#maybe exchange some comments on the weather | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hancorys · 6 days ago

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k.wh — small girl fantasy

genre: fluff, co-worker to lovers hehe, reader have a BIG FAT crush on unagi (who doesn’t) mutual pining, self-indulged pairing: crush!woonhak x afab!reader wc: 3176 warning: they both have responsibility crisis, both NUMBBB, lmk if i forgot any !! listen: small girl — lee youngji ft. do, binibini — zack tabudlo, take a chance with me — niki, aya — earl agustin

the soft hum of the refrigerator filled the quiet store, the flickering fluorescent lights above casting a dull glow over the aisles. your shift was dragging, and with barely any customers coming in, you found yourself wiping the already spotless counter just to keep your hands busy.

the air smelled faintly of instant ramen and cheap coffee, the scent clinging to your uniform as you absentmindedly ran the rag over the counter for the third time. your thoughts drifted—mostly to woonhak, as they often did during these long, uneventful shifts.

woonhak was at the back of the store, stacking boxes near the stockroom. from where you stood, you could see the way his sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms as he effortlessly lifted each box like it weighed nothing. he made it look easy, just like he made everything look easy.

you bit the inside of your cheek, annoyed at yourself for staring. it wasn’t like he was going to notice anyway. he never did.

at first, you tried convincing yourself that he was just quiet, that maybe he was the type of person who kept his distance from coworkers. but that theory crumbled quickly when you watched him chat effortlessly with customers, throwing in the occasional charming smile or polite nod. even when his friends dropped by, he greeted them with a grin, his usual composed expression softening into something warmer.

but with you? nothing.

sure, he said hi when your shifts overlapped. he’d ask you to stock shelves if he was busy handling the register. but that was the extent of it. no small talk. no casual conversations about school or life outside the store. just simple, impersonal exchanges that made you feel more like background noise than an actual person.

it was frustrating, really. and the worst part? you still couldn’t stop thinking about him.

you sighed, leaning against the counter, when a voice suddenly cut through the silence.

“you missed a spot.”

you jolted, your grip on the rag tightening as you turned to see woonhak standing beside you, peering down at the counter with his usual unreadable expression.

you blinked, your brain short-circuiting for a second. “what?”

woonhak pointed to a barely visible smudge near the register, his tone as casual as ever. “right there.”

you quickly wiped over it, heat creeping up your neck. of course, the first real thing he says to you all shift has to be about cleaning. not school, not work, not even some throwaway comment about the weather—just that.

when you looked up again, he was already walking away, disappearing into the stockroom like the moment hadn’t even happened.

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, staring after him in disbelief.

was he really that oblivious? or was he doing this on purpose?

either way, it was driving you insane.

the more time you spent working at the store, the more you started noticing the little things about woonhak. not the obvious things—like the way customers always gravitated toward him or how effortlessly he balanced school and work—but the smaller details, the ones you weren’t sure anyone else even paid attention to.

for instance, the way he hummed under his breath when he thought no one was listening. it was always something soft, barely audible over the hum of the refrigerators. sometimes, it was an old song playing faintly through the store’s speakers; other times, it was just a melody with no real pattern. you caught yourself lingering near the aisles whenever it happened, pretending to fix the same row of snacks just to hear it a little longer.

he also had this habit of organizing snacks by color. at first, you thought it was just him being efficient, but then you realized he did it even when it wasn’t necessary. the chips, the candies, even the energy drinks—if he was stocking the shelves, they always ended up arranged in a neat, color-coordinated gradient.

“you know, no one really cares if the ramen cups go from red to yellow,” you teased one evening, watching as he rearranged a row of instant noodles.

woonhak didn’t even look up. “yeah, but it looks better like this.”

you tilted your head, studying his expression. he wasn’t doing it for the customers. he wasn’t even doing it because his dad expected the shelves to look nice. he just liked things a certain way. it was oddly endearing.

but the thing that really got to you? the way he sometimes looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

it started small. you’d glance up from the register and catch his eyes flickering away too quickly. or you’d be restocking the shelves and feel the weight of his gaze just before he turned back to whatever he was doing. at first, you thought you were imagining it, that maybe you just wanted him to look at you so badly that your mind was playing tricks on you.

but then it kept happening.

like that time you were leaning against the counter during a slow shift, absentmindedly fiddling with a snack wrapper, when you felt it—that unmistakable pull of someone’s stare. you turned your head just in time to see woonhak, standing by the fridge section, looking right at you.

his expression was unreadable, but his eyes held something unfamiliar, something you couldn’t quite name.

the second your eyes met, he looked away, pretending to check the labels on the bottled drinks.

your heartbeat stuttered.

maybe he wasn’t as oblivious as you thought.

—

the storm rolled in without warning. one moment, the sky outside the store was a deep navy, the streetlights flickering lazily against the pavement. the next, rain was hammering against the windows, wind howling through the cracks in the doors. then—darkness.

the hum of the refrigerators cut out, the overhead lights flickered once, then died. the only thing left was the soft, eerie glow of the emergency lights lining the walls.

“great,” you muttered, setting down the inventory clipboard you’d been pretending to work on.

behind the counter, woonhak sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket. he tapped the screen. “no signal.”

of course. just your luck to be stuck in a blackout, in a convenience store, alone with woonhak.

you shifted awkwardly, glancing at him. “should we, uh… do something? or just wait it out?”

he looked around, eyes scanning the dimly lit store. “well, we can’t close up, and we can’t leave.” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “guess we’re stuck here for a while.”

with nothing else to do, the two of you sat down on the floor near the counter, backs against the shelves stocked with instant noodles. the emergency lights cast a faint, bluish glow over his face, making his features look softer, almost unreal.

for a while, neither of you spoke. the silence wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it was heavy, like something unspoken was lingering between you. then, out of nowhere, woonhak let out a small, breathy chuckle.

“this is kinda weird, huh?” he mused.

you turned to him. “what is?”

“being here like this. we’ve worked together for months, but this is probably the longest we’ve ever talked.”

you blinked, taken aback by his sudden honesty. “yeah. you’ve always been... kind of hard to talk to.”

he raised an eyebrow. “hard to talk to?”

“i mean, you’re quiet. you don’t really say much unless it’s about work,” you admitted, hugging your knees. “honestly, i wasn’t sure if you even liked me.”

woonhak tilted his head slightly, studying you. “i never disliked you,” he said after a pause. “i just… don’t always know what to say.”

you looked at him, waiting, sensing there was more.

he exhaled, leaning his head back against the shelves. “it’s kinda dumb, but… i feel like i don’t have time to just—talk. i’m always thinking about what i should be doing next. school, work, helping my dad. it’s a lot, you know?”

his voice was quieter now, the usual steadiness replaced with something more fragile.

“because you’re the eldest?” you asked softly.

he nodded, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “yeah. i don’t really have a choice. my dad relies on me, and i don’t want to let him down. sometimes, i think about what i actually want to do, but then i feel guilty, like i’m being selfish.”

for the first time, you saw him not as the woonhak that everyone admired—the perfect son, the dependable coworker—but as a boy who was just… tired.

hesitantly, you said, “i get it. maybe not in the exact same way, but… i understand what it’s like to feel like you have to be something for everyone else.”

he turned to you, intrigued. “yeah?”

you nodded, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “i’ve always felt like i had to prove something. like if i don’t push myself hard enough, i’ll just… fade into the background. i guess that’s why i’ve always been so frustrated with you.”

he blinked. “with me?”

you let out a small laugh. “yeah. you make everything look so easy. it’s like you don’t even have to try, and meanwhile, i’m over here struggling to keep up.”

woonhak was quiet for a moment, then—to your surprise—he smiled. not his usual polite smile, but something softer, more real.

“i didn’t know you thought that,” he murmured. “if it makes you feel any better, i think you work harder than anyone else here.”

you felt your face warm, looking away. “you’re just saying that.”

“no,” he said simply. “i’m not.”

the air between you shifted, something settling into place. and for the first time since meeting him, you didn’t feel invisible.

—

the change was subtle at first, but once you noticed it, you couldn’t unsee it.

woonhak was everywhere.

he was always near, always teasing, always finding little excuses to talk to you. he stopped treating you like just another co-worker and started acting like… well, like someone who actually wanted to be around you.

one evening, after an unusually slow shift, you were restocking shelves when you accidentally knocked over a row of neatly stacked chip bags.

“careful,” woonhak drawled from behind you, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “you break it, you buy it.”

you huffed, bending down to pick up the fallen bags. “do you ever actually help, or do you just stand there and make fun of me?”

“oh, i definitely just stand here and make fun of you,” he said, grinning.

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

and then there was the way he waited for you after shifts. at first, you thought it was a coincidence—maybe he just happened to finish work at the same time as you. but then it happened again. and again.

“why are you still here?” you asked one night, shoving your hands into your jacket pockets as you locked up the store.

woonhak stretched lazily, as if he hadn’t been waiting outside for you. “it’s dark out.”

“so?”

he gave you a pointed look. “might as well walk together.”

you narrowed your eyes. “but your house is—”

“doesn’t matter.” he started walking ahead, then glanced back at you, raising an eyebrow. “you coming, or what?”

you hated how easily he did this—how effortlessly he inserted himself into your routine, into your life, like he had always been there.

you groaned, but the truth was, you liked it. you liked how he matched his pace with yours, how he walked on the side closest to the street, how he never let the conversation die out even when you weren’t sure what to say.

and then there were the snacks.

at first, it was small. a bag of your favorite chips left near the register, a cold drink placed beside your bag without a word. when you asked about it, he’d just shrug.

“it’s nothing.”

but it wasn’t nothing.

one afternoon, after a particularly long shift, you found a neatly wrapped rice ball waiting for you in the breakroom.

you picked it up, turning it over in your hands. “did you—”

“you haven’t eaten, right?” woonhak interrupted, not looking at you as he busied himself with the stock list.

you blinked. “how did you know?”

“you always forget when you’re working.”

your heart stuttered at his words.

he noticed.

he was noticing you now. really noticing you.

you unwrapped the rice ball slowly, trying to ignore the way your hands felt unsteady. “thanks,” you muttered.

woonhak finally looked at you then, and for once, his usual teasing expression softened into something quieter. “don’t mention it.”

and that was how it was. little moments, little gestures, little things that all added up to something bigger.

you weren’t sure what it was, not yet. but you liked it.

and just as you started to believe that maybe, just maybe, this was turning into something more—

you overheard the conversation.

—

it was late, your shift nearly over, when you heard woonhak’s father speaking in hushed tones near the back of the store.

“it’s a big opportunity, woonhak. you’d be crazy to pass this up.”

you froze, your hand tightening around the stack of receipts you’d been organizing.

“i know,” woonhak replied, his voice lower than usual. hesitant.

you inched closer to the back of the store, staying just out of sight behind one of the shelves.

“then what’s the problem?” his father pressed. “you’ve worked hard for this. this isn’t just about the store—this is about your future.”

there was a pause. a long, heavy silence.

then, woonhak exhaled. “it’s just... sudden.”

“that’s how these things work. you don’t always get time to think. you have to act.” his father’s voice softened slightly. “listen, i know you worry about me, about the store, but i’ll be fine. this is your chance to do something more, something bigger than this place.”

your stomach twisted.

what was he talking about? what opportunity? where would it take him?

and why—why did it feel like something was slipping through your fingers before you even had the chance to hold it?

you heard woonhak sigh, the kind he let out when he was deep in thought, troubled.

“i just need time,” he murmured.

his father didn’t push him further, only replying, “just don’t take too long, son.”

you stood frozen behind the shelves long after the conversation ended, your heart pounding in your ears.

because you already knew.

whatever this was—whatever had been growing between you and woonhak, however slowly, however subtly—it wasn’t going to last.

the next few days felt different. not because anything had changed—woonhak still teased you, still left snacks by the register, still waited for you after your shifts like it was the most natural thing in the world. but now, there was something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

you weren’t sure if he knew you had overheard. part of you wanted to pretend you didn’t, to pretend things were the same. but you weren’t sure how long you could keep up the act when every moment with him suddenly felt like it had an expiration date.

then one night, as the store’s closing time approached, woonhak finally said it.

“can we talk?”

you turned to him, heart pounding. “yeah.”

he hesitated before pulling you outside, the cool night air wrapping around you both. the neon lights from the store’s sign buzzed softly above you, casting a faint glow over his face.

for a moment, he just looked at you, like he was trying to memorize something. then, he sighed.

“you heard, didn’t you?”

you swallowed. “yeah.”

woonhak let out a dry chuckle, looking down at his shoes. “figured. you’re not exactly subtle when you eavesdrop.”

“shut up,” you muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “it’s a scholarship. a really good one. i’d be studying abroad for a year—maybe longer, if things go well.”

your chest tightened. “that’s… amazing.”

he scoffed. “you don’t sound like you mean that.”

“no, i do.” you forced a smile. “this is everything you’ve worked for, right?”

“yeah,” he said, but his voice was uncertain. he wasn’t looking at you anymore, staring out at the empty street instead. “but… i don’t want to leave you alone.”

you blinked, caught off guard by his honesty.

he turned back to you, his usual teasing expression replaced with something raw, something real. “i mean it. the thought of being somewhere new, somewhere exciting—it should make me happy, right? but all i can think about is how i won’t be here. with you.”

your throat felt tight. because a few months ago, you never would have imagined hearing those words from woonhak. back then, you weren’t even sure he noticed you. and now here he was, standing in front of you, telling you he didn’t want to leave you behind.

but you couldn’t let him stay just for you.

you reached out, poking his forehead lightly. “you’re an idiot.”

he blinked. “what—”

“you have to go, woonhak,” you said softly. “you’d regret it if you didn’t.”

he frowned. “but—”

“but nothing,” you cut him off, smiling a little. “you won’t lose me.”

he stared at you, and for once, he didn’t have a witty comeback.

you took a deep breath. “i’ll wait for you. no matter how long it takes.”

woonhak exhaled, shaking his head with a small, incredulous laugh. “you’re serious?”

“dead serious.” you tilted your head at him. “what, do you not trust me?”

“no, it’s not that,” he muttered. “it’s just… funny. the you from a few months ago didn’t even think i knew you existed, and now you’re out here promising to wait for me.”

you felt your face heat up. “shut up.”

but woonhak was grinning now, his usual self creeping back in. “you’re kind of romantic, you know that?”

“don’t push it.”

he laughed, then—to your surprise—reached out and ruffled your hair. “alright, fine. i’ll go. but only because you said you’d wait for me.”

you swatted his hand away, scowling. “like you weren’t gonna go anyway.”

“nope. i was seriously considering staying.” he gave you a lopsided smile, and something about it made your heart ache. “but i guess i have to make this count now. wouldn’t want to keep you waiting too long.”

you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

and when he walked you home that night, he stayed a little longer by your door, hesitating like he had something more to say.

but instead of words, he reached out, carefully intertwining his pinky with yours.

a silent promise.

“wait for me,” he murmured.

you squeezed his hand, grinning. “i already said i would, didn’t i?”

and as woonhak laughed, shaking his head like you were the most ridiculous person in the world, you realized something.

for the first time, you weren’t afraid of losing him. because somehow, in his own way, woonhak was waiting for you too.

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nsharks · 1 year ago

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part fourteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Blue holds her arm out, stopping you from taking another step.

"Sh. I see one."

Up ahead, a squirrel stills on a tree, beady eyes unblinking. In a matter of seconds, Blue throws her knife and pins it to the bark through the stomach.

"Nice," you comment. "You got it on the first try this time."

In your hand is the other squirrel she killed for you. Ghost started working on your bow yesterday. He didn't say anything to you about it, but you spotted him sitting on the porch chiseling away at a hunk of oak. Until he's finished, you've struck another deal: helping Blue skin the rabbits in exchange for her killing squirrels with you. She's better at killing them with a knife than you are.

"This is good practice for me." She wriggles the knife out and hands you the kill. "Poor guy didn't see it coming."

"Probably better that way."

She slips the knife back to her ankle. "Do you need more? Or is two enough."

"Two is enough. I saw these flowers by the trench that I think are edible."

"You can eat flowers?" She makes a face. The two of you begin heading back toward the camp. You didn't go off too far with her. Ghost said she wasn't allowed to go past the pond without him. Truthfully, you were surprised he let her go with you at all.

"Yeah. Pink Sorrel. They taste lemony, and I'll add the leaves, too. Like a salad."

"Yum," she says sarcastically. "Did Paul teach you that?"

You nod. "He knew a lot about plants."

"Are you sure he didn't like you?"

"Blue," you almost groan. "You've asked me this twice now."

"Well, you seemed to have spent a lot of time with him, and he taught you a lot of things."

"You can spend time with someone and learn things from them without... liking them."

"I wouldn't know," she shrugs, waving her hand around. "There are no boys here for me to spend time with besides Ghost."

"Paul didn't like me in that way," you reaffirm. "Besides, he's dead."

There is a lingering pause as a cloud rolls over the sun, turning everything dim before it passes. The weather these past few days has been fluctuating like true spring. Cold showers in the morning, intense sunlight by noon, and clouds that come and go. The cabbages Blue planted have sprouted fat, juicy leaves. You've mentally scolded yourself for not including seeds in your deal with Ghost.

"So when are you and Ghost going to start training or whatever?" Blue speaks up, switching subjects.

"Training?" you repeat.

"He told me you wanted to learn some things." She glances at you. "Look, let me just warn you, he can be a real hard ass. One time, he made me climb up and down a tree twenty times without stopping. And another time, he made me throw knives over and over until I hit the exact same spot on the tree again."

Right. Somehow, that last request you made of him has slipped your mind. You did ask him to teach you how to better defend yourself against other people.

It's been over a week now, and the two of you still haven't talked much except for the necessities. Honestly, it's probably best that way. Maintaining a clinical relationship with him should keep the peace and maybe even earn more of his trust. You're growing confident that he doesn't see you as much of a threat anymore. Last night, you ran into him again after waking up from another dream, and all he did was walk past you, step outside for a cigarette, and then go back to his room. He didn't seem suspicious of you being up at all.

That said, the reminder of the 'training' he's supposed to give you makes your teeth snag onto your lip.

When you don't respond, Blue adds, "What exactly do you want him to show you? I hate to say it, but I don't think he'll give you one of his guns."

"No," you shake your head. "I don't want that. It's not Greys that I'm as worried about. As long I've got distance, I can use my bow for them. It's more about... other people. They get close. Too close."

"Well, you can always bite their nose off," she gives a bump to your shoulder.

You cringe. "I'd rather not have to do that again."

She pauses, looking at her boots. "What did it taste like?"

"Fucking awful. Probably the grossest thing I've ever experienced."

She looks up. "If you were a Grey, you would've loved it."

"Well, I'm human still, and I much prefer these guys." You wag the dead squirrels in front of her face and she laughs. If you could replace all her tears with that sound, you would.

"You still haven't answered my question," Blue tilts her head. "When are you getting started? Because I have some training in mind for you, too."

You arch a brow but don't question it. "Um. I don't know. Ghost hasn't said anything to me about it, and he's busy working on my bow right now."

"Why don't you ask him, then?" She shoots you a knowing smirk. "Are you scared of him, Twix?"

"No," you say all too quickly. "No... I'm not. I just don't know how to talk to him. He's not exactly approachable."

"Just do what I do. I say whatever I want to him. Except when he's pissed, then—" she freezes for a moment and lays a hand on your shoulder. "—it's better to shut up and listen. Believe me."

You speak under your breath. "Noted."

It's another dream that night which pushes you to actually confront him. The loud voices sharpen into images— a bloodied knife at your throat, a toothy smile, carved body parts. You wake up and grab your neck, expecting to feel severed tissue. Instead, you feel damp skin. Something bubbles up your throat and fills your mouth. Squirrel and Pink Sorrel. The taste makes you shudder, but you swallow your dinner back down. The dark, quiet living room mocks you.

The morning after that, you find him on the porch. It's not raining, but the air pricks the back of your neck with dew. You've already bathed and woven your hair into braids, which is growing longer by the day and bordering on an inconvenience.

Ghost tilts his head the second a wood plank creaks beneath your footsteps, tearing his gaze away from the assortment of carving knives in his lap. You've caught him in the moment before he's started to work on your bow again.

He is wearing that balaclava that makes him look more man than ghost, along with a black hoodie and faded, brown jacket. The whites of his eyes are visible, slowly sliding up to yours. You fully realize he isn't going to greet you with a hello, and standing there in an uncomfortable silence doesn't interest you, so you bite the bullet.

"I want to start that other thing I asked you for."

He seems to know what you're referring to. "Right now?"

Your nails dig into your palms, realizing that you should've waited for a time when he wasn't preoccupied. Though, he's hardly ever not doing something.

Blue was right. Something about him has you subconciously on the defensive; it's something you want to get over if this living arrangement is going to be long-term, which you'd prefer it to be. It was about two months ago now that he nearly killed you, and since then, he has kept you alive ten times over. Maybe you should focus on that: on the hand that pulled you up, on the warm jacket over your shoulders, on the bow he is making.

"Whenever you have the chance. But— now, if we could."

Ghost lowers his eyebrows and seems to think it over. "Now is fine. Your bow will have to wait a bit, then."

"That's okay," you speak as you exhale. "I don't mind."

It's at that moment Blue pushes through the front door and you almost startle. "Can I come with you guys?"

Ghost folds his knives up and responds in a firm tone. "No. You have work to finish up."

"But my leg is hurting," she retorts lightly. "I'd rather sit and watch you guys."

"Your leg was just fine yesterday when you were hunting and climbing trees."

"That was yesterday. Today, it hurts." She bites her lip and shrugs.

"How convinient." He gives her a dry look.

"So is that a yes?"

"It's a no."

With a groan, she goes back inside.

