#so they know if they just straight up call me i’ll probably panic and not answer

[mars-ipan]

a friend called me :D yaay

[astars-things]

bubble wrap

Lando Norris x reader

warning- broken ankle

Lando was half-asleep on the couch when his phone rang, the sharp sound cutting through the quiet apartment. He frowned at the screen, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Y/N’s mom’s name flashing across it. Calls this late were never good news.

“Hello?” He answered quickly, already sitting up straight.

“Lando, sweetheart,” her voice was gentle, but there was something cautious about it. “I don’t want you to panic, but we’re at the hospital with Y/N.”

His heart dropped. “The hospital? What happened? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, just… well, you know how she is.” There was a small laugh, but Lando wasn’t amused. “She tripped over a curb outside the restaurant and broke her ankle.”

Lando sighed, rubbing his forehead. Of course she did. “I swear, we need to wrap her in bubble wrap. She cannot go one month without getting injured.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” her mom chuckled. “She’s a little embarrassed, but she’s okay. I thought you’d want to come.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

When he arrived at the hospital, Y/N was sitting in a wheelchair in the waiting room, her leg propped up with a bright pink cast. The second she saw him, she groaned, covering her face with her hands.

“Before you say anything—”

“I’m wrapping you in bubble wrap,” he interrupted, crouching in front of her with a fond shake of his head. “This is, what, the third time this year?”

Her cheeks burned. “It’s only the second! And last time was just a sprain.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “You fell up the stairs, Y/N.”

Her lips pressed into a pout. “It happens.”

He couldn’t help but smile. God, he loved her. Even when she was a walking disaster.

Y/N’s mom patted her shoulder, amused. “She’s all yours now, Lando. Good luck.”

Lando didn’t even give her a chance to argue when he scooped her up in his arms outside the hospital.

“I can use the crutches,” she insisted, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“Not happening.” He held her easily, carrying her toward the car like she weighed nothing. “You’d probably trip again and break your other ankle.”

She gasped, lightly smacking his chest. “I am not that bad!”

He glanced down at her with an amused smile. “Really? Because last week, you tripped over absolutely nothing.”

She huffed, but he could see the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Well, if I’m stuck being carried everywhere, I hope you know that means you’re officially my personal servant.”

Lando chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I already am.”

By the time they got home, Lando had completely banned the use of crutches. Y/N tried to argue, but she didn’t exactly mind the way he carried her inside, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” she mumbled against his shoulder as he carried her straight to the couch.

“Maybe,” he admitted, carefully setting her down and tucking a blanket around her. He adjusted the pillows beneath her injured leg, making sure she was comfortable before sitting beside her.

She watched him with soft eyes, heart swelling at the care in his every movement. “You’re too good to me.”

He smiled, reaching over to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just love you too much to risk you getting hurt again.”

Lando had planned to stream with Max that night, but he refused to leave Y/N alone. So instead of letting her stay on the couch, he brought a giant bean bag into his streaming room and set her up with blankets, snacks, and her phone.

“You know I can just stay in the living room, right?” she teased as he fluffed up the pillows behind her.

“Nope.” He grinned, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “You stay where I can see you.”

“I feel like a child,” she giggled, watching him settle into his gaming chair.

“A very clumsy child,” he corrected, glancing at her with fond eyes.

Y/N just shook her head with a smile, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.

Halfway through the stream, Max noticed her in the background.

“Mate, why is Y/N in a bean bag?” Max asked, laughing through the headset.

Lando smirked. “She broke her ankle last night.”

Max burst out laughing. “Of course she did! How?”

“Tripped over a curb.”

“Classic Y/N,” Max chuckled. “You really do need to wrap her in bubble wrap.”

“That’s the plan,” Lando said, shooting her a playful look.

Y/N glanced up from her phone. “I will throw my crutch at you.”

Max cackled. “I’d pay to see that.”

Lando just grinned, knowing full well she wasn’t really mad.

After the stream, he turned off his PC and glanced over at Y/N. She had dozed off, curled up in the bean bag with her head resting against a pillow. His heart softened at the sight.

Quietly, he crouched down beside her, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. She stirred slightly, blinking up at him with sleepy eyes.

“Done streaming?” she mumbled.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Ready for bed?”

She nodded, but before she could even think about using the crutches, Lando had already lifted her into his arms again.

“You’re really never letting me use them, huh?” she murmured, resting her head against his chest.

“Nope.” He kissed her temple. “You’re stuck with me carrying you everywhere.”

She sighed, smiling against his shirt. “I guess I can live with that.”

And as he carried her to bed, holding her close like she was the most precious thing in the world, Lando decided he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[jes3icasriley]

late night confessions - tlou

paring - Ellie Williams x fem!reader/ Ellie Williams x miller!reader

summary: Ellie had been drowning in a feeling she could no longer ignore—was it love? It gnawed at her, restless and undeniable, until she finally turned to Tommy for advice, knowing Joel would lose his mind if he found out. Tommy’s answer was simple: get up and confess. And so, she did—knocking on your window, heart pounding, ready to spill everything.

Ellie knew she was screwed ever since she saw you standing alongside Joel and Tess. Not in the life-or-death kind of way—not like when she was running from infected, dodging bullets, or nearly dying by a group of hunters. No, this was worse. These were feelings. And worse than that, they were feelings for you—Joel’s daughter.

Which meant she was really screwed.

She didn’t know when it started. Maybe it was the first time you stood up for her against Joel, saying she wasn’t some dumb kid who needed to be babysat. Maybe it was the way you laughed—really laughed—when she made some dumb joke. Or maybe it was just you, always you, existing in a way that made her heart do things it shouldn’t be doing.

But there was no way in hell she was telling Jesse or Dina about it. Jesse would make fun of her for life, and Dina? Dina would absolutely run straight to you with the biggest, dumbest grin on her face. So Ellie did what any completely rational person would do in her situation—she went to Tommy.

The decision was made in a panic. She hadn’t even planned it. One minute she was helping him kill stragglers out on patrol, and the next, she was blurting out, “I think I’m dying.”

Tommy had blinked at her, understandably confused. “Uh… what?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me..” Ellie mumbled, dragging her hands down her face. “I feel all… weird. It’s like where my stomach does this thing…like, like a tummy ache or some shit—whenever I see her, and my hands get all sweaty, and my mouth just stops working!”

Tommy frowned. “Who’s ‘her’?”

Ellie looked at him, looking around the area, almost seeming to want to ignore that question until she gulped. She sighed, cursing at herself, then actually telling Tommy.

“Yn..” she whispered, mostly to herself. Tommy moved his head to the side, giving Ellie that look like “speak up, I can’t hear shit” so she did just that.

“Urgh… y/n, okay? I don’t know, it’s… Complicated.”

Tommy stared at her for a long moment before a slow, knowing grin spread across his face. “Ohh. Ohhh.” He nodded, clearly enjoying this way too much. “You got yourself a little crush, huh?”

Ellie groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what? Like the truth?” Tommy smirked, nudging her with his elbow. “Wow, Ellie. You really went and fell for good old y/n? You sure you’re not actually dying?”

Ellie let out a dramatic sigh, flopping back against a nearby tree. “Might as well be. If Joel finds out, he’s gonna kill me.”

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, he won’t kill ya. Probably just glare at you real hard until you wither away.”

Ellie groaned again. “Not helping.”

“Alright, alright.” Tommy held up his hands in surrender. “Look, it’s simple—if she makes you all sweaty and dumb, you like her.”

“Wow. Thanks, Doc,” Ellie deadpanned.

“You want my advice or not, smartass?”

Ellie huffed but nodded.

“Just tell her.”

Ellie made a noise like she was physically in pain. “Are you insane? Joel would totally kill me. He’d turn me into boots, Tommy.”

Tommy shook his head with a small snort. “C’mon, Joel ain’t that bad.”

Ellie cocked her head towards him, giving Tommy a deadpan look.

“…Alright, yeah, he’s that bad,” Tommy admitted, laughing. “But I’ll tell you what—if he tries anything, I’ll take the blame. Tell him I put you up to it.”

Ellie stared at him, eyes wide with genuine horror. “You would die.”

Tommy grinned. “Eh, maybe. But it’d be funny.”

With that so-called “advice,” it led her to now. Standing outside your window like some creep, hands sweating, heart racing, trying to convince herself not to run away.

She knocked—too loud, too aggressive—before immediately panicking and knocking again, this time way too soft. She cursed herself, looking around the night of Jackson.

Maybe she still had time to run away and forget even confessing—until a few seconds passed before the curtain shifted, and then suddenly, there you were. Sleepy-eyed, confused, and unfairly pretty even in an old shirt and sweatpants.

“Ellie?” Your voice was groggy, and God, why did you have to sound cute right now? “What are you doing?”

Ellie opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.

Shit. She should’ve planned this out.

“Okay, uh—so, funny story.” Ellie scratched the back of her neck, shifting on her feet. “You know how, like, sometimes you think you’re dying, but it turns out you have, like, emotions?”

You blinked. “Ellie, what—”

“I like you,” Ellie blurted, then immediately winced. “I-mean yeah, I like you. A whole lot actually. And I didn’t know what the hell was going on until Tommy—yeah, Tommy—explained it, which, by the way, super embarrassing—”

“Ellie.”

“—but then I figured I should tell you before I implode or Joel literally murders me—”

“Ellie!”

She finally shut up.

You just stared at her for a long moment, eyes scanning her face like you were trying to make sense of her rambling. Then—before she could fully process what was happening—you reached out, grabbed the collar of her hoodie, and pulled her forward, pressing your lips against hers.

Ellie froze.

Oh.

Oh.

She barely had time to react before you pulled back, searching her face with an expression she couldn’t quite place. “Does that answer your whole… thing?”

Ellie, who was still short-circuiting, managed to let out a very intelligent, “Huh?”

You laughed—soft, amused, ridiculously fond. Your cheeks matching her flushed ones, Ellie staring at you, then your lips again.

“I guess you can say I like you too?”

“I guess? What does that mean–”

“I’m kidding, I really–really like you too.”

Ellie blinked. Then blinked again.

Then—“Holy shit.”

You grinned, tugging her inside before Joel could wake up and murder her on the spot. Your hands still on her collar, pressing your lips against her cheek, a soft hitch coming out of Ellie.

You pulled back, your eyes scanning Ellie’s freckled cheeks and nose, turning a bright pink color as she placed her hand on the spot where you kissed her. Then, the stupidest—goofiest grin appeared on her face as she leaned in and pressed her lips against yours. You cupped her cheeks in your hands, deepening the kiss as the nerves left Ellie’s system and melted into the kiss.

Maybe, confessing wasn’t such a bad thing after all?

hiiI! So this is my first post, hoped you guys enjoyed it! And thank you soo soo sooo much for reading!

[moonstruckme]

I absolutely adore your roommate James series! It’s so tender and soft and sweet and it feels like the literary version of a hug 😭 you nail it every time!

Thank you sweetness!!! I am giving you a hug actually <3

cw: threatening with a weapon

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Things have come to a point where James needs to admit to himself that he likes you as more than a friend. 

The problem is, he likes you as a friend so much. He’s no stranger to the dilemma of risking a friendship for something more, but he’s not a teenager anymore and you’re not Lily. James knows he wouldn’t be able to play it off as a silly, harmless crush with you. And, really, he wouldn’t want to. You bully your way into his thoughts all day long. Your sweet voice, the way you talk with your eyes, tiny moments like the way your lips parted when he’d first slipped and called you sweetheart. You’d schooled your expression into teasing exasperation almost immediately, but there had been a softening in your eyes that made him impatient to do it again.

If he told you all that, James would probably come home to find all your things gone. You can barely handle it when he tells you you look nice. He doesn’t want to lose you. 

So, against his wishes and all his instincts and proclivities, he’s going to let it lie. James wants to be your friend more than he wants to discover what else you could be together. He can love you this way, too. 

That doesn’t do anything to deaden the thrill that goes up his spine when he picks up his phone and hears your voice on the other end, though.

“James?” 

“Y/n?” He checks the number on his phone. It’s not in his contacts. 

“Yeah. Um, are you—are you busy?” There’s a wobble in your voice. James’ heart drops straight down to his stomach. 

“I’m not,” he says, stopping short of the field where his teammates are gathering and turning back towards his car. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah.” It’s clearly not, but he was silly to ask. Of course you’d say that. “I just, if you’re free, I was wondering if you could maybe pick me up?” 

That wobble hasn’t gone from your voice. James’ heart trembles in solidarity. 

He gets back in his car, starting the ignition with perhaps a tad too much force. “I’m on my way,” he promises. “Where are you, what’s wrong?” 

“I’m outside the Waterstones on Manor Road, you know where that is?” 

“I know the one, yeah.” 

Your voice sounds held together by fragments. “I’m sorry, it’s far.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, then regrets it instantly. This is hardly the time for a good-natured scolding. He turns out of the parking lot. “I’m coming. What’s wrong?” 

“I’ve—I’ve had my phone and wallet taken. I don’t have my key to the apartment.” 

“Taken?” James’ head buzzes like a TV turned to the wrong channel. “By who?” 

“A man, I—I don’t know. Um, I’m borrowing this woman’s phone, and I think I should give it back.”

His lungs feel small, panic choking him. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Be safe, yeah?”  

“Yeah.” A breath crackles through the phone. James wonders if you’d been choking, too. “Thanks, James.” 

“Just be safe.” 

The sun has dipped below most buildings by the time he gets there. It makes it difficult to see you, but James’ eyes work like a compass, finding your shadowy form curled up on the curb. The bookstore looks to be closed or close to it, no patrons walking by you as you sit with your knees bent close to your chest. 

You see his car pull up, and he’s halfway to you before you’re even standing. Your arms come around James as readily as his around you, your face squished willingly into the fabric of his workout shirt. Your breath seems to stutter out of you. 

“It’s okay,” he says, grasping the back of your head. He’s not sure if he’s talking to you, or himself, or either of you. He’ll tell whoever will listen. “You’re okay, sweetheart, it’s alright.” 

“Sorry,” you squeak. “I don’t know why I’m crying now.” 

“You’re okay,” James says again, just for good measure. His lips find the top of your head. “What happened?” 

“I think I was mugged,” you laugh. It comes out warped, completely unlike the sound he’s spent months chasing after. “This guy showed me a knife, and told me to hand him my bag and phone, and I just gave them to him. It was right out in the open.” Another jagged, heart-aching laugh. “I feel so stupid.” 

“Why would someone else mugging you make you stupid?” James lets you go enough to give you a little space, but his arms stay around you, his hand rubbing firmly over your shoulder blade. “Did you call the police?” 

You gnaw on your lower lip. It already looks bitten to shreds. “No.” 

He nods, taking a breath. James isn’t typically the responsible one in his relationships. He’s not good at knowing what to do. It makes him think of being thirteen and seeing Sirius all bruised and broken, feeling his heart break and knowing that he had to fix things despite the both of them being too young to have any clue how to deal with something so huge. James is an adult now, but he still feels too young. 

“Do you want to go home?” he asks you. 

You bite down hard on your lip, but your eyes gloss anyway. “Yeah,” you say, voice breaking. 

James pulls you close and gives in to treating you the way he wants to, kisses pressed into your hairline and tender words pouring from his lips. He gets you into the car and takes you home. 

Throughout the rest of the evening, you’re at once more reticent and more talkative than you’ve ever been. You’ll stare into the distance for minutes at a time, but then you’ll speak up, seemingly randomly, about some small fact you’d forgotten or a thought that’s been pushing at your consciousness. You tell him that you don’t think you could describe the man well enough to the police. That you have no concept of how long you stood around before you thought to ask for someone else’s phone. That you sort of wish you’d refused to hand yours over, because really what was the worst that could have happened?

“Well, he could have stabbed you,” James says.

“Yeah, but how often is that really fatal? And he might not have. It’s embarrassing, all he had to do was show me the knife and I turned everything over. I probably would have been fine.” 

“I don’t think you’re automatically fine if you’re not dead, angel. You were still at risk of being stabbed.” 

“I’d still have my phone and everything, though.” 

“I think you’re worth a bit more than that stuff.” 

“Mm, agree to disagree.” 

James does things he doesn’t particularly want to do—phoning your bank, filing a police report online, texting your landlord about a new set of keys—and several things he really does want to do. Once you’ve changed into your cozy clothes he practically swaddles you in blankets, putting a hot chocolate in your hand and that show you’re always watching on the TV. He makes you dinner, teases you until he gets a real smile, puts your mum’s number in his phone and texts her to let her know you’re okay. James touches you amply, lips on your cheek and hand smoothing the hair from your face and one knee pressing into your leg through the blanket. 

