked. She made all of Seungcheol’s favorite dishes, the ones he always craved after long flights. Because she knew that he would come back to her.

And then, as if her heart had called out to him, the front door swung open.

Seungcheol stood there, exhausted and breathless, his suitcase slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor with a dull thud. But Y/N didn’t care about that.

She ran to him.

His arms were around her in seconds, crushing her against his chest as if he was afraid she might disappear if he let go. "I'm so sorry," he murmured into her hair. "I shouldn't have left like that. I shouldn't have said what I did."

Tears pricked at her eyes as she buried her face in his shoulder. "I was so worried about you. I hated the way we ended things."

"Me too," he admitted, pulling back just enough to cup her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed over her cheeks, his gaze soft but filled with remorse. "I never want to fight like that again."

She nodded, leaning into his touch. "Me neither."

A small smile tugged at her lips as she grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the kitchen. "Come on, I made your favorite."

Seungcheol's eyes softened even more when he saw the food on the table. "You really made all this?"

She bit her lip, suddenly shy. "I just… I wanted to do something for you."

His heart swelled with affection. "You didn’t have to, but thank you."

They sat down together, the tension of the past few days melting away as they ate. Seungcheol kept reaching for her hand between bites, as if he needed to remind himself that she was still there, that they were okay.

And they were.

Because no matter how bad the fights got, no matter how far apart they were, they always found their way back to each other.

[luvashli]

ESCAPISM PT.2

SYNOPSIS -> After a night with Ni-ki, Y/N returns to her toxic relationship with Heeseung. But what happens when Heeseung finds out about Ni-ki?

PAIRING -> non!idol!ni-ki x fem!reader x non!idol!ex!heeseung (heeseung is very toxic)

GENRE -> oneshot, romance, drama, angst, suggestive, emotional, mature, toxic love, love triangle

STARTED -> 2/14/2025

STATUS -> complete

WC -> 4k

click here for part 1

click here for part 3

Masterlist

The first time Heeseung calls, you ignore it.

The second time, you stare at the screen, fingers hovering over the answer button before letting it ring out again.

The third time, he sends a message.

"Please. Just talk to me."

And that’s how you end up here—sitting across from him in the dimly lit corner of a restaurant, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

He looks the same. Maybe a little more tired, maybe a little more hollow. But he’s still him. The man you once loved, the man who once broke you.

"I know I messed up," he says quietly, fingers gripping the edge of the table. "I shouldn’t have let you go."

You exhale, forcing yourself to stay composed. "Then why did you?"

His throat bobs. "Because I was scared. Because I didn’t know how to love you the way you needed me to." His eyes meet yours, raw and pleading. "But I do now. And I don’t want to lose you again."

Something inside you clenches.

You should walk away.

You know you should walk away.

But instead, you whisper— "What if it’s too late?"

"It’s not," he murmurs. "Not if you let me fix it."

You don’t say anything. But you don’t pull away, either.

It happens later that night.

You’re standing in his apartment, the familiar scent of him wrapping around you like a memory you thought you’d buried.

Heeseung stands close—too close. His fingers trace up your arm, slow and deliberate, testing the waters.

“We can be happy again," he whispers against your skin, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You shudder. "Heeseung—"

"Shh." His hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer. "Just let me show you."

Heeseung kisses you like he’s trying to erase the past.

Like he can undo the nights you spent without him, the cold emptiness of your bed, the arms that weren’t his wrapped around you.

And you let him.

Because maybe if you let him touch you, hold you, have you, things will fall back into place. Maybe if you just let him love you like this, everything that was broken will mend itself.

His hands are familiar, tracing the same paths they once knew—along the curve of your waist, the slope of your back, the soft skin of your thigh. He moves slowly, as if savoring the feeling, as if memorizing you all over again.

"You’re so beautiful," he breathes against your lips, voice rough with longing. "I missed you."

Your chest tightens.

Because you want to believe him.

You want to believe that this isn’t just about holding onto what’s slipping away.

But his grip on you is desperate, needy. The way he pulls you onto his lap, fingers pressing into your skin, is laced with something heavier than just desire.

It’s possession.

It’s fear.

"Tell me you’re mine," he whispers, lips trailing down your jaw, leaving heat in their wake. "Tell me you’re not going anywhere."

You hesitate. But then his fingers slide under your shirt, his touch burning, his mouth moving lower—and suddenly, it’s easier to give in.

"I’m yours."

The words slip past your lips, barely above a whisper.

And when he groans softly, tightening his hold on you, you convince yourself that this is love.

That this is how you fix things.

That this is enough.

Even if a part of you knows it’s a lie.

