#or maybe the struggle is what made it good | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

damneddamsy · 22 hours ago

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falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part i)

summary: Joel Miller never expected much out of Jackson—just a quiet place to live out the days he had left. But when a baby’s cries lead him to a mother unravelling under the pressure of nursing her child she never asked for, he finds himself tangled in something he can’t walk away from—no matter how much he tells himself he should.

a/n: this is soft daddy Joel like you've never seen before. angst, angst, angst. just heart-wrenching, gut-clenching, bucket-full-of-tears kind of flow. but I promise, I swear to you, it's going to get good!

Joel had spent the past week trying to ignore it.

The sound was distant, muffled through the walls, but it was there—constant, sharp infant's cries cutting through the night like something wounded, something helpless. The baby never laughed, cooed, or made small, gurgling noises that kids were supposed to make. Just crying. Night after night, the same pitiful wails, like it was fighting sleep and didn’t know how to be comforted.

And the mother?

Leela. That was her name. Tommy and Maria had told him her family had been here before them, before all of this, that she’d grown up in Jackson, that the big house across from his had always been hers. He instantly believed it—her place didn’t look like the others. It was well-kept in a way that wasn’t just for show. The wood was aged but polished, the porch steps sturdy, and the windows wiped clean even in the dead of winter. A home, not just a shelter.

But it wasn’t warm.

Not with that sound in the night. Not when he never saw anyone else go inside.

No one knew who the kid’s father was, and Leela never said. She wouldn’t even let people help her—not Maria, not the older women in town who had tried, not even the ones who had kids of their own and knew what to do. And now, at the end of another long day, that fucking baby was crying again.

Joel had tried to let it be. Had forced himself to breathe calmly, stay in his house, shut the curtains, turn over in bed and pull the blanket over his head like some stubborn old bastard trying to pretend it wasn’t his problem.

But it was.

Because he could hear it. Because it sounded fucking miserable. Because he’d had enough.

When the cries began to get worse into the night, that was his last straw. With a frustrated sigh, he yanked on his jacket, shoved his arms through the sleeves, and stepped out into the cold, the door crashing shut behind him. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he crossed the road, hands tightening into fists, shoulders squared. The wind was sharp, biting at his skin, and when he reached her porch, he had half a mind to just bang on the damn door until she answered.

But then—he hesitated.

There was still a kid in there. The devilkin, probably. A baby nevertheless. And it's struggling mother.

He exhaled through his nose, loosened his fingers, and reached for the old metal knocker instead. Three firm, steady raps.

A pause. A paddle of footsteps down the staircase inside, light and hesitant. A sniffle. A sigh.

The curtains fluttered from nearby—just a fraction, just enough for him to catch the glint of an eye in the darkness, shedding a blade of light onto the frozen lawn. And then the door creaked open.

The poor mother looked like hell.

Her eyes—pretty, brown, red-rimmed, heavy-lidded—held the kind of exhaustion that settled deep, beyond sleep, beyond fixing. Her cheeks were hollowed, her lips chapped to brown, her hair falling loose from whatever attempt she’d made to pull it back.

And the baby—the cries hadn’t stopped. If anything, they were worse now. Closer. Desperate. The sound reached him in waves, piercing and thin, rattling against the walls of the house and clawing at something deep in his chest. A familiarity.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she murmured. Her voice was raw, barely holding together. “I just…”

She trailed off as if the words had run out, or maybe she didn’t have the strength to find them. Then the baby shrieked, and she flinched. A full-body recoil, like something had struck her. She turned away, pressing her wrist to her nose, shoulders curling inward, folding into herself as though she could disappear into the space she took up.

And Joel—well, he had been ready to lay into her. To tell her to do something, to figure it out, to stop letting that kid cry itself raw night after night. But looking at her now, standing there with her arms wrapped tight around herself, shaking from something that wasn’t just the cold…

He couldn’t do it.

Instead, against every instinct, every frustration, he surprised himself by saying—

“Let me try.”

Joel didn’t exactly wait for an answer.

Didn’t stop to think if he had the right. Didn’t question if she would let him in, because the noise was still there, splitting the air, working its way under his skin like a thorn that wouldn’t come out. His jaw tightened, his hands curled into fists, and the next thing he knew, he was pushing past her and her doorstep.

He wasn’t trying to be cruel. Well, he had been, just not anymore.

It was desperation. A need to stop that noise. That noise had been giving him sleepless nights for a week now. And with it, came the memories he’d spent years burying. He couldn't afford to let them resurface by the likes of this strange, terrible mother.

The house smelled faintly of old wood, dust, and something softer underneath—like linen, like the lingering scent of a person who lived there and never left. It was dark, too, save for the single glow spilling from a room upstairs. His boots were heavy against the worn floorboards, his breath tight in his chest as he took the stairs two at a time. Three doors on the second floor, but only one was open.

He stepped inside.

The first thing he saw was the cradle, right in the centre of the empty room, as if placed there on purpose, a little crib mobile fashioned into wooden horses, dangling mid-air.

Old. Hinges barely holding together. The wood had worn smooth from time, its edges dulled, like something that had been used for generations. The mattress inside was thin, its fabric stained with age, but the sheets were neatly tucked. Arranged properly. Everything was in its place.

This wasn’t neglect.

This was someone trying—someone failing.

And then the baby. No older than a month, wriggling in its white nappy, legs kicking in frantic little bursts, tiny fists curled so tight they trembled. Tears slicked its cheeks, its face blotchy and red, its mouth stretched wide in a scream so raw, so piercing, that it stole the breath straight from the lungs. It was exhausted. Starving.

But goddamn, if that wasn't one beautiful fucking baby.

Biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen, glassy with exhaustion, wet and searching. A head full of thick, dark hair, damp and curling at the ends. But it wasn’t chubby the way babies should be. Not soft enough. Too small, skin drawn tight, movements restless but weak. Malnourished.

His jaw clenched. He barely registered the sharp footsteps rushing up behind him until her voice cut through the noise.

“Hey, ‘scuse me, I didn’t let—”

He cut off her protest with an abrupt, “Boy or girl?”

She stopped short. Lips parting. Swallowing down whatever she’d been about to say.

“Girl.”

Joel’s gaze flicked back to the baby. He noticed the slight bloating around her belly, the way she arched and curled, restless, like she couldn’t find a position that didn’t hurt. That explained the shrieking. Colic, for sure.

“You fed her anything?”

There was a thoughtful pause, and then, quietly—

“I—I’ve been having trouble with…” She gestured vaguely to her chest, gaze dropping, almost ashamed. “I tried water... um... I don't know.”

Jesus Christ. Joel dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard through his nose. Too late at night or too early in the morning—he didn’t know which, and at this point, it didn’t matter. His head ached. His body ached. And this kid—this poor, starving little thing—had been too hapless to be born to this fucking clueless, stubborn mother.

“Need to call Maria,” he said under his breath.

Her eyes went wide. “I don’t need anybody’s help. I'm fine.”

He let out a sharp, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “You don't. Your girl sure does. And try saying that when this crib empties in the next week.”

She flinched, shoulders jerking.

He barely registered it. He was already moving, already slipping into old instinct, the one he thought had died a long time ago.

Stepping closer, Joel reached into the cradle, hands slipping beneath the baby’s small, rigid body. Carefully, he eased her onto her stomach, a shush falling from his lips, settling her against his forearm, palm spanning nearly the length of her body. Christ, she was so fucking small. Too small. Probably premature. A frail little thing, light as air, fists still curled, breath coming out in tiny, shuddering gasps between cries.

Leela stood stiff beside him, her breath uneven, arms wrapped around herself like she wasn’t sure if she should step forward or pull away.

Joel didn’t look at her. His focus stayed on the baby. The way her tiny limbs jerked, how her cries wavered like she couldn’t decide if she had the energy to keep going.

He started rubbing slow, steady circles against her back, the calloused warmth of his palm pressing gently but firmly over her fragile bones. Something old stirred in him—something buried deep, something that twisted like a knife. He didn’t think about it. Didn’t let himself. Just kept rubbing. Kept murmuring something low, quiet, something he wasn’t even aware of.

“Thatta, girl. There you go.”

“'Sokay, ssh. Ssh.”

“I got you.”

The wails started to waver, breaking apart in the middle, turning into stuttering hiccups, then snivels, a laughable baby burp that even had him breaking into a small smile. Then—

Silence. Oh, sweet, splendid silence.

Joel exhaled, keeping his touch steady as she shuddered against him, her tiny fingers twitching against the sleeve of his jacket.

“See?” His voice was rough. “Just needed a little push.”

Leela didn’t respond. She was staring. Not at him, exactly, but at his hands, at the way he held the baby. Like she wasn’t sure what to make of it. Observing him, learning.

When he glanced down, she was blinking up at him, half-lidded, her breath slowing, her little body going limp with exhaustion. She made a wet, little noise, almost a soft coo.

“She got a name?”

When the silence lingered, he lifted his head, caught Leela’s stare, and cocked a brow when she didn’t answer. Then, she silently shook her head.

Joel frowned. “You didn’t name your kid?”

And just like that, something clicked into place. The way she stood there, arms locked tight around herself. The way she hadn’t called the baby anything. The way she hadn't moved a step close to protect her baby from this stranger. The hesitation in her voice, the way she held herself together like she was bracing for something.

“She ain’t yours?”

Her gaze flickered. “She is.”

Soft. Firm. After a beat, she lifted the hem of her shirt, revealing the crisscross of stretch marks across her stomach, just above the line of her pants.

Joel sighed through his nose. His fingers ghosted over the baby’s small back before he finally let go, letting her rest in her mother's arms. It felt wrong—leaving the baby there like that—but he slipped his hand away, albeit unwillingly, and stroked her fine, dark hair once. Twice. Then forced himself to stop.

He exhaled sharply, standing upright, rubbing a hand over his face. His patience was hanging by a thread. His chest ached with something raw, something angry. He had no business being here, no reason to care, but—

"Look," he muttered, voice tight, "you shouldn't have had a kid if you were just gonna sit around and do nothing. Jesus, at least get yourself some help."

Leela cringed. It was barely noticeable, just a flicker of movement, but he caught it. She turned her face away, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, and bit at what little was left of her nail, worrying it between her teeth.

The sight of it—it wasn’t what he expected. He had been bracing for an argument, for defensiveness, for anger. But there was nothing like that. Just the quiet gnawing of her thumbnail, the restless shifting of her fingers.

Something settled uneasily in his chest.

He exhaled sharply. "Maria’s coming in tomorrow," he said, firm. Like he was setting it in stone. "Whether you like it or not. She'll know what to do."

That made her glance up. And for the first time, he really saw her.

Not just the exhaustion, the red-rimmed eyes, or the way she curled in on herself like she was trying to take up as little space as possible—but the fear. That deep, paralyzing kind of fear that settled into a person’s bones, made a home there.

Then his eyes flicked downward, back to the baby. She had her mother’s eyes. Big, dark, and brimming with something wild, something untamed. Something fragile, caught on the verge of bolting. And in that moment, they both looked the same.

Wet. Trembling. Exhausted. Confused. Helpless.

Leela swallowed thickly, lips parting like she wanted to speak. But when she did, her voice barely made it past her throat. “Take her.”

Joel blinked. For a second, he thought he must’ve misheard.

But she was looking at him—really looking at him now, eyes wide and wet, breath uneven like she’d just sprinted a mile. And the way she was standing, trembling, fists curled into the fabric of her sleeves—She meant it. She was serious.

"You're right," she whispered, voice barely there. "I might kill her. Just take her away, please."

A slow, sinking dread pooled in his stomach. His fingers curled at his sides, restless, itching for something to hold onto.

The baby stirred weakly against Leela’s chest, small fingers twitching up to her mother's neck, dark lashes fluttering against flushed skin. She had gone quiet, her body still in that way newborns only got when they were too damn exhausted to keep crying.

His hands twitched at his sides. He knew what he should do. He should take the kid. That was the right thing, wasn’t it? He should lift her into his arms, swaddle her in a blanket, turn on his heel, and walk out the door. Hand her off to Maria, and let someone who actually knew what they were doing step in. Hell, she’d been talking about trying to set up a proper nursery in town, get the kids what they needed—she’d figure it out.

But Joel didn't move; couldn't move.

Because now that he was looking at her, really looking, he saw it—saw the fear clinging to her like a second skin. Not fear of him. Not fear of what people might say. Fear of herself. Conviction was a luxury.

She stood there, arms wrapped tight around herself, her body drawn inward like she was trying to make herself small as if shrinking could somehow erase the truth. The baby rested against her chest, quiet now, as if sensing the shift in the air. Her fingers barely touched her child, hesitant, light, the way someone might hold a delicate piece of glass they weren’t sure they could be trusted with.

Joel’s stomach turned.

“I—I'm not—I can’t do this.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, frayed at the edges, raw like an old wound that had never properly healed.

He felt something sharp and hot twist inside him, something he didn’t want to name.

“You ain’t givin’ her up.” His voice came out rough, low, unwavering.

Leela let out a breathy, broken laugh, shaking her head. “Do you think I have a choice here?”

“Yeah.” His eyes stayed on hers, unrelenting. “I do.”

She sniffled, shaking her head again, but her fingers twitched against her sleeve, gripping the fabric like she needed something to hold onto.

And Joel—Joel had seen this before. Had known people like this. People who stood at the edge of something dark, looking down, unable to turn back. He’d been one of them once. It made something ugly rise in his chest. Made him angry in a way that didn’t make sense, and didn’t sit right.

Because this mother—this stupid, foolish, ignorant girl—had no business being like that. She didn't even know what kind of luck she'd struck with that baby girl. He would've killed to be where she was, even if it was for a moment.

"You're a fucking coward if you're thinking about giving your daughter up.” The words left him, sharp as a blade, before he could stop them. “You got plenty of choices, but you're too goddamn pigheaded to make the right one."

She flinched. Not just in surprise, but something deeper—like he’d struck her with all his might, like he’d confirmed every awful thing she’d ever thought about herself.

Joel’s jaw locked. It was too late to take it back.

He should’ve stopped. He should’ve taken a breath, let the words settle and left it at that. But something about her, the way she stood there like she was waiting to be knocked down, made his patience snap clean in half.

“Pull yourself together,” he bit out.

Then he turned and walked out the door.

The air outside was colder than before, or maybe it felt that way. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he stepped onto the road, his breath coming sharp, ragged in the quiet of the night. His fingers ached, curled into tight fists, his pulse still hammering.

He was halfway across the street when something in him shifted.

His anger thinned, the heat of it fading just enough for everything else to creep in—her voice, her hands trembling, the way her arms had tightened around that kid like she was afraid of herself more than anything else.

He slowed, stopping in his tracks. The house loomed behind him, dark except for that single upstairs window.

Joel looked up at the home.

The cries had started again. Thin, reedy wails carried through the cold, through the walls.

He stood there, staring at the lights flickering against the frost-covered glass.

This time, jaw tight, he turned away.

That being said, Joel hadn’t slept well.

Not that he ever did, but last night was worse than usual.

Every time he closed his eyes, it was the baby’s cries again. He saw Leela’s face, dark and hollow, eyes too big for her sunken frame. He heard her voice, raw and trembling, telling him to take the kid—like it was the only way. Like she didn’t trust herself to keep her alive, already grieving her.

Even now, as he tugged on his gloves and prepared for patrol, he kept seeing the way she had watched him with her baby. He remembered the way she desperately looked at him, waiting for him to take the baby from her, as if letting go was the only mercy she had left to offer.

Maria was there now. She had let herself in, just like that. Hadn’t knocked, hadn’t hesitated. And Leela had not met her at the door, hadn’t locked it after Joel had walked out last night.

He adjusted the rifle on his back and exhaled sharply.

Not his problem. He shouldn't be bothered with it. He’d done his part. More than his part. He had brought help in, and gotten someone else to deal with it—someone better suited for this kind of thing. Maria would figure it out. She always did.

Still, as he swung himself onto his horse and rode out for patrol, that damn house stayed in the back of his mind. The way it stood there, quiet and still, while something inside was coming apart at the seams. The way Leela had stood in that dim room, shoulders curled inward, looking more like a ghost than a person.

He shook it off and went through the motions. Focus on the day ahead.

Patrol was long, tedious, and more of the same—checking the perimeter, clearing out old trouble spots down his trail, making sure everything was as it should be, and scouring supplies. A welcome distraction. When he stopped by Ellie’s as usual, she narrowed her eyes at him from behind her sketchbook, muttering something about how he looked like shit.

“Didn’t sleep,” was all he said. And she didn’t bother to press. Ellie was another long, welcome, more pesky distraction.

By the time evening rolled around, he’d fallen back into his routine. Routine. That was what mattered. He groomed his horse, rubbing his hands along its mane just to keep them busy. He cleaned his rifle, making sure the gears weren't easy to jam and stopped to pick up some new gear at the store. He grabbed a whiskey—alone—just to take the edge off, slowing down for a bit.

He finished the evening like always, grabbing a boxed dinner from the mess hall, not bothering to make small talk. No one asked anything of him, and he didn’t offer anything in return. A night like any other. Something he repeated to himself, just to ground himself to reality besides the weight of his breaking boots.

Then he saw her. Maria was still at that house, waiting by the porch swing, face tense. She spotted him almost instantly and strode straight toward him.

Joel nodded at her in greeting, shifting the box under his arm. "You good?"

Maria didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Sure. Got a second?”

He tipped his chin toward Leela’s door. "All set over there?"

“Far from it.” Her voice was tight, laced with something he didn’t like. “I need your help.”

Joel scoffed. “What’s the punchline?”

But Maria didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smirk. Instead, she followed him inside his house.

Joel's 'home' was nothing special—functional, practical. Just a space to exist in. A couch pushed against one wall which he used more than the bed upstairs, a table he used out of necessity, a kitchen stocked with the bare minimum. Not much to look at, or even stay for long. It wasn't home, but it was enough. Certainly nothing like Leela’s home, where history bled through the worn floorboards, through the walls, a place that had been lived in.

Joel didn’t let himself think about it too much. He dropped the box of food onto the table, turning to Maria with his arms crossed.

“Well?”

Maria sighed, staring out the window toward Leela’s house. The porch light flickered weakly, and the house itself looked darker than it had last night. Like it had collapsed in on itself a little more.

“She’s not okay, Joel.”

Joel huffed, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, pretending not to hear the implication behind those words. “Figured.”

“No,” Maria said, sharper this time. “I mean it.”

She turned back to him, her eyes shadowed with something heavier than just concern. She looked tired—worn—in a way that wasn’t just about the town or the thousand responsibilities on her shoulders. It was personal.

Joel exhaled through his nose, already feeling the walls closing in on this conversation.

Maria rubbed a hand over her face. “She’s disturbed. I don’t think she’s had a proper meal in days. She’s having trouble breastfeeding, let alone keeping herself together enough to care for that baby.” She shook her head. “I can’t be there all the time. I’ve got the whole town to run, a hundred things to look after. Tommy’s drowning in work. We're stretched thin as it is.” Her eyes met his, steady and pointed. “You’re my last resort.”

Joel frowned, jaw ticking. “And do what, exactly? Pretend like I've done this dance before?”

“Just be there,” Maria said so positively, like it wasn’t the worst fucking idea in the world. “Make sure she doesn’t slip up with the baby. Help where you can. Just a few days—until Tommy and I can step in.”

Joel dragged a hand down his beard, exhaling slowly. “You have got to be shitting me. You want me to play babysitter.”

Everything in him wanted to refuse. He’d done his part here. Hell, more than his part. He didn’t owe that woman anything. She had a nice home. Pretty face. She had her newborn. And if she didn’t know how to handle it, that was on her. He wasn’t looking to take on another burden. Christ, wasn’t he supposed to be done with this kind of thing? Wasn’t he past the point of taking in lost causes?

But Maria didn’t look like she was giving him a choice. Her voice softened, dropping to something quieter, edged with meaning. “I don’t think she had this baby with someone she knew, Joel.”

Joel stiffened. Maria’s expression didn’t change, but there was something unspoken there, something heavy, something that didn’t need to be stated outright. Still, it landed in his gut like a stone.

She let the silence stretch, let him fill in the gaps. And he did.

“I hope you understand what I'm getting at,” she continued. “I don’t think she wanted this at all.”

Joel clenched his jaw, staring at the floor, pretending like he didn’t hear them. He didn't ask how she knew, didn’t even ask what she’d seen in that house today that had led her to that conclusion.

Because he already knew. He’d seen it, too.

The way Leela couldn’t bring herself to name the baby. The way she looked at the child was like she was something fragile, something unfamiliar, something that didn’t belong to her. The way she had looked at him—not with resentment, not with anger, but with resignation.

Like she was handing over the baby because she genuinely believed it was the only way to save her. A fist of darkness curled in his stomach.

He knew what it was like to lose a child. He knew what it did to a person, how it tore through you, how it hollowed them out from the inside. But whatever this was, it wasn’t grief. This was something worse. He prayed he would never have to deal with this.

This was a woman standing on the edge of the deep and the dark, staring down into it, wondering how much further she could fall before there was no coming back. And there was a baby—a fucking baby—at her feet. Yet, she was ready to take that fall.

Joel exhaled, slow and heavy, rubbing the back of his neck.

But the truth was, he’d already stepped in. Already gotten himself involved. Whether out of desperation or some obstinate, buried need to fix things that were beyond saving, he wasn’t sure. And now, if he walked away, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to live with the consequences.

Suddenly, the room felt smaller, the walls a little tighter. A long silence stretched between them.

Finally, reluctantly, he sighed. “This is a big fucking mistake, Maria. I'm the last person who should be over there with her.”

Maria nodded, hearing what she needed to hear, relief flickering across her face. “You'll figure it out. I'll be around if you need anything. Thank you.”

Joel didn’t answer. He didn't know what the hell he’d just agreed to, but something in his gut told him it was going to end real bad.

Morning light washed over his neighbour's house, soft and cold, as Joel made his way up the steps. It must’ve been the perfect little home once, back when the world was still whole—white clapboard, modest porch with a swingset, somewhere that had been waiting too long for someone to come back home. A place built to last. And maybe, before seasons and silence collapsed, it had.

But time had sunk its teeth in. The paint had started peeling in the corners, the wood of the steps groaned under his boots, and though the windows were clean, there was something hollow about the way they sat in their frames as if no one had looked out of them in a long time. It didn’t have the neglect of a broken-down house, but rather the hush of a place that had lost something vital.

And the front door was open again.

Joel clenched his jaw.

Maria had been right—that girl really didn’t have a single clue.

He pushed the door wider and stepped inside, careful, slow, not wanting to seem intrusive but unable to stop himself from taking in the room. It wasn’t what he expected.

Her home wasn’t cluttered, wasn’t in disarray, but there was something about it that felt… off. A mind too busy to bother with the details of living. Against one wall stood two large blackboards hung haphazardly over shelves, filled with complex math equations, numbers and symbols scrawled out in clean, sharp lines. A few pieces of chalk lay scattered at the base, alongside crumpled papers and a wastebasket that never quite caught them. Shelves held solved Rubik’s cubes, closed notebooks, and empty pens stuck upright in a pen stand. On the table, a coffee mug sat with dried stains at the bottom, an imprint of hands that had used it over and over, mindlessly, then set it aside without a thought.

Joel frowned, taking it all in.

A fucking scientist. That was the last thing he’d ever have guessed about her. Dr Leela last-name-something, the resident nerd mom.

He didn’t know what he expected when he climbed the stairs, only that something about the house still put him on edge. It wasn’t just the oddity of it—the blackboards filled with numbers, the pages of equations scattered like fallen leaves—it was the fact that none of it felt lived in. Clinical. Like the house had been built to serve a purpose, but never for a person.

He reached the top step just as he heard the baby girl’s soft fussing from down the hall. The sound made him hesitate. It wasn’t the sharp, desperate cries from the night before. This was softer, almost a coo, the kind of sound that made something in his chest tighten before he could push it down.

Carefully, he stepped forward, peering into the nursery.

Leela stood by the cradle, one hand rubbing slow, absentminded circles over the baby’s tiny stomach. It was almost an imitation of what he’d done the night before, but the difference was clear—where his movements had been firm, knowing, hers were unsure, like she was following a set of instructions she didn’t quite understand.

She looked different in the daylight. Dressed neatly in a long, thin nightgown that fell to her ankles, her black hair was left loose, unbrushed, hanging past her hips in uneven waves, obviously never seen the business end of a scissor. The exhaustion was still there—was part of her, woven into how she held herself—but her face was smoother, her shoulders less rigid, like she had settled into something.

The floorboard groaned beneath his boot. Leela looked up. She even tried for a small smile. A little, ghostly quirk of her lips.

“Hello, Joel.”

He didn’t respond. Something about how she looked at him, or maybe how she looked past him, unsettled him. He didn’t like feeling that way—not in someone else’s home, not when he was meant to be in control of the situation. Instead of answering, he stepped toward the cradle, glancing down at the baby.

The baby girl let out a high-pitched whine, stretching, her fingers curling and uncurling before she kicked her little legs. Then, as if noticing him, her mouth widened into a gummy, toothless grin, her round face alight, untouched by the world’s cruelty.

Joel couldn’t help himself. His lips twitched, just slightly, before he shook his head.

“Managed to—?” He gestured vaguely toward her chest before pulling his hand back, curling it into an embarrassed fist against the cradle.

Leela caught on. Her fingers twitched at the pearly buttons of her nightgown. Just a small, involuntary movement.

“Oh… Maria told me to hold her close to stimulate… you know.” She hesitated, shifting her weight. “I fed her one of the bottles she gave me, too.”

Joel nodded. “And?”

Leela looked down at the baby. “She stopped crying.”

He frowned. “That’s it?”

Leela’s fingers tightened against her arms. “I… don’t know how to hold her without making her cry.”

The words made something dark flicker through him, he didn’t have the energy to name it. It wasn’t quite anger, but it was close. Frustration. Exasperation. A sharp-edged bitterness he couldn’t swallow down fast enough.

Joel scoffed. “You can’t hold your own baby?”

Leela looked away, her heart breaking in her eyes before she managed to mask it.

Joel exhaled, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “It’s not all math,” he muttered.

He didn’t wait for her to answer. Instead, he reached into the cradle, slipping a hand beneath the baby’s head, cradling her against his arm, careful, practised. He eased her up, letting her body settle against his forearm, her head resting in the crook of his elbow.

The second she was in his arms, something inside him cracked.

She was tiny. So fucking tiny. Tinier than Sarah had been.

Joel swallowed thickly, feeling the light weight of her against his chest. He hadn’t held something this fragile in years—hadn’t let himself. But muscle memory took over before he could stop it before he could remind himself that this wasn’t the same. It was already clawing its way back to him. He rubbed a slow, steady hand over her back, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. She was warm and soft, her tiny fingers twitching against his shirt.

For a second—a half a second—he let himself sink into it.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispered.

The scent of her, like the faded remnants of old cotton, the delicate press of her body against his. A ghost of something long lost. A time when his arms had been full like this when his days had been nothing but cradling Sarah against him, balancing a baby bag on his shoulder, and pushing a stroller down the sidewalk, filled with groceries, with the Texas sun overhead.

A different life. A different world. One he had no business remembering.

Joel forced himself to blink out of it. He cleared his throat, shifting, pressing the feeling down before it could take hold.

“And that’s it,” he said gruffly. “Ain’t that hard.”

Leela was watching him. Not like she was waiting for him to say something—not like she even expected him to. She was watching the way he held the baby, the way she settled so easily against him. Studying him, the way she studied numbers and equations, looking for a formula, an answer.

He breathed out. “Here,” he muttered, shifting the baby carefully toward her. “You try.”

Leela didn’t reach for her baby immediately.

Her hands hovered, hesitant, fingers twitching like she wasn’t sure how to move them. Joel could see it—the tension coiling in her shoulders, the stiffness in her posture. Her breathing shallowed, her chest barely rising, as if even that movement might disturb the delicate balance between her and the tiny life in front of her.

But finally, she forced herself to move.

Her hands, unsteady, cupped beneath the baby’s body as if she were handling something breakable, something foreign. It was careful, but too careful—unnatural in a way that the baby could sense. And sure enough, the second Leela pulled her in, her arms locked tight, too rigid, too unsure, and the child stirred. A tiny whimper. Then a sharp, warning cry.

Leela stiffened, her grip faltering. The sound made her flinch, her breath catching, as though she’d been struck.

She barely lasted five seconds before her resolve cracked. She was already shifting forward, already pushing the baby back toward Joel, who took her without hesitation.

The crying stopped almost instantly.