And you let him. 

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Drunk and Disoriented

Prompt: You interrupt Aaron’s day to tell him that you might have…been arrested.

You genuinely never thought you’d find yourself in this predicament. You were never the rowdy type, you were a straight A student from middle school all the way through college. It was just suppose to be a fun night out with some of the girls to let off a little bit of steam after a grueling week of work, but somehow it escalated to the cops being called, you put in handcuffs and now having to call your FBI husband while he’s in the middle of a case at work to explain.

After not answering his cell, you convinced the police officer to let you call one more person-though the river of tears falling from your face probably helped a little.

“Hey Y/N?” Emily’s voice greeted.

“Hey Em.” Relieved that she picked up the call, you sniffled. “Is Aaron there? Could I talk with him?”

“Yeah, of course, we’re all here. I’ll hand you over now.”

You waited until the familiar deep voice of your husband spoke before breaking down into another sob.

“Aaron- I don’t know what happened.- I was with the girls and there was a fight and I’m drunk and handcuffed.” You paused so you could gulp in a breath of air before rambling some more. “I think I might be going to jail. I can’t go to jail Aaron. Please come get me. Please.”

“Y/N. I need you to take a deep breath for me, ok sweetheart.”

You did as he said, momentarily snapping out of your panic at his stern but caring words.

“Ok.” After he audibly heard you take a breath, he continued.

“I’ll on my way. Could you hand the phone over to the officer that’s with you?”

“Yeah.”

You offered your phone to the cop that was standing a few feet from you with your hands handcuffed from the front but he just shook his head.

"I don't need to speak with him. Just tell him you'll be booked at the Alexandria Detention Center."

Before you could start crying again, Aaron's voice rang through clear to you.

"I'll see you in less than 10. Don't worry, everything will be ok."

"Ok, Aaron. I love you."

"I love you too."

You hung up and handed your phone back to the cop before he helped you up from your sitting position on the curb and assisted you to sit in the backseat of the cop car. You don't even know where your other friends ended up or if they were being carted off to jail like you.

As he got into the car and began driving, you leaned your head back and closed your eyes, trying not to become nauseous from the "spins". Your mouth was dry with a the lingering taste of tequila while your wrists were becoming sore from wringing your hands in the cuffs that seemed to be just a little too tight. You were sure you looked like a racoon from all the crying and to top it all off, you're pretty sure you left your jacket back at the bar. The strapless cocktail dress was doing nothing to keep the cold plastic and A/C from chilling you.

All of a sudden, the squad car lurches to a stop, causing you to open your eyes and look around, seeing a ton of red and blue lights.

"What the hell is this?" the cop spoke to himself before getting out.

You scooted up closer to the plastic barrier to see better and spotted 2 black SUV's stopped in front of the car, Aaron and Morgan both exiting from one and rest of the team from the other. To say that Aaron looked pissed was an understatement.

You couldn't hear what they were saying but you did see Aaron flash his badge in the officer's face and point over to you. Then like that, the officer came over and opened up the door as Aaron popped his head in.

"Come on, let's get you out of here," he said, unbuckling your seatbelt and taking your cuffed hands in his, helping you out and adjusting your dress for you as the officer quickly removed the handcuffs.

Everything was happening so fast it was making you dizzy but it didn't matter once you felt the warmth of Aaron's suit jacket wrap around your shoulders and his arm protectively pull you close as you both walked over to his SUV.

"This is so embarrassing. I'm so sorry, Aaron," you mumbled, feeling bad that you interrupted their work on catching a killer to come help you.

"Don't apologize. The officer was in the wrong. You did nothing that warranted his behavior."

His tone was sharp but you know he was still just fuming at the cop, not you. He opened the passenger door open for you but you didn't make a move to get in. Instead, you turned to face him and fall into his chest, crying for the millionth time that night. He gave you the hug you were craving and kissed the top of your head, his voice now softer and sweet in your ear.

"It's alright. You're with me now. Just take a breath."

Just like on the phone, you listened to him and stopped crying enough to take in a shaky breath and let it out as his tight embrace loosened so he could look at you.

"That's it. Deep breaths."

He wiped your face and you couldn't help but let out a little chuckle.

"I didn't know you were gonna send the whole brigade to get me. I wish I didn't look like a rabid raccoon."

He smiled and looked over at his team who were talking with the officer, surrounding him as he looked completely uncomfortable and intimidated.

"They wouldn't stay behind even if I told them to. You mean a lot to them and you needed our help. Plus, I wouldn't say rabid raccoon. More like a sleepy lemur."

He laughed at his own joke as you slapped his chest in return.

"Gonna make some sweets for them when we get home," you said, thinking out loud, wondering if you had enough flour and sugar.

"I don't think so. I'm gonna drive you home and you're going to take a hot shower, dress in one of my college t-shirts you love so much, take some Advil with lots of water and go to bed," he ordered with a look that was suppose to be stern but you could see through it.

"Mm. Fine Mr. Hotchner. Only because I am really tired. But come tomorrow, it's on."

Another small smile from him as he helped you into your seat and buckled you in, giving you a small kiss before closing your door. You watched from the side mirror as you watched him walk over to the team and most likely discuss what was happening before coming back over and getting in the drivers seat.

He held your hand and traced light patterns on your skin, almost lulling you into a sleep as you closed your eyes.

[adragonprinceswhore]

Make You Feel My Love I Teaser

Aemond Targaryen x Ex-Girlfriend

Summary: A few months after you break things off with your boyfriend, Aemond, you start receiving strange messages and phone calls from an unknown number. Things escalate when you’re sent a video secretly filmed half a year ago, of you and Aemond having sex.

Warnings: 18+, dark themes (mind the tags!), obsession, stalking, exhibitionism, blackmail, threats of violence, emotional manipulation, smut

A/N: Based on this request by anon. Another spooky fic for the spooky season! 🖤

Aemond’s fingers tap restlessly against the rim of his coffee cup. The twitch in the corner of his mouth tells you he's annoyed, and the speed of which his eye darts around the coffee shop, refusing to look directly at you, lets you know it’s your fault.

You’re not sure if he can see the tears shining in your eyes, he’s barely looked at you since you came. He always saw crying as a sign of a weak mind, and so you do your best not to blink, scared a tear will fall and reveal just how pathetic you feel.

It’s not like you’re doing a good job hiding it anyway. The dark circles under your eyes and the paranoid pleading in your gaze betray all your recent troubles.

“I-, I’d like to thank you for coming here after how things… ended”

Your voice is steady, yet there is a thickness in your throat that makes you sound a bit strange, like you’re trying too hard to remain neutral. A performance you’re not quite pulling off, despite your best efforts.

“Mm”

He’s still not looking at you, stern face reflecting both disinterest and agitation. The relentless tapping of his finger continues, practically screaming at you to hurry up and confess why you asked your ex to meet up.

“I’ll get straight to it. Yesterday, I received a video of… us. At that party where we-”, you search his face for recognition, chase his eye so it meets yours. Your voice lowers, practically a whisper,

“-you know”

“No, I don’t”

“Aegon’s summer party… We snuck off to the guest room and-, you know”

Aemond finally lets his gaze meet yours, inspecting your features with a narrowed, suspicious eye.

Does he not believe you?

Before he can call you crazy, or dismiss your clear distress with a condescending laugh, you pull out your phone and show him the video. It’s a bit dark and gritty, but it’s clear that it’s the two of you, Aemond’s head between your legs, your own thrown back on the bed in bliss.

“Do-, do you know who could’ve done this?”

Aemond takes your phone and watches the video closely, pausing and zooming in on your half-naked body. He’s seen you bare and crazed with desire countless times when you were dating, yet your cheeks heat up and you feel unexplainably vulnerable as he carefully examines the video.

After a few moments of contemplation, he hums again and hands your phone back,

“I’ve no clue. I’ll ask Criston for the guest list, probably just one of Aegon’s insufferable friends having a laugh”

He stands to leave, and you momentarily panic at the thought of being alone again. Just as he turns towards the door, your hand desperately grabs the fabric of his coat, and those tears that had been threatening to spill from your eyes do just that,

“Aemond, please, I have more”

You sound so small. So defeated.

He looks at you with the same harsh, unimpressed look even as you silently cry.

So cold.

Maybe it’s what you deserve?

“I need you, Aemond. Please just stay for a few more minutes and let me explain”

He’s frozen for a while, contemplating whether he should indulge you or leave, surely eager to dismiss you just as you had done to him, only a few months ago.

With a sigh, his features soften somewhat, and he steps back, once again taking the seat opposite you.

Full fic coming on November 1st!

[aventurineswife]

hey so how do you think mammon, Amso and Diavolo and Lucifer would deal with a crush who’s not actually an idiot in general, but is slow to realise when someone is crushing on them. Someone’s flirting with crush and crush is like “He’s so nice :)”. And Asmo points out they were being flirted with and crush is line “😱HUH?! *it dawns on them* Oh!!!” Can’t tell any of these boys are crushing on them either even though crush does like them back the same? Mammon’s tsundere act won’t work on crush, they’ll give him the genuine sad puppy eyes cuz they think he’s mad at them for reasons they don’t know of?

Oh this is delicious—the perfect kind of chaos for these four.

Mammon

Internally combusts on the daily. He thinks he’s being smooth—throwing out “dumb human” this and “who said I care?!” that—but you? You just look at him with those big ol’ genuinely concerned puppy eyes like,

“Mammon…? Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?”

And it wrecks him.

He panics. He didn’t mean to hurt you, he was trying to flirt, dammit!! He’d stammer, flail, turn bright red, and end up yelling,

“I AIN’T MAD, OKAY?! I—I JUST—YOU’RE SO—GAH!”

Eventually, he'd probably awkwardly pat your head and mutter something like,

“You’re really freakin’ dumb sometimes… but kinda cute, too…”

And now you’re stunned because Mammon just flirted with you and you finally get it, and he’s like “Wait—you didn’t know before?!” and immediately has an identity crisis.

Asmodeus

At first, he finds it adorable. You’re just so sweet and oblivious—it’s like watching a rom-com play out in real life. But when someone else starts flirting with you and you don’t realize it’s flirting? That’s when he starts getting a little pouty.

You say, “He’s so friendly!”

and Asmo’s like, “Sweetheart… he called you a snack and asked if you were free tonight.”

“Huh?! …OH!!”

He’d laugh and cup your cheeks all dramatically: “You poor, innocent thing. Don’t worry, I’ll protect that clueless little heart of yours.”

But he will get more flirty—extra handsy, compliments turned up to 1000—desperately hoping you’ll realize he’s into you too. If you still don’t get it, he’ll eventually sigh, hold your hand, and just say it straight:

“I’m flirting with you, darling. I want you. Understand now?”

Diavolo

He is so amused by your obliviousness. He thinks it’s endearing. He’s used to people tiptoeing around him or pretending they’re in love with him for power, so your sincerity is like a breath of fresh air.

But when you start talking about how nice someone else is for being “so polite and funny,” he’s just—“…Oh. You didn’t catch that?”

You hit him with the shocked face and he laughs. Like full-on, hands-on-his-stomach, joyful laughter.

He’d gently explain it and then chuckle like, “You know… if you can’t tell when someone’s flirting with you… how are you supposed to know when I’m doing it?”

Cue you staring at him like, “Wait. You’re flirting with me??” and he gets to watch the slow dawning realization with a gleam in his eye and a fond smile.

Lucifer

Oh this poor, repressed old man. He’s trying so hard to be subtle and dignified—always checking in on you, making sure you’re safe, remembering your favorite things—but it’s all flying right over your head.

When someone else flirts with you and you go, “He’s such a gentleman!”

Lucifer just sighs deeply.

“You truly didn’t notice, did you?”

You go full shock- (pikachu) face and it cracks his facade for a second. He hides his smirk behind a gloved hand. But if you still don’t catch his signals, eventually he’ll get tired of the ambiguity.

One evening after some quiet moment together, he’ll just say it, dead serious, maybe while pouring tea: “You’re remarkably perceptive in most things. Except, it seems, in matters of the heart. So allow me to be plain—my affections lie with you.”

You: “HUH?!”

Him: sigh “Finally.”

[waitimcomingtoo]

Safe and Sound

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x Reader

Synopsis: you run away after Snow announces that you have to go back into the Games and Peeta freaks out when he can’t find you (CF spoilers)

Masterlist

“The tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of victors.”

As soon as those words processed in your brain, you were out the door. You ran straight for the woods and hopped right over the fence. Your mind shut off and your feet took over, carrying you as far as they could. You ran all the way to the boarder of the district and clung to the fence. If you were caught all the way out there, you’d likely be killed. Or at the very least, forcefully thrown back into your home. You almost hoped they would just kill you so that you didn’t have to go back into the games. You dropped to your knees and let out a sob that lasted until your voice ran out. The patchy grass welcomed you as you laid down and stared up at the sky as you thought about what your life had become. A few hours passed and without realizing it, you succumbed to the exhaustion and fell asleep out there.

When you woke up, it was dark out. You sat up and rubbed your aching head before realizing that if you had to go back into the games, one of your boys did too.

“Peeta.” You whispered and sprang up. You ran back to the village and went into his house, but he wasn’t there. You then ran next door to Haymitch’s house, finding him inside at his kitchen table with a large bottle of liquor.

“Bout time you showed up.” Haymitch slurred and took another sip.

“I need to talk to you.” You said as you sat down.

“Why? So you can ask me to fight to the death? Again?” Haymitch laughed humorlessly.

“Peeta can’t go back there. We barely made it out the first time.”

“I figured that’s what you were gonna say. But what’s it say that Peeta was here hours ago begging to save your life? What am I supposed to do about that? Shouldn’t I honor first come first serve?”

“No. You know you can’t save me. Men can’t volunteer for women. But if his name is called…” You trailed off and hoped he wouldn’t make you say it. Haymitch took a long sip from the bottle before letting out a deep sigh.

“I’ll volunteer.” He said without looking up.

“Thank you.” You sighed and threw your arms around him. Haymitch begrudgingly hugged you back.

“You know, you could love a hundred lifetimes and still not deserve that boy.” He told you.

“I know that.” You sighed and sat back in your seat.

“So is he doing any better now that you’re back?” Haymitch asked you.

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t been by to see him yet?” Haymitch asked with wide eyes.

“No. I’ve been in the woods trying to calm down. I fell asleep out there. Why?” You stared to panic when you saw how worried Haymitch was.

“You need to go see him. Now.” Haymitch ordered.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“He couldn’t find you.” Haymitch said and gestured with his hands for you to fill in the blanks.

“So? It’s only been…” You trailed off and checked the clock on the wall.

“Five hours since the announcement.”Haymitch informed you. “He ran in here after he couldn’t find you at your place. He nearly passed out when I said you weren’t here either.”

“Oh no. Do you know where he is now?” You asked. Peeta was going through the exact same emotions you were and you weren’t there for him.

“Probably in town. He said he was gonna check all your usual places. But that was hours ago.”

“Oh. Peeta.” You sighed and got out of your chair.

“Find him. And give the damn boy a hug, okay? He damn near lost his mind when he couldn’t find you. Be nice to him for once.” Haymitch ordered. You nodded and ran out of his house to go find Peeta. You checked Peeta’s house first in case he had gone back there but went to town when you didn’t find him.

“Peeta!” You called out as you ran through town. You peeked in through windows but most shops were closed. You went by the bakery, his old house, and the Hob, but he wasn’t at any of those places. You gave up after a long search and went back to your house. When you walked in, you found Peeta asleep on your couch with Buttercup snuggled in his arms. You chuckled at the sight until you knelt down beside him. His eyes were puffy and stained red from what must have been hours of crying. You frowned and stroked his hair, causing him to jolt away. Peeta quickly sat up and Buttercup ran out of his arms.

“Hey. I’ve been looking for you.” You told him. His expression didn’t change and he just continued to stare at you with a slightly dropped jaw. You thought he was mad at you so you reached forward and rubbed his shoulder.

“I’m sorry it took me so long. I should’ve come right over to see you.” You apologized. Peeta shut his mouth but continued to stare at you.

“Peeta? What’s the matter?” You asked him. His bottom lip suddenly started to quiver and he started to cry again. He threw his arms around you and held you tightly against him. You were confused but hugged him back and patted his head.

“I didn’t know where you went.” He said in the smallest voice you’d ever heard from him.

“Oh, Peeta.” You sighed and hugged him tighter. “I’m sorry. I went to the woods to clear my head. I just lost track of time.”