Ghost escorts you out of the gate and towards a small clearing nestled within a circle of trees. As you follow behind him, you find your eyes straying to his broad back and for a moment, you wonder if maybe you've changed your mind— or maybe you want to tell him to wait until Blue can come join.

But you remind yourself that survival is a proactive game; you can't laze around and keep getting sick from the memories. You need to shut them away into that box you've made, and in the meantime, get stronger.

"Here is good," he says, stopping.

It's been awhile since you've done anything like this. There were plenty of times Paul 'trained' you. He used to make you shoot at the trees until your back muscles were practically immobile. As an ex forest ranger, he wasn't much of a fighter. His advice was always this: "Don't let anyone or anything get close enough to where you have to fight them."

Clearly, his advice can only go so far.

In the five years you were at your old camp, you managed to keeps things at a distance for the most part. A few Greys had snuck up on you, resulting in thrashing and wrestling around to avoid bites. But there were only one or two times that you had to engage in close combat with a human. The few other survivors you encountered were usually punished by Paul's rifle or your arrows.

You shed your jacket and hang it on a branch, left in just Ghost's shirt and your jeans. "So, um, what should I start with? Running laps?"

"You want to learn how to defend yourself, not run a marathon."

"Right." You nod and rub at the gooseflesh that sprouts on your arm. You turn to face him. "I was joking."

Ghost ignores your comment with a pensive expression, staring you down across the short distance. You put on a blank face and meet his eyes expectantly.

The silence stretches for a second longer than what would be deemed normal. Is this just how he is, then? Or is it only with you? You're about to say something to put an end to it when he suddenly crosses his arms over his chest.

"You were a nurse." It should come out like a question, but it's more of a statement. His voice nearly makes you jump.

You can't help it; you look away. "Um. I... wasn't, actually."

Why is he bringing this up? Never once has he asked anything about you. In fact, you sometimes toy with the thought that he might have forgotten your real name by now.

"Figured," he says.

You frown, flashing him a confused look. "What? Why?"

"You're a bit too young to have been a nurse five years ago."

You think back to the moment he found you with an inward wince. "So you knew I wasn't telling the truth?"

"It didn't matter if you were or not."

That's right. I don't need a nurse, he said.

"It wasn't a total lie," you clarify, dropping your arms at your sides. "I was in nursing school."

He rubs his chin. "You should understand the body, then— its weak points."

Your fingers flex before they gesture to your face. "The nose and eyes are obvious ones. But... but if someone grabs me from behind like," you forcefully inhale, "Like you did, then I won't be able to reach them."

He gives a short nod, then looms closer. You will your boots to remain planted in the damp soil despite the overwhelming proximity and intimidating mass of him. You blink up as he points a gloved finger to the hinge of his jaw. "There's this, too. Pretty easy to dislocate." His fingers move to side of his corded neck. "And here. The throat is weak and vital."

"I still wouldn't be able to reach those," you point out.

"You have more than just your arms, Twix."

"So my head, then?"

"That's one way." He moves a step back and you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding. "Why don't you show me what you'd do— give it a try."

The suggestion should be expected given what you're asking of him— of course he would have to touch you at somepoint. Yet, it makes you stiffen. He motions his hand for you to turn around and with great hesitance, you comply, until you hear the crunch of twigs beneath his boots as he closes in behind you. You stare straight ahead at a tree and focus on breathing.

"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

His flat tone makes your eyes twitch in irritation and you are glad he can't see them. "Yeah. I know."

Just as he did all that time ago, his burly arms wrap around you, though not as firm and threatening. Your feet don't hang and you're not skin and bones this time, but once again, you are imprisoned against a hard chest. Your lungs pick up their pace and an artery in your neck jolts.

"Just show me what you'd do," he says slowly, warm breath fanning across the top of your hair. "Don't worry about hurting me."

You wriggle against him, but even without issuing all his strength, it's useless. You stomp on his foot, figuring that toes are pretty vulnerable, but his thick boot hurts your sole more than you could possibly have hurt him. Your eyes begin to sting. You suddenly find yourself panting in frustration. Before you can even think about trying to use your head, full-blown panic unfurls in your chest.

"Let go," you say under your breath. He must not hear you. Your voice turns to a snarled hiss. "Fucking let go of me."

His hold immediately loosens and you stagger forward, creating much-needed distance. Heavy breaths scratch up your throat. You wipe the back of your hand over your forehead and close your eyes for a moment, seeing blood and burnt skin against the backs of your lids. When you reopen them, Ghost is staring at you. The humiliation sets in as a red flush on your cheeks.

"Sorry," you shake your head and stare up at the clouded sky. "Just— maybe we should go back." Your arms hug around your stomach to keep its contents contained. "We can start this another day."

Throwing up in front of him again is low on the list of things you'd enjoy doing. He's already seen you near-death— no need to add a mental breakdown to your repertoire. Your lips press tightly together as you head to the tree for your jacket, but his gruff voice pauses your fingers against the embroidered flag on its sleeve.

"This isn't going to work if you don't tell me what is bothering you."

Your hand drops. "What?"

"What happened when you went to get the ammo, Twix?" he presses.

"I..."

To tell him would be to pry open that box you've made and let him peek inside. He has never even asked a single question about you until today, so you press onto the lid, tight, and turn to face him with pleading eyes. "I don't want to talk about it with you, Ghost. Don't make me."

In response, he lifts up his hands in resignation. "Alright." He lowers them. "Why don't you at least tell me how you handled it?"

"Why?"

He taps a finger to his masked temple. "So I can understand how you think. How you keep surviving all this shit."

The wave of nausea settles as you form your response. "I... I burned him. He cleaned the bite on my arm with some alcohol. I distracted him a little and then smashed the bottle on his head. I had my lighter, so I used it."

Slowly, he nods, as if your words are not all that surprising to him. "And how about at the base when I left you?"

"There was that Grey," you remind him. "I bit the guy's nose and pushed him into it. If it hadn't been there, Blue and I would be dead. You see? I survived because I was lucky. I hardly know what I'm doing."

Ghost argues. "You survived because you saw opportunities and took them. You were smart about it."

"And what about when there are no opportunities? I will just panic like I did now." The tightness in your chest turns into something that has you roughly grabbing the jacket and sheathing your bare arms. "Let's just go back now.”

This time, he doesn't protest. The silence that clouds the short walk back is expected on his part, and purposeful on yours.

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost #cod #simon ghost riley x reader #fanfiction

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canine-witch · 4 days ago

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Where will you meet your lover?

The date, time, and setting of a fated meeting is one that can cause a lot of anxiety in people. Today, I recieved a message that I should help you and the collective find out where they will meet their lovers. All will happen in due time.

Drink some water, pick a pile, and feel free to reject what does not resonate.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚♡𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚♡𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚♡𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚♡𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚♡𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒

Group One ~ The Water

You will meet your lover on a snowy or just a very cold winter's day, under a streetlamp. You may have just been coming back from a big social meal or a holiday celebration, or maybe the club or a party if you are so inclined. If you smoke, they may offer you a cigarette. If not, they may comment on the weather, and how out of place it may feel.

The connection will at first be friendly. Whether or not the snow can resonate with you, there will be a gravitational pull under the streetlamp no matter the weather. It may feel more like people having a chance meeting with someone at first, but over text or instant messaging, it will be almost scary how much you both have in common with each other.

The relationship will flow effortlessly, and you will be friends before you are lovers.

Group Two ~ The Dandelions

You will meet your lover for the first time as you are trying to hurry. You would be late to something, or have a very groggy and grumpy morning, and end up late for an appointment, school, your job, or anywhere else that would require punctuality. Your lover may be walking on the wrong side of the sidewalk, be hurrying and not paying attention, or maybe even will be a tollmaster or a ticket master who is also having a grumpy day.

Either way, they will present a roadblock towards getting where you need to be. You will forget this reading entirely, and become frustrated with them. You have places to be, you're in a hurry, you don't have time!

Then, you may see that same person on a dating app, perhaps they have recently broken up with someone. You don't recognize who it is, but realize this persion has all the same values as you, traditionally or otherwise, and you both are in alignment with what you want or need. You will make a meeting, and have a revelation at the date that it was the person who you bumped into.

Group Three ~ The Meadow

You will meet your lover in nature. You will be going on a hike, or visiting a recreational lake or garden, or just getting some fresh air. It probably would be about the beginning of spring, many flowers are in bloom or just beginning to bloom.

There is an air of heaviness or sadness around you, you may have many burdens and heard that walks in nature can clear your head. There will be some blockage in the road, perhaps construction or a large branch will block your path. Maybe someone would be accidentally camping on your trail, or asleep in your path somehow. Either way, you and someone else will stop at this roadblock, and your lover will introduce themselves.

You will be charmed by them, and them by you. You will both make jokes or talk about the roadblock, and move together at the same pace. You will exchange numbers, but a date will happen very quickly afterwards. You both may want to get some food for your first date, and it would be very casual and warm. You both are very comfortable with each other, and enjoy each other's company, at your first date and beyond.

Group Four ~ The Guitar

You both will meet in service of society. Something will happen, that will move you to protest, to volunteer your time, or seek a career in advocating for others to combat the injustice in the world. You will be riteously angry, and so will your lover.

You will meet in the throws of rage, defending and campaigning for what you truly believe in. You will become close, but see each other more as allies and dependable figures. If you go outside to protest, one of you may bail the other out of confinement. One may defend the other against false testimonies or online hatred for what they believe in.

When the dust settles, you both will see that you were not as alone as you thought, that the person who you also wish to fight for, was fighting for you as well. This revelation will overjoy you both, and you will celebrate a battle well fought and a time of peace afterwards.

Thank you so much for trusting me with your time, connections, and energy seekers. I pray this finds you at the right time, in the right moment. Blessed be to you!

#tarot #tarot reading #pac reading #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a card tarot #pick a card reading #intutive reading #intuitive tarot reading #intuitive tarot #tarot witch #tarotblr #tarot readings

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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Santa Baby

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: Not wanting them to feel left out, you show some kindness to a coworker, only to be repaid with a most unexpected act of generosity.

Character: Jake Jensen

Day Six of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - extreme weather leads to forced proximity

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Another message pops up on the Teams chat, then a reaction. As chair of the social committee, you swiftly open the conversation to review the interaction. The secret santa is a success. So far.

You check another name off your list. You want to make sure that all the exchanges are made. You even arranged to deliver gifts on behalf of those with the day booked off. It’s all going smoothly and you’re a few hours away from declaring another office holiday season a success.

Then you have to worry about the other holiday. The one for your family. Your kids are sorted but the gifts need to be wrapped. And your husband, he’s the nosiest of all. You’ll need to make sure he isn’t sniffing around your bag again.

The presents are just one thing. Your time off won’t be that. You have to drive three hours north to see your family. You still don’t think your sister, Shayna, forgives you for that little argument at Thanksgiving. And if your brother, Jamar, even shows up, that might be worse than the alternative.

Your workday triumph is one thing you can be proud of before your home life implodes.

You run the clock out, your list filling with tick marks. As you reach the one-hour countdown, there’s one name left. Jensen. Strange. He’s handed off his own gift but hasn’t yet received anything. Maybe he just didn’t post in the chat. He does get distracted easily.

As another minute runs off, you jump into action. You head down to accounting to ask Alan about it. He’s swiveling casually in his chair as you approach, nonchalant as she stares at his monitor dully. You say his name to get his attention.

“Hey, just checking in. Going around and making sure everything’s been sorted for the swap. You gave Jensen his present right?”

Alan scoffs and chews the end of a ballpoint, “nah.”

“No?” You frown, “okay, well can you do it by the end of the day--”

“Nope,” he snorts. “Didn’t get one.”

“What?” You have to measure your voice.

“Didn’t feel like it. Guy’s a dweeb.”

“Regardless of your personal feelings, this was voluntary and you signed up,” you chide.

“Mm, kinda too late, isn’t it?” He shrugs and turns back to his screen. “I got a wife who’ll tear my throat out if she doesn’t get a month’s pay in gifts so that goggly-eyed nerd is the least of my worries.”

You sigh. There’s always one bad egg. It’s like when you ask your kids to just not fight for one day. It never happens yet you still keep trying.

“Happy holiday, Alan,” you snipe and stomp away.

You should have expected one thing to go wrong. It always has to and you’re always the one cleaning it up. Why would anyone call this the happiest time of the year? It’s the most stressful and the only thing you ever get are a few new grey hairs.

Well, Kathleen did get you that fancy three-wick candle you plan to put in your bathroom, though you’re not sure how much relaxation you can get when your kids can’t leave you to soak for more than five minutes without interruption. You remind yourself to stop looking for the problems. You’re the problem-solver, not the problem-dweller.

You can figure this out. You go to your desk and grab your purse and nothing else. You hurry out, ignoring several utterances in your direction. If people need you now, well, they should’ve thought of that earlier. It might not be important to them or to your job, but you’d hate to be the only person left out. You have been before. It’s why you’re such a people pleaser.

There’s a hobby shop not far from the office building. You went there for your son’s gift. He’s a big fan of anime. You enter and greet the cashier with an apologetic smile. They are also gearing up for the end of the day.

“Promise, I’ll be quick,” you assure him.

He just shrugs, “no problem, lady.”

You stop and take a breath, gathering your wits into order. Your racing thoughts, your hammering adrenaline, it’s like a platoon of disordered soldiers scattering inside of you. You call them into formation and turn down the center aisle.

You glance over the products on the shelf. Jensen always had that Tetris keychain dangling from his lanyard when he came to troubleshoot. It’s the only video game you ever played, though your daughter let you run around her Animal Crossing island once. She banned you after you offended her favourite cat character.

You bend to the lower shelf, hips straining with the effort, and you claim the box with the red clearance tag, marked right under the spending cap. The mini arcade machine proclaims 30+ games to play, including classics like Pong, Pac-man, his bow wearing counterpart, and Tetris!

You take it to the counter and ask if they do gift wrap. Sorry, no. That’s okay. You pay and mourn the bottle of wine you’ll have to forego to accommodate the extra expense.

You hurry back down the street, without a jacket to protect you from the biting chill or drifting flakes. The snow dampens your face and clothes, catching and melting in your hair as you clack in your heels frantically.

Fifteen minutes left in the day. You rush into the lobby and tap the elevator button impatiently. Screw it.

You tuck the box under one arm and go to the stairs. You take off your heels and clamour up in your stockinged feet. You’re breathless as you get to the top. You push through the heavy metal door and stomp forward, shoes dangling from your fingers.

You ignore the looks sent in your direction. You stop briefly to scratch off the price tag and attempt to compose yourself. You proceed down to IT and approach Jensen as he bites his thumb, his other hand hovering over his keyboard.

His rectangular glasses reflect his screen and his blond hair is spiked only one side as it appears the other has been flattened by anxious palming. You keep from slamming down the box and instead stop beside him. “Excuse me, Jensen.”

“Huh, uh, oh,” he turns his chair and looks up at you. He smooths his Luigi-themed tie as he plants his feet wide. “Oh, hi. Is your PC overheating again--”

“Merry Christmas,” you shove the box towards him, “special delivery.”

He hesitates and pushes his glasses down the bridge of his nose. He blinks as he examines the box. He lowers his hand to his chest and pinches the button of his shirt.

“For me?”

“So sorry, I was running around all day,” you explain. “I meant to get it to your earlier--”

“Really?” He looks at your shoulder and you glance over at the melting snow.

“It was in my car,” you lie swiftly. “I’m sorry, really.”

“No, it’s...” he reaches to take the box, his hands brushing your cold fingers. “Oh gosh, you’re freezing.”

“I’m fine,” you assure him as you retract your hold on the box. He gives you a lingering look before he leans back.

“Huh, this is...” he lowers it to his lap and examines the box. “Really cool. Thanks.” He chuckles tensely, “I almost thought Santa forgot me.”

“Again, I’m sorry,” you say.

“I’m not mad,” he assures you as he turns the box in his hands. “Really. I had to set an alarm to make sure I brought in mine, then another to give it to Terry.”

“That’s a good idea. If we do this again, I’ll have to try that,” you smile. “Well, I hope you enjoy.”

“Totally,” he agrees. “It’ll keep me busy on the time off.”

Wish I had that problem, you think to yourself. “That’s great,” you chime. “Anywho, I don’t wanna keep you since the day’s almost done. I gotta get my desk tidied before I head out.”

“Sure,” he gives a slanted grin, “this is so cool, thank you.” He grips the corners of the box, “I always knew you were the coolest.”

You go back to the desk but the person waiting for you is a bad omen for your holiday. You hide your disappointment as Lee waits, leaning on the corner with arms crossed. You stop behind your chair.

“Hello, Mr. Bodecker--”

“Let’s not beat around the bush,” he intones.

“Right, what’s going on?”

“That new one, the pretty thing, she miscalculated the Dorsey account.”

You deflate. Of course she did. That one hasn’t done a single thing right since she started.

“I’d ask her to redo it but I already did. Three times. Needs to be done for year end or accounting will have my ass in two,” he says without censor.

“And you want me to do it?” You utter.

“See, you always know exactly what needs to be done,” he clucks and stands straight, “double-overtime. It’ll be on your January pay.”

“Right,” you swallow. There’s not denial to be given. Your performance review is also in January and you need the bonus after factoring in the family road trip. “I’ll get it done.”

“Good woman,” he winks. “Put the hours into the system.”

“Sure, happy holidays, sir.”

“Ha,” he snorts, “if my ex-wife has anything to say about it, they won’t be.”

You roll you chair under you and drop your purse between your feet. You send a quick text to your husband. The kids are being dropped off by Hannah anyway. He just needs to be home. Even he can figure out how to reheat the chili you froze last month.

After you get your instructions sent, you turn your attention to your computer. You still have to finish up all your other wrap-up before you get to Dorsey. As you put your nose to the grind, Mary wishes you a happy break on her way out. She's followed by a speckled succession of eager coworkers, ready to begin their time off.

Your eyes haze as the glare of your screen feels brighter with each passing second. You have a prescription but never a change to fill it. You don’t imagine the neglect is making your vision any better.

The office grows desolate as you continue plucking away. As the snow falls on the other side of the windows, they dampen out the noise of the city. You’re isolated in your focus. The files for Dorsey are a complete mess. You're not sure how anyone could fail to balance a spreadsheet. There are very easy formulas to do the work for you.

Mulling over mistakes won’t fix them. Your fingers flutter over the keys as you painstakingly restart the entire workbook from scratch. You’re disappointed, not that you’re stuck in the contradictingly uncomfortable ergonomic chair, but that you won’t get to see your kids or husband for more than an hour or two if that.

You close your eyes as the gridlines burn into them. You lean back and rub your brows. There’s tension sewn into your brows. It’s grim how getting older really dims the sparkle of this time of year. Everyone else gets to be happy and you’re just the courier of that happiness. Maybe that should make you happy, that you can be that for them.

No, it’s just exhausting.

Before you can open your eyes or sit forward, you let out a yelp at the sudden warmth on your shoulders. You twitch and look up at Jensen as he stands behind your chair. Your heart quickly calms.

“Oh, what are you still doing here?” You ask, a tremor of fright in your voice.

“Back-end work,” he answers as he squeezes your shoulders. His touch is unexpected. You wiggle but he doesn’t let you go. “What about you?”

“Just some last-minute quality control,” you answer. “You really snuck up on me.”

“Ha, yeah,” he slowly drags his hands away, his fingers caressing your neck lightly. “Sorry, I... I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

“Yeah, it’s quiet,” you agree.

He leans on the back of your chair as his proximity clouds you. It’s a bit awkward. You just want to get your work done but can’t bring yourself to tell him to go away. Especially knowing what you know. He doesn’t deserve any of that just because he can be a bit different.

“What about your family?” He asks.

You wince and turn the chair to face him. You shrug, “I’ll be a bit late but they’ll survive without me.”

“Sure, sure. You must be excited to spend time with them,” he lets go of your chair and backs up a single step as you look at him.

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to see them a bit more,” you agree. “What about you? You doing anything for the holidays?”

He shakes his head as his lips thin, “no. Don’t really got anyone.”

“Ah, well, it’s always a good time to catch up hobbies,” you offer.

He nods and his throat bobs. He shoves his hands into his pockets. He looks sad in that moment. He’s still pretty young, you want to tell him to enjoy singlehood while he can. Yet you remember being in your late twenties and how those comments just made you feel worse. All the same, that feels so long ago.

“I know what you did,” he says.

“Pardon?” You sputter in confusion.

“I know Alan got me. I overheard him when we got our names.”

“Oh,” you’re speechless but for that single syllable.

“It’s alright. I know people don’t always get me but... you know, you didn’t have to do all that just for me,” he shifts sheepishly on his feet, his cheeks tinging as he looks at the floor.

“Well, it isn’t fair, is it?” You say.

“Yeah, but...” He looks up shyly from behind his glasses, “you must be a good mom. And a good wife.”

You’re not sure how to reply, “thank you? I try.”

“Your kids and husband are very lucky,” he smirks.

“Sure, I’m not sure they think so,” you say. “Waiting around for me to come home...”

You go to turn back to your desk, but he’s quicker than you. He startles you as he grabs the arm of your chair and keeps you facing him. You press yourself against in as he bends over you.

“Doesn’t sound like they appreciate you,” he says.

“Jensen,” you murmur, “that’s... no, they’re my family. They do.” You spread your fingers over your thighs nervously. “Can you back up?”

You cry out as he answers the question by pushing your chair back against the desk. The impact jars you as he leans in, closer and closer. You flatten yourself to the thin cushion and he plants a kiss on your forehead.

“I appreciate you,” he whispers, his nose tickling your hairline.

“Jensen, please, that’s not--”

“Shhhh,” he hushes you as he drops to his knees before you. “I disabled the cameras...”