---

The morning after, you wake up tangled in Heeseung’s sheets, his arm heavy around your waist.

For a moment, everything feels right. The warmth of his body pressed against yours, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the way his fingers absentmindedly trace circles on your skin.

"Morning," he murmurs sleepily, voice rough with sleep.

You turn your head, meeting his gaze. His brown eyes are soft, filled with something that looks like love.

And you let yourself believe it.

"Morning."

---

The first few weeks pass in a blur of soft touches, late-night talks, and sweet apologies.

Heeseung is different now—attentive, loving, careful with his words. He asks about your day, surprises you with flowers, pulls you into his arms like he never wants to let go.

You tell yourself this is how love is supposed to feel.

You tell yourself you’re happy.

But then, the cracks start to show.

---

It’s little things at first.

The way his grip tightens just a little too much when you mention going out with friends.

The way his mood shifts when you don’t answer his calls right away.

"I just don’t want to lose you again," he says, forcing a smile when he catches himself. "You understand, right?"

And you nod. Because you do.

Because this time will be different.

But then one night, you’re getting ready to meet up with some friends—just a small gathering, nothing crazy. You’re slipping into a dress when Heeseung leans against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"You’re going out?"

You hesitate. "Yeah. Just for a little bit."

His jaw tightens. "Do you really need to?"

You pause. The air between you shifts.

"Heeseung, it’s just—"

"I just think," he cuts in smoothly, stepping closer, "we haven’t had much time together lately. Don’t you think you should stay?"

His fingers brush your arm, featherlight. His gaze is soft, pleading.

"For me?"

You swallow. The answer should be no.

But you think about the way he held you last night, the way he whispered that he loved you against your skin.

So instead, you nod.

"Okay."

And just like that, you cancel your plans.

---

Your friends stop calling as much.

Your world starts to shrink, revolving around only him.

And deep down, something in you aches.

Because this isn’t what happiness should feel like.

Because love shouldn’t feel like a leash.

But then Heeseung pulls you into his arms, kisses your forehead, and whispers, "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

And you let yourself believe that this is enough.

That this is love.

Even if it’s breaking you.

---

The evening air outside is cool, but inside your apartment, the tension between you and Heeseung is thick, suffocating. You stand by the window, arms crossed over your chest, eyes trained on the glowing city below.

Heeseung’s voice breaks the silence.

“Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” he asks, frustration lacing his tone. He stands near the door, adjusting his jacket, clearly ready to head out.

Your eyes narrow slightly, your patience wearing thin. “I’m not making anything difficult. You’re just going out with your friends, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s not the point.” Heeseung turns to face you, his face soft but still laced with annoyance. “You know I don’t like you going out without me. You always say you’re fine with it, but I can see how it affects you.”

Your heart drops. You can feel it, the weight of his words, as if he's saying them to make you doubt yourself. But why is he still so controlling? Your own voice sounds small in your chest when you speak, “I told you I’m fine, Heeseung. I don’t see why I can’t go out too.”

Heeseung takes a step toward you, his hand reaching out to lightly graze your arm. “I don’t trust these people you hang around with, Y/N. You know I care about you, and it’s because of that, I don’t want you out there alone. It’s dangerous.” His voice softens at the end, like he's being caring, protective, but you recognize the manipulation beneath his words. The way he always tries to frame his possessiveness as care.

“You think I can’t take care of myself?” you ask, your voice trembling with barely contained frustration. You turn to face him now, standing tall, but inside you're fighting the urge to cave in to his controlling ways. “You always treat me like I’m fragile, like I need your permission for everything.”

Heeseung steps closer, almost too close, and his eyes soften. “I’m just looking out for you. Don’t you get it? I don’t want anyone else getting in your head. You’re mine, Y/N. And I know you understand that. Why can’t you just trust me?”

You feel a sickening twist in your stomach. Why can’t you just trust him? It’s the same argument he’s always used, and for some reason, in this moment, it makes your chest feel tight.

He sees the hesitation in your eyes. “You’ve never had a problem with it before. You trust me, right?”

And there it is, the subtle insinuation—that if you truly loved him, you’d give in. That if you didn’t comply, it would mean you didn’t trust him, or worse, you didn’t care about him.

You hate it. You hate the way he makes you question yourself.

But despite everything, you find yourself nodding. “Fine. I’ll stay in,” you mutter, your voice quiet, surrendering to the weight of his words. You tell yourself it’s just for tonight. That it's no big deal. But deep down, you know this pattern will repeat itself. One night becomes two, then three.

Heeseung smiles, his hand reaching for yours. “Good. I’ll be back later, okay? We’ll do something together tomorrow.”