“After they made the announcement I went to your house but your mom said you ran out. I looked everywhere for you but I couldn’t find you.” He sniffled as he pulled out of the hug.

“I know. Haymitch told me. I’m sorry.” You pouted and rubbed his tears away with your thumbs.

“I thought you ran away. I didn’t know if I was ever gonna see you again.” His voice cracked as he stared into your eyes with his big puppy eyes.

“I just needed to-“

“You can’t do that. You can’t just leave.” He shouted. You blinked in surprise at Peeta raising his voice at you, something he never did.

“I had no idea where you were for hours. I didn’t know if Snow got to you and I was too late and I was never gonna see you again and…” Peeta broke into tears again and couldn’t finish his sentence. You realized that he wasn’t actually mad at you, just scared. You pulled him back into your arms and rested your cheek on the top of his blonde hair.

“Shh. It’s okay.” You cooed. “I’m here now.”

“You can’t scare me like that.” He sniffled. You pulled away and kept his face so you you could look into his eyes.

“I won’t do it again, okay? I promise.” You promised him. Peeta nodded his head and wiped his tears away on the back of his hand.

“Okay.” He nodded and gave you a sad smile. You returned the sad smile and rubbed your thumbs on his cheeks.

“I’m sorry I made you worry.” You said softly. Peeta shrugged a little to let you know that it was okay. His smile dropped suddenly and you felt his skin heat up under your fingertips.

“They’re putting us back in there.” He said quietly.

“I know, P.” You frowned. “I know.”

“They can’t keep doing this to us. We’re just kids.”

“I know.” You said again. “You’re the only one who understands.”

Peeta stared in your eyes for a minute before grabbing your face and pulling your into a rough kiss. Your eyes widened into surprised but quickly fluttered shut as you melted into his. Peeta clearly needed the kiss more than you did but you wouldn’t want to stop it anyway. Your lips moved together in a heated kiss until you had to pull away to breathe.

“I’m sorry. I know there’s no cameras.” Peeta said as he tried to catch his breath.

“That’s okay. You can kiss me anytime you want to.”

“I can?” He asked skeptically.

“You can.” You decided. Peeta smiled shyly and leaned in to kiss you again. This one was slower and lasted just long enough. When you pulled away. You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your forehead against his.

“Whatever happens, we’re gonna be okay.” You assured him. “You might not even have to go in.”

“If my name does get called, I’ll be okay. You know how I know?”

“How?”

“I’ll have you. As long as we’re together, they can’t hurt us.” Peeta said with a sad smile.

“Together?” You asked and held up your pinky. Peeta linked his pinky with yours and kissed his hand.

“Together.”

Im sorry this was Josh sized (short asf) 😔😔😔😔

[thewritetofreespeech]

Hi, it's me again! Could I request Jason Todd who has a moment of body dysmorphia while really spiraling inwardly mentally with him being so big, so changed after the Lazarus pit, having all these scars and the autopsy scar. His female girlfriend comes to help him and grounds him, reassures him. He's perfect the way he is and really lovable!

-------------------------🦇----------------------------

“Jason! Can you hurry up? I’d like to get in there before we go to bed.”

“Yeah. I’m working on it.” Jason called back to his girlfriend as he finished up his routine for the night.

Patrol had been light. So no need for first aid or stitches this time. Like he needed another scar. Sometimes when Jason looked into the mirror like now, he barely recognized the man looking back at him. Time was not always kind to mortal men who pretended to be superheroes. The physical strain. The bruising. The marks. He glanced over his body in the mirror. Old scars mixed with new. Some that were faded that he couldn’t remember how he got. Simply too old or memories that were lost to him in the Pit.

Jason flinched and clutched his head when he tried to think about the Pit. Visions of knives cutting into his flesh and stitching him back up. The scar down his front from chest to naval oozing with black putrid goo. Banging on his coffin liked the pounding in his head. Flashes of skin sluffed off a bleached white skeleton staring back in the mirror.

'Dead man walking. Dead man walking. Dead man walking!'

His hands lance out for the mirror before he could stop them. Ripping it off the wall with his bare hands before throwing it into the tub with a shatter.

“That’s ok. I didn’t need to shower anyway….”

Jason looked up, panting in his panic & rage, to find [Y/N] standing in the door. Her expression even but clearly freaked out about what he had done. The uncertainty of what he was going to do next. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Jason hissed through his teeth. No, it wasn’t ok. Why did people say that when things weren’t ok. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” He said as he rubbed his face with his hand. How could he explain what was going on? “I just get these flashes sometimes. Headaches. Probably something to do with the Pit.”

“Well, coming back from the dead can probably be very traumatic for the brain.” She agreed. “Not to mention all the other trauma.” [Y/N] aware of his past, before & after coming back from the dead. She knew of his superhero exploits, and even his new role as a vigilante. “Why don’t you take a break for a while? Get your head straight?” She suggested. Carefully coming into the bathroom to avoid any glass or startling him as she came in to place her hand on his shoulder. “It might do you good.”

“I can’t.” He told her. “If I do then what was all this for.” Jason gestured to himself. All the pain. All these scars. His body mangled and twisted, along with his mind. What was the point of it if he couldn’t do some good, in his own way, with it.

“Maybe it’s just about you being here, and not some bigger picture Jason.”

[Y/N] wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his shoulder, giving him a light squeeze. “I know saving the world is important to you, but it’s not the only thing in the world. You need to focus on yourself sometimes. Talk to me. Or talk to someone. I think it would do you good.”

Jason listened to what his girlfriend was saying, then lifted his hand to grip her arm around his waist. “So, you don’t think I look gross?”

“What? Of course not! Is that what this is about?”

Jason shrugged. It was what had started all this but now it felt like it had spiraled into something more serious than he intended.

[Y/N] just rolled his eyes and let him go. “I’m not going to just stroke your vanity, Jason. You already know how hot I think you are.” She kissed his shoulder and gave him a withering look in the direction the mirror should be. “Come to bed you idiot. I’ll show you just how ‘not gross’ you are. You’re gonna be real disappointed in a minute though that you didn’t let me shower first before you blew up the tub. You’re cleaning that up tomorrow by the way.”

Jason chuckled. The shift from caring concern to just plain annoyed at how ridiculous he was being somehow grounding to him. “Yes ma’am.” He simply replied as he followed her into their bedroom to make good on her promise.

[girlokwhatever]

₊˚ପ⊹˚୨୧⋆ ⋆༉‧₊˚.: ̗̀➛ she loves me, she loves me not,,

part 3 ; back and forth

previous part

paige bueckers x fem!reader (fake dating trope)

it’s been a week since you last saw paige, relentlessly rejecting her invitations to hangout and spend time together.

at first you were able to use the excuse of being sick as you feigned cough over the phone. but after five days, realizing no one else was sick and you sounded relatively fine, she stopped believing you. you only answered her phone calls, typically ignoring her texts and using the excuse of sleeping being the reason you hadn’t ever replied.

she was starting to get annoyed. especially when she saw you out in public with a group of your friends. you lied, and now she caught you red-handed.

she approached your friend group, recognizing a few of them. you were laughing, no cough and no watery eyes from the cold you claimed to have. if anything you seemed great, smile glowing like you didn’t have a care in the world.

“hey, babe!”

“paige- hey.. what are you doing here?” you attempt to keep the cheery tone of your voice alive, smile still plastered on your face.

“i could ask you the same thing.”

“i’ll catch up to you guys later.” you wave yourself goodbye, turning away from your friends in what seems like a loving embrace with paige.

she’s pissed. her brows are furrowed and there’s an evident frown on her lips as she looks at you. you try to come up with some excuse for being here, something to cover up your avoidance of the woman standing in front of you. nothing comes to mind though and you’re stuck in the awkward silence for a few moments.

“are we just gonna pretend like you haven’t been lying to me for a week?”

“i haven’t.”

“right. i can obviously see how deathly sick you are.”

the reality of your behavior started to sink in, guilt trickling into your consciousness. you knew you had your reasons though, even if it wasn’t properly executed.

after the party last weekend everything shifted for you. you knew it could only end one way and figured taking matters into your own hands wouldn’t be too bad. if you pushed her away, maybe whatever was going on between the two of you would fade.

it wasn’t. it consumed paige’s every breath. every thought and emotion. once she figured out you probably weren’t actually sick, her heart sank. she couldn’t understand what was going on with you or your ‘relationship.’ your lack of communication didn’t help much either.

“i don’t really want to talk about this.”

“then what else should we talk about? maybe we should talk about how all my friends are asking where my girlfriend went and i have to make up some lame excuse on why you refuse to talk to me. let’s talk about that. or maybe we can talk about how you’ve completely shut me out. or do you have nothing to say? like you’ve had nothing to say for a while fucking week.”

“shut up.”

“no, i-”

“shut up. bianca is like, ten feet away.”

she’s about to turn her head (amateur move) in the direction you’re looking but you stop her, managing to cup your hands around her face in time. her eyes still wander around trying to catch a glimpse of something, anything, but decides you’re the best view.

even though she’s mad, upset, and honestly hurt that you lied, she can’t feel that way forever when you look like that. you’re looking straight into her eyes like you’re searching for something. paige’s eyes scan over you in your entirety, especially landing on your lips every now and then.

and it’s as if, by some miracle, you understand what her eyes are saying. her eyes are saying something her words can’t and won’t say. without giving yourself time to process your decision, you pull paige in by the sides of her face and kiss her.

it’s surprisingly slow and sweet, only lasting a few seconds. you thought you’d panic into it but it just felt so natural. paige’s hands find solace on your hips, pulling you closer when you part from her lips.

she doesn’t know if bianca is still watching and honestly doesn’t even care. she pulls you into a kiss of her own, this one being much more desperate and heated. you have to grip the back of her neck to steady yourself as she pulls you further into her space. the kiss lasted longer than either of you intended, finally pulling away and fighting for air.

paige is still so close to you, holding your body against hers. she leans in, kissing your forehead, then moves her face down to your ear, “don’t ever avoid me like that again.”

you nod at her words, not taking the time to comprehend how serious her tone is. when you turn your head you catch a glimpse of bianca and she’s already staring back at you, a deep frown settled on her face. you look away from her instantly and focus back on paige, who is still standing in front of you with her hand on your cheek.

“i’m so sorry i did that, i really should’ve asked first.”

“nah, don’t apologize. girlfriends kiss, right?”

you experience a whirlwind of emotions almost instantly. realizing everything that’s happened in the span of five minutes astonishes you undoubtedly. you can’t believe you kissed paige, and even more so than that, you can’t believe she kissed you back. out of her own free will, she pulled you back into another kiss.

paige was probably the best you’ve ever had too, but you don’t really have her.

it’d been a few weeks since the beginning of your scheme with paige. things were starting to go better, get more casual. she was sitting on your couch next to you, your legs draped over hers as you watched a movie together.

you never ended up officially talking about the kiss or the fact that you ignored her. you were thankful that she just let those moments pass because you honestly had no idea what kind of excuse you could make up for either.

paige’s hand brushed through your hair and gently pulled out any tangles as she went. it was sweet, loving even. anyone from an outside perspective would think it to be highly romantic.

“hey, i think im gonna go out with my friends tonight. eva’s trying to plan this friend get-together thing.”

she turns to you, peeling her eyes away from the screen. her gaze flickers between your eyes and lips, something you don’t notice because you’re texting eva back.

paige can’t help but to think about how beautiful you are, especially when it’s her shirt you’re wearing. it’s nothing out of the ordinary, even before your predicament, but it feels much more intimate now.

“that’s cool. where’re yall gonna go?”

“to a club i think. eva’s a party girly.”

“like you?”

you feign a gasp, finally looking at paige. she’s looking back at you with a grin because she loves to tease you and she loves being right.

“like me?! i’m not,” you’re shaking your head in denial. there’s still a smile on both of your faces when you lock eyes. paige’s hand stills in your hair, traveling down to the back of your neck.

she hardly even registers that she pulls your face into her, meshing your lips together. she kisses you, slotting her lips between yours in a delicate moment of intimacy. you kiss her back like it’s second nature to you. you find so much peace and comfort in paige that you practically forget she’s only your friend.

you’re pulling away first with wide eyes and pinker lips. paige also seems to be snapping back to reality, immediately standing up and apologizing.

“shit- princess i’m so sorry. i just forgot-”

you cut her off; the awkwardness of the moment being close to unbearable, “it’s okay paige. i’m just gonna..”

“yeah, you should.. y’know.”

“yeah.. i’ll go get ready. you can um..”

“i’ll just go, yeah. i’ll see you later.”

“see ya.. i’ll, y’know, text you later.”

“sounds good.”

she leaves you to the silence of your apartment, the soft hum of the air conditioning suddenly seeming so deafening. paige’s voice buzzes in your ear as you stare at her spot on the couch. millions of emotions and revelations wash over you like holy water, and finally the stars seem to align for you. you finally have some semblance of understanding as to why.

you feel a tear trickle down your face, rolling over your cheek and eventually down your chin. you sit back down on the couch while more tears continue to fall, a choked sob escaping you before you even register how upset you really are.

you love paige. it was so hard to admit to yourself, guilt creeping in at the thought that maybe, in some way, bianca was right. it had been a long time since you loved bianca, always naturally gravitating towards paige more and you could see how that would hurt her. there was no physical cheating, but mentally you had always been with paige.

paige is the best you’ve ever had relationship-wise, but you can never have her. she’s this untouchable entity, one that could ruin your life if you let her. if you get with her, bianca was right and no one can deny it.

you think that maybe you put yourself and paige in this position on purpose subconsciously because this was the only way you felt like you could have her. maybe it was a form of further.

but now that your situation is actually live, it’s slapped in your face how fake it is. none of those feelings were real for her. it was all a game you two were playing.

maybe you were right. you couldn’t have her.

you wiped your tears away, pulling yourself off the couch and towards your room. you needed to escape into your own form of reality, one that wouldn’t come back to haunt you.

since you’ve finally been able to successfully admit your unrealistic and unrequited feelings for paige, you can begin to move on from them. maybe tonight you could find something to help you move on. or someone.

⍣ ೋ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊🀥·˚ ༘

GUYS I WILL SPELL CHECK THIS SOME OTHER TIME

why do i feel like this series makes zero sense

guys if you have genuine feedback pls lmk PLS

like is this even good anymore seriously.

[emmiesoverthemoon]

emergency kitty babysitter's club

pairing: platonic ot8 x reader

word count: 7.1k

summary: you have to head out of town and you can't leave your precious cat alone, so you decide to call in a favour from your favourite 8 friends.

tags: fluff. cat nonsense. established friendship. skz being skz

You don't anticipate chaos. Not at first at least.

In fact, you expect this to go quite smoothly. After all, the request is simple, the time commitment minimal, and your companions—though chaotic—are all capable adults. Mostly. You tell yourself that a cat-sitting arrangement with your friend group is no different from asking anyone else. Perhaps it will even be charming. Domestic. Bonding.

You should have known better.

The group chat has barely been appropriately renamed to “emergency kitty babysitter's club🐾” when panic begins to unfold.

channie: wait is something wrong why is it named that???

hyunjin: if this is a real emergency i’m going to cry

seungmin: i bet it’s something ridiculous like ‘her plant looked sad’

you: wow okay rude. it is NOT a plant this time thank you.

you: i need someone to watch my daughter, princess murder volcano for the weekend pls pls pls😼

A long pause follows. A virtual silence, if you will. Then—

han: i’m sorry her name is WHAT...

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Princess. Murder. Volcano,” you repeat aloud, as if saying it in your own voice might lend it dignity. As if verbal confirmation would translate through to the men when the conversation was indeed, online. The cat in question is peacefully purring in your lap, snoozing and occasionally huffing or twitching, as if she is in the peak of dreamland.

you: i didn't name her that

you: she chose it herself

jeongin: what kind of cat chooses her own name ???

minho: the dangerous kind. i remember her. she scratched my thigh and then stole my snack.

you: that was one time! she's just a baby

hyunjin: she stared straight into my damn soul. don’t get me started on MY SHIRT. i still have nightmares abt it. she knows things we don't

you: okay....dramatic... no daughter of mine has been raised to behave in such a way

you: anyway listen. i’ll be gone for three days for my cousin’s wedding. i just need you guys to check in, feed her, play with her a bit ! nothing wild. she mostly just sleeps and runs up and down the hallway.... pleaseeee !! i'll treat you when i come back

felix: i’ll do it!! 🥺 i love cats

binnie: me too! this’ll be fun 🤩🤩

minho: you are all fools. she is not a cat. she is a small, elegant war criminal.

seungmin: sounds like your type hyung

You close your eyes and count to ten.