Joel settled the baby against his chest, bouncing her gently, a practised movement. He didn’t have to think about it—his body just did what it knew, routine kicking in where hers faltered. The baby let out a soft, sighing coo, her tiny body relaxing, as if she knew she was back in capable hands.

Leela, however, looked shaken. Not in a dramatic way—she wasn’t crying, wasn’t breaking down—but her hands curled into fists, pressing against her stomach like she needed to hold herself together.

Then, she winced.

Joel’s attention snapped back to her, his gaze dropping to the way she clutched at her lower back, her body tilting forward ever so slightly like the pain had taken her by surprise.

“Hey.” His voice softened. “You wanna sit down?”

She nodded, barely. A tiny dip of her chin.

Joel glanced around. There wasn’t much in the nursery. Just the crib, a long wooden bureau, and a mattress on the floor pushed against the far wall. No chair, nothing to lower herself onto easily.

With a quiet sigh, he adjusted his hold on the baby and stepped closer, offering an arm. “C’mon.”

Leela hesitated. Not out of pride—he could tell—but maybe out of uncertainty like she wasn’t used to being helped. But when she tried to move on her own, another sharp grimace crossed her face, and that was enough.

She let him guide her.

Joel was careful, supporting her weight without making a big deal of it. The baby stayed nestled in the crook of his other arm, still resting peacefully, unaffected by the movement. It wasn’t easy—manoeuvring both of them at once—but it was instinctual.

He helped her lower onto the mattress, feeling the way her muscles tensed beneath his touch before finally giving in to the pull of exhaustion. Leela eased back against the wall and settled into the thin cushion. A long, quiet sigh left her lips, her posture unwinding slightly like she’d been holding herself taut for hours—maybe longer. But even then, she still didn’t entirely relax.

Joel watched as she lifted a hand to her face, brushing back loose strands of hair, her fingers pressing briefly into her temples.

"I'm sorry, Joel."

He frowned. “For what?”

She inhaled deeply. “It’s only been three... four weeks since I delivered. I’ve just been feeling out of it ever since.”

There was no shame in her tone, no self-pity. Just a quiet fatigue. A statement of fact.

Joel pressed his lips together.

Four weeks. Jesus. That explained a lot. The exhaustion, the stiffness in her movements, the way her body still seemed like it hadn’t recovered from what it had been through. Hell, no wonder she looked like a ghost of herself. The human body wasn’t meant to bounce back that fast—not without help. And from what he’d seen so far, she wasn’t the type to ask for it.

“She came too soon,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Leela shifted, tilting her head slightly toward him. "Eight months," she said, voice softer now. "That’s not normal, is it? It’s why she’s so tiny."

Joel didn’t answer immediately. Leela waited, like she wanted him to say more. When he didn’t, she tucked her knees up onto the couch, resting her chin against them.

She rubbed a tired hand into her eyes. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

There it was. Not frustration. Not helplessness. Just quiet, resigned truth.

Joel glanced down at the sleeping baby, still curled against his chest, her breathing soft and even. One tiny hand had fisted itself into his shirt, gripping instinctively—like she knew, on some level, that she had to hold on to something, someone, to stay safe. His grip on her tightened slightly.

Leela’s words sat heavy in his chest. I don’t know how to hold her without making her cry. And now this—I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. He’d heard new parents say those words before. Hell, he’d felt it himself, back then. But something about the way she said it—flat, detached, like she wasn’t even fighting it anymore—made something inside him go stiff.

Joel breathed out, shifting his arms so the baby settled more comfortably against him, and she felt so heavy all of a sudden.

Too much quiet, too many things unsaid pressing at the edges of his mind. He didn’t want to sit in it—didn’t want to acknowledge what it stirred in him. So, he broke the silence the only way he knew how.

"You could start by giving her a name," he said, glancing at Leela. "Not that 'baby girl' is a terrible name."

Leela blinked, then looked down at her daughter, studying her as if she were just now realizing that, yes, she still had to name the kid.

After a thoughtful moment, she lifted her gaze back to him. "Do you want to pick one for her?"

Joel snorted. "Me?"

She nodded, entirely serious.

He shook his head. "I think I'm gonna stick with 'baby girl.'"

Leela let out a small breath of laughter, barely there, but it softened something in her face. She bit her lip, thinking of a name, then murmured, "I always liked the name Maya."

"Maya?" He tested the name on his lips. "I like that. Maya. It’s pretty. Rhymes, too. Leela, Maya."

Leela’s lips twitched at that, and she shifted forward, moving closer without thinking, drawn in by something unspoken. She leaned down, head dipping toward the baby still curled up against Joel’s chest.

And for the first time since he stepped into this house, Joel saw it.

That fondness. It was small, but it was there—the quiet, aching kind of love that didn’t need words. The kind that made itself known in the way her fingers smoothed over the baby’s forehead, tracing delicate lines across her tiny features. In the way her body curled just slightly, instinctively, around her daughter, like even in her exhaustion, she was drawn to protect.

"Maya, Maya, Maya," she whispered, barely a sound, breathing the name into her daughter's ear as if speaking it into existence.

Joel watched her for a long moment, an unfamiliar phantom kick in his ribs. It was too much. Too close to something he didn’t want to touch, something that felt like the past reaching for him with cold fingers.

He should leave. He knew he should. Should’ve gotten up, handed the baby back, given some half-hearted promise to Maria that he’d check in, and then walked out that door.

But he didn’t. Instead, he settled in a little more, stretching his legs out, arms still loosely cradling the child.

He finally broke the silence with, “So, you’re some kind of scientist?”

Leela glanced up at him, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’m more towards math.”

Joel frowned. Math. In a world like this?

People didn’t survive with numbers. They survived with bullets and knives, knowing when to run and when to pull the trigger. You either killed or died. You either protected or raided. You didn’t see too many folks walking around trying to save themselves with goddamned math equations—unless they were Fireflies with delusions of rebuilding the world. That was the kind of thinking that got you shot.

His gaze flickered back to the crib. What the hell kind of life was she leading before all this?

He leaned back against the wall. “And just how long have you been here alone?”

“A long time.” She didn’t elaborate. Just glanced down at the baby, adjusting the folds of the swaddle with careful fingers. Then, softer, almost like an afterthought—“Not anymore.”

Joel didn’t know what to make of that.

His gaze flicked toward the stacks of books on the baby’s bureau, thick with dust on the edges but well-thumbed through. He hummed. “And you do… math?” He made it sound ridiculous because it was.

She only nodded, unbothered. “Analytic geometry and a bit of mechanics. My parents used to work at NASA. I took up their research once I was old enough to understand. They loved to teach me all about it.”

Joel blinked. NASA? Ellie would lose her little mind if she were here.

He studied her again, reassessing. She didn’t look like someone who used to be involved in something that big. Not now, anyway. Dressed in an old nightgown, her hair hanging in dark, tangled waves, bruised-looking eyes that made her seem older than she was.

He hesitated before asking, “And just how old are you?”

“I’m turning thirty soon.” She didn’t sound glad about it. Then again, no one ever did.

But there was something about that number that made his stomach turn. Maybe because of all her intelligence, all her sharp, clinical detachment, she looked young under the weight of everything she was carrying. Or maybe because twenty-nine didn’t seem old enough to have gone through the kind of hell that made a mother flinch at her own baby.

Joel wanted to press further. Wanted to ask why she was alone, how the hell she had made it this long without the baby’s father, how a girl who could do math for NASA ended up here—malnourished, exhausted, hunched over on a mattress like she was carrying the whole world on her back.

But before he could, Maya stirred.

A small, sleepy movement. Tiny fingers wriggled their way free from the swaddle, barely curled, stretching toward the air. The whimpering started softly, then built, that newborn cry that was both fragile and urgent all at once.

Leela straightened instinctively, her hands twitching toward her daughter. But this time, when she lifted Maya from Joel’s arms, she didn’t hesitate. She held her with a little more certainty, a little more care, cradling her close to her chest as if she were nestling something precious rather than foreign.

Joel let out a slow breath. Good. Progress.

Then, before he could so much as glance back up, Leela started unbuttoning her nightgown, the lapel falling open.

His eyes snapped away so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. “Christ.”

“Oh, god—! I’m so sorry, Maria said to try—”

“’Sall good,” he muttered, fixing his gaze firmly on the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but at her. “Just, uh—go for it.”

“I’ll cover up. Sorry.”

Joel nodded stiffly, still keeping his head turned. But in the silence that followed, his body didn’t quite relax.

He listened. Not just to her, but to everything. The rustle of fabric, the faint, uncertain exhale as she adjusted her hold, the wet, rhythmic sound of the baby nursing, the occasional tiny sigh. A noise so small it barely existed, but it filled the quiet all the same.

Joel let out a breath through his nose, sinking into himself, gaze flickering absently around the room. He took in the details he hadn’t paid much attention to before.

The crib—old, but sturdy. The mess of books stacked against the walls, as if she had been trying to build some kind of fortress out of paper and ink. The curtains were drawn too tight, like she didn’t want the outside world bleeding in. And the emptiness—the distinct lack of anything that made this place a nursery. No toys. No clutter. No warmth.

He knew that kind of space. Knew what it meant when a room felt temporary, even when someone had been in it for years.

“I’m decent now.” Her voice was quiet but certain.

Joel glanced over his shoulder. A blanket was draped over one of Leela’s shoulders, concealing both her and the baby beneath it. His eyes traced over her face, the way she was staring down at Maya—not with the ease of a mother who had done this a hundred times, but with the focus of someone trying to get it right. Like she was handling some delicate equation she couldn’t afford to miscalculate.

The baby suckled noisily, and Joel saw the way Leela’s fingers curled against the fabric, white-knuckled.

"Do you have many children, Joel?" she asked suddenly.

He stilled. The question—simple, almost offhanded—landed like a hammer.

His fingers curled against his knee, tightening. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time he’d asked himself that. But coming from her—a woman he barely knew, holding a baby that wasn’t much more than a handful of weeks old—it hit differently.

Did he have many children? No.

But he had one. Had. That word sat on his tongue, sour and heavy, pressing against the backs of his teeth. He could say it. Could let it out, let it breathe. But if he did, it would only linger, thick and unwelcome, in the air between them.

He grunted out, “Not your concern.”

Leela nodded once, quiet and accepting. She didn’t pry, didn’t press—just dropped her gaze back to Maya, adjusting the blanket with slow, careful fingers.

“I understand,” she murmured.

Joel wasn’t sure why, but he believed her. Maybe it was the way she said it—flat, unbothered. Not some empty reassurance, not some half-hearted attempt at sympathy. Just a statement. Honest. And somehow, that made it worse.

Silence settled between them, thick but not uncomfortable.

Joel let out a slow breath and glanced toward the window, toward the faint light filtering through the edges of the curtain. The town was waking up. People were starting their day, going about their lives. Normal. Simple. This? Sitting here in this too-empty house with a woman he didn’t know and a baby who had seen too much of the world already? This wasn’t simple.

Then, her voice—quiet, hesitant.

"Did your baby ever feel like a stranger?"

He turned to look at her, watching as she nursed the baby beneath the blanket. Her head was slightly bowed, her fingers absentmindedly rubbing slow, rhythmic circles against the tiny foot poking free. It was such a small, natural gesture—one he’d seen a thousand times from mothers who loved their children without thought, without hesitation. And yet, coming from her, it felt… disconnected. As if she was mimicking something she wasn’t sure she believed in.

The question settled deep in his chest, pressing against something sore.

"Never." The answer came without thinking. Without doubt.

Sarah had never been a stranger. From the second she was in his arms, slick and tiny and furious at the world, she was his. He hadn’t known what the hell he was doing, but love—love had been instant, bone-deep. A gut punch. A freefall. A terrifying, irreversible thing. It had been impossible not to love his daughter.

That’s how it should feel. But Leela—she looked like she was still waiting to wake up from a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.

Leela exhaled softly, barely a sound, but Joel caught it. It hit him harder than it should have.

"I wish I felt that way," she muttered.

That did something to him.

It wasn’t pity, exactly—Leela didn’t seem like the kind of woman who wanted pity. No, it was a knowing. A recognition of something lost, something stolen before it ever had a chance to be hers. Joel had lost things, too. He understood that kind of grief, even if this one wasn’t his to carry.

Leela had slipped back into that blank, distant sadness, like she was stuck in it, unable to claw her way out. And Joel wasn’t the kind of man who offered words where they wouldn’t make a difference, but Maria had asked him to help, and he’d told her he would. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing. He never had been. Words were never easy for him. Feelings even less so. But he knew how to read people, how to see what they couldn’t bring themselves to say.

So, he did what he could.

"She looks like you," Joel mused, almost without thinking.

Leela hesitated, blinking at him like she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. "You really think so?"

He smirked, nodding toward Maya. "Look at that. The eyes, the nose, the hair. That’s all a mama’s girl."

She glanced down at the baby in her arms, her fingers stilling against Maya’s tiny foot. For a second, something in her expression wavered—like she was trying to see what he saw, trying to find herself in this child. "Mama’s girl," she murmured, testing the words on her tongue as if they didn’t quite belong to her yet.

Joel felt something shift in his chest, just a little.

It was something.

Still, his eyes drifted over the room, taking in the stark walls, the empty corners. The air in here was cold—not from the weather, but from the lack of anything. There was no sign of her in this space. No warmth, no comfort, no life. It felt temporary, like she hadn’t put down roots. Like she was waiting for something.

Or maybe like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to stay.

He exhaled, tipping his chin toward the crib. "Though, she’s gonna be real disappointed when she sees the state her mama’s kept her room in."

Leela’s brows knit together as she looked around as if really seeing it for the first time. "I tried my best. Is it that bad?"

Joel huffed, shaking his head. "It could use a little more work." He gestured toward the crib. "Fix another one of those." Then to the bare space near the window. "Somewhere to sit. Some shelves there." His gaze travelled to the walls. "Fresh coat of paint. Some new lights."

Leela studied him carefully, her lips pressing together. "I don’t want to impose."

He shrugged, leaning back on his palms. "You won't. I like to keep busy."

Leela gave him a look—one of those assessing, sceptical looks he was starting to recognize from her. The one that suggested she wasn’t sure if she could trust him yet. "Are you sure?"

Joel let out a short, dry chuckle. "I was a contractor before the world went to shit, sweetheart. This is a cushy job." Then he cocked a brow. "And I’m fifty-six, not dead."

Leela bit her lip to hide a teasing smile. "Could’ve fooled me."

Joel levelled her with a look, but there was no real heat behind it. "You want me to take that crib back down?"

That did it. She laughed—an actual laugh. Not the polite kind. Not the uncertain kind. A real, full sound, one that cracked through the quietness of the room like sunlight breaking through clouds.

The motion jostled Maya, making her let out a startled cry of protest.

Leela immediately sobered, her expression softening as she adjusted the nursing baby under her blanket, tucking her closer. She began to coo under her breath, "Oh, I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. Mama’s here."

Joel caught it. That shift again. That slight change in her voice when she said Mama. Like she wasn’t quite sure of it yet. But it wasn’t just an obligation or just guilt, or uncertainty.

This time, it sounded like she meant it.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t push. Just sat back and watched, letting her find her way.

Fifteen days.

That was how long he’d been here. How long he'd been wedging himself into a life that wasn’t his, in a house that wasn’t his, with a mother and child that weren’t his to take care of.

And yet, every night, when the baby cried, he found himself plodding up the stairs like it was instinct. He’d lean in the doorway, watching as Leela sleepily nursed Maya, her heavy arms curled around the tiny, wriggling body. Some nights, she fed her from the bottle, but as the days passed, that sipper gathered dust.

It was slow. Subtle. She was feeding her baby more.

And Joel—he was still fucking here. He didn’t think much about the why of it because he figured if he did, it would only lead to questions he wasn’t ready to answer. All he knew was that it felt natural, falling into this quiet rhythm with them. Like it had always been this way.

The couch downstairs became his bed. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it didn’t matter much. As long as he didn't throw his back out. It was easier than going back to an empty house. Leela, for her part, never asked him to stay, but she never told him to leave, either. Maybe that was her way of saying she wanted him around. Or maybe she just needed him to be.

"You don’t have to—" she had started one night, catching him setting up his makeshift bed.

"I know," he cut off before she could finish.

He kept his hands busy, too. That helped a lot.

The crib came first. A slow project, one he didn’t rush, because what else did he have to do? He sanded the edges and smoothed them down so there’d be no risk of splinters. He reinforced the frame, extended the width, and even managed to track down some pink paint to liven it up.

It was a stupid thing, but it made him feel like he was doing something. Like he was helping in a way that made sense.

Leela had caught him painting one afternoon, crouched over the crib with careful, measured strokes.

"Pink?" she’d said, standing in the doorway, one brow raised.

Joel had glanced up, brush still in hand. "What? You don’t like it?"

Leela had hummed, considering. Then, softer, "I think Maya will like it."

Something about the way she said it—like she was finally thinking about that, about what her daughter would like—made him grin to himself. He continued the long stroke of paint down the crib.

Then there was Leela. It had been easier, at first, to pretend he was only here for the kid. That his concern for her was secondary. But after the first week, it became clear—that wasn’t true.

She was unraveling.

Joel noticed it even when she thought he hadn’t. The unbearable insomnia. The way she startled awake like she was being wrenched from nightmares. The way her eyes stayed shadowed, dark-rimmed and tired, and how she never seemed to eat a full meal.

Just because he tried not to bother, didn’t mean he didn’t notice. She had once fallen asleep at the kitchen table, arms folded beneath her head. Joel had set a bowl of soup down in front of her, the sound making her jolt awake, eyes wide, gasping and panicked.

She blinked at him, disoriented, pushing her unruly hair out of her face. "I—I wasn’t sleeping."

"Alright," he said, pushing the plate closer. "Eat."

Leela wavered, nose scrunching. "I’m not—"

Joel shot her a look. "Eat."

She sighed. But she picked up the spoon.

He didn’t bother to push or pry any further. He stopped himself there. Because what the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn’t Tommy or Maria. He wasn’t the kind of person people confided in. It was better off this way.

So he willfully ignored it. Turned the other way when she wiped her eyes too hard when her shoulders shook just a little when those deep, muffled sobs filtered through the walls at night. Every part of him told him to cross that invisible line—to do something—but instead, he stepped outside, leaned against the stoop, stared at nothing.

One night, he heard it—soft at first, then breaking, like something deep inside her had finally snapped. Anyone reasonable would've gone up to comfort her. Fuck, it was already turning him inside out.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs for a long moment, jaw tight, staring up at the dark landing.

Then he turned around, walked outside, and sat on the porch steps, letting the cold bite into him. Good. He huffed out a wispy breath, quietly waiting for the sounds to pass. This wasn’t his problem.

One unlucky day, the second he stepped into the stables, Ellie gave him a knowing, annoying look. "Jesus, what's worse than shit? Because that's what you look like."

Joel huffed, adjusting his grip on the saddle he was carrying. "Thanks, kid."

Ellie narrowed her eyes, stepping closer and giving him a once-over. "Seriously, you look like hell. Where the fuck have you been?"

Joel grunted, busying himself with the straps, not looking at her. "Been around."

Ellie scoffed. "Been around? What the hell does that mean? You've been busy playing house with the lady at the big house?"

His jaw flexed and fingers tightened on the cords. And Ellie caught it. Her smirk sharpened.

"Oh my God. That’s exactly what you’ve been doing, huh?"

Joel shot her a look. "No."

"Yes," Ellie drawled, crossing her arms. "Dude. I knew something was up. You’ve been MIA. I thought maybe you finally croaked in your sleep, but nope—turns out, you’re off fixing pipes and babysitting."

"I ain’t babysitting," Joel muttered, too quick.

Ellie smirked harder and drawled out, "Riiiight."

Joel let out a long, slow exhale through his nose, shaking his head. "She needed help. That’s all."

Ellie clicked her tongue, rocking back on her heels. "Hmm. Right. Just help. No attachment, no paternal instincts kicking in. Oh, definitely not. Not Joel Hardass Miller. He’s just the neighbourhood handyman now."

He cut her a sharp look. "Ellie."

She grinned, enjoying this way too much. "What? Just saying. It’s kind of adorable. Old man Joel, all domesticated. It's nice."

Joel muttered something under his breath and turned away, ignoring her. Oh, but she was far from done.

"So, uh…" she cleared her throat. "How’s the baby?"

He hesitated.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d started watching that kid. Listening to her. He knew Maya’s different cries now—hungry, fussy, lonely. He knew the way she liked to be held, the way she calmed when he rubbed her tiny back. And he knew, without a doubt, that he would hear her tonight, whether he was there or not.

"She’s uh, good," he said finally. Kept his voice level, unaffected. "Stronger. Sleeps better."

Ellie studied him. "Bet she likes you."

Joel shrugged, trying to play it off. "Babies like warm bodies, Ellie. Ain’t that deep."

Ellie snorted. "Sure. And you're a warm bundle of joy." And then, just when he thought she was about to let it go—"You’re gonna miss her, huh?"

Joel's hands dropped to his sides. Ellie wasn’t teasing anymore. Her voice had gone softer, something knowing creeping in.

And he didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t about to start thinking about that. About leaving. About hearing those cries and knowing he wasn’t supposed to be the one answering them anymore.

Joel slowly adjusted the saddle and grunted. "You gonna stand there all day, or you gonna help me get this horse ready?"

Ellie sighed, shaking her head, but didn’t push. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Dad."

"Ellie."

But she was already cackling her goddamned head off. "This is rich. Daddy Joel."

Still, Joel stayed in that big house. Just a few more days. And the more he stayed, the harder it became to keep his distance.

It had started small—fixing things around the house, making little adjustments to help Leela care for the baby, and bringing her food. He fashioned a sling for her out of an old scarf and showed her how to wear it. At first, she’d been rigid, reluctant. But Maya—baby girl took to it immediately, curling into her mother’s chest, small fingers grasping at the fabric.

Joel wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but something about that moment had stuck with him.

Because for the first time, he saw Leela hold her. Not just carry her.

And then there was Maya herself. The little ray of sunshine was growing, filling out. No longer that fragile, underfed thing he’d first seen in the cradle. Her limbs weren’t so thin anymore, her eyes brighter, more alert. She’d started watching things with intent—fixating on his hands when he worked, tracking his movement around the room, making little fists and clumsily bringing them to her mouth.

She smiled more, too. And it did something to him. It shouldn’t have.

He shouldn’t have felt that warm pull in his chest every time her tiny mouth curled into something resembling a grin. Shouldn’t have liked the way her whole body wriggled when she was excited. Shouldn’t have let himself get used to the small weight of her when Leela, in her exhaustion, wordlessly passed her to him, and he found himself rocking her without thinking.

But it had happened, slowly and without permission. And now, when he held her, it felt natural.

Maya knew him. Trusted him.

That realization unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

And then, on what must’ve been the third week, Tommy and Maria showed up at the door. Joel knew it the second he opened it—that this was an extraction.

Tommy stood there with that damn smirk, the same one he used to wear when Joel got him out of trouble—except this time, it wasn't his brother who had been looking for a way out.

"You're officially relieved of duty, big brother."

Joel grunted, letting his brother pull him into a quick hug. He clapped him on the back, but his grip was just a little too firm. A little too final. "Didn’t know I was on duty."

Maria stepped in next, squeezing his shoulder, her eyes warm with something Joel didn’t want to name. "Thank you, Joel."

He didn’t say you’re welcome. Didn’t say anything at all. Just gave a small nod, because that was easier than acknowledging the importance of what he’d done. No need to attach importance to what he was walking away from.

He felt Leela before he saw her.

She stood behind them by the front door, her arms loose at her sides, watching but not interfering. She was dressed in a warm sweater and pants this time, although he liked seeing her in that long nightdress of hers, the one with the pearl buttons.

She didn’t say anything. And neither did he. Because there was no point in goodbyes.

Instead, he gave her a nod—brief, almost impersonal—and then he turned, stepping off the porch, his boots heavier than they should’ve been.

Maria’s voice, quiet but clear, carried behind him as she spoke to Leela like she was approaching a wounded deer. "You feeling okay, baby? Come on, let’s talk."

Joel kept on walking. Crossed the street.

And for the first time in fifteen days, he realized—he didn’t want to go home. Because home meant silence. Home meant absence.

Home meant walking into a house where there was no tiny, fussy cry in the middle of the night. No bleary-eyed woman fumbling with a bottle, no soft, small weight curled against his chest when exhaustion finally won out.

For fifteen days, he had fallen into something. A rhythm. A purpose. A role. And now, as he stepped through his own front door, into the empty space that used to feel normal, Joel realized he’d done something reckless. Something he never should’ve allowed.

He’d let himself care.

[I really like this one, so much! I love how sweet it turned out, how JOEL of him it is, and how Leela is just that sweet, confused mother. I think I'm going to really love building on this one! ]

[ taglist : @cuntstiel , @bubblegumpeeeach , @evispunk ]

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xo2dee · 2 days ago

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NOW LOADING. .

JJK MASTERLIST

OPIA/GOJO NSFW WEEK 2023 - DAY SIX: MONSTER FUCKING

PAIRING: Gojo Satoru x (Fem)Reader WARNINGS: MDNI/18+ ONLY. Succubus!Reader, monster fucking, vaginal sex, marathon sex, slight aphrodisiacs, creampie. WORD COUNT: 1,928 SUMMARY: Maybe he'd learn not to open anymore strange books. Or: You bond your soul to Gojo's forever.

A/N: this is more drabble-esque more than anything. also, i like the idea of monster!readers more than anything

The man whose lap you sat on was sooooo responsive, his hips jutting upwards into your pussy at each twitch of your body and causing a sloppy mess atop his thighs from the combined fluids of you both. Your thighs locked securely around him, promising him with skin that you’d not be leaving him any time in the future, and he wasn’t keen on letting you go with the hold he had on your waist. How many times had it been? You weren’t too bothered to count, focusing on the man below you and promising the pleasure you had been asked to give.

“Slow,” he whined out, too straight and white teeth gritted whenever you rocked a fraction faster to gauge his reaction. He was also incredibly observant, calculating your movements and countering them much to your ire, but you supposed that was what made him fun and had you making sure he kept cumming until you were satisfied.

You giggled and nuzzled your nose into his warm cheek, “You’re such a good boy. I’m so glad you set me free.”

His eyes rolled back at the praise, tensed abs shuddering above rolling hips as another round of cum pulsed free from his cock and coated your insides, no doubt dripping out of you onto the bed and across his thighs. You sighed and kissed his cheek, fingers wisping through his hair in fondness as you stopped for the moment to bask in another successful round.

Adorable man. Really, you weren’t sure what he was expecting messing with an ancient tome.

That wretched, old book had been your personal Hell for hundreds of years, and you had leaped at the chance when you felt someone nosing around in the pages to use your magic to goad them into saying the incantation that would finally free you from your cage. Luckily the poor soul was none the wiser, quickly reciting the words after you had flipped the page using a small gust of wind to get his attention and cheering when he murmured them in the small space of the bedroom. And with a small burst of light, you were free, the limbs of your body manifesting in a lethargic stretch as you lounged across the bed and met eyes with the man who so generously freed you.

The man that had been across from your newly conjured body was irrevocably handsome, and as far as humans went he stood out amongst them with a shock of white hair atop his head and very vivid blue eyes. You complimented him on that as well, telling him that you hadn’t seen a human as beautiful as you in a rather long time, and getting glee out of watching him struggle to not look at your nude body and the compliment you paid him. He was oh-so tall as well, something that was a personal preference of your own and had you pining for his attention (because you never pined for someone, your species had people pining for you), and practically purring in satisfaction when you got it.

“Are you a curse?” he had asked, apprehension clear in his body language and poised to strike if you so much as made a wrong move.

You had tapped a long nail onto the bed, pouting at such a nasty word that was used to describe you and batted your eyelashes, “Hardly. I can be anything you want me to be now that you freed me.” Flexing your throat, you had altered your vocal cords, voice coming out raspier and wanton and gotten your desired response. He was curious about you, sitting down close to you as he questioned you more, and once you had made your… ‘profession’ known, his attitude all but changed and had you antsy for a touch.

Be that as it may, perhaps you were a monster in some people’s eyes, and for that you asked him if he was completely sure of what he desired of you, garnering enthusiastic consent that would make the pleasure all the more mind-blowing for you both.

You liked the way he looked at you as well, something about his eyes that made your thighs clench with impending anticipation.

No one ever made you feel like that.