You nod mechanically, your heart sinking as he pulls you into a tight hug. You’ve given in again. You’ve allowed him to manipulate you with his promises of love and protection, just like he always does.

And yet, even as you feel his warmth around you, a part of you knows that you're losing yourself again. But for tonight, you push that thought aside.

You don’t have the energy to fight anymore.

When he leaves, the door clicks shut behind him, and you stand there in the silence, alone with the heaviness of what you’ve allowed to happen.

---

Your thoughts swirl, conflicting emotions rising to the surface. You want to be free of this. You want to stand up for yourself, for your own independence. But the fear, the guilt, and the years of manipulation cloud your mind.

With a sigh, you sit down on the couch. You don’t want to admit it to yourself, but you know—you’re still stuck in this cycle.

---

It starts with a casual conversation.

Heeseung and Ni-ki sit in a dimly lit lounge, drinks in hand, unwinding from the weight of the week. It’s routine, something they do when schedules align. The music hums low, people talk in murmurs around them, and Heeseung doesn’t think much of it—until Ni-ki starts talking.

"Met this girl a while back," Ni-ki says, swirling his drink. "Shit was crazy."

Heeseung barely reacts, bringing his whiskey to his lips.

"She was all dressed up, drinking like she was running from something."

A pause.

"Kept saying she didn’t wanna feel anything."

Something sharp scrapes the back of Heeseung’s mind.

"Took her to my hotel after. Best damn night I’ve had in a while."

Crack.

The ice in Heeseung’s glass splits. His fingers tighten around it, jaw clenching.

No. It’s a coincidence. Just some random girl.

But then Ni-ki keeps talking.

"She had this way of looking at me—like she was trying to forget someone else." Ni-ki chuckles, shaking his head. "Didn’t tell me much about him, though. Just that he fucked her up bad."

“She also had this cute flower tattoo on her back.“

Blood rushes in Heeseung’s ears.

His stomach drops, nausea curling at the edges of his mind.

Because it’s not just some random girl.

It’s you.

And suddenly, it’s like everything in him snaps.

The next thing Ni-ki knows, Heeseung is shoving back his chair, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. He stands so abruptly the drink nearly spills from his glass.

Ni-ki blinks. "What’s your problem?"

But Heeseung doesn’t answer.

He’s already storming out the door.

---

You barely have time to react when the pounding starts on your apartment door.

Not a knock. A demand.

Your stomach twists, a feeling of dread crawling up your spine.

You already know who it is before you even reach for the handle.

When you open the door, Heeseung is standing there, chest heaving, eyes dark with something unreadable.

"What the hell—"

But before you can finish, he steps inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

Your breath catches.

"Say it.“ His voice is dangerously low.

You frown. "Say what?"

He steps closer. You instinctively take a step back.

"Tell me Ni-ki is lying."

The air freezes.

Your pulse pounds in your ears, but you force yourself to keep your face blank.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

But the way Heeseung laughs—low, humorless—tells you he already knows.

"Don’t fucking lie to me, Y/N."

He’s close now, eyes locked onto yours, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. He looks at you like he’s trying to rip the truth out of you.

You swallow.

"Heeseung—"

"Did you fuck him?"

Silence.

And that’s all the confirmation he needs.

His jaw clenches, his hands curling into fists at his sides. You can see the way his shoulders rise, his whole body rigid with rage, betrayal, something deeper.

"You’re unbelievable." He lets out a harsh breath, shaking his head. "One fucking mistake, and you run off to my friend?"

Your thoughts come to a halt at the word friend.

Your own temper flares. "Are you serious? You ended things with me first, Heeseung!"

"That doesn’t mean you had to spread your legs for the first guy who gave you attention!"

The slap comes before you can stop it.

Sharp. Immediate. Deafening.

His face barely turns from the impact, but the moment it happens, everything changes.

His expression shifts. The anger is still there, but something else lurks beneath it now—hurt, disbelief, something breaking.

Your chest is heaving. So is his.

And that’s when the door swings open.

Ni-ki walks in, brows furrowed. "What the hell is going on—"

Ni-ki just sees a girl.

Sees Heeseung.

Sees the way your hand is still trembling from the slap. The way Heeseung’s entire body is coiled like a snake ready to strike.

Realization crashes over him like a tidal wave.

"You." Heeseung’s voice is venom.

Ni-ki barely has time to register what’s happening before Heeseung lunges.

Ni-ki doesn’t see the punch coming.

One second, he’s standing there, confused as hell, trying to piece together why Heeseung looks like he’s about to murder someone—

And the next, a fist collides with his jaw.