They do, in the end, agree. Through passive-aggressive commentary, chaotic enthusiasm, and mild dread, they do accept the mission. You feel something close to warmth bloom in your chest. Relief, maybe. Gratitude.

Foolish, foolish you.

Because no amount of love or loyalty can prepare a group of overworked idols for one deceptively fluffy, emotionally manipulative, semi-feral feline with the spiteful intelligence of a Victorian widow plotting the downfall of every man who ever wronged her. You're sure that it will be okay—she is not one to misbehave for you!

On the day of your departure, you smile and you wave goodbye to the boys. You leave your precious, sweet, innocent daughter, Princess Murder Volcano in their hands.

And so it begins.

You have yet to even reach the airport security line before your phone begins vibrating incessantly in your bag.

The group chat has transformed into a war room.

channie: she’s glaring at me

felix: nooo she’s just curious 🥺🥺 she’s probably getting used to you

minho: she’s plotting his downfall.

seungmin: if we just don't leave the back door open it'll be fine

You resist the urge to laugh aloud. Instead, you open the chat and peek at the latest photo: Princess Murder Volcano perched on top of your fridge, fluffed out like a disapproving cloud, eyes narrowed at the mere concept of human interaction, let alone with a man. Her ears are slightly tilted outward and back, and her boofy tail curls and uncurls like a fuse.

you: she can be people shy at first! it's fine i promise☺️gtg, i’m at security!

You really should know better.

Day One's debacles begin with Chan, who has shown up with a clipboard.

There are bullet points, color-coded sticky tabs, and a hydration log. He has scheduled enrichment time, litter scooping, feeding windows with optional treat intervals. He has printed out an actual feeding plan and is now consulting it while crouching near her pink food bowl.

“She gets fourteen grams in the morning and ten in the evening, right? Split into two intervals to match her natural hunting cycle?”

“Sure,” Seungmin says, already bored. “Why not teach her to file taxes while you’re at it?”

Princess Murder Volcano sniffs the food and walks away, choosing instead to stare unblinking at Chan from several steps away, paws tucked neatly beneath her body like a loaf of bread with grievances.

He attempts to coax her closer with a laser pointer. She does not even blink.

“Enrichment prevents behaviour problems,” Chan mutters, turning the dot in desperate, swirling patterns across the hardwood flooring. “Keeps their brains active. Lowers stress hormones.”

After an embarrassingly long time, Princess does move, albeit not for the laser pointer; instead she leaps onto the kitchen counter and reaches one paw out. Slowly, with deep intent, she knocks his full water bottle off the island. The metal hits the floor with a loud thud.

Chan stares, stunned by her audacity. She blinks unapologetically and returns to her loafing position.

“Well. Okay.”

Minho, predictably, arrives with armour. Not literal armour—but there is a cautiousness to him that screams veteran of previous battles.

“She remembers me,” he mutters, standing stiffly just inside the door. “I know she does.”

“She’s a cat, hyung,” Jeongin says, watching from the safety of the hallway.

“Exactly. She remembers.”

Minho kneels slowly, cautiously. He extends a small stuffed mouse toy attached to a string. She sniffs it once, then lashes out with surgical precision. A single clawed swipe—nothing dramatic, just enough to leave a faint raised red line trailing down his knuckles.

Minho retracts his hand like he has touched a stovetop.

“She’s gentle,” Felix offers, concerned.

“She’s vengeful,” Minho replies, moving to the kitchen and muttering something about boundary-training and spiritual warfare. He proceeds to scatter cucumber slices across the floor in a perfect circle and perches behind the couch to observe.

“She won’t cross it,” he says grimly.

She immediately does, as if spite itself fuelled her small being.

Hyunjin arrives like he is walking onto a battlefield dressed for the Met Gala.

Hair messy but in the most perfect way, rings meticulously stacked on his fingers, scarf flowing behind him like a war banner. He steps inside and freezes, locking eyes with the cat perched atop your windowsill like a queen guarding her castle.

“Ah,” he says softly. “It’s you.”

The others barely glance up. This is normal for Hyunjin.

“I haven’t forgotten,” he continues, toeing off his shoes. “That day you stole my heart... and then shredded it.”

“She sat in your laundry basket,” Han deadpanned from the couch.

“She clawed my silk shirt,” Hyunjin corrects, voice laced with betrayal. “She knew it was silk I swear.”

Princess Murder Volcano yawns.

He drops his bag with theatrical flair and strides forward slowly, never breaking eye contact.

“You and I,” he says, his voice low, “have unfinished business.”

The cat does not move.

Hyunjin crouches, level with her gaze. “Do you yield?”

Her tail twitches, as if challenging him.

A slow, intense silence descends upon the room. Felix stops mid-sentence. Jeongin holds his breath. Even Minho peeks over the back of the couch like a drama-hungry spectator.

And then—lightning fast—she leaps down from the sill and brushes against Hyunjin’s legs on her way to the food bowl. Not submissive. Not friendly. Just... dismissive.

Hyunjin stands there, stunned.

“She... walked past me.”

“She’s over it,” Seungmin says, “You should be too.”

“No,” Hyunjin breathes. “She won. She chose kibble over me.”

He drops onto the arm of the couch like a spurned lover, eyes dark with tragic reflection.

“She’s more powerful than I imagined.”

Changbin enters the space with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever at a birthday party.

“PRINCESS!” he bellows, holding out a treat with both hands. “WHO’S A LITTLE DANGER? WHO’S GOT TINY MURDER IN HER PAWS?”

Princess drawls out a long meow in reply.

The room stills.

“She—she talked to me,” Changbin whispers.

“No, she warned you,” Minho says without looking up from his cucumber circle.

Changbin sits cross-legged, letting her sniff his hand. She headbutts his palm once—then immediately darts to the other side of the room as fast as possible like nothing significant had ever happened.

“She’s playing mind games,” Seungmin notes.

“She’s mysterious,” Changbin defends, completely smitten.

Han, meanwhile, is documenting everything.

There’s a ring light set up in the hallway. He films in whispered tones like he’s in a nature documentary. From behind the bookshelf, you can hear him narrating.

“This is day one,” he says solemnly. “She’s taken the high ground. Morale is fracturing. Chan has retreated to the kitchen. We’ve lost Minho to paranoia and Hyunjin to drama school delusions.”

He zooms in on the cat as she licks her paw like she owns the place.

“She shows no sign of fear. No remorse. Only mild boredom. I think she’s toying with us.”

“She is,” Jeongin says flatly.

Felix brings a level of sincerity no one else can match.

He sits near the coffee table, legs criss-cross on the floor, hands cupped and eyes full of stars.

“Hi, baby,” he coos gently. “You don't have to come over if you don't want to. I'm just happy to share your space with you. I come in peace...”

Princess blinks and lets her eyes bore into Felix.

He gently places a treat in front of him and looks away, nonthreatening. She creeps forward, her tiny white paws creating dainty steps. She swiftly munches up the treat, making loud chewing noises as she looks up to him.

And then, like a miracle, she pads forward, climbs into his lap, and curls up into a small spherical ball of cream fur.

“She chose me,” Felix breathes.

She stretches one paw and knocks his phone off of his thigh to the floor with a soft thud.

He beams nonetheless.

Seungmin does not volunteer to help with the cat. He simply shows up—hood up, earbuds in, sipping a coffee—and looks around like he already regrets it.

“She’s not going to eat you, she’s actually really nice!” Felix assures him.

“That is not what I’m worried about,” Seungmin replies blandly, “I’m more concerned that I will become emotionally attached and she will ruin me.”

The cat blinks at him from atop your bookshelf.

He blinks back.

A beat passes.

Seungmin sighs and takes a seat on your sofa, pulling out his laptop like he is prepared to work from within enemy territory. He does not try to pet her. He does not speak in high-pitched tones. He simply exists near her, radiating mild disdain and infinite patience.

Oddly… she seems intrigued.

He catches her watching him, head tilted ever so slightly. When he slides his iced coffee onto the side table, she’s down in a flash, silently stalking over.

“Boundaries,” Seungmin warns, not even looking up.

She presses her nose to the condensation on his cup. He shifts the cup a small distance away. She shifts closer. They lock eyes.

“This is not a power struggle,” he mutters. “You will not win.”

She flops dramatically onto the table and begins licking her paw.

Seungmin exhales through his nose. “You’re ridiculous.”

But—he adjusts the cup. Just slightly. So she will not get brain freeze.

“Softie,” Han teases, watching from across the room.

“I will sue you,” Seungmin replies calmly.

When she curls up next to him twenty minutes later, back pressed against his leg like a smug little heater, he pretends not to notice.

He scrolls through his phone at low volume.

She purrs, sending vibrations of a healing frequency through his leg.

He glances down. “You’re manipulative.”

She yawns and stretches, her paw stretching out to push against his thigh.

“…Fine. You are a little cute.”

And finally, Jeongin, youngest, least experienced, attempts to contribute by making popcorn for everyone. But alas, the microwave begins to smoke.

“I can feel her staring at the microwave like she wants to set it on fire with her mind,” he reports, waving a dish towel near the smoke detector.

In attempt to clear some of the smoke from the popcorn bowl, he slides the glass door which leads to the backyard open for exactly twelve seconds.

A breeze slips in. A white blur streaks across the living room floor.

“Wait,” Jeongin says, eyes widening. “Where’s the cat?”

Everyone becomes quiet. Not peaceful quiet. Not earned. Just that too still sort of hush that lands like a dropped pin in a ticking bomb room.

Felix’s head whips around. His whole body jerks upright, like his soul has left his body and come crashing back all at once.

“She was just on the couch,” he says, eyes already scanning the room. “Right here. Right here—where is she?”

No answer.

Only the soft creak of the barely ajar screen door, further nudged open by a lazy gust of wind.

Minho reacts first.

No sound. No warning. Just pure instinct—he vaults over the arm of the couch and lunges for the door like a SWAT officer. He throws it wide, scanning the yard in one sweeping glance, already halfway onto the porch.

“She’s out,” he confirms darkly. “Backyard perimeter compromised.”

“What?!” Chan bolts upright from the kitchen island, eyes wide and already haunted. “How did she—”

“The door,” Seungmin mutters from under his breath, standing with stiff annoyance. “The one I said not to leave open?”

“Technically it was closed,” Han says, following behind with his arms full of cat toys and very little shame. “Just… lightly. Emotionally closed.”

“She’s a cat,” Hyunjin says, appearing in the doorway in a billowing cardigan. “Not a ghost.”

Jeongin is peering out the window, pupils blown like saucers. “She’s in the garden beds. I see her. She’s rolling in the dirt like she belongs there. She's gonna be all dirty!”

And she is.

Princess Murder Volcano—tail flicking, eyes glowing in the sun like two shards of vengeful turquoise—sits proudly among the petunias like a warlord surveying her domain.

“Do not spook her,” Minho warns, raising one hand. “Don't even think about calling her name.”

“She’s already seen us,” Felix whispers, pressing his forehead to the glass. “She’s watching. She knows. She knows everything.”

“She’s licking her paw,” Changbin says, breathless. “Is that... a threat?”

“It’s worse,” Hyunjin replies solemnly. “It’s mockery.”

The mission unfolds in chaotic fragments.

Chan is pacing the kitchen, pulling together what he calls an “extraction strategy.” Of course, no one listens.

Jeongin is already outside with a blanket, tiptoeing through the grass like a nervous cartoon thief. She turns her head slowly, tracking his every step.

“I'm just visiting,” he says softly. “Just a simple gardener. I mean no harm. I'm benevolent—”

She hisses, a sound like a kettle left to scream too long. Jeongin flinches so hard he nearly topples backward into the bush of roses.

“She’s not playing,” he yelps, scampering back toward the house. “She is not playing!”

Felix crouches at the back door, treats in one hand, heartbreak in the other. “Sweetheart,” he calls gently. “You remember me, right? I gave you a treat. You let me boop your nose. That meant something to me.”

She blinks, then turns away nonchalantly.

“Cold,” Hyunjin murmurs from inside. “She’s colder than an ex.”

“She knows we’re panicking,” Seungmin says, rubbing at his temples. “She’s feeding off it.”

“Okay,” Han says, now back with what appears to be a laser pointer strapped to a stick. “New tactic. Diversion and distraction. We blind her with red dot science, someone sneaks in from the east.”

Minho ignores him. He is moving again—silent, smooth, low to the ground.

You would almost think he had trained for this. He probably has, considering his own cats.

He rounds the edge of the deck, eyes locked, stance relaxed. The cat watches him, tail twitching like a fuse.

The moment stretches—

And explodes.

She bolts straight up the nearest tree.

Minho stops mid-step, closes his eyes briefly like he is experiencing a full system failure, then turns slowly on his heel and walks back into the house.

“She is in the oak tree,” he reports dully. “That's as far as I go.”

“She’s gone feral,” Han gasps.

“She's been feral,” Seungmin mutters.

“She’s majestic,” Felix whispers again.

Five of the boys pace aimlessly. One climbs a fence. One googles “do cats feel remorse.”

And Jeongin, still in his socks, saves the day.

He kneels near the garden path—no fanfare, no grand speeches—and opens a pouch of tuna, the stinky kind, the kind you only use in emergencies or emotional blackmail.

The snap of the foil seal is the only sound in the yard.

And slowly, like a queen descending from her throne, Princess Murder Volcano pads down the tree.

She does not run. She saunters. She stops three times to clean her paw. She makes eye contact with everyone.

Then she walks right into the kitchen, brushes the length of her body against Felix’s leg affectionately, and curls up on the floor like nothing ever happened.

Silence again. Except now, it is different. Heavier. Awestruck.

“She is chaos incarnate,” Hyunjin says finally.

“She is victory,” says Minho.

“She is unbothered,” says Jeongin, holding the empty tuna pouch like a relic from war.

“She is grounded,” says Chan, grabbing his clipboard. “Indefinitely.”

The cat yawns and knocks the treat jar off the counter.

Day Two begins with hope. Dangerous, foolish, hubristic hope.

The morning is bright. Birds are chirping. The cat is purring, curled at the foot of Chan’s bed like a cherub who has never committed a single crime.

“You know,” Chan says, sipping coffee and watching her fondly, “I think we’re getting the hang of this.”

Seungmin looks up from his phone. “Did you just say that out loud?”

“I’m just saying she seems… relaxed. Peaceful. Like she trusts us.”

Hyunjin pokes his head into the kitchen, blinking sleepily. “What are we talking about?”

“The cat,” says Felix, feeding her another treat with the reverence of a man giving communion. “She’s mellow today.”

“Oh,” Hyunjin says, yawning. “So we’re jinxing it early. Cool.”

The idea comes from Minho.

Which is important, because it means no one can argue.

“She’s filthy,” he says bluntly, arms crossed. “She smells like mulch and attitude. She's got patches of green and brown all over her, her fur was white when we arrived.”

“She rolled in the flowerbed and played in the grass,” Jeongin adds from the couch, nose wrinkled. “Like, rolled. Fully. I watched.”

“She looks happy,” Han says, filming a slow zoom of her face. “This is the look of a woman who’s done crimes and will do more.”

“Right,” Minho continues, ignoring them all. “Which is why we’re bathing her.”

Silence.

Then seven people speak at once:

“You what—”

“No no no—”

“Do you want to die—”

“Minho, I care about you—”

“She’s going to eat us,” says Seungmin, entirely serious.

“She is literally purring right now,” Minho replies. “It’s the perfect time.”

“That’s a trap,” Chan says.

“She’s coiled,” adds Han. “Like a spring. Or a snake. Or a regret.”

Felix looks pale. “Do we have a will? Like… a shared one?”

Despite every sign from the universe, the decision is made.

The bathtub is filled—warm, shallow, with a drizzle of cat-safe soap.

Hyunjin lights a candle “for peace.”

Han plays gentle jazz “to soothe the mood.”

Jeongin Googles “feline CPR” just in case.

Felix brings in a towel he warmed in the dryer. “Because if we’re going to die,” he says quietly, “we should do it softly.”

Then: the lift.

Minho picks her up—gently, firmly, reverently—and she allows it.

Allows it.

The calm before the storm.

He lowers her into the water.

And hell opens its eyes.

She does not scream. She screeches.

A blood-curdling, feral wail that hits octaves human ears were not built for.

In one fluid motion, she launches from Minho’s arms, scrambles up his shoulder, over the curtain rod, and disappears between the ajar bathroom door and the wall.