Your hips rolled as your tail wriggled out from behind you, the tip you maneuvered down to toy with his balls while his hands tightened the hold he had on your waist. Perhaps it would’ve hurt if you were human, yet it was nothing more than a slight pinch, yet you were more focused on the way his dick carved out your insides and the way he was getting drunk off of your titillating movements. You had made sure to mention that your cunt held aphrodisiacs, yet he’d been none too swayed to finally bury himself inside of you once you sat yourself in his lap, letting you hold the reins and ride him until he was burying every last drop of his cum inside of you. Yours was affecting him as well, allowing him to continue as most men weren’t able to keep cumming maybe two to three times in one setting, and your cum also held more aphrodisiacs that affected your partner and you.

It was a nice touch, having cum that would spur on an unfathomable desire to continue having sex for you and your partner, it was probably the only nice part of your body having it. Well, most of your body did, your saliva held it the most, but you weren’t about to kiss him when you wanted his head clearer for what you were doing.

The man below you shuddered and groaned, your slow lovemaking creating tendrils of sweat to slide down your foreheads and bodies, and you hummed in satisfaction with the tip of cock pushed against your cervix and he hissed when you clenched around him. Wings spreading out from your back, you fanned him, nibbling on the corners of his lips as you bounced a little faster in order to chase after your own approaching orgasm. You could tell he was building back up as well, his little chase after you when you moved up to have your cunt suck his cock back in and mold him to your insides so that he could tell of his desperation for you.

You sighed and ran your nails along his chest, tugging a nipple as you went and leaving scratches in your wake until you were tickling him across his twitching abdomen, “You’re gonna make me cum again… Such a sweet boy for me.” Affection coursed through you; you didn’t think you’d be able to let him go after you got free. Then again… who’s to say he wouldn’t want to come with you? You nearly laughed at the idea of you two having so much fun, sticking your face back into his neck and biting the skin to leave a hickey.

He was yours.

He mumbled something after a moment, causing you to raise your head and meet his eyes to prod him to repeat it. He looked slightly embarrassed, cheeks red and eyes glossy before he repeated himself, “Satoru.”

“Hm?” Another hard roll downwards onto his cock and he choked, before wrapping one arm firmly around you.

“My name is Satoru,” he mumbled into your throat, his legs stretching out behind you both and before his thrusts became desperate and punishing, and blunt teeth finding their way onto your ear as he whispered hotly into it while a warm palm pressed down onto your naval, “And I want you say it when you cum.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, branching off into a moan of his name as your world exploded into colors and you came again for nth time that night. Your back arched backwards, breasts heaving into his face as those pink lips latched onto one of your nipples, and you crossed your ankles around his back while your pussy pulsed and clenched around his scorching cock. Tail whipping behind you wildly, you completely missed the hum emitting from the hand he had pressed against your naval, focusing on the mind-blurring pleasure that you only assumed was from your conjoined pleasure. His sounds were nearly drowned out by you and slaps of your ass against his thighs, yet all it took was another sigh of his name and your tail brushing against his balls for him to cum for you again.

Satoru. You were sure you’d get used to saying that name for eternity.

He didn’t last long after you, another whining grunt as his body curled in on itself and he shot another load of cum into you, panting into your neck as you both sat there for a few seconds to catch your breaths. Your recovery time was within a minute, though you knew considering Satoru’s rising fatigue he wouldn’t have been able to go on much longer. It made you purse your lips and configure a plan, deciding against just taking him with you and instead asking him – after all, you didn’t want to potentially lose a new lover.

However, once you moved to pull away from him (perhaps to throw him on his back that time), you paused, an unknown force snatching you back into him and a quick check of your magic had you freezing. You tried to force it free from within you, but it was to no avail, realizing with a quick check in something was anchored to your soul. Carefully you met his eyes, taking note of the smug smile on his face and realizing he had one-upped you. He knew the entire time – How the Hell did he…?

“You –”

Satoru laughed – laughed, and curled both arms around you, one hand reaching down to toy with the base of your tail to make you clench and moan for him, “I just had to be sure. You said you weren’t a curse, but curses can come in all shapes and forms born from humanity, and I figured the tome was a cursed object holding an even worse curse inside of it.” He leant forward and rested his chin atop your shoulder, all but hugging you while he amused himself with playing with your tail, “Don’t get so upset, it was the only logical solution.”

“So, you just… bonded our souls together?” He was mad. Insane. Did he realize what it all meant? You two were practically soulmates and had a combined joint of abilities. But given that he knew exactly what to do to tie you both together, you understood that he knew, and he wanted it. And oh, he made your heart sore. The initial shock wore off, realizing you’d be able to stay with him for as long as you liked since you were all but attached to the hip.

You were his.

“Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking about it anyways.” A bite on your shoulder made you sigh, muscles relaxing and limbs pooling into his hold like liquid gold, “Now… won’t you tell me what you really are? I have a clear idea though.”

You smiled, pulling his face away from your shoulder as you cupped his cheeks and murmured lovingly against his lips, “We have a long time for you figure it out.”

And as the book fell to the floor when Satoru rolled himself on top of you, you watched his eyes follow across the word for what he had gotten himself into and tied his soul to for eternity.

Succubi.

#{🩸} nee fics #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk gojo #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen gojo

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ivyues · 2 days ago

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Sleeves Pulled Back: Stray Kids' reactions to their S/O's s/h scars

if you’re struggling: findahelpline | befrienders

request: “Skz finding out you did s/h or saw your s/h scars…” (i changed it up for some but i hope you like it :3 )

Bang Chan

Chris gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your wrist as he pulled you to sit with him on the couch.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice laced with concern. “Talk to me, yeah?”

You hesitated, looking away. “It’s nothing, Chris—”

“It’s not nothing.” He shook his head. “I know it’s hard, but I need you to know something, okay?”

You finally met his gaze, and his eyes were full of nothing but love and understanding.

“You can always call me. No matter the time, no matter where I am. Even if I’m in the studio, on tour, in the middle of a meeting – I don’t care. I’ll answer.”

A shaky breath left your lips. “I don’t want to bother you…”

Chris scoffed, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Bother me? Please. I’m an insomniac anyways.” He nudged you lightly, trying to lighten the mood. “Might as well spend my sleepless nights talking to my favorite person, right?”

You let out a small laugh, and his heart swelled with relief. But then, his face turned serious again.

“I mean it,” he said, squeezing your hand. “I don’t want you to go through this alone. And if it helps, why don’t you stay at the dorm for a while? I.N won’t mind, and I’d feel better knowing you’re close.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing, his tone gentle. “And… maybe we can look into getting you someone to talk to—like a therapist? Just so you have more support.”

Your throat tightened, emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

“Okay,” you whispered.

His arms wrapped around you in an instant, holding you as if he could take away all your pain just by being there. “Good,” he murmured into your hair. “We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

Lee Know

You had been reaching for your cup, your sleeve sliding up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the faint, fresh marks among the old ones on your arm. His heart clenched. His mind raced. But he said nothing – at least, not at first.

Instead, he waited, watching you as you kept talking, pretending like nothing was wrong. But he wasn’t pretending.

When you finally noticed his silence, you frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Lee Know’s eyes flickered to your wrist. “Show me,” he said, voice low.

You blinked, following his gaze, and quickly pulled your sleeve back down.

His jaw tightened. He reached forward, carefully, fingers grazing over your arm. “Don’t do that.”

You shook your head, shifting away slightly. “It’s not a big deal, Minho.”

When you didn’t move, he reached for your wrist, this time with more purpose. His grip was gentle, but firm enough to keep you from pulling away. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed your sleeve up.

The sight of the fresh lines against your skin made something break inside him. He traced them with his thumb, barely touching, as if afraid he might hurt you more.

“Why?” His voice cracked. “You promised…”

Your eyes stung. “I know.”

“Then why?” His gaze was filled with hurt, with love, with something deeper – something that made it impossible to lie.

Tears welled in your eyes, but you bit your lip. “I just… I was overwhelmed. I didn’t know how else to cope.”

Lee Know let out a shaky breath before pulling you into his arms. His grip was tight, as if trying to hold you together when he felt you falling apart.

“You don’t have to do this alone.” he whispered against your hair.

Changbin

The night was late, the kind where the world outside felt distant and made it easy to speak the truths hidden deep inside.

You hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. “Binnie…”

He hummed in response, turning his head slightly to look at you.

“There’s something I want to tell you.” You swallowed, your hands gripping each other. “I used to… self-harm.”

“I don’t do it anymore,” You reassured him quickly, seeing the shock in his face. “But… I won’t lie. Sometimes, when things get really overwhelming, I get scared. Scared that I might—” You took a deep breath. “That I might do it again.”

Changbin exhaled softly, his fingers brushing over yours before taking your hands in his own. He squeezed them gently.

“I appreciate you telling me,” he said, his voice steady but soft. “I know that wasn’t easy.”

“I just… I don’t want to. I don’t plan to. But sometimes, it’s like the thought lingers, you know?”

He nodded, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your palm. “I get it.” He paused for a moment before his eyes lit up with an idea. “It might be stupid… but you my stress ball?”

You blinked at the sudden shift in conversation. You’d seen him use it often – squeezing it absentmindedly when stressed, rolling it between his hands to focus.

“Would you like one too?” he asked. “Not because I think it’ll fix everything, but because… if you ever feel like things are getting too much, maybe it can help. You and I—we can match.”

Something about the idea made my chest ache. It wasn’t just a suggestion; it was his way of saying he wanted to support you, to help you find ways to cope that weren’t harmful. To remind you that you weren't alone.

A small smile formed on your lips. “Matching stress balls, huh?”

Hyunjin

Today, Hyunjin decided to visit you unannounced. "Y/N?" he called out, expecting to hear your voice from the living room, maybe the kitchen. Silence.

He glanced around. Your shoes were by the door. Your phone rested on the couch. You had to be here. Then, faintly, he heard movement from the bathroom.

He approached and knocked lightly. "Hey, you in there?"

No answer.

He knocked again, firmer this time. "Baby?"

Still nothing. But he could hear you. Breathing. Something shifting. Something that didn’t sit right in his gut.

"Okay, I'm coming in," he warned, turning the knob. The door wasn’t locked.

The sight before him made his breath hitch.

You were standing by the sink, your sleeves hastily pushed down, hands shaking slightly as you gripped a damp washcloth. Your eyes went wide, frozen in place.

Then he saw it. The slight redness peeking from under your sleeve. The discarded tissue, faintly stained.

Something sharp twisted in his chest.

He swallowed thickly, willing himself to stay steady. To not let his emotions spill over.

"Y/N," he said softly, stepping closer. You flinched, instinctively taking a step back, but he didn’t stop.

"Why…" His voice nearly cracked, but he forced himself to stay calm. "Why didn't you tell me?"

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Looking away.

Hyunjin inhaled deeply, blinking away the sting behind his eyes. He couldn’t cry. Not now. This wasn’t about him.

He let out a shaky exhale and, instead of saying anything else, pulled you into him. Holding you. Just holding you.

You were stiff at first, but then – gradually – you melted against him, gripping his hoodie like it was the only thing tethering you to the world.

"I'm here," he whispered into your hair. "Okay? I'm here. Always."

Han

It was late, the dorm quiet except for the soft hum of the heater. You had come over after a long day, curling up on his bed with one of his oversized hoodies. He was playing a melody on his guitar, when he noticed you tugging at your sleeve again.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

You shook your head, forcing a smile. "Just tired."

But when you stretched your arms above your head, your sleeve slipped for just a second. It was enough.

Enough for Han to see the faint but undeniable lines on your wrist.

His heart clenched. "Wait—" He reached for your hand gently, as if you might shatter. You tried to pull away, but he held on. "What… what is this?"

Your breath hitched, and you quickly yanked your sleeve back down. "It's nothing," you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

But Han wasn't buying it. His fingers trembled as he traced over the fabric where the scars were hidden. "No, it's not," he said, his voice breaking. "Why didn’t you say anything?"

Tears welled in your eyes. "Because I didn’t want you to worry. You already have so much on your plate—"

"That doesn’t matter," he interrupted. His gaze was filled with so much emotion it made your chest ache. "You matter. If you're hurting, I want to know. I need to know."

You looked away, ashamed. But Han cupped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. There was no judgment in them – only pain, only love.

"You don't have to go through this alone," he murmured. "Please… let me help."

Felix

Felix’s fingers traced the ink on your forearm, his touch featherlight as he admired the delicate design. You both sat on the couch, his head resting against your shoulder as he held your arm in his hands, turning it slightly to see the details.

“I never asked before,” he murmured. “Is there a special meaning behind your tattoo?”

You stiffened slightly but forced yourself to relax. You had always known this question would come one day.

“It covers old scars,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t dare to meet his eyes, afraid of what you might find there.

“I… used to struggle a lot. But I didn’t want that to be the first thing people noticed about me. And I wanted to see something beautiful when I looked at my arm.”

Felix didn’t speak right away. Instead, he turned your arm over gently, his thumb grazing over the tattooed skin. You finally lifted your gaze to see his expression, only to find his warm eyes filled with something that looked like both sadness and love.

“You went through that alone?” he asked quietly, his brows furrowed as if the thought of you hurting alone physically pained him.

“I don’t anymore,” you said, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “I’m okay now, Lix.”

He nodded, but you could tell he was still processing. He lifted your arm and pressed a lingering kiss over the inked petals, then another to the inside of your wrist. “I wish I could have been there,” he murmured. “I wish I could have held you through it.”

“You’re here now,” you whispered, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from his eyes. “And that’s what matters.”

Seungmin

Upon seeing the scars, Seungmin’s heart clenched, but his face remained calm.

"Y/N," he said softly, his voice soft. "Can we talk about this?"

You hesitated, looking anywhere but him. Shame curled in your stomach, a familiar, bitter weight. "I don’t know," you murmured, trying to tug your sleeve back down.

But Seungmin didn’t let go – he wasn’t forceful, just… present. "You don’t have to tell me everything, but please… let me be here for you", his tone steady

Your lips trembled as you exhaled shakily. "I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes it just… feels like too much. And this helps."

"I’m not going to tell you to stop," he said carefully. "But I need you to know… you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard."

Your throat tightened, and you blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay. "Aren’t you upset? Or angry?"

He gave you a small, sad smile. "This isn’t about me. Right now, you don’t need my emotions weighing on you—you just need to know you’re not alone."

Later that night, after he made sure you ate something, after he hugged you just tightly enough to let you know he was there, after you fell asleep with your fingers loosely curled around his, Seungmin slipped out of bed and into the bathroom.

He shut the door softly, pressing his hands against the sink, his knuckles turning white. His chest heaved as the weight of what happened finally crashed over him.

Silent tears fell, his shoulders shaking as he stifled his sobs with the back of his sleeve. He hated that you hurt in a way he couldn’t just fix, that he hadn’t noticed sooner. That you had been carrying this pain alone.

I.N

You sat on the dorm floor, your back against the couch, while I.N sprawled out beside you, his head resting comfortably on a pillow. He had been scrolling through his phone, laughing at some ridiculous meme, when his hand absentmindedly reached for yours.

His fingers toyed with the loose sleeve of your hoodie, tugging at it as he always did when he was relaxed. But then – his laughter faded. His grip stilled.

The fabric had slipped up just enough. Just enough for him to see.

I.N’s movements halted. The playful smile on his face faded as his eyes landed on the faint scars that lined your wrist. He blinked, his brows furrowing as his fingers hesitantly traced over the marks. You tensed, but let your arm stay in his hold.

“Y/N…” His voice was barely above a whisper, laced with something you couldn’t quite decipher – concern, sadness, love. “These…”

You swallowed. “They're old. I don’t do it anymore.”

He was silent for a moment, his thumb grazing over the faded scars like he could erase them. Then, finally, he spoke. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, I didn't tell you,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “It’s not who I am anymore.”

He exhaled softly, leaning his forehead against your arm, his breath warm against your skin. “Promise me,” he murmured, “if you ever feel like that again, you’ll talk to me?”

Your heart clenched. You had been used to people seeing the scars and looking away, pretending they weren’t there. Or telling you you just wanted attention. But I.N saw them, acknowledged them, and still looked at you like you were whole.

“I will. Thank you.”

masterlist

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ellesthots · 2 days ago

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“twin bed”

read on AO3 ❤️‍🔥

plot: bruce wayne visits your family home, but you struggle to find time alone together.

pairing: (battinson!)bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, mdni, smut, oral sex, fingering, teasing, risky

words: 2.8k

Dinner had been good—great, even. The drinks were never late, the food delicious and warm. The only complication in the whole affair regarded lodging; you were staying at your parent’s house, which they’d insisted upon. This wasn’t the first time Bruce had met your parents, but it was the first trip dedicated to spending time together as a group. The brief initial meetings had made quite the impression, so much so they already considered him a part of the family.

Meaning? Polite luxuries were no longer afforded, and they had him camping out on an air mattress in your childhood bedroom beside your tiny twin bed.

Bruce didn’t mind. He was so used to sleeping on a hard cot in the basement of Wayne Tower that the air mattress was a sort of opulence. Most importantly, he thoroughly enjoyed time with your family. Seeing you in your element, getting to know the people who had helped mold you into the person he loved, was blissful. He would’ve slept on cement without complaint.

The first night, two days ago, you’d been so petrified of your parents overhearing that you barely even let him kiss you, despite how badly you craved his touch. He’d been working relentlessly the past month, various charity appearances and meetings about more charity appearances taking up his days, and high-intensity patrols taking up his nights. This week was supposed to be a vacation, but you couldn’t get a true moment alone. Stolen kisses and gripped thighs under tables weren’t enough to satiate your desire for closeness.

Last night you’d prayed for your parents to tuck in early, as they usually did, but they’d kept the both of you up until three in the morning with a deceptively intense game of Monopoly. It had tuckered the both of you out enough to pass out immediately. You’d slept until mid-afternoon, waking to a text from your mother about spending the evening at her friend’s birthday party—and that your sister would visit in their place.

She hadn’t yet met Bruce, and was entirely enamored. Her eyes glittered every time he acknowledged her. When he excused himself to use the restroom, she leaned in with excited, jealous whispers. The next few hours were a bore.

Bruce caught onto your need for escape like you’d spoken it aloud. He pretended to surprise you with dinner reservations, and hastily made them in the car ride over. Your head throbbed with so much fawning conversation, always surrounded by prying eyes and ears. And you had another four days of this, with a family party pinned at the end of it.

By some stroke of luck, your sister had abandoned the house by the time dinner plans were completed. Opening the door to an empty, quiet home was a godsend, and you slipped off your jacket and slunk to the bedroom to change. Bruce followed close behind. You fell onto the bed and slipped off your heels, rubbing the side of your foot where they had pinched. Your vision trailed along his legs when he tossed off his dress pants and pulled on a pair of gray sweats. His hips pulled forward as he shrugged off his blazer and yanked on a tee, creating a yummy print against the light fabric. You felt your body flush, and checked the time. It would be at least a few minutes until they got back…

You shimmied out of your underwear and sat on your knees, staring at him hungrily. Maybe it was the fact the room was dark aside from dim, faded fairy lights you’d put up years ago, casting beautiful mountains and valleys across his briefly exposed chest. Or maybe that it had been weeks, and your body felt tight with need, hoarding every second of that time like a grudge. You couldn’t decide what you wanted first—to touch him or him to touch you. For his fingers, or his lips, or…

He walked to the side of your bed, smoothing your hair behind your ear with a calloused hand. His movements were innocent and slow, and you knew he was acting oblivious. There was no universe where he immediately caught onto your boredom but couldn’t tell how intensely you ached to be taken care of now. You vibrated with it, full to the brim, desire so bloomed it blurred your vision.

Was he waiting for you to beg for it? Would he really make you beg? Or was he playing safe, assuming your parents would be back any second? The thought only made you want to rush, not stall. Only increased the desperate pull for him to be on top of you, or you on top of him or, fuck, anything.

You started pulling down his pants but Bruce shook his head; he let the rejection hang for a moment, watching the quiet flicker of your eyes across his face, gauging your reaction as he sunk down to his knees. The only sound was the air mattress sliding across the floor with a satisfying shick, and a creak of coils within your mattress as he moved a warm hand to your thigh and spread your legs.

He moved his hands underneath you and hooked around your legs, gently scooting your hips to the bed’s edge. The quilt you laid on cushioned your elbows as you sat up to watch him with wide eyes. Vibrant anticipation made your mouth water, peppering goosebumps up your arms and down your legs. The dim lighting framed his wide shoulders in half-shadow and accentuated the valleys his fingers created in the flesh of your thighs.

His eyes flicked up to yours and all thought vaporized as he brought his mouth to your clit. You held a breath. His eye contact was immobilizing, bringing heat to your cheeks and closing your throat. You only realized his hands had wandered when you felt a squeeze around the fleshy part of your waist. Your attention had been bought and fate sealed when his tongue pressed between the folds of your pussy, sending a soft rumble of pleasure up your core.

You inhaled sharply as a hand traced down the side of your body, spurring a shiver at the base of your spine. The bedframe creaked as his weight adjusted against it, a finger teasing your entrance. He watched as your breathing shallowed and your subtle, quick nod shook the fragile twin bed.

He wanted to watch your reaction when… your lashes fluttered as he slid his finger in, simultaneously pressing his mouth firmer against you. God, you tasted so fucking sweet. He suppressed a moan so he could better hear yours when he added a second finger, and oh, his body was unprepared for the sound. Your hips bucked against his mouth, and he let out an involuntary moan as your slick drenched his chin. He pumped his fingers deeper, harder, and suddenly your hands were in his hair.

His eyes dipped down only to pull back and visualize your arousal; your fingers slacked in his hair, a longing whimper slipping off your tongue at the pause. You were puffy, swollen, and the most delicious shade of pink. He drew a long, deep breath, half teasing, half preparatory. He brought his wet, pursed lips a centimeter away; your body tensed in anticipation, the room’s air turned static.

Tight puffs of warm air caressed your clit, and your elbows slipped as your head fell back; your low groan was his cue to close the distance and lap at you, his fingers motionless inside. He kept a deliberate tempo, every few seconds leaning a little closer, moving his tongue a bit faster. He was waiting for it to be too much, patient for your hands to rip at his hair until it stung. Mmms and ahhs accompanied the thick, wet noises between your thighs, and he nearly lost himself in them.

Usually you folded before this point, but you were making him work for it tonight—challenge accepted. He broke the suction and slowly withdrew his fingers, reaching for your spare hand. “Look at me,” and you immediately obeyed without protest, not even a sarcastic tease. His heart skipped. Ooh, you needed him. Even in the low light he saw how thrown you were by the width of your pupils and the slack in your jaw. His cock twitched under his sweats, his thoughts loosening.

“Please,” you pleaded, shifting your hips closer. Bruce grinned when you grabbed the back of his head. He felt the insistence within your palm and obliged, moving his mouth back down. A part of him felt bad—you were never this needy. But the beauty in the trembling arch of your back and the heat emanating off every inch of your skin was so intoxicating he couldn’t resist keeping you here. He dragged his tongue lower, circling your entrance until your grip tightened, but not enough. Not yet.

The warm, unhurried slip of his tongue against your clit had your moans echo off the walls. His pace was achingly slow, but you couldn’t complain when his mouth knew your body this well. His easy tempo continued for minutes, decreasing each time he felt your walls clench around his fingers. Tension built in your stomach and your back arched higher off the mattress. The sweeping motions of his tongue were languid, but his flicks were hard and calculated. You grabbed another fistful of his hair and yanked as his swipes turned to sucking, and he groaned against it.

You shrieked as his fingers entered you once more, the come here motion hitting that dull, heady spot over, and over, and… “Fuck,” you cursed, face tense as he worked you to the edge. He was hitting that spot relentlessly, and the noises of your soaked cunt were downright pornographic.

He felt your pussy clench hard around his fingers, and his mouth separated from you with a pop. “Go, baby.” He coached you as he curled his fingers higher. The room was hazy, his senses attuned only to your face and his fingers. His gravelly voice was strained by his own mounting desire. “Cum for me.”

You bit your lip and fought it; he couldn’t overwhelm you this easily, work you as he pleased. Even though he was right and you were on the edge of completion, almost dangling off the cliff, you wouldn’t let him have it so easily. He didn’t let you have it so easily. Remembering the torturous speed of the past ten minutes… and how fucking perfectly he was nailing you right now.

Your breathing slowed intentionally when he moved up to kiss you. A whimper slipped from your lips as you held your orgasm at arm’s length, and Bruce’s brow cocked when he realized what you were attempting. “C’mon,” he purred, nudging your jaw out of the way to press a wet kiss to the nape of your neck. Your pulse hammered beneath his lips, betraying you, his hot breath matching the pace of his fingers as they fucked you.

“Not so easily.” You managed a breathless sentence, the end frayed with a whine as he pulled his fingers out to circle the pearl of your clit. Your teeth made an indent in your lower lip, failing to keep secret how you were putty in his hands.

His blue eyes bore into yours, framed by his straight, dark hair. His cologne mocked you this close, weakening your resolve. Your body quivered, barely able to keep moans from spilling out in an endless chorus, singing his praises. He grinned, speeding up his pointer and middle fingers. “Let it out, baby.” he kissed along your collarbone, dragging his lips down to your nipple. A moan hummed from his chest as his tongue swirled it, making you yelp. “I can tell you need it.”

His coaxing wouldn’t undo you, his coaxing wouldn’t… you gasped as his fingers pushed inside again. You shook your head, face heating. He paused and thank god he had, because you needed a split second to contain yourself. “Want me to stop?”

“No.” You pushed your hips down on his fingers and grinded on them, moans and whines escaping full force. The bed creaked under the impact, a laugh mingling with a moan as you noticed his eyes flash, then darken. His jaw dropped open, beginning to pant. It was water. You were water.

The room spun. He kissed his way down your torso until he could finally taste you again. Impossibly wet, impossible to keep up with the gyration of your hips and the roll of your waist. His tone tempted the Bat when it got this ragged. “Fuck,” he swallowed hard, as if it were the last breath he’d ever take. And maybe it would be, the way you weren’t leaving him room to breathe.

He wanted to egg you on. Fuck yourself on my fingers, he’d gasp, but he was worried you’d stop. Somewhere the script had flipped and you were teasing him now, commanding control. You always melted him like this. “Take what you need.”

The words unraveled you. Your body slammed the length of his fingers, jamming the headboard into the wall without mercy. “Another,” you groaned, feeling instantly fuller. His knuckles, the angle of his fingers, and the pinprick pain of hickeys he stained along your skin made you feral. “Please,” you mewled, threading shaking fingers through his sweaty hair. He’d caught your staggered rhythm; you closed your eyes and submitted to the pleasure of each thrust, as sensitive as you’d ever been.

Bruce felt like you were riding him; he swore he felt each slip of his fingers on his throbbing dick, his hips twitching in unison with his hands. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Broken curses fell from your lips and you tightened around his fingers. His cheeks burned scarlet. He didn’t know if he was still breathing. Everything in the world left him.

You didn’t have to say anything; he felt it in the tremble of your legs, saw it etched in the crease between your eyebrows. “That’s it,” he coached you through it, feeling you clench so tight his breathing hitched. “Perfect baby, cum for me.”

Your hands landed on his shoulders, nails digging into sweaty, flaming skin as your climax shot through you. Your hips bounced erratically, Bruce’s fingers still fucked you through it, your pussy a useless, trembling, spasming mess. The white-hot release flooded your brain with TV static, a rush which cascaded through every cell in your body. Your mouth opened wider to free a guttural moan when you suddenly felt empty, clenching around nothing, and his hand clamped down on your mouth, muffling you.

“They’re back,” he whispered, gulping for breath. You writhed, simultaneously wrestling against the forced silence and grateful he’d heard, body contracting and jumping beneath him. “Shh…” he soothed, his dominating gaze quickly placating your throbbing frame. You blinked down the residual high when you heard the front door shut, footsteps entering the hall.

“Back from the party! Brought you guys some cake.”

Hearing your parent’s voice so soon after was disorienting; Bruce paused, waiting a second longer to drop his hand. You stared at each other a moment, completely still, until a smile crept on his face and you laughed.

“I’ll have to wait a minute.” Bruce sat up, adjusting his sweats with a heavy sigh. Your eyes traveled the dark room, catching your breath like you’d just run a mile. His fingers never felt that good before, his tongue never worked such brutal magic. He interrupted your reverie.

“You okay?” He was breathless too, his shirt limp and stretched haphazardly. He looked dazed, and blushed when you didn’t immediately answer. “Sorry for teasing. You just…” he turned tomato red.

“Just what?”

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he confessed, focusing on your smile as you leaned toward him. Your hand rested on his knee; his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Come try it, you two.”