The impact is sharp, sending him stumbling back into the doorframe. Pain explodes across his face, shock flashing through him before it turns into something hot and violent.

"What the fuck?!" Ni-ki spits, touching his jaw, already throbbing.

But Heeseung isn’t done.

Before Ni-ki can fully recover, Heeseung is on him again.

Another swing—this time, Ni-ki blocks it. His arm jerks up on instinct, catching Heeseung’s fist before it can land another hit.

"What is your problem?!" Ni-ki snarls, shoving him back.

And that’s when he sees your face.

You’re standing there, frozen, your breathing shallow.

And suddenly, it clicks.

The girl from the club. The one he spent that unforgettable night with.

It was you.

Ni-ki’s stomach plummets.

"Holy shit." His breath comes out uneven, his mind spinning. "You—her—fuck."

But Heeseung doesn’t give him time to process.

"You knew." His voice is deadly. "You knew, and you still fucked her."

Ni-ki’s eyes snap back to him, something flashing in them. "Are you insane? I didn’t know shit!"

But Heeseung doesn’t care.

He lunges again, tackling Ni-ki to the floor.

Fists fly. Knuckles collide with skin.

It’s raw, unfiltered rage.

Heeseung lands another hit, his fist crashing against Ni-ki’s cheek, sending his head snapping to the side. But Ni-ki isn’t defenseless. He shoves Heeseung off, flipping them over, pinning him down with a hand fisted in his shirt.

"You’re a fucking psycho," Ni-ki growls.

Heeseung spits blood. "And you’re a backstabbing piece of shit."

Ni-ki loses it.

His fist slams into Heeseung’s ribs, making him grunt. Heeseung retaliates with a knee to Ni-ki’s stomach, forcing him back just enough to send another punch into his face.

You snap out of it.

“Stop!" Your voice cuts through the chaos.

Neither of them listen.

They’re tangled in hatred, betrayal, years of unspoken tension.

Blood smears across Heeseung’s lip, Ni-ki’s knuckles are raw, but neither of them let up.

Until you step between them.

Your hands shove against Heeseung’s chest. "Stop it, Heeseung!"

His breath is ragged.nHis eyes—wild.

Ni-ki wipes blood from his mouth, exhaling sharply. "You really think she’s just yours?" His voice is a taunt, reckless. "You let her slip away, and you’re mad at me? That’s on you."

Heeseung sees red.

He moves again, but you block him.

"Enough!" Your voice shakes.

Both of them freeze.

Chest heaving, hands trembling, you look between them.

The room is silent, except for your own breathing—shaky, uneven, raw.

Ni-ki wipes at the blood smeared on his mouth, his chest rising and falling with exhaustion. Heeseung is still seething, his fists clenched at his sides, his lip split from the fight.

But neither of them move.

Because your words cut deeper than any punch ever could.

"Enough." Your voice is breaking, but you refuse to let yourself crumble. Your hands tremble at your sides, fingers curling into fists. "I’m done."

Both men freeze.

Heeseung’s head snaps toward you first, his anger flickering into something smaller, afraid. "Done with what?"

You swallow hard. Everything in you aches.

"With you. With this. With pretending I don’t know how I feel."

Your throat tightens.

You see the exact moment Heeseung realizes what you mean.

The fire in his eyes dims, his whole body going rigid.

"No." His voice cracks. "Please, don’t do this."

But you’re already stepping back.

Already walking away.

Because you know if you stay, he’ll pull you right back into the cycle. And you’ll let him.

And it will destroy you all over again.

You reach the door.

Hand on the knob.

Almost free.

And then Ni-ki speaks.

"Tell me one thing."

You stop.

Slowly, you turn to look at him.

His face is unreadable.

But his eyes—they hold something fragile.

"Was I just an escape?" His voice is quiet. Careful.

A breath shudders from your lips.

Because you don’t know.

Because the answer is complicated.

Because your heart is still split between them.

You meet his gaze, voice barely above a whisper.

"I don’t know."

His jaw clenches.

But he nods.

He understands.

And you leave.

Alone.

Because for the first time, you need to figure out who you are without running into someone else’s arms.

---

The days blur together.

The weeks feel like an eternity, stretching out in front of you like a road with no end.

At first, you were unsure of what to do with yourself after walking away from both Heeseung and Ni-ki. The aftermath of the fight, the heartbreak, and the chaos—it all felt too much to process. But with time, things started to feel… quieter.

Not necessarily better.

But quieter.

You didn’t meet with Heeseung again. You didn’t seek Ni-ki out. The messages stopped, the calls stopped. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a strange relief at the absence.

---

You spent your days in the studio, your work taking on a new significance. The quiet hum of your surroundings, the soft click of your keyboard, the way the brush strokes felt on canvas—you immersed yourself in creation.