“Jensen, what?” You squirm and grab the armrests. You try to push yourself to your feet and he slaps his hand against your stomach, shoving you back down. “Get off--”

“They don’t treat you right. No one does.”

"Jensen, that's sweet of you to say but please--"

"Let me be sweet to you," he begs as he clings to your knees, thumbs sliding under the hem of your skirt.

You grab the fabric as he tries to slide it up. You put your other hand on his chest as you sit forward. "No, okay, I know the holidays are hard but--"

"I just wanna give you a gift. Since you gave me one," he purrs.

"It's-- no, okay," you grab his wrist and your other hand slips up to shove his shoulder. "I'm married." He bends his head to brush his chin against your knuckles, like a cat eager for pets. The gesture fills you with pity, but cannot undercut your revulsion. "I said--" You push him again and he twists his arm free of your grasp.

He grabs your wrists and lifts your hands. He squeezes and you feel his strength; even if he wasn't younger, you'd be just as helpless. He pulls your arms and puts your hands against his head. You feel the soft short bristle and shudder. He covers your hands with his and holds them snug.

"Don't let go," he commands. His voice deepens, a razor's edge in his words. You stare at him dumbly. You don't dare disobey. It's as if your body is not your own as it refuses to respond to your fear. That inner plea is smothered by the pounding of your heart.

He lets you go cautiously and drops his hands to your thighs. You flinch and let out a squeak. He glides down the pushes his hands under the fabric, hooking it with his thumbs as he forces it higher. You shiver at the sensation of his palms against your stockings.

As he grazes along the naked skin above, you whimper. He hooks his hands around your hips and runs them under you, lifting you slightly to rumple your skirt below your waist. You shake as your hands remain glued to his head.

You watch yourself from above as the scene plays out. The dimples in your thighs quake as horror floods your body. He slowly bends to press the tip of his nose against the front of your panties. He prods you through the fabric and hums. He swirls around, teasing you through the tenuous layer.

Your hands fall away but he doesn’t notice. He’s too fixated on his prize. He tilts your hips, pulling you down in the chair as he moves your legs around him. Your lip trembles and your teeth grit, eyes hot in disbelief and disgust. How is this happening?

He brings your knees over his shoulders then runs a finger up the back of your plain white cotton panties. The type that hardly get your husband in such a furor. He traces the edge and tugs it aside.

You cry out as his tongue flicks along your folds. It feels like the first time all over again. You’re not neglected, just overworked and overtired. You don’t have the energy or the time. It doesn’t mean you’re lonely. Just busy.

He pushes his face deep and laps you up, spreading his tongue as he tastes you with a growl. You clench the armrest, your other hand catching the top of his head as you try to urge him away. You croak and your cries crackle in the air.

“Jensen,” you squeal.

He pokes his tongue along your entrance and drags it up to your clit, then back down again. The tendrils crawl down your thighs as he reaches blindly for your hand. He moves it behind his head and presses it there. As he does, he nuzzles into you.

He wiggles his head as he drinks you up. Your legs tense and your fingernails dig into his scalp between the short stubble of his hair. His glasses are crushed against your pelvis, forgotten as he devours you. You whine and close your eyes but you can still see yourself, like you’re watching a movie in your head.

You see yourself giving in, melting into him, clinging to him as the coil winds tighter and tighter. As your orgasm builds, you feel yourself splitting into two. There is the body curled up in the chair, wrapped around his head, and the consciousness watching from outside.

And it all evaporates into pleasure. Into forgotten wrongs and broken morals. Reality gives way to escape as you give into the stolen delight erupting from head to toe, as you give in to this man on his knees before you, begging you with the flick of his tongue.

#jake jensen #dark jake jensen #dark!jake jensen #jake jensen x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #december daze #navy and roo's sleepover #the losers #dc

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sochai13 · 4 months ago

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domestic dazai … <3 pt 2

— dazai’s eyes lighting up the moment he noticed you decided to wear a loose fitting shirt today. that day months ago you idly commented on how freezing his hands tended to be, it became routine of him to transfer that coldness onto your skin any chance presented. of course he had to play this out right and wait for a moment you’d be distracted— having grown much too accustomed to this habit of his. dazai’d watch as you got up from the couch and grabbed a glass of water, turning around and facing the counter to sneak up on you. his hands slid under your shirt, immediately pressing against your sides making your shoulders fly up as you let out a startled gasp. snickers sounded from behind as you slowly put down the glass you almost dropped.

— dazai stubbornly laying down after you finally convinced him he couldn’t casually walk about with a sore throat, sinus pressure, and a moderate fever. it was even more frustrating to get him to take just minimal medicine. complaints and whines that “it tastes bad” and “it makes me nauseous” left dazai’s dry lips as he attempted to cozy up beneath the sheets despite how his temperature fluctuated. he reluctantly agreed under the condition you’d massage his head with those magical fingers of yours (as he calls it). honestly, it was worth it. looking upon that peaceful expression on his face you (anyone really) rarely got sight of after he fell asleep within five minutes was enough of a reward. his eyes were closed, lips slightly parted as his chest slowly rose and fell. he’d trusted you enough to completely let his guard down forever ago, but it still caused a small smile to grace your lips at the sight.

— dazai using some pen he found in your bag to idly doodle on your hand and arm. the two of you were sitting on some empty bench in a park, water flowing in a fountain nearby. the weather had already began to cool down, leaves falling and breezes occasionally picking up as shivers would run down your spines. there’d been nothing to keep you entertained all day, the current scenario finding you both here. “you’re really good at that” you softly muttered as he used the black ink to create pretty flowers along your wrist. dazai simply flashed you a small smile before his focus redirected back to his little canvas.

— dazai lying in bed with you, his eyes half lidded. moonlight illuminated the room through the blinds. last time you checked, it was around 1AM… maybe? his gaze fixated on your face tiredly, eyes analyzing each one of your features like he was seeing you for the first time again. the side of his face rested on his palm as his elbow was propped against the pillow. his other hand ran through your hair, gently brushing the extra strands out your eyes. your fingertips ran along his skin, some areas calloused and some smooth. his whole body was yours to find solace in, save for a few spots currently covered by bandages. not many words were exchanged, just the sounds of your breaths and the fan above you two, though the silence was enough to provide a shared melancholy.

#i love writing these #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu #fanfic #domestic dazai #ada dazai #fanfiction #dazai fluff #bsd dazai #bungo stray dogs

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matcha3mochi · 4 months ago

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rin itoshi x fem! reader // enemies to lovers

༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･

Itoshi Rin was insufferable. Or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. Every interaction with him felt like a battleground, a constant exchange of snarky remarks and jabs that left you seething in frustration. It didn’t help that Rin was the type to act like he was better than everyone else, especially you.

What was worse was how often you found yourself in his presence. Being one of the team managers for Blue Lock meant you were stuck with him during practices, and because of his talent, Rin was always around—brooding, quiet, and of course, ready to pounce on you with some teasing comment.

The worst part? You had no idea what you ever did to deserve his animosity.

Every time you tried to be civil, it ended in some form of bickering. You couldn’t get through a single conversation without him criticizing something, whether it was how you organized the equipment or how you helped the other players. It felt personal, like he had a vendetta against you specifically. It was enough to make you think Rin hated you.

Today was no different. You were standing on the field during practice, jotting down some notes for the coach when you heard that familiar voice behind you.

“Your handwriting is still terrible,” Rin commented, his voice cool and indifferent as he passed by with a soccer ball under his arm.

You glared at him, resisting the urge to snap back immediately. “It’s legible enough. Maybe you just have poor reading comprehension.”

He didn’t even glance back, just waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You clenched your jaw, fuming as you watched him jog off to rejoin the team. Every single time. It was as if he made it his life’s mission to get under your skin. But no matter how many snarky comments he threw your way, there was something infuriatingly captivating about him. His intense focus during practice, the way he seemed to carry the weight of every play—he was talented, that much was undeniable. And sometimes, on the rare occasion when his icy demeanor cracked just a little, you caught glimpses of something more behind those sharp blue eyes.

But then he'd go and ruin it with another sarcastic jab, and whatever fleeting warmth you thought you saw vanished just as quickly.

“Hey,” one of the players, Bachira, came jogging up to you with his usual playful grin. “You and Rin are at it again, huh? You two fight like an old married couple.”

You gave him a withering look. “He’s the one who starts it. I swear, he has it out for me.”

Bachira chuckled, shrugging. “Maybe he just likes you?”

You scoffed at that. “Yeah, right. He hates me.”

Bachira only laughed again before running back to practice, leaving you with that unsettling thought. Like you? That seemed impossible. If Rin liked you, he had a really weird way of showing it.

The real trouble started later that day.

After practice, the weather began to turn. Dark clouds rolled in fast, and before long, rain started pouring down in sheets. You had stayed behind to clean up the equipment—something that normally didn’t bother you, but the sudden downpour made it a miserable task. The other players had already cleared out, and you were alone on the field, rushing to gather the scattered soccer balls.

Just as you were about to finish, your foot slipped on the wet grass, sending you tumbling to the ground. Pain shot up your ankle as you hit the ground with a yelp, clutching your leg.

The ground came up fast, and you hit it hard, pain exploding in your ankle. "Ow, ow, ow," you hissed, clutching your ankle, which was already starting to throb with a fiery intensity.

You tried to stand, hoping it was just a minor tweak, but as soon as you put weight on it, the pain flared up, making you collapse back down with a frustrated groan. Great. You were stuck in the middle of the field, rain starting to drizzle down on you, and your ankle felt like it was on fire.

You fumbled for your phone, realizing it had been knocked from your pocket in the fall. Your fingers were shaking, a mix of pain and panic starting to creep in. As the rain started to fall harder, soaking through your clothes, you gritted your teeth, frustrated beyond belief.

Just then, a shadow appeared above you.

“Idiot,” a familiar voice cut through the sound of the rain.

You looked up and saw Rin, standing there with that typical scowl of his. He must have stayed behind after practice for his usual solo training. For a second, your pride flared up, and you almost waved him away. But the pain in your ankle made you swallow your stubbornness.

“I’m fine,” you muttered through gritted teeth, trying to play it off as no big deal. “I just twisted my ankle.”

Rin crouched down beside you, his sharp blue eyes narrowing at the sight of your injury. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, clearly not buying your bravado. “You can’t even stand up.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the truth was undeniable. You couldn’t stand. The rain was starting to pour down harder now, soaking through your clothes and hair. The cold only made your ankle hurt worse.

Without another word, Rin reached out, slipping an arm around your back and under your knees. Before you could even register what was happening, he lifted you off the ground in one swift motion, holding you securely against his chest.

“What—Rin, I can walk!” you protested, your voice coming out much weaker than you intended. His arms were surprisingly steady, and despite the rain pouring down on both of you, his warmth was undeniable.

“Yeah, clearly,” he muttered, his tone flat but not cruel. He adjusted you in his arms, careful not to jostle your ankle too much as he began walking toward the locker room.

The rain pelted down, soaking both of you, but Rin didn’t seem to mind. His jaw was set in that usual determined way, as if he were simply running drills on the field and not carrying you through a storm.

“Why are you… doing this?” you asked, feeling a strange mix of emotions—embarrassment, confusion, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Because you’re an idiot,” he replied curtly, though there wasn’t as much bite to his words as usual. “You should’ve asked for help instead of being stubborn.”

You huffed, looking away to hide your embarrassment. The last thing you wanted was to be seen as weak in front of Rin, of all people. But the way he carried you, carefully avoiding any sudden movements that might hurt your ankle further, left you at a loss for words.

By the time he got you inside the locker room, you were shivering from the cold rain, but the pain in your ankle had numbed slightly. Rin set you down on one of the benches with surprising gentleness, his brows furrowed as he examined your swollen ankle.

“Stay here,” he ordered before walking off to get a first aid kit.

You sat there, your ankle pulsing with pain as you tried to process what had just happened. Rin—it was always Rin. The one who constantly teased and tormented you, yet here he was, carrying you through a storm and tending to your injury like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He returned a moment later, kneeling in front of you as he began wrapping your ankle with a firm, practiced hand. You watched him in silence, still bewildered by the strange tenderness in his actions.

The storm raged outside, the downpour relentless as it drenched the field and soaked you to the bone. The pain in your ankle had been dulling since Rin had carried you inside, but your thoughts were still spinning from the sheer absurdity of the situation. The guy who couldn’t go two minutes without making a sarcastic remark was now crouched in front of you, focused on bandaging your injury.

You couldn’t help but steal a glance at him—his brows furrowed in concentration, lips pressed into a firm line. It was almost unsettling how quiet he was. No teasing, no biting remarks. Just silence.

The locker room lights flickered slightly, adding to the odd tension between you two. You leaned back on the bench, the icy sting of the rain fading from your body, though the memory of Rin’s warmth as he carried you was still fresh.

"You're gonna need to stay off this for a while," Rin said, finally breaking the silence as he secured the bandage around your ankle. His voice was low, almost gruff, but not unkind. He tied off the bandage with a swift motion, straightening up to look at his handiwork. “At least a week. You’re lucky it’s just a sprain.”

You swallowed, nodding. “I’ll manage.”

“Sure you will,” Rin muttered, standing up and grabbing the first aid kit. “Knowing you, you’ll be running around like an idiot by tomorrow.”

A snappy retort was on the tip of your tongue, but you bit it back, suddenly tired. The pain in your ankle wasn’t too bad now that it was properly wrapped, but your pride still smarted. Of all people to help me, it had to be Rin, you thought, glancing out the window as the rain finally started to ease up.

The sound of it softened, turning into a gentle patter against the windows.

Rin noticed it too. He stood by the door, staring outside for a moment before shifting his gaze back to you. His usual cold expression was back, but there was something different about it now—like the sharp edges had softened, even if just a little.

“Looks like it’s stopped,” he said quietly, as if the rain had taken with it the tension that had been hanging between you two. “You need to head home.”

You frowned, testing your ankle by gingerly placing it on the ground. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” The words came out shakier than you intended, and when you tried to stand, the sharp pain shot back through your leg, making you wince.

Rin was beside you in an instant, his hands grabbing your arm before you could collapse again. “You’re not walking on that.”

You blinked, thrown off by how quickly he’d reacted. He was scowling, but the concern was unmistakable. You’d never seen him like this before—not with you, anyway.

“I can handle it,” you insisted, though the throbbing in your ankle told a different story.

Rin narrowed his eyes, his grip on your arm tightening slightly. “Stop being stubborn. I’m walking you home.”

You stared at him, taken aback by the sudden firmness in his voice. He was serious.

“I’m not a baby, Rin. I can—”

“I said I’m walking you home,” he cut you off, his tone leaving no room for argument. His eyes met yours, unyielding and intense. You wanted to argue, to insist that you could take care of yourself, but something in the way he looked at you—determined, almost protective—made the words die in your throat.

Before you could protest further, Rin moved beside you, his arm slipping around your waist to support you. He adjusted his hold carefully, making sure you could lean on him without putting pressure on your injured ankle.

You couldn’t help the heat that crept up your neck at how close he was, his body warm against yours despite the cold air that still lingered from the storm.

“Come on,” he muttered, his voice a little softer now. “Let’s get you home.”

The walk was quiet at first, neither of you quite knowing what to say. The tension between you hung in the air, thick and heavy. Rin’s usual teasing demeanor was gone, replaced by a focused silence as he matched your pace, adjusting whenever you needed.

After a few minutes, you decided to break the silence. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know,” he replied curtly, his gaze fixed ahead. “But you’d make it worse if I didn’t.”

You sighed, biting back a sarcastic remark. It was easier to just let him be like this than to argue. The quiet stretched out again, but this time, it felt less awkward. There was something strangely comfortable about walking with him, even in silence.

As you neared your house, the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the street. You glanced up at Rin, noticing how the golden light softened his usually sharp features. For the first time, you saw a different side of him—less cold, less distant.

When you finally reached your door, you stopped, turning to face him. “Thanks… for this.”

Rin’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. He nodded, his hand still resting lightly on your waist. “Just… be careful next time.”

You smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “Careful? Coming from you?”

He let out a small scoff, rolling his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, well… so are you.”

For a split second, Rin’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile before he turned away. Without another word, he started walking back, his figure disappearing into the evening light.

You watched him go, your heart racing slightly. Despite all his coldness, Rin had shown a glimpse of something deeper—something that left you wondering if there was more to him than you had ever realized.

As you limped inside, you couldn’t help but smile.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x female reader #blue lock oneshots #bllk #itoshi rin #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin x you #itoshi rin x y/n #blue lock x y/n

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foreverisntenough · 4 months ago

Text

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 22 - 'Galería D’ange ' | ‘Act II’

word count - 10.8 k

Lunch out in Madrid with Jude, Jobe, and Toby was a lively, carefree afternoon. The café was full of laughter and teasing, a pleasant contrast to the more serious moments you’d been through recently. You’d almost forgotten about the world outside until you noticed some fans began to gather at the window, phones out, eager to catch a glimpse of Jude.

“You came back for this?” Toby leaned over with a grin, nudging you lightly teasing. You laughed, feeling the attention, and instinctively buried your face in the crook of Jude’s neck, giggling as he chuckled too, his arm slipping around you protectively.

“Obviously,” you joked, peeking up from behind Jude as Toby continued to tease. Lunch carried on with more laughs and playful jabs as you all enjoyed each other’s company. When the meal ended, the four of you wandered down a picturesque cobblestone street, the sun warming your skin but the breeze sending a shiver down your spine. The atmosphere was light, peaceful, and Madrid felt a little more like home with them by your side.

“Yo…Have you heard about the new gallery in Carabanchel?” Jobe casually mentioned as you walked. You looked at him, surprised he had.

“You? A gallery? I hadn’t” you giggled. “But why do you even know that, Jobe?” you teased, a grin spreading across your face.

“What, I can’t have interests?” He smirked.

“You can! You just didn’t tell me we had the same one. It hadn’t come up yet that’s all,” you said, laughing, hands raised in innocence. “You wanna go?”

“Yeah, why not?” Jobe shrugged, acting nonchalant. You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

“Since when are you so down for stuff like this? I tried to get you to go with me one time and you said no.” You raised your brow joking but recalling a recent event you got invited to. Jobe was in town and a friend of friend invited you to an opening knowing you were now in Madrid,

“Because it was a pity invite!” Jobe yelped! Jude couldn’t go so you invited Jobe to go with you genuinely. He still was invited with or without Jule so whilst he was pretending to be offended right now… he hadn’t wanted to go that night.

“Alright alright, regardless, I think we should go today.” Jude, walking beside you, squeezed your hand and chimed in. You blinked up at him, a bit confused. Normally, you’d have to persuade him to join you on something like this, but today, both brothers seemed unusually eager.

“No…Wait… What’s going on?” You smiled. Jude grinned but didn’t give anything away.

“Nothing, just thought it’d be fun.” He quipped. You weren’t going to press. If they wanted to go look at art you were more than okay with it. With a shrug, you let it go and continued walking, Jude’s hand warm in yours. It was a sunny day but the weather was turning. It was brisk and so you had to nick Jude’s jacket off him adding a men's Saint Laurent jacket to your mini skirt, t shirt, and boots look. “You ruined my fit but I guess I’ll still go to the gallery with you, angel.” Jude teased. You giggled pushing your face into his bicep. The exchange almost distracted you from the direction change in your route. The cobblestone streets soon led you to a part of the city you loved but one you weren’t intending to go to today. You were struck by a striking green windowed wall, an old garage-style door with vibrant green window panes catching your eye. It made you smile. It reminded you of a door at your chateau. You smiled at the look of the place, appreciating the aesthetic and the familiar feeling it brought to you, but as you got closer, something seemed off. The space was completely empty, just concrete floors and nothing inside.

“Jude…” you said, your voice holding a note of suspicion. “What is this?” He stopped walking and looked at you with a mischievous smile.

“Come on then, just trust me please,” he said softly, pulling you toward the empty building. You glanced back at Jobe and Toby, who were both smiling like they knew something you didn’t.

“No… I don’t like this. What is going on?” you asked again, more curious now than anything else but not appreciating Toby and Jobe’s smugness. Jude led you closer to the empty space, his hand still firmly in yours.

“Voilà! Mon ange.” Jude cooed, leaning to whisper into your ear. You roughly could see inside, your eyes wide as you took in the space, its high ceilings and expansive windows filling the room with natural light. The charm of the old, worn exterior contrasted perfectly with the brightness and newness inside of it, and it felt like the perfect balance between something familiar and something entirely new. Before you could process it all Jude gently dropped a pair of keys into your hands before he moved behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You stared down at them, heart pounding. “It’s for you… for us,” he said, his voice soft and calm, but the weight of his words settled over you. He leant around you, his eyes flashing to meet yours, and there was something vulnerable in them. “I wanted you to have something here. A place that feels like you.” He said. Your breath hitched. The gesture, the thought behind it—it was overwhelming. He was offering you more than just this physical space. He was offering you a home, a way to make Madrid yours too, to build something that belonged to you both. Jude’s hand cupped your cheek as he smiled softly. “You can do whatever you want with it. Sell it, keep it, leave it empty… or,” he paused with a smirk, “my personal suggestion is you make it the secondary location of my favorite gallery in the world. What do you think?” He cooed. Your lip trembled, and before you could stop it, tears spilled down your cheeks.

“And she’s off.” Jobe, who was standing behind you, made a quip with a laugh. You barely heard him as Toby elbowed him to shut up. You were locked in your own little world, where all that mattered was Jude and the weight of what he was giving you. The thoughtfulness, the future he was offering—it all hit at once.

“Do you want to go inside?” Jude’s voice broke through your daze. You nodded, but your hands shook as you tried to steady your breath. Jude noticed and took the keys from your hand, unlocking the door himself and holding it open for you. You stepped inside, feeling the cool air from the wide, open space wash over you. Jobe and Toby followed, their usual banter quieting as they sensed the enormity of the moment. You walked a few steps into the gallery but couldn’t move any further. The reality of what this space meant, the future it held, made your knees weak.