You felt like a teenager again. “I have an idea.” Your fingers trailed toward his waistband. “You better simmer down, or we’ll get in trouble. Cake tasting’s important, you know.”

“Evidently…” he tried to measure your parent’s wrath against the ache in his boxers, half shocked he was even considering being so reckless. How soundproof was this room?

“More than okay.” You finally answered, tugging at his drawstring until the knot untied. He drew a quick breath, but didn’t pull away.

“I won’t be able to be quiet,” he admitted, flustered.

The walls narrowed to the space between your lips and his. You knew your parents would soon unwind in the living room across the house, unable to hear a peep—but Bruce didn’t. “Is that a challenge?”

a/n: apparently i have writer’s block but not for bruce wayne smut, so here you go <3 i think it’s cute for Bruce to have the experience of parents interrupting something, since he likely didn’t have that experience growing up !! at least battinson probably didn’t, lmao. also he’s a total munch. a real eater. let me know what you think !!

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strangererotica · 2 days ago

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EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Dom!Steve Harrington x Sub!Reader • SMUT • play fighting/dominance, grinding, light degradation, pet name ‘Princess,’ is used, partially-clothed sex, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, squirting

Steve’s thigh crushes over yours, pinning you down. Your stomach meets the thick beige carpet under you as he easily flattens you against the floor. Steve chuckles arrogantly, his handsome grin beaming. “I’ll admit it,” he says in between breaths. “You put up a good fight.”

Steve wraps his arm across your chest from behind, locking you under his forearm. You wriggle and thrash to free yourself, but it’s no use. Steve won; he has you pinned. He climbs astride you, grunting when the hard bulge in his pants nudges your ass just right. Steve adjusts so his erection is lined up in the space between your cheeks, his arms caging you. You’re both still fully-clothed at this point. The fabric separating your bodies is a small obstacle for Steve to overcome, and he’s in no hurry regardless.

He takes his time enjoying your ass, humping between the soft curves of your form. The weight of his body on you is simultaneously comforting and slightly intimidating. Steve is much stronger than you; the pressure he exerts holding you in place is proof of it. He overpowers you easily, grinding your crotch into the carpet with his. “Y’gave me a lot of trouble, Princess,” Steve scolds. “Instead of putting out like a good girl, you made me work for it.” Steve’s fingers slide through yours as he pins you, his big hands closing into fists around them. Lowering his lips to speak, Steve’s breath kisses the shell of your ear in a delicious threat: “Now you’re gonna make it up to me...”

He flattens against your upper back, pinning you in place while bringing his hands around behind you. You twitch under Steve’s weight, fighting to free yourself but not really. It’s the illusion of danger that excites you, the game that is your struggle. Steve is the only person you trust when it comes to playing rough.

Accepting defeat, you lay your cheek against the carpet. Steve hooks his fingers under the waistband of your leggings, ripping them down off your ass. You wince at the sting produced by the fabric being yanked down your thighs. Steve doesn’t fully remove the leggings, leaving them cinched around your calves. It only makes his win more degrading for you, fucking you partially undressed. It’s as if you’re nothing but a piece of meat that doesn’t even deserve to be comfortable while Steve takes what he wants from you. The gritty scruff of his pubic hair rubs against your ass as he adjusts on top of you. Steve grunts at the delightfully frustrating fun of pinning you, his stiff cock throbbing against your ass. You instinctively arch into him, which Steve finds amusing. “Maybe you wanted to lose, s’that it?” he gloats. You nod meekly, your face rested against the carpet. Steve reaches between your legs and teases his fingertips along your inner thigh. You shiver as his touch ghosts over your lips. Steve exhales awestruck at the feel of your slick on his fingertips. He pulls his hand to his lips and samples the flavor of you on his fingers. The groan that leaves Steve’s chest is animalistic, the sound of a hunger so deep, it’s primal. He shoves one finger inside you, then a second, cursing when your gummy walls suck around him. Your eyes close, fingers clawing at the carpet for some kind of control as Steve removes the last bit of resistance from you. He pumps in and out of you with just the right amount of force. His fingers work your cunt in a perfect blend of aggression and tenderness. The sound of your juices sloshes audibly around Steve’s fingers as he thrusts them in and out of you. His cock prods your inner thigh like a third arm poking into you, your movement completely restricted by the confine of your leggings. Steve fucks an orgasm out of you with his fingers, cum gushing between your squeezed-together thighs, muttering praises over your back in a voice you can barely make out over your grunts of pleasure. The muscles inside you contract around Steve’s fingers in a sucking motion that has his tip leaking onto your thigh, his cock lodged between your legs. Your mouth is spread open in a dull scream, a line of drool spilling from your lips and melting into the carpet.

Steve releases your pussy and smacks his wet palm against your ass. He admires the slippery print his hand left, leaning in to lick the cum off your ass like a reward. Squeezing the fat of your hips to brace himself, Steve mounts you again, his cock wedged between your legs. With a hard thrust, he enters you, growling as your walls spread around him in a warm, wet grip. You whimper gratefully as Steve takes you, arching into his thrusts, wanting nothing more than to be used for his pleasure. After the orgasm he just gave you, Steve knows your brain is switched off at this point. His hips smack against your ass in hard thrusts, stroking your insides in a delicious rhythm of dominance.

He shoves his arm under your stomach, pulling your body up into his. Steve’s stomach ruts against your back as he pumps into you, each thrust pulling him closer, your gummy walls milking him for all he’s worth. Even in your blissful delirium, you can’t help but come again. Steve whimpers into your shoulder as your walls choke and suck around his cock. He can’t hold out any longer, joining you in climax. Steve’s body shudders against yours as he comes, his hips flat against your ass, grinding you into the floor. Semen jets inside you in thick bursts, spattering your cervix in Steve’s cum. Sweat drips from his hair onto your shoulder, his heartbeat thudding against your back. Steve releases some of his pressure on top of you, shifting his weight to his arms.

The warm gust of his breath dusts your neck, sending one final shiver through you. Steve feels it inside you, your walls fluttering around his cock. He kisses your shoulder gently, nuzzling his nose against your neck. “Looks like we both won,” he teases, his voice groggy and satisfied.

Twisting under Steve’s weight, you manage to flip over onto your back. His cock slips out of you and onto the floor, heavy and wet. “I don’t mind being a sore loser,” you reply. “As long as you’re the reason I’m sore…”

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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 1 day ago

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When You Call Them Clingy| Hyungline Pt3

Hyungline x Gn!Reader

(i was supposed to release this yesterday but things came up im sor sorry its late but here you go!!! idk how i feel about this :/)

Bangchan

The night air was cool as you walked into the dimly lit bar, Felix by your side, his expression a mixture of concern and forced cheer. You had told Chan that you had plans- and wouldn’t lie to him- and that meant actually going through with your impulsive decision to make plans.

So, here you were, out with Felix, pretending that the weight in your chest wasn’t getting heavier with every minute that passed.

Felix had noticed, of course. He always did. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked, voice soft. "Maybe you can-"

You forced a smile, waving him off. “Yeah, of course. I need a distraction.”

But the more you drank, the more you realized it wasn’t a distraction at all. Every sip burned, and every moment you weren’t thinking about Chan consciously was just a moment your subconscious filled with the memory of his face. His voice. The way he had shut you out completely after you made such a careless comment.

Meanwhile, across town, Chan sat in the corner of him an Jeongin’s apartment, drink in hand, gaze distant. Jisung had been invited over as well to have a few drinks and relax, since Chan also felt uneasy with the excuse he had made. Both boys sensed that something was off, but neither of them asked, just quietly sipping their drinks.

Until finally they couldn't take it anymore.

“You good, hyung?” Jisung finally asked, watching Chan down another shot.

Chan huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing his face. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Jeongin raised a brow. “You sure about that?”

Chan didn’t answer. He just stared at the ice in his glass, swirling it absentmindedly. The alcohol was dulling the ache in his chest, but only slightly. He had been pushing himself to stop thinking about you, to accept that you needed space, but it wasn’t working.

Not when his mind kept replaying the way you had looked at him before you left. The way your voice had sounded too quiet when you said goodnight.

The way it had sounded angry when you called him clingy.

Did he really do too much? What if-

Then his phone vibrated.

Felix.

Chan frowned, answering quickly. “Lix?”

“Hyung,” Felix said, exhaling sharply. “I need you to come get Y/N.”

Chan sat up immediately. “Who? You're with Y/N?"

Was Y/N originally planning to hang out with Lix?...I thought they had just made an excuse-

Felix hesitated, his voice tight. “Y/Ns…not doing great- won't let me help-" Chris struggled to hear over the noise of the bar. "-keeps pushing me away, saying they don’t want me to be ‘clingy'- out of -mind and refuses to- help them- get home.”

Chan felt the words like a slap to the face. His chest constricted, at the thought of you being drunk out of your mind.

“I’ll be there in ten,” he said, already grabbing his jacket. “Send me the location.” He stood up abruptly and wobbled slightly.

Jisung and Jeongin exchanged a look before quickly standing as well. “We’re coming with you,” Jeongin said firmly. "I'll drive, you drank more than either of us."

(For legal purposes disclaimer: y'all do NOT drink and drive. it's dangerous and can have serious repercussions. always try your best to have a sober friend around as well, in case of emergency)

Jeongin snatched Chris's key's and they all hopped into the car.

You tended to worry him when you were drunk, and he wasn't sure what to expect.

The drive felt agonizingly long. The alcohol still buzzed faintly in Chan’s system, but the moment he heard Felix’s voice and heard that you were in trouble - or causing trouble maybe -he sobered up fast. His heart pounded against his ribs as worry gnawed at his insides.

The second they stepped into the bar, his eyes scanned the room until he found you. And his breath caught in his throat.

You were sitting at a table, arms crossed tightly over your chest, brows furrowed as Felix spoke to you softly as he patted your back. But it was clear you weren’t listening. Your eyes were glassy, and your lips were pursed like you were trying not to cry as you shook your head, then slamming it onto the table like an angry toddler.

Felix noticed them first, exhaling in relief. “Thank God,” he muttered.

Chan wasted no time. He was at your side in an instant, crouching down so he was at eye level. “Y/N.”

Your head snapped toward him, and for a moment, your expression flickered with something so raw, so vulnerable, that it made his chest ache. But then your lips wobbled, and you hiccuped, looking away. “Go away.”

Chan’s jaw tightened. “Not happening, baby. Come on, let’s get you home.”

You shook your head stubbornly. “No.”

"You're being a pain, Y/N-ie. To Felix of all people do you want to upset him?"

Chan glanced at Felix, who gave him a knowing look. Felix wasn’t upset- he understood. It wasn’t that you didn’t want help. You just didn’t want it from anyone who wasn’t Chan.

You still stubbornly shook your head so Chan looked at Jisung who nodded.

Jisung sighed, mocking anger and crossing his arms. “Y/N you're being difficult, we can do it the easy way or the hard way. Or do you want to make us upset and disappointed?”

The moment Jisung spoke, you immediately nodded, causing a chuckle from the boys. "Okay, I'll listen."

The boys had long since known Jisung was your first bias, and that was often used for leverage in situations like these, when you're brain was too fogged to do much other that realize you didn't want to embarrass yourself in front of someone you admired.

Carefully, Chan reached out, his fingers grazing your wrist. “Y/N,” he murmured, softer now. “Ready now?”

At that, your whole body seemed to deflate. Your lips trembled, and your eyes welled up with tears. “I was mean to you,” you whispered.

Chan exhaled softly, still caressing your wrist. “I know.”

“I didn’t mean it.” You whimpered.

“I know,” he said again, this time even softer.

Your face crumpled. “I’m sorry.”

Chan sighed, his chest tightening unbearably. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

This time, you didn’t fight him. You let him help you up, let him guide you out of the bar, his arm steady around your waist. The moment you were outside, the cool air hit you, and your steps wobbled. Chan adjusted his grip, holding you closer.

“I miss you,” you mumbled into his shoulder. Wiping your snot on him.

Chan swallowed hard. “I’m right here.” He noticed your were wiping your nose on him and he rolled his eyes lovingly. "You need a tissue?"

“You were mad,” you said, your voice tiny.

“I was hurt,” he corrected gently. “But I wasn’t mad.” He helped you get into the back seat of the car. "Sometimes, we just have to learn to handle our emotions a bit better. After some thought, I know we both could have reacted in better ways. I should have told you how I felt, and you should have told me how you felt. I know you were upset and didn't mean it, but it doesn't take away any of the hurt Y/N. I 'cling' to you because I'm deeply in love with you.

Your fingers clutched at his sleeve. “Are you leaving me?” You said looking up at him with wide eyes.

Chan paused buckling you in. His eyes widened as he turned to look at your face fully. “What?”

“You’re not gonna leave me, right?” you whispered, your voice thick with tears. “I feel so bad, Chris. I don’t want you to go.”

Chan exhaled slowly. He wanted to be frustrated with you- wanted to tell you how much you had hurt him, how dismissing his care had stung. But looking at you now, your face scrunched up in guilt, your body trembling slightly from the alcohol and the weight of your emotions…he just couldn’t.

Instead, he finished buckling you in and slid next to you and pulled you into him, his head resting atop your head. “I’m not leaving you,” he murmured. “You’re stuck with me, okay?”

You sniffled against his chest. “Promise?”

His grip tightened. “Promise.”

Jisung and Jeongin exchanged a glance but said nothing. Felix let out a quiet sigh of relief as he climbed in the back with you two.

"You're not clingy." You said quietly on the ride back. "I was upset but you're not clingy."

Chan hmmed in acknowledgement, petting your hair.

You scooted closer to him, burying yourself into him even more.

"Can I be clingy though?" You muttered sleepily, eyes fluttering to a close.

"That's all I want." He murmured quietly, kissing the top of your head.

"I love you."

As Chan held you close, feeling the tension in your body slowly begin to ease, he knew one thing for certain: no matter what, he wasn’t going anywhere. And so he squeezed you a bit tighter, clung to you.

And as you drifted off into sleep you realized-

How could you ever think you didn't want this?

——————————————————————————

Minho

The moment you got home, you regretted running away. The sinking feeling in your stomach wouldn’t let up, and your mind kept replaying the scene over and over. The way Minho looked at you- shocked, maybe even a little hurt- made you feel even worse.

You curled up on your bed, hugging your knees to your chest, guilt weighing you down like a stone. He deserved to be heard. You had made a mess of things, and now, if you wanted to fix it, you had to be the one to take the first step.

The next morning, you gathered your courage and went back to his apartment. Your heart pounded as you stood in front of his door, staring at the keypad, remembering how easily you had let yourself in the night before. This time, you knocked.

A moment later, the door opened, revealing a very tired-looking Minho. His hair was disheveled, his eyes slightly puffy as if he hadn’t slept much. When he saw you, his lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across his face before he stepped aside wordlessly to let you in.

You hesitated for a moment but stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of his apartment. The cats lounged around lazily, their tails flicking as they acknowledged your presence. The silence between you and Minho stretched, thick with unspoken words.

You turned to face him, gathering every ounce of courage you had. “I’m sorry.”

Minho’s brows furrowed slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “For what exactly?”

“For everything.” You exhaled shakily. “For calling you clingy when you were just being sweet, for lashing out at you because I was feeling insecure. And for last night- for not even giving you a chance to explain.”

Minho sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really hurt me, Y/N.”

“I know.” Your voice cracked. “And I hate that I did. I-” You swallowed. “I saw you with her and I just- jumped to the worst conclusion....”

He studied you for a moment, arms crossed, his gaze softer now but still guarded. "So...that is what you thought." He said quietly.

You blinked and nodded. "I...know you wouldn't though. I was emotional and I...don't..." You swallowed, trying to blink back tears.

Minho sighed and crossed his arms as he leaned against the doorframe to the living room. “You should’ve asked instead of assuming.”

“I should have.” You nodded. “Who...was she?” You asked quietly, feeling your face burn from embarrassment of still being wary.

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “My old neighbor. I asked her to watch the cats.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

He let out a small sigh, then motioned for you to sit on the couch. You followed hesitantly, your heart still racing.

“I was planning something for us,” he admitted. “A trip. I wanted it to be a surprise, but I needed someone to take care of the cats while we were gone.”

Your breath hitched. “A trip?”

Minho nodded, his expression unreadable, but his jaw twitching. “Yeah. Because I love you, and I wanted to spend time with you. But then you called me clingy and started avoiding me, and I thought…maybe you didn’t want that.”

Guilt surged through you so strongly it made your chest ache. “Minho…”

He met your gaze, something raw in his eyes. “I know that I was the first one to...shut down or...seek space; but you were the one pulling away. I was just trying to hold on. And forget what you said...”

Tears pricked at your eyes. “I didn't mean that Minho. I know nothing can take those words back, but I truly truly didn't mean it.” you whispered.

"I don't..." Minho sighed. "I don't act...this way with others. I don't really like all the mushy stuff but with you...it's different. Its like...I have to do all that stuff because I love you so much that it physically pains me not to show you just how much you mean..."

"Min..."

"So when you said that it made me think maybe you didn't want my love. That maybe...it was a burden to you."

"It's not!" You shout, making Minho jump slightly. "It's not at all. If anything I'm the burden for making things so difficult."

"You'll never be a burden to me Y/N. You just need to tell me when things are getting too hard so I can adjust my love language during those times. So we can avoid things like this, hm?" He lifted your face to look at him, slowly rubbing his thumb over your cheek. You nodded.

"You can be such a pain when your irritated you know, that?" He teased, his eyes narrowing.

"I was scared that I showed you I don’t deserve how much you love me. And that...you...”

Minho sighed before leaning forward, cupping your cheek gently, as he crashed his lips into your to shut you up.

“You can be scared, but don’t shut me out. Let me be scared with you if you are. And for the record you have nothing to be scared for. I'm clingy remember? What makes you think I'll let you go?"

A tear slipped down your cheek, and he wiped it away with his thumb. “I love you, Y/N. Even when you’re being a pain.”

A small, watery laugh left your lips. “I love you too."

He smirked slightly. “So, you ready for the trip?”

You blinked. “You still want to go?”

Minho scoffed. “Of course. I planned everything. It’d be a waste not to.”

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise." He said wiggling his eyebrows. "A very special surprise."

You pouted. "But I wanna know-"

He shushed you again with his lips, pushing you back onto the couch, and Dori's napping spot much to cat's dismay.

His hand entwined with yours, for a split second he played with your ring finger.

"You'll know soon enough, jagiya." He mumbled against your lips, his hand falling from yours to wrap around you waste as he lay on top of you. "But I missed you so let me just be with you in this moment."

He pulled you into his arms, his embrace warm and familiar, as he cuddled into you, and told you about everything that had happened recently; and for the first time in weeks, everything felt right again.

——————————————————————————

Changbin

You barely had time to process before you were rushing outside.

He was turned away from you completely. Your stomach dropped, and your hands instinctively reached out for him. "Changbin, wait!"

But he didn’t even try to continue walk away. Instead, his shoulders shook. His breath came out ragged, and when he turned back to you, his eyes were glossy, brimmed with unshed tears.

Your breath caught in your throat. "Bin...?"

You ran up to him and you started apologizing.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to steal your proposal or anything. I just wanted to apologize for snapping and calling you clingy-"

He let out a broken laugh, tears threatening to teeter over the edge, running a hand through his hair before looking at you with an expression so raw, so utterly vulnerable, that it made your chest pound. "You really think I’m upset because of that?"

Your brows furrowed. "Aren’t you? I- I took this from you. I ruined everything. I was so horrible-"

He cut you off with a shake of his head. "No, Y/N. God, no." He took in a shaking breath.

And then the first tear slipped down his cheek. Followed by the next, then the next.

Your heart clenched painfully at the sight, and you stepped closer, unsure if you should reach for him. He was crying. You had made him cry. And the thought of it made your own tears start to well in your eyes.

"Binnie, I-"

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice wavered. "I’m not crying because I’m upset. I’m crying because I love you so much that it makes me hurt to think about how you blamed yourself for all of this. That you thought the way to make it up to me was by planning your own proposal."

He let out another unsteady breath, wiping at his face roughly. "I don’t care about the proposal going wrong. I don’t care that you were overwhelmed or that we fought. I don't care enough about any of that to want an apology. I thought I did but being here I don't. I care that you thought for even a second that I would want you to feel this kind of guilt. I care that you thought I wouldn’t love you just as much, even after everything."

The weight of his words crashed into you all at once.

Tears slipped freely down your cheeks now, your throat tightening so much it was hard to breathe. "But I- I hurt you. I said awful things, I-"

"Yes, but seeing this-" He gestured towards your home. "I know you didn't mean it. We all say things when we're upset."

"But I do it so much-" You cried out.

"And I still love you, Y/N," he interrupted softly, stepping forward this time. "I still want to marry you. I still want every version of forever with you, no matter how messy it gets. I didn’t propose tonight because I thought it had to be perfect. I proposed tonight because I was ready. And I still am."

Your lips trembled, a sob catching in your throat as you reached for him, hands shaking when they met his chest. "Bin..."

He exhaled shakily, his hands coming up to cup your face. His thumbs brushed away your tears, his gaze searching yours as if to make sure you understood. "Don’t ever think that a bad night, a bad fight, or a bad moment could ever change the way I feel about you."

Your tears fell harder now, and a broken laugh slipped from your lips. "You’re supposed to be mad at me, and make me grovel and apologize 1000 times; not saying the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard."

He chuckled wetly, pulling you against him, his arms wrapping securely around you. " While I think that would be a sight to see I forgave you the moment everything happened. And I appreciate the apology Y/N-ie, I really do. But I could never stay mad at you. Not when I know how much you love me back."

You buried your face in his chest, clutching onto him like he was your lifeline. "I do. I love you so much, Binnie. And I’m so sorry."

He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. "I know. I know, baby. We can move past now."

For a long moment, you just stood there, wrapped up in each other, breathing in the warmth and comfort that only he could provide. And then, in the softest whisper, he murmured against your hair:

"Marry me, Y/N?"

You pulled back slightly, blinking up at him through tear-soaked lashes. "You...You’re still asking? Even after all of this?"

His smile was small but so full of love it nearly took your breath away. "I wanted to hear you say yes."

A watery laugh bubbled out of you, and you nodded, gripping his shirt tightly. "Yes. Yes, of course, I’ll marry you."

He pulled the ring out of his jacket pocket and placed it on your finger, disregarding the box somewhere on the pavement.

And then his lips were on yours, warm and insistent, tasting of salt and relief and love. So much love.

It was filled with every emotion under the sun, everything you could ever want and need.

And it made you pull him closer, cling to him a little more.

It wasn’t a perfect proposal.

But it was yours

Which made it absolutely perfect in the end.

——————————————————————————

Hyunjin

Hyunjin practically sprinted from your apartment, his heart hammering against his ribs. The cold air bit at his skin, but the chill was nothing compared to the ice creeping up his spine.

Where could you have gone?

He checked the usual spots first. The small park you liked to sit at when you needed air, the café down the street where you drowned your bad moods in sweet drinks, even the bus stop in case you had the ridiculous idea of running away from your problems altogether.

But you weren’t at any of them.

Panic fully bloomed in his chest. He couldn’t lose you—not like this. His mind was already spinning in worst-case scenarios, every single possibility sharpening his anxiety into something unbearable. He pulled out his phone and called again. Straight to voicemail.

“Come on, Y/N, pick up,” he muttered, frustration and worry bleeding into his voice.

Then, a thought struck him.

He quickly searched up convenience stores near your apartment.

You tended to like to stress snack, and if you had wandered off, there could be a good chance you wandered into a place filled with snacks.

He tried calling again; even though he was sure you wouldn't answer becuase it seems your phone was off.

But much to his surprise there was an answer.

"Hello?"

Hyunjin didn't recognize the voice, but it sounded like an older gentleman.

"Who is this? Why do you have Y/N's phone?"

"Oh, I see. Their phone died, so I'm charging it."

The man had given Hyunjin the address of the store and he took off in that direction, his long legs eating up the distance, barely noticing the way his breath came out in sharp puffs. And then, as he rounded the last corner, he saw you.

Sitting by the window, a snack in your hand, your eyes lost in thought.

Relief hit him so hard he nearly staggered. His chest rose and fell as he tried to compose himself, to shake off the raw terror that had gripped him just moments before.

You were okay.

But God, he wasn’t.

The door chimed as he stepped inside. You looked up, startled, and your eyes went wide as they met his.

“Hyunjin-”

Before you could finish, he was in front of you, his hands cupping your face, looking at you all around his warmth enveloping you entirely. His brows were drawn together, his eyes dark and searching.

“Do you have any idea how scared I was?” he said, voice tight. “I came back and you were gone. Your phone was off. I thought-” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I thought something happened to you. Why are you even at a store this far from your home?”

Guilt curled deep in your gut. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just- I tried going after you and then my phone died, and I had taken a wrong turn and-”

Hyunjin let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but it was too shaky, too broken. He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones.

“You don’t get to disappear on me like that,” he murmured. “Not after what you said. Not after the way you made me feel.”

Your stomach twisted. “Hyunjin, I-”

“No, let me talk.” His voice was soft, but firm. “You hurt me, Y/N. You made me feel like I was too much, like the way I love you is suffocating.”

Your lips parted, a lump forming in your throat.

“But that’s just how I am,” he continued, his fingers tightening slightly against your skin. “When I care, I care with everything. I don’t know how to be any other way.” His voice cracked. “And for a second, you made me feel like that wasn’t enough. Or maybe…too much.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. “Hyunjin, I never meant to make you feel like that.”

He searched your face, his own emotions laid bare. “Then why did you say it?”

"I was upset. But after some thought..." You swallowed, forcing yourself to confront the truth. “I think I don't like change. And being cared for this much is new to me. So, I was irritated, and I used it as an excuse to say something I had been thinking. Because I think I'm scared,” you admitted. “Scared that if I let myself lean into it too much, I’d get used to it. That I’d get used to you being there, and then one day maybe you wouldn’t be, so I shouldn't let myself get used to it."

Hyunjin stood there blinking.

“I thought pushing you away would make it hurt less if that ever happened, And after today I realized that I was wrong. And I'm sorry.” you continued, voice shaking. “I'm sorry all I did was hurt you instead of expressing how I felt. Whether about the rough days or anxiety for the future. There are no excuses...”

A heavy silence stretched between you before he finally spoke.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly. “Not unless you tell me to. And even then, I’d probably still find a way to stay and cling to.”

A nervous laugh bubbled up in your throat.

"I mean it, Y/N. More than I've meant anything before." He sighed. "I wanted you to grovel and I was going to be all dramatic and everything but...I guess you just make me way too soft don't you?" He kissed your forehead. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to cling to you. Even if you tell me not too."

You let out a full laugh now. “You’re persistent.”

“And you’re impossible,” he murmured, brushing a tear from your cheek. “But you’re mine. Right?”

You nodded, fresh guilt and love swelling in your chest. “I am. And I know I already said sorry but I really am. I’m so, so sorry, Hyunjin. For what I said, for making you feel like you weren’t enough. You are. You always have been.”

Hyunjin studied you for a moment before his lips quirked up just slightly. “You’re lucky I’m weak for you.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” you promised. “Whatever you want.”

His eyes sparkled mischievously. “Anything?”

You hesitated. “Yes?”

A full grin broke across his face. “Then you owe me unlimited cuddles for a week.”

You let out a relieved laugh, nodding. “Deal.”

And just like that, Hyunjin pulled you into his arms, burying his face into your shoulder, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

Because he didn’t.

——————————————————————————

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy

@suckerforv @nyang3racha @ashleylly @darling-imobsessed @changbinismymuscledaddy @artist2181 @minniesverse @monbrigh @20staaa @aeri-skzver @noannah @skysole @chanssmiles @depressedarlling

#skz imagines #skz x reader #skz stay #skz reactions #stray kids #stray kids reactions #skz fluff #skz angst #skz #christopher bang #lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin

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neeeooon · 2 days ago

Note

Hey! How would the bllk boys (Bachira, Isagi, Chigiri, Rin + your choice?) React to their SO trying to break up with them bc she's insecure about not being ambitious enough and she thinks they should be with someone 'better'?

omg this made me so sad 😭 hopefully you enjoy!

when you try to break up with them because you’re insecure ;

bf bllk x fem!reader

bachira meguru

-> watching bachira dance across the field was your favorite thing in the world, but it could be bittersweet. you saw how happy it made him, and it sucked to know that you’d never feel that kind of excitement

-> the thoughts about not being good enough finally got to you, and you caved. “meg? when you have a minute?” “what’s up, y/n?”