You had forgotten what it was like to feel the quiet satisfaction of focusing on yourself. The work didn’t ask for anything in return, didn’t demand attention or affection. It simply let you exist.

It took weeks before you were able to realize that you had stopped thinking about them.

At least, for the most part.

But no matter how far you push the memories of Heeseung and Ni-ki, they linger.

Heeseung—so sorry, so broken, so human.

Ni-ki—so sharp, so raw, so tempting.

Neither of them are easy to forget.

There were still moments—when the world felt too empty or when the nights got too long—but those moments were getting fewer. Slowly, you were rebuilding yourself, brick by brick, without the pressure of constantly wondering if Heeseung still cared, or if Ni-ki would ever text you again.

You found new hobbies, revisiting the old things you used to love—long-forgotten books that had collected dust on your shelf, forgotten music that once brought you peace. You ran for miles in the morning, feeling your heart beat in your chest and your lungs expand. You let your body feel strong in ways it hadn’t in so long.

You weren’t the same person you were when you were with them.

You began to realize that you had always been chasing validation. From Heeseung, from Ni-ki, from anyone who could fill the emptiness you felt inside. They were distractions, temporary escapes from the turmoil inside you. But now, you were learning to find peace within yourself.

And it wasn’t easy.

There were nights when you found yourself staring at the ceiling, the weight of the past pressing down on you. You could still feel Heeseung’s touch, the way he used to look at you with longing and possessiveness. Ni-ki, too—his smile, the intensity of his gaze, the way he made you feel wanted in ways that were both exhilarating and dangerous.

But you were beginning to recognize something you had buried deep down for too long.

You didn’t need them to feel whole.

You didn’t need anyone to complete you. You were learning that your worth wasn’t dependent on the validation of others.

---

One afternoon, you’re sitting at your favorite café, a book in front of you, the steam of your coffee rising into the air, when it happens.

The realization.

You see a couple sitting across from you, laughing and talking with ease. There’s no tension, no discomfort. Their hands are intertwined on the table, their smiles genuine, and it’s like something clicks inside your chest.

You realize you’ve been avoiding love—not just the love of others, but your own love for yourself.

You’ve been so caught up in chasing external validation that you forgot the most important thing: self-acceptance. You have to learn to love who you are before you can ever truly give love to someone else.

You smile softly to yourself, feeling a small but significant shift inside. The emptiness you’d been trying to fill isn’t gone, but it’s becoming something you can live with—something you can grow through rather than hide from.

---

Weeks later, you’re walking through the park, the sun dipping low in the sky, casting a golden glow over everything.

You breathe in deeply, the air crisp with the changing seasons. You’re alone, but for the first time, you don’t feel alone in the sense that you used to. There’s a quiet strength inside you now. A sense of peace that wasn’t there before.

You smile at a child who runs past you, their laughter ringing through the air. You smile at the elderly couple sitting on a bench, holding hands, completely at ease in each other’s company. And for the first time, you don’t envy them.

You understand now.

You are enough.

And that’s when you feel it—the tiniest seed of hope, deep inside. Maybe, someday, you’ll find love again. But it will be because you’ve learned how to love yourself first.

The world is yours now.

You are free.

And for the first time in a long time, you’re okay with that.

Masterlist

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Note: I’m so excited to finally share Part 2! The journey with Y/N, Heeseung, and Ni-ki is far from over, and I’d love to explore more in a potential Part 3. Let me know if you'd like that! Thank you for all your support!

@luvleyylina @crimson-reaper576 @d-dilemma @laylasbunbunny @luv-rizzimura @hoonkishoe

[funnyjb]

hiii, I hope you’re doing great, could i request aJoe x fem reader where reader has pots and its a bad day for her and Joe just got back from a bad day at training, and she doesn’t want to add more preoccupations to he’s plate, so she doesn’t tell him that she’s been struggling all day with dizziness and all of that until it gets serious and he’s all worried. Love you stories btw🩷🩷

Hi of course!! Thank you🩷

……………………………………………………………………….

Today was the worst. You felt dizzy and even nauseous. You didn’t sleep well last night which didn’t help at all.

You kept having to stop in the middle of the work day to sit down. Whether that be on the floor or in your office chair. You couldn’t focus. You almost spilled your coffee on your white pants this morning from the shaking of your hands.

You couldn’t wait to go home.

Joe also didn’t have the best day. He just got back from the Panthers game after the win on Sunday. He obviously was happy about the win but his hand kept bothering him from how many times he fell on it. The meetings he had were long. His physical therapy wasn’t the greatest thing today and all he wanted was you.