“WE LOST VISUAL,” Han yells, diving for his camera like a war correspondent.

“HOW IS SHE WET AND DRY AT THE SAME TIME,” Seungmin shouts, slipping on a towel and crashing into the doorframe.

Felix is on his knees, arms out. “It’s okay, baby. We’re sorry. We respect your boundaries. Please—”

“I SAW MY LIFE FLASH BEFORE MY EYES,” Chan wheezes from the hallway floor, clutching his ribs.

Water is everywhere—on the ceiling, in the walls, soaked into the very foundation of the house. Someone is crying. It might be Jeongin.

Minho stands in the center, drenched and bleeding from a scratch across his cheekbone, eyes distant.

“…She drew blood,” he says faintly.

“You drew her wrath,” Hyunjin corrects, holding an ice pack to his forearm.

“She did this with her eyes open,” Han says, holding up footage that looks like a scene from a horror film.

Jeongin is curled in a towel cocoon, whispering, “She looked at me and I felt… judged.”

Thirty minutes later, the bathroom is destroyed, the cat is mysteriously pristine, and no one knows how the towel rack got bent like that.

She is lounging again. Dry. Groomed. Purring.

Minho walks past her like a man just out of war.

“She let you think you were in control,” Chan murmurs.

“She let me live,” Minho replies.

“Was the bath worth it?” Seungmin asks.

Minho does not answer. He just opens a can of tuna, places it before her like a tithe to an ancient god, and leaves the room in silence.

Later, evening sweeps through the house. A sweet, domestic dream. One full of good intentions and garlic bread.

“We’ll make dinner,” Chan had said, sleeves rolled up and optimism shining in his eyes. “Something simple. Cozy. Homemade.”

Jeongin had nodded eagerly, already pulling out mixing bowls. “Like a family.”

“We are a family,” Felix had smiled, clutching a whisk like it meant something.

In the background, Minho had narrowed his eyes. “What are you all plotting?”

“Love,” Han replied, unconvincingly.

The house fills with delicious smells. Onion sizzling in olive oil. Dough rising on the counter. Tomato sauce simmering in a pot that Felix insists on stirring with one hand while cuddling a dish towel with the other.

“You stir it so lovingly,” Jeongin observes.

Felix beams. “You have to respect the sauce.”

Hyunjin floats in from the hallway, sleeves rolled, lip gloss shimmering, “I've come to taste.”

“You've come to steal bites,” Minho corrects, slapping his hand away from the tray of garlic bread.

“She’s watching us,” Jeongin whispers suddenly.

All heads turn.

Princess Murder Volcano sits atop the fridge like a gargoyle in judgment, pupils blown wide. Tail twitching. Back hunched.

Chan narrows his eyes. “She’s got the zoomies.”

“No,” Hyunjin murmurs. “She’s got plans.”

It happens all at once.

One moment, Felix is piping filling into ziti shells, Han is singing into a ladle, and Jeongin is kneading dough with flour on his nose.

The next, there is a thud, a growl, and a blur of white fury tearing across the countertop like a tiny demonic tornado.

“NO—” Chan lunges for the sauce pot. Too late. The spoon flips. The tomato sauce arcs in the air like a slow-motion crime.

“THE SAUCE—!” Felix cries out, reaching with both hands.

It lands on Jeongin’s hoodie.

She leaps again—onto the drying rack, which collapses under her wrath. Metal clatters. A bowl crashes to the floor and shatters like a scream.

“She’s climbing the spice rack!” Minho shouts.

“She’s in the spice rack,” Han corrects. “She’s wearing the cinnamon like war paint!”

The cat zips past, yowling—a streak of fur and chaos. She skids across the freshly mopped tiles, slams into the pantry door, then bounces back with renewed energy.

“I feel the adrenaline,” Hyunjin gasps, flattened against the fridge. “She’s faster than light. She’s broken the sound barrier. She’s a myth.”

“She’s going to knock over the—”

CRASH.

Flour. Everywhere. A puff of white explodes like someone’s summoned a baking ghost.

Felix vanishes inside the cloud.

“Are you alive?!” Jeongin coughs, blinking through flour tears.

A flour-covered hand emerges, waving weakly. “Tell the sauce… I loved it.”

They try to corner her. They try.

Minho leads the charge, wielding a laundry basket like a net. “Block the exits. Coordinate. Outthink her.”

“She has no thoughts,” Han yells. “She’s pure instinct!”

“She’s in the cupboard!” Jeongin shouts, peeking inside and immediately slamming it shut. “She stared into me. She knows my sins.”

Meanwhile, Chan stands silently in the center of the room, hands on hips, face unreadable.

“She has chosen violence,” he says simply. “And seasoning.”

Eventually, the chaos fades. The sauce is salvaged. The ziti somehow managed to survive.

Princess Murder Volcano re-emerges covered in flour, a single noodle stuck to her side, and promptly curls up in the sink to nap like nothing happened.

Jeongin leans against the counter, breathing hard. “She broke three things.”

“She broke my sense of peace,” Hyunjin murmurs.

“She broke the laws of physics,” says Han.

Felix just stares into space. “The filling. It… it flew.”

Minho tosses a towel onto the counter and sighs. “Next time, we order pizza.”

“She’d still attack the box,” Seungmin says from the doorway, sipping water like he has seen this all before.

Chan places the last clean dish on the rack, closes his eyes, and whispers, “I miss when we were in charge.”

There is a night time rotation schedule taped to the fridge. A real one. On paper. Color-coded.

“For our sanity,” Chan had declared, waving a highlighter like a sword. “For survival,” Seungmin added, darkly.

Because she does not sleep alone.

Oh no.

She selects her human—a new one each night, like royalty distributing favour—and curls up precisely where they had hoped to stretch their legs.

She is warm. She is heavy. She is a little loaf of tyranny.

Tonight, the duty falls to Han.

He approaches the bedroom like a man entering war.

Blanket: comfortable. Pillow: fluffed. Water: on the nightstand. Notebook: ready, just in case inspiration strikes.

He is calm. Composed. Hopeful.

“She’s already in there,” Felix warns from the hallway, whispering like it is cursed knowledge. “Claimed the center of the bed.”

Han squares his shoulders. “This is fine. I’m flexible.”

“She sleeps diagonally,” Jeongin says, walking past with the empty cat food dish. “No remorse.”

“Love requires sacrifice,” Han mutters, and enters.

The light is soft. The sheets are warm. She is… watching.

Perched on his pillow. Eyes glowing faintly in the dark. Tail curled, neat and smug.

Han smiles with gentle dread. “Hey, queen. Mind if I…?”

He lifts the blanket. Slips in.

She does not move.

The seconds tick by.

He turns slightly. She adjusts her weight—to press directly against his ribs.

“…Cool,” he exhales. “This is fine.”

12:38 a.m.

He receives a text.

you: hey!! just checking in! is my daughter being good? 🐱apparently you have the night shift💤

Han types back with one thumb beneath the blanket, moving as little as possible.

han: define good

han: i’m not allowed to roll over and she has full custody of the blanket

you: lmaoo she does that 🫣 just don’t breathe too loud

you: i can't lie to you she's not amazing to sleep with when you're a new person... something about unfamiliarity or wtvr

han: great to know💀

2:17 a.m.

Han is awoken to a pressure on his ribs. He slowly opens his eyes to see Princess Murder Volcano sat upright, directly on his body, her tail slapping lightly against stomach.

“Can I help you,” he whispers.

She steps forward, kneels gently… and places one paw on his mouth. Astonished, he slowly reaches for his phone and texts the group chat.

han: her FOOT is on my MOUTH.

felix: do not resist. accept her.

binnie: you must be on the left side. she likes the left side of the bed. your mistake.

seungmin: sleep is a concept. not a right.

channie: stay strong😫😫

hyunjin: do you have any idea how many tiny teeth she has. do not make her use them.

3:03 a.m.

Another message from you causes Han's phone to chime.

you: also she sometimes sleepwalks. so like if she gets up and stares at the wall… do not engage

He reads it and gazes to where Princess Murder Volcano is situated.

She is already sitting at the corner of the bed, staring into the corner of the room, her tail occasionally twitching.

Han tosses the blanket over his own face.

3:49 a.m.

Han dares to shift by one inch. Which subsequently causes the white furball to let out a low growl. A warning, if you will.

He texts the group chat once again.

han: i made eye contact. she knows i thought about moving. i am not safe

felix: if she headbutts you, congrats. that means she’s claimed your soul

seungmin: stop being dramatic. she’s like 4kg

han: 4kg of fury and emotional manipulation. she blinked and i felt shame for existing

5:10 a.m.

You receive a photo from Han. A close-up of his arm, pinned beneath her white little loaf-shaped body. Her head rests between his elbow and ribs. One eye open. Watching.

han: my arm is asleep but she is not. i have not moved in hours

You find yourself cooing at your screen. Your cat is typically not one to cuddle up so comfortably with strangers.

you: omg she likes you 🥹 this is such a good sign!!

Han does not respond. Instead, he stares at the ceiling, a man transformed. Broken. Blessed. He is vibrating with exhaustion, fear, and the slightest sense of pride.

“She picked me,” he says aloud to the dark room. “I was chosen.”

She promptly moves to sneeze on his neck and falls back to sleep.

7:00 a.m.

The sun rises, leaking golden warmth through the once dark room. The serene morning silence is interrupted by the bedroom door creaking open. Chan peeks inside.

“You alive?” he whispers.

Han stares at the ceiling with hollow eyes. “She took my soul and the entire blanket.”

“She does that,” Chan nods.

“I think she forgave me for existing,” Han mutters.

Princess Murder Volcano is curled on Han’s chest, peaceful as can be, one paw flopped over his heart like she owns it.

Maybe she does.

The rest of Day Three began with an unsettling silence. Not the cosy, purring kind that hinted at nap time, but a stretched, suspicious quiet that crept beneath doorways and settled behind bookshelves. No zoomies. No morning murder-screech. No judging loaf formation in the hallway. Just… stillness.

Felix, already on edge after surviving her 8 a.m. biscuit-serving ritual on his spine, narrowed his eyes as he passed the laundry room.

“Where is she?” he muttered, peering around the corner with all the suspicion of a nature documentary narrator about to witness a predator strike.

Then he saw her. Striding slowly across the hall, tail lowered, ears relaxed, but with a strange hesitance in her step—as though she was deep in feline contemplation. She paused just outside the laundry room door, glanced around as if checking for witnesses, and slinked inside. Felix followed at a careful distance, peeking around the doorframe with theatrical stealth.

She sat in the litter box. Still. Unmoving. For twenty long seconds.

And then—without scratching, burying, or doing anything at all—she stood, turned around, and walked away.

Felix's jaw dropped. “She did nothing.”

He pulled out his phone, thumb flying across the screen as he typed into the group chat.

felix: she entered the litter box room.

felix: stood there. did NOTHING.

felix: then LEFT.

felix: with PURPOSE.

The replies came quickly.

jeongin: maybe she just forgot what she was doing

minho: or maybe she's smarter than all of us and doing psychological warfare

But Felix had already descended into veterinary message boards. In the next ten minutes, he had read five conflicting articles, started a pros-and-cons list of emergency vet clinics within driving distance, and built himself a surveillance pillow fort near the hallway with granola bars and a water bottle, determined to document her every move.

She reappeared eventually, strolling past him like he was a coat rack. She leapt up onto the back of the couch, sneezed so hard her whiskers twitched, then dramatically flopped onto her side in a sunny patch like an overworked heiress.

Felix gasped audibly. “Oh my god, she fainted,” he breathed, frantically texting the group.

felix: SHE FELL

felix: I THINK SHE FAINTED

felix: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY

By the time Chan arrived in the room, Felix had both hands in his hair and a cold rag on his own forehead. “She’s sick. She didn’t go. She looked at the box and left.”

Chan blinked. “Felix, she’s literally sunbathing.”

“She sneezed, Chris. That is how it starts. I’ve been researching. She could be hiding a bladder infection. Or worse—emotional constipation.”

Chan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before unlocking his phone. “Alright. Time to bring in the expert.”

You were just finishing lunch when your phone rang—FaceTime from Chan. You accepted with a smile, instantly greeted by Felix’s frazzled face and the distant sound of your cat dramatically licking her paw.

“Is she dying?” he asked before even greeting you.

You blinked. “What? No? What’s going on?”

Felix spun the camera dramatically, showing your cat flopped halfway off the couch cushion, tail twitching like a lazy metronome. “She went into the litterbox. Did nothing. Came out. Sneezed. Collapsed. Collapsed.”

“She does that,” you laughed at their turmoil around a bite of your meal. “It’s her post-zoomie burnout pose. Very theatrical.”

Chan appeared on screen beside him, eyes squinting. “Would she… fake something like this?”

You nodded immediately. “Yes. Absolutely. One time she limped for a full afternoon because I didn’t give her a bite of my toasted sandwich. The limp vanished the second she saw me grabbing treats.”

Felix’s entire soul left his body in that moment. “She’s too powerful. I believed her.”

“I always do too, it's okay,” you said fondly, watching her slowly roll over and bite the couch cushion for no reason at all.

“She trusts you,” Chan offered Felix quietly after a moment, smiling as he looked down at her now curled into a lazy pretzel. “She doesn’t act like this around all of us.”

“She's showing Felix her weirdest sides,” you confirmed. “That’s like… soulmate trust. I think she's selected her favourite.”

Felix looked into the distance, visibly moved.

Later that afternoon, she returned to the litter box, did her business without fanfare, then strutted out like she had not just sent a grown man into an existential spiral. She leapt into Felix’s lap without warning, turned exactly one circle, and settled.

He did not move for the rest of the night.

“She forgave me,” he whispered, one hand resting on her back like she might disappear if he exhaled too quickly.

Seungmin glanced over, unimpressed. “She just stole your seat.”

“Same thing,” Felix sighed, blissful.

By the time the third and final day of the babysitting debacle had come to a close, all eight of your friends were waiting by the door before you even stepped inside.

The moment your car pulled up, the house shifted into high alert. Shoes half-on, limbs frozen mid-motion, the boys gathered like war survivors at the threshold of sanctuary, a desperate hush falling over the living room.

“She’s here,” Chan muttered, peering through the front blinds. “Everyone act normal.”

Hyunjin tossed the feather toy behind the couch like it was a weapon. Jeongin kicked a half-chewed slipper under the rug. Felix, wild-eyed and exhausted, stood silently clutching a lint roller in one hand and an empty treat bag in the other. Han wordlessly pointed at a scratch across his thigh, his expression haunted.

And then… the front door opened.

You stepped inside with a bright smile and a suitcase sat behind you, immediately greeted by a chorus of overlapping chaos.

“She is not normal,” Seungmin declared, pointing accusingly toward the armchair.

“She bullied Jeongin out of his beanbag,” Minho added flatly.

“She licked a power outlet,” Changbin said, somewhere between awe and concern.

“She gaslit me,” Felix whispered, eyes unfocused.

But before you could react, a blur of fur bolted across the hardwood floors—and suddenly she was there.

Your cat.

Your sweet, precious baby girl, appearing like a cherub descending from above. She meowed softly, nuzzling your shin with gentle affection before curling herself around your ankles like a silk ribbon.

You leaned down immediately, scooping her up into your arms, cooing with all the love in the world. “Hi, my love! Did you miss me? You were a good girl, weren’t you?”

Felix made a noise like he had just been stabbed. “GOOD GIRL?”

“She’s an agent of chaos,” Jeongin protested, watching as your cat blinked up at you with pure, wide-eyed innocence, a slow blink that screamed loyalty and purity and complete, unprovable deceit.

You looked between them all, frowning. “What are you talking about? She’s perfect.”

“She knocked over a plant on purpose,” Minho insisted. “Made eye contact and everything.”

“She scaled the bookshelf,” Chan added, crossing his arms. “Like, the entire thing. And sat on top like she owned it.”

“She stole my hoodie,” Han muttered. “Dragged it under the table. Growled when I tried to get it back.”

“She has mood swings,” Seungmin said, pointing again. “I saw her smack Hyunjin in the face. Twice. For breathing too loud.”

You blinked at them, brow creased in disbelief, while your cat snuggled into your chest in your embrace, already purring loud enough to be heard across the room.

“She’s literally purring,” you said gently. “You guys must’ve imagined it. She’s my baby.”

“She’s playing you,” Hyunjin whispered. “She’s been training for this moment for all three days.”