-> you didn’t think it’d be this hard. “i… i don’t think i’m ambitious enough to be your girlfriend. i don’t have a thing like you do, and i feel like maybe i’m distracting you? like instead of being on the field, you’re with me, and that’s not fair to you and your dreams.”

-> after a moment of staring and blinking and confused looks from bachira, he jumps up and pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. “just because you don’t have a ‘thing’, doesn’t mean i don’t want you.”

-> he releases you and flashes his signature head-tilt-smile combo that wrecks your heart. “i can help you find something that drives you as much as soccer drives me, if you want! and if you don’t, that’s okay, too! but whatever it is, i want us to do it together. okay? :>”

isagi yoichi

-> after watching team blue lock play against the u20 team and win, hearing how determined your boyfriend was during the interview, watching him celebrate with his teammates, you made up your mind

-> “yoichi? can we talk?” and he starts sweating because he hasn’t seen or heard from you except for a little “congrats!” text since his game

-> you sit him down and stare into your lap as you say, “i think we should break up.”

-> he leans forward to ask why, but stops when you look up to reveal tears in your eyes. “i don’t have a dream. i’m not ambitious like you, and i don’t want to hold you back from achieving your dreams. i want you to live a full, prosperous life with someone better—“

-> and he’s kissing you. “y/n, no. i don’t… there isn’t anyone better. yes, this is my dream, but it’s a dream with you in it! and no one says prosperous, babe.”

-> you laugh at that and he helps wipe your tears away. “do you promise?” “i promise.”

chigiri hyoma

-> you loved watching chigiri regain his dream of running and playing soccer, but there were times when you felt like he was going to pass you by and not look back

-> it made you insecure, knowing he was so happy chasing after this dream that had previously been out of reach, when you didn’t have anything to compare it to. you felt like he could do better with someone who understood his struggles

-> “hyoma?” “hm?” “can i talk to you about something?” “mhm!” “something serious?” “… okay.”

-> and you tell him everything. “i feel like you could do better. like if you were with someone who truly understood your struggles and dreams, that you’d be happier. i love you, but i don’t want to be a deadweight in your future.”

-> chigiri would look at you, know you’re not joking, but still think this is a huge prank. “y/n, i’m able to run toward my dream because of you. because in my head, you’re there at the finish line. you’re not holding be back, you’re giving me something to run to.” you cried after that for sure

itoshi rin

-> though you cheered for your boyfriend and encouraged him every step of the way, you didn’t think you’d ever amount to the love and passionate rin has for soccer

-> it made you doubt yourself, seeing him so ambitious to strive for this dream when you didn’t have anything close to amounting

-> when it finally got to be too much, you pulled your boyfriend aside and kept your hands at your sides. “you are the most talented person i know.”

-> and now he’s nervous. “what’s going on, y/n?”

-> “i feel like i’m pulling you away from that when i’m around. i think your career would be better off without me dragging you down. you’re such a skilled player, rin, and i’m just—“

-> he takes your hands in his and squeezes them, almost desperately. “don’t say anything else. i don’t want to hear it, y/n, please. i can’t do this without you. you aren’t pulling me away or dragging me down, so don’t—“

-> this time it’s you who cuts him off when you fling yourself against his chest. “i’m sorry. i didn’t know… thank you for telling me.”

michael kaiser

-> omg he is terrified when you ask him to “talk” because he’s 98% sure he left the oven on and thinks you found out

-> but when you say, “i think we should break up,” his mind goes blank

-> “why.” “i just feel like you’re so focused on chasing your dream that you don’t need me… i can’t help you become a better player, and i don’t want to hold you back—“ “did i do something?” “huh?”

-> kaiser would look at you with such sad eyes, but accept this thinking that you want to leave him. “if you want to go, i won’t stop you. don’t stay with me if you aren’t happy anymore, y/n—“

-> you are confused, because how has the conversation changed this much? “what the heck, no! michael, i’m saying you can do better than me—“ “but i don’t want ‘better’! there isn’t ‘better’. i want you!”

#requested!#bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock headcanons #blue lock angst #blue lock x reader #bachira meguru #isagi yoichi #itoshi rin #chigiri hyoma #michael kaiser #bllk x you #bllk bachira #bllk chigiri #bllk isagi #bllk rin #bllk kaiser

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itendtothinkalot · 3 days ago

Text

strawberry ice cream

summary: taehyun’s never liked strawberry ice cream, but for five years, he’s pretended to, just to make you happy. one day, he finally confesses his feelings! trying to keep your cool, you’re struggling to handle the situation, but taehyun? he’s acting different, a little too confident for your own good. now, with his teasing, you’re not sure whether to be flustered or admit that maybe… you feel the same way.

genre: fluff!!! just all around fluff!

characters: best friend!taehyun x f!reader <333

words: 6.7k

warnings: none!!! i hope

Taehyun has dated before—many times, actually. He was smart, confident, and undeniably good-looking. Girls naturally gravitated toward him, drawn to his quiet charisma. And for the most part, he welcomed it. Dating was simple, effortless.

Until it wasn’t.

Because no matter how pretty, how kind, how perfect they seemed, something always felt… off. The spark that everyone talked about—the feeling that made people stay—it never lasted. He tried convincing himself it was normal, that love wasn’t supposed to feel like fireworks all the time. But deep down, he knew.

Love wasn’t supposed to feel like settling.

And maybe, just maybe, it was because of you.

The thought lingered at the back of his mind, unspoken but persistent, like a song stuck on repeat. You, his best friend. The one constant in his life. The one person he never had to impress. The one girl he never had to chase—because you were always there, smiling at him like he was just Taehyun, not someone to be won over.

And maybe that’s why it scared him so much.

Because if he admitted it—if he really let himself feel it—he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to go back to pretending.

—

“Here.” You handed him a cone of strawberry ice cream, your fingers brushing against his for a fleeting second.

Taehyun looked up at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Thanks.”

The contrast between you two had always been apparent. Where you were all bright energy, he was quiet steadiness. You were the type to run headfirst into situations, heart first, no hesitation—while he was the one standing behind, arms crossed, sighing before inevitably following to make sure you didn’t do anything too reckless.

Even now, as you excitedly licked your ice cream, eyes crinkling in delight at the taste, he couldn’t help but think—you’re so easy to love.

He took a slow bite of his own. Strawberry ice cream. Not his favorite. Not even close.

But it was yours. And for some stupid, unexplainable reason, that made it taste better.

“Are you even enjoying that?” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him. “You always make this face when you eat strawberry ice cream, like you’re forcing yourself.”

Taehyun raised a brow, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You rolled your eyes but grinned. “Sure. Whatever you say.” Then, without warning, you leaned in and took a playful bite out of his ice cream, giggling as you pulled back.

Taehyun stilled.

You didn’t even notice.

“See?” you hummed, licking the remnants from your lips. “Mine’s better.”

He swallowed. Hard.

It wasn’t the ice cream. It wasn’t the teasing. It was the way you did things so effortlessly, so casually—like stealing a bite of his ice cream was just normal between you two. Like it didn’t mean anything.

For you, it didn’t.

For him?

His grip on the cone tightened slightly.

You had no idea, did you? No idea how badly he wanted to close the space between you and wipe the ice cream off your lips with his thumb. No idea how every time you leaned in close, his brain short-circuited trying to act normal.

No idea that he’d spent years convincing himself he was just your best friend.

And he’d keep pretending.

Because that’s all he was allowed to be.

For now.

—

Taehyun barely reacted when you slammed the door behind you, though his grip on his phone tightened slightly. He already knew tonight wasn’t going to end well—the second Soobin had smugly announced that he was setting you up on a blind date, Taehyun had felt a distinct irritation settle in his chest. Not that he could say anything about it. Not that he had any right to.

Still, he couldn’t help but scowl internally at his friend’s meddling.

His expression remained unreadable as you stomped into the apartment, throwing your shoes off with more force than necessary. You muttered an impressive string of curse words under your breath, arms crossed so tightly over your chest that he thought you might combust.

Then, with a dramatic sigh, you spotted him on the couch. Taehyun barely had time to process before you fell onto his lap, burying your face into his sweater as you threw your arms around him in a bone-crushing hug.

"Men are stupid," you declared, voice muffled against his chest.

Taehyun let out a breathless chuckle, adjusting to the sudden weight of you sprawled across him. "I mean, I won’t argue with you there," he said, keeping his tone light even though he was struggling to ignore just how close you were.

Your body was warm against his, your scent—something sweet, something unmistakably you—filling his senses. It wasn’t fair. How easily you curled into him like this. How naturally you sought comfort in him, never once realizing that he was part of the very problem you were complaining about.

"I take it that the date didn’t go well?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

You groaned dramatically, tightening your hold around him. "Disaster would be an understatement. First of all, he was late. Like—half an hour late! And then when he finally showed up, he spent the first ten minutes talking about his gym routine."

Taehyun hummed, resting his arm along the back of the couch as he definitely didn’t let his fingers linger in your hair. "Maybe he was nervous."

"Well, then he shouldn’t have tried mansplaining my own job to me."

Taehyun winced. "Yeah. That’s… rough."

Taehyun bit back a smile. God, you were adorable when you were ranting.

"Maybe Soobin should retire from matchmaking," he mused.

"Maybe Soobin should mind his own business," you muttered. Then, with a sigh, you dropped your head back against his shoulder, settling into him like he was the only place in the world that made sense. "It’s so unfair. Why is dating so hard?"

Taehyun stared at the ceiling. It doesn’t have to be.

But he didn’t say that.

Instead, he swallowed down the words, kept his arm loosely draped around you, and pretended like his heart wasn’t beating out of his chest.

Pretended like he wasn’t wishing, just this once, that you’d see him.

—

The two of you were having a conversation.

Well, mostly you were talking. Taehyun was listening, nodding every now and then, letting you ramble as he sipped his coffee.

“I just don’t get it,” you sighed, stirring your drink absentmindedly. “I mean, I want to be in a relationship. I really do. But it’s like—ugh, I don’t know, the moment I actually try, it never works out. Maybe I’m cursed. Or maybe my standards are just too high.”

Taehyun raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for you to continue.

“Like, am I asking for too much? I just want someone who gets me, you know? Someone who actually listens when I talk, someone who doesn’t just nod and smile but really hears me. Someone who’s honest but not in a mean way, who calls me out when I’m being dumb but still sticks around anyway.”

Taehyun hummed. “That’s… oddly specific.”

“Right?” you huffed. “It’s so hard to find.”

Before Taehyun could even think of a response, a shadow fell over the table.

“Hey, I’m Yeonjun,” a smooth voice cut in.

Both of you glanced up at the guy standing next to your table—tall, sharp-featured, and clearly confident in his approach.

“I was with my friends and I just had to come over and tell you that I find you really cute,” he said, flashing you an easy grin.

You blinked at him, lips parting slightly in surprise before you shrugged. “Oh. Thanks.”

And just like that, you turned back to Taehyun, picking up right where you left off. “Anyway, like I was saying—”

Taehyun’s brow furrowed. He stared at you, then at Yeonjun—who was still standing there, slightly thrown off—before the guy awkwardly excused himself and walked away.

Taehyun narrowed his eyes at you. “That guy was flirting with you.”

You glanced over your shoulder, barely sparing Yeonjun another look. “Yeah. And?”

Taehyun frowned. “You keep saying you want to be in a relationship, but when cute guys approach you, you never seem to care.”

You turned to him, meeting his gaze dead-on. “That’s because none of them seem to know me. Not the way you do.”

Taehyun stilled.

You leaned in slightly, voice quieter but firm. “None of them treat me the way you do. What I want is… something we have.”

For the first time in a long time, Taehyun didn’t know what to say. His grip tightened around his coffee cup, his pulse suddenly too loud in his ears.

Because if you meant what he thought you meant—

Oh.

Taehyun’s voice was quieter now, more cautious. “That’s because we’re best friends. Of course I know you. That’s... that’s how it is.”

There it was—the wall he built, the familiar, comforting excuse. He was doing what he always did—masking—keeping things light, brushing away the vulnerability that had sparked in him just a moment ago.

But he could’ve sworn he saw a flicker in your eyes.

Your expression changed for the briefest moment. A small tightening of your lips, a flash of something unreadable, almost like you were disappointed. But then, as quickly as it came, it was gone.

You nodded, a little too enthusiastically. “Of course, we’re best friends. That’s what we are.”

It almost felt rehearsed, the way you smiled so brightly, almost like you were trying to convince yourself of it. But Taehyun couldn’t be sure. Was it just him, or was there a shift in the air between you two now? Something that hadn’t been there before.

"Yeah," he replied softly, but the words felt heavier now, lingering in the space between you. “Yeah. Best friends.”

But in his chest, the tightness wouldn't loosen. It wasn’t supposed to feel this complicated, was it? Best friends didn’t look at each other this way, didn’t feel their heartbeats quicken when the other spoke.

He wiped his palms on his jeans, looking anywhere but at you.

You, on the other hand, were too calm. Too nonchalant. Like this wasn’t the most loaded conversation you’d ever had with him.

You leaned back in your chair, your legs crossed casually, as if you hadn’t just dropped a bomb on his chest. “I mean,” you started, your voice sweet, like the conversation had just shifted into another territory entirely. “I am lucky to have someone who gets me like you do.”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Taehyun didn’t want to just be someone who got you.

He wanted to be the one who had you.

His thoughts were moving faster than his words. God, what was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t take it back, couldn’t unfeel what he was feeling. And by the way you were looking at him right now—so utterly unaware of the weight of your words—he knew it wasn’t something you were going to suddenly realize.

He sighed, trying to laugh it off. “Well, that’s what best friends are for, right?” He almost hated how forced it sounded. How untrue.

The air between you both felt impossibly thick.

You didn’t say anything right away. Instead, you just smiled again, but it was a different kind of smile this time. One that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” you said, almost too softly.

And just like that, the moment shifted—slipped through Taehyun’s fingers, leaving only a quiet, unbearable ache in his chest.

But he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. Not yet.

—

Taehyun stared at the glow of his phone screen, his mind racing, unable to shake the thought that had been nagging him ever since that conversation. Could it be? No, he must be crazy. There’s no way. You were so out of his league, otherworldly even. And he... was just Taehyun.

But that one flicker of a change in your expression kept replaying in his mind, like an echo he couldn’t silence. The way you’d paused, the hesitation that flashed in your eyes. It felt like something had almost been said, but you’d stopped yourself.

He didn’t know what to do with it. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

In a moment of desperation, his thumb hovered over the keyboard, and before he could talk himself out of it, he typed: “how to know if a girl likes you?”

He hit search and scrolled through a few websites, the information flooding in with no filter.

“Sign 1: She initiates skin contact.”

Taehyun scoffed under his breath, thinking of all the little moments. Like when you’d casually rest your hand on his arm while laughing, or when you’d bump his shoulder whenever you wanted his attention. Sometimes it was the lightest touch, like when you’d accidentally brush his fingers when handing him something, but it always felt deliberate.

He groaned, covering his face with his hand. No way. It couldn't mean what he thought it meant, could it?

He scrolled further.

“Sign 2: She confides in you about everything.”

Taehyun's mind immediately went to the way you’d always come to him with the most trivial, random things. From a bad day at work to maybe how you felt during a meeting. You told him everything, like you trusted him more than anyone else, like you couldn’t imagine telling anyone else first.

You always confided in him with a smile, always sought his opinion, even on things as silly as what kind of ice cream to get, or what outfit to wear on a date.

His heart skipped.

Sign 3: She constantly teases you.

Taehyun felt a soft blush creep up his neck. He couldn’t help but think of the countless moments you’d teased him. The way you loved to poke fun at his serious demeanor or the silly nicknames you’d give him just to make him laugh. You always seemed to have this way of keeping him on edge, teasing him just enough to make his heart race.

Even that one time when you’d cornered him with a playful grin, saying, “You know, for someone so smart, you’re so clueless about people.”

He could hear your voice in his head, that playful tone, that mischievous glint in your eye.

Taehyun blinked, pulling his phone back from his face and staring at the screen in disbelief.

All these signs—these signs—they were all things you’d done. He’d never even thought about it before, too focused on the fact that you were his best friend, his person.

But now? Now it felt like something had shifted in his mind, the gears grinding and clicking into place.

A sudden panic flooded his chest. What if you did like him? What if you always had?

His thumb hovered over his phone screen again, as though he might text you right this second and ask. But then the overwhelming thought hit him: What if he was wrong? What if he misread everything? What if this ruins everything?

He tossed his phone on the bed beside him and buried his face in his pillow, groaning into it. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to know if he was about to lose the only thing that mattered most to him.

But one thing was clear now: He couldn’t just ignore this feeling anymore.

And that made him, well, confident.

—

Taehyun felt the strange urge building up inside him—something he couldn’t shake off, no matter how many times he tried to distract himself. He wanted to know, needed to know. He hesitated at your bedroom door, then, taking a deep breath, he knocked.

You groggily opened the door, stretching as you yawned. "Taehyun?" you asked, your voice still laced with sleep. He couldn’t help but notice the way your hair was messily falling over your face, the way your eyes still held traces of sleep. To him, you always looked beautiful, no matter the time of day.

"I have a question for you," Taehyun said, his voice calm. "Do you like me?"

You blinked, still half-asleep, trying to process what he just said. "What?" you muttered, rubbing your eyes.

He stepped closer, his eyes focused on you with an intensity you couldn’t quite understand. “Do you like me?” he repeated, his voice unwavering. This time, his eyes were serious, and the playful tone that usually accompanied his words was gone. Your pulse quickened, and you instinctively took a step back, but Taehyun followed, his presence too close for comfort. You stumbled slightly, your knees hitting the bed as you ended up sitting on it.

“Do you like me?” Taehyun asked again, his voice low and steady, as though he was studying your every movement, every tiny flicker of emotion that passed across your face. He leaned in just slightly, watching the way your breath hitched, how you nervously avoided his gaze. There was something almost intoxicating about the way you looked flustered in front of him, and it made his heart race.

You gulped, feeling your face grow hot. His gaze was too intense, too penetrating, and suddenly, the room felt a lot smaller.

“Taehyun... what are you talking about?” You forced out the words, trying to sound unaffected, but even to your own ears, your voice wavered. Taehyun tilted his head slightly, watching you closely.

"I'm just asking a question." He smiled faintly, as if this was all normal to him. "That day, when you said you wanted to date someone who knows you… isn't that me?"

Your heart skipped a beat. "It could just mean someone like you," you stammered, trying to play it cool, but you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Hmm." Taehyun raised an eyebrow, his lips curling up slightly. “Could mean that. But it could also mean something else.”

You swallowed hard. "Mean what?" you asked, doing your best to hide the nervousness bubbling up inside you. You were trying so hard to act casual, but everything inside you was screaming otherwise.

"That you like me," he said, his voice almost teasing now, but there was something deeper in his eyes that made your stomach flutter.

You scoffed, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. "Pfft. I always knew you were smart, I didn’t think you’d be funny too." You tried to brush it off, but your heart wasn’t in it. Taehyun’s gaze never left you, and his smile only grew, his eyes sparkling with something you couldn’t quite decipher.

"Okay. Fine." He said, his tone shifting again, this time more serious, almost playful in a way that made you want to melt. "When you do find the perfect guy, be sure to let me know. Because I want to be ready, to prepare myself for the heartbreak of seeing the person I love fall for someone else."

You stood there in complete shock, unable to process what he’d just said. Your mouth opened, but no words came out. You couldn’t say anything. Taehyun chuckled softly, standing up, but not without giving you one last lingering look.

“And also... you didn’t really answer my question,” he added with a teasing smile, turning toward the door.

Taehyun didn’t get a confession out of you but somehow he found something greater. Confidence.

—

You woke up, uncomfortable. You could still feel the warmth of Taehyun’s words echoing in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. You didn’t want to face him—not yet, not when things were so weird between you. So you stayed in your room, lying in bed, hoping he’d leave for a while so you could avoid the inevitable awkwardness.

You finally summoned the courage to get out of bed, dragging yourself to the kitchen for breakfast, hoping for a quick escape. You pushed the door open, only to freeze in your tracks when you saw Taehyun leaning casually against the counter, a glass of water in hand. His messy hair and sleepy eyes made it all the harder to ignore the strange rush of emotions in your chest.

You tried to turn around without saying a word, but as you moved toward the door, his voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Hey,” Taehyun called, his tone light but laced with an unmistakable playfulness. You didn’t even look at him as you slowly turned back to face him.

“I’m not gonna bite,” he continued, his gaze catching yours for just a moment before you quickly darted your eyes elsewhere. “You can get some breakfast. I can go if you want.”

He let out a quiet laugh, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you, even if he didn’t admit it. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice, and it made your cheeks heat up.

There was something different about the way he presented himself, almost as if he was trying to win an argument. Taehyun seemed different—almost too confident, as if he had finally come into his own.

You shifted your weight awkwardly, trying to find the words to fill the silence, but they didn’t come. Instead, you muttered, “It’s fine.”

Taehyun watched you, that knowing glint never leaving his eyes. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew it was messing with your head. It didn’t help that his relaxed stance seemed to suggest that he wasn’t bothered by the tension between you at all, while you felt like you were unraveling inside.

With a slight tilt of his head, he added, “Come on, you’re not gonna make me stand here all alone, are you?”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nodded, moving past him to grab something for breakfast. Taehyun didn’t make a move to leave. Instead, he leaned back against the counter again, watching you closely, waiting for you to crack under the pressure.

You could feel his eyes on you, and you tried your best to pretend that everything was fine.

“Look, if it makes you feel better, I can just pretend I didn’t say anything,” Taehyun said, casually leaning back against the counter. “Besides, I’m the one who said I liked you. Why are you acting like you got rejected?”

He let out a soft laugh, one that made you feel both at ease and completely on edge at the same time. The teasing tone in his voice only made the situation harder to navigate. How was it so easy for him? Why couldn’t you just tell him how you felt?

“I’m gonna go shower and head over to Soobin’s,” Taehyun continued, his voice light, but there was that quiet undercurrent of something else. “You can have the rest of the house to yourself.”

He moved to turn, but before he could, you blurted out, “No!”

The word slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it. You froze, the heat in your face betraying the chaos inside your mind. Why did you even say that?

Taehyun paused, his back still turned to you, but his posture stiffened slightly, as if he’d expected more of a reaction but didn’t expect this one. He turned back to look at you, but your gaze immediately dropped to the floor, not daring to meet his.

For a moment, there was silence between you. Your brain was screaming for you to say something—anything—that could explain the rush of emotions that had flooded you in the span of a few seconds. But every time you opened your mouth, the words seemed to get stuck somewhere deep inside.

Taehyun, sensing your hesitation, raised an eyebrow, the faintest smirk curling at the corners of his lips. “What? You want me to stay?”

You opened your mouth again, but nothing came out. You were completely at a loss for words, your heart pounding in your chest, knowing that anything you said could ruin whatever fragile understanding you two had left.

So, instead, you stayed silent. Your mind raced as your thoughts collided with each other, all those things you wished you could say, but couldn’t seem to get past your lips. Taehyun was waiting for you to speak, but you couldn’t.

He sighed softly, almost as if he was amused by the effect he had on you. “You know,” he said, voice quieter this time, “I’m not gonna make it easy for you.”

With that, he turned around leaving you standing there, heart in your throat, unable to move.

—

As Taehyun drove over to Soobin’s, his mind couldn’t stop replaying the conversation from moments earlier. Five years. Five whole years. It had been that long since his feelings for you had started, slowly growing, deepening until they became something undeniable. But for all that time, he’d kept them buried, locked away behind advice, words of wisdom and a friendship that was too comfortable to risk.

He had watched you date other people, listened to you vent about your blind dates, your crushes, and your frustrations. And all the while, he had stayed by your side, always the supportive friend, the one who would laugh with you, talk to you about anything, and pretend that nothing was wrong when his heart ached with each passing day.

But today? Today was different. Seeing you crack under the pressure of his directness, your vulnerability laid bare—it had done something to him. The power he felt now, as if he held some control over your emotions, was both exhilarating and terrifying.

You were always so strong, so in control of yourself, never letting your guard down. But for the first time, he saw something shift in you. Something that made his heart race with anticipation. And what’s more, it was cute. Really cute. How you tried to act like everything was fine, like you weren’t completely freaking out inside, but he could see it in your eyes, in the way your hands fidgeted, how your voice wavered just slightly when you spoke.

And for the first time, he wasn’t angry with himself for not telling you sooner. He wasn’t frustrated with the years of yearning. In fact, it felt almost... right, in a strange way. Maybe he’d always had to wait, maybe he had to be patient, but he was willing to.

He didn’t care if you didn’t see it yet, or if you were too nervous to admit what he could already see. He knew that one day, you’d come to him. And when that day came, he would be there, ready to make you see him the way he’d always seen you.

For now, though, he was content to wait. To let you work through whatever you were feeling. He didn’t need you to have it all figured out right now.

He’d wait for you. And when you were ready, he’d be right here, as he always had been.

—

It was 12am and Taehyun was still out.

You couldn’t understand it. One moment, you were his annoying best friend who had ran through every bad decision in your head. You were a confident person who could face your feelings for Taehyun, and the next thing you knew…it was as if the ground had been ripped from under you. The fear of losing him, the uncertainty, the possibility of ruining the one thing that had always been so solid in your life.

As you paced around the house, your thoughts spiraled, each one more dramatic than the last. Did you scare him off? What if you ruined everything? What if this changes you two forever? The thought of losing Taehyun, not just as a friend but as someone who meant so much more to you, made your chest ache.

And yet, there you were, throwing your phone across the couch, staring at the screen, wondering what you could say, how you could fix it. You were terrified of the silence between you, terrified of confronting what you knew deep down: that you loved him.

Your mind was racing, and just as you were about to call him, the sound of the door creaking open pulled you from your thoughts. You froze, heart pounding as you looked up. There he was.

“Still awake?” he asked, surprised, his eyes flickering over to you. You didn’t know how to respond, your words stuck in your throat..

You nodded in silence, and then it hit you—the familiar feeling of him looking at you, noticing everything, like you were the most important thing in his world. The way he could see through you, the way he knew exactly what you were feeling, even when you couldn’t find the words to express it.

“Good. I bought us supper,” Taehyun smiled, and for a brief moment, everything felt normal again.

You looked over at the bag of food in his hands, and your heart fluttered. Of course, he got your favorite... How did he always know? You could never hide anything from him. He placed the food on the table, the sound of it all grounding you, bringing you back to the present.

“C’mon. I know you haven’t eaten,” he said, that familiar teasing tone in his voice.

How did he know?

Before you could stop yourself, you instinctively responded, “Yes, I have,” your pride rising to the surface.

Then, of course, your stomach grumbled loudly, betraying you.

Taehyun’s eyes flickered to you, his lips twitching into a smile. “Cute,” he mumbled under his breath, shaking his head in amusement. He prepared the food again.

You froze, your mind spinning. The word "cute" etched in the back of your mind. You had felt the warmth of his gaze before, the way he always seemed to see right through you, but this time, it felt different. It felt like he had just peeled away another layer of you, one that you hadn’t even realized was there.

You tried to steady your breath, but it was no use. The butterflies in your stomach had already taken flight, fluttering wildly.

You cleared your throat, “You know you can’t just throw those words out like that,” you said, but there was no conviction in your voice. It was barely a whisper.

Taehyun didn’t even look up, still focused on making the food. It was like he didn’t even realize the effect he was having on you. How could he not see it? The way his every word made your heart race, the way the mere sound of his voice seemed to leave you in a haze.

"What word?" he asked, acting so nonchalant, so... Taehyun. He was always this way—unbothered, like he wasn’t aware of the way he could turn your world upside down with just one glance.

You wanted to backpedal, to change the subject. But you couldn’t. "You know..." You trailed off, not sure how to say it. You didn’t even know if you could say it without completely falling apart.

Taehyun's eyes flicked up to you briefly. “Oh, you mean ‘cute’?” he said, almost as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “But it’s the truth.”

The truth.

And there it was again. That word. The way he said it, so effortlessly, as though he didn’t understand the whirlwind he was creating inside you. The butterflies, the shivers running down your spine. The realization that he wasn’t just teasing you. He meant it.

This time, it wasn’t hunger. It was a rush of emotions, all tied up in those three little letters—cute. Your heart skipped a beat, then raced to catch up. You couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips, but it wasn’t enough to hide how you felt.

You turned away for a moment, hoping he wouldn’t notice how flustered you were. But the heat on your cheeks gave it away, and you could feel his gaze on you, as if he knew exactly what he had done.

Your mind was a jumble of thoughts, your feelings all tangled up in confusion and longing. Was he teasing you? Or was it something more? Something real? Something you couldn’t name but knew, deep down, you were desperate to understand.

You swallowed hard, trying to compose yourself, but Taehyun had already caught you off guard.

You stood there, your heart hammering in your chest, every breath you took feeling shallow as you tried to keep your composure. But, the more Taehyun’s gaze held yours, the more your resolve began to waver. He had always been the one to make you feel safe, to make everything feel easy, but this... this was different.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “You... you can’t just drop that you’re in love with me and pretend that everything’s okay,” you blurted out.

Taehyun raised his eyebrows, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “Oh, we’re finally gonna talk about it?” he asked, clearly amused by your sudden outburst. “Sure, let’s talk about it.”

You huffed, frustration bubbling inside you. You crossed your arms over your chest, pacing back and forth in front of him, your hands gesturing wildly as you tried to explain everything that had been running through your mind. “You... you can’t just tell me you like me when I wake up from a good nap. I—I can’t think straight! And now, I can’t even look at you without feeling... without feeling stupid!” You stopped in front of him, hands on your hips, face flushed with embarrassment. “It’s so embarrassing, and it’s just... it’s so stupid. I can’t even talk, or form sentences, or—ugh—why are you doing this to me?!”

Before you could rant any further, Taehyun interrupted, his voice low but teasing, his lips curling into a smile. “Stupid?” he asked, the amusement in his eyes clear as he took a small step toward you. “That’s how I feel every time I hang around you.”

You blinked, your frustration melting into confusion. Taehyun continued, unfazed. “The guys always ask me why I’m so quiet around you, why I let you do all the talking. And... well, they don’t know that it’s because I love listening to you. You don’t even know this, but I could listen to you talk all day. I’m just as talkative as you are with my friends, but with you...” He stepped even closer now, his voice softening, “...with you, I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe clearly. I just—I can’t do anything.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Taehyun cut you off, his voice growing more sincere. “You think you have it hard? I’ve been in love with you for five years. I’ve been pretending to be as quiet as I am for five years. And I’ve been pretending to like strawberry ice cream for five years. That’s how long I’ve been in love with you.”

You stood there, speechless. Every word he spoke made your heart twist, and yet, somehow, your mind was still stuck on the number five. Five years.

“F-five years?” You were still trying to process the gravity of it all, but Taehyun wasn’t giving you time to think.

He closed the distance between you. His hands rose slowly, his fingers gently cupping your face, his touch sending electricity coursing through your skin. The moment his palms made contact, your breath hitched, and your heart seemed to stutter in your chest.

“Yes,” Taehyun murmured, his voice barely audible as he leaned in a fraction closer. “Five. Years.” He didn’t move away.

You looked up at him, your mind a chaotic mess of thoughts and feelings.

You felt it, though. The yearning in his eyes, the sweetness in his words, and the vulnerability that was now spilling from both of you. You had been afraid of this—afraid of the risk, of the fear of losing what you already had. But now, standing here in front of him, you knew.

And for the first time in your life, you didn’t want to run away.

Your voice trembled as you looked into his eyes, your heart racing. “What... what are we supposed to do now?”

Taehyun’s hands remained on your cheeks, his thumb gently caressing your skin as he leaned in just a little closer, his breath mixing with yours. “What do you want to do?” he asked softly, his lips brushing against your forehead as he closed his eyes for a brief moment.

You could feel the warmth of his words deep inside, the hope, the love, the honesty—and suddenly, everything else faded away. There was no need for anything more than this moment. Just him. Just you.

You swallowed, the words you had been holding back now slipping past your lips, “I... I want you to stay.”

Taehyun’s lips curled into a subtle smirk as he leaned in just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. His eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and something deeper that you weren’t sure how to name. His playful tone contrasted the intensity of the moment.

"You asked," he said, his voice low and teasing, making your heart race, "and I’m staying."

You bit your lower lip, still unsure if you were more embarrassed or thrilled by how easily he’d taken control of the situation. The power he exuded made you feel small in the best way, a shift you weren’t used to but secretly relished.

You pouted, crossing your arms and looking away, trying to hold onto some semblance of your usual confident self. "You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?"

Taehyun chuckled, his eyes softening as he stepped closer, his hand brushing your cheek in a surprisingly tender gesture. "Maybe," he teased, leaning in so close you could feel the tension between you. "But I’m enjoying this even more... watching you try to act all tough while you want nothing more than for me to stay."

You stifled a smile, trying to look away, but you couldn’t help the flush creeping up your neck. This whole new side of him, the one that was so sure of himself, was doing things to your insides you couldn’t quite explain.

"Stop looking at me like that," you muttered, but there was a softness in your voice that betrayed your words.

"Like what?" Taehyun asked, his voice dangerously close, and you could feel the teasing grin in his words even if he wasn’t smiling.

"Like you... you know you own me now," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Taehyun’s smirk deepened, his fingers gently lifting your chin so that your eyes locked with his. There was something about the way he was looking at you now, something raw and sincere beneath the teasing, that made your heart flutter wildly.

“You’re the one who wanted me to stay,” he said softly, his voice low and soothing as he leaned in just enough that you could feel the heat of his breath. “You’re the one who asked. And now,” he paused, his hand slipping to your waist, pulling you ever so slightly closer, “now, you’ve got me.”

“You’re too smug,” you muttered, but there was no real heat in your words—only a soft, shy vulnerability that you couldn’t quite hide.

“You like it,” he whispered, his thumb brushing the curve of your jaw. “Admit it.”

You swallowed, your heart racing faster. “I—I don’t know what you're talking about,” you stammered, your voice betraying you.

“Of course you do,” Taehyun said, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft, almost possessive kiss. “You’re just trying to act tough, but I can tell. I can tell you like this side of me. The one who knows exactly what he wants.” He leaned in just enough for you to feel his breath against your ear, making every part of your skin tingle. “And I think I want you to feel just how much I want you.”

“I—” You couldn’t even form the words to reply, too lost in the moment, too lost in the pull he had on you.

Taehyun’s smile softened, his fingers brushing your cheek once more before he pulled back, just enough to see the effect he had on you. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’m not going anywhere.”

#txt fic #txt oneshot #txt x reader #txt fanfic #txt fluff #txt scenarios #txt imagines #taehyun x you #taehyun x reader #txt taehyun #taehyun x y/n #kang taehyun #kang taehyun x reader #kang taehyun x you #kang taehyun oneshot #taehyun oneshot #taehyun fic #taehyun au

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starmatzz · 2 days ago

Note

Hiiiii

I NEED a smut inspired by the song "Let the world burn" and that new trending audio "loveyouloveyouloveyou" on dom yunho

IT SCREAMS CRAZYYYY

and maybe not jump into action right away a lil foreplay would be GREAT 🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣

Let The World Burn

classmate!yunho x fem!reader | smut, 1.8k

nsfw tags dom/sub, vaginal sex, pet names, violence, death, possessive, stalking, ropes, bondage, orgasm, penetration, touching

You woke up on a cold, unforgiving floor. A dull ache pulsed through your body as you tried to move, but your arms wouldn’t budge—they were tightly bound. Panic rose in your chest as your mind struggled to piece together what had happened. The last thing you remembered was running.

Running through a dark alley.

Running from someone.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

A deep voice emerged from the shadows before the figure stepped forward. It was him.

Jeong Yunho—your classmate. The one you had caught staring at you far too often in class. The one who always seemed to be watching. And every time a guy showed interest in you, they mysteriously stopped coming to school the next day. Or came injured.

Now you knew why.

Yunho’s eyes lingered on your face, his lips curling into a smile—one that sent a chill down your spine.

“I never wanted things to turn out this way,” he murmured, tilting his head. “But you left me no choice.”

It's dangerous 'cause I want it all

And I don't think I care what it costs

I shouldn't have fallen in love

Look what it made me become

His voice softened, almost gentle. “You love me, y/n. We belong together—you just don’t see it yet.”

Then, his smile widened, dark and unhinged. “But that’s okay. You’re here now. You can’t run anymore.” He took a slow step closer. “And I’ll make you understand.”

And I know you think you can run

You're scared to believe I'm the one

But I just can't let you go

“So… beautiful.”

His hands trembled as he reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t recoil—not with the ropes biting into your skin.

“Oh, almost forgot.”

Yunho suddenly pulled away, flashing you a smile before disappearing into the shadows. The moment he left, everything clicked. From the anonymous notes that kept appearing on your doorstep, through the unsettling feeling of being watched, to your underwear disappearing from the changing room after sports class while you were showering.

It had all been him.

Before you could process it any further, Yunho returned—this time dragging someone with him. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Remember Yeosang?” he asked, his voice almost casual, as if discussing the weather. “He asked you to prom.”

Your stomach twisted as you took in the sight before you. Yeosang—bruised, bound, with tape covering his mouth—struggled against Yunho’s grip, his eyes wide with terror.

Yunho only smiled.

Fear in their eyes

Ash raining from the blood orange sky

I let everybody know that you're mine

Now it's just a matter of time

Without warning, Yunho pulled out a knife, the blade glinting under the dim light. Before you could react, he pressed it against Yeosang’s neck, his grip unyielding.

“No one can have you,” he growled, his voice laced with possessive fury. “Only me.”

Then, in one smooth motion, he dragged the blade across Yeosang’s throat.

A sickening sound filled the air—a wet, gurgling choke as Yeosang’s body convulsed. His wide, pleading eyes met yours for a fleeting second before the life drained from them. Blood spilled down his chest, soaking his shirt, pooling at his feet.

Yunho let him go, and his body crumpled to the floor with a dull thud.

You couldn’t breathe. The room spun.

But Yunho? He simply wiped the blade clean, turning back to you with that same twisted smile.

I'd let the world burn

Let the world burn for you

This is how it always had to end

If I can't have you then no one can

Yunho let the bloodied knife fall to the floor with a soft clang, his focus shifting entirely to you. Slowly, he stepped forward, closing the distance before kneeling beside you.

His hand reached out, his thumb brushing over your trembling bottom lip. The touch was gentle—almost tender—yet it sent a wave of dread coursing through your veins.

“P-Please… don’t hurt me,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a breath.

Yunho’s expression flickered, his brows knitting together as if your words had wounded him. Then, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Hurt you?” he repeated, his tone almost incredulous. “Darling, I would never.”

He tilted his head, his dark eyes searching yours. “How could I? You mean everything to me.”

As if to prove his point, he cupped your cheek, his touch featherlight. But no matter how softly he spoke, no matter how tender his caress seemed, the blood still stained his hands.

Yunho's palm slid down to cup your breast through the thin fabric of your pink shirt, his touch possessive and sure. Raw desire blazed in his eyes as he watched you, like a predator who had finally cornered its prey. Your breath hitched at the intensity of his gaze.

“You're so beautiful,” he growled, squeezing your breast until you gasped. His hand traveled lower, trailing fire across your stomach before finding the hem of your skirt. His fingers teased along your thigh, making promises his touch would soon fulfill.

“So pretty..my pretty girl, all mine,” he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. One hand held you firmly, fingers tangled in your hair, while the other remained poised, as if daring you to challenge his claim.

His hand ventured beneath your skirt, but you reacted swiftly, clamping your legs together and bending your knee to kick him in the stomach.

"Don't you dare touch me," you warned, your voice steady and firm despite the adrenaline coursing through you. Yunho's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and something else flickering in their depths.

Yunho huffed, clutching his stomach as he stumbled back, surprise etched across his features. But the shock quickly morphed into anger, and his eyes darkened, a storm brewing within them. The air between you crackled with tension, his fury palpable as he regained his footing, the predator in him reawakened.

“I wanted to make it nice for the both of us,” he growled, rolling up the sleeves of his button up, “but you're not leaving me with any other alternative.”

With that, he took steps forward, pushing up the fabric of your skirt before ripping your panties in one swift motion.

“Whore..” He mumbled under his breath, his breathing growing heavier as his fingers fumbled in his pocket. You barely had time to react before he pulled out a roll of black tape, his hands shaking slightly—whether from excitement or something more unhinged, you couldn’t tell.

With an eerie sort of patience, he tore off a strip, the sharp rip of adhesive filling the tense silence.

He grinned, pressing the tape firmly over your lips. His touch lingered for a second, as if savoring the way your breath hitched beneath his fingertips.

Your muffled whimper was the only sound you could make now. Panic surged through you, your body twisting instinctively against the ropes, but it was useless.

He shouted directly at you, his finger jabbing towards Yeosang's motionless form on the ground, exclaiming, “What do the other guys have that I lack?!”

He forced himself between your legs, before grasping your bound arms and securing them above your head, unzipping his jeans.

“Fuck, you're all pink down there,” he exhaled, his eyes focused on your private part, “It's a pity I'm going to ruin this pretty cunt right now.”

He didn't hesitate for a moment; he pushed in immediately. You whimpered over the tape as the pressure and burning sensation overwhelmed you, and you instinctively tried to squirm away.

Yunho groaned. The warmth and wetness of your pussy was driving him insane. He proceeded, his long fingers grabbing your hips in a bruising grip as he set a steady rhythm.

He pounded into you, his gaze locked onto your face, drinking in every trace of fear.

You couldn’t bear it—the pain was unbearable. Strands of hair clung to your damp skin as your body trembled, shaken by both agony and fear.

“Love you, love you… I love you so much,” he babbled, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush, as if trying to make you understand the depth of his obsession.

Nails dug into your palms as Yunho refused to stop, his hands pressing firmly against your shoulders. He grabbed you tightly, fucking deep into you. You could feel the tip of his cock hit your cervix, causing a piercing pain to wash all over your body.

“Did it hurt?” he cooed, his voice laced with mock sympathy because repeating the same movement over and over.

“You’re mine, y/n. Finally mine,” he murmured, his voice filled with possession. “See? We fit perfectly together.”

He looked down, watching his cock disappear in your pussy. The way you stretched around him, how you cried and whimpered, it was all his fuel. Keeping his gaze on your face as he moved his hands from your shoulders, he gently cradled your breasts, squeezing them.

Yunho continued fucking into you, curses and moans escaping his lips. He leaned closer, sucking and biting the soft skin on your neck, below your ear and over your collarbone.

“Oh god..I'm close..” he whimpered, his eyebrows pulling in in taunt as his thrusts have become twitchy. Your sweet scent enveloped him, sending a dizzying rush through his body, as if every nerve was awakened at once, leaving him lightheaded and lost in the intoxicating fragrance of you.

His large hand slid up your thigh, his grip tightening as he squeezed. “Fuck, look how deep I am in your pretty cunt...” he breathed out, massaging the bulge in your abdomen.

You laid there, motionless, waiting for him to finish, the stillness pressing down on you.

“Your eyes are mesmerizing,” he murmured, leaning in, his fingers softly brushing the hair from your face. “I wish I could see you look at me like this every day.”

He slowly withdrew, his cock rubbing against your velvety walls, before forcefully slamming back in. You cried out, the sound muffled by the tape, as your hands shook uncontrollably from the excruciating pain, each tremor making the ache feel even more unbearable.

“Ah..fuck!” Yunho suddenly groaned, staying buried deep inside you. His hips twitches as he came hard, filling you up.

“So pretty…” he mumbled, his breath shallow as he struggled to regain control, his gaze never leaving you. He pulled out, watching the strings of thick cum connecting his tip and your pulsating slit.

Suddenly he pushed back in, rolling his hips in circles as he continued fucking you through his orgasm. “Don’t think we’re over, princess,” he smirked, his eyes glinting as he watched the fear spread across your face. Your eyes widened in realization, and deep down, you knew he wasn’t going to let you go anytime soon.

79 notes · View notes

chxnsgirl · 13 hours ago

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황현진 & 한지성 ─── pas de trois

♡ pairing ៸៸ ballet dancer!hyunjin x ballet dancer!jisung x afab!reader ៸៸ genre ៸៸ love triangle, ballet academy au ៸៸ cw ៸៸ none really. just jisung pining and hyunjin being a womanizer. ♡ synopsis ៸៸ in the world of ballet, every step is choreographed—but love never follows the script. what happens when you get accepted into the ballet academy of your dreams? a/n ๑ hi hi i decided to make this multiple parts because it's long as FUCK and i couldn't make you guys read over 10k words per part LMAO. ive been working on this for about two weeks and im STILL writing this story. comment below if you want to be apart of the taglist for this series, there will be smut in the next part ;3 ♡ masterlist

it was a day filled with nerves and anticipation.

today marked your first day at lumière ballet company—the most prestigious and renowned company in the country. you, along with fourteen other dancers, had earned a coveted spot to train, undergo rigorous evaluations, and prove your potential for a place in the company.

getting accepted into lumière ballet company had been your dream for as long as you could remember. now, here you were—far from home, chasing that dream with everything you had, determined to turn it into reality.

the only thing that unsettled you was the distance. your parents had always been supportive, but they hadn’t been thrilled about you leaving. they feared for you—not because they doubted your talent, but because they worried about the heartbreak if things didn’t go as planned. they didn’t want to see your dreams shatter before you even had the chance to live them.

you pushed those thoughts aside. after all, here you were—standing in front of the very place you had dreamed of since childhood.

as you struggled with your bags, pulling them out of the taxi, you heard a voice behind you.

“need some help with those?”

assuming it was just some random person, you rolled your eyes, irritation creeping into your tone. “no.” you tugged at your largest bag and turned around, ready to brush off whoever it was.

but your heart skipped a beat when you saw who was standing there. hwang hyunjin, the star dancer of the company. famous for his flawless technique and striking good looks, he stood before you with platinum blonde buzzed hair, plump lips, piercing dark eyes, and glowing, honey-toned skin.

you fumbled for words, a nervous chuckle escaping your lips. “oh, um…” you couldn’t help but take him in, a little starstruck that he was actually standing there, talking to you.

“‘no?’” he smiled, his eyes scanning you briefly.

“i mean… no, thank you.” you hugged your bag to your chest, politely declining his offer. he nodded, his expression unreadable as he took a step back.

“okay,” he said simply before turning and heading toward the company entrance.

you watched him walk away, a dazed, goofy smile spreading across your face.

you were definitely starstruck. you had seen hyunjin on tv and in performances before. he was undeniably talented, and adored by so many. it took you by surprise that he had even spoken to you, let alone offered to help carry your bags to your dorm.

the arrival at your dorm was quick and seamless, and you were relieved to find that your roommates were nice. yeji had been at the company for a while—she practically grew up there, and her seniority made you a little nervous. the other girl, celeste, was beautiful and kind, though you could tell she had a sharp tongue that might get her into trouble.

as you were walking around the dorms, you ran into yeji’s friend, minho. the two exchanged a friendly hug before she introduced you both.

“this is minho, and minho, these are my roommates—y/n and celeste,” yeji said, gesturing to you both.

minho gave a casual wave, leaning on yeji’s shoulder. “nice to meet you. you two new?” his tone made it clear he already knew the answer.

“yep, we are. that obvious?” you chuckled shyly. he laughed, shaking his head.

“maybe just a little. what are you guys up to, walking around the dorms?”

“i was just showing them around,” yeji explained.

“i see. want to play stakeout with me and felix? we’re keeping an eye out for our third roommate. supposedly, he’s coming from across the country,” minho said, nodding toward his dorm.

yeji looked to you and celeste for approval, waiting for your responses before agreeing.

“sure, we’ll hang for a little,” yeji smiled.

you spent the afternoon lounging around, getting to know minho and felix. the conversation flowed easily, filled with lighthearted jokes and stories. you learned that minho had been at the company for about four years—a fact that surprised you, given how effortlessly he carried himself. felix, on the other hand, was just as new as you and celeste, which brought you a sense of comfort. it was nice knowing you weren’t the only one still finding your footing.

the five of you were sprawled across minho and felix’s beds, laughing and sharing stories, when the sound of the door clicking open caught your attention.

in walked a stunningly handsome guy with clear, glowing skin and tousled dark brown hair that framed his sharp jawline. his cheeks had the slightest hint of roundness, giving him a boyish charm, but it was his eyes that truly struck you—warm, expressive, and impossibly friendly. he took in the unfamiliar faces before him, offering a small, hesitant smile as he waved.

“uh… am i in the right room?” he asked, shutting the door behind him and tugging out his dorm papers.

“you’re jisung?” minho spoke up, looking him over. you could’ve sworn there was a hint of pink dusting his cheeks.

“yeah, jisung.” he smiled warmly before setting his bags down next to the empty bed in the corner.

for a moment, minho didn’t respond, as if he had momentarily lost the ability to speak.

“um, i’m felix,” felix stepped in, standing up to shake jisung’s hand. “nice to meet you. that’s minho.” he motioned vaguely toward minho, who managed a small wave.

“nice to meet you too,” jisung replied with a grin, shrugging his duffel bag off his shoulder.

yeji stood up next, introducing herself, and celeste followed. finally, you extended your hand. “i’m y/n,” you said, offering a friendly smile.

jisung’s eyes flickered toward yours, his gaze lingering just a second longer than expected before his lips curled into a soft smile. “nice to meet you.”

“you too.” you hesitated before adding, “minho mentioned you’re coming from across the country?”

“yeah,” jisung sighed, running a hand through his hair. “i flew in from la. my girlfriend dumped me for leaving her there.” his expression faltered slightly, the disappointment evident in his tone.

from the corner of your eye, you noticed minho let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, subtly relaxing against the bed once more.

felix let out a low whistle. “oof, rough. long-distance is tough, huh?”

jisung shrugged, forcing a small smile. “guess she didn’t think it was worth it. but, honestly, i can’t blame her. i left pretty suddenly when i got accepted here.”

yeji tilted her head. “how did you hear about lumière? i mean, it’s the top ballet company in the country, but la has some incredible programs too.”

jisung sat down on his bed, leaning back on his hands. “i’ve known about lumière since i was a kid. my old instructor used to talk about it all the time—said it was the kind of place that could turn a good dancer into a great one. so, when i saw the audition announcement, i figured i had to at least try.” he glanced around the room. “still can’t believe i actually made it.”

you nodded in understanding. “i know the feeling. this place always felt like an impossible dream, and now we’re actually here.”

minho, finally finding his voice again, smirked. “impossible dream or not, don’t think they’re going to go easy on you. lumière’s training program is brutal. if you survive it, you’ve got a shot at a contract, but only a few of us will actually get hired.”

jisung raised an eyebrow. “only a few?”

yeji sighed, crossing her arms. “yeah. it’s tough. there are fifteen of us in the program, but in the end, they only offer jobs to about five or six. maybe less, depending on the company’s needs.”

celeste groaned, flopping onto felix’s bed. “ugh, way to kill the excitement. let us enjoy the moment before we start panicking.”

felix laughed. “she’s right. we just got here, let’s not stress yet.”

jisung chuckled, shaking his head. “nah, i’d rather know what i’m up against. so, any advice? what’s the secret to surviving lumi��re?”

minho exchanged a knowing look with yeji before shrugging. “work hard, don’t mess around, and for the love of everything, don’t get on the instructors’ bad side.”

felix raised a playful brow. “sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

minho smirked. “let’s just say… they don’t forget easily.”

you laughed along with the group, but deep down, you felt the weight of their words. this wasn’t just a school—it was a proving ground. and if you wanted to stay, you’d have to give it everything you had.

the next morning, your alarm blared before the sun had fully risen, jolting you awake. a mix of nerves and excitement swirled in your stomach as you hurried to get ready, slipping into your leotard and tights before pulling your hair into a neat bun. this was it—your first official day at lumière ballet company.

by the time you arrived at the studio, the air was buzzing with hushed conversations and the occasional nervous laugh. the room was vast, lined with mirrors and ballet barres, the polished floors gleaming under the bright lights. the other dancers were already stretching, their movements graceful even in casual warm-ups.

you spotted celeste and jisung near the back, exchanging a few words before he playfully nudged her, making her roll her eyes. yeji and minho were at the front, both exuding an effortless confidence that only came with experience.

you found a spot near the middle, smoothing out your leotard as you took a deep breath. just as you were about to start warming up, the studio doors swung open. the room instantly fell silent.

a group of instructors filed in, their sharp eyes scanning the room with quiet intensity. among them, a tall, distinguished man with graying hair stepped forward. his presence alone commanded respect, and you immediately recognized him—emile laurent, the head of lumière.

but he wasn’t the only notable figure in the room. behind the instructors, a small group of dancers followed, each one standing with an air of effortless poise. among them, your gaze caught on a familiar figure—hyunjin.

he was even more striking up close, his platinum blonde hair glowed under the lights, his black warm-up attire accentuated his lean, sculpted frame. you swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of his presence.

émile cleared his throat, and all attention snapped back to him.

“welcome,” he began, his voice deep and steady. “you stand here today because you have proven yourselves among the most talented young dancers in the country. but talent alone will not secure your place here. over the next several months, you will be tested—physically, mentally, and artistically. some of you will thrive. some of you will falter.” his sharp gaze swept across the room. “only a select few will earn a permanent position within this company.”

the weight of his words settled over the group like a heavy blanket. you tried not to let it shake you, but your fingers instinctively curled into the fabric of your tights.

“as you train, you will work with our esteemed instructors, as well as the company’s leading dancers.” émile gestured behind him, and that was when hyunjin stepped forward alongside the others. “these artists represent the highest standard of excellence. watch them. learn from them. and, if you are lucky, perhaps one day, you will dance beside them.”

a murmur rippled through the room, dancers exchanging glances of awe and quiet determination. you were no different—your gaze flickered toward hyunjin once again, and to your surprise, he was already looking at you.

your breath hitched.

it was brief, just a moment—his dark eyes meeting yours before a small, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. he tilted his head ever so slightly, as if amused by your reaction.

you quickly looked away, heat creeping up your neck.

“your training begins now,” émile’s voice snapped your attention back. “we will push you. and if you survive, you may just earn the right to call yourselves dancers of lumière.” murmurs began to be heard, but before you could break to hide in your thoughts, he spoke up again.

“one more thing, we have the company gala next week, we invite our advanced students, such as yourselves, to attend the performance and help with the party afterwards. i expect to see you all there.”

with that, the instructors began splitting the group up, but your thoughts remained elsewhere.

“i hope he didn’t think that was inspirational,” you heard a voice behind you.

you turned, seeing jisung leaning against a barre, arms crossed over his chest with an amused glint in his eyes.

you let out a breathy chuckle, still trying to shake off the weight of émile’s speech. “yeah, if the goal was to make us all fear for our lives, then mission accomplished.”

he smirked, pushing off the barre and stretching his arms over his head. “honestly, i think that’s the point. they want to weed out the ones who can’t handle the pressure.” he glanced around the room, where some dancers were already practicing their footwork, while others whispered amongst themselves, their nerves palpable. “some people thrive under that kind of intensity. others…” he trailed off, watching a girl in the corner shakily adjusting her pointe shoes.

you hummed in agreement, then glanced at him. “and what about you? are you one of those people who thrive?”

jisung shrugged, a lazy smile playing at his lips. “i guess we’ll find out.”

his confidence was subtle—not the overbearing, showy kind, but the kind that felt steady, reassuring. there was something about the way he carried himself that made you feel at ease, as if no matter how difficult things got, he would take it in stride.

you exhaled, shaking your head. “i get that they want to push us, but still… i was kind of hoping for at least one encouraging word.”

he chuckled. “guess you’ll have to settle for me.”

you turned to him with a teasing smile. “oh? and what words of wisdom do you have to offer?”

he pretended to think, lips pursing in exaggerated contemplation. “how about… ‘don’t pass out on your first day’?”

you rolled your eyes playfully. “wow. so profound.”

“i try,” he said with a grin, nudging you lightly with his elbow.

you gradually became acquainted with a few other girls in the class, aside from celeste and yeji. yeji, being well-connected within the company, had a couple of close friends she primarily stuck with—yuqi and lia, both senior dancers who carried themselves with the kind of effortless confidence that came from years of experience. it didn’t take long to realize that they seemed to know everything about everyone, from which instructors were the toughest to which dancers were secretly dating.

sensing an opportunity to learn the ins and outs of the company, you made an effort to spend more time around them. their presence, along with celeste’s, gave you a sense of comfort amid the overwhelming newness of it all.

with their guidance, you managed to survive your first class. the session focused mainly on warm-ups and refining positioning, easing you into the company’s expectations without immediately throwing you into the deep end. you concentrated on every movement, working to ensure your form was correct, and though you were nervous at first, it quickly became second nature.

oddly enough, time seemed to slip away faster than you anticipated. what started as a nerve-wracking first class soon became a blur of controlled movements, stretching, and quiet concentration. by the time the session ended, you were left feeling relieved.

as class ended, you fell into step with the girls, chatting idly as you made your way toward the commons. the conversation quickly turned into playful gossip about various company scandals—who was secretly dating whom, which instructors were the toughest, and who had mysteriously dropped out of the program.

it wasn’t until yuqi casually mentioned a name that you had already become all too familiar with that the conversation took a more intriguing turn.

“did you see hyunjin’s back from korea?” yuqi asked, slinging her bag off her shoulder before settling onto one of the couches.

your ears instantly perked up. you and the rest of the group followed suit, finding seats around her, the air buzzing with curiosity.

“i’m surprised he’s back so soon, considering what happened,” yeji added with a knowing grin, the kind that suggested she was sitting on a particularly juicy piece of information.

“what happened?” celeste beat you to the question just as you were about to ask yourself.

yeji leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as if afraid someone else might overhear. “right before the end of last year, hyunjin got dumped by madeline picard—one of the best dancers this company has ever seen.” she let the name linger, watching for your reaction.

your brows furrowed. madeline picard. the name sounded vaguely familiar, but before you could dwell on it, yuqi picked up where yeji left off.

“yeah, and apparently, it wasn’t just a normal breakup. he totally lost it—had a complete meltdown and accused her of cheating because she ended things so suddenly.”

you blinked, surprised. hyunjin didn’t exactly seem like the type to be dramatic over a breakup.

lia, who had been mostly quiet until now, tilted her head, her expression amused. “i heard all he did in korea was go clubbing and hook up with every girl he came across.” she raised a brow as if challenging anyone to refute her claim.

your stomach twisted slightly. you weren’t sure why. maybe it was because you had only just met hyunjin, and already, there was so much weight behind his name. or maybe it was the idea that, beneath his striking looks and undeniable talent, there was something messy lurking underneath.

"apparently, he hasn’t spoken to anyone from last year," yeji added, her tone dripping with intrigue.

"he talked to me."

the words slipped out before you could stop them, and the moment they did, regret settled in your stomach like a rock. instantly, all eyes snapped to you, a mixture of disbelief and curiosity flashing across their faces.

"what?" yeji practically narrowed her eyes at you, a sharp, almost jealous glint in her gaze.

"wait, hold on," yuqi leaned forward, gripping the edge of the couch. "you actually spoke to hyunjin? when?"

you swallowed, suddenly feeling very small under their intense stares. "it was nothing," you said quickly, waving a dismissive hand. "i mean… he just offered to help me with my bags yesterday."

silence. then—

"you’re telling me," lia started slowly, eyeing you with suspicion, "that he randomly decided to help you with your luggage?"

"it wasn’t like that," you rushed to explain. "i didn’t even recognize him at first. i thought he was some weird guy bothering me, so i kind of snapped at him."

yuqi gasped dramatically. "you snapped at hyunjin?"

"well, yeah, but i didn’t know it was him!" you defended.

celeste let out a low whistle, shaking her head in amusement. "wow. bold of you."

yeji folded her arms, tapping a manicured finger against her elbow. "and what did he say after you oh-so-graciously rejected his help?"

you hesitated, recalling the way his dark eyes had flickered with something unreadable when you told him no. how he had looked you over before flashing a knowing grin.

"he just smiled and walked away," you admitted, shifting uncomfortably under their scrutinizing gazes.

another round of silence followed.

then, to your utter shock, lia smirked. "oh, he’s interested."

your eyes widened. "what? no, he’s not! it was just a random encounter—"

"please," yuqi scoffed. "hyunjin doesn’t go out of his way for just anyone. and you’re new, so it’s not like he has some pre-existing friendship with you."

"yeah," celeste chimed in, grinning. "sounds like someone caught the star dancer’s attention."

you groaned, covering your face with your hands. "you guys are seriously overthinking this."

"are we?" yeji quirked a brow. "or are you underthinking it?"

you shook your head, but the butterflies in your stomach told you otherwise.

as the weeks passed, the reality of your position at lumière ballet company began to settle in. you quickly realized that, compared to many of the other dancers, you had a lot of ground to cover. your turnout wasn’t as refined, your footwork wasn’t as naturally strong, and the effortless grace that others seemed to possess still felt just out of your reach. every class was a reminder of how much work lay ahead of you.

celeste was a constant source of encouragement, always quick to remind you that progress takes time, but even her reassurances couldn’t stop the nagging doubt from creeping in. what if it wasn’t enough? what if, no matter how hard you pushed yourself, your technique still paled in comparison to the others? the thought of being cut prematurely haunted you, lingering in the back of your mind like a storm cloud threatening to break.

but it wasn’t until you were unexpectedly called to the headmaster’s office that true fear gripped you. your heart pounded as you made your way through the halls, every step feeling heavier than the last. was this it? had they already decided that you weren’t good enough? the possibility loomed over you, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

as you reached the emile’s office, you hesitated for a brief moment before gathering the courage to knock.

“come in,” a voice called from the other side.

taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. the office was grand yet intimidating, with towering bookshelves filled with ballet history, framed photos of past company stars, and the sharp scent of polished wood lingering in the air. seated behind an ornate mahogany desk was emile, a man whose presence commanded respect. across from him sat miss cassandra, your primary instructor, her sharp eyes scanning you the moment you entered.

“take a seat,” he instructed, motioning to the chair across from him.

your heart pounded as you settled into the seat, your palms pressing nervously against your skirt. miss cassandra crossed her legs, folding her hands in her lap as the headmaster leaned forward, scrutinizing you for a moment before finally speaking.

“you’ve been here for a few weeks now,” he began, his tone calm but firm. “and i imagine you’ve realized just how competitive this company is.”

you swallowed, nodding.

“the reality is, ballet is as much about physicality as it is about artistry. this company—this industry—demands precision, discipline, and most importantly, the right body for it,” he continued. “your lines, your turnout, the way your feet work—it all matters. you have potential, but potential alone doesn’t earn you a place here.”

miss cassandra finally spoke, her voice carrying the same sharpness you were used to hearing in class. “you’re a hard worker, and that’s good. but hard work only goes so far when your technique isn’t where it needs to be. your turnout is lacking, and without proper turnout, your movements will never have the seamless quality we expect here.”

you gripped your hands together, your stomach twisting uncomfortably.

“the workshop performance is approaching,” the headmaster reminded you. “that performance will determine whether or not you earn your spot in the company. if you don’t show significant improvement by then, i’m afraid you won’t be able to continue training here.”

the words struck you like a blow, knocking the air from your lungs. you had known this company was difficult, but hearing those words so plainly was different—it was a direct challenge, a warning that time was running out.

“we aren’t saying this to discourage you,” miss cassandra said, her gaze piercing. “we’re telling you this so you understand the reality of what’s at stake. you have work to do, and not much time to do it.”

emile nodded. “if you truly want this, you need to prove it. show us that you belong here.”

you felt the weight of their expectations pressing down on you, but beneath the fear, there was determination. you had fought too hard to get here—leaving wasn’t an option.

“i understand,” you said quietly, but with conviction.

miss cassandra studied you for a moment before nodding. “good. then i suggest you start working twice as hard, because the clock is ticking.”

with that, the meeting was over. you stood, offering a polite nod before turning toward the door. as you stepped into the hallway, the reality of the situation fully set in. you had only a few weeks to prove yourself.

back at the dorm, you sat on the edge of your bed, your hands clasped together in your lap as you tried to process everything. the headmaster’s words played over and over in your mind, intertwining with miss cassandra’s sharp critiques. the weight of it all felt suffocating.

celeste sat beside you, her arm draped around your shoulders in a comforting squeeze. “hey, don’t let it get to you too much,” she said softly. “you’re working hard. that has to count for something.”

you let out a shaky breath. “i don’t know if it’s enough.”

celeste frowned, nudging you gently. “of course it’s enough. you’re not some talentless beginner. you got accepted here for a reason. if they didn’t see potential, you wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

you wanted to believe her, but emile’s warning still rang in your ears. potential isn’t enough.

before you could respond, the door to the dorm swung open, and yeji walked in, dropping her bag onto the floor with a thud. she glanced at the two of you before cocking her head. “what’s with the sad puppy look?”

celeste shot her a look. “she just had a talk with the headmaster.”

yeji raised a brow. “oh?” she tossed her shoes off and sat on her bed, crossing her legs. “let me guess. he told you your technique isn’t good enough?”

your silence was enough.

yeji sighed, shrugging as she pulled her hair into a ponytail. “well… he’s right.”

celeste stiffened beside you. “yeji.”

“what?” yeji leaned back against her pillows. “i’m just saying. this isn’t some feel-good ballet academy. if you can’t keep up, you get cut. that’s how it works.”

your stomach twisted at her bluntness. you knew she wasn’t saying it to be outright cruel—it was just how she was. but that didn’t make it any easier to hear.

celeste shot up from the bed, glaring at yeji. “she knows that. she doesn’t need you rubbing it in.”

yeji rolled her eyes. “i’m not rubbing it in. i’m just being realistic.”

you exhaled, rubbing your temples. “she’s not wrong.”

celeste groaned, turning back to you. “no, don’t listen to her. you can do this. you just have to work harder, and i’ll help you however i can, okay?”

you nodded, offering her a small smile of appreciation.

yeji sighed dramatically, swinging her legs onto the bed. “i’m just saying, you should get used to criticism. if you can’t handle a little tough love, you won’t last here.”

celeste threw a pillow at her. “your love is just tough. there’s no love in it.”

yeji smirked, catching the pillow with ease. “fine. then consider it free advice.”

celeste huffed, plopping back down onto your bed with a determined look on her face. “alright, enough of this depressing mood. we need a distraction.”

you blinked at her, confused. “a distraction?”

she nodded, a mischievous grin forming. “yes. you, my dear, need a break. and i have just the thing—clubbing.”

your eyes widened. “clubbing?”

“clubbing,” she confirmed, already pulling out her phone. “we’re getting dressed up, going out, and having fun. you’ve been working your ass off, and it’s time to let loose for one night.”

yeji scoffed from her bed, stretching her arms over her head. “you? at a club?” she eyed you skeptically. “are you even the type?”

celeste shot her a glare. “of course she is. she just doesn’t know it yet.” then, without waiting for a response, she started texting. “i’m messaging minho, jisung, yuqi, and felix. we’re making a night of it.”

you groaned, already feeling exhausted at the thought. “celeste, i don’t know—”

“nope! no excuses.” she stood, hands on her hips. “you’re stressed, you’re overworked, and you’re doubting yourself. what you need is a night of dancing, drinks, and good music. trust me.”

yeji smirked. “i’ll go.”

“of course you will,” celeste muttered before turning back to you. “come on, y/n. when’s the last time you did something fun?”

you hesitated. you weren’t exactly the clubbing type, and the thought of being in a crowded place with loud music and flashing lights wasn’t something you typically sought out. but… maybe celeste had a point.

you had been completely consumed by ballet. the stress of proving yourself was weighing heavier by the day, and if you didn’t let loose even a little, you might actually implode.

“…fine,” you finally relented with a sigh.

celeste cheered, throwing her arms around you. “yes! i knew you’d come around.”

yeji chuckled, shaking her head. “this should be interesting.”

celeste turned back to her phone, quickly typing away. “minho says he’s in. jisung too. yuqi and felix are coming, so that means we officially have a squad.”

you bit your lip, nerves bubbling in your chest. what had you just agreed to?

celeste clasped her hands together. “alright, girls. let’s get ready. y/n, you’re gonna look so good, no man will be able to take his eyes off you.”

when you walked up to the club with celeste, yeji, and yuqi, jisung’s eyes lit up. it was almost as if he was in awe of you. of course, you didn’t notice, still too hung up on what the headmaster said to you that afternoon.

jisung’s eyes roamed over you as you approached, his lips parting slightly as if he had something to say but couldn’t quite find the words. you looked different tonight—more than just dressed up. there was something about you that drew his attention like a magnet, something that made his chest feel a little tighter.

"you look..." he started, pausing as if searching for the right word. "wow."

you blinked, momentarily pulled from your thoughts. "huh?"

jisung let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "you look beautiful, y/n." his voice was softer now, almost hesitant.

you stared at him for a moment, then scoffed lightly, shaking your head. "yeah, right."

his brows furrowed. "i'm serious."

you offered him a small, polite smile. "thanks, jisung," you said, even though you didn’t quite believe him. it was a sweet thing to say, but after the afternoon you had, it was hard to see yourself as anything other than inadequate.

jisung frowned slightly, as if he could sense exactly what you were thinking. but before he could say anything more, minho clapped a hand on his shoulder. "are we going in or what?"

jisung gave you one last glance before nodding. "yeah. let’s go."

as the group made their way into the club, jisung couldn’t help but wonder why you brushed off his compliment so easily. and why, no matter how many people were around you, you still looked like you had the weight of the world on your shoulders.

once you all stepped inside, the pulsing bass of the music vibrated through your chest, the dim, colorful lights casting a glow over the crowded dance floor. the group pooled their money together for a table near the edge of the club, a spot just far enough from the speakers to talk but still close enough to feel the infectious energy of the room.

drinks were passed around, laughter filled the air, and everyone seemed to be letting loose—everyone except you. no matter how much you tried to shake it off, the nagging weight of earlier conversations pressed heavily on your mind, dragging you down. you sat there, absently swirling the liquid in your glass, your gaze unfocused as your thoughts spiraled.

that was when jisung carefully reached over, plucking the drink from your fingers and setting it down on the table.

blinking, you turned to look at him, confusion flickering across your face. “what are you doing?”

his fingers wrapped gently around your hand, giving it a light tug as a playful smile tugged at his lips. "you didn’t get all dressed up just to sit here and overthink, did you?"

you opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, he nodded toward the dance floor, where bodies moved fluidly under the flashing lights. “come on,” he urged, his voice warm and inviting.

for a second, you hesitated. but the way jisung looked at you—like he wanted nothing more than to pull you away from whatever storm was brewing in your mind—made it hard to say no.

you hesitated for a moment, glancing between jisung and the crowded dance floor. the pulsing music, the flashing lights, the bodies moving in sync—it was all so overwhelming. but then you looked at him. his eyes held no pressure, only warmth, only the unspoken promise that he was there, that he wanted you to have fun.

with a breath, you gave in. “okay,” you said softly.

a grin broke across jisung’s face as he gently led you onto the floor, weaving through the crowd until you found a space of your own. the rhythm of the music pulsed around you, a beat so infectious that it was impossible not to move. you started off slow, still a little unsure, your body stiff with lingering stress.

but jisung was different. he wasn’t stiff, not even a little. he moved with an effortless ease, his body in tune with the music like he was born for it. and as he danced beside you, he encouraged you with little smiles, playful nods, the way he subtly matched your movements to make it feel less like you were dancing alone.

“see?” he leaned in, his voice low but audible over the music. “not so bad, right?”

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “i guess not.”

the tension in your shoulders began to melt away as the music took over, and for the first time that night, you felt lighter. jisung noticed it too—the way your movements became freer, how your laughter slipped out more easily. and god, did he think you were beautiful like this.

the flashing club lights illuminated your features in shifting shades of blue, purple, and red. your hair framed your face just right, your eyes shining even in the dim light. jisung had always thought you were beautiful, but here, seeing you loosen up, seeing you smile after looking so down all evening, it made his chest tighten in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

you twirled, laughing as the movement made you stumble slightly, and instinctively, jisung’s hands found your waist, steadying you before you could lose your balance. it was just for a second, but when you looked up at him, your faces only inches apart, he felt his breath catch.

his hands lingered just a little longer than necessary before he cleared his throat, stepping back with a grin, though his heart was racing. “careful,” he teased. “don’t go falling for me now.”

you rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “as if.”

but the way jisung looked at you in that moment, his gaze lingering, his playful smirk softening into something fonder—if only you knew just how much he already had fallen.

after what felt like an eternity of dancing—your body light with adrenaline, the weight of the past weeks momentarily forgotten—jisung finally pulled away with a breathless grin. “alright, alright,” he laughed, running a hand through his tousled hair. “even i need a break.”

you chuckled, nodding in agreement. “yeah, i could use a drink.”

together, you weaved through the throng of people toward the bar, where the neon glow cast everything in shades of blue and purple. jisung leaned against the counter, signaling to the bartender while you stood beside him, catching your breath. your skin was still warm from dancing, your heart racing—not just from the exertion, but from the lingering feeling of jisung’s hands on your waist, the way he had looked at you under the flashing lights.

you exhaled deeply, shaking the thoughts away as the bartender slid two drinks across the counter. you reached for yours absentmindedly, lifting it to your lips—

“didn’t expect to see you here.”

you froze, your fingers tightening around your glass. you knew that voice. slowly, you turned your head, and there he was.

hyunjin.

up close, the dim club lighting softened the sharp angles of his face, but his presence was just as striking as ever. his platinum hair fell slightly into his dark eyes, which were locked onto you with an intensity that made your heart stutter. he smelled faintly of expensive cologne and alcohol, the scent mingling with the warmth of the crowded club.

you swallowed, willing your expression to stay neutral. “didn’t expect to see you either,” you replied, keeping your voice even.

hyunjin tilted his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “didn’t take you for the clubbing type.” his eyes flickered over you, taking in the way your dress hugged your figure, how different you looked outside of the company’s strict ballet attire.

you raised a brow. “and what type did you take me for?”

he chuckled, resting his elbow on the bar beside you, leaning in just slightly. “hardworking. serious. someone who wouldn’t waste time on things like this.”

you scoffed, crossing your arms. “so i can’t let loose once in a while?”

“i didn’t say that.” he lifted his drink to his lips, taking a slow sip before continuing. “it’s just… surprising.”

you chuckled and shook your head. “do you even know my name?” you raised a brow as you looked up at him. he looked down at you, that smirk never leaving his stupidly gorgeous face.

“y/n l/n.” he smiled. “how could i forget a face like yours?”

something about the way he said it sent an odd thrill through you. it wasn’t just his words—it was the way he was looking at you.

before you could come up with a response, another voice cut in.

“everything alright here?”

you turned to see jisung standing beside you, his gaze flicking between you and hyunjin. his usual warmth was still there, but there was something else too—a quiet protectiveness, a subtle tension in the way he held himself.

hyunjin looked at jisung, then back at you, his smirk widening slightly, as if he understood something neither of you had said out loud. he straightened, stepping back slightly. “didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said smoothly, though the glint in his eyes told you he had done exactly that.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “we were just talking.”

“of course,” hyunjin mused, swirling the ice in his glass. then, with one last glance at you—one that lingered a second too long—he gave a small nod. “enjoy your night, y/n l/n.”

and just like that, he was gone, disappearing back into the crowd, leaving behind the scent of cologne and the faintest trace of something else.

jisung watched hyunjin disappear into the crowd, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. he turned back to you, studying your face—the way your eyes lingered on the spot hyunjin had stood, the way your fingers still gripped your drink a little too tightly.

“you okay?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

you nodded, but it wasn’t convincing. “yeah.”

jisung let out a breath, forcing a small chuckle. “you know… for someone who just met him, you sure look at him like he hung the stars.”

your eyes snapped to his, caught off guard by the edge in his voice. it wasn’t anger—not exactly. but there was something there, something deeper than his usual lightheartedness.

you shifted on your feet, suddenly feeling exposed. “i don’t—” you cut yourself off, shaking your head. “it’s not like that.”

jisung gave you a look, one that told you he wasn’t buying it. “isn’t it?”

you swallowed, trying to find the right words, but none came. because deep down, you knew there was truth in what he was saying. there was something about hyunjin—his presence, his reputation, the effortless way he pulled you in. it was exciting. addictive, even.

jisung sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “look, i’m not trying to ruin your night.” his voice was softer now, but there was a weight behind it. “i just…” he hesitated, then forced a small smile. “never mind.”

“no, what?” you frowned, stepping closer. “tell me.”

jisung studied you for a moment, then shook his head with a chuckle that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “nothing. just… be careful with him, okay?”

you wanted to ask why. wanted to pry into whatever was making his expression so guarded. but before you could, celeste appeared beside you, draping an arm over your shoulder.

“there you are! come on, we bought another round.”

you glanced back at jisung, but he had already taken a step away, masking whatever he was feeling with his usual easygoing grin.

“yeah,” you murmured, forcing yourself to focus back on the present. “let’s go.”

but even as celeste dragged you toward the bar, you couldn’t shake the feeling that jisung’s words weren’t just a warning.

they were a plea.

the air in the studio was thick with tension, the usual routine of class disrupted by the presence of an audience. against the far wall, the company’s most renowned dancers, including hyunjin, sat in a neat line alongside the instructors and the director himself, their watchful eyes scanning the room as they whispered amongst themselves.

it had been a few months since your first day at lumière, and you’d finally begun to settle into the rigorous schedule, but today’s class wasn’t just another routine. today, they were scouting for dancers to be featured in the upcoming workshop—a performance that could solidify your place at the company.

your heart pounded as you stepped up to the barre, standing between celeste and yeji. yeji, always composed, adjusted her arm with practiced ease, while celeste rolled her shoulders back, flashing you a reassuring glance. “relax,” she mouthed.

you tried. you really did. but when the pianist began to play, signaling the start of class, your limbs felt stiffer than usual.

the warm-up passed in a blur of tendus and pliés, and as the class progressed, the instructors led everyone to the center for adagios and pirouettes. it was there, under the relentless scrutiny of the panel, that your nerves truly took hold.

“focus on turnout,” miss cassandra’s voice rang out as she walked the floor, correcting postures with a tap of her stick. “shoulders down, breath through the movement.”

you moved into your développé, willing yourself to remain poised, but as you extended your leg, you felt the slightest tremor in your ankle. it wasn’t much, but you knew the observers were trained to notice every detail.

beside you, yeji moved with the elegance of someone who had spent her entire life training for this moment. she was fluid, controlled, every movement effortless. it was no surprise—she was practically a shoo-in for the workshop.

celeste, meanwhile, danced with raw passion. even if her technique wasn’t as pristine, her expressiveness more than made up for it. you could tell she was determined to stand out today.

then there was jisung. though he was newer to classical ballet, he moved with an ease that made it seem as if he had been doing it all his life. his jumps were strong, and his turns were quick yet smooth, full of a quiet confidence that was captivating.

when it was time for pirouettes, you swallowed hard. you weren’t bad at them, but they weren’t your strongest skill either. you tried to keep your focus on the movement, on your breath, on the control of your core—but the moment you spotted hyunjin watching you from across the room, your rhythm faltered.

you stumbled slightly on your third rotation, stepping out of the turn to catch yourself.

you heard a quiet hum of disapproval from the instructors’ side. heat rushed to your face, but you kept going, forcing yourself to push through.

out of the corner of your eye, you saw hyunjin tilt his head, an unreadable expression on his face. he leaned in slightly as if saying something to the dancer beside him, and for a split second, your stomach twisted with uncertainty. was he talking about you?

before you could dwell on it, the instructor clapped her hands. “next group.”

you exhaled sharply and stepped back, catching jisung’s glance as you did. he gave you a small, encouraging smile, one that you tried to return despite the weight in your chest.

the class continued with across-the-floor exercises, and though you did your best, you couldn’t shake the feeling that today had not been your strongest performance.

as the final reverence came to a close, the director finally stepped forward.

“thank you all,” he said, his hands clasped behind his back. his voice was calm, measured, but held a weight that made your stomach churn. “we’ve been observing closely, and over the next few days, we will be making our selections for the workshop.” his sharp eyes swept the room. “work hard. your future here depends on it.”

with that, he turned and left, the rest of the observers trailing behind him.

hyunjin was the last to go.

as he stepped out, his gaze flickered toward you once more.

you had only meant to make a quick stop at the drugstore, picking up a few necessities—shampoo, toothpaste, maybe even a face mask to treat yourself after the grueling week of training. but as you browsed the shelves, a familiar figure caught your eye from the corner of the aisle.

at first, you froze, your mind scrambling to process whether or not you were seeing things. maybe it was just someone who looked like him—platinum blond hair wasn’t exactly common, but it wasn’t impossible. still, curiosity got the best of you.

gripping your shopping basket a little tighter, you stepped out of the aisle and glanced in the direction he had gone. the moment your eyes landed on him, any doubt vanished. it was hyunjin.

he was standing by the skincare section, intently reading the label of a serum bottle, his sharp features relaxed in concentration.

without giving yourself time to overthink it, you strode toward him, adopting a casual air as you stopped beside him. “i’m starting to think you’re stalking me,” you quipped, a teasing grin tugging at your lips as you pretended to inspect the same shelf he was browsing.

hyunjin turned his head slightly, his lips curling into a smirk as he met your gaze. “oh?” he mused, raising a brow. “and here i thought you were stalking me.”

you scoffed, picking up a random moisturizer just to keep your hands busy. “i was here first.”

“so you say.” he let out a soft chuckle before setting the serum back on the shelf, shoving a hand into the pockets of his hoodie. “didn’t expect to see you outside the studio. you look different compared to how i saw you the other day.”

you blinked at him, momentarily thrown off. “different how?”

hyunjin tilted his head, scanning you briefly. “less serious. less…” he trailed off, searching for the word before finally settling on, “stressed.”

you let out a small laugh, though the statement made something twist in your chest. “guess that means i should work on my poker face.”

his smirk lingered as he leaned a bit closer, voice dropping slightly. “or maybe you should learn to loosen up.”

your breath hitched at the proximity, but you quickly masked it, rolling your eyes instead. “says the guy who takes himself so seriously he can’t even enjoy a simple trip to the drugstore.” you gestured toward the products in front of him. “what are you even looking for?”

“face cleanser,” he said, picking up a bottle. “ran out.”

you feigned interest, tilting your head as you examined it. “is that the secret to looking like a prince on stage?”

hyunjin scoffed, shaking his head. “it’s just face wash.”

“sure it is,” you teased, placing the moisturizer back on the shelf. “next you’re gonna tell me you don’t have some ten-step skincare routine.”

he chuckled, running a hand against his hair. “maybe i do. gotta keep up appearances, right?”

you found yourself smiling, the usual nerves you felt around him easing just a little.

for a moment, the conversation settled into a comfortable pause. then, with a glance at your basket, hyunjin nodded toward it. “what about you? shopping spree?”

you scoffed. “hardly. just grabbing some things i ran out of.”

“hm.” he tapped his fingers against the edge of the shelf, studying you for a moment before flashing a lopsided grin. “well, don’t let me keep you from your very important purchases.”

you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “yeah, wouldn’t want to get in the way of your skincare journey, either.”

just as you were about to turn away, hyunjin’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

“hey.”

you glanced back at him, heart inexplicably picking up speed as he casually dropped a bottle of cleanser into his basket.

“have you had dinner yet?” he asked, his voice smooth yet unreadable. he took a slow step toward you, his head tilting slightly as he studied your reaction.

you froze, caught completely off guard. your fingers instinctively tightened around the handle of your basket. “um… no. not yet, anyway.” the words tumbled from your lips, slightly uneven.

hyunjin’s mouth twitched in amusement, clearly noticing your sudden shift in demeanor. “then let’s eat something,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

your brows lifted slightly. “what, like… together?”

he let out a breath of laughter, shaking his head. “no, separately. at the same place. sitting at different tables.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the tiny smile forming at the corners of your lips. “alright, smartass. i just wasn’t expecting you to—” you paused, suddenly hesitant. was this… a date? or was he just being friendly?

“wasn’t expecting me to what?” hyunjin prompted, watching you with an unreadable expression.

you shifted on your feet. “to, i don’t know, invite me to dinner?”

his smirk softened, and he shrugged. “why not? i’m hungry, you’re hungry. might as well eat together. better yet, how about we go to my place?”

it was such a simple reason. no deeper meaning, no hidden intentions—at least, none that you could decipher. and yet, something about the idea of sharing a meal with hyunjin made your stomach flip in a way you weren’t sure how to handle.

“okay,” you said before you could overthink it. “yeah. sure.”

hyunjin grinned, satisfied. “good.” he glanced down at your basket. “you done shopping?”

you nodded, and together, the two of you made your way toward the checkout counter.

as you stood in line, you stole a quick glance at him. this was the most time you had spent with him outside of class, and despite your initial nerves, it felt… natural. easy, even.

little did you know, jisung had texted you while you were shopping. and when you didn’t answer, he’d decided to call.

just as you placed your items on the counter, your phone buzzed in your pocket, you pulled it out, seeing the screen light up with a familiar name. jisung.

you hesitated, glancing at hyunjin, who was now placing his own items on the counter.

as the phone buzzed in your hand, you hesitated for a second before pulling it out and answering.

"hey, jisung," you said, trying to sound casual as you stepped slightly away from hyunjin.

"hey! i was just wondering if you wanted to grab some food or something? you kinda disappeared after class, and i figured you could use a break." his voice was as warm as ever, that familiar lilt making you feel at ease.

you chewed on your lip, glancing at hyunjin, who was busy paying for his things. “oh, um… i actually just made plans to eat.”

“with who?” jisung asked lightly, but you could hear the slight shift in his tone.

you hesitated. “hyunjin.”

there was a beat of silence on the other end. not long—just a second—but enough for you to notice.

“oh,” jisung finally said. “cool. guess he’s finally got you under his spell, huh?” his attempt at humor didn’t fully mask the disappointment in his voice.

you sighed, feeling a slight pang of guilt. “it’s just dinner. it wasn’t even planned or anything, we just ran into each other at the store.”

“right.” another pause. then, a forced chuckle. “well, have fun, then.”

you frowned at his sudden change in demeanor. “jisung, don’t be like that.”

“like what?” he let out a small laugh, but it lacked his usual warmth. “look, you can hang out with whoever you want. i was just calling to check in, that’s all.”

you exhaled through your nose, wanting to say more, but before you could, he beat you to it.

“i’ll see you later, okay?”

and before you could respond, the call ended.

you lowered your phone, staring at the screen for a moment. something about the way he had sounded unsettled you. you knew jisung cared about you—he was one of your closest friends here—but this felt different.

“everything okay?” hyunjin’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. he was standing next to you now, his bag in one hand, yours in the other, both receipts discarded. you didn’t even realize he bought your things for you, you were still hung up on what han said.

you forced a small smile, tucking your phone away. “yeah. just… my friend checking in.”

hyunjin raised a brow, but didn’t press. “ready to go?”

you nodded, pushing aside the lingering thoughts of jisung as you followed hyunjin out the door.

taglist: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek @babigriin @tirena1 @nickgurl4life

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atinyslittleworld · 1 day ago

Text

Grave Encounters

wooyoung x f!reader

Summary: In a world overrun by zombies, Wooyoung saves Y/N, only to face chaos when his group believes she’s infected.

Word Count: 1,353

Genre: post-apocalyptic, angst, action

Warnings: violence, mentions of blood, wounds, zombies and guns

Wooyoung had learned not to stray too far.

Leaving the safehouse was always a risk, but it was a necessary one. Food was running low, and hunger was as much of a killer as the undead. He had volunteered to go out alone—he was quick, careful, and knew these streets better than most. A simple supply run, in and out. No unnecessary risks.

The city was eerily silent as he moved through its decayed skeleton. The air was thick with the scent of rot, the sky heavy with dark clouds that threatened rain. Abandoned cars lined the cracked roads, their shattered windows glinting in the weak light. Buildings stood hollow and lifeless, their broken signs swaying slightly in the breeze.

Wooyoung clutched his metal pipe tightly as he made his way toward an old convenience store he had scouted days prior. It was one of the last untouched places—at least, he hoped so. If he was lucky, there would still be some canned goods, maybe even bottled water. Anything would be better than what little they had left.

He was a few steps from the entrance when a scream cut through the dead air.

It was loud, raw, filled with sheer panic.

Wooyoung froze. His grip on the pipe tightened as his instincts screamed at him to turn back. Screams meant danger. Screams meant walkers. And if he could hear it, so could they.

But before he could stop himself, his feet were already moving.

He sprinted down the street, weaving between abandoned vehicles, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. The sound had come from nearby—too close for him to ignore. Every survival instinct told him this was a mistake, that he should stick to his original path.

And then he saw her.

A girl was struggling against a walker, her back pressed against the rusted remains of a car. The undead had its rotting fingers clamped around her ankle, its milky eyes locked onto her as it clawed desperately at her leg.

She was screaming—loud, frantic, a sound so full of terror it sent a shiver down his spine.

And worse, she wasn’t just attracting him.

More walkers were emerging from the shadows, drawn to her cries, their grotesque figures limping toward her. Their guttural groans filled the air, a sick chorus of hunger and death.

She was seconds away from being overwhelmed.

Wooyoung didn’t hesitate.

He lunged forward, swinging his pipe with everything he had. The weapon connected with the walker’s skull with a sickening crack, but it wasn’t enough. It groaned, its grip tightening around her ankle as it snapped its teeth toward her.

She let out a choked sob, trying desperately to kick it off.

Wooyoung raised his pipe again and slammed it down. Hard.

The walker collapsed, its decayed head caving in under the force of the blow. Its body twitched once before finally falling still.

But there was no time to breathe.

The other undead were closing in, their sunken faces twisted in hunger.

Wooyoung grabbed the girl’s wrist, yanking her to her feet. “We need to move. Now.”

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her entire body trembling. She was still in shock, her eyes darting between him and the approaching horde.

“Hey!” He shook her slightly, forcing her to look at him. “Can you run?”

She swallowed hard, nodding.

“Then let’s go.”

With that, he pulled her with him, their footsteps pounding against the cracked pavement as the moans of the dead chased them.

The world around them was nothing but a blur of motion and noise—ragged breathing, pounding footsteps, and the blood-curdling groans of the undead.

Wooyoung refused to let go of her wrist.

The girl was slowing down, stumbling over the cracked pavement, barely able to keep up. But he wouldn’t let her fall behind.

“Come on!” he shouted, gripping her tighter, practically dragging her along. His legs burned, his chest ached, but none of it mattered.

All that mattered was getting her out alive.

He could hear them closing in. The snarling, the shuffling, the sickening sounds of decayed bodies moving too fast for something that should have been dead.

The safe house was just ahead.

He pushed forward, ignoring the way his muscles screamed at him, ignoring everything except survival.

Finally, they reached the entrance. Wooyoung slammed his fist against the heavy metal door, his voice hoarse from running.

“OPEN UP!”

For a horrifying moment, there was nothing.

Then—click.

The locks shifted. The door swung open.

Without hesitation, Wooyoung shoved her inside, stumbling in after her before slamming it shut behind them, locking out the nightmare still clawing at their heels.

Silence.

For the first time since this hellish chase began, there was no growling, no screaming—just the sound of his own labored breathing.

He pressed a hand against the cold metal, trying to steady himself. They were safe.

At least, that’s what he thought.

But something felt off.

The air in the room was wrong.

Too still. Too tense.

His stomach dropped.

Slowly, Wooyoung looked up.

The entire room—his team—stood in front of him, weapons drawn.

Pointed at her.

The girl let out a small, shaky breath, her body going rigid with fear.

Wooyoung’s mind reeled. “What the hell are you all doing?”

Yunho’s voice was quiet, but firm. Too calm.

“Wooyoung,” he said carefully, “step away from her.”

Confused, Wooyoung turned to look at her.

And then he saw it.

Blood.

A deep gash on her cheek, the crimson stark against her pale skin.

His heart stopped.

In their world, blood meant one thing.

“She’s bitten,” San muttered darkly.

Then—chaos.

“Wooyoung, get away from her!”

“She’s gonna turn!”

“You brought a fucking infected in here?!”

“She’s not bitten!” Wooyoung snapped, his voice rising in frustration.

“She’s bleeding everywhere!”

“How could you be so stupid, Wooyoung?!”

“You should’ve checked first!”

They were yelling over each other, their voices merging into a storm of accusations and panic.

And the girl?

She was trembling.

Her breath came in uneven gasps, her body pressed against the wall, her hands shaking.

She wasn’t just scared.

She was terrified.

It was too much. Too loud. Too cruel.

And Wooyoung couldn’t take it anymore.

“SHUT UP!”

His voice boomed through the room, cutting through the chaos like a blade.

The air grew thick with tension.

For a few agonizing seconds, no one moved.

Then—Seonghwa stepped forward.

Unlike the others, he didn’t raise his weapon.

“I’ll check her,” Seonghwa said, his voice calm but firm.

No one spoke.

Wooyoung turned to the girl, his grip on her wrist loosening.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “Let him check.”

She didn’t respond. Didn’t move.

Seonghwa knelt in front of her, pulling out a cloth and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“This will sting,” he warned.

She barely reacted when he dabbed at the wound, gently wiping away the blood. The room remained silent, everyone watching, waiting, holding their breath.

Finally—Seonghwa sighed.

“It’s not a bite.”

Relief crashed over Wooyoung.

“It’s deep,” Seonghwa continued, “but it’s just a scratch.”

The weapons lowered.

The tension lifted.

But Wooyoung wasn’t done.

He turned to the others, his jaw clenched. “Next time, how about you let me talk before trying to kill someone?”

No one met his gaze.

Cowards.

Shaking his head, he turned back to the girl, kneeling beside her.

She was still shaking.

Still scared.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice much gentler now. “You’re safe.”

Her eyes finally met his.

And for the first time—recognition flickered in them.

“…Wooyoung?” she whispered.

His breath caught.

She knew his name.

“You—” His voice faltered. “You know me?”

She swallowed, her breath still uneven. “We… went to the same university.”

A lump formed in his throat.

Memories flashed in his mind.

Late-night study sessions. Stolen glances across the library. The girl he always thought was beautiful.

And then it hit him.

Y/N.

She was Y/N.

The girl he had a crush on.

The girl he had planned to confess to.

And then—the world ended.

Wooyoung let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh.

“What are the chances?”

A small, shaky smile formed on her lips.

#ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez #jung wooyoung #jung wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung imagines #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung imagines #wooyoung

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tonysbed · 12 hours ago

Text

Secrets I keep | Part 13

Lando Norris x sister!reader

Max Fewtrell x norris!reader

Daniel Ricardo x Norris!reader

summary: You and Max have been dancing around your feelings for years but jealousy gets the best of us all..

not proofread

warnings: mention of loosing virginity, no they’re not gonna fuck on the boat, ITS LANDOS. Smut will be marked. Reader is definitely a woman 😔☝️ For the first time, I wrote protected sex 😧

warnings in the smut part: choking, rough sex, virginity loss, use of good girl, fingering, it could be cringe for some idk

series masterlist | previous | next

“Max..” Your voice was quiet and your eyes met his “We don’t have to, we’ll go up there and take a nap or anything” You nod, he smiles gently and presses a kiss to your nose “Tell me when I’m crossing lines okay? I’m not gonna loose you because i’m selfish or anything” His tone was quiet and gentle, matching yours.

“I will. I just..” You look down. Max senses that you’re struggling, grabs the forgotten ice cream, puts it back in the freezer and takes you back upstairs.

He pulls you on your previous spot, making you lay your head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry” “For what?” “We didn’t..” And we don’t have to. I literally could not care less. If you don’t want it, I don’t want it either.”

You smile at him as his thumb caressed your cheek. You sigh and press your lips together, making Max tilt his head at you “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s fine” He shakes his head “No. Talk to me” You shake your head “It’s okay” “No it’s not. I can only help you when you tell me what’s wrong” “Nothings really wrong..” “But?”

You sigh and fidget with a bracelet Lando had gifted you years ago “It hasn’t changed..” Max looked confused “Changed? What?” “Me, uhm..” “Well, It doesn’t really matter if you do or not. I’m still right here” You chuckle and blush at his words.

“It’s no that” His hand rests over yours “Then what?” “I asked something of you, something you didn’t want.. well..” Max face twists from confusion to realisation “You’re..you never..?” You shake your head “I didn’t know we’d end up here but I never really found anyone I trusted enough”

He stares at you “And where is the problem?” “Maybe you didn’t want-“ “You listen to me now.” He sits up “I wanted you. I want you and I will want you until I take my last breath. That’s how much you consume me. I need you in every way that you allow me to have you. And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn’t be open about this, but I promise you, It’s okay. And we don’t have to. Okay? That’s not why we’re here”

He holds your face in his hands “Okay?” You nod and gently meet his lips.

“We’ve been through enough to not hide something from the other. And we’ll probably go through hell a few times. Especially when the internet catches on, but that all won’t matter cause we’ve got each other.”

You smile and nod “Okay” Max smiles too “Okay. And now we should slowly go back to land. I’m starving” You chuckle “Ay ay, captain” You smirk “Dork” He ruffles through you hair “Hey!”

He quickly kissed the top of your head and heads to turn the boat around. You watch him leading you both back to the land. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as you thought.

yn added to their story

caption: I wish I knew what he tried there, but I have no clue @/ maxfewtrell

reply’s:

lando did he get stuck?

yn no he actually didn’t

lando ohhh, miracle

yn almost tho

alexandrasaintmleux when is your busy schedule free for me 😔

yn always, you just gotta say when you’re free 😔 I think we also need to talk about something that happened yesterday 👀

alexandrasaintmleux ohh 👀

user you and max are hanging out a lot

user you’re with max again??

yn and alexandrasaintmleux added to their story

(yn cap: 🦋🤍 | alex cap: 💕🌸)

“But you guys didn’t sleep with each other?” “No I couldn’t.. I mean we talked about it afterwards. And he told me that it’s okay but it doesn’t feel okay”

She smiles at you “You’re finally where you wanted to be all along. It is okay. No matter what the media, what lando, and definitely daniel says. They don’t matter. Did he give you any reason not to trust him?”

“No?” “Then talk to him again. And if you aren’t ready, then that’s okay too.” “Everyone-“ “Shut up.” You blink at her “Stop comparing yourself, please. If I had the chance again, I would’ve rather thought about who I had my first time with. But I wanted to fit in, to loose my virginity. That’s stupid tho. Do it with someone you love, and not do it when everyone tells you to lose it.”

You nod “Alright, alright. Before you start writing poems here.” You chuckle and Alex laughs “I’m sure i’ll write some about the insufferable love you two have for each other” “Me and Max? Talk about yourself with the wannabe fashionista”

“That’s mean” She says but laughs “His pants are the worst! How would you let him go out like that?” You cringe “He likes it I guess. I’ll help him here and there but..he’s expressing himself..?”

“Don’t make me feel bad “ You chuckle but pick up your phone that lit up.

“Who is it?” “Max” She smirks at you “Shut up” “I didn’t say anything” You roll your eyes “What does he want?” “Asking if I was up for dinner tonight. But keegan and morgan would be joining if I was okay with it”

“But you wanted to talk to him” “I’m not gonna talk to him about him talking my virginity in public, Alex!” You whisper yell. She shrugs and you roll your eyes again.

“Maybe you won’t even have to talk” She smirks again “Alex” You whine “Do you trust him?” “Yes” “Do you want it to be him?” “Yes” She smiles as she sips her coffee.

“We’ll see what happens” “Just don’t panic. You’ll be okay.” you nod “Thank you alex” “You know I won’t judge” She winks.

maxfewtrell

liked by landonorris, charlesleclerc, angryginge13 and 625.836 others

maxfewtrell recently 🌺👀

user WHO IS THAT

lando I still beat you.

maxfewtrell 🙄🙄

angryginge13 not surprised. He was ogling his girlfriend the entire time

maxfewtrell I was not

lando you were.

user let us innnn

user he looks so happy omg

user this is so cute

user handplacement 🥹

You kicked off your heels in the hallway and made your way to the living room. You flopped down onto the couch and you hear a chuckle from behind you “Told you to wear other shoes.” “But others wouldn’t have fit to my outfit” You pout.

“Then you should’ve changed” “So you don’t like my outfit?” “Oh trust me, I love it” You blush a bit as he sits next to you, hand on your knee.

“How was the meet up with Alexandra? More gossip?” “Maybe” Max smiled and closed his eyes. His head rested on the back of the couch as you watched him.

“Everything okay?” He mumbled a few moments later and opened one eye to look at you “yeah, i’m okay” You smile warmly. He smiles, closes his eye and gently strokes your leg.

Either he hasn’t noticed, or he’s doing it on purpose but with each stoke, his hand itched higher and higher. When he got to your thigh, your breath hitched.

You saw max’s lips twitch upwards slightly. His thumb makes a soothing motion over your inner thigh, which isn’t soothing at all (Ykyk that feeling).

“Fewtrell.” He hums “What are you doing?” “I’m not doing anything” He turns his head and looks at you with an innocent smile “I know exactly what you’re doing.” “Then why are you asking?”

* Smut until the next mark *

“Don’t play with me, Fewtrell” “No? But I thought that’s exactly what you wanted” You glare at him “Maybe I don’t want it anymore” He chuckled “No? Then why is my hand trapped between your thighs?” He smirks. Fuck, you hadn’t even noticed that your thighs were pressed together.

You look up at him with a faint blush on your cheeks. His free hand cups your cheek “Tell me to stop and I will” You shake your head “Don’t” “No? You sure” You nod and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“Yes”

That’s all it took for max to let his restraint go. His lips crash into yours “Tell me if I make you uncomfortable or-“ “Just shut up” You breath out. He chuckled, pulled his hand from between your thighs and climbed over you.

His hands were next to your head, yours finding their place on his sides “Max” You say quietly as his lips gently glide over your jaw “Hm?” You raise your hands to his cheeks and pull him in for another kiss.

One hand slowly wanders down to the first button on his shirt, which he catches in his hand. You look at him puzzled “I’m not fucking you on your couch” “Why not?” “Not happening”

He gets up and throws you over his shoulder as if you weighted nothing “Max! What the fuck!” “You’ll live.” You chuckle as he makes his way to your bedroom.

He gently sets you down on the bed and doesn’t restrain your hands from opening his shirt this time. He watched every move of your hands and looks right into your eyes as you push the dress shirt off him.

He lets it fall to the floor as he leans over you again, his lips almost touching yours “Still okay?” “yes” You lean up the last bit to kiss him, making him smile into the kiss.

One of his hands trace your back “Wanna keep it on or can I..” Max eyes you for a moment, keeping alert for any possible discomfort. You breath for a moment “It’s okay” You say quietly.

He smiles and gently opens your dress. It falls of your shoulders as he pulls you up by your hands and strips you off the dress completely.

His eyes roam your body, but instead of being embarrassed, it’s sends a warm sensation through your body.

“Got your wish after all, huh?” He chuckled “Shut up and hurry up” “Patience baby. Everything at its time” You roll your eyes but yelp as Max pushes you back on the bed.

“Up” He says and you move more upwards on the bed as he towers over you. His lips find your jaw once again while one of his hands roams your form.

He trails down your body, keeping eye contact. “Max, please. Don’t tease” “I’m not teasing, i’m enjoying” His hands slide up your sides and stop at your bra “Can I take it off?” You nod and Max opens your bra and throws it off the bed.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He murmured against your skin. His hands gently knead your tits and smirks as you let out a gasp.

He comes up to your ear, gently biting under it, earning a muffled moan “Has anyone ever touched you, baby?” You shake your head, breathless “No? Oh fuck” He chuckled and let his head fall forward for a moment.

Max composed himself again as his hands travel down to the last piece of clothing that’s covering you. He looks at you and you nod. He raised an eyebrow “Yes, max for fucks sake. Stop asking and do something, please”

He smirked and pulled down your underwear, leaving you bare in front of him. You tug at his pants “No, not yet” He gently guides your hand above your head “This is about you, not me” You whine “You can have me later, let me make my stupid decision up, hmm?”

He gently glides two fingers through your folds. You bite your lip to keep your moans quiet, but Max wasn’t having any of it.

“Let me hear you, otherwise I’ll stop” He pulls his hand away and you buckle your hips upwards, which was quickly shut down by max shoving and holding your hips down.

His fingers find your clit and circle it slowly. One of your hands grabs max’s arm. He smiles and speeds up slowly. Your breathing was already unsteady but it wasn’t enough “Max, please” “Use your words. What do you want?”

You blush and clench your jaw “I’m not a mind reader, you gotta tell me” “Your fingers” “oh yeah?” You nod eagerly “Well, who am I to deny you that” He slowly inserts one of his fingers and watches your face for any discomfort.

When he doesn’t find any, he curves his finger upwards. You moan and thighten your grip on his arm “More, please Max” He inserts another finger into you and picks up the pace.

He keeps his thumb on your clit, kissing your thighs in the process. You moan out his name, nothing else than him filling your mind.

“What a good girl” Max raised an eyebrow as you clenched around his fingers “Oh? You like when I call you that?” You blush and hide your face in your hands.

“Don’t hide yourself, come on Baby” He peels your hands away “Eyes on me. You wanna cum on my fingers?” You nod “Yeah? You think you can handle my cock too?” You nod eagerly “Yes, I can”

Max smirks, picking up the speed again and you whine “Aw, are you sensitive?” You push your head backwards into the pillow.

The squelch of the movement inside of you is the only noise filling the room for a moment, making you fist the blanket and max’s arm.

“So good- Max! ‘m close” “Yeah? I’ve got you, cum all over my fingers. Need it” He says and bites the inside your thigh.

The pain pushes you over the edge, your nails digging into Max’s arm.

He slowed down his pace, letting you ride out your high. He pulls out and wipes his fingers on his pants, his free hand gently stroking your abdomen.

You look at him, catching your breath, hair sticking to your forehead. Max chuckled “If you look this fucked out on my fingers, I wonder what my cock does to to you”

You bite your lip and reach out to him, fingers hooking into his belt. Max raised his eyebrows at you but smirks “Go ahead” He nods and you unbuckle his belt. He moves backwards on the bed to stand back up and take his pants off.

“You’re still clothed” You say, sitting on your knees now, tilting your head and pointing at his boxers. Max chuckled “Impatient, are we?” He smirks but you cross your arms “Alright, alright” He chuckled, taking off his underwear too and crawling back above you, pushing you back on your back.

You hold the eye contact but flicker to his lips. His hands reached for the nightstand and takes something off it. “You wanna do it?” You look at the condom. Where the hell did that thing come from and when did he even place it there?

But your thoughts were interrupted when max kissed your jaw “Hm?” “I wanna do it” You whisper “Alright then” He holds the pack up to your mouth and you gently grab it with your teeth, to not damage anything.

You both sit back up, and you rip open the package. You place it on his cock and out of the corner of your eye you can see his hands clenching, holding back from touching you. You smirks and roll the condom down.

Max squeezed his eyes shut and mumbled a quiet ‘fuck’ You keep moving your hand up and down his cock “Sweetheart, no- oh fuck” You thighten your grip slightly, making Max gasp.

“That’s not what- oh” His breath quickens “I’m just making sure it’s on properly” You smile innocently, and before you can say anything else, his hand grips your throat “You’re a minx. I’d be careful if I was you” “Oh yeah? What’re you gonna do?”

He smirks slowly and clenched his jaw “Nothing today. This is about you, but don’t think I’ll forget you being a little brat.”

You raise your eyebrows “Me? I would never” “You’ve never and you still..” Max cuts himself off “I forgot, you read” You smile “Not so innocent, are you baby?” He smiles and pulls you in by your throat.

His lips press against yours and he pulls away again, making you try and chase him, which doesn’t work with his hand around your throat.

He gently pushes you back down and presses gentle kisses around your neck, keeping your hips still with his hands.

“Max, please” He raised an eyebrow “Stop teasing. You don’t need to be a mind reader to know what I want. Please, I thought you wanted to make it up to me? “ You whine, making him press his lips together, nodding “I know, I know sweetheart. You’ll get what you want”

He lines himself up with you but looks up first “Tell me to go slower or stop, okay? You got the control on the pace” You nod, hand wrapping around his bicep.

He slowly pushes in, making you gasp. Your nails dig into his arm, making him hiss. Your scrunch your eyebrows together “Wait-fuck. A moment, please” Max stops immediately and looks up “You okay?” You nod “Just need a moment”

He nods and waits for your cue to move again. Your mouth opens in a soundless moan, which makes Max wrap his hand around your throat once again “Come on, don’t go shy on me now, Pretty girl. Let me hear you” You try to stop the restrain on your moans and Max stills inside you, once he’s in by the hilt.

“You tell me when to move, okay?” You nod, pulling him down for a kiss, your fingers tangling into his hair.

“Okay, you can move” He slowly pulls out and trusts back in. Your eyes widen as he continues the movement “Holy- Max” He chuckles and leans his head next to your ear, making you listen to his breathing.

“How are you feeling?” He says, quickly pecking your cheek “Good” “Yeah? Feels good?” You nod, eyes occasionally rolling into the back of your head.

“Told you we should’ve done this earlier- fuck” You grad the arm that is wrapped around your throat “Yeah? Bet you would’ve loved to be fucked everywhere, hm? Having to keep quiet if I actually fucked you in my drivers room, your own room or mine? Or on the italy vacation?”

“I don’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about” You get out between moans “No? Running around in those dresses, my god. And bending over every time I was around you? Total accident i’m sure” He growls, thightening his hold on your throat.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head once again at his action “you’re fucking filthy, aren’t you? If you like me chocking you, what else is it I will find when I fuck you, hm?” He smirks as you blush “Always the ones you thought were innocent” He chuckled as you silenced him with a kiss.

“Please, faster” Max gladly listens, picking up his pace and reaching down to play with your clit “Max- Oh god”

“You have no idea how long I wanted to do this to you. I don’t know how I kept away from you, but I won’t ever be able to ever again” Max’s breath gets heavier and his head hangs down.

“Harder” “Baby im already-“ “You’re not gonna break me” He lets out a breathless laugh “Jesus, you’re gonna be the death of me” He obliged either way and soon you could feel the pleasure creeping up on you.

Max felt your repeatedly clenching around him as his thrusts don’t falter “Are you close? Can feel you squeezing me so- oh my- fucking tight” You nod “Yeah? Wanna come on my cock? Be a good girl?” “Yeah, wanna be good- fuck”

He smirks at the effect he has on you, but his expression quickly turns into concern as tears roll down your cheeks and he starts to slow down “Hey-hey are you okay?” “Don’t stop, please max. Fuck, keep going”

It was then he realised you were crying because it just felt good “Not hurting, please I’m so close” He nods and picks up his pace again.

This time he picks up your hips a bit which earns him a loud moan “Oh- right there, max” He chuckled but continued pounding into you, as his own orgasm crept up on him.

“Yeah? Finally found it” He says more to himself than you but tries to continually hitting the spot, over and over again.

“Gonna cum, max. Don’t stop, don’t-“ “I won’t, let go baby. I got you, be a good girl” You pulled him down into a heated kiss as white hot please consumed every fibre of your body, your other hand gripping his shoulder, marking another part of him.

Your orgasm triggered his own and his hands grip your hips, probably bruising them slightly in the process.

His forehead rests on yours as you slowly come down from your high. Max slowly pulls out, which earns him a quiet hiss of you.

“Sorry” he mumbled and pulled the condom off to throw it in the trash.

* smut end * holy cow that was long 😭 Anyway.

“You want a bath or just lay here” Max whispered as he cuddled up to you “Just a moment. But a bath sounds nice too” “I’ll quickly turn on the water and be right back” You nod with closed eyes.

A few moments later you hear the water running and Max is back in the room, now in sweatpants “Why are you wearing those?” “Do you know how weird it feels to walk around naked?” He laughs and crawls back to you, pulling you onto his chest “Don’t fall asleep on me now. We still gotta clean you up”

“How can I not when you brush through my hair like that and cuddle me” You mumble “To bad, sweetheart. Still gonna have the bath” You don’t move and max laughs “Do I have to carry you?” “Mhm”

He chuckled again but picks you up “Let’s go then” You keep your eyes closed, leaning on his shoulder. “Can you open the door? My hands are quite occupied”

You smile and open the door. The warmth of the room immediately makes you feel even sleepier. He sets you down for a moment and closes the door.

“Come on, hop hop in there” “Don’t rush me” You say and hold a hand out “Yeah yeah” He picks you back up and you squeal “Max!” He slowly sets you down in the bathtub. He sits beside the tub and holds your hand, head resting on the side and looking at you.

“You’re staring.” “I know. But do you really care?” “No” You smile and look at him. His smile widens “Good.” He sits up properly to kiss you. Your hand draws shapes on his shoulder “Oh” “Hm?”

You chuckle “Did I do that?” You point to the countless scratches on his arms and shoulders “I think you did, yeah” He laughs “Even down here!” He looks at the lower part of his arm “How am I supposed to hide that?”

“Hoodie?” He looks at you deadpan “Hoodie? It’s like.. super hot outside?” “Then you’ll be smoking hot” He chuckled “You’re crazy” “Yet you’re still sitting here” Max nods “Yeah, somehow” You roll your eyes and lay back down.

comfortable silence fills the room. Max’s hand gently caressed your face as you calm down. You were right were you wanted to be, without any disturbance..right?

Holy shit. It’s been a while since I wrote smut, so go easy on me. Part 14 is still coming out tomorrow, no worries about that 🤭

#formula one imagine #lando norris x sister!reader #max fewtrell imagine #max fewtrell x you #norris!reader #daniel riccardo x reader #max verstappen x reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #max fewtrell smut

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