You got home before Joe. Dropped you things down and headed upstairs then the dizziness hit again. You sat on the bed and tried to breathe. You couldn’t take it anymore. You felt your heart start to beat faster. Then the anxiety kicked in.

“Babe?” - joe called from downstairs

No answer.

Joe saw your car so he knew you were home.

He headed into the bedroom.

“Y/n-”- Joe

He ran over to you.

“Hey, hey look at me.”- Joe squatted down to be at eye level

“Y/n, I’m right here. Breathe in and out with me.”- joe

Joe guided you. In and out. In and out.

“Good.”- Joe

You had tears running down your face. Your heart rate was going back to normal. You still felt shaky and a little dizzy.

“I’m..I’m ok.”- you

“You’re not, y/n. You still look a little bit nauseous and your hands are still shaking.”- Joe

“I said I’m fine.”- you got up

Joe quickly bolted up.

“You’re not, y/n! Please sit back down.I want to get you some water.”- Joe

“You don’t need to Joe, I’m…I’m ok. You’ve dealt with enough today.”- you

“Y/n, just let me help you, please!”- Joe

You stood there

“Ok, let’s get you something to eat and drink. Stay here.”- Joe

He lead you back to the bed.

“I’ll be back.”- Joe

He left.

After a couple minutes he came back. He was holding a plate of fruits and some water.

“Here, take this.”- joe

You were sitting on the edge of the bed. Knees tucked to your chest.

“Thank you.”- you

Joe sat next to you as you took the plate.

You took some bites from the strawberry’s and bananas.

Joe pulled a strand of hair away from your face.

“You don’t have to be afraid to let me in. I’m your boyfriend. Let me help you. I want to help you even on a really shitty day or on an amazing day. You don’t need to go through this alone.”- Joe

You looked at him.

You nod.

“Thank you. Truly.”- you gave a small smile

“I had the worst day today.”- you say picking up a grape

“I was so dizzy and tired. I couldn’t even focus. I just wanted to come home. I..I just hate this. I hate it.”- You

“I’m so sorry. I know it sucks. But we will figure out a plan. A plan to help. Ok?”- Joe

You nod.

Joe gives you a kiss on the head

“I love you.”- Joe

“I love you too.”- You

Joe then steals a strawberry.

“Hey!”- you

Joe laughs

“I just wanted to come home to you. I didn’t have a great day either.”- Joe

“Oh, I’m sorry. What happened?”- You

Joe goes on to tell you about his day. These are the moments you cherish. Even when he is telling you about how bad his day was and you feel horrible that he had such a day, but you feel grateful that you get to have these moments. The moments when you aren’t worried about getting dizzy or fatigued. The only thing that matters is being able to have these laughs with someone who you love more than anything. More than life itself. You’re grateful to have someone like him. Someone who gets you. Who sees you. Joe also loves you then anything or anyone in this universe. You feel like home to him. He hates seeing you like this. Hates it. He knows it sucks but he also knows that you are strong and brave to get through anything. He loves you and you love him.

…………………….

After a couple weeks Joe starts to get more worried. You start to have more bad days and sleepless nights.

You were on the couch taking a nap.

Joe was getting dinner ready for the both of you in the kitchen when his phone rang.

“Hey, mom.”- Joe whispered

“Hey, honey! Everything ok?”- Robin

Joe didn’t say anything for a second. Then a tear came down his cheek.

“I..hate seeing her like this. She’s not sleeping and is getting dizzy and fatigued. I just wish there were more ways I could help.”- Joe

“Aw, Joey. Having you by her side is all she needs. She is strong. Just keep an eye on her and see if you can check her heart rate on your phone through an app.”- Robin

“Yeah, that’s a good idea mom. Thank you.”- Joe

“Of course. I love you.”- Robin

“Love you too.”- Joe

He hangs up.

He brings over the plate of food to you.

He runs his hands through your hair to wake you up.

“Here baby. Have something to eat.”- Joe

You sat up.

“Thank you.”- You

“You’re welcome.”- Joe

Joe sits next to you

“Just eat up and then we can cuddle.”- Joe

You dig into your food while watching the office.

As the weeks go on you start to get into a routine. Managing your heart rate and what you eat. Joe gets to check your heart rate on his phone now. Which means getting a text every 20 minutes.

You ok?

How do you feel?

Drink some water.

Please go sit down baby

You liked the gesture. Knowing he’s taking care of you.

You know everything will be ok if you have Joe by your side.

[cursedcanon]

Asleep

You fall asleep on them.