“You good?” Toby, sensing your shock, gave your arm a gentle squeeze as he asked with a soft smile. You couldn’t respond, couldn’t do anything but stand there in disbelief. Jude had mentioned the idea of a gallery before, but you hadn’t taken it seriously. Now, standing in the middle of this space that was yours, you felt the full weight of his commitment. Jobe and Toby, sensing the need to give you two space, quickly made an excuse and headed out, leaving you and Jude alone. The second they left, your legs gave out, and you sank to the floor, your hands shaking as you tried to process it all. Jude was instantly at your side, kneeling in front of you.

“Angel…” he murmured, his hand brushing the hair from your face. “It’s just the space, there’s no pressure. I want Madrid to be our home. And your work… it’s important. It’s important to you, it’s important to me.” His voice was so sincere, so full of love. “If having a little annex here in Madrid helps us build something that feels like home, then I think it’ll be good for us.” You looked up at him through teary eyes, your bottom lip quivering as you tried to form words. His face softened as he waited patiently for you to speak. He was giving you everything, and it was almost too much to bear. “So… thoughts?” he asked gently with a smirk, trying to pull you back from the brink of your emotions.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice cracking as more tears spilled over. “I love you so much.” Jude pulled you into his arms, his embrace warm and steady.

“C’mere, I love you too, Angel,” he whispered into your hair. “We’re going to make this our home. Together.” Jude helped you up, pulling you gently into his embrace as the two of you stood in the empty gallery space.

“Me and you.” You murmured into his chest almost silent, confirming your togetherness.

“Us against them all, yeah?” He cooed. You nodded. Normally, a space like this, with its bare walls and concrete floors, would feel cold and impersonal. But in Jude’s arms, it felt warm, alive. His presence, his heartbeat against you, made this gallery the most beautiful it would ever be, even in its emptiness. He looked down at you, his cheeky smile making your heart flutter. “I thought of a name… if you’d want to hear it,” he said, eyes twinkling.

“Okay, go on” you said, your curiosity piqued. The moment broken by your soft giggles, leaning into his warmth.

“Galería D’ange,” he said with a playful grin, stumbling over the Spanish and French words. His attempt was endearing, and you couldn’t help but laugh. It was so Jude, and it melted you inside. Your eyes lit up with amusement and affection as the sweetness of the name settled in your mind. But then, Jude’s face softened into something more serious, his gaze intent as he continued. “And then we’ll add the ‘of Y/L/N New York,’ you know? Make it yours, connect to your gallery back there.” He told you. You blinked, processing his words as the reality of what he was saying sunk in.

“Galería D’ange of Y/L/N New York,” you repeated slowly, the name rolling off your tongue with meaning. It was perfect. It was you. It was him. It was everything the two of you had built together, now grounded in something tangible and lasting. This was your life—intertwined with his, filled with love and adventure, and now, with a space to call your own. “Babyyyy,” you whined, overwhelmed with emotion, but your smile was radiant. “Perfect. Parfait. Perfecto,” you giggled, switching between all three languages with playful enthusiasm. Jude chuckled softly at your reaction, the warmth of his laugh spreading through you. “Thank you,” you whispered, your heart swelling with gratitude. You leaned in, kissing him deeply, your hands sliding up to his face as you pulled him closer, pouring all the love you felt for him into that kiss. When you pulled back, you gazed up at him with glistening eyes, unable to fully express how much this moment, this gesture, meant to you. But you didn’t need to. Jude knew, and the way he looked back at you, as if you were his whole world, said everything. So you stood there in the middle of the empty gallery, the air around you buzzing with quiet emotion as you held onto Jude tightly. The tears on your cheeks felt never-ending, your nose pressed into his shirt as you sniffled. His arms wrapped around you, steady and grounding, as if he were trying to physically hold together the emotions between you.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but this really shouldn’t…” You trailed off, your voice cracking with the weight of how deeply overwhelmed you felt. “It shouldn’t work.” You finished your sentiment. Jude understood what you meant. You weren’t questioning the relationship, you were complimenting how unreal it was that you were finding success Looking up at him, your eyes wide and filled with adoration, you pouted. “Why are you like this?” you asked with a pout, barely above a whisper. “You’re the sweetest boy in the whole world.” Your hands found their way to his face, cupping his cheek as your thumb brushed gently against his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch, as if he were savoring every second of the connection. And when he opened them again, your heart flipped. His gaze was soft, yet intense, filled with so much love that it made you feel like the luckiest person alive. He was so gorgeous, inside and out, and right then you were certain of everything.

“It works because I love you,” he said, his words carrying a weight that made your chest tighten. “And no newspaper, no tweet, or even ocean can keep me from loving you.” Jude’s voice was low but steady, filled with unwavering certainty. His eyes held yours, and for a moment, the world felt like it had stilled completely. “I want you with me,” he continued, his voice soft yet firm. “Whatever you need, whatever you want—I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you, Angel. For the rest of my life.” You stood there, holding him in the stillness of the empty gallery, the city sounds faint and distant outside. It was just the two of you, wrapped in each other’s presence, as the moment stretched into something timeless. Tears continued to slip down your cheeks only slower, but there was a warmth in your heart that overtook the fear and uncertainty. You pressed closer to him, your body melting into his, and in that quiet space—empty, yet so full of promise—you stayed, holding onto the one person who made you feel safe in the storm.

Time had passed since Jude gave you Galería D’ange. It was like the gallery built a damn blocking anything from the past from getting to you and Jude and today was just another day behind it. You held Jude tightly in the middle of the shop, your arms naturally wrapping around his waist as he reached up onto a shelf to grab something.

“Angel, let go for a minute, yeah? I need to reach the shelf.” His warm laughter filled the small space as he gently teased. You blinked, realizing you hadn’t even noticed how close you were, how your body instinctively pressed into him, as if you couldn’t bear to be apart for even a moment. With a soft laugh, you apologized, reluctantly letting him go, though the warmth lingered between you. Things were so good—almost terrifyingly good, like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop. But you tried not to think about that. You let yourself stay in the warmth of these moments, the mundane sweetness of just being together. You were out running errands, something so ordinary but so full of meaning when you did it with him. A few people had stopped Jude for photos as you wandered through the streets, smiling and nodding politely as he interacted with the fans. It wasn’t overwhelming, not today. Just a few brief interactions, faces lighting up when they saw him, quick requests for a picture or a signature. It was part of the rhythm of your life now. After the shop, you stopped for coffee, the two of you slipping into a quiet corner of the café. But even in the hushed space, life had a way of reminding you of its presence. As you sat across from Jude, the faint sound of a camera shutter echoed, a flash going off accidentally as a girl tried to take a picture of her coffee. Or maybe it wasn’t an accident. It definitely wasn’t. Either way, it didn’t matter. She glanced your way apologetically, realizing she’d been caught. You gave her a small smile in return, understanding that this was life now—moments of hazy bliss with Jude, sliced through by interactions with strangers, with cameras, with glimpses of the outside world that never quite went away. But Madrid had become your home. You’d moved there primarily, letting New York slip into the background. You’d go back maybe quarterly, only when necessary, but that house nestled just outside the city with Jude—that was home. The kind of home you could breathe in. Where you could wrap yourself around him as much as you liked, no cameras, no interruptions. Just you and Jude, and the life you were building, piece by piece, moment by moment… And on occasion Denise would pop back in too. But today it was just the two of you. As you walked back to the car, the last whispers of summer clung to the air, the warmth still lingering just enough to remind you of the heat, though the crisp bite of autumn was making its steady, inevitable arrival. Madrid had that way of feeling alive during these in-between moments, where the seasons shifted, and the city’s energy matched the change. You tucked the jumper of Jude’s you were in tighter around you, enjoying the cool breeze that swirled around the street. Jude walked beside you, his hand brushing yours as you made your way toward the car. Ever the gentleman, he reached for the door handle, but not before planting a soft kiss on your temple, his lips lingering just long enough to make you smile. The moment was sweet, simple, until you felt the playful slap on your ass. He laughed, full and bright, watching your reaction.

“Jude!” you whined, rolling your eyes dramatically as you shot him a mock glare. “We’re in public!” You dropped your head to the side pouting.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist angel,” he teased, his grin unapologetic. “Look leng today.” He smirked. With an exaggerated sigh, you slid into the driver’s seat, sending him a sarcastic shake of the head.

“Thanks so much for that,” You cooed as he shut the door behind you. Of course, you were the one driving—again. This had become part of your dynamic, one that the public, and his fans especially, had picked up on. Jude, for all his skills on the pitch, was still absolutely useless behind the wheel, and you had teased him about it endlessly. He rounded the car, sliding into the passenger seat, completely unbothered by the fact that he was always chauffeured around by you. As you pulled out of the parking lot, heading home, the atmosphere between you was light, carefree. It was one of those days where everything felt just easy—running errands together, grabbing coffee, and soaking in the simplicity of it all. It was as normal as it could get. These were the moments you loved most, the ones that felt like a pause button on the chaos of your lives. But as the city blurred by outside the window, the buzz of Jude’s phone filled the car, and you saw him scrolling through something on social media. He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he scrolled faster, clearly amused by whatever he was seeing.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, glancing over as he leaned back in his seat, a sly grin creeping onto his face. He turned the phone toward you, and there it was—the video. Someone had filmed your entire little exchange back in the parking lot. The kiss, the ass slap, your mock protest, all of it. And it was already making the rounds online. The comments were blowing up. Boys were praising Jude, hyping him up for being so cheeky. Girls were half-swooning, half-scolding him in a mix of affection and exasperation. But then there was the real fan conversation that seemed to be dominating the thread—the one about his driving, or more accurately, his lack of driving.

‘Why can Jude still not drive? That’s a full adult ’

One tweet read, with endless replies echoing the same sentiment. It was a long-running joke at this point, one that had taken on a life of its own. Jude clicked his tongue, visibly annoyed but amused all the same.

“Nah, see… when are you actually going to teach me to drive? I’m just getting rinsed online at this point. They’re ruthless,” he said, glancing at you with a mix of frustration and playfulness. You couldn’t help but giggle, the sound bubbling up despite yourself.

“Wait, that’s what you’re concerned about? Not the fact that people are talking about you smacking my ass in public?” He shot you a serious look, his brows furrowed as if this was an actual pressing issue.

“Yes. Everyone knows I can’t drive. It’s like a national crisis at this point.” He scrolled through more of the comments, his eyes scanning them casually as if he wasn’t slightly stung by the teasing. “But our relationship? That’s private. They don’t know anything about that.” Your eyes widened as you raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the seat.

“Private, huh? Jude, you kissed me, then slapped my ass. So private,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. He shrugged, completely unbothered.

“I can be way sweeter than opening the car door for you,” he said nonchalantly, scrolling through more tweets. “And I can definitely be rougher than tapping your ass.” You blinked, not expecting that. Your eyebrow raised higher as you studied him, waiting for the smirk you knew was coming. But Jude just kept scrolling, not looking up, completely casual about the whole thing, as if he’d just said something totally normal.

“Oh, really?” you asked, your voice low, teasing. Finally, he looked up, locking eyes with you, his expression softening into that playful grin you knew too well.

“Really, angel,” he said, the edge of his voice teasing, but there was something earnest behind it. He reached over and brushed his hand against your thigh, his touch light, but the warmth of it lingered. His smile grew, and it was one of those rare moments where the public and the private blurred, and you realized how much of your relationship was still yours, still hidden away from the world, even with all the prying eyes.

“You’re unbelievable.” You shook your head, trying to hold back a laugh. He leaned back, satisfied with himself, and scrolled through the last few tweets with a sigh.

“All I’m saying is, one driving lesson would solve this whole thing. They’d have nothing left to clown me about.” He explained seriously. You shot him a look.

“Jude, I love you, but the way you panic at a roundabout… I’m not sure I’m the right person to teach you.” His face lit up with mock offense, a hand flying to his chest.

“Roundabouts are stressful! It’s like driving in circles for no reason, angel.” You couldn’t hold back the laughter anymore. The absurdity of it all—the fact that Jude, this world-famous footballer, was more concerned about his lack of driving skills being roasted online than the viral video of your intimate little moment—made you laugh so hard, you had to concentrate a bit harder on keeping your focus on the road.

“Okay, okay,” you said between laughs, “we’ll do some lessons. But no promises you’ll end up with a license.” You cooed. He grinned, leaning over to plant a kiss on your cheek.

“Deal. But for now, you can keep driving. I like having my chauffeur.” He smirked. You shot him a playful glare, but the truth was, you didn’t mind. These moments—the teasing, the banter, the simplicity of just being with him—made all the noise from the outside world fade away. This was home. And that was enough.

"So, rough, huh?" you teased Jude later that evening recalling his joke earlier after the shops. You were leaning against the bathroom counter as you got ready for bed. The playful smirk tugging at your lips was impossible to hide. Jude, mid-motion of pulling his shirt over his head, paused just enough to catch your eye in the mirror, his grin widening as he tossed the shirt to the side. He turned to face you, that mischievous look in his eye lighting a fire that you'd become all too familiar with. Things had been-well, let's just say spicy between you lately. With no hectic long distance travel schedules and the nights together stacking up, except for the odd away game, you and Jude had spent a lot of time wrapped up in each other. Not just in the bedroom, either-pretty much anywhere had become fair game at this point. The frequency had ramped up in a way that left you both breathless and constantly looking for the next moment to be alone. The scrutiny online about your relationship, the constant public attention, it only seemed to fuel the fire between you. It was as if the more people speculated and watched, the more determined you both were to shut out the world and claim each other, over and over again. Your relationship had found new life through this physical closeness, this undeniable pull toward each other. You weren’t sure you could possibly be more in love with him-this intensely connected, both emotionally and physically. And the sex? Well, it had taken on a life of its own. You were both impossibly horny all the time, a constant heat simmering between you, and it felt like no matter how much time you spent together, it was never enough. You found yourself stealing glances, teasing touches, small moments that quickly spiraled into more. It wasn't just a phase either. It had become your new normal, and you weren't complaining -except maybe for the fact that you couldn't seem to get enough. Your mind was often preoccupied with when you'd get your next fix, your next stolen moment with Jude. The real concern, though, the one in retrospect probably should’ve been entertaining more, was whether you were keeping up with your birth control. But honestly, having to drag yourself upstairs to grab a pill from the nightstand at 9:00 p.m. when you were cuddled downstairs with Jude felt like such an inconvenience. Especially when his arm was draped over your waist, and his lips were finding that perfect spot on your neck that made you melt. It was hard to care about practicalities when life felt this good, when he felt this good. Every kiss, every touch-it was like a drug, and you were both addicted. You couldn't help but wonder if this was what it felt like to be in the perfect moment, where everything aligned just right, and nothing outside the two of you mattered. Jude stepped closer to you now, his hand sliding up your arm as he leaned down, his lips brushing just beneath your ear.

"Oh, you have no idea," he whispered, his voice low, teasing, sending shivers down your spine.

You turned to face him fully, biting your lip, your heart racing in anticipation. His eyes sparkled with that playful, knowing look as he reached for you, pulling you against him. The warmth of his skin, the way his body molded to yours, it was almost too much-and yet, it was never enough.

"Care to remind me?" you teased, your voice breathless, the words barely slipping past your lips before he kissed you, deep and slow, pulling you into the kind of moment that you'd found yourself living for lately. Life was good. Jude was even better. Suddenly the bathroom mirrors fogged up with steam, blurring your reflection after you and Jude had fallen into each other once again. He fucked you in the shower till he was dripping out of you. You both knew you were being reckless lately, but the thrill of it all kept you repeating it again and again. It was as if you'd created your own little world within these four walls, a world where pleasure and desire reigned supreme. You locked eyes with Jude through the haze, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. He looks so fucking sexy, his frame glistening with water droplets from the hot shower. Your heart raced as you began to anticipate what was about to happen again, knowing very well that Jude could make you feel things no one else ever could, and you knew that because he just showed you moments ago. As he stepped out of the shower, his tanned skin contrasted with the white bath towel wrapped around his waist. You bit your lip as you watched him approach you, his eyes never leaving yours. The towel accentuating his muscular physique, you couldn’t help but admire the way his abs flexed as he moved.

"Not done with you, angel. Can't keep my hands off you," he whispered, his voice low and husky. You giggled, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Okay. Come here, baby. Give me some more of you.” You smirked. Arousal flooding your veins all over again. He grinned, revealing his perfect pearly white teeth.

“Starting to push the limits here, innit? Endless rounds and rounds, and you keep begging for more.” Jude cooed. He was teasing a bit but you both knew there was a slight undercurrent of irresponsibility in what you were doing.

“Are you complaining?” You teased moving past any possible practical concern with a raised brow, dropping your own towel off your body.

“Nah, never. You’re just too fucking good f’me. I could never stop wanting more of you.” His hands moved towards you magnetically, his hands then brushing up and down your sides, making goosebumps rise on your skin. You nodded, already feeling a little breathless.

"I can't help it. You make me feel so good." You whined with a frown as you reached for Jude’s towel, and with a swift motion, you let it drop to the floor, revealing his hard cock. Your eyes widened at the sight, your mouth watering. He was thick and long, a masterpiece of male anatomy.

"Let me make you feel good again, angel. I want more of you," he growled, his voice filled with desire. You didn't need any more encouragement for things to kick off again. But in opposition to Jude’s ideas you hummed a ‘mmnhmm’ with a cheeky shake of the head. In a quick but smooth succession, you dropped to your knees, your hands reaching out to stroke his length. The skin was hot and silky under your touch, and you could feel a rush of power as you took control. "Oh yeah, baby?" he moaned questioning your decision to take more of him as your fingers wrapped around him. "That's it, take what’s yours." Your fingers moved up and down, teasing the sensitive tip, making Jude's breath catch. You leaned in, your lips brushing against the head of his cock, tasting the salty pre-cum that glistens there. "Fuck, YN," he groans. "Your mouth... I need it." Jude was a mess. Neither of you could be satiated lately, and he, right now, was proving just that and thankfully, you didn't need to be told twice. With a sultry smile, you took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head, savoring the taste of him. Jude's hands dove into your hair, gripping gently as he encouraged you to take more of him. "That's it, suck me off, angel," he pants. "Deeper, baby, let me feel you." You obliged, taking him deeper, your throat opening to accommodate his girth. Your eyes watered slightly, but the pleasure on Jude's face kept you going. His moans filling the room. You knew exactly how Jude liked head by this point in your relationship. It was almost down to a silence. As you sucked and stroked, Jude's hips began to thrust gently, meeting your mouth with each forward motion. The wet sounds of pleasure filled the bathroom, mixing with the steam and the scent of sex. "Fuck. I'm gonna cum, Y/N," he warned, his voice tight with restraint. "Fuck.”

"I wan’ it... all of it." You pulled back briefly looking up at him with lust-filled eyes, a string of salvia still connecting you to him. And so moments later, with a final, powerful thrust, Jude came, his hot cum flowed down your throat. You swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste of him, not wanting to waste a drop. He groaned, his body trembling as the orgasm washed over him.

"Fuck, that was so good," he breathed heavily, pulling you up for a deep kiss. You kissed him back, tasting yourself on his lips, and feeling his passion ignite yours.

"Come on, baby. I want more of you still. Bed now," you whispered commandingly against his mouth. Jude's eyes lit up with excitement. He was thrilled you wanted to keep going. As you entered the bedroom, the soft sheets beckoning, you both knew this was just the beginning of another session. You pushed Jude onto the bed, his back against the headboard, you straddled his waist, your wet pussy already aching for him.

"You wanna ride me," he urged, his hands cupping your tits, thumbs flicking over your sensitive nipples. You leaned forward, your hands on his chest for support as you began to grind your hips, feeling his hard cock slide along your slick folds. Your tits bouncing with each movement, Jude's eyes darkening with desire. "That's it, angel, show me how much you want it," he encouraged, his hands moving down to grip your hips, guiding your movements. You moaned, the sensation of his cock rubbing against your clit drove you wild. “Tell me how bad you need my cock.” You could feel your pussy throb as he teased you. You begged him to fuck you whimpering.

“Jude please. Please fuck me. I want you,” you whined causing Jude to smile smugly. He lined his cock up with your entrance but kept you hovering above him, not allowing you to sit down.

“I know.” He cooed as you sank down. He stretched you perfectly. You breathed slowly as he filled you. He held his same smug grin watching the pleasure on your face. “Such a good girl f’me. Just like that, baby.” He was enjoying watching you but his own feelings had him struggling to keep his eyes from rolling back. As you grinded on him, Jude knew this was a feeling he could never replace. His hands slid up your waist to grip your tits as they bounced with every movement. You leant back, your hands behind you for support, and begin to ride him with purpose, your pussy engulfing his length with each downward thrust.

"Fuck, you feel so good," You whimpered as his hands squeezed your ass, urging you on. The pace quickened, and your moans filled the room as you rode him harder, your pussy clenching around his shaft. Jude's hands move to your thighs, spreading them wider, giving him deeper access.

"That's it, let me feel that tight pussy," he grunted, his own control slipping as he met your downward thrusts with powerful upward strokes. The sensation was incredible, and you could feel your orgasm building, your body trembling with anticipation. Jude's eyes locked with yours, his gaze intense and loving. "Cum for me, angel," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Let go, I wanna feel you." He told you. You whimpered, your body tightening as the pleasure peaked.

"Oh, fuck Jude... I'm..." Your words were lost as your orgasm hit, your pussy convulsing around his cock, milking him as waves of pleasure wash over you. Jude's hips bucked off the bed, driving his cock somehow deeper inside you as he came with a roar, filling you with his hot release this time in a different way. In the aftermath, you collapsed onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his lips trailing kisses along your neck.

"I love you so much angel," he whispered, his voice filled with adoration. "You're my everything." You smiled, snuggling closer, feeling the warmth of his body and the wetness between your thighs.

"I love you Jude. This... was…we... are so good at that." You giggled, hiding your face. He hummed in agreement kissing your hair

And so as it goes, life was good all until it wasn’t. All it took was one tweet.

‘All I’m saying is since that girl showed up Jude Bellingham has been shite. Save some energy for the games, mate.’

It felt like you’d read this exact tweet hundreds of times but apparently this one carried firepower and it brewed a whole debate online, for weeks. And so it was declared Jude’s form had been off—at least, that’s what everyone was saying. The press, the fans, the analysts. And somehow, as ridiculous as it sounded, you were the one they blamed. You’d become a convenient story for them, something to latch onto when the statistics didn’t add up the way they wanted. Even the most reputable pundits asking if his personal life or is the spotlight affecting him. Sure, Jude had been playing well, but his goals and assists were down compared to last season, and people needed someone to point fingers at. The narrative spun out of control in the way only a media frenzy could. It wasn’t new to you. But somehow, this time it stung a little more. You didn’t like that people were being rude to your Jude. It made you sad. You didn’t want to inflict that type of hurt on him and so… you hide. Tonight, you were at the Bernabéu. You’d come early, as usual, trying to stay out of the spotlight as much as possible. The stadium was slowly filling with fans, the energy building in that electric way it always did before kickoff. The roar of the crowd was still a murmur at this stage, the steady hum of anticipation floating through the air. You found your spot far in the back of the box, standing as you always did, eyes squinting to make out the figures of the players warming up on the pitch below. From here, Jude was just another one of the players, moving through his drills, stretching, shaking off the tension that always seemed to cling to the start of a game. This had become your routine, this quiet, removed place where you could watch without the weight of all those eyes on you. In a way, it was your safe zone—a place where you could feel present for Jude but shielded from the noise. From the stories. From the judgment. You shifted on your feet, feeling the cool metal railing beneath your hands as you leaned forward just slightly, trying to focus on Jude and not the knot in your stomach. It was hard to ignore the things people said sometimes, even when you knew they weren’t true. But before you could sink too deep into your thoughts, you felt a hand on your arm. Firm but gentle, the touch snapped you back to reality. You turned to see Denise standing there, her expression sharp but filled with concern. She didn’t say anything at first, just pulled you slightly toward her, her grip softening as she looked you in the eye.

“Hun…enough,” she finally said, her voice low but carrying the weight of everything unsaid. “You are not here for them. You’re here to support Jude. And you can’t do that from back here.” You blinked, trying to find a response, but nothing came. Denise didn’t wait for you to argue. She grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the front of the box, toward the seats you’d been avoiding. There was no point resisting; when Denise had made up her mind about something, it was best to just go along with it. And truthfully, you knew she was right. She sat you down next to her, her hand never leaving yours as if she knew you needed the grounding. Her tone softened, the edge replaced by something warmer, more maternal. She was incredibly sweet with you but you knew she’d always been tough, protective in her own way, and over time she had come to treat you like one of her own, the toughness included. You could feel that in moments like this. “Do you know the surname on your back?” she asked, her gaze steady. You looked at her, caught off guard by the question, but you nodded. Of course, you did. You wore that name every time you stepped into this stadium, whether or not you realized it. “You’re either part of this family or not. You decide.” She said it bluntly but you knew it wasn’t meant as a threat but as a reminder. Still, her words struck a chord deep inside you. You were part of this family—Jude’s family, but also this team, this life. You hadn’t chosen the spotlight, but it came with the territory, and Denise was reminding you of that in the most direct way possible. This wasn’t about the press, or the stories people told, or the numbers on a scoreboard. It was about standing beside Jude, even when things felt overwhelming. You couldn’t help but smile at her. It was a small, grateful smile, one that said more than words could. Denise nodded, satisfied, before she wrapped her arm around you, pulling you close in that protective, motherly way she had. She kissed your temple softly, a quiet show of affection that made you feel both cared for and understood. As you settled into the seat, you felt the weight of a few eyes turning toward you. People noticed, of course they did. In this world, you were never truly invisible. The whispers and glances might come, but sitting here now, next to Denise, you realized something: it was okay. Let them look, let them whisper. You weren’t here for them. You were here for Jude. You straightened up a little, your back pressing firmly against the seat as the crowd roared louder, signaling the match was about to begin. The tension in your chest eased ever so slightly as the players lined up on the field. You could see Jude now, clear as day, and for the first time tonight, you didn’t feel the need to hide. This was where you belonged, and it would have to be enough.

Since the series came out, Jude had become, if possible, more clingy with you, though the internet had it all wrong. People assumed that with his fame, his talent, and the endless attention he received, he didn’t need you to ground him, that he was the star and you were just along for the ride. But in truth, Jude believed he needed you to perform, to thrive on and off the pitch. Jude was struggle despite the fact that he wasn’t playing badly, you both knew that and so did the more seasoned football fans too. But you also both knew the scrutiny was part of the job, but it didn’t make it any easier. Jude was always a target. If he wasn’t scoring or assisting every game, the critics were quick to pounce. It was exhausting, but you had your own ways of supporting him through it all, grounding him when the outside noise became too loud. Jude’s clinginess had always been endearing, even if the public rarely saw it. They had this image of him—self-sufficient, confident, the superstar who didn’t need anyone. But in reality, behind all the headlines and highlight reels, Jude leaned on you more than anyone could guess. He wasn’t shy about it, either. To him, you weren’t just his partner; you were part of his success, his comfort, his why. Every day was a reminder of that, in small ways that meant everything. Your presence had become a part of his routine, the glue that held everything together for him.

Take this morning. He was mid-set in the gym, his arms straining as he pushed through the reps, sweat dripping down his face. Often, you’d sit on the floor of your home gym while he worked out, chatting away as he powered through reps, his eyes occasionally glancing your way for a quick grin, your words acting like background music to his workout. He swore it helped him focus. He needed you there. Today was no different, you sat on a yoga mat, leaning against the wall, scrolling idly through your phone while chatting with him, explaining some drama Winnie was in. He’d glance over between sets, grinning like a boy who couldn’t get enough of the sound of your voice, as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded during the workout. But sometimes you wouldn’t say anything at all, you’d just watch. Your presence enough for him.

“You’re staring again,” he muttered teasingly, mid-lift, his breath labored but full of amusement.

“Who says I’m staring?” you shot back with a smirk, not even bothering to deny it.

“I can feel it,” he replied, his lips twitching into a smile as he set the weight down and shook his arms out. “Keeps me going, though.”

And that was just the start. Then, there were the breakfasts you made for him before training. He’d follow you into the kitchen, waiting as you made him breakfast—his usual, the one you’d perfected over the months. It was always the same, exactly how he liked it. And no matter how many people offered to do it for him—a chef, his mum—he insisted that only your cooking was right. It was part of the ritual, part of his connection to you, and through that, his connection to the game. You once tried to tell him someone else should* handle but Jude had immediately vetoed the idea.

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “They wouldn’t make it like you do.” It wasn’t just the food. It was you. He was playing well—anyone with a proper eye for the game knew that. He wasn’t putting up these astronomical numbers in goals or assists, but he was solid, consistent, and crucial to the team’s strategy. Still, that didn’t stop the critics from coming for him whenever they could. That kind of pressure could break anyone. But not Jude—not as long as he had you by his side. And you knew he felt that. You could see it in the way he sought you out after games, his eyes scanning the stands, always finding yours, as if that was the moment he could finally exhale. With the international break around the corner, you felt a twinge of relief. It was always an intense period, with Jude off representing England. He was proud to pull on that jersey, but the added strain on his body was undeniable. You’d spent nights massaging the knots out of his back, watching him ice his knees after long stretches of games. He was fit, sure, but the game took its toll, and you could see the wear in moments of quiet, when he finally let down the walls. Still, the two of you were eagerly looking forward to this particular break for one reason: the draw. England versus France. The very idea of it lit a spark in both of you, not just for the magnitude of the match, but for everything it represented. Paris wasn’t just another city for you—it was a place loaded with history, with meaning. This international break there was something extra to look forward to. The two of you had been eagerly anticipating the draw, and now it was official. The game would be at that little old place on Rue du Commandant Guilbaud, Parc des Princes in Paris. December would bring cold air and frosty breaths, the perfect atmosphere for a match that was sure to be icy with tension between the two countries. The history, the rivalry, it all made the stakes feel even higher. You could already imagine it—friends and family in the stands, the energy electric, your heart racing as you pulled on Jude’s England jersey, feeling the weight of it, the pride, the love, but slight fear because you knew Louis was going to kill you when he saw you in the kit. You grew up going to Parc des Princes but you hadn’t been in ages. The nostalgia was already pulling at your heartstrings, memories of the city swirling in your mind. But more than anything, you were excited to be there for him. To stand in the cold Parisian air, bundled up, but warm with pride as Jude stepped onto that familiar pitch, surrounded by tension and anticipation. This wasn’t just another match. It felt bigger, more meaningful. For Jude, for you. And you couldn’t wait to be there, standing by him as always, ready to watch him shine, knowing that no matter what, you were part of his every win, every challenge, every moment.

“oh mon Dieu. I’m so so so excited, baby,” you said one night seeing the fixture announced on Instagram as you curled up beside Jude on the couch, his arm draped lazily over your shoulder. “Feels like ages since we’ve been in Paris together.” You smiled jumping over your last Parisian memories with Whitney and instead skipping to recall better times with Jude. He smiled, pulling you closer.

“Feels like ages since we’ve done anything that wasn’t football-related.” He cheekily smiled a little annoyed at the fact that you were going for his work but also eagerly anticipating what was going to happen on this trip.

“You’re not wrong,” you agreed, letting your fingers trace small circles on his chest. “But this match… Jude, it’s sweet. It’s like us..” You smile. His expression softened, a mix of pride and excitement. The darkness of the room wrapped around you both like a cocoon. “England versus France. December in Paris. The crowd, the atmosphere…” Jude’s hand slid across your waist, pulling you closer until your head rested against his chest. You smiled against his skin, your heart full.

“Big weekend, innit?” He smiled but his heart was pounding. His voice was a soft rumble in the quiet of the room. You nodded none the wiser. He had plans for that weekend and he was stressed about much more than the game. “And my angel will be there f’me. Wearing my shirt, hmm?” He cooed, kissing your hair a few times. You laughed, nudging him playfully.

“Of course, likely freezing my ass off but I wouldn’t miss a chance to see my favorite player in the world. I’ll even brave the Parisian winter for it.” You giggled.

“Such a martyr,” he teased, kissing the top of your head.

“I cant’t wait to see Kylian play, Aurel and Cama too, you know?” You giggled and Jude kissed his teeth.

“Honestly. Just so rude. Can’t wear my kit anymore. Get one of your little French boys to give you a jersey.” He feigned offense. You kissed his neck with a giggled, squeezing him in a bone crushing cuddle. It was all in good humor because the truth was, you’d do anything for him, and he knew it even beat your own heritage. The match itself was already steeped in tension—the rivalry between England and France, the history, the weight of national pride. The Parc des Princes had always held a special place for you but this time, it wasn’t just about the past. It was about now. It was about Jude, about watching him in the jersey that meant the world to him, feeling the weight of his name on your back as you stood in the crowd. There was something magical about it, something that felt different from all the other matches. Maybe it was the nostalgia of Paris, or maybe it was the fact that after all the scrutiny and pressure, this match felt like an opportunity for Jude to remind everyone who he was. And you’d be there, as you always were, bundled up in the cold, feeling every ounce of pride and love for the man who had your heart. Jude might have been the star, the one everyone watched, but the truth was, the game—his game—wasn’t the same without you.

With the break fast approaching you were worried about Jude’s body, more now than ever before. The season was relentless—game after game, with no real break in sight, and every added match meant another 90-plus minutes of strain on his already taxed muscles and joints. His shoulder, his ankle, his knee… they all weighed heavily on your mind. The problem was, Jude would never admit if something wasn’t right. He always brushed off your concerns, telling you he was fine, that it was just part of the game. But you could see it—the subtle winces when he stood too quickly, the extra time he took to stretch in the mornings, the way he sometimes favored one leg over the other when he thought you weren’t looking. And yet, lately, it wasn’t just Jude’s physical state that had you worried. There was something going on with you too. You felt so achy, this unfamiliar heaviness lingering in your limbs. By the afternoons, your energy was completely drained, leaving you groggy and fighting to keep your eyes open. And then there was your body. You’d been brushing it off for weeks, but you couldn’t ignore it anymore—your jeans didn’t fit quite right, not like they used to. They were tighter around your waist, your hips, and no matter how many times you told yourself it was just bloating or stress, the little voice in the back of your mind whispered something different. It was the reason why that trip upstairs at 9 p.m. to get your birth control had suddenly become so important again. For weeks, you’d been a little careless, caught up in the whirlwind of life with Jude, in the physical intensity of your relationship. It had been too easy to forget, to prioritize the comfort of cuddling on the couch over getting up and grabbing the pill. But now, you couldn’t brush it off. You couldn’t let it slip for one more night. The problem was, the thought that had been creeping into the edges of your mind—the one that you were now terrified to even entertain—scared you. It was a fear you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge, let alone say out loud. Because if you did… what then? You sat on the couch beside Jude that night, your head resting against his shoulder as he scrolled through his phone, oblivious to the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. His body was warm and steady against you, his presence always a source of comfort. But tonight, comfort felt elusive. Your thoughts kept drifting back to how off you’d felt lately, how your body seemed to be betraying you, sending you signals you weren’t ready to interpret. You knew you needed to make that walk upstairs to your nightstand, to pop that tiny pill and push the thought out of your mind. But for the first time in weeks, you weren’t sure if it was already too late.

“Everything okay in there, angel? You’ve been quiet tonight.” Jude’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, pulling you back to the present. His finger coming to tap on your temple gently but teasingly. You forced a smile, looking up at him.

“Yeah, just tired, that’s all.” You admitted a half truth. He kissed your temple where his fingers were, his lips lingering there for a moment, his breath warm against your skin.

“You sure? You’ve seemed off lately.” Your heart skipped a beat at how easily he could read you, even when you weren’t ready to admit anything. You nodded, not trusting yourself to say much more. Jude was already dealing with so much—his body, the pressure of the season, the upcoming international matches. The last thing you wanted to do was add to his stress. But as you sat there, wrapped up in his warmth, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you. Something was happening. You just weren’t sure what it was yet. And that terrified you more than anything. The night was quiet, the soft hum of the television the only sound filling the room as you cuddled into Jude’s side. After the international break games had been announced, Paris—Parc des Princes—was where Jude’s thoughts had been circling for days. He was focused on upcoming fixtures but also what was meant to happen outside of those match days. You could feel his excitement simmering just beneath the surface, even if tonight, he was calm, content just being there with you. As you shifted, settling deeper into the couch, Jude’s voice cut through the stillness again.

“I was thinking,” he began, his tone thoughtful but easy. “Do you think your dad would want to come to the match? I’d really like to invite him.” Jude cooed. You blinked, surprised.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’d love that. I can tell him—” You cooed almost instinctively, it was sweet but you were not really thinking about it much. Jude gently placed a hand on your arm, stopping you mid-sentence.

“Nah, angel.” he said softly but firmly. “I mean I want to invite him myself.” His words hung in the air, and you pulled back slightly, sitting up, studying his face. There was something deeper in his request, something more personal than just an invitation to watch him play. For a second, you felt touched by how important it was to him. But then, like a wave crashing over you, the thought hit hard: What if something’s wrong? Your mind started to spiral. All the little signs—the achiness, the strange grogginess, the tightness of your jeans—they all seemed to be pointing in one direction, a direction you weren’t ready to consider. What if… you were… no surely not. The thought made your stomach churn. You suddenly felt a bit sick, not from any physical symptom, but from the sheer weight of the possibility. Seeing your family, especially in Paris, suddenly felt like a mountain you weren’t ready to climb. You pictured sitting across from them, the warmth of wine glasses being passed around, the ease with which they would pour you a glass without question. In your family, wine wasn’t just a drink—it was tradition, hospitality, connection. Refusing a glass would raise eyebrows. They’d notice, they’d ask questions, and how would you explain that? You couldn’t decide which option was worse: taking a test and confirming your fears, or sitting through a meal with your family, knowing you might be hiding something so monumental. “Angel?” You must’ve gone quiet for too long because Jude’s brow furrowed in concern. You nodded quickly, trying to shake off the dizziness of your thoughts.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I’m fine. Just thinking.” You forced a smile, still trying to process his request. “It’s sweet, Jude, but… You don’t have to do all that, why do you want to ask him yourself?” Jude didn’t hesitate. He looked at you with the kind of sincerity that always made your heart skip a beat.

“It’s a big deal for me to have people at my games and not just there as spectators but I want them there as family, as friends. Your dad… he’s important to you, so he’s important to me. I’d love for him to be there as someone I invited, someone who’s part of my or our world.” His words softened the edges of your anxiety for a moment, his thoughtfulness tugging at something deep inside you. You knew your dad would appreciate that gesture. He wasn’t the kind of man who liked to use his name or status to get into fancy places. He didn’t care for the fuss of hospitality suites or special treatment. What he cared about was connection—being present, being part of something real. And here Jude was, offering exactly that. Although your dad was a man of comfort and luxury so you knew he wouldn’t complain in Jude’s box either.

“He’d love that, Jude. Really, baby.” You smiled, this time genuinely. Jude’s eyes lit up, clearly pleased. He reached out, gently pulling you back down into his arms, your head finding its familiar spot against his chest. His lips pressed a soft kiss to your temple, a steadying presence as always. The warmth of his body, the rhythm of his breathing—it was enough to slow the racing of your thoughts, if only for a moment. As you lay there, your mind couldn’t help but return to the nagging possibility of what might be happening with your body. You tried to push it down, tried to focus on the feeling of Jude’s arm around you, the comfort of his presence. But it was hard to ignore. Every day, it seemed more likely that you were dealing with something much bigger than just fatigue or stress. You had brushed it off for so long, but now, sitting here with Jude, your thoughts swirling, you realized how scared you really were. And yet, in this moment, with Jude holding you close, something shifted. His kiss against your temple, the way his hand rested protectively on your side—it all steadied your heart. Maybe, just maybe, it didn’t have to be so terrifying. Maybe if Jude was by your side, and if your family was there too, it wouldn’t feel so overwhelming. The idea of facing whatever was coming with both of them by your side suddenly didn’t feel so impossible. As Jude’s breathing slowed, and you realized he was drifting off to sleep, you stayed awake a little longer, staring at the ceiling. The thought of Paris loomed ahead, the cold December air, the intensity of the match, the weight of what might be happening with your body. But maybe, just maybe, if you had Jude and your dad there with you, it would all be okay. Eventually, you let yourself relax into Jude’s arms, closing your eyes, telling yourself that whatever was coming, you wouldn’t face it alone. Maybe, just maybe, it would all be okay.

You leaned against the counter, watching Jude pace around the kitchen, phone in hand, looking every bit as anxious as someone about to make the biggest business deal of their life. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Jude, are you seriously this nervous to call my dad? You’ve known him for how long now?” You giggled.

“It’s different this time. You don’t get it, alright?” Jude stopped, glancing at you with a look of half-embarrassment, half-whining.

“Oh, I get it,” you teased, folding your arms. “You’re about to ask him to a football match, not pitch for a place on the team.” He groaned, running a hand over his hair, the nerves clearly getting to him.

“Angel, seriously,” he whined, “don’t make fun. This is… important.” He glanced at you. You weren’t sure why this was such a big deal to him. Like just ask him to the game? Simple as. So you raised an eyebrow.

“Important? Jude, you’ve invited people to games before.” You explained dropping a bit of the humor and inquiring a bit more genuinely.

“Yeah, but this is different.” He shot you a look and mumbled. You could see that he was genuinely stressed, and that only made your curiosity grow.

“Different how?” you asked, stepping closer, playful but also wondering what had him so rattled. “Are you planning something secret?” You teased and Jude’s breath caught momentarily in fear you knew why this was a bigger deal until he let out a frustrated sigh, cheeks turning a little red as he waved you off.

“I’m calling him,” he muttered, “but I need to do it in private. You’re making me nervous.” He told you sheepishly with a childish pout. But that word made you pause.

“Private? Why?” You asked. He shot you an almost panicked glance and headed for the door.

“Because you can’t hear this,” he called over his shoulder, already making a break for the living room. “Don’t listen in!” You blinked, watching him retreat. What on earth was going on. Jude closed the door behind him, breathing out heavily as he looked down at his phone again, preparing himself. This wasn’t just about inviting your dad to the game—that part was easy. It was about the real reason he wanted to meet him before the match. He needed to ask your dad something far more important, something that had been weighing on his mind for ages now. He knew how much your family meant to you, and he wanted to do this right. He wanted your dad’s blessing before asking you the biggest question of his life, your life. Jude’s hand hovered over your dad’s contact before he hit the call button, exhaling deeply as he heard the line ring.

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 23 - The Right Time xx

#jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham smut

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noblecorgi · 1 month ago

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2024: A Re-Entry to Fandom

I guess this is a thing? (Oh shit this brackets bit was written at the end and I appear to have emotionally vomited an essay. Sorry ‘bout that.)

In late 2023 I experienced a personal tragedy and retreated to where I had always found comfort: books.

I read a series that had been recommended to me before, but I hadn’t had time to read it - The Simon Snow Trilogy by @rainbowrowell and it awoke a dormant-but-never-forgotten love of fanfiction in me.

In my teens and early 20s I wrote a lot of fan fiction on the ol’ FF net, all of it of atrocious quality I’m certain, which is why I haven’t tried to rediscover that account.

Instead I found AO3, and restarted regularly writing for fun instead of for work or study/research.

I didn’t do any summation for 2023 because I think my first fic was posted on like 10 December 2023, but AO3 tells me I wrote 4 works, all SnowBaz, at a total of 55,154 words.

In 2024, I’ve published 5 works, at a total of 94,323 words.

What truly blows me away (and honestly makes me a bit teary) is the 1013 kudos, 100 subscribers (inc 15 subscribers to just me rather than a fic!), and 222 comment threads on my works. 🥹

So: my 2024 works.

Use your words, SnowBaz, Rated: E, 3,930 words

A smutty lil gift fic wherein Baz teaches Simon how to sext.

Splendid Morons, SnowBaz, Rated: E, 12,886 words

Published for Erotic Grope Fest, aka Baz’s birthday. A collaboration with @alexalexinii and a story written to enable their amazing art of Baz in lingerie.

Precious to me for not only getting to work with Alex, but also for being the beginning of my relationship with Becky @rbkzz, my incomparable beta who has become one of the dearest people in my life.

On The Rocks, SnowBaz, Rated: E, 74,592 words (WIP)

My opus, as it were. It originated from a fluffy cute prompt of “what if Baz and Lady Ruth were work besties?!” And I came along like “YEAH! But with trauma, exploration of love in mental illness, and alcoholism!”

I began posting it in March and it’s about 2/3 done now. But for Becky it would be both an absolute pile of horse poop, and an abandoned WIP. Instead it has a clear direction and she found motifs that I’d repeatedly used by accident in my drafts and built imagery, greater meaning, and also debated me ad nauseam on my preference for spelt over spelled.

Immune Response, @lumosinlove’s Cubs, Rated: G, 1,421 words

I was a big consumer of WolfStar in my teens and was recommended Lumosinlove’s Sweater Weather and, like many before me, fell in love with the story, the original characters, and ice hockey itself (much to the surprised glee of my Canadian spouse, who for a decade has tried in vain to get me on board. Little did he know the key was obviously gays.)

This is a lil’ slice of life sick fic examining how each of the Cubs responds to getting sick.

I have a lot more unpublished drabbles about these characters and some fics that are being cocreated so stay tuned for 2025?

Preliminary, my dear Basil, SnowBaz, Rated: T, 1,494 words

A gift fic for @martsonmars as part of the Carry On Discord’s Secret Snowflake Exchange.

Among their suggestions was “Sherlock AU, but not BBC Sherlock, 19th century Sherlock” and it hooked me with the idea that Baz would absolutely fancy himself as Sherlock. I actually sketched out a plot to SnowBazify 4 of the Holmes stories, so maybe 2025 will see them unearthed.

There is one other published fic I worked on this year, but as a beta rather than a writer for @swoopswrites @rsbigbang piece Class A which was super fun to do (and got me to watch a great series - The Gentlemen on Netflix) and Swoops has a fantastic mind so I’d encourage you to to check it out.

Finally, I have always been a writer rather than an artist, but I do enjoy drawing, and the need to upgrade my iPad for work arose and so I also tried my hand at drawing again for the first time since I was 17 or so.

In order from the first one to the most recent one, the lil scribbles I did this year:

Penelope Bunce, Wolfstar on a train, Baz with coffee, cuddly Cubs, FinnLo being adorable, iconic Moony with a cane, emo Sirius Black.

And THAT was 2024 (and 2023).

@artsyunderstudy @asocialpessimist @angelsfalling16 @whatevertheweather @edenalix @emjaydellyone @erzbethluna @emeryhall @run-for-chamo-miles @raenestee @rimeswithpurple @roomwithanopenfire @thehoneyedhufflepuff @theearlgreymage @thewholelemon @lonleyhumanbeing @letraspal @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @youarenevertooold @iamamythologicalcreature @ichooseyousnowbaz @ic3-que3n @ileadacharmedlife @onepintobean @palimpsessed @prettygoododds @philaet0s @pacey-bunce-loves-joey @sorenphelps @skee3000 @stitchy-queerista @fiend-for-culture @facewithoutheart @fruitcoops @girlwithcurls96 @hushed-chorus @hihimissamericanbi @cutestkilla @cosmicalart @confused-bi-queer @noopienoopiernoopiest @messofthejess @monbons

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sirenizer · 4 months ago

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The Warm Embrace

[part 2] [part 3]

The cool wind brushed against your sweat-soaked skin, offering brief relief. The Grand Line’s weather was always extreme, and tonight’s heat was no exception. Excited for your night watch, you ascended toward the crow’s nest. It had been a while since you’d spent time with Izo, both of you caught up in pirate duties. And when it wasn’t work, it seemed someone else always claimed Izo’s time. So, even though you were exhausted, you eagerly took this shift to be with him.

That’s why disappointment hit hard when, instead of Izo in his usual kimono, you found a shirtless newbie lounging in the nest.

"Yo," he greeted casually, before turning his attention back to the sea.

You frowned. "This is supposed to be Izo's shift. What are you doing here?"

Ace, still staring out over the water, replied, "Well, after winning the drinking contest with the others, he’s out cold. So Marco asked me to take over." His nonchalant attitude irritated you, but you swallowed the feeling. Suddenly, he glanced back at you, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"What? Spill it," you demanded, narrowing your eyes. Marco had warned you about Ace’s mischief, and that grin was never a good sign.

"Oh, it’s nothing," he said, shrugging, the smirk growing wider. "Just wondering if you're not cold in that."

You looked down at your bikini top and denim shorts. Normally, you felt confident in your body, but under Ace’s teasing gaze, insecurity prickled at you. "Temperature might be just numbers to you, Fire Fist, but for the rest of us, it's hot tonight," you shot back, turning away.

"It does seem hot," he commented, his voice laced with amusement.

Your cheeks flushed as you glared at him. Ace was fanning himself lazily, clearly unaffected by the warmth. Not wanting to prolong the exchange, you grabbed the telescope and focused on the horizon, trying to cool down both from the heat and your annoyance. You hadn’t spent much time with Ace, aside from brief chats during meals or helping heal his wounds when he first arrived. You’d watched him from a distance—his bright, fiery nature was almost intimidating.

Lost in thought, you found yourself longing for something sweet and cool. "I could go for some watermelon right now," you mumbled to yourself.

"I can get that for you." His sudden offer startled you.

You blinked. "What?"

"You said you wanted watermelon, right?" He seemed impatient now, waiting for your reply. When you nodded, unsure of his intentions, he grinned. "Let’s eat together." And before you could react, he leaped out of the window.

You rushed to the edge, looking down just in time to see him land gracefully and head toward the kitchen. A small smile crept onto your face—maybe spending time with him wouldn’t be so bad after all.

It wasn’t long before Ace returned, carrying two plates piled with watermelon slices.

"I used to eat watermelon with my younger brother on summer nights," he said, handing you a plate.

"You have a brother?"

"Yeah, a younger brother. His name’s Luffy." There was a pause, and then he added with a fond chuckle, "Luffy, the guy who’s going to be Pirate King—that’s how he always introduces himself."

You smiled at his affection. "Aiming for the Pirate King’s throne, huh? I like his ambition."

Ace laughed, then launched into stories from his childhood. His tales flowed freely, and you soon found yourself sharing stories of your own, talking about how you joined this crew and recounting some of Marco’s more comical moments. Conversation came easily between you two, and the tension from earlier melted away.

Suddenly, Ace stopped mid-sentence, staring intently out of the window. "Is that… an island?" he asked, pointing at a small dot on the dark horizon.

You grabbed the telescope and scanned the distance. Sure enough, there it was. "Yeah, it’s an island. We should inform the navigator."

Without hesitation, Ace grabbed the small snail communicator and notified the crew. The ship slowly adjusted course, heading toward the unknown island. Silence settled between you, a comfortable excitement filling the air as you both anticipated the adventure ahead.

"Achoo!" You sneezed as a biting gust of wind swept through the nest. Ace shot you a smug look, clearly enjoying his earlier prediction coming true.

You scowled, ignoring him, and reached for a shawl from the nearby cupboard. But the cold seemed to creep under your skin, no matter how tightly you wrapped it around yourself. The wind was icy, and with each breath, you could see small clouds of white steam escaping your lips. You huddled deeper into the shawl, seeking warmth.

Ace, meanwhile, seemed completely unfazed by the cold, still gazing out over the sea with a relaxed expression. You couldn’t help but stare at him. His tousled hair fluttered in the breeze, and for a moment, you were captivated. His sharp eyes sparkled in the dim light, his freckles dotted his face like constellations, and his cracked lips glistened as he moistened them with his tongue. You found yourself soaking in every detail.

Noticing your gaze, Ace turned his head, his eyes locking with yours. Embarrassed, you quickly looked away, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

"Cold?" you asked, trying to cover your flustered state with a casual question.

Ace smirked. "A little. Want to share that shawl?"

Your heart raced at his teasing tone, but before you could stop yourself, you scooted closer, allowing him to slip under the shawl with you. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, warmth spread from where your bodies touched, though your other side still shivered from the cold.

Another gust of wind made you shiver involuntarily. "Maybe we should head back down…" you muttered, but a part of you resisted, wanting to hold on to this quiet moment.

Ace noticed your shivering and suddenly said, "Come here." He opened his arms, and before you could think twice, you found yourself leaning into his chest. His body was a furnace, the heat seeping into your skin and chasing away the chill. His arms wrapped around you, pulling the shawl tighter as you rested your head against him.

"Feeling better?" he asked, his voice a low murmur near your ear.

"Mmhmm," you hummed, already feeling your eyelids grow heavy. The steady warmth and the soft rocking of the ship lulled you into a comfortable drowsiness. It could’ve been the exhaustion from the recent mission, or maybe it was Ace’s comforting presence—either way, sleep came easily.

"Idiot," Ace whispered with a fond smile, watching as your breathing evened out. The dark circles under your eyes hadn’t escaped his notice earlier, and he was glad to see you finally resting.

When you stirred awake later, the sky was still dark. You felt something warm and solid pressed against you and, for a moment, panic fluttered in your chest. But then you looked up, seeing Ace’s calm face, still gazing out the window.

"You didn’t wake me?" you asked groggily, rubbing at your eyes.

You tried to sit up, but Ace’s arms tightened around your waist, pulling you back against him. "Go back to sleep," he murmured, his voice gentle. Despite your initial protest, you found yourself melting back into his embrace. His warmth was impossible to resist.

Ace radiated a sense of peace and security, something you’d only felt with a few people in your life. His presence was calming, grounding, and before long, you were drifting back into a peaceful sleep, nestled safely against him.

The cold wind outside contrasted with the warmth inside the shared shawl as you drifted back into sleep, feeling Ace’s steady breathing against your back. The night was still young, and the soft creaks of the ship moving through the waves created a lullaby that added to the calmness of the moment.

When you woke again, it was much later. The first traces of dawn painted the sky a muted gray, and the air felt calmer, though still chilly. This time, you stirred more awake, shifting slightly in Ace’s arms, realizing just how tightly you had curled into him.

His voice, low and steady, broke the quiet. "Morning already?" He didn’t sound sleepy, and you wondered how long he’d stayed awake while you slept.

You shifted a little more, trying to sit up without disturbing the closeness that had developed between you during the night. "How long was I out?"

"A while," Ace replied, his tone light, almost teasing. "You really knocked out. You didn’t even budge when the others called about adjusting course for the island."

You blinked, surprised. "They didn’t wake me up?"

He chuckled softly. "I told them not to. You looked like you needed it." His arms loosened around you, but he didn’t fully let go. His body was still warm against the morning chill, and part of you didn’t want to move just yet.

A warm blush spread across your cheeks as you realized how cozy you had gotten in his arms. It wasn’t like you to feel so vulnerable around someone new, especially a pirate with the reputation Ace carried. But there was something about him, something disarming. His warmth wasn’t just physical; it radiated from his personality, from the ease with which he could talk about his past, laugh about dreams, and invite you into his world. The way he held you now—secure but not possessive—only reinforced that feeling.

"I guess I owe you for letting me sleep in," you muttered, breaking the silence.

He grinned. "Nah, just make sure you share more of that shawl next time." His playful smirk was back, but this time it felt different—more familiar, less mischievous.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling in return. Pulling away, you finally stood up, stretching and feeling the stiffness in your muscles from the long night’s rest. Ace followed suit, standing and cracking his neck with a lazy grin.

The ship’s movement felt more purposeful now, and when you looked out the window, the island Ace had spotted last night was much clearer on the horizon. It was still distant, but the promise of adventure lay ahead. The soft glow of dawn reflected off the water, casting everything in a quiet, golden light.

"So," you began, glancing back at Ace. "You up for some island exploration?"

He crossed his arms, the familiar smirk playing on his lips again. "Of course. Wouldn’t miss it."

The wind picked up slightly as you both descended from the crow’s nest, the rest of the crew now stirring below deck. You could hear faint chatter and the clanking of dishes as breakfast preparations began. The ship was alive with anticipation for what lay ahead on the mysterious island.

As you made your way across the deck, Ace walking beside you, the comfortable silence between you was broken only by the occasional flutter of sails or creak of wood. You felt a sense of ease—something that hadn’t been there before. Maybe it was the time spent together last night, or maybe it was the quiet understanding that had formed between you two.

Once inside the galley, the warm smell of food filled the air. The crew greeted you both with nods and smiles, though a few eyebrows raised in curiosity at the sight of you together. You could feel their teasing stares, but no one said anything directly.

"Morning, you two," Marco said, giving Ace a knowing look. His tone was casual, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Ace shrugged nonchalantly. "Just keeping watch, as requested."

"Right," Marco smirked before turning back to his breakfast. "Well, you both should fuel up. We’ll be hitting the island soon."

The meal was simple but hearty—eggs, bread, and some fruit. As you ate with Ace beside you, you found yourself stealing glances at him. He was more relaxed now, chatting with the crew as if last night had changed something for him, too. He no longer seemed like just the newcomer or the notorious Fire Fist. Instead, there was a growing sense of camaraderie between you, a connection that felt like the beginning of something deeper.

After breakfast, preparations for the landing began. The ship’s anchor was lowered, and you and the crew began organizing supplies for the island exploration. The morning sun was now climbing higher in the sky, burning away the last traces of dawn. As the boat slowed near the island’s shore, excitement buzzed through the crew.

"You ready?" Ace asked, coming up behind you as you stood near the edge of the ship, watching the island grow closer. His voice held that same mix of playfulness and seriousness that was quickly becoming familiar to you.

"Always," you said, turning to meet his gaze. His eyes sparkled with that familiar fire, but this time, there was a softness there too, a quiet understanding of everything that had passed between you during the night watch.

As the crew prepared to disembark, you and Ace ended up side by side again, this time sharing more than just a shawl or a quiet night in the crow’s nest. There was an unspoken bond forming between you, one that neither of you had fully acknowledged yet, but it was there—undeniable, growing, like the adventure that awaited you on the shores of the island.

#portgas d. ace #one piece #x reader #ace x reader #fire fist ace #one piece x you #one piece x reader #ace x you

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portgasdwrld · 1 year ago

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★ And Boy I…

˚ · • . ° .I fantasize about it all the time if you were mine…

˚ · • . ° . Featuring: Ace, GN!reader

˚ · • . ° . Warning: suggestive

˚ · • . ° . Daydreaming about them

You joined a group of people playing card games on the deck after you finished all your tasks of the day. It was pretty late in the afternoon, but the weather was amazing so mostly everyone was gathered on the deck, enjoying it. You took the opportunity to sit next to Ace, who you had recently slowly started to develop a crush on.

The game was going on well and you two have even been exchanging flirty comments here and there, making you secretly all mushy inside. So far, you were enjoying the games as you found out a secret talent: you were winning most games leaving others frustrated, but Ace’s competitive nature created a tension between you two that you liked.

So for the last game, before eating, few people even started placing some bets on who was going to win between you two.

It was now Aces turn to play, you glanced attentively at the man next to you. His body leaned over the table looking closely at the cards you put, thinking about his next move. His hat was already resting on the back of the chair, so he passed his fingers through his dark wavy hair and pushed his body back to lean on the chair.

As he did this, he let the sluttiest grunt which was one of frustration, but you would lie if you didn’t say it made you feel some type of way in an instant. Ace leaned back and unconsciously spread his legs, letting his body sit comfortably as he slid the hand from his hair over his toned torso— you could’ve jumped at him at moment

You stared at him mindlessly, waiting for him to play. Your thoughts wandered and you slowly felt hotter as you glanced at Ace, still ponding on his turn, staring at his cards. He looked just so sexy being so focused, you imagined how it would feel to crawl on his laps and hear his grunts, but in your ear instead as he makes you feel good. You wondered how it would feel to brush his body with your fingers and grip his hair between your fingers. You were pulled off of your daydreaming when he cleared his throat.

“You really got me thinking huh?” He teases with a smirk as he throws you a playful glance. You blush a little, wondering if he had caught into your daydreaming. You nod at his words, returning the playful look.

“Isn’t it more fun that way?” You retort as you eye him carefully. He hums agreeing with you, his eyes lingering on you for few seconds too long.

Maybe one day all your day dreams won’t be simple dreams..

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strayed-quokka · 2 years ago

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lacking in subtlety || kim sunwoo

» summary: it was a bad idea to like your brother’s best friend. it was an even worse idea to let him into your room when your brother was one door down.

» pairing: sunwoo x female reader

» rating: NC-17 minors do not interact

» genre: brother’s best friend, smut, porn without much plot but there’s backstory i guess

» warnings: dominant sunwoo (kinda?), he’s also a bit possessive, i guess submissive reader, oral (m and f receiving), creampie, his hand finds your throat but there’s no actual pressure, vague exhibitionism (?), sunwoo gets caught but he kinda asked for it, the beginning takes ages whoops, open ending cause i’m annoying, one use of good girl and some pet names

» words: 4,738

» a/n: i know i’ve done brother’s best friend before but i’m a hoe for that concept aight deal w it… also i have like… 20+ smuts for the boyz in my drafts i don’t know what’s going on anymore but i’m thinking either juyeon next because hands or a threesome with moonbae because it’s been sitting in my drafts and lord is it wild

also i know i disappeared but life happens and also people were stealing my work so i wasn’t really in the mood to write anything for anyone but here we are i’m back cause i wanna indulge ✌️

You’d never been much of a risk taker. In fact, on paper, you probably looked quite boring, good grades, a nice set of friends, never misbehaving, all of it lined up to make you rather uninteresting. That’s why when the shift from seeing Juyeon’s best friend Sunwoo, as someone more than a simple acquaintance happened, you simply ignored it.

He’d never find you interesting enough.

Though you were friends in a way too. Your brother was comfortable enough with Sunwoo never getting too close to you in that regard, and so the two of you would often interact even if he wasn’t there.

But the conversations were usually rather generic. Exchanges of how your days were, maybe the occasional comment about an outfit the other wore, but never anything beyond that. You still remembered coming downstairs in an oversized hoodie one day and Sunwoo jumping on the question to ask where you got it. He wore the same one in a different colour a few days later, and you swore he knew how flustered it made you.

You knew him, but you didn’t know him in a way that you knew friends. Nevertheless, you were always comfortable with him, even comfortable enough that during movie nights, if you happened to be around, lying next to him or even against him was deemed completely normal.

You’d done it since you were little, and so even once it shifted from being simply platonic to something that made your heart race as you got older, Juyeon never once questioned it. He never felt the need to and neither did Sunwoo. You weren’t sure if he was simply oblivious or intentionally ignoring the way you felt, but you were relieved either way.

Juyeon never noticed that your first semester back from university, Sunwoo started to get more physical towards you. His arm being wrapped around you wasn’t new, but where he let his hand rest was. You still remembered the first time it fell on your hips, but it stayed unmoving and almost felt like an unintentional accident.

Though with Sunwoo, nothing was unintentional. He thought you were beautiful and incredibly hard to resist, but he tried. He tried by simply leaving little hints, hints that could mean nothing or everything at the same time, and hints that Juyeon wouldn’t notice or brush off because Sunwoo wouldn’t cross that line. He’d never be so stupid.

Sunwoo didn’t want to cross the line, but there was only so much self control he had. Especially when you never, not once, rejected anything that he did.

You’d just finished your first year at university, enjoying the start of your summer break, when things shifted again. Trying to get used to Sunwoo drawing patterns on your hip or nuzzling up to you could never have prepared you.

The weather was terrible, a summer storm looming outside with the sound of rain crashing against the window as a random horror movie played that you lost interest in within the first twenty minutes, and you could tell Sunwoo didn’t care for it much either. Horror movies were Changmin’s thing, and maybe you should’ve been nice and invited your best friend along for the evening.

You were leaning against Sunwoo, his arm around you and fingers resting on your hip with a blanket draped over your bare legs and a part of your waist.

Juyeon was on the opposite side, a bowl of near empty popcorn on his lap with a blanket around his own figure.

Sunwoo shifted, the blanket slipping off your body though he caught it and covered you again, and you would’ve likely barely reacted if it weren’t for his fingers moving over your bare thigh. Your breath caught in your throat, and you tried to hide it with a cough though Sunwoo knew better.

Though just because he knew better, didn’t mean he was about to risk it entirely.

He’s slow, as if trying to calculate all the risks in the scenario he’s in, including both your potential rejection and Juyeon seeing what he’s up to, so it’s incredibly delicate as his fingers move under the thin blanket and to the hem of your oversized shirt, pushing it up above your hips.

Your eyes widen, looking down though the skin he’s exposed lies very much hidden over the thin fabric that’s keeping you warm. You feel like you’re burning and can’t breathe, trying to regulate it without raising any suspicion.

Sunwoo doesn’t feel your rejection, though he takes the time to whisper as quietly as he possibly can, “say stop and I will.”

You look over to Juyeon, but he hasn’t heard. It’s both a relief and a thrill, and you only nod to Sunwoo, tilting your head slightly upwards and to the side, eyes rested on his plump lips that had just hovered by your ear.

His fingers twist around the thin lace laying over your hip bone before he runs his hand down your thigh. He’s meticulous and painfully slow, but the result is that if you didn’t know any better, even you wouldn’t suspect much of anything. And the thrill of it all leaves you embarrassingly wet.

You’re impatient too, and maybe it’s a mistake, but you push his hand just enough to rest in between your thighs. Sunwoo isn’t stupid either, he knows exactly what you want and exactly what you’re craving, and he’s more than willing to give it to you now that you’ve cleared up any potential misunderstanding of your motives.

That’s the problem. Sunwoo has always been more than willing to do anything you ask, even when he shouldn’t. Whilst Juyeon had never explicitly stated that you were off limits, he knew that you were. He could have anyone he wanted. Anyone but you.

And you’re exactly what he wanted.

He’s teasing you, mostly because he doesn’t have a choice if he wants to remain discreet, but also because he likes it. He likes seeing you react, how you bite your lip and try to push your legs apart just enough for him to have his fingers between without the movement being too obvious. Sunwoo pushes into you as a response, and you can feel his cock against your ass.

This was bad. You were both stuck here, and you were feeling incredibly hot and desperately trying to be quiet.

“Are you okay?” he says it loudly, and you can’t believe the nerve he has to ask you right in front of Juyeon. Your brother looks over at you, concern on his face as Sunwoo’s fingers stop right back on your hip.

“What’s wrong?” there’s genuine concern there, and now you wonder what you look like.

“She feels warm. Fever?”

You want to hit him, but the only way you retaliate is to shift around with the way you’re lying, purposely pushing against him. You hear the angry hiss leave his throat, but it’s so quiet, similar to a low growl, so you don’t think Juyeon hears it, or if he does, he assumes it’s because your shuffling around must’ve kicked his friend.

“Do you wanna sleep? We can watch this another time,” you nod at your brother, for as much as you very much enjoy the lines you’re crossing, the gamble doesn’t seem worth it with him right here. That, and in some way, you respect your brother just a little too much.

“I’m gonna have a cold shower,” you twist your body up, ensuring the blanket is still on Sunwoo as he lets you go and repositions on his side, “night Juyeon. Sunwoo.”

You hug your brother goodnight, retaliating by hitting Sunwoo’s ass over the blanket, making him yelp and glare your way as you disappear into the bathroom.

Fucking hell, did that just happen?

You can’t believe it. The immediate guilt sinks in for what you’ve done. It’s obvious to you, just how deep your crush and sexual attraction for Sunwoo has gotten, but a part of you wishes you could still suppress it.

The water is ice cold when it hits your skin and you let out a squeal, eventually rinsing yourself off and washing your hair, attempting to snap out of the constant daze and addiction that is Kim Sunwoo. But the more you let him be in your mind, the more he refused to leave, and the worse your thoughts got.

Maybe you just needed to get laid. It had been a while since your ex (who you conveniently enough, don’t think Sunwoo liked), and now you were in a state of such frustration that you were taking it out onto the only man available in the house.

Though desire was a funny thing.

It just wouldn’t go away.

You lay awake for hours, staring up at your ceiling with only one person on your mind. There’s no doubt you’re losing it, unable to sleep for every time you close your eyes, it’s the same thought and wish for a dream over and over again.

You resort to the only form of advice you can run to. Changmin.

“It’s two in the fucking morning, please,” he groans, his voice rough and tired, and it really doesn’t help your sexual overdriven hormones. It’s not like you were attracted to your best friend, but his rough voice combined with everything else sent you into a near meltdown. Maybe you should just ask him to sleep with you.

“I want to fuck Sunwoo,” it’s quiet. You’re not sure if Changmin has to think about what you said first before he reacts, or if he just has no idea how to react, but eventually you hear him shuffle around and speak.

“I ehrm… I’m not sure what you want me to say to that,” he pauses again, clearing his throat, “does Juyeon know?”

“What the hell do you think?”

“Yikes, you really do need to get laid,” you nearly scream before remembering that any loud noise is going to garner unwanted attention from the two men that are either just downstairs or down the hall from you, so you suppress your agony instead, “why Sunwoo, though?”

“Have you not seen him?”

“I mean… not recently,” you sigh, rolling onto your side to look out the window. The rain seems endless, so you can’t exactly expect Changmin to get up and walk here to keep you company.

“You’re staying up with me.”

“I’m tired,” he groans, enough for you to briefly feel bad. Though one of your biggest flaws is your stubbornness and your best friend knows that.

“If I have someone else give you company, will you let me sleep?”

“Who’s crazy enough to come out at-”

There’s an abrupt cut on the other line, and you realise Changmin’s hung up. He either had a death wish or a plan, maybe both, and honestly, neither were comforting to think about.

A knock on the door breaks you out of it, half expecting your brother or maybe both of the boys to walk in, but it’s only Sunwoo. Immediately, you feel the need to wrap your blanket over your bare legs, “come in?”

He finally steps inside, leaving the door slightly ajar as he approaches you. He’s still in the same sweatpants and shirt from earlier, his hair more ruffled and messy from the constant laying down. He looks so inviting, his lips so full and his eyes so entrancing. It’s pure torture.

“Changmin messaged me,” you pale, and now you’ve decided that he really does have a death wish, “want to explain?”

He holds his phone out to you, a message from a number you can recite by heart sent just a minute ago.

Y/N wants to sleep with you. Double meaning implied. Leave me out of it.

“What the fuck Chan-,”

“Is it true? Double meaning implied?” he smirks, and you realise quickly that to him it’s become a bit of a game to see how far he can push and taunt you until you either decide it’s enough or give in. You’re not sure why Sunwoo suddenly got so confident, though you suppose he always has been, the only difference now is that he knows how you’re thinking.

“You don’t have to cover up. It’s quite warm,” his voice is low, but you doubt it’s out of worry for Juyeon hearing him. He’s right as well. It may be raining outside, but it’s incredibly hot in here, and you let him when he asks to remove the fabric over your bare legs, taking a seat at the edge of your bed.

“Are you… still watching that movie?”

“Finished it. And two others. Juyeon went to bed, it’s literally been hours,” you nod, wondering if he really is two doors down from you, fast asleep. Maybe he’s scrolling through his phone or doing god knows what else.

“And you?”

“Well…” he starts, his fingers moving up along your left leg and causing shivers to run along your skin, “see, I have a bit of a problem.”

You may regret asking, but curiosity gets the better of you and you feel like you’re damned to hell. That, and the fact that maybe you really don’t care at all anymore, about any of the risks, “which is what?”

He grins, and it’s a smile that tells you he has something on his mind that thrills him and intoxicates you. Sunwoo comes closer, resting the palm of one hand on your inner thigh to push your legs apart, his lips right by your ear, “I really need to know how sweet you taste.”

Your resolve breaks. Maybe it was broken before, but it’s definitely shattered now. A whimper falls past your lips and now he’s right above you, watching with eyes like you’re his prey.

“Am I allowed, sweetheart?”

It happens fast, the way you grip his shirt and pull him down until your lips meet. His lips are slightly salted, likely from the popcorn, and he’s quickly pushing his tongue between your lips and gripping you harder by your thigh. He’s rough, a little forceful with it, but you like the dominance he holds over you.

“Fuck, you have no idea how hard it’s been to resist you,” he leaves open mouthed kisses down your neck, one of his hands slipping under your shirt to grope your breasts, playing with the sensitive flesh and hardened nipples, twisting slightly as you mewl underneath him.

He’s overwhelming you. Sunwoo always has a way for your senses to go into overdrive, but with what he’s doing now, you can’t think.

“P-please,” you sound pathetic, but he’s nice enough to listen. At least you thought he was.

“Let’s play a game,” oh no. He’s pulling you up, until you sit with your legs over the bed, planted firmly on the floor as your eyes find the still open door.

You’d forgotten it was open. Sunwoo, however, clearly hadn’t, “what game?”

He’s down on his knees before you, his shirt discarded before you can even blink, and it takes a while to adjust to the naked chest and muscular build he’s always hidden from you. You tremble just at the thought, watching him closely as he repositions your legs onto his shoulder, pulling himself closer to you, “see how quiet you can be with that door open, sweetheart.”

You should be scared. The risk of getting caught has exponentially grown with the factor of an open door, but you feel his teeth lightly dig into the flesh by your upper thigh and you seem to forget everything else. It’s like he’s telling you to pay attention to only him, with each sharp sting of his teeth that leaves your skin red.

Something about it you love. The dominance maybe, or maybe the possessive nature in which he litters your skin in angry red marks that you want to have, “look at me.”

It’s demanding, but you barely hear it first until his fingers dig into your thighs, pushing your legs just slightly more apart, and you sit up just a little to meet his eyes. He almost looks dangerous, near possessed in his hunger for you, and suddenly you’ve never felt more attractive in your life.

He makes you feel wanted, and maybe that’s enough to explain why you’ve always been pushed towards him like a magnet. Even if you knew him at a surface level, he’s always been attentive to you in the little things.

You nearly curse the world the minute Sunwoo delicately lays a kiss over your clothed clit, and it’s frustrating how that alone damn near makes you see stars. Such a simple touch of his lips should not feel like the end for you, and yet it does. You grip his hair before you can help yourself, pushing him between your legs as he chuckles, “are you that desperate?”

“Shut up,” his nails dig into you harder, a scowl on his face as he nearly drags you down further, and you nearly yelp when your underwear is pushed to the side and his full lips meet your bare folds.

“F-fuck,” he doesn’t respond to you. Either he’s off in his own world or he’s intentionally ignoring you as punishment for the way you run your mouth, but you’re in heaven, though it feels like the greatest sin that’ll have you sent straight to hell.

You’d never have said you were a very vocal person in the bedroom. Even if someone made you feel good, your moans were usually quiet, more breathy and whispered than they were loud, but Sunwoo made you want to scream, and knowing you couldn’t made it so much worse.

Sunwoo seemed to know what he wanted, because without much warning, he’s letting his index finger graze your folds and it’s near embarrassing just how much of your juices coat his finger when he does, bringing it up to your lips, “are you gonna be good?”

You nod, desperate as you take his finger in your mouth, sucking on it like you would his cock, the taste slightly sweet while he’s back between your legs. You feel like your senses are going into overdrive, moaning as you take one of your hands and grip his hair, pushing his tongue deeper between your folds, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“S-Sunwoo, p-please,” you want to cum, and it feels like you’re so close, but it’s like he wants to remind you just how insufferable he is as he pushes back the second you feel like you may tip over the edge.

The whine that releases in your throat is loud and pathetic, and you both share a wide look of shock and worry because what if Juyeon heard it.

A minute passes, the only noise in the room being both of your heavy breathing, and when Sunwoo decides that Juyeon likely hasn’t woken up, his attention is back on you, “take off your shirt.”

You nearly don’t hear him, too busy staring at his swollen lips that glisten just slightly under the moonlight bleeding into the room, and he looks so beautiful that you feel like you’re falling for him right in that very moment, completely.

“You need to stop staring like that. It’s not good for my heart,” his words make your head spin just as they put you into action, stripping off the very little you have on until you’re entirely naked.

Sunwoo just stares first, and you wonder if maybe you should cover yourself but the minute you reach for the blanket, he’s stopping you, “don’t you dare.”

It’s rough, a demand that you listen to, especially when his fingers grip your chin to look up at him, “you look far beyond what I ever dreamed of.”

“You dreamed about me?”

He grins, leaning down to kiss you as you let yourself go, back hitting the mattress as he hovers over you, “all the time.”

“Tell me,” you wanna hear it. Want to hear what you do to him, when this entire time you just thought that Sunwoo was the one making you crazy.

“How good you must look with my cock inside you. You’d probably take it so well,” you’re nodding, whimpering slightly as he’s bruising your neck, and your hands are playing with the waistband of his sweatpants, asking without a word for him to take them off.

It’s a relief to you that he listens, until you’re both entirely naked though you’re the one left salivating at his hardened cock. A little above average but thick, making you feel like you’re going dumb staring at him, “you wanna open that pretty mouth for me?”

You feel him grip your thigh and push you to the edge of the bed again, your face eye level with his waist, and it’s almost instinctual for you to part your lips, the tip of his cock laid flat on your tongue until you take him deeper.

It becomes clear to you that you underestimated his girth, your jaw quickly sore but you don’t want to accept it either, relaxing your muscles as you swirl your tongue underneath the base of his shaft, moaning around his cock, eyes finding his to see that he’s already staring at you with such darkened lust that you feel like he desires only you, and it makes your head spin.

“Just a little more, good girl,” his praise goes right to your core, making you shake and he notices, fingers tugging at your hair as you take him just a little more, your mouth so full that you have to release him and gasp for air, but Sunwoo doesn’t mind for a second that you need to pull away.

Especially not when his patience is running thin with what he really wants.

You watch him step away from you, making you nearly cry out and complain but he moves to sit up with his back against the headboard, tapping his thigh as if inviting you onto his lap, and you don’t need to be told twice to obey his wishes. He grabs your waist when you’re close enough, and in a way it’s gentle as he guides you, straddling him and making his cock ache against your bare cunt, your juices coating him as he tries to steady his breathing.

“F-fuck, you sure you want this?”

He looks pained, like he would shatter if he had to stop now, but you also see in his eyes that he’s genuine. That he’s giving you one last out if you want to take it. Fortunately for you both, you don’t want to.

“Yes, p-please Sunwoo?”

It’s the desperation in your voice that releases something primal in him, the last bit of reserve leaving him as he lifts your thighs with a harsh grip that makes you see stars, aligning his cock against your entrance. He’s careful and slow, which at first you want to cry about, but you quickly realise that he has to be slow or he may hurt you, your body having to adjust to how tight it’s gripping him.

“G-god, have you never been fucked before?”

“Not like t-this,” your mouth hangs open, eyes shut as he feels his possession of you grow, and it does things to him knowing that it’s only him that’s got you squeezing around his cock like it’s your first time.

“There you go,” the praise makes you whimper again, clenching around him and Sunwoo nearly sees stars when he realises how much you like to be praised and told you’re good for him.

He feels like you’re cursing him straight to hell with the thoughts you’re giving him, something primal in him awakening, leaving him barely able to wait for you to let him move.

“P-please, m-more,” the open door has been forgotten the second Sunwoo lifts you off his cock before slamming into you, making you nearly scream in pleasure though he muffles it with his hand, alarmed though not near enough to have him stop. He doesn’t think he can, not with the way you feel around him, meeting the thrusts of his hips halfway as you bounce on his cock.

“S-Sunwoo, m-more,” he groans, eyes falling between the way he disappears inside you and your lips, and he knows he can never return to seeing you the way he did before, not now that he knows he’s gotten his hands on you.

“I want you to belong to me,” it should maybe be alarming, to hear him lay claim on you like this, but to you it’s the sexiest thing anyone’s said to you, and honestly, you know you already do.

“F-fuck, yes,” your movements quicken, his hand finding the base of your neck, just to grip onto you but not adding any pressure, but the action is enough to urge you on, like you want to do more for him and he hisses at the way your wrapped around him so tight and willing.

“Good, y-you do so good,” Sunwoo feels like he’s burning, gripping both your hips when he feels you lose control at his praise, keeping you in place with a vice hold that might even bruise, and you know you’re going not going to last. Not when you see the way his eyes are glazed over and never leaving you, his hair clinging to his forehead and his muscular chest moving rapidly as he breathes.

“Sunwoo, I-”

“I k-know baby,” his voice is smooth, but his pace is feverish and rough, and his neck presents itself to you just as the scale tips and you’re releasing your orgasm, biting into the skin of his shoulder to hide your pleasured screams of his name, the cries and the pathetic way he makes you whimper and see stars.

The pressure and pain from your teeth and knowing why you bit him just as you grip his cock harder inside your walls has him spilling his cum into you before he can properly warn you, but you don’t seem to mind at all as his lips fall to your shoulder, muffling his own breathing as you both come down from your high.

His hands find your back, nails grazing the skin gently before he’s just holding you in his arms, wincing slightly from the way you’re stimulating his cock even now, but when he tries to pull away from you, you grip onto him tighter.

“P-please,” he nearly wants to cry, head falling back against the headboard as he looks up, trying to collect himself and maybe even think about what he’s just done. But all that runs through his mind is how you’re keeping him in place, gripping him, whimpering and willing and his, and he’s forgetting every possible consequence to his insane actions.

“I’m a dead man,” you laugh, properly for the first time in a while and it makes him smile, and as much as he wants to keep you over him, to fill you up, he’s also a little more than relieved when you fall next to him because he’s not sure he could’ve handled the overstimulation any longer without being the one to beg.

“So is Changmin,” even if your best friend will likely ask you questions, and likely throw it in your face that he did you a favor, you still very much want to kill him. Sunwoo chuckles, brushing his fingers against your shoulder gently, and the way his eyes are watching you so softly now makes your head spin.

“Kim Sunwoo, put your fucking clothes on or I will drag your naked ass out anyway, you’re dead,” both of you tense, simultaneously looking to the ajar door, though you can’t actually see Juyeon, you just very much know he’s there. You guess it could be considered kind of him to not just barge in, but it almost makes you more embarassed because if he’s not walking in, he knows exactly why he shouldn’t and there’s no way out for either of you.

You expect Sunwoo to be more ashamed or worried, but he sends you a cheeky grin and kisses your forehead before stumbling over to his discarded grey sweats.

“Well, guess I have to go princess,” and while you’re left blushing, incredibly embarrassed, his bashfulness makes you smile, even when you know that Sunwoo is very much screwed.

“Y/N, you too. Now.”

And so are you.

waiting to be chased for the open ending but it just wasn’t important to the story to add what happens there so...

anyway thank you to everyone for reading, commenting and liking my work even while i was gone :) there will be more cause like i said... moonbae threesome and juyeon hands whoops

on a rather serious note though, please do not plagiarise my damn work. i spend hours on it and while i was grateful to be tagged and made aware of what was happening to me and other writers, it really makes it hard to even have motivation to write and dedicate that time if someone just takes it. i understand similarities in ideas because that happens (like please, as if i’m the first to do brothers best friend), but to copy paste is just beyond disrespectful and i’m tired of it.

tbz masterlist

#the boyz smut #sunwoo smut #kim sunwoo #the boyz sunwoo #sunwoo x reader #smut #the boyz #the boyz sunwoo smut #tbz x reader #tbz #changmin is your best friend #juyeon is your brother #the new comeback is making me feral for these men again #so you will probably see this a lot lately

2K notes · View notes

earlysunshines · 1 year ago

Text

moonlight serenade

kindergarden teacher!sana x fem!reader. (pt. 3)

summary: sana finds you even cuter after seeing you in shark pj's, you two are hopeless lesbians, you drive sana home and it's more romantic than it should be – oh my god you're not a mother?

wc: 5.3k

warnings: mentions of food, i think that's it ; reader has tattoos ; u two are hopeless romantics ; lesbians being lesbians

pt 1. pt2. pt4.

a/n: I love jazz. I've been listening to jazz in a bakery/cafe while writing each part actually. pls listen to moonlight serenade by ella fitzgerald, it's a work of art and one of my all time favorites :-D

(are lyrics in fics corny? I have no idea. I just love jazz and thought this song was perfect for this part.)

trying to write as much before I move! enjoy ;-]

“Are you actually serious?” Jihyo says, placing her cup of coffee down. Sana pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a small breath,

“Jihyo, I don’t know what to do,” Sana says defeatedly.

Two months have passed by and that means two months of seeing you every now and then. Johnny, your brother, has returned from his business trip, so he ended up being the one to take Hana to school in the morning and the one to pick her up in the afternoon. You, however, were not going to miss the chance to see this lovely woman named Sana. 5'4 inches of pure beauty and charm. So, you convinced him to let you take Hana to school once or twice a week just to see who you think is the woman blessed by Aphrodite.

I mean, the temperature is dropping, and the warmth that spreads through your body when you see Sana is definitely something you need for this weather.

Every week Sana would see you in the morning once or twice. You two would exchange your friendly greetings before Hana goes off to chat with her new best friend Jiyeong, you’d stare at each other all lovingly (you two are oblivious, it’s sick), and then part ways. Rinse and repeat, reuse, reduce, recycle, etc, this went on for two damn months.

Sana would never say anything more, she wouldn’t flirt, she wouldn’t ask you out, and she wouldn’t do anything but be friendly. She still believed that you were literally her student’s mother, and there was a guilt that got heavier every time her heart did a flip from seeing you.

Each interaction sparked a small flame in your hearts, and just before it grew bigger, you’d wave goodbye; the flame would die again, never growing large enough to really warm you two the way you both needed.

“Sana… I honestly have no clue what to say,” Jihyo starts, and she looks at the young teacher in front of her, practically losing her mind, “I mean, you’re sure she’s her mom?”

“Yes, I mean, the girl’s dad and her take turns dropping her off and whatnot. I'm not going to be more delusional than I already am trying to find anything that makes her seem less like a mother, I mean, it's clear that she is the mother of that girl.” Sana explains, and her heart sinks a little, “I guess her dad is nice, though, and tall, I don’t know.” Sana groans.

Jihyo watches Sana stick out her signature little pout and swirl the coffee in her cup,

“Well… There are always others, no?”

“I don’t know, it’s just something about her Jihyo,” and Jihyo listens with interest, “I just, ever since we met, I feel like, there was some kind of… god this is so embarrassing…” Sana trails off, putting a hand on her forehead and pinching her eyes shut from slight embarrassment. Sana reminisces the way you’d joke about Hana making your wrinkles appear if she kept it up with her little antics, how you’d make her laugh at your little comments, and the way your eyes scan the room for her in the mornings and -

“You’ve been a hopeless romantic since we were roommates, I’ve probably heard worse.” Jihyo sighs, and she reminisces about the days when Sana and she had to share a small single-bedroom dorm, and how she would gush about anything and romanticize everything.

“Look, she’s just so pretty… Maybe we could just be friends? She’s sweet.” Sana suggests, and Jihyo laughs in disbelief.

“You want to be friends with someone’s mother that you also, or, might have a crush on?”

“Maybe.”

You let yourself in through the front door with your spare keys, hanging your jacket on the coat hanger and sliding your shoes off, setting them on the shoe rack.

There’s a faint melody of a slow, soft song playing, and there’s a low voice that hums along to the old tune. It fits the atmosphere of the quiet house on a Thursday night.

You creep through the hall quietly to see your brother in the dimmed kitchen washing a few plates. He’s in a navy long-sleeved shirt with its sleeves rolled up so water doesn't temporarily shade his apparel, and loose shorts that go down to just above his knees. His hair is a bit messy, and he looks nerdy with his circular black glasses on. You laugh at the sight of him in his pajamas and slides, he jumps a little and turns his head in surprise after hearing you.

“My god, at least text me.” He sighs, and you chuckle at him. You make your way over to the area where he is and sit across from him at the kitchen island, he directs his attention back to the dirty plate in his hand, “Did you need something?”

“Kinda.”

“You know where everything is, just grab it if you need it. Also, be quiet, Hana just fell asleep.” Johnny responds, turning off the sink and placing the white dish in the dishwasher.

“It’s not a physical thing, I just… maybe some advice, or at least your thoughts.”

“...On?”

“There’s this girl,”

"Oh," He mumbles quietly, “You’re ready to date again?”

“I think so,” You begin, “She’s different you know. Not like that girl in high school. She’s actually the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and she’s sweet and nice and caring and-”

“How long have you known her?”

“Two months...”

“So it is Ms. Minatozaki.” Johnny scoffs, though, not in an insulting way, more of an ‘I fucking knew it’ way. He picks up a rag and starts to wipe it on the countertop.

You look at your taller brother in surprise, “How did you know?”

“Hana tells me all about you two y’know? Why else would you willingly wake up earlier than you should to drop off my daughter at school? And, she tells me that you ask about her teacher?” He laughs, “You’re not good at hiding things, never have been.”

“Hey!” You say defensively, and a little too loud as it makes him put a finger to his lips,

“Lower your voice.”

“Sorry.” You mumble, laying your head on your palm. Johnny turns his body to face you instead of the counter connected to the sink that he had previously been wiping,

“Soooo, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know Johnny.”

“You think she likes you?” He asks, genuinely curious about your new interest. Johnny grabs two glasses of water and places them on the counter, then sits down to the right of you, making sure to give his full attention to you.

Johnny has always been a good brother, and you two had your necessary brother-sister moments where you were at each other's throats; in fact, you’d bicker all the damn time and it even went on into high school. However, you two always had each other’s backs. Even when you hated each other there would be moments where you two were the only ones who understood each other, and sometimes time seemed to stop when you’d talk about the deeper topics and anything bothering you two.

And so, time slows down as Johnny listens to your rant.

“We’re friendly, I mean, what am I thinking? I feel slightly delusional I won’t even lie,” You sigh, “She’s so pretty and sweet and I just, I really want to get to know her. Like ever since I met her I felt like… It’s so corny but I swear the world literally paused for a moment.” You add, shifting your look away from your older brother.

How are you supposed to tell your brother that this woman that you’ve known for two months is making you lose some sleep, and, by the way, you haven’t even had a full conversation with her either. You think of the woman that you go out of your way to run into and see for ten minutes a day total, twice a week. You think of her radiant smile that rivals the sun's rays, the voice that’s more soothing than any song on your playlist, and the way her eyes light up when she sees you, and -

“You’re head over heels, huh,” Johnny says, amused.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I barely know her.” you lie,

“Well, you could.”

“And how am I supposed to do that? ‘Oh hey I think of you day and night just because I think you’re cute and nice and I think I almost overfilled a cup of cold brew while daydreaming about you, uh maybe we could go out sometime?’”

“Maybe don’t say that much, dumbass.” Your older brother says playfully, “Just start with a compliment or something, you seriously suck at this romance stuff.”

“Thanks,” You mutter, rolling your eyes, “But what if she thinks that’s weird? I’m literally her student’s aunt.”

“Maybe,” Johnny sighs and finishes the water in his cup, “Maybe you should get some rest, y/n. If you lose sleep over this woman who you’ve never had a full conversation with, imagine how much sleep you’ll lose when you finally do.” He stands up and makes his way over back to the sink to rinse the glass cup you had gotten him for his last birthday, “So, maybe you should catch up on rest now and rant to me when you finally have the balls to actually make a conversation with her, then I could actually give you some decent advice."

“You suck.”

“I want to give you my feedback and advice, but this is literally all I can say right now: ask her out and come back to me.”

“This is too much.”

“You’re a loser, y/n.” Johnny jokes, and he takes the cup that you hadn’t touched away and then rinses it.

You don’t even get to plan anything or prepare yourself for your next interaction with Sana, and you look stupid when you run into her too.

You’re at the nearest convenience store in an oversized t-shirt that was your brothers’, the gray shirt with a shark graphic on it that was too comfy to not steal. Paired with that tee were plaid shorts and white socks with more sharks on them that you had gotten from Hana last Christmas, along with grayish-green clogs on your feet.

You were dressed like a college student that was on a budget, and of course, you had to run into the woman of your dreams at a convenience store at 12:24 am on a Friday night while looking stupid.

Sana had run into you while you scanned the drinks section. You didn’t notice her calling out your name while there was pop music playing in your earbuds, and when you turned to see who had tapped on your shoulder your eyes widened.

Sana held a small basket in her hand, and she wore a purple sweatshirt along with gray sweatpants, much more presentable than what you were wearing. Your face goes red as you realize that she’s caught you looking ridiculous, all while she looks perfect.

Her hair is clipped up and some strands fall over her face, and she looks so unbelievably adorable just standing there smiling at you.

“Hi.” She says, looking you up and down.

She scans your whole look and gets a little flustered by how precious you look. Your hair is messed up and disheveled at the roots, as if you’d just gotten out of bed and ran a hand through it. The oversized t-shirt drowned your figure in comfort, and your inked, toned forearms were revealed. The t-shirt you wore had a cute shark graphic on it, Sana had guessed that your daughter had something to do with why you had that shirt. She smiles at the sight of you in such comfy clothing, looking lovely as ever while you stare back at her.

“Hey.” You respond, taking out an earbud,

“It’s surprising to see you here y/n,” Sana giggles, “Thirsty?” She questions, and she’s peeking at the vitamin water in one of your hands.

“I guess so.” You mumble, biting the inside of your cheek and putting a hand in your pocket, “It’s pretty surprising to see you here too.” You add. Surprising, but wow, definitely lucky. When would you ever see her looking so comfy and out of her workplace looking so cute?

Sana giggles and you feel like a huge gust of wind has hit you so suddenly, about to hit you off your feet. You smile brightly.

“I couldn’t sleep, I wanted something to snack on,” Sana shrugs. You glance at her basket and see some spicy turtle chips in the basket,

“Eating something spicy at this time is new to me, most people would have something warm, no?”

“Maybe.” Sana mutters, “I like your outfit, by the way.”

Your ears turn red again and you look down at your clothing, “Yeah… It’s a shirt from Hana’s dad, haha, that’s why it’s so big.”

Sana’s heart sinks a bit at the mention of Hana’s dad.

Sana and Johnny had met other times, and Sana thought he was nice, sweet, and she can't lie he does has a nice smile, but not as nice as yours. He treated Hana with care; Sana could tell he loved her dearly, as much as you did.

“I see, I like it. The two of them must love sharks, she always draws them during class.”

“She and her dad are very similar, lots of shark things in the house. I prefer koalas.” You reply. You wonder why the hell you’re mentioning koalas at this time, at this moment in this place, but it doesn’t matter because it seems to spark some kind of conversation with the woman in front of you, and Sana thinks it’s cute, actually.

“Koalas?” She questions amusingly, "They’re cute. I think hamsters are cuter, though.”

“hamsters?”

“Mhm.”

You chuckle at her response and wonder, how does she get cuter every time? Sana turns her head to eye at the drinks, then makes her way to the refrigerator door to grab one for herself, she grabs a canned iced americano and turns her body to face you again,

“Do you live near? I feel like I would’ve run into you sooner if you did.” Sana says, looking at the can in her right hand.

“Uh - no. The nearest convenience store closes at 12, so I just drove around until I found one open.” You answer, “Do you live near?” You ask. You wonder if the question is too weird or creepy to ask, I mean, this is a woman you don’t know too well, and would it be weird to ask a person you find so attractive where they live?

“Kind of. It’s a fifteen-minute walk, maybe less, give or take. The one right next to my place is closed too.”

“You walked? At this time?” You question her. Worry takes over your whole body because she walked alone? In the dark? At this hour?

Sana just hums in response, “Yeah, the neighborhood is really quiet and not too bad.”

“Still, you should’ve driven or something.”

“I don’t drive.” She simply states. You furrow your brows. She just stares back at you with those big brown eyes, it almost makes you forget about worrying.

She walks past you and heads to the self-checkout, you follow. There's a sudden idea that pops up in your mind, and you usually wouldn't be so bold to suggest or ask anything so direct, but it's twelve in the morning and your mind is too scrambled to make or think of any decent decisions.

“Sana,” You murmur, voice just barely above a whisper as you find the confidence for what you’re about to say, “Uh- this might be a little weird to ask, but, um…” You stutter, why the hell are you stuttering? She’s staring at you with those large espresso-colored eyes that remind you of your job at the moment, and the longer she stares back at you the more your mind races. This woman has your heart doing flips and pounding through your chest, you can barely manage your thoughts and words,

“Yes?”

“Uh, could I take you home?” You finally say, barely managing to make eye contact with her and it’s a humbling experience as your usually leveled (at least you think) demeanor crumbles under the presence of this woman.

“You don’t have to. It’s late and I don’t want to cause you too much trouble, y/n.”

“I’d be much more troubled if I knew you were walking home alone at this time, I insist.”

“Alright then. Let me pay first.”

You pause for a moment and Sana just turns back around, scanning the chips and canned coffee she had in her basket. It’s almost 12:30 now, and a pretty girl is letting you take her home. This wonder of the world is letting your disheveled self take her home.

“You have a nice car,” Sana says. She's never had a thing for cars or really knew too much about them. She's only paid attention to Jihyo’s five-seat white Lexus and the black, modified BMW that belonged to her childhood friend Momo. Other cars don't really matter or stand out to her, but Sana’s interest in you grows when she first sees the green Mercedes. Five-seated car looks nice and neat from the outside, for some reason, it really catches her attention. When she sits in the passenger seat she’s hit with the smell of coconut and vanilla. There are two things hung from the internal rearview mirror: One, a small keychain of a koala, and two, a picture of you and Johnny.

Sana can’t help but smile at the picture of you two, you two look happy.

You start the engine and put on your seatbelt before putting the drink you bought in the cup holder. You press on the screen in your car and a slow jazz melody plays. Of course, it had to be a love song.

“I’ve never seen your tattoos up close, they’re really pretty.” Sana suddenly says as you start to move out of where you were parked. Her eyes scan from your upper forearm, where the tattoo started, and down to where it ended just below your wrist, “I only saw a bit of them when you had dropped Hana off the first day.” Sana added.

She wanted to add on about how she also noticed the tattoo just under your knuckles too, and how she found the ink on your skin so endearing. She wanted to tell you all about the things she found attractive about you. From the noticeable things like your bold features to the little things she’s noted in her mind from every meeting. The way you’d always run a hand through your beautiful hair once or twice, the eye contact you couldn’t hold with her, the way you bit the inside of your cheek when you were quiet, the way your fingers often tugged at the beaded bracelet on your hand, how cute it was to watch you say bye to your daughter, and various other little details. Sana wanted to tell you all about those things, but that would be incredibly weird, right?

“Oh, yeah, thank you. I got the tattoo on my forearm a couple of years ago. Hana picked out the butterfly on my hand last year, actually.” You say, looking at the screen of your car as you back up a bit, making sure you don’t hit anything.

“Oh, also, you can type the address on my phone. Here.” You add, handing her the device. Sana types in her address quickly and it pops up on the screen. It’s a quick 4-minute drive, and you both wished it were a bit longer.

The music continues to play softly while you two sit in silence, and it somehow makes the mood a bit more intimate whilst the faint sound of Ella Fitzgerald's voice echoes,

I stand and I wait

For the touch of your hand in the June night

The roses are sighing

A moonlight serenade

Your breath hitches, “Um, you can change the song if you want…” You say embarrassed. Sana shakes her head and mumbles,

“It’s alright. I like it, It’s cute.” She admits, making you blush a bit. You grip the wheel a little tighter as you stop at the red light. The heartfelt lyrics fill the air with a romantic hum, and only the tender melody is heard as you sit together in silence.

The stars are aglow

And tonight how their light sets me dreaming

My love, do you know

That your eyes are like stars brightly beaming?

Sana’s heartbeat skips a little knowing that you listen to such romantic melodies, and she wonders if you love as romantically as such songs. Her mind wanders to the thought of you serenading her in the moonlight, or serenading her in a more domestic setting. The sudden thought of you humming along to these tunes while you cooked or cleaned allowed made her cheeks flush a bit. Jihyo was right: Sana is a hopeless romantic. She’s too far in to get out of the hole of these feelings, and her heart aches a little, the guilt piles up.

You on the other hand are freaking out.

Sana likes your lovey-dovey taste in music, and she seems content (Sana's having a crisis). Maybe you do have a chance with this woman, I mean, she’s already in your car and letting you take her home. Maybe you can do this again, maybe you can listen to songs like this together in a more intimate setting rather than your car, and maybe you can do more than just listen to Ella Fitzgerald together. All the maybe’s in your head are cut short as you reach her place and park in front of her apartment complex.

“We’re here.” You mutter, and you wish you weren’t.

Sana nods and reaches for the eco-friendly bag she had set down, unbuckles her seatbelt, then turns so that her eyes stare into yours with a new intensity. She puts her left hand on your right hand that had been gripping the gear shift ever so gently, your jaw tenses a bit and your left hand that had been on the wheel tightens its hold once more. She looks from your eyes to your lips, then back to your eyes again. Your heart is suddenly an acrobat the way it's doing so many flips.

“Thank you again, I appreciate it.” She says, and her other hand is on the handle of the door, ready to get out, but she doesn’t.

“Anytime, I didn’t want you to be out alone at this time.” you wonder how that sentence leaves your mouth so calmly because your heart is beating at least two hundred times per minute.

Sana’s lips curve into a smile again and you relax a bit,

“Well,” Sana starts, and she opens the door, “I’ll see you soon?”

“I’m picking up Hana on Monday.”

“Great. See you then, y/n.” She finally says, turning away and getting out of the car. You two look at each other again and your eye contact lingers a bit before she finally closes the door, waves, and turns to head inside the apartment complex.

The music continues to play, and your heart longs for her once again.

I stand at your gate

And I sing you a song in the moonlight

A love song, my darling

A moonlight serenade

A week passes after this encounter, and Sana is currently giving the kids an announcement that might have them jumping off the walls.

“Alright everyone in your seats please.” She says kindly. The students listen to her and shuffle to their seats, some chatter being shared as they do so. Sana claps her hands in a pattern to bring the students’ attention to her, and they clap their hands the same way that she had, quieting down in the process.

“Alright everyone, before I make this announcement, I need everyone to behave and not get too rowdy, okay?”

“Yes Ms. Minatozaki!” The class answers enthusiastically. Sana nods and smiles at them,

“Alright. So, there’s a special trip that is planned for you all next week.” She begins. The kids' faces start to light up after hearing the words “special trip” and almost all of them are itching to get more details on it. Sana’s face seems to light up with theirs from just looking at the excitement on their faces, so she continues,

“Next Wednesday we will be spending the day at the art museum downtown. There are going to be multiple people guiding you throughout the museum, and you’ll be able to learn about the art.” Sana explains, “And, at the end of the trip we’ll all meet back at a special room where you can paint along with an instructor.”

The kids’ smiles grow even wider, some are whispering to each other while others continue to keep their attention on the young teacher.

“Now, I also wanted to add that we will be needing some chaperones to help look after the class. I have some papers that I’ll give to you, make sure you show them to your mom, dad, or guardian. If they’d like to tag along to help out that would be great, and highly encouraged.” Sana says, pulling out a pile of papers from her desk, she begins to pass around said forms.

An hour passes and it’s free choice time. Hana walks up to the young teacher with the form that Sana had previously handed out. Sana smiles at the young girl and tilts her head,

“What is it, Hana? Is everything okay?” The young teacher questions,

“Um, Ms… What does guardian mean? You said mom, dad, and guardian earlier. Does that mean grown up?” Hana asks, and she looks at the paper as if her five-year-old self can read the whole thing with ease,

“I guess so. It’s an adult who takes care of you.” Sana explains to the girl. The girl hums to herself and furrows her brows,

“Does that mean y/n can come?”

“Of course, she’s your mom isn’t she?” Sana asks, and she’s confused as to why the girl looks up at her in surprise,

“My mom?”

“Yes… She’s your mom, no?”

“Ms. Minatozaki, Y/n is my aunt.”

Sana’s whole world stops for a moment. Y/n is her aunt?

“So your dad and her are…?”

“Y/n is my papa’s younger sister, she always jokes about him being so old,” Hana says, laughing to herself.

Sana genuinely stops functioning as she processes this new information: You’re not taken. Fireworks set off in her heart and confetti seems to pop: you’re not her mom. All the guilt that had been on her shoulders from thinking she was infatuated with a taken mother is gone, and it all makes sense now. Sana wonders how stupid she could’ve been, I mean, you and Hana’s dad had similar features, face shape, hair texture, and color. The young teacher had also realized that Hana only called you by your name, and not “mommy” or “mom” or anything like that; how could she have been so stupid?

“Ms. Minatozaki?”

“Oh, yeah, yes Hana. Y/n can come, of course, she can.” Sana says, and she really hopes you do come. Hana smiles and looks back at her paper before talking to her teacher again,

“You know, my aunt, she asks about you a lot.”

“She does?” Sana says, her heart skips a beat. Hana nods and looks back up at the teacher,

“She always asks about how school was, but she always ends up asking more about you and how you were during the day.” Sana’s eyes widen and she looks at the young girl in front of her, exposing you for being so interested in her.

The flame in her heart grows bigger, and it seems that the flame has no intention of dying down now that she knows you’re not Hana’s mother. Hana turns around and makes her way back to her desk to color after seeing that Sana wasn’t capable of responding again, and Sana doesn't even notice. Hana sits down unbothered, not knowing that she just turned Sana’s whole mood around, not knowing that this new piece of information will have her daydreaming the rest of the day – no, the rest of the week – maybe the rest of the month.

The school day comes to an end and the usual routine occurs: bell rings, kids scream, talk, and practically leap out of their seats to get in line to go to the entrance of the building. Sana waits with her usual group of eight, which includes Hana, and she hopes that today would be the day that you decided to pick her up. You had already picked Hana up on Monday, but now it’s Wednesday and those are the days that Hana’s dad would usually pick the little girl up, great.

Forty minutes pass and Sana sits down at the main office with Hana, no one had come to pick her up yet. Hana seems to be unbothered by this as she colors and draws on the sheet of paper that Sana had given her to cure her boredom, but she worries slightly since Jihyo still waits for her in the front.

Sana texts Jihyo a string of apologies and explanations and before she reads the instant reply, the sound of heavy breaths are heard as a familiar face enters the room, looking around all worried until her body relaxes when she sees her niece.

Y/n lets out a sigh of relief seeing Hana sitting down, coloring as if there wasn’t a single problem in the world. Her look shifts over to Sana, who is already looking at her. Their eyes meet and it makes the two women smile at one another.

“Hana,” your voice makes the little girl turn her head. She smiles and runs up to hug you, leaving her art on the desk,

“Aunt y/n!” And this is the first time Sana hears the little girl actually call you her aunt, she wishes that she would’ve called you aunt earlier (it would've saved her sleepless nights of wondering what the hell to do with her feelings, but at least she knows now).

You hug the little girl back and swipe away the strands of hair on her face, “Hi little one. Your dad had something come up at work, I rushed over as soon as my shift ended.” You explain. You turn back to share eye contact with the young teacher, eyes narrowing and lips curving upwards as you smile at her, “Thank you for watching her, I’m sorry for being so late.”

“It’s all right, really.” It’s more than all right, Sana thinks.

You grin again and turn your attention back to your niece, “Ready to go?”

“Yup!”

“Okay little one, come on.” and you crouch down to let her wrap around your shoulders, letting her piggyback ride you. You grab the art that your niece had made on the table and finally stand in front of Sana, thanking her.

“I’m sorry again, thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem, it’s nice to see you again,” Sana admits, a bit shyly too. The grin that’s already present on your lips grows and you wave to the shorter woman,

“I’ll see you.” You finally say, waving with your free hand and turning your head to the little one, “Let’s get going, your dad will be back by dinner.” You mutter, and Hana hums tiredly in response before you head out the main office doors, taking a quick glance at Sana, smiling again.

…

Jihyo’s going to lose her mind when I tell her all of this, Sana thinks to herself.

#sana imagines #kpop x reader #sana x reader #twice sana #twice x reader #gay gay gay #twice imagines #minatozaki sana #sana fluff

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