As if on cue, she looked toward the rest of the group from the safety of your arms, eyes glinting, tongue just slightly poking out in a silent mockery of their pain. Then she nestled her head into your shoulder, curling her fuzzy tail around your wrist with practiced sweetness.

You kissed her head. “Aw. She’s tired. You guys must’ve worn her out from playing so much.”

Eight boys stood in varying stages of psychological collapse. Felix actually sat down.

“She’s gaslighting you in real time,” Chan said quietly.

“I think I have to go lie down,” Jeongin whispered.

“Is this what defeat feels like?” Han asked no one.

You only smiled, oblivious, heading toward the hallway with her still in your arms. “C’mon, baby, let’s go to your room.”

Your cat peeked over your shoulder at the others as you left the room, her face calm, smug, and victorious.

Hyunjin pointed a trembling finger. “Did you see that? She winked. I SWEAR—”

The door shut gently behind you.

Silence hung heavy over those remaining in the room.

Then Felix collapsed backwards onto the couch. “She won.”

By the time night settled in, the house had mostly recovered. Mostly. Chan was nursing a scratch on his bicep with a glass of wine he insisted was “purely medicinal.” Seungmin was researching feline behavioural psychology. Felix had fallen asleep mid-rant while laying on your sofa, with his legs tossed carelessly over your lap.

You sat nestled on the couch beside beneath your shared blanket and a cup of tea, your troublemaking child curled in your lap—technically on Felix's shins—like she had never once wronged a soul. She blinked slowly, innocently, while you gently stroked her back.

The TV screen flashed on.

“Alright,” Han said as he stepped into the room like he was about to deliver a TED Talk. “Enough lies. Enough manipulation. The truth... needs to be witnessed.”

You turned toward him with a raised brow. “What is this?”

“A documentary,” Han said, remote in hand, pride in his stance. “Or rather... a document of war.”

The screen lit up with an opening title:

“Emergency Kitty Babysitter's Club: A House Held Hostage” Directed by Han Jisung. Edited by Han Jisung. Victims: All of Us.

It began with hidden cam footage—timestamped clips from every chaos moment of the week. Your cat skidding across the hardwood at 3 a.m. like a possessed banshee. Knocking over a cup of coffee with surgical precision while Minho gasped in the background. Standing on the kitchen counter, face inside the butter dish, as Felix whispered, “Not again…” from behind the camera.

Cue dramatic music. Zoom-ins. Slow-motion replays. Commentary snippets from the boys layered over the clips like it was some kind of crime series.

“She stared at me and shoved my AirPods off the table,” Chan’s voice narrated solemnly as the clip played. “She knew.”

“She stole a sausage right off my fork,” Jeongin said during a cutaway interview, looking dead inside.

It was ridiculous. It was over-the-top.

It was brilliant.

And yet, as the footage continued to play, you gently scratched behind her ears. “Princess... this isn’t you, is it?”

She yawned, long and slow, and nestled deeper into your lap—unbothered. Unmoved.

“She is literally in the footage,” Hyunjin said, exasperated. “She bit me in 4K.”

“She’s misunderstood,” you murmured, kissing the top of her head.

Han hit pause and turned to you, devastated. “You’re choosing her over us.”

“She’s soft,” you said, petting her side. “And pink. And perfect.”

"Pink doesn't even make sense!"

“She screamed at the mailman like he owed her money,” Changbin snapped.

But you just smiled down at her. “My little angel.”

The credits rolled. The final clip played without sound: your cat perched regally atop the fridge while Felix cried in the corner, holding a can of tuna she had rejected minutes earlier.

A masterpiece. A warning. A call for justice.

And completely ineffective.

Because by the time the lights came back on, you were already dozing off on the couch, her purring against your chest, the embodiment of peace and domestic bliss.

She opened one eye, glared at Han, and flicked her tail once like a queen dismissing her critics.

The boys would never recover.

But you? You were exactly where you belonged.

inspired by my beautiful sweet innocent daughter dior

everyone say hello

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[thedeadstoryteller1]

𝓢𝓾𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓼 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓱 | 𝓩𝓪𝔂𝓷𝓮 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘈𝘴𝘬𝘰 𝘏𝘰𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴. 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘡𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦.

𝘛𝘢𝘨𝘴: Oral Sex, Established Realationship, Fluff, Breeding Kink, Vaginal Sex, Crempie, Praise, My love.

Artist: X / Twitter | @xiandao1213

"Yvonne... tell me how much longer my shift is," you whine like a child, making her chuckle behind her mask.

"You're only like this because Dr. Zayne’s been in surgery all day," she teases, her eyes crinkling at the corners — that big grin she always gets when she's right.

"Okay, you didn’t have to call me out like that," you snort.

She’s not wrong though. You get moody when Zayne’s busy. Transporting patients around the hospital all day by yourself gets boring. You started working part-time at Asko Hospital a few weeks ago—thanks to Zayne, even though your pride screamed against it at first. He offered to cover your expenses, and you refused, so he found you a job instead. At first, you were mortified. Now? Three days a week, you move patients between departments, waiting endlessly for new assignments. Not the most thrilling job in the world... but at least scrubs are comfy.

"Dr. Zayne should be finishing up in about fifteen minutes if everything went well. You’ll probably transport his patient to the ICU after closing," Yvonne winks.

Your face flushes bright red, making her laugh harder — loud enough to make the entire nurses' station look up. You both break into giggles like teenagers getting caught.

"Operating room five?" you ask, double-checking the OR board. "I’m getting kinda good at reading medical lingo."

"Mhm," Yvonne hums, handing you the pickup report. "Don’t get lost again."

You scowl at her, flustered. Unfortunately, she’s right about that too. You get lost in this hospital all the time.

You definitely get lost.

It’s been way longer than fifteen minutes, and somehow you ended up... at the morgue.Your second write-up for tardiness is practically signed already.

Slamming the elevator button in panic, you silently curse yourself. You’re a Hunter, for crying out loud—you can track Wanderers across entire cities but can’t find a stupid operating room?

The elevator doors slide open and you rush in— —colliding hard into a chest that smells way too familiar.

That cologne. That warmth. That smirk you don't even have to see to know is there.

"Lost again, are we?" Zayne’s teasing voice slides down your spine like silk.

You can't look at him. You just bury your face against his scrub top, mortified. He chuckles, low and rough, and his arms wrap around your waist, holding you there. Then he rests his chin lightly on your head, swaying you side to side like you're slow dancing.

"I got lost trying to find OR Five," you mumble against him, trying not to let your voice shake.

"Mmm. Ms. Hunter, seems I’ll have to give you another tour," he murmurs, rocking you gently as the elevator begins to ascend.

"Did the surgery go well?" you whisper, reluctant to break the moment.

"As expected," he replies softly. "The patient will make a full recovery."

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, arms wrapping tighter around him. Being with him like this—hearing his calm, sure voice—soothes you in ways nothing else can. He is your peace.

Zayne tips your chin up with two fingers, making you meet his gaze. Without hesitation, he leans in, kissing you deeply, sweetly. You melt into him, kissing him back, your hands finding their way into his hair. You tug lightly—and he lets out a soft, needy sound that shoots straight between your legs.

You rise on your toes, pressing harder against him, your tongue sliding against his, deepening the kiss. His hands shift lower, grabbing the backs of your thighs—and suddenly he lifts you effortlessly, pinning your back against the elevator wall. Your legs wrap around his waist on instinct.

The kiss grows hotter, hungrier. When you finally break apart for air, you're both panting, staring at each other with wild, heated eyes.

He smirks against your lips, breathless. "Naughty girl."

"Teach me a lesson," you whisper back.

The elevator dings — —and you both jump apart like guilty teenagers. You straighten your scrub top while he runs a hand through his hair, trying to hide the very obvious bulge in his pants. Poor Zayne. No lab coat to save him tonight.

An elderly couple steps in. Zayne gives them a polite nod, then quickly ducks out before the doors close again.

"My office after your shift," he calls over his shoulder, voice low and dangerous. "We need to... discuss this further."

Your knees nearly buckle. The old lady gives you a knowing smirk. You want to evaporate.

You survive the rest of your shift (barely), get written up again (ugh), and when the clock strikes midnight, you beeline for Zayne’s office.

Your mind races with every step. You can't stop thinking about the way he looked at you in the elevator—like he was ready to devour you. Surgeon's High.The nurses talked about it—a rush of adrenaline after a successful surgery, a flood of confidence, and sometimes... a different kind of hunger.

You reach his door and knock softly. "Come in," his voice calls out.

When you step inside, you find him sitting behind his desk, typing something into the computer. The moonlight streaming through the window highlights his face, makes him look almost ethereal.

"Lock it," he commands without even looking up.

You obey immediately, your heart hammering. You cross the room and perch on the corner of his desk, legs crossed innocently.

"Finishing your report?" you tease.

He slams the laptop closed, swiveling his chair to face you fully. His eyes trail over you, dark with admiration—and lust.

"Have I ever told you how good you look in scrubs?" he smirks.

"I miss my Hunter uniform," you laugh. "But I guess scrubs have their perks."

He rolls his chair closer until his knees brush yours.

"I like you better without clothes," he growls softly, grabbing your knees and parting your legs open.

You gasp—but when his eyes meet yours, seeking permission, you nod. Do your worst, Doctor.

"Lay down," he orders.

Your heart thrums wild as you slide onto the desk, kicking off your shoes. He wastes no time, pulling down your scrub pants and panties in one smooth move.

"Close your eyes. Don't make a sound, my love."

The moment his tongue touches your clit, you clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle the moan that threatens to escape. He works you mercilessly, his tongue swirling and flicking, sending shockwaves through your entire body.

When you squirm too much, he simply throws your legs over his shoulders and holds you in place, feasting on you like a starving man.

"Z-Zayne—I'm g-gonna—"

"Not yet," he growls against your folds.

But you can't hold it back. The orgasm rips through you, your back arching, your hand biting into your own mouth to stay silent. You shudder as he laps up every last drop, finally easing back to look at you with a smug glint in his eye.

"You taste so sweet," he chuckles, licking his lips.

"Please," you beg. "I need you."

His scrubs drop just enough to free himself—and he’s hard, thick, glistening at the tip. He teases you, running his cock along your soaked slit, making you whimper with need.

Then he thrusts in hard and deep, burying himself to the hilt without warning. You cry out—but he clamps a hand over your mouth, muffling the sound.

"Fuck, you’re tight," he groans, voice rough and shaky.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust, pounding into you fast and hard, the desk rocking beneath you. The pace is brutal, relentless—everything you craved and more.

"Turn around," he orders.

You spin onto your stomach without question, bracing yourself on the desk. He slams back into you, gripping your hips, driving so deep that stars explode behind your eyes. The sound of skin slapping fills the office—obscene and beautiful.

When a loud clatter echoes and a knock comes at the door, you almost die of panic.

"Dr. Zayne? Everything alright in there?" a voice calls.

"Yes," he grunts. "Just... dropped a few things."

You’re biting your lip so hard it bleeds, trembling under him as he keeps fucking you like nothing’s wrong. You feel him twitch inside you, so close.

"Let me cum inside you," he whispers against your ear.

You nod desperately.

"Slide the report under the door," Zayne calls out.

When the danger passes, he presses his forehead to yours, pumping deep and hard until with a strangled groan, he fills you with his release—hot and overwhelming. The orgasm crashes over you too, leaving you both gasping, trembling, wrecked.

He gathers you in his arms, not letting you fall. You cling to him, shuddering, still feeling the echoes of him deep inside you.

"I love you," he murmurs against your hair.

"I love you too," you whisper back, voice thick with emotion.

Zayne helps you into his chair, kneeling beside you, wiping your tears away with trembling hands.

"I wasn’t too rough, was I?" he asks, guilt flashing in his eyes.

You smile, cupping his face. "No. You were perfect."

He leans into your touch, that rare, beautiful laugh escaping him—a sound you wish you could bottle and keep forever."Let’s go home, my love," he whispers.

[artssslut2]

Unexpected: Part 1

Art Donaldson x Pregnant!Reader

Prologue

Possible Warnings: talk of abortion

Disclaimer: I am 100% pro choice and the charectors I write are as well.

You sat on the floor of the bathroom in your dorm looking down at the pregnancy test you held in your hands. Positive. No way. You couldn’t be, you missed one pill like a month ago. You set the test down on the sink along with the five other ones you took that also said positive. You were hoping it was a false positive but it didn’t seem like it now.

“Fuck.” You whispered to yourself. You had no idea what you were going to do. You were eighteen, you were in college you were at the top of your class at Stanford’s nursing school. This cannot be happening to you. Then you thought about Art, you wanted to hate him because he did this to you. But you were the one who missed a pill, and you were certainly not resisting him. Not only was Art the best tennis player at school, he was your friend. Your best friend. You knew him forever, this would totally ruin your friendship. You laughed to yourself because your friendship was probably ruined the first time you hooked up. Surprisingly you weren’t panicked, not yet. You were a nurse failed positives happen, maybe something was wrong, you weren’t going to panic until you knew you were 100% pregnant.

You called one of your closest friends who was also in the nursing program, you needed an ultrasound.

“You think you’re pregnant?” She gasped, you nodded shamefully as she looked at you “what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know okay. Get rid of it. I have too. I don’t even know if I am pregnant though so do the damn ultrasound.” You whisper yelled while getting on the table and lifting your shirt. Your friend nodded with this look in her eye like she felt bad for you, you hated it. She moved the wand around slowly until you saw it

“There.” You said pointing at the grey dot on the screen “shit.” You let your head fall back on the bed. You saw it, now this was real. There was a baby inside of you. A baby that you made with your best friend. Your eyes filled with tears there were so many emotions going through you right now.

“Listen I think there’s a heartbeat” your friend said to you turning the volume up on the machine.

Thud…Thud…Thud

You listened to the sound of your baby’s heartbeat and you knew there was no way you could “get rid of it”.

“I’ll give you a minute” your friend said as you still stared at the screen.

Once you left, you went straight to Arts dorm room. Since he was a student athlete his room was much bigger than yours. It was also private, he didn’t have to share a room.

“Oh hey y/n. I didn’t know you were coming.” Art said opening the door looking happily surprised.

“We have to talk Art.” You came in looking serious

“Of course what’s up?” He asked sitting across from you. You suddenly forgot everything you were going to say. It was like everything was hitting you all at once. You broke down in tears and couldn’t get any words out

“Hey hey what’s wrong y/n?” Art rushed to you wrapping his big arms around you pushing some hair from your face, he kissed your forehead until you calmed down “whatever it is you can tell me I promise” he told you. You felt bad knowing the two words you were about to say would change the course of his entire life completely.

“I’m pregnant.” There was immediate silence, Arts mouth was open and his arms slowly dropped to his sides. It felt like a lifetime before he responded.

“I-Is it mine?” He stuttered going completely pale. You felt offended by his question, of course it was his, there was no one else and he knew that.

“Yes it’s yours.” You scoffed standing up clearly annoyed.

“I’m sorry it’s just… but… you said you were on the pill!” He panicked standing up, his voice came out sounding accusatory

“I am! I missed one! It was forever ago okay I didn’t-“ Art interrupted you before you could finish

“What?! How could you miss one? And not say anything? Oh my god y/n!” He said not yelling but getting close to it. Art had never yelled at you. You didn’t even think he could yell. It brought tears to your eyes again, you felt horrible and angry and just about every other emotion

“I’m sorry okay?! Do you think I wanted this Art! Fuck!” You cried sliding down his wall putting your head in your arms. Art was quiet. He felt guilt come over him for losing his cool. He knew that this wasn’t your fault it was just a mistake, and now your life was changing. He collected himself, he told himself he could think about his feelings later. Right now he had to be there for you, his best friend. He walked to you and sat next to you

“Come here, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry y/n/n” you fell into him, his arm came to your hair . You cried into his chest for a long time before looking up at him.

“This isn’t your fault y/n. It’s going to be okay. Whatever you decide.” He told you holding your face with one hand. He knew that you would think it was your own fault because that’s just how you were. But he was very equally to blame and he knew that.

“I saw it.” You blurted out between sobs

“What?” He questioned

“I saw the baby… I heard the heartbeat. I thought I could get rid of it but I can’t. I just I -I “

“Stop y/n. You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m going to support you no matter what okay? This isn’t just on you. If you wanna have the baby, then… we’re gonna be parents.” He slightly smiled looking at you. “We can figure it out together okay, I got you I promise” he whispered kissing your head. You didn’t say anything. You leaned into him again as a thank you, he knew what you meant. You were so thankful that he didn’t hate you or abandon you. This is why you loved him, this is why he is your person.