Characters: Gojo, Choso, Sakuna, Geto , toji , Nanami, Yuji and Megumi

Gojo Satoru:

Gojo is smug as hell about it. The moment he feels you slump against him, he immediately whips out his phone to take a picture. "Aww, my baby trusts me this much? Adorable~!" He’d probably trap you in his arms so you can’t escape, whispering nonsense about how he’s the best pillow ever. If anyone walks by, he’s grinning like an idiot. "Shh, my baby is resting on their favorite person ever!" You’d wake up to him dramatically sobbing, "You left me alone in this cruel world!" when you eventually move away.

Choso Kamo:

Choso freezes. His entire system shuts down as he stares at you, sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. His hands hover awkwardly, like, what do I do? Do I hold them? Do I move? Help? In the end, he just sits perfectly still like a statue, afraid that moving even an inch will wake you. If anyone tries to disturb your nap, they will be met with a death glare. He gently adjusts your position to make sure you’re comfortable but doesn’t dare wake you up. Deep down, he melts at how safe you must feel with him.

Ryomen Sukuna:

At first, Sukuna is offended. "You have the nerve to fall asleep on me like I’m some common pillow?" He glares at your sleeping form, arms crossed, contemplating whether he should just push you off. But then he notices how peaceful you look and tchs before letting you stay. "Hah. Pathetic human, relying on me like this…" He acts annoyed but subtly adjusts his posture to make sure you’re comfortable. If anyone dares to comment, he growls, “ Keep moving unless you want to die.”

Geto Suguru:

Geto is so soft about it. He smiles to himself, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face. "Tired, huh?" His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, as he lets you rest. He’d probably place a protective arm around you, keeping you close while continuing whatever he was doing. If anyone comes up to him while you’re asleep, they will be met with a calm but firm, "They’re sleeping. Whatever you need can wait." Absolute boyfriend material.

Toji Fushiguro:

Toji snickers the second he realizes you’re asleep. "Damn, I must be real comfortable." He teases you even though you’re unconscious, grinning like a menace. But despite all his bravado, he doesn’t move an inch because deep down, he loves that you trust him enough to fall asleep on him. If someone comments on it, he just smirks and says, "Jealous? Too bad, this spot’s taken." He might even wrap an arm around you possessively just to prove a point.

Nanami Kento:

Nanami lets out the deepest sigh, but his expression softens when he sees you sleeping. He adjusts his posture so you don’t wake up with neck pain and simply lets you rest. If someone tries to wake you, he glares at them like they just insulted his entire existence. "Let them sleep." He continues doing whatever he was doing, secretly enjoying the quiet moment. If you drool on him, however… he will wake you up.

Itadori Yuji:

Yuji malfunctions. His entire face turns bright red, and he stiffens like a board. Oh my god. Oh my god. They’re sleeping on me. What do I do? Do I move? Do I stay? Breathe, Yuji, breathe! After a few moments of panic, he slowly relaxes, a huge, goofy grin spreading across his face. He’d probably hold your hand while you sleep, just vibing. If Megumi or Nobara see, he’ll shush them with a frantic whisper, "DON’T WAKE THEM UP!"

Fushiguro Megumi:

Megumi blushes instantly. He tries to act normal, but his ears are completely red. He clears his throat, averting his gaze, but he doesn’t push you away. In fact, if you shift in your sleep, he subtly adjusts his position so you’re more comfortable. If Gojo sees, he will never hear the end of it. "Aww, Megumi~! Look at you being all soft!" Megumi glares at him with murderous intent but doesn’t move, because deep down, he doesn’t want to wake you up.

[chwrrylace]

─── ❝ OH MY ANGEL ❞

SUMMARY ; After a long night, Jason finds comfort in his girlfriend’s love, reminding them both that their bond is unwavering.

JASON TODD x fem!reader.

CONTENT ; established relationship, domestic, fluffyyy asf

WORD COUNT ; 2k

A/N ; inspired by the song from Bertha Tillman

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 in the apartment. The kind of peace that came with the end of a long day, the soft hum of city lights filtering through the half-drawn curtains, and the faint sound of the television in the background. You sat on the couch, the warmth of the soft blanket you’d thrown over your lap pulling you into a comfortable daze.

Jason Todd’s boots echoed from the hallway as he made his way into the living room. You didn’t need to see him to know it was him. You could always tell by the way his steps were slightly heavier, the way the air around him always seemed to crackle with energy. You had spent so many evenings like this, together, waiting for him to come home after his patrols. Even though the world outside was dangerous, filled with chaos and violence, when Jason was home, you felt safe. Safe, loved, and almost perfect.

His silhouette appeared in the doorway, and you glanced up from the book you’d been reading.