You and art sat on the floor for a while. You didn’t talk you both sat there in thought. Art carried you to his bed and layed you down, he brushed hair from your face and wrapped his arms around you spooning you. He would do anything for you. Just then he wanted to say it. He wanted to say that he loves you, that he has forever. But that wouldn’t have been fair to you, you were to stressed out. Secretly art was happy about the baby. Mabye now you two would finally become a couple. Art thought about what this could mean

“I got you. It’s okay.” He whispered, settling for that instead of I love you. For now at least.

[yexthiccxa]

Secrets of the Second Shift - (Part 5)

summary: Choso wakes up and sees that you've left his place in the middle of the night (part 4). He gives you the cold shoulder but when you sort out a misunderstanding, the week goes from tough ...to rough ;)

wordcount: 4.4k words

full fic c/w: choso smut, choso/fem!reader, choso/oc, modern!au, some plot, plot what plot, porn with plot, gentleman!choso, soft!choso, praise kink, blindfold sex, oral, fingering, vaginal sex, fingering, oral, multiple orgasms

a/n: let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for this!

Tumblr Master List | Read this chapter on AO3!

✦✧✸✧✦ 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ✦✧✸✧✦

FIVE HOURS EARLIER

The sky is still dark. You wake up in a room that is illuminated by the glow of the moonlight coming from the floor-to-ceiling windows, a room that isn’t yours. Right. Turning your head, you see Choso lying next to you in a deep sleep. Even in the dead of night, he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever laid your eyes on. 

The clock on the bedside table reads 1:03 a.m. “Fuck,” you mutter.

You shift carefully, mindful not to disturb him, and glance around the room. The chaos of earlier is gone. Your clothes have been folded neatly on a nearby chair, and the abandoned dishes from dinner are nowhere in sight. Did he really make the extra effort to clean all this up? How sweet. You think.

The thought sends a warm but unsettling jolt through you. Part of you wants to lay back down, bury yourself in the comfort of the bed, and settle into the arms of the beautiful man sleeping next to you.

But then there’s that other part of you—the louder, nagging voice that reminds you staying means more than just a night. It’s not just sharing a bed; it’s sharing something more, something you’re not ready for.

Your decision feels bittersweet, but it’s for the best. Carefully, you slip out from under the sheets, get dressed, and find the rest of your belongings. You slip out the front door quietly in hopes of not waking him. When you make it out, you head to the lobby and call yourself an Uber.

Your ride arrives faster than you expect, and within minutes you’re home. The familiarity of your space doesn’t bring the comfort you thought it would. Instead, your mind is restless. You pace for a few minutes before sitting on the edge of your bed, phone in hand.

You can’t just leave without saying anything, you tell yourself.

Your internal panic causes you to scroll through your recent calls. When you press the contact on your phone, you bring it straight to your ear and hope to the heavens he’s a deep enough sleeper to have the call go to voicemail. As it rings, you find yourself resting your head in the palm of your hand.

“The person you are trying to dial is unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.”

Thank god.

“Hey. I figured it would be easier to call you instead," you start, words catching in your throat for a second. "Today was honestly so great and I’m so thankful for everything you did today. You’re so sweet and I love that about you.”

You pause, unsure of what else to say, but finally gather up the courage to let it out. “But if I’m being real, I’m just not used to this… yet. It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone like that. I hate to admit it, I guess I’m just scared of things becoming complicated.”

Your chest tightens, like you’ve stuck a dagger through your own heart. “Anyways, it’s late and I think we should probably just talk about this more in person. But I just wanted to call and let you know that I’m home safe and to say…. thanks, I guess.”

You let out one last breath. “I’ll see you at work.”

The silence hangs heavy before you end the call abruptly. You set the phone down and lay back on your own bed just to stare at the ceiling. You can’t stop your mind from wondering what he’ll think when he hears it.

✦✧✸✧✦

“I’m only saying this because I love you, but you look like shit” Yuki begins as she settles into her desk, unpacking her laptop. She studies you critically. “...and you never look like shit.”

You blink, trying to ground yourself after a night of tossing and turning. “Huh? Oh—yeah, I just… didn’t sleep well last night.”

Yuki’s eyes narrow, sharp with suspicion. “Damn. Late night?” She leans in closer to you, lowering her voice. “Wait… with Choso?”

“No, no, no—” Lie. You scramble for something convincing. “I don’t think I’m gonna go for him.” Another lie. “I’ve just been thinking about it more…” Not a lie. “...and I think it’s probably best to just keep things professional.” Half-lie.

“Fine.” She sighs dramatically, sitting back in her chair. “Just know, I’m still rooting for you two.” Her grin returns as she looks past you. “Oh, speak of the devil…”

You glance up and instinctively call out to him. “Hey, Choso!”

Choso meets your eyes briefly, but his gaze flicks away almost instantly as he strides toward the break room without a word. The abruptness stings, even if it’s what you expected.

Yuki whistles low under her breath. “Oof. Ice cold.”

You get up to follow him, but before you can catch him, Naoya cuts in front of you. He has a stack of papers in hand and an unsettling smugness radiating from him. “Good morning. Here are the notes from last week’s focus group. I’ll need you to analyze these and add your findings to the kickoff presentation that’s happening later this month.”

You frown, flipping through the papers. “What presentation?”

“I sent an email yesterday,” he says with exaggerated patience. “We’re meeting with stakeholders from a potential lead to discuss the feasibility of our new product. Try to finish early so Choso has time to review the deck before he presents.”

Your jaw tightens. “Excuse me? Choso? Is there a reason he’s doing the presentation for my research?”

Naoya’s smirk deepens. “Let’s just say he knows what the audience is looking for.”

“What the fu—” You stop short, forcing yourself to take a deep breath before HR gets involved. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Naoya says slowly, “analyze your findings, finish the presentation, and send it to Choso. You’re lucky I’m giving you a head start.”

He spins on his heel and walks off, leaving your irritation simmering.

You don’t waste time. Marching to the break room, you find Choso by the coffee machine. “Choso,” you say, voice firm.

He glances up, expression unreadable. “Morning.”

“Can we talk?” you ask, trying to get his attention.

His focus is still glued to the coffee machine. “If you’d like to schedule some time later,” he says flatly, “feel free to book any available slot on my calendar.”

Your jaw drops. The audacity.

He lifts his gaze slightly, just enough to meet yours. For a fleeting moment, there’s something almost soft in his expression—a tiny flicker of warmth that you might’ve imagined.

“By the way, did Naoya tell you about the presentation?” he asks, voice even.

And just like that, the warmth vanishes, replaced by the same guarded professionalism you didn’t know you could hate.

“Yes,” you answer, matching his curt tone.

“Great.” He nods, grabbing his mug. As he moves past you, he adds, “Looking forward to seeing your findings,” the words clipped and distant as he steps out of the room.

Well he certainly put the pro in professional. You can’t fault him for staying true to the boundaries, but what the hell was that? 

The rest of the week is no better. Choso avoids you when he can, and when he can’t, his interactions are painfully brief and impersonal. You hoped that every new day would be a fresh start, but every interaction was filled with short hellos, no goodbyes, or ten second comments about the weather. It was like Choso was a shell of the man—not the man who once held you so gently. 

You have no reason to be mad. After all, you’re the one who set the playing field. He’s just following the rules. You try not to think too much of it, but the distance gnaws at you with each passing day. The romantic part of you (or what’s left of it) feels like this is torture, while the logical part reassures you this is for the best. Unfortunately, neither side has any idea how to make it through the week.

By the time Friday rolls around, you’re surprised you’re still sane. Every day has been an exhausting blend of tension, awkward exchanges, and overthinking. You hope that today is the day you can finally settle things with Choso, but it’s 3pm and you haven’t seen him all day.

You’re at your desk working on the deck for the kickoff presentation, when you see one of the guys from Choso’s team.

“Hey, Yuji,” you call, swiveling your chair toward him. “Have you seen Choso today?”

Yuji pauses, scratching the back of his head. “Saw him this morning, but I think he’s out for the rest of the day. Something about schmoozing a potential lead.”

Is this the same lead for the presentation this month? You try not to let your frustration show, but your tone gets the better of you. “Got it. Thanks.”

Yuji pauses, trying to redirect the conversation to lighten the mood. “Are you coming to Happy Hour tonight?” he asks, grinning.

“Not this time,” you say with a polite shake of your head. “Maybe the next one.”

“It’ll be fun!” He leans in. “I told Choso to go. If he shows up, maybe you two can talk there!”

“It’s okay,” you reply, forcing a smile. “Thanks for letting me know, though. I’ll just catch up with him next week.”

Yuji shrugs and walks away, leaving you alone with the sinking realization that you won’t even get to see Choso for the second shift. You find yourself crushed under disappointment, but you try not to let it show.

When the clock finally hits five, you grab your things and head to Blinded Bliss. When you walk through the platinum doors, you make a beeline for the bar, ignoring everything—including Satoru’s smug grin as waves at you.

“Two tequilas,” you tell the bartender, tapping your nails impatiently on the counter. “Heavy pour.”

“Whoa there, love,” Satoru’s voice cuts in from behind, startling you. “Tough week?”

“You could say that,” you reply flatly. “But it’s really no one’s fault except my own. I made my bed, now I have to lay in it.”

Satoru doesn’t pry, but instead tries to make light of the situation. “Well, hopefully that bed makes you some big bucks. A few high rollers are back tonight, you know what that means.”

“Great,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “Look how well that worked out for me last time.”

Satoru chuckles, leaning against the bar. “Stop being a Debbie Downer. I’ve got a good feeling about tonight.”

“Whatever, Satoru,” you say, waving him off.

“Oh, by the way,” he says casually, placing his hand on your shoulder. “Sorry I never called you back earlier this week. It was late, and I had an early morning. Totally slipped my mind.”

You pick your head up, confused. “Huh?” You blink, the words not quite landing. “What call?”

“Monday or Tuesday maybe?” he replies, pulling out his phone. “You left me a voicemail. Didn’t actually get to listen to it though. You know me—busy bee.”

Your stomach tightens. “Satoru. What voicemail?”

He shrugs, tapping a few times on his phone before holding it out. A recording plays, and your own voice filters through the bar’s noise like a ghost from the past:

“Hey. I figured it would be easier to call you instead… Today was honestly so great, and I’m so thankful…”

Your heart pounds as you frantically grab your phone, scrolling to your recent calls. You hold your breath, dreading what you’re about to see.

Monday’s call didn’t go to Choso.

It went to Satoru Gojo.

Your stomach plummets. “Oh fuck,” you whisper, the realization dawning like a storm cloud.

✦✧✸✧✦

“It’s not even that bad,” Satoru says, leaning back against the wall with an easy shrug, his tone too nonchalant for your spiraling thoughts.

“Satoru, he probably thinks I’m an asshole!” you hiss. “What kind of decent person leaves without any context?”

“Well,” he says, smirking, “you did say you were trying to keep it casual.”

“I meant friends with benefits casual, not one-night stand casual!” you snap, running a hand through your hair in frustration.

Satoru raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Splitting hairs now, aren’t we?”

You groan, pressing your palms against your temples. The memory of Choso—his soft touch, the tenderness in his eyes, the careful way he’d folded your clothes—flashes through your mind. Guilt claws at your chest. You’re trapped in the endless loop of replaying that moment you slipped out the door, convincing yourself you made the right call while feeling the crushing weight of regret.

Satoru snaps to bring you back to reality. “Hey! Listen, I am happy to let you vent all night if that’s what you need, but right now? I need you to snap out of it.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Fine.”

“Good. Trust me, by the end of the night, you’ll forget all about what happened.” He gives you a self assured wink. “Have you ever had a bad time in this room?”

You sigh, reluctantly admitting, “...No.”

“Exactly,” he says, grabbing the black fabric blindfold from the bed. “Now, let’s get this on you so we can begin.”

The soft material brushes against your skin as he ties it securely over your eyes. The darkness heightens every sound—the creak of the door, the muffled voices, the footsteps of those entering. The bids start like any other night, with Satoru rejecting men one after the other. Their polished words fall flat, their presence failing to meet his standards.

After what feels like an eternity (and far more candidates than usual) your shoulders begin to sag. Your mind is filled with frustration and mingling with hopelessness. You’ve lost count of how many people you’ve gone through, but each rejection stings more than the last.

Just as you’re about to resign yourself to disappointment, the door opens again. This time, a heaviness fills the room. No words are spoken, but the weight of the silence speaks volumes.

You can hear Satoru’s measured footsteps as he circles the room, assessing. “Hmm…I was beginning to think the well would run dry,” he muses, his tone intrigued.

The silence stretches. You hold your breath, waiting for him to continue, wondering why this time feels different.

“Ready to give him a taste, love?” he finally asks.

The question catches you off guard. What is going on? Satoru never moves to the second phase without a single word exchanged, so you’re left to wonder what’s different this time around. Before you can dwell on it, a familiar voice cuts through the quiet.

“With all due respect, Satoru—I have been waiting all week for this. I’d rather taste her all by myself.”

Your heart stutters, the blood rushing to your ears. You know that voice.

“Very well,” Satoru replies smoothly, you can sense the amusement in his tone. “Enjoy, Choso.”

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you alone with the man who’s haunted your thoughts all week.

Choso’s footsteps approach, deliberate and slow. He reaches out, his fingers grazing the edge of the blindfold before slipping it off. The dim light floods your vision, but it’s nothing compared to the intensity of his gaze.

“You’re here,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “...But aren’t you supposed to be with everyone else right now?”

He closes the distance between you, his palm cupping your cheek with a tenderness that stops your words. His touch is warm, grounding you, but his eyes burn with something unspoken.

“The only person I have any interest in being with right now is you,” he says, his voice soft but unwavering.

“Choso, I’m so sorry. I tried calling, but—”

He doesn’t let you finish. His hands frame your face, pulling you closer. The proximity is electrifying. “If you want things clean, we can keep it clean,” he says, his tone low and deliberate. “If you want no pressure, no attachments, no strings, you’ve got it.”

Your breath catches as his words sink in, leaving you speechless.

“All I know,” he continues, his voice thick with restrained longing, “is that I’ve spent this entire week fighting every urge to put my hands all over you every time I see you. I want you… badly. So if this is what I need to do to have you, I’ll do it all.”

You try to find the words to explain everything, but the words can’t seem to form. Instead, you let out a faint whisper to repeat yourself. “I—I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” he says, a hint of a smile ghosting across his lips before he kisses you.

Whenever Choso has his lips on you, it feels like he can never get enough, but this time it feels controlled. His rhythm is sensual and slow, like every kiss is meant to savor every last bit he’s missed throughout the week.

Before you get lost in his touch, he manages to pull back. He looks at you with sincerity before his gaze darkens into lustful desire. “But if you still want to make it up to me…” he starts. “...Be a good girl and open up for me.”

The drop in Choso’s voice has your insides trembling with arousal. You notice how his demeanor has completely shifted. This is different from any other version of him that’s been between your legs. It’s dark, rough, and the type of Choso that commands your presence without even lifting a finger. You don't know what’s coming next, but you’re more than willing to step into the storm he’s offering.

 “Yes, sir.”

Your words trigger Choso’s desire to be close to you. Within seconds, you feel the weight of his body pinning you to the bed.

When you look into his eyes, the soft flames turn into a deep fiery abyss. His lips find yours with a possessive force that electrifies your core. Choso doesn’t just want you, he needs to have you and nothing will stop him.

As you kiss, you feel him slide your wrists above your head. “You know, in thinking about this a bit more, maybe a few creative consequences might be a bit more fun.” His words come out as a smoldering whisper as he motions to the restraints attached to the headboard. “You up for it?”

The thought of Choso strapping you down and having his way with you does more to your filthy mind than expected. “Mhmm,” you hum, the rush from your core begins to drip out of you.

He pauses. “Excuse me?” he teases as he locks his eyes onto yours. This is a man who is ready to dominate you from the inside out.

You give him a playfully challenging look. “Sorry—yes, sir,” you reply.

His mouth curls into a devilish grin. “Better.” Choso wraps the cuffs around your wrists, leaving yourself vulnerable to anything he could possibly do to you. “If you want to get out of these, you’ll have to earn it. How ‘bout it beautiful, ready to play?”

You watch him undress, paying attention to every muscle that’s revealed. When he finally slips on a condom, you spread your legs wide open and purr,  “Always ready for you.”

Choso sets his bare body against yours and brings his hand to your folds. He inserts his fingers into you like it’s second nature.

The motion causes you to take in a sharp inhale. God, you’ve missed how full his fingers feel inside you. “Oh yes Cho—”

“Look how wet you’re getting for me, I can’t wait to be inside that tight fucking pussy.”

The way he speaks to you fills your mind with sinful thoughts. You want him to not only fuck your tight pussy, but absolutely destroy it.

Maybe Choso is a mind reader because your wish is his command.

Without taking his hand off your clit, Choso moves himself between your thighs and directs his length into your entrance. He presses into you in one solid motion and your mind gets an instant hit of bliss.

“Fuck—” you cry, soaking all of him in.

“You’ve got it, babe.” He praises as he continues to thrust into you. “Show me how well you can take this dick.”

You want to wrap your arms around him, but the restraints serve their purpose and keep you in place. You’d think your inability to take control would frustrate you, but instead it unleashes a part of you that drives you to the brink of sensual madness. Your attraction to Choso and the way he takes charge is through the roof. You could come right here and now if you wanted to, but you know he has a lot more in store for you.

When you’ve properly adjusted to him and your wetness coats his entire shaft, his pace begins to pick up. He takes his hands and grips the outside of your thighs, the pads of his fingers burn into your skin as he raises your legs to your shoulders.

When he dips down deep inside of you, all you can hear are your needy moans filling the room.

“Good job, babe. No one’s ever taken my cock as good as you,” Choso growls. His voice is rough and labored, but unmistakably laced with passion and desire.

As he pounds himself inside of you, you can feel how much he craves the connection between you two. Being the sole source of his pleasure makes you crazy and you know that you both want the same thing: more.

“Fuck yes, Choso—harder” you plead.

To your dismay, he actually slows down—but the look on his face tells you he’s nowhere near stopping. “I’ll give you harder, princess. Flip over for me.”

“Yes, sir,” you purr. The restraints give you just enough slack to cross them over so you can set yourself on all fours. You rest your head into your elbows and arch your back to angle your ass upwards for Choso.

He palms your ass and gives it a firm slap before drilling himself back in. The thunderous sound of his hand against your skin echoes throughout the room.

The delicious stinging sensation on your flesh causes you to throw your head back with pleasure. But before you can return back to your position, you feel Choso grab a handful of your hair. He firmly tugs you back until he can whisper in your ear. “How’s that for harder, beautiful?”

He continues to drive into you, each thrust more irresistible than the last. Tears begin to fall down your cheek, but you can’t help but get drunk off of the intoxicating pain. “So…f—fucking…good,” you try to say between each breath.

Being manhandled by Choso is downright addictive. He commands you in a way that doesn’t need to be spoken. Everytime he grabs your waist, his grip says you’re mine. When he spanks your ass, his touch says you’re mine. Even when he pulls you closer to kiss your neck, his lips say you’re mine. You don't fight back because you happily oblige.

The sound of skin slapping against each other paired with a melody of grunts and moans tears through the whole room. There’s no signs of stopping until you feel the tightness in your center dance on the edge, ready to burst.

Time seems to slow when Choso is inside you, but that doesn’t stop how quickly your orgasm creeps up. You try to speak but your words come out as incoherent moans. “Choso, I’m so close—”

Choso quickly replies, “Nope—consequences, remember?” He may be god’s gift to earth, but right now he’s playing the devil. “You’re going to have to hold it in until I say you can come.” You can hear the menacing grin through his voice.

Somehow that demand turns you on even more. “Cho—” you whine.

“If you want it so badly, beg for it.” His voice is rough as he penetrates deeper into you.

You can’t help the moans that come out when he slams into your cervix. “Please Choso, let me come on your cock.”

“Good girl,” he muses. “Just like that.”

You try to hold back but you’re almost at your peak. “Please Cho—I can’t…” you pant.

“Just a little more, baby.” His pace remains unrelenting. “Breathe. You can take it.”

You try to hold yourself back as much as you can, but every second gets harder than the last. All you want to do is have your pussy throb around his dick. The way he’s making you feel is too good.

Finally, he pulls your hair to bring you up one last time and it’s like you’ve reached salvation. Choso moves his hand to cup the edges of your neck and whispers, “Come with me.”

Immediately, you shatter. And Choso is right there with you.

The gentle grip of his hands around your neck intensifies your orgasm. It makes you feel so light you could practically ascend to heaven. Your only hope right now is that Choso feels the same way too.

You can hear the groans of him coming undone, it’s like music to your ears. When he lightens his hold, his chest falls to your back. It’s soothing how well he fits around you, part of you wants to stay like this forever.

But alas, all good things come to an end. Fortunately for you, something even better waits for you at the end of the tunnel. Choso untangles you from the restraints and releases the cuffs around your wrist. When you’re on your back, he brings himself closer and wraps his arms securely around you.

Choso plants a kiss onto your lips before giving you an admiring look. “You’ve earned your way out this time, but let’s see how well you fare next Friday.”

Your smirk is paired with a playful tone. "Remind me to have Satoru update the schedule so we can do this every day."

He chuckles. "Sure, but that’ll have to wait.” His gaze turns into something deep and darker. “...I’m not even finished with you yet."

You lean in closer, your voice breathless but daring. "Give me everything you’ve got…I can take it."

Once again, he’s on top of you in the blink of an eye. "That’s my girl."

--

taglist: @jud3thedude @makingtimemine @chosslut @liiiacke @trishiepo0 @celestialforce

[wosoragebaiter69]

they’re idiots

patri guijarro x fem!reader

request: here

A/N: i love patri sm, and again naturally if my writing needs to improve just gimme a shout

TW: mentions of panic attack

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

The game was won, it was a very nice win. A comfortable 9-1, and that was fine. What wasn’t fine however were the fans after the game. In one area in particular they just kept throwing shirt and anything for us players to sign. I see Patri, my girlfriend getting frustrated at everything that’s happening and it doesn’t take a genius to see how overwhelmed she is.

Over the past few weeks it seems that the hate towards her has become obscurely large. How could anyone hate her? Especially now that she’s just gone and scored two. As much as she likes to say it doesn’t bother her I know it does and I hate to see the way she loses confidence over meaningless peoples opinions.

I walk over to the section in which fans are screaming, at this point i’m not sure how we can call them fans if they act like this. Alexia and some of the others are kicking game balls into the crowd. I stand right next to Patri, placing my hand on her lower back. She looks surprised, but continues with the overwhelming amount of fans who came to watch.

Around 5 minutes later, I can’t stand to watch her practically near a panic attack. So I say goodbye to the fans and drag her into the tunnel with me, leading her toward an area where no one would be for the time being.

“Patri? Amor, can you look at me?” I whisper, touching her forearm softly. She hesitates and looks up.

It’s then that I can see how conflicted her eyes look, how they’re slightly covered in a layer of tears, how it looks like she’s struggling to breathe. I immediately know what’s wrong.

“Hey, hey. Sit down on the floor with me. Come on.” I guide her making sure her back is rested against the wall. She looks straight up at the ceiling, trying to keep her tears at bay. My heart breaks a little.

“Amorcita, breathe with me. Feel my heartbeat got it?” I take her hand and place it on my heart as I start making exaggerated breathing patterns to help get her back to reality.

“There you go, just like that. You’re ok, they can’t see you. They can’t harm you. It’s just me.” I notice by her movements that she’s coming back. Something which I smile lightly at.

“Gracias” She says so lightly that I can barely hear her. All I do is smile.

We sit against the wall, no words need to be said. Until Alexia in all her glory strides down the hallway in her white fit.

“Hola.” She greets with a smile coming to stand in front of us.

“I suggest you two get back to the changing rooms. Nearly everyone is there, they sent me looking.” She then shifts her focus to my girlfriend.

“Patri, I’m sorry you have to be dealing with all of this stuff. It’s not easy. Just try not to get too worked up. Only makes it worse for yourself.”

“Thanks Ale.” She looks up at the captain who smiles before heading back to the change rooms.

“Well, we should probably go. After our showers, we’ll go back to the apartment and I’ll take your phone.” She looks at me questioningly. “So you don’t go into a spiral of bad thoughts. I know how you are. I won’t let that happen. Ok?” She nods and I pull her up heading back into the changing rooms. The girls all look happy but also worn down, I can empathise with that from all the trainings and games we’ve done.

Still there is a slight buzz in the air after the impressive win. Even if some exhaustion is the cost.

- - - - -

When Patri and I arrive back home, I stick to my word and she hands me her phone reluctantly. I put both of our phones in my bedside drawer and arrive in the living room to be greeted with Patri on the couch, two glasses of water on the coffee table and one of the Hunger Games movies starting to play on the tv.

I walk over smiling and sit down on the couch cuddling into Patri who only smiles. This is a good way to end the day all things considered.

“Te amo, Patri.”

“Yo también te amo, cariño.” She kisses the top of my head, turning her focus back to the screen.

[soulofapatrick]

Accidental Admittance - Derek Hale x Reader

Summary: You ask Derek to fake date you and it breaks all self-control he has

Words: 1.7k 

Warnings: none

Y/N’s POV

I was so goddamn stupid, what made me say that? What made me lie to Greenberg about having a boyfriend? About having Derek Hale as my boyfriend? God fucking damn it, me and my panic brain and my stupid, stupid heart aching for the damn alpha. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!

I’m arriving back to the Hale house too soon, having skipped school not wanting to face Greenberg today. I fired a message to Stiles telling him I wasn’t feeling too good and now I’m back here, my stomach is rumbling and I’m feeling so anxious that I know Derek can smell it from inside. The only thing I can smell with my dull human senses is the familiar scent of the surrounding woods, quickly replaced by something delicious when I open the door, throwing my bag to the side and toeing my shoes off. 

Derek’s in the kitchen, stood in front of the hob, back to to me but from the way his head raises slightly in know he can sense my presence there. He doesn’t move, waiting for me to speak and tell him why I’m home at lunchtime and why I probably reek of anxiety. Damn werewolves and their super senses. It makes me take a hesitant step into the kitchen, my gaze fixed on Derek ’s back. His bread shoulders and strong posture makes him appear even more intimidating, but I know he’s not as unapproachable as he seems.

Taking a deep breath I rather my courage and clear my throat, “Der,” I call softly, knowing he already knows I’m here but it feels weird starting a conversation with him without making my presence known like you normally would with others. He turns slightly, kaleidoscope eyes meeting mine and there’s a flicker of concern in his gaze, “I did a boo-boo.” I don’t know why I say it like that but it makes Derek visibly soften even more as he reaches for my hand and pulls me over to him. His hands grasp my hips and he’s lifting me to sit on the counter next to him so he can keep cooking. 

“What happened?” Derek asks, his voice gentle yet filled with curiosity but all I can focus on his the way his touch sends a jolt of warmth through me, going straight to my cheeks. I try to ignore it, trying to focus on the delicious smell of whatever he’s cooking on the stove, “What kind of boo-boo?” Derek asks, capturing my chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Greenberg was bothering me and I may have blurted out that I have a boyfriend…” I fiddle with my hands, not wanting to meet his gaze as I’m going to have to emphasise the fact it wasn’t just a boyfriend I said but the very man in front of me is who I said. I have to take a deep breath, mustering up the courage to continue. I can feel Derek’s intense gaze on me, thumb gently caressing my chin as he waits for me to speak. There’s a mixture of curiosity and concern in his eyes, making it even harder to meet his gaze, “Wellll…. I may have said your name…” I finally admit, my voice barely above a whisper. 

Derek’s grip on my chin tightens ever so lightly, drawing my attention to his eyes. His expression having shifted from curiosity to surprise, and I swear I see a flicker of something else in his gaze - a spark, a hint of possibility. 

“My name?” He speaks softly, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and amusement and I’m nodding, feeling a rush of embarrassment wash over me. His gaze lingers on me, his eyes searching for something. I can’t quite decipher the emotions swirling within him, but I hold my breath as I wait for his response. It feels like forever before Derek’s lips curl into a small, almost imperceptible smile. He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear, “Alright,” He whispers, his voice sending shivers down my spine, “I’ll be your boyfriend.” 

Relief washes over me, and a smile tugs at the corners of my lips. I finally dare to meet his gaze, finding a warmth and understanding that makes my heart skip a beat and I know he hears from the way his lips quirk a little as he goes back to stirring the sauce in the pan. His left hand intertwines with mine, letting me trace gentle circles on his palm, feeling the texture of his skin beneath his fingertips. The simple act of touching him bringing a sense of comfort and connection, igniting a spark of something more than just a pretend relationship. 

I watch him with admiration as he effortlessly moves around the kitchen, his movements graceful and precise, captivating to witness the way he handles each ingredient, his focus unwavering despite our conversation and the fact we’re currently officially, unofficially, dating. The aroma of the food fills the air, blending with the soft sounds of sizzling and the clinking of utensils against pots. I lean in closer, inhaling deeply, my senses heightened in the presence of the man I have been in love with since I met him almost five years ago. There was just something beyond his suggest exterior and brooding demeanour that drew me in, a depth in his eyes, the way they hold a mixture of pain, strength and vulnerability that speaks volumes. Derek is a man of few words, but his actions speak louder than anything he could ever say. He has faced unimaginable loss and heartache, yet he continues to fight for those he cares about, never giving up. It's his unwavering loyalty and protectiveness that has always captivated me, making me feel safe and cherished in his presence. Underneath his tough exterior, Derek has a heart that beats with compassion and tenderness. He may not always express it in words, but his gestures, his touches, and his unwavering support tell me everything I need to know. He has a way of making me feel seen, understood, and loved in a way that no one else ever has. 

And when Derek looks at me, really looks at me, it's as if he sees all of me—the flaws, the insecurities, and the scars—and he still cares about me despite it all. He’s glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, a faint smile playing on his lips, “You know,” He finally speaks, voice low and velvety, “If we’re going to do this boyfriend act, we might as well make it convincing.” 

I just raise an eyebrow at him, “And how do you propose we do that?” I ask, my voice coming out a little breathier than I intend as he turns the stove off and set the pots of food aside so they won’t burn. His kaleidoscope eyes never leaving mine as he steps closer, slotting himself between my legs, hands on my thighs as he closes the distance between us until I can his warm breath against my skin. 

His hands slide from my thighs to cup my cheeks, touch gentle and electrifying, “Like this,” He murmurs, lips inching closer until they finally meet mine in a kiss that sets my heart ablaze. It’s soft, yet brimming with a fierce longing and desire. There’s a gentle urgency in the way our lips move together, as if we’ve been holding back for far too long and are finally giving into the magnetic pull between us. Derek’s lips are warm and inviting, melding perfectly with mine as they move in a dance of passion and tenderness. His hands remain of my cheeks. His touch both grounding and electrifying. As the kiss deepens, his thumbs trace soothing circles along my jawline, sending shivers down my spine, every brush of his lips against mine feels like a sweet surrender. There’s a rawness to the kiss, an unspoken acknowledgement of the emotions that have been brewing between us for so long, a Monet of vulnerability. 

We eventually break apart, our lips reluctantly parting, but the connection between us remains unbreakable. Our breaths mingle, and our foreheads rest against each other, a shared moment of bliss and understanding. It’s a little overwhelming and Derek can feel it all as his gaze falls to mine again, pulling me forwards into a hug where he smooths down my hair and coos out a soft, “I’ve got you.” 

I rest my head against Derek’s chest, enveloped in his strong embrace, I’m captivated by his scent - an intoxicating blend that seems to scream everything Derek. A subtle hint of woodsmoke lingers in the air intermingled with a delicate freshness you can only get after a downpour and finally something citrusy like subtle notes of orange. It’s heady and confusing and makes me a little lightheaded to the point I’m gripping the front of his shirt like a lifeline and there’s a rumble coming from deep within his chest as if the wolf inside him is purring. It’s a primal sound and I’m not going to admit it does something to me, heading straight between my thighs and a whine leaves my throat when he finally pulls away. 

Derek’s hands slowly release their hold on me, reluctantly pulling away from our embrace, gaze lingering on my face for a moment longer, filled with a mixture of tenderness and desire, before he breaks the spell and dislodges himself from between my legs to turn his attention back to the meal he was preparing. He expertly plates up the delicious meal he had been cooking, arranging the savoury aromas on the plates with precision. The tantalising scents waft through the air, mingling with the remnants of our shared moment, creating an atmosphere that is both comforting and enticing. 

“Come on baby, let’s eat first, I can hear your stomach rumbling already.” He leans over, pressing a quick kiss to my lips before leading the way to the living room. He doesn’t look back once as if he knows I’ll be following him and fuck me, he’s right. 

I’d follow him anywhere. 

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Teen Wolf Masterlist

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