“You’re late,” you teased, trying to mask the concern in your voice. The worry was always there, no matter how many times you told yourself it wasn’t.

Jason let out a small sigh, but there was a softness in his expression that made your heart ache in all the right ways. He hung his leather jacket on the coat rack by the door, the familiar motion bringing a sense of normalcy that you appreciated. His eyes met yours as he walked over to you, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. He was exhausted, but you never saw it on him. He could fight off a small army, but when it came to you, there was a gentleness he never showed anyone else.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he dropped down beside you on the couch. He brushed a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering on your skin in a way that made you shiver. “Got caught up with some things. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing that 'some things' always meant more than he was letting on. But you also knew there was no point in asking. Not now, not when he was so clearly trying to distance himself from whatever darkness had followed him home. You had learned early on that Jason was a man of few words when it came to his past.

The sound of his boots hitting the floor as he leaned back against the couch was a comfort, the weight of his presence like a shield that kept the world at bay. The silence between you both was never awkward. It was the kind of silence that only the closest people could share, where words weren’t always needed to understand each other.

“How was your day?” he asked softly, his voice a little hoarse. He stretched his arm out across the back of the couch and turned his head slightly to look at you.

You smiled at the question, feeling your worries ease just a little. “It was fine. Just the usual. Got some errands done, caught up on work. Nothing too exciting.”

Jason chuckled lightly, a sound you had come to love. You noticed the tired lines around his eyes, the faint bags that betrayed just how little sleep he’d had the night before. You reached over, placing your hand on his chest, your fingers brushing over the fabric of his shirt. The contact grounded you, as it always did.

“Tell me you at least ate today,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away from your touch. “Of course, I ate. I’m not some kind of monster.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” you replied, giving him a mock-glare. “You’ve been known to go on patrol without food, you know.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, but a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t need food to take down bad guys. And besides, it’s not like you’re here to make me dinner every night.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a light sound that filled the room with warmth. “I make you dinner all the time, you just don’t always appreciate it.”

He hummed, clearly amused. “I appreciate everything you do, baby. You know that.”

You were grateful for his words. Jason didn’t often express his feelings, but when he did, they carried more weight than a thousand spoken declarations. In the silence that followed, you rested your head on his shoulder, your arm curling around his. The rhythmic sound of his heartbeat was the only thing you needed to know that he was there, that the world outside wasn’t going to intrude on the peace you had found together.

The TV played softly in the background, the comforting glow of the screen lighting up your faces as you settled into the quiet rhythm of the evening. Jason’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a gesture that spoke louder than words. He wasn’t the most openly affectionate person, but with you, he was different.

“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” he murmured after a few moments, breaking the comfortable silence. “I’ll take you out for dinner, just the two of us. No distractions.”

You didn’t need to reply, not with words. You tilted your head to kiss his cheek softly, the moment tender and full of a love that didn’t need to be said out loud to be felt. Jason, for all his rough edges, was still the man who would hold you close when the world outside seemed too much. He was the man who would come home, no matter how long it took, just to be with you. And that was enough.

The next morning, Jason was up before the sun, something that had become routine. You woke to find his side of the bed empty, the sheets cool to the touch. It was a small part of your life with him, the quiet mornings when he was already out of bed, already lost in his world, but you knew he’d be back soon.

You stretched, letting the soft morning light from the window warm your skin, and decided to make breakfast. It wasn’t much—just pancakes and coffee, but the familiarity of the task brought a sense of peace to your busy mind.

Jason returned just as the pancakes were nearly ready, his boots clicking against the wooden floor as he entered. His presence filled the small kitchen, a whirlwind of energy that made everything else seem smaller.

“Smells good,” he said, his eyes lighting up as he walked over to the stove.

“Figured I’d treat you to something that isn’t take-out,” you said with a smile, pushing the plate toward him. “Sit. You’re going to need the energy.”

Jason grinned, sitting down at the table and pulling you into the chair beside him. “I’m already energized by the sight of you,” he replied softly, his tone teasing but laced with sincerity.

You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your chest at his words. Jason’s compliments, though rare, were always the kind that made you feel seen. They weren’t empty, weren’t said for any other reason than because he wanted you to know how much he appreciated you.

“I’m serious,” Jason added, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re my angel, after all.”

The words, though simple, sent a rush of affection through you. You reached for his hand across the table, your fingers twining with his.

“Always,” you said softly, your voice steady but full of emotion. “Always, Jason.”

And as you shared the meal, the laughter, and the quiet moments that followed, you knew that even though the world outside was dark and dangerous, the light you shared between you was enough to guide you both through it all.

Jason was your angel, and you were his.

© chwrrylace — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified