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heartepub · 2 days ago

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if i loved you less

summary. wonwoo's biggest gamble starts a week before valentine's day. pairing. jeon wonwoo x gn!reader genre/tags. non-idol!au, friends to lovers, bookworm!reader, spoilers for a 210-year old novel, wonwoo wins most creative confession, suggestive at the end wc. 2.9k suggested listening. pretty u, seventeen // dreams, the cranberries // andante andante, abba // i will, the beatles // library card, janani k. jha // aphrodite, the ridleys

notes. late to a hearts day posting, but pls accept this humble offering in between thesis cramming! i first pitched this to kae waaay back, but unfortunately it is not royal/period au (sorry ueueue). i read aspen's accidental one night stand ww and dug around my wip's for this in a fit of madness LMAOOO as always, reblogs are appreciated and come say hi if you're so inclined 🫶🏼

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Wonwoo hands you a package wrapped in brown paper, tied neatly with twine. Your eyes light up as you accept it with a soft thank you.

“Aren’t you a week early?”

“I know,” he replies simply. “I wanted to ask you to finish reading this by Friday.” Your brow furrows.

“Is it something I can finish by then?” Wonwoo nods. You feel the weight the parcel in your hands, considering his strange request.

“What brought this on?” You ask.

The shift is subtle, but you notice it nonetheless—a flicker of something passing across his eyes, and his shoulders tensing up before he pulls them down again. Wonwoo looks away, as though steeling himself for something.

“It’s my reading recommendation.”

“Yours?” You straighten. Wonwoo’s never gifted a book to you before based on his own taste. He always based it off your reading list, after being hopelessly lost navigating a bookstore and asking the clerk for help, only to give you a book wildly different from your preferences.

You hold the book close to your chest. “Can I open it now?”

“No.”

“Fine,” you pout, then frown as a thought comes to you. “Wait. I remember telling you I’m on a ban right now.”

Normally, Wonwoo was scrupulous about following your rules, one of which being that he can’t gift you a book if your current priority was reading through the ones you already had.

He seems to weigh his words carefully before replying. “I just thought this one was too important to pass up.”

You catch how his fingers curl and uncurl in his jacket, the poor fabric already wrinkled at his fidgeting. Trying to make your voice as soothing yet nonchalant as possible, you pull your lips up to a grin, thumbing the edge of the twine ribbon. “I suppose I can make an exception for my best friend.”

It seems to have the opposite effect.

There it is again—the subtle shift in his demeanor, the miniscule purse of his lip before Wonwoo speaks. “Do you have dinner plans, or are we doing movie night again?”

“Movie night sounds good. Any requests for food?”

Normally, Wonwoo would ask you to prepare ramyeon, especially after you had figured out Mingyu’s recipe, while he brought dessert. But his reply, like everything else in this conversation, is unexpected. “I’ll handle it.” He checks his watch before leveling you with an apologetic look. “I have to run. There’s a bunch of shit to do at work between, but I’ll see you on Friday?”

If he wanted to talk to you, he would. You’d never push him to say anything he wasn’t ready to share. You repeat this to yourself, even as you nod, maintaining your façade of soothing nonchalance.

“Yeah, see you.”

For the past couple of years, Wonwoo’s gift of choice has always been a book. After your protests at the price of new titles and your steadfast allegiance to your library card, among other reasons, the rules had been laid out as follows:

Copies should, as much as possible, not be brand new. They could be from thrift stores, secondhand shops, yard sales, or those Facebook groups where owners sold their old titles. Only new releases would be the exception, and even then, indie bookstores should be the first place to look.

Refer to the Notion page of your current to-be-read list for possible titles.

If you were on a book buying ban, so is he; it’s bad enough that your shelves continue to groan under the weight of books still unread.

The first rule was for your indulgence, too. You happened to take home a volume of the Diaries of Anaïs Nin only to find notes scribbled in the marginalia, and fell in love immediately. It’s a rare thing in your collection, but you do have someone’s old Letters to Milena and Giovanni’s Room, the latter with annotations in Arabic, of all languages.

You stare at the unwrapped gift, heart in your throat.

Emma.

Wonwoo must have been lying when he said it was his recommendation; you have your own well-worn copy, annotations and all, sitting in the corner of your shelf dedicated to Austen. Hands shaking, you open your messages, snapping a photo of the book laying on the desk.

You [picture] ??? wonwoo?? (Seen)

He sees it almost immediately; three dots appear onscreen.

aa wonu It’s a gift. Don’t overthink it. But I hope you won’t get mad.

You is it smth I should be mad abt?

aa wonu Up to you.

You you know i’ve read emma, right

aa wonu Have you started reading this one yet?

You turn to Chapter 1, and gasp. There, in black ink, is Wonwoo’s familiar scrawl, remarks littering the blank space between the heading and the text. You flip through the first half, seeing how he’d write anything from a smiley face to bracket off entire passages with an exclamation point. Some brackets and underlines have longer annotations beside them that you have yet to read.

It’s all in black pen—so characteristically Wonwoo, who wouldn’t be the type to use different colored highlighters and page flags, anyway.

You oh my god. wonwoo

aa wonu The last time I read a classic was in high school Don’t judge me too harshly. Please. See you Friday?

You hesitate before replying.

You yeah ofc! see you!!

Your thumbs are shaking too badly as you type the last message; the phone gets thrown on your bed, bouncing once before resting on the pillow. A hand comes up to cover your mouth. You stare at the book, mind whirring.

Years ago, there had been a time when you entertained the thought of dating Jeon Wonwoo. In night-outs where he’d offer to get you home, a hand on your back to keep you from stumbling as you’d fumble for keys that always ended up at the bottom of your bag. He had even taken to keeping a pair of slippers in his car, in your size, for you to change into when your feet were hurting. Wonwoo never told you—he just knew your foot size, just cared in the understated, quiet way he always did. When you found out, you remember thinking that this would be the kind of man you wouldn’t mind offering your heart to. Thought that obviously he’d only do something like that for someone he was in love with.

Now, of course, after his exes and your own, and no confession in sight, you had buried your wishful thinking in the deepest parts of your heart. You’d even grown to appreciate it more, finding comfort in the care that was independent of any romantic expectation.

Wonwoo, your best friend, chose, out of all the books to annotate and gift you, Emma. You know how the story goes. He knows you know how it goes. Yet Wonwoo’s thoughts are here, immortalized and entrusted into your hands, the same hands you have now buried your face in while trying to reel in your breaths.

Today, that bird you had deprived of the sun beats its wings against your ribcage, insistent once more. Your body is simultaneously numb and buzzing with energy, as though it could not decide whether it wanted to freeze up or run a few hundred laps.

It could be nothing—could be like that time with the slippers again where you allowed yourself to be caught in your wishful thinking. You don’t know if your heart can take it if it isn’t. You don’t know if your heart can take it if it is.

You welcome Wonwoo in your apartment with a painfully bright grin, accepting his proffered bag of takeout before ushering him inside. He had offered only a soft hello, barely a smile on his face as he took off his shoes by your entrance. You couldn’t bring yourself to keep up any chatter while he washes his hands in your kitchenette, even as you busy yourself a few feet away with peeling off the tape on the plastic containers and wiping away any grease that leaked out.

“I’ll set up the table,” he breaks the silence, gaze unreadable. He’s already holding the two rice containers, and two pairs of chopsticks from your stash.

You paste on a smile, tape still sticking to your fingers. “Sure.”

He walks away. Not even when Wonwoo had broken up with his last partner, who made him choose between them and you, has it been this awkward. Steeling yourself, you join him, setting down the plate of chicken and bowl of steaming kimchi jjigae a safe distance from the laptop.

Before you begin eating, you hold up a hand for him to wait. Reaching into a nearby drawer, you pull out and offer your own present—a beta-release of a game he had been eyeing for some time now. Wonwoo’s eyes soften.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, as though he hadn’t been expecting you to gift him anything.

“Of course,” you respond immediately. Wonwoo glances at you before looking away. He always sits across you when you eat, and you catch the micro-changes in his expression as he shifts, staring hard at a spot on your floor before picking up his chopsticks. He looks at anything but you. The sound of the bamboo breaking seems to echo around the space.

Eventually, it’s too much for you to bear. You square your shoulders, inhaling a quick, sharp breath.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” you begin, tentatively.

“…I thought about not coming,” he replies, raising his eyes to meet yours, which have not yet looked way from him. He looks away again. Something in your chest twists painfully, even if your body is buzzing with repressed adrenaline.

“Do you still want to watch a movie? Or are we gonna talk about it?”

Wonwoo’s eyes are guarded. “Is there anything to talk about?” he replies, an edge in his voice. “You never messaged after that day.”

“I thought you wanted today to be the day we talked about it? Seemed like too big of a thing to discuss over text.” And you had spent the last week agonizing over what to feel, how to feel, what to say, and how to say it. He presses his lips together, fixing his gaze on the piece of napa cabbage resting on top of his rice. The broth stains the grains around it with a tint of red.

He rests his chopsticks against the rim of the bowl before leaning back, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. It’s a lot. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be sorry.” The response feels automatic, but you do mean it. He has nothing to be sorry for.

You look at him, really look, searching his features. There’s something in his eyes that breaks your heart—as though he had come here already expecting heartbreak, yet showed up nonetheless.

Just like that, all the questions, any plans you had for today, vanish like smoke.

“Just—just wait here.” You set your chopsticks on your bowl. The bamboo clacks softly right before the chair creaks as you stand, stumbling back a little as you turn to your bedroom.

“Where is that—” you mutter. “Aha!” You run back to the table, where Wonwoo is waiting. Under his fingers, the takeout napkin is all but shreds, though he does try to hide it under the table once you arrive. You approach him, dragging your chair so you can sit beside him, nothing separating you.

“Hold out your hands,” you instruct. Wonwoo does, and you set down a copy of Emma on his waiting palms. But not the one he gave you the other day. It’s yours, the one you’ve owned for many years.

Wonwoo stares at it, before lifting his gaze to you.

“Did you know,” you begin softly. “I used to like Persuasion the most. I loved how it was written, how both characters were more mature than the ones in her other books. Pride and Prejudice had my favorite characters. But Emma…”

You thumb at its spine, and then at the crease on the cover, a thin white line disrupting what would have been solid black. Its careworn edges are familiar under your fingertips, and you know if you fan the pages in front of your nose it will smell like the characteristic scent of old books.

“Emma is the one I reread the most. At least, certain parts of it.” There’s a page marked—the scene where Mr Knightley finally lays his heart bare to Emma. From behind your back, you bring out his gift, flicking through the pages until you find the same page in this copy, Wonwoo’s only highlight in a book annotated with black pen.

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.

In your copy, there’s the same, with a note in your handwriting—in the script you first learned in high school and tried to revisit some years ago before giving up: me!!! but also me when!!!!!

Wonwoo looks at both of these, mouth parted. You know how sharp he is, how the pieces have already come together in his mind.

“Really?” He asks, voice soft, as though he can hardly believe it. The only thing left is for him to believe it. You know, because you are the same. It was only the heartbreak in his eyes, the anticipated rejection at the start, that made it sure for you.

Tentatively, your hands wander, moving from clasping the book to cupping his hands, cool under your own. You glance down at the book.

“‘If I have not spoken, it is because I am afraid I will awaken myself from this dream.’” Finally, you allow the giddy smile to spread across your face. Your heart flutters against your ribs, so utterly alive. “We’re both idiots, aren’t we?”

His lips twitch upward. After a moment, he begins to chuckle, and the weight on his shoulders seems to dissolve before your eyes. You begin to laugh too, simply out of the sheer relief of finally realizing that the past few days are now behind both of you.

“In case it isn’t obvious, Jeon Wonwoo, I’ve been in love with you too.” You whisper. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. Where before, he was afraid to look at you, now, it seems it’s all he can do. The fondness in his gaze is enough to bring anyone to their knees.

“Thank God,” he whispers back. You just stay there, basking in the moment, letting the joy finally seep itself into bones that have been weighed by resignation for so long. After a while, you begin to pull away, only you catch how Wonwoo’s gaze drops down as you do. You pause, gazing at him questioningly.

There’s a minute tremble in his hands as he reaches for your face, brushing your cheek with his fingers. His thumb traces a line on your jaw. He leans in, but stops, watching your reaction first before closing the distance all the way.

Though his approach was hesitant, the kiss itself is anything but. His hands find your cheek, then your neck, then your waist, pulling you further forward. You thread your fingers through his hair, both to bring him closer and to anchor yourself. There’s the faint taste of spicy broth, but you don’t care, knowing you’re the same anyway.

“That was hell of a gamble for Valentine’s,” you murmur once he pulls away, shaking your head. “Why now? How long have you known?”

Wonwoo just smiles. “It’s been a few months since either of us had a partner. And after the last one, when I was made to choose…they called me out on how unfair I was being, trying to be with them even as they knew I was in love with someone else.”

Your breath catches in your throat even as he continues.

“I tried to deny it, at the time, but they knew even before I did.” he finishes. He tilts his head and leans forward, closing the distance again. It’s more insistent now, the hands on your waist fully pulling you onto his lap. Wonwoo’s teeth nip at your lower lip, and you gasp. It shifts from chaste into something more demanding; his hands wander, fingers trailing paths of fire as they run across your back and grip your waist, as though he were finally releasing everything that had been pent up in him until this moment.

He swallows you into himself, and you allow yourself to be pulled into his passion. His mouth moves, latching down onto your neck and sucking. A quiet, shuddering moan leaves your lips. Wonwoo freezes. He pulls away, stricken, looking at you.

“Sorry,” he rasps. “I took it too far.” His hair is mussed, lips swollen and puffy. Something in your stomach stirs as you look at him like this—a Wonwoo you’d never seen before. A Wonwoo who is like this because of you. “I—”

You kiss him again, just because you can. Just a small thing, a tender reassurance. Pulling away, you smile. Absently, you play with the short strands of hair at his nape. “You’re okay. I don’t think I’m up for anything, er, more, tonight, but can we please keep kissing.”

After a beat, he chuckles, shoulders relaxing as his thumbs trace circles on your waist. Wonwoo leans in, lets your lips meet again in a slow dance, almost lazy. Like you finally have all the time in the world.

“Okay. But maybe after dinner and brushing our teeth. I’m still hungry.”

“Deal.”

Behind your ribs, the bird flies, finally free.

#wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fluff #jeon wonwoo fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfiction #wonwoo fanfic #seventeen imagines #svt fanfiction #.dive site

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astrolook · 20 hours ago

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Moon in the houses

Moon in the 1st House: Emotions? Yeah, I’m wearing them like a neon sign.

Mood Swings? Who Needs a Weather App? – One minute, you're on cloud nine, ready to conquer the world, and everyone around you is like, "Wow, you're so inspiring!" . The next minute, you're in a full-on emotional hurricane, and people are like, “Uh, is everything okay?” Yep, they can literally see the storm clouds forming.

You’re basically an emotional X-ray for anyone who needs to know how you're feeling. Super helpful in knowing exactly where you stand.

You have the perfect built-in therapist, your mom, who never asks for a copay and always responds with “I love you, sweetie.”

Moon in 1st gives you a youthful young face. If a man, could be a mama boy. On the flip side, mommy could be overbearing.

When you're happy, you radiate positivity like the sun itself. You make everyone around you feel like they’ve just had a shot of espresso… without the jitters. But when you're in a mood, watch out. It’s like the ocean’s about to swallow up the entire coast. You can go from zero to “I’m emotionally drowning, help!” in 0.3 seconds.

Moon in the 2nd House: The Emotional Shopping Spree - You feel things, and you buy things. Repeat.

When you're feeling happy, it’s like “treat yo' self” day, and suddenly you’ve got 14 new pairs of socks that totally spoke to you in the store. Feeling stressed? Well, it's probably time for a little retail therapy... because nothing says “I’m handling my feelings” like buying a $50 scented candle you’ll never use.

Impulsive purchases. When your emotions take a dive, so does your bank account. "I'm sad, I need a new purse."

When someone asks how you're feeling, your response might just be, "Well, I bought a new jacket, so I’m feeling fabulous."

Your Emotions Are Always on Sale. You're like, “You know what would make me feel even better? A cute new scarf!” Because nothing says “I’m emotionally balanced” like a $15 markdown.

You love investing in things that make you feel good—whether it’s a cozy home, a nice meal, or that perfectly curated playlist you bought (yep, it’s a thing). Your finances are tied to your emotional health like a carefully organized spreadsheet.

Moon in the 3rd House: The Over thinker's Hotline - You think, you feel, you text… then you overthink it all.

Your emotions are running wild and they need to talk. A LOT. Like, you’ll have a deep emotional moment and then immediately text your bestie about it, but also text your mom for a second opinion, and then maybe send a message to a group chat for a third—just to make sure everyone’s on the same emotional page.

You’re the Emotional Wi-Fi of your social circles—always transmitting and receiving feelings, whether anyone asked or not.

You overanalyze everything. Sent a text at 11:30 PM? Now you’re wondering if that emoji you used in your response was “too much.” Did they think you were crying in that voice message, or just, like, “really emotionally engaged”? You end up spiral-commenting under your own messages. "Wait, I wasn’t mad, I swear!" Cue overthinking every single word.

You’re emotionally open, but also maybe one text away from sending an entire novel about your mood swings. If you have a Moon in Aquarius in 3rd house, you are very much into conspiracy theories.

The overthinking is so strong, even Siri gets nervous. “Did I say that correctly? Does it sound too emotional? Let me try that again, Siri, do you think they’ll understand?"

Moon in the 4th House: Home is Where the Feelings Are - Your emotions? Oh, they're all cozy in your emotional fortress… with snacks.

If you're ever feeling down, you know exactly where to retreat: the couch, surrounded by blankets, a mountain of snacks, and probably a weirdly specific playlist of “emotional” songs you know no one else understands.

Your vibe says, "Come on in, let me feed you, and here’s a blanket!" You’re basically the human version of a warm cup of tea.

On the flip side, you can get way too attached to your personal space. Don’t even think about messing with your “comfort zone,” because that zone is sacred. You might find yourself overly attached to places, people, and objects in your home that just... feel right.

If someone says something you don’t like, you might retreat into your home and pretend to reorganize your kitchen for the next four hours. Not because it’s necessary... but because it’s emotionally satisfying.

If there’s food involved and your loved ones nearby, you’re ready for some serious heart-to-hearts.

Moon in the 5th House: The Drama Queen of Feelings - Life’s a stage, and you're always in the mood for a performance.

Your feelings take center stage like you’re auditioning for a Broadway show every single day. You’re all about self-expression, fun, and creating joy—because, let’s face it, life’s too short to not have an emotional karaoke session on a Tuesday night.

Moon in 5th bestows with a girl child. Of course, we need to check whether it is associated with any other planets.

Professions like actor or any artistic professions fits you. You can turn any situation into a joyous celebration and make even the most mundane things feel like a special event.

The flip side? When you're down, it's like the curtains close on the show, and you’re the star in a drama you didn’t sign up for. You may exaggerate your emotions a little (okay, a lot)—an offhand comment from a friend turns into a full-blown emotional musical number. Cue the tears, dramatic exits, and possibly a solo performance on why no one understands your very deep feelings.

You’re basically the person who gets emotionally invested in every movie, reality show, and Instagram post you see and also celebrities.

Moon in the 6th House: The Emotional Overachiever - Feelings? I’ll just organize them into a to-do list.

With the Moon in the 6th House, you take your emotions very seriously—like, spreadsheet-level seriously. You're not just feeling your feelings, you're tracking them, analyzing them, and organizing them with the same precision of a perfectly color-coded calendar.

Your home? Probably a Zen-like temple of organization. You could be a productivity guru and an emotional support animal all rolled into one.

You’re probably the person who compulsively checks your horoscope, wellness app, and to-do list while also making sure you're drinking enough water—because, yes, your emotional health must be on track.

Service - oriented professions.

Probably keeps a journal. Your motto - "Productivity meets therapy!"

Moon in the 7th House: Emotional Rollercoaster + Relationship Drama

You Have a PhD in Relationships – You analyze, you nurture, you feel. Basically, you’re the emotional therapist of every relationship/partnership you’re in.

Emotional Dependency? Yup, It's Real – Your partner's mood? It's now your mood. If they’re happy, you're on cloud nine. If they're sad, well, buckle up, emotional crash ahead!

You Can’t Just "Date" Someone—You Feel Them – It's never just a date night. It's a journey. You’ll be emotionally invested before the appetizers even arrive.

If your partner says, “I’m fine,” but their voice cracks, you’re immediately putting on your emotional detective hat. Something’s definitely wrong.

Your partner's mood shifts and you’re already planning a 5-step plan to emotionally heal them. Just call you “Dr. Love.”

Moon in the 8th House: The Emotional Detective with a Dark Twist

If emotions were a rollercoaster, you’d be the one flipping the safety bar off and screaming, "Let’s go faster!"

Family gatherings? More like family mysteries. You can feel the unspoken tension, and you’re practically Sherlock Holmes, trying to figure out what’s being left out. Every holiday dinner has a side of “What aren’t they telling me?"

When you lose your virginity, you could even hide it from your family.

Being vulnerable with you is like peeling an onion—layer after emotional layer until someone’s crying. Sometimes you overshare, sometimes you say, “I’m fine,” but everyone knows you’re not. You can’t help it.

You can turn pain into growth like a magical wizard. Hurt feelings? Great, now you’re ready for transformation. You take all that emotional mess and somehow turn it into deep wisdom—or a really great, tear-filled diary entry. Either way, it’s epic.

Moon in the 9th House: The Emotional Philosopher on a Soul-Searching Road Trip

Your emotions don’t stay local. You feel them on an international level, like, “Why am I feeling so deep right now? Is this about my past life in a distant land or because I watched a documentary on the Amazon?” Your emotions are basically the United Nations of your soul.

Family & Friends Talks Are Like TED Talks – When you try to explain your feelings to family/friends, it’s less “Hey, I’m upset” and more “Here’s a 45-minute monologue on the meaning of life, and also I read a book on existentialism last week.”

One minute you’re high on life, quoting philosophy, and the next, you’re googling “Why does everything feel so overwhelming?” You’ll go from thinking you’re a wise sage to wanting to crawl into bed and watch Netflix documentaries. Your moods are basically a journey, so pack your bags.

You can't just feel something—you need to analyze, interpret, and probably give it a name. "I feel anxious. Is this anxiety or is it just me tapping into the collective consciousness of humanity?

You’re an Emotional Nomad – You can’t sit still. Emotionally, you need to keep moving, exploring, learning, and growing. "Home? Well, I feel emotionally connected to 17 different places.

Moon in the 10th House: The Emotional CEO of Life

Your emotions are always on display like you’re giving a TED Talk about your deepest feelings.

You don’t just work; your career is an emotional journey. “Am I feeling fulfilled at work? If not, should I change my entire career path? Do I need a promotion to feel better about myself?!” Your job? Basically your emotional therapist, but with more PowerPoint presentations.

Public approval is your emotional fuel, and you’re like, “Did I mention I’m emotionally attached to other’s opinion of me?”

Your mood? It directly impacts your work ethic. When you’re emotionally stable, you’re like, “Let’s take over the world.” But when you're upset? You’re still working, but you’re crying in the break room, making dramatic phone calls to your loved ones.

You’re emotionally invested in how the world sees you. You need to be the best at everything, but emotionally—"Did I look too emotional during my presentation? Was my inner turmoil apparent?" It’s a lot of pressure to keep it all together, but hey, it’s worth the “likes”.

Moon in the 11th House: The Emotional Social Butterfly Who Forgets Why They Came to the Party!

People love your warm, nurturing energy, and your squad is basically a second family. Just be careful—you might adopt every stray friend like a lost puppy. You could even get in trouble for helping your friend.

One day, you're the life of the party, the next, you’re ghosting everyone because feelings. People around you should have learned to just roll with it.

If you are feeling bad, you might turn to strangers online for some emotional support.

You’re energized by like-minded people and might thrive in large social circles, community work, or even fan clubs (yes, you might cry over your favorite celebrity’s life updates).

You might bend over backward to fit into a group, even if it means suppressing your own needs. That’s right—you RSVP to events you know you don’t want to go to, then regret it immediately.

Moon in the 12th House: The Emotional Mystic Who Feels Everything & Nothing at Once

congratulations—you’ve unlocked "Feelings: Hardcore Mode." Your emotions live in the deep, mysterious waters of the subconscious, making you an intuitive, dreamy, and sometimes tragically misunderstood soul. You might love solitude but also feel unbearably lonely, sense energies others miss, and randomly cry for no reason (or is there always a reason?).

Your intuition is next-level. You pick up on vibes, unspoken emotions, and even spiritual messages like a human radio antenna. Your relationship with your mother could feel distant, mysterious, or full of unspoken emotions. Either she was deeply spiritual and nurturing or emotionally unavailable and hard to read.

Unlike most, you actually enjoy being alone. Your inner world is rich, and isolation helps you recharge from the chaos of life.

Even in a crowded room, you might feel disconnected. You crave deep emotional bonds but struggle to express your own feelings.

Emotional stress can manifest physically—sleep issues, mysterious body aches, or just always feeling tired for no reason.

You might secretly love someone from afar rather than openly express your feelings. (Just confess already!). You crave deep, spiritual connections but may self-sabotage by isolating yourself. You love soulmate vibes, but fear vulnerability.

#astrology #astrology readings #western astrology #astro observations #astro notes #vedic astrology #vedic astro notes #vedic astro observations #moon astrology #birth chart #moon sign

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shinningdance · 10 hours ago

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Undercover prep

something silly :))

summery: you help the guys getting ready for an undercover mission. Silly little moments ヾ(≧▽≦)ヾ

warnings: none!!

words: 1166

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"What even is that?" Johnny asks, turning his face so you couldn't put that weird thing on his face.

"Eye shadow..? I'm making that fake scar on your cheek with that." You explain, gently putting a small bit of it on his cheek, faking a healed scar.

You're currently sitting on his lap, his hands on your thighs to keep you stable and so he doesn't accidentally knock something over. When you agreed to help them get ready, they didn't think it would go like this, not that they're complaining.

From the corner of your eye you can see John tying his tie, which doesn't match his suit at all. Not even a tiny bit.

"Please tell me you have another tie." You huff and shake your head slightly before focusing on Johnny's fake scar again.

John pauses and looks down at the tie in his hands. "I do...but what's wrong with this one?"

"Brown suit and gray tie don't match, simply rule." Kyle answers for you, tying his own tie. Well, at least he's trying.

"They do match, no?" John asks, frowning at the tie before putting it down. "...Which color then?"

"burgundy." You answer almost immediately. "It should be in the third drawer."

While the other men are scattering around trying to piece their outfits together, you keep drawing the fake scar onto Johnny's cheek. He keeps starring at your face with a goofy grin on his lips. He lets you move his face left and right as you try to get the best angle to draw.

"Do i have something on my face?" You mumble without meeting his eyes, too busy perfecting the fake scar.

"Just bonnie eyes..." He grins, squeezing your thighs gently. His grin grows wider as you gently push at his chest.

"Let me concentrate." You warn, grip becoming tighter on the brush.

The door opens, Simon entering with a small plastic bag from the nearest store. His long legs carry him towards you and the Scot, what would be at least 10 steps for you are hardly 5 for him.

"Got the hair gel." He mutters, voice low as ever.

"Thank you..just put it down on the table." pointing towards said table you realize there is zero space. A small mirror and the make up scattered on it. "...nevermind, put it on the floor."

The only answer you get from his is a small grunt as he does what you say.

"Who's the unlucky bloke who's hair is getting destroyed?" Johnny chuckles, feeling not one bit sorry for the man.

You pause mid stroke and look at his shit eating grin, turning your head towards Simon, you can see the smile under his balaclava.

"You are the unlucky bloke." crossing his arms and tilting his head at the Scot you can see the amusement in his eyes.

Johnny's grin falters for a split second before he quickly recovers, shaking his head with mock seriousness.

"Nah, nah, not happening. My hair’s got a reputation, mate. You wouldn’t ruin a national treasure, would ya?" He looks at you with big, pleading eyes, but you’re already reaching for the gel Simon brought.

"National treasure? More like a national disaster," Kyle chimes in from the other side of the room, struggling with his cufflinks.

John chuckles as he swaps his tie, while Simon crouches down, inspecting the products on the floor with mild disinterest.

"You’ll survive," you say, scooping a small amount of gel onto your fingertips. Before Johnny can protest further, your fingers are already running through his hair, working the product in. He tenses for a moment, then sighs dramatically, slumping slightly in the chair.

"If this goes wrong, I’m blaming you," he mutters, though he doesn’t move away.

"You trust me, don’t you?" you tease, raising a brow as you continue styling his hair.

Johnny hums, then smirks. "With my life. But my hair? That’s pushing it."

Simon huffs out something that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle, and Kyle mutters, "Dramatic bastard."

"You love me," Johnny fires back.

"Questionable."

"You’re all children," John comments, straightening his tie in the mirror.

"Yet you keep us around," Simon replies smoothly.

You finish with Johnny’s hair, tilting your head as you inspect your work. "Alright, not bad. You look less like a feral dog and more like a decent human being now."

Johnny gasps, hand flying to his chest. "Ye wound me, bonnie."

You roll your eyes, grabbing a cloth to wipe your hands. "You’ll live. Now, go put on your damn jacket before I start matching your tie to your socks too."

"Can't exactly do that with you on my lap." he counters, leaning back in the chair.

"If you'd let go of my waist i could actually stand up." You retort.

"What is going on with your tie?" John mumbles as he looks over to Kyle, who is taking his tie off again.

"Not my fault this tie doesn't know how to cooperate." he grumbles and looks away, almost bashfully.

A small giggle escapes your lips as you stand up from Johnny's lap, ignoring the small whine he makes. You pick the tie up and turn Kyle so he's facing you.

Without saying anything you begin to do his tie, a simple windsor knot. You gently pat his chest after you're done and step back. "Don't you look handsome" You grin and feel your cheeks flush as he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

"You don't look to bad yourself." he smiles and gently drops your hand.

A second later you can feel another body pressed against your back, their head going for your neck in an instant. Simon's arms go around your waist, holding you against him. "It's devastating that you're not with us on this mission, would love to see you all dolled up."

You grin and lean back, one hand lifting to pat his cheek. "You can always take me on a date, would be all dolled up for you."

"Next Saturday, just get dressed up and leave the rest to us." John declares, already planning on which restaurant you all will go to.

"I call dibs on picking up the lass!" Johnny states as he re-appears in a dashing navy suit, the fake scar on his cheek and his new hair style making him look like a completely different person.

"No fair! You did that last time, it's my turn." Kyle protests and pulls you into his arms, stealing you from the tall man.

"Maybe that's something we should discuss after the mission?" Simon questions, shaking his head at this silly argument.

"He's right, let's go." John commands, but before he leaves he places a quick but loving kiss to your forehead.

Simon places a quick kiss to the top of your head before following his captain.

The two sergeants place a messy kiss on each of your cheeks before you're left alone in your home, waiting for your return.

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

a/n: like every damm time i gave up towards the end :(( already questioning if i want to make a part 2 of this where the focus is on the undercover mission. thoughts???（＾▽＾）

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #poly!141 #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #cod #kyle gaz garrick #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #john price #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #kyle garrick #kyle gaz x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader

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devosin · 2 days ago

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' to be loved is to be known ', gender neutral reader

a/n: for those without a valentine, who is in need of a reminder that they are loved.

GRAVEYARD DATE | MALLEUS DRACONIA

The cold breeze of the winter air washes over you, as the two of you make your way through the paved walkways—his hand in yours, your hand in his—his grip firm yet gentle, acutely aware of his claw-like nails, making sure not to dig them into the skin of your palm.

His hands were large, overbearing to most, but to you . . he felt warm—A comforting presence in the middle of the windy weather.

He guided you along the snowy walkways, his voice softly peaking through the wind, and you could barely hear his words through your earmuffs, as he asked . . "Is this weird?", you bit back a laugh as you meet his gaze—his skin, pale like the snow surrounding you was tinted red, . . probably due to the cold of winter—”For you, not really.”, you respond back after a minute of silence.

He turns his head to the side, and says, even softer this time, "really?", he sounded unsure of himself, "Yeah, the first time a guy took me on a date in a graveyard, I give you props for creativity, definitely one of my top Valentine's day experiences."

The corners of his lips curve upwards as he tries preventing his smile, he tugs your hand suddenly, pulling you close into his chest, "Close your eyes, were almost there"—warmth washes over you immediately, as your body makes contact with his own, a few beats of silence pass before you mumble out a soft, ". . . okay", closing your eyes as he guides you along the graveyard.

After a while, Malleus pauses, letting go of your hand and placing both of his on your shoulders, turning you around, "Open your eyes", and so you did.

And there it was, a picnic layout, amongst the snowy fields, with a cooler in the middle, a wrapped red box with a note attached placed closely beside it, "I know it's not conventional—but I figured, I'm not either so . .", he starts when you don't reply, trying to fill the sudden silence.

When you still don't reply, he lets go of your shoulder, letting his hands fall to his side, "If you don't like it, then I can just . . book somewhere else", he mumbles softly, a sudden wave of self-consciousness washing over him, "I wouldn't mind”, he added carefully, gulping nervously, nerves wracked all over his body at your silence.

“I knew this was a bad idea—”“No, Malleus, I love it.”

You replied after a long period of silence, “Did you think of this yourself?”, you asked and he let out a breath of relief before he nodded, “. . yeah”, “It’s nothing like what I’ve seen, it feels like you”, and he smiled, fully this time.

“I tried cooking . . Silver helped me with some of them, the cooler should’ve kept them warm, but it was snowing so—” before he could finish, you cupped his face, your hands pulling him close, as the two of you met for a kiss, he tasted like cinnamon, and smelt like home.

His eyes widened slightly, before his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, his eye’s closing slightly, leaning his forehead into you, savoring this moment. “I love you.”

LATE NIGHT TALKS | VIL SCHOENHEIT

"I don't know", you whispered, leaning onto the railing of the balcony, staring down into the void of darkness below, an exasperated gasp leaving you . . and Vil just stares at you, "What's not to know?", he asked softly, as he leaned down onto the railing beside you, looking directly at you while you stared below.

"A lot?", it sounded more like a question than an answer, you let out a deep breath, closing your eyes as you relaxed your shoulders, "I feel so much, yet nothing at all, it's like this weird mix of . . I don't fucking know anymore . . Love sucks, maybe I should just die single”.

After a minute of silence you look back at him, watching him hold back a laugh—that fucker found this funny? You were pouring your feelings out to him (kind-of) . . And he found this funny? . .

"Does this look funny to you?", you ask as you narrow your eyes into a glare, and he finally laughs . . a chuckle that makes your heart ache softly, you try not to think much of it, pursing your lips into a thin line, holding back your smile.

After a while he calms down and stares at you with a smile, "things happen, life happens, one small problem or a random moment of loneliness doesn't have to define anything—"

"I'm spending another year alone, what's the fun part about that . . ?", you pointed out firmly, holding up a pointed finger at him, and he stares at you with a raised brow, "Are you alone though? . . I'm here."

"You're not good company", you rebuke back, and he turns to stare at the sky, "maybe, but I might be decent company considering you keep spending time with me.”

Well . . you didn’t have anything to say about that. So, you just paused, you can’t lose an argument if you just shut up.

After a while you spoke up, "do you think . . we'd ever work?", you ask into the void of silence, as he turns to meet your gaze, and there was this silence, and something started boiling in the pit of your stomach, this feeling of . . dread . . nausea?

Vil spoke up after a while of silence, “do you want it too?” You paused, and another long silence washed over you both.

“Maybe.”

commissions / discord server / february bundles <3

@ devosin , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

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winwintea · 3 days ago

Text

my funny valentine

PAIRING ↬ best friend!lee donghyuck x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ thriller, horror, suspense, romance, crack, tooth fairy haechan, <- trust me that'll make sense, they play detectives, stalker au, valentines au, flirty jaemin, songwriter and poet mark lee, painter renjun, they all kinda down bad for y/n a little though

WARNINGS ↬ teeth. and it's gross. also stalkers !!

SUMMARY ↬ for valentines day all you wanted to do was chill with your best friend. unfortunately for you, there's a little someone claiming to be your secret admirer bringing you cryptic valentine's day gifts. you brush it off until the gifts start getting more and more sinister. can you and haechan solve this mystery before it's too late? (and can he confess some of his own feelings to you while he's at it?)

WORD COUNT ↬ 4.8k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ while this may not be a FUNNY fic, it’s very heavily inspired by MISAMO’s “Funny Valentine” so please go check that song out and give it some love <33

PLAYLIST ↬ the wolf - siames; stalker’s tango - autoheart; bust your knee caps - pomplamoose; smoke and mirrors - jayn; tag, you’re it - melanie martinez; funny valentine - misamo

The air outside is crisp, a reminder that winter hasn’t fully let go, despite the pink and red decorations plastered across storefronts. Valentine’s Day is a week away, and yet, as you step out of your apartment, the holiday is the furthest thing from your mind.

Until you nearly trip over something at your doorstep.

A single red rose rests against the welcome mat, its petals velvety and deep, almost too perfect to be real. A small, cream-colored card, tied around with a black ribbon sits at the center.

You bend down, fingers brushing over the card as you flip it open.

“You don’t see me for who I am, but I see you.”

A strange shiver trails down your spine.

You glance around the hallway of your apartment complex. The usual dull lighting flickers slightly, and the air is still. No sounds of footsteps, no hushed whispers from neighbors. Just silence.

A prank? A weird marketing gimmick? Maybe even a mistaken delivery? You don’t have a secret admirer. Or at least, not one you know of.

Still, you tuck the note into your pocket and step back inside, leaving the rose on the counter as you grab your phone. Without thinking, you call the one person who would get a kick out of this.

The line barely rings before Haechan picks up.

"Yo, what’s up?" His voice is warm, laced with the lazy charm that makes it impossible to tell whether he's just woken up or has been up scheming since dawn.

“You’ll never guess what I just found at my door.”

“You finally got that Amazon package you forgot you ordered?”

“No, you idiot.” You roll your eyes, staring at the rose. “A gift. A creepy one.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Haechan’s intrigued hum. “Creepy, huh? You have my attention. Spill.”

You quickly relay the details—the rose, the note, the unsettling feeling gnawing at your gut. You half-expect him to laugh it off, but instead, his voice drops into something quieter, more serious.

"And you're sure it wasn't left at the wrong door?"

"I’m not sure about that. My name wasn’t on it, but my neighbors are men. Who would do this to a guy?”

Another pause. Then, a small chuckle. "Well, well. Looks like you’ve got yourself a secret admirer."

"Not funny."

"Are you kidding? It’s hilarious." You can practically hear his grin through the phone. "You're living in a real-life romance movie. Or a horror movie. Either way, I’m invested."

You sigh, rubbing your temple. "So what do I do? Just… ignore it?"

"Absolutely not. We investigate. Duh."

Your brows furrow. "Investigate? It's probably just some dumb joke."

"Or," he counters, voice dripping with amusement, "it's the beginning of something way more interesting. C'mon, don't you wanna know who’s behind this? What if it’s some insanely hot dude or chick who’s just so in love with you but socially inept?”

You scoff. "Yeah, because nothing says romance like borderline stalking."

"Hey, some people are just dedicated," he teases. "Look at those BookTok people. And tell you what—meet me at the café in an hour. Bring the note. I wanna see it."

"You’re actually taking this seriously?"

"Of course! A mystery has landed right at your doorstep. And as your best friend, it is my duty to help you solve it."

You sigh. Haechan has always been dramatic.

"Fine," you relent. "But if it turns out to be a stupid prank, you owe me coffee."

"You got it, Valentine."

The café is buzzing with the usual mid-morning crowd: college students hunched over laptops, couples sharing pastries, baristas calling out names over the hum of conversation. The scent of coffee and warm vanilla lingers in the air, comforting and familiar.

You spot Haechan immediately. He’s lounged in the corner booth, one arm draped over the back of the seat, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips as he watches you approach.

“Took you long enough,” he teases as you slide into the seat across from him. “I was starting to think your mystery lover got to you first.”

You roll your eyes, fishing the note out of your pocket and dropping it onto the table in front of him. “Here. Do your thing, Sherlock.”

Haechan picks up the note with exaggerated care, holding it between his fingers like it’s a sacred artifact. He squints, tilts his head, even sniffs it dramatically before nodding. “Yep. Just as I suspected.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“This is definitely paper.”

You snatch the note back, smacking his arm with it. “Wow, incredible deduction dipshit.”

He laughs, dodging your hand before leaning in, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful. “No, but seriously. This is weird. The handwriting is neat, almost too neat. Like someone either really took their time or… copied it.”

You frown. “Copied it?”

“Yeah. Like, I dunno, tracing someone else's writing. See how the pressure is kinda uneven in some spots? It’s like they were trying too hard to be precise.”

You blink, staring at him. “Since when are you an expert in handwriting analysis?”

Haechan grins, tapping his temple. “I watch a lot of crime documentaries. Also, Renjun had a forgery phase in middle school, so I picked up a few things.”

“Of course he did,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Okay, so say you’re right—what does that mean?”

“It means whoever wrote this was really careful about not being recognized.” He leans back, drumming his fingers on the table. “Which makes me think this isn’t just some dumb prank. They don’t want you to know who they are.”

That unsettling feeling from earlier creeps back up your spine.

“What if it’s someone we know?” you ask, voice quieter now.

Haechan tilts his head, considering. “Could be. Or it could be some rando with a crush. Either way, we have a mission. I’ll show you just how good a duo we’ll be.”

You exhale. “And that mission is…?”

“To find out who’s been leaving you love letters, obviously.” He grins, reaching for his coffee. “And if they turn out to be hot, I take full credit for setting you up.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

“Hey, I take my best friend duties very seriously.”

You roll your eyes, but still can’t help but feel a bit uneasy by it all.

The uneasy feeling from the café lingers as you make your way home.

"They don’t want you to know who they are."

"What if it’s someone we know?"

You shake the thoughts away as you unlock your door, stepping inside. The first thing you notice is the rose, still resting on the counter where you left it. Something about it feels different now—less like a mystery and more like a warning.

You inhale deeply, trying to push the paranoia aside. Maybe this is all just a prank. Maybe Haechan’s just hyping it up because he loves drama. Maybe—

Your phone buzzes.

[Unknown Number]: Did you like my first gift?

A sharp jolt of fear twists in your stomach. Your fingers tighten around your phone as you stare at the message.

Not a prank.

Your mouth runs dry as you hesitate before typing back.

[You]: Who is this?

Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again.

[Unknown Number]: You’ll see soon enough.

Your heart pounds.

And then… three quick knocks on your front door.

You jump, whipping around to stare at it. The knock surprisingly wasn’t loud nor aggressive. However it got the message across.

Slowly, you step forward, peeking through the peephole. The hallway is empty. With a shaky breath, you unlock the door and crack it open just enough to peek outside.

A small, velvet box sits on your welcome mat.

Another gift.

You glance both ways down the hall—still empty. Whoever left it is already gone.

Heart hammering, you crouch down and carefully pick up the box, stepping back inside before locking the door behind you. Your fingers tremble slightly as you open it.

Inside is a delicate silver locket, its chain coiled neatly in the box. You hold it up to the light, examining the intricate engravings along the edges. It’s beautiful—almost vintage.

But when you pry it open, your breath catches in your throat.

Inside is a tiny photograph. One you recognize immediately.

It’s you.

You, standing outside your apartment building, smiling at the camera. But what makes your stomach turn is the person beside you.

Because there was someone beside you. But their face has been completely scratched out. And you have no idea who it is.

Your pulse roars in your ears as your grip tightens around the locket.

This isn’t a joke.

You fumble for your phone and dial Haechan’s number. He picks up almost immediately.

"Yo, miss me already?"

"Haechan." Your voice comes out unsteady, breathless. "It happened again."

A pause. Then, his tone shifts. It’s calm, but sharper now. "I’m coming over."

Fifteen minutes. That’s all it takes for Haechan to show up at your door, slightly out of breath, a bag of convenience store snacks in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Okay,” he says, pushing past you into the apartment, “give me the rundown. And before you ask, yes, I brought emergency snacks because I know you stress-eat.”

You let the door swing shut behind him, arms crossed. “Haechan, this is serious.”

“I am taking it seriously.” He tosses a bag of chips onto the counter before turning to you. “Now, tell me everything before I assume you’ve been cursed by a Victorian ghost.”

You exhale, pulling the velvet box from your pocket and flipping it open. “I found this at my door. Look inside.”

Haechan steps closer, peering down at the locket. He picks it up, flipping it open with careful fingers. His expression shifts immediately—the usual mischief in his eyes dims, replaced by something darker.

“The hell…?” He traces a thumb over the scratched-out face in the photo. “Okay. This? This is officially creepy.”

“No kidding,” you mutter, rubbing your arms as if that will rid you of the lingering unease. “It’s my photo, Haechan. And someone ruined it.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stares at the image. When he finally looks up, his gaze is sharp. “Where did they even get this picture?”

“I don’t know. That’s what freaks me out.” You sit on the edge of your couch, fingers gripping the fabric of your sweater. “Someone had to have taken it themselves. But I don’t remember anyone standing next to me like this.”

Haechan clicks his tongue, flipping the locket shut. “Alright. That settles it. We need a suspect list.”

You blink. “You say that like this is some kind of crime show.”

“Well, yeah,” he deadpans. “Except way more fun because it’s happening to you.”

You throw a pillow at his head. He dodges it effortlessly, grinning.

“Okay, okay,” he says, plopping down next to you. “Real talk. Do you know anyone who might be obsessed with you? Secret admirer type, or maybe even an ex with attachment issues?”

You think for a moment. And then—

“…Jaemin.”

Haechan’s brows shoot up. “Jaemin?”

You nod, stomach twisting. “He flirts with me constantly, even when I brush him off. Plus, I know I’ve caught him taking pictures of me before, but he always plays it off like it’s just a joke.”

Haechan leans back, considering. “Okay. Solid lead. What’s our game plan?”

You chew on your lip before standing. “We ask him directly.”

Haechan grins, standing up beside you. “Ooooh, an interrogation? Spicy.”

You roll your eyes, shoving your phone into your pocket. “Let’s just get this over with.”

And with that, the two of you head out—ready to confront the first suspect.

Jaemin’s usual hangout is the campus library, though calling it “studying” is generous. More often than not, he’s lounging in one of the oversized chairs, scrolling through his phone, pretending to be busy.

That’s exactly where you find him now, stretched out with his feet propped up on another chair, earbuds in, humming to himself.

Haechan nudges you. “Your not-so-secret admirer is in his natural habitat.”

You sigh, straightening your shoulders before striding over. Jaemin looks up just as you plant your hands on the table in front of him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets smoothly, pulling out an earbud. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Haechan plops down beside him. “We have some questions.”

Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “We?”

“Yeah,” you say, crossing your arms. “And you’re going to answer them.”

His lips twitch, amused. “Sounds serious.”

“It is serious,” you snap, pulling out the locket and placing it in front of him. “Know anything about this?”

Jaemin’s gaze flickers to the locket, and for the first time, his smirk falters. His fingers twitch like he wants to pick it up, but he hesitates.

“What is this?” he asks, voice quieter now.

“You tell me,” you say. “It showed up at my door today. Someone left it for me, along with a creepy note. And considering how often you love taking pictures with me, I thought I’d start with you.”

Jaemin’s jaw tightens. “You think I gave you this?”

Haechan tilts his head. “Well, you do flirt with Y/N like it’s your full-time job.”

Jaemin exhales through his nose, leaning forward. “Okay, yeah, I flirt. But this?” He taps the locket. “This isn’t me. I’d never scratch out my own damn face.”

Your stomach clenches. “So you recognize the picture?”

Jaemin hesitates for half a second too long. Then, he shakes his head. “No.”

You and Haechan exchange a look.

“You’re lying,” Haechan accuses. “Dude, you hesitated.”

Jaemin runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know where this came from, but I’ve seen that photo before. Just… not like this.”

Your pulse quickens. “Where?”

Another pause. Then, reluctantly, Jaemin mutters, “Renjun’s phone.”

Both you and Haechan freeze.

“What?” Haechan blurts. “Why would Renjun have a picture of Y/N on his phone?”

Jaemin shrugs. “No clue. It was a while ago. I remember seeing it and asking why he had it, but he just brushed me off. Thought it was weird, but not, y’know—this weird.” He gestures to the locket.

You stare at him, heart pounding. Could it be Renjun?

Haechan crosses his arms. “Alright, Nana. We’ll put you on the ‘maybe’ list for now. But if we find out you’re lying…” He drags a finger across his throat dramatically.

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Can I go back to existing now?”

You nod slowly, mind already racing ahead.

If Renjun had that photo… What else did he have?

And what would the next gift be?

The walk back to your apartment is tense. Haechan is uncharacteristically quiet beside you, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets, his brows furrowed in thought.

"You okay?" you ask.

He exhales through his nose. "Just thinking. If Jaemin’s telling the truth, why would Renjun have that picture?"

"That’s what we’re going to find out," you murmur.

When you finally reach your apartment door, a chill runs down your spine. Sitting on your welcome mat is another small box, this time heart-shaped and a deep shade of crimson.

"Of course," Haechan mutters. "Right on schedule."

You swallow hard, exchanging a wary glance with him before bending down to pick it up. Unlike the velvet box from before, this one is heavier. With trembling fingers, you lift the lid—

A soft, eerie melody drifts into the air.

A music box.

But something is… off. The tune warbles and distorts, as if the mechanism inside is struggling to play correctly. It’s haunting, a melody that should be sweet but instead sends a shiver down your spine.

Inside, nestled among the delicate gears, is a small folded note.

A song just for you.

You stare at the words, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Haechan leans in. "Okay, I really don’t like this one."

You shut the lid abruptly, cutting off the melody. "Me neither."

"Who the hell writes you a personalized creepy lullaby?" he mutters. Then, his eyes widen slightly, realization dawning. "Wait. Music. Writing. Oh, come on—"

"Mark." You say his name at the same time Haechan does.

Mark has always been the sentimental type. From writing poetry to composing random melodies in his free time. If anyone had the skills to create something like this, it was him.

You grip the box tighter. "We need to talk to him."

Haechan nods. "Now."

You and Haechan find Mark exactly where you expect him, tucked away in a corner of the campus music room, hunched over a notebook, a pencil pressed against his lips. His fingers tap absentmindedly against the desk, keeping rhythm to whatever melody is playing in his head.

Haechan nudges you. "Caught him in the act. Very suspicious."

You shoot him a look before stepping forward. "Mark."

Mark glances up, blinking in surprise. "Oh, hey. What’s up?"

You waste no time, setting the music box down on the desk in front of him. His eyes flicker to it, then back to you.

"Did you make this?" you ask.

His eyebrows pull together. "Uh… no?"

Haechan crosses his arms. "You sure? Because we know you write songs. And poems. And you definitely know everything about Y/N—"

"Okay, dude, chill," Mark interrupts, looking bewildered. "What’s going on?"

You exhale, rubbing your temple. "Someone’s been leaving me gifts. Creepy ones. This music box was the latest, and since you’re literally the most musically gifted person I know, I thought—" You hesitate. "I thought maybe it was you."

Mark stares at the box for a moment before shaking his head. "It’s not me."

"Not even a little?" Haechan presses.

Mark sighs. "Look, yeah, I write songs. And sure, I might notice things. Like when you change your coffee order or cut your hair. Maybe I think you’re really cute. But that doesn’t mean I’m stalking you."

Haechan raises a skeptical brow. "Then what about your latest poetry post? The one about ‘loving from afar’?"

Mark’s expression shifts. His ears turn red.

Oh.

You narrow your eyes. "Mark?"

He groans, rubbing the back of his neck. "That wasn’t about you, okay?"

Haechan gasps, dramatic as ever. "Then who?"

Mark hesitates, then mutters, "My ex."

You and Haechan exchange a look.

"Oh," you say.

"Oh," Haechan echoes, slightly disappointed. "So you’re the heartbroken one, not the creepy one."

Mark shoots him a glare. "Obviously."

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. "Okay. Sorry for accusing you. This whole thing is just messing with my head."

Mark softens. "Yeah, I get it. But seriously, if someone’s messing with you, you should be careful."

You nod, but your mind is already racing ahead.

The moment you step into your apartment, you feel it.

Something is waiting for you again.

Your breath catches as your eyes land on the small, folded piece of paper slipped under your door. The edges are slightly frayed, as if it had been torn from a notebook in a rush.

Haechan picks it up before you can. His fingers brush over the paper before carefully unfolding it. His eyes scan the words, his expression darkening.

You take the page from him and read:

"I see you even when you don’t see me.I wonder if you know how much you mean to me.If I could just tell you—”

The words stop abruptly, the last sentence unfinished.

And at the bottom, only a single initial is signed:

“R.”

You stare at it, heart hammering. "R."

Haechan exhales. "Renjun."

It makes sense. Jaemin had mentioned Renjun having your picture. And now this, a love confession, hesitant and unfinished.

You swallow hard. "We need to talk to him."

Haechan nods. "Before another one of these shows up."

Renjun is easy to find.

The art studio on campus is practically his second home, and sure enough, when you and Haechan arrive, he’s hunched over a sketchbook, completely lost in his work. His pencil moves in steady strokes, the faintest furrow between his brows as he concentrates.

Haechan leans in. “Bet he’s sketching you right now.”

You elbow him before clearing your throat. “Renjun.”

Renjun jumps, startled, before snapping his sketchbook shut. “Oh—hey. What are you guys doing here?”

Haechan plucks the journal page from your grasp and drops it onto his desk. “Care to explain this?”

Renjun’s gaze flickers to the torn-out page. He lets out a sharp inhale, as his shoulders start tensing.

“So it is yours.”

Renjun stays silent for a beat too long before he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Where did you get this?”

“It was slipped under my door,” you say carefully. “You signed it with ‘R.’”

Haechan crosses his arms. “Looks real bad, dude.”

Renjun lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s more of a nervous laugh than a humorous one. “Yeah… I can see that.”

Your pulse quickens. “So you did write it?”

Another pause. Then, finally, he nods. “Yeah. But not for you.”

You blink. “What?”

Renjun sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I did write that confession. But it’s old…I wrote it last year, for someone else.” He taps the page, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I threw this out months ago. I have no idea how you ended up with it.”

Haechan whistles low. “Okay, that’s actually kinda messed up.”

Renjun shakes his head. “ If someone dug this up just to mess with you… That’s not romantic. That’s obsessive.”

You grip the edge of the desk. “Then what about those photos you took of me?

Renjun looks at you, his expression not wavering, “I take photos of everyone. It’s practice for more naturalistic portrayals of human figures.”

A chill runs down your spine.

If Renjun didn’t leave the page for you… then the real admirer wasn’t just watching you. If they had gotten their hands on Renjun’s photos then…

They were watching everyone.

That night, you barely sleep.

Renjun’s words keep replaying in your mind. ‘That’s not romantic. That’s obsessive.’

The pieces aren’t fitting together. The gifts, the messages, the calculated way they’re being delivered. This isn’t just someone with a crush. This is someone who has been planning this.

You’re still lost in thought when you hear it.

A soft thud outside your door.

Slowly, you sit up, heart pounding in your ears. Haechan, asleep on your couch, stirs slightly but doesn’t wake. You swallow hard and push yourself to your feet. Step by step, you inch toward the door, pulse hammering with every movement.

You already know what’s waiting for you.

Another gift.

With trembling hands, you open the door.

Sitting on the welcome mat is a small, heart-shaped box, identical in size to the one that held the music box. But this time, the deep red velvet is stained. Dark splotches sinking into the fabric, like something wet had been resting there before drying.

Your stomach turns.

Slowly, you pick it up. It’s heavier than you expect.

You hesitate. Then, you lift the lid.

Inside, cushioned in soft silk, isn’t chocolate.

It’s a tooth.

A human tooth.

Your throat felt dry as you wanted to retch in disgust, while the box nearly slips from your hands. Your vision blurs as you stare at it, uncomprehending, unwilling to believe what you’re seeing.

Beneath the tooth, there’s a note.

"Now you’re mine."

Your fingers shake as you unfold the small slip of paper.

And that’s when you see it.

The handwriting.

It’s Haechan’s.

Your body goes cold.

Behind you, the couch creaks as he shifts in his sleep.

And you realize—

You’re trapped inside your apartment.

With him.

Your fingers tighten around the note as your heartbeat thunders in your ears.

Every nerve in your body screams at you to move. But you’re frozen. The weight of the realization crashes over you in suffocating waves.

It was him.

It was always him.

A slow creak fills the silence. The sound of someone shifting.

“Hm… you’re up?”

Your breath stutters as you whip around. Haechan is sitting up on the couch, rubbing his eyes sleepily. His voice is laced with drowsiness, but his gaze—when it lands on you—is sharp.

Too sharp.

His eyes drop to the box in your hands. He sees the note. The tooth. And then… he smiles.

A lazy, knowing smile.

Your stomach twists. “Haechan…”

He tilts his head, still watching you. “You don’t look happy to see your gift. But don’t worry I’ve improved on it.”

Your grip tightens on the box. “Why?”

Haechan exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve just asked something ridiculous. “Come on, Y/N. You’re smart. You’ve been smart this whole time. Figuring out clues, questioning the right people.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Except you never questioned me.”

You take a step back. “You helped me.”

“I guided you.” He corrects, his voice smooth. “I made sure you followed the right trail. I led you to suspects just to watch your reactions. Watch you look at them instead of me.” His smile widens, his dimples deep but unsettling. “And you fell for it. Every time.”

Your skin crawls. “The rose. The music box. The torn-out page?”

“All me,” he confirms easily. “Jaemin? Mark? Renjun? They were never real threats. Just distractions. I needed to make sure your eyes weren’t on me until the right moment.”

“And the tooth?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Haechan’s smile fades slightly, his expression unreadable. “That one’s special.” His fingers brush over his lower lip, and something dark flickers behind his gaze. “A part of me. It’s yours now.”

No way.

"Now we match."

A sick realization slithers through you.

Haechan… pulled out his own tooth.

For you.

A cold sweat prickles down your spine. “You’re insane.”

Haechan only grins. “I’m in love.”

You feel the blood drain from your face.

He sighs, standing up slowly. “I knew you wouldn’t understand right away. That’s why I took my time. I sent gifts and gave you a story to follow.” His voice softens, almost affectionate. “I wanted to watch you figure it out. I wanted to see the exact moment you realized it’s always been me.”

He takes a step forward.

And you take a step back.

His eyes flicker with amusement. “Still running from me?”

Your fingers curl into fists.

You need to get out.

Now.

Haechan watches you like a predator sizing up its prey. His smile is still there, but now, you can see it for what it truly is. A mask. A carefully crafted performance. And you were his favorite audience.

Then, he moves.

Slow, deliberate. Like he has all the time in the world. From his pocket, he pulls out a small velvet box. A jewelry box. He rolls it between his fingers, eyes never leaving yours, before sliding it across the coffee table toward you. “I saved the best for last,” he murmurs.

You don’t want to look.

But you do.

Your hands tremble as you reach for the box, flipping it open. Inside, nestled in dark velvet, are a pair of earrings.

The charms dangle from delicate gold hooks, polished smooth. But even in the dim light of your apartment, you can see them for what they are.

Teeth.

Human teeth.

Your stomach twists violently.

Haechan hums, tilting his head. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they? I worked so hard on these.” His voice drops into something softer, almost coaxing. “You’ll wear them, won’t you?”

Your breath comes in shallow gasps.

You need to get out.

Haechan sees it before you even move. His lips curl into a knowing smirk, and then—

The lights flicker.

A click.

Your front door.

Locked.

Your heart slams against your ribs. “Haechan—”

He only smiles, stepping closer.

“Shh,” he soothes. “It’s Valentine’s Day, baby.”

A flickering TV screen bathes the darkened room in cold, artificial light. The newsroom anchor, a solemn-looking woman, speaks in a measured, professional tone.

"Breaking news tonight—local authorities have launched an investigation into the disappearance of Y/N L/N, last seen on February 14th. Friends report that they were searching for a secret admirer who had been leaving a series of mysterious gifts. However, they never returned home. If you have any information regarding their whereabouts, please contact—"

The report continues, but the sound is drowned out by the hum of a familiar tune.

A figure strolls past the display window of an electronics store, hands tucked casually into his pockets. His hoodie shields most of his face, but the dim glow of the screens flickers against his features.

Haechan.

A soft, lilting hum escapes his lips.

"My funny valentine…"

He walks on, disappearing into the city’s shadows.

The TV screen flickers.

The missing person poster flashes across the screen.

“The case remains open.”

“For now.”

me when i basically lied in the summary but not really 🫶🤗 love u guys too !!

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

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leriexoxo · 1 day ago

Text

STOLEN TOUCHES (H.J x Reader)

Pairing: Jisung x afab! Reader (college au)

Tags: smut, 18+ mdni, unprotected sex, breeding, alcohol, cheating, p in v, oral (f receiving), best friends brother, noona kink.

word count: 5k+ words

Summary: Jisung had been in love with his best friends older sister for as long as he could remember, unfortunately she never saw him as anything more than her brothers friend, until that night at a frat party.

You just caught your boyfriend cheating at the party he wasn’t supposed to be at, hurt and vengeful, you decided to get shitfaced and make a few mistakes of your own, in this case the mistake was Jisung, your little brothers best friend.

Minors DO NOT INTERACT!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You lived in a neighborhood close your college with your brother Felix, who had a group of friends that he had stuck with ever since 3rd grade; Chan, Leeknow, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jisung, Seungmin and Jeongin. You saw them around so much so that the presence of two or more in your house everyday was a constant.

As Felix’s older sister, you naturally were very protective of him and you subconsciously mothered him alot, which inevitably extended to a few of his friends who were the same age as him or younger; Jisung, Seungmin, Hyunjin and Innie, those were the few ones who practically lived at your house. There wasn’t so much of an age gap between you and your brother, you gave him only three years making you his oldest friend, Chan’s age.

That evening, your girlfriends had invited you to the biggest frat party happening on campus and you were reluctant about going, but you had not seen your boyfriend San for a few days and he had promised to take you out that weekend. You picked up your phone and shot him a quick text

You: Baby, where are you right now?

10 minutes later, his typing bubble popped up, disappeared and then popped up again. Huh.

San: At my friends studio… whats up?

You: Jihyo told me about the party at Kappa house tonight, are you gonna be there? I wanna go with you babe.

San: Oh no no! Kappa? I’m not going

You: Why?

San: I’m a bit tied up at the studio, I cant make it back to campus today. You’re not going right?

You: Well i wanted to go with you, otherwise ill go with the girls.

His bubble showed him typing again for a while before disappearing. What?

San: I dont want you to go babe, there’s gonna be a lot of dudes there and i can’t protect you.

You: Sweet of you baby, but i dont need protection, i’ll be fine

San: Just listen to me babe? Get your girls to do a movie night or something 🥺 i don’t want you to go without me, please?

Why was San acting weird? It wasn’t a big deal for you to go to the party if he wasnt coming, you had attended several parties without him before. You frowned at your screen, not entirely enjoying being told what to do. Another message popped up on your screen, one from the girl’s groupchat.

Jihyo: y/n are you gonna be ready in 10 minutes?? I’m already on the way to yours

You looked at the message, then back at your outfit you already laid you and thought fuck it.

You: I have not even showered as we speak so i know damn well i wont be ready in 10 😂

Jihyo: Girl i’m leaving you tf 😂 you can be your own ride!

You: Okay ill catch up with y’all at the party!

You put your phone down and started to get ready, taking your time since you were gonna be the one taking yourself to the party, faintly in the background muffled by the sound of the shower, you heard a door slam somewhere in the house and voices start to fill out, you guessed Felix was home with his friends.

Life’s a fucking bitch

That’s what you thought as you angrily stomped down the crowded frat staircase, away from the fucking spectacle you had just witnessed in one of the bedrooms on the second floor.

He was fucking some other bitch! He said he wasnt coming to the party but you opened the door and found your boyfriend ramming his stupid dick is some other bitches ass?! You were furious! He said he was going to be holed up at the fucking studio!! He lied?!

He didn’t even notice you, too far gone and lost in cheating, he didn’t hear you yell “WHAT THE FUCK SAN?!” over the blaring music. He didnt notice you storm out in tears either.

You grabbed the first solo cup you saw on the nearest table and threw back the contents, it tasted like shit but it burned your throat and that was exactly what you needed, your mind begging to forget, you found another half empty tequila bottle and tipped it back, ready to get yourself shitfaced and let the future you deal with the aftermath.

You had been dating San for the past 8 months, it wasn’t like you had the best relationship, he was constantly flirting with girls in his faculty, he always partied without you and lied alot and to top it off, your brother and his friends absolutely hated him but you still stubbornly ignored all the red flags and stayed with San, not ever entirely believing all the cheating rumors you heard cos you trusted him, that is until a few minutes ago. Now you felt angry and numb and you wanted to hurt him back.

On the other end of the crowded room, Jisung was hanging back against the frat wall beside Hyunjin and Minho, the party was in full swing and more than half the gang was already shitfaced or on the dancefloor, but as the designated drivers, himself and Minho stuck to drinking energy drinks and soda, while Hyunjin was sipping on whatever mixture he had in his solo cup chattering excitedly about the girl who just gave him her number, he tuned them out when he noticed you angrily stomp down the stairs, knocking peoples cups over and earning a series of “what the fucks” in your wake.

Curiously, his eyes followed you as you grabbed a cup and chugged its contents, He frowned, automatically wanting to go to you but stopping himself from pushing off the wall and making his way over, he was pretty sure that cup wasn’t yours and that was not very much a y/n thing to do.

Jisung wanted to go and stop you when you picked up an open tequila bottle but he knew that It wasn’t his place to do that, he hadnt even expected to see you at the same frat party, earlier when he drove to your house to pick up Felix and the guys, he hadnt seen your car in the driveway and assumed you were off somewhere else.

Jisung had secretly harbored a crush on you for a while now, he loved everything about you, often catching himself staring at you when he was over at Felix’s, the only other person who knew how he really felt about you was Minho and that was only because nothing ever skipped him. Now watching you cleary angry and about to make alot of bad decisions, Minho nudged him with an elbow.

“Shouldn’t you go check on Noona?” He said nodding towards your direction, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Do i have to-“ Jisung started to pretend as if he didn’t actually want to go to you already, but immediately stopped in his tracks when he saw some weirdo sidle up behind you. “Okay scratch that, I’ll be right back”

He dropped his cup on the closest chair and started making his way over to you, ignoring Minho’s annoying laughter.

You were swaying your head to the loud music, hands in the hair and the contents of the bottle in your hand sloshing over, the alcohol hit you fast as you were never really much of a drinker but atleast it had you where you wanted right now. In your hazy state you felt a hand come around your waist from behind. Unfamiliar hands. You felt like you were going to throw up.

“Go awayyy” you said, words slurring as your head spun. You pushed the hands away from you, turning your back once again and taking another swig of the tequila.

“Y/n! Noona”

Your head snapped up when you heard your name, squinting to try to make out the face of the otherwise familiar voice that called you, you looked ahead of you into the large body of people melted together in a sea of sweat, smoke and neon lights.

Jisung.

Your brain hissed the name of your little brothers best friend, as he appeared in your line of sight. Through the undulating bodies, strobing multicolored lights and pulse of the speakers.

“Sungie?” You ask, squinting up at him as he got closer to where you stood.

“Are you okay Noona? I think you’ve drank enough of that” He said, gently taking the bottle away from you which caused you to whine in protest.

“Nooooo! I was drinking that” You made grabby hands at it but he lifted the bottle above his head and out of your reach.

“What are you even doing here?” You asked again in a pout, subconsciously leaning into him for support.

“I’m here with Felix and the guys, we didn’t know you were coming to this party too” he said, gently placing his free hand at your back and steering you away from the center of the dancefloor.

“Oh? I was supposed to be here with my stupid boyfriend” *hiccup* “but he lied and said he wouldn’t come here!” You complained, words slurring at how tipsy you had become.

Han raised an eyebrow at the information, turning to scan the crowd for Choi San, your music major boyfriend who he absolutely despised. He couldn’t find him anywhere.

“Where’s he then?”

Annoyed, you pushed away from him to glare as if Jisung was the cause of your problems, “i just walked in on him cheating on me upstairs”

Jisung stopped in his tracks, staring at you wondering if he heard you wrong “what?”

“He’s up there fucking some other bitch Sungie! And he didn’t even notice me walk in.. *hiccup* I hate him!” You yelled, eyes welling up with tears for the second time that night.

Jisung saw red. He clenched his fists and glared up at the stairs, torn between taking care of you and going to find San to rip his head off.

“I think i’m going to thr-“ you words got cut short as you hunched over and emptied the contents of your stomach right there in the corner of the room, all over the floor and on yourself.

“Oh shit! Are you okay noona?!” Jisung asked for the third time that night, his eyebrows rose up in shock and he tried to hold you but it was too late.

“I feel sick..” you muttered

“Lets get you cleaned up”

He pulled off his jacket and threw over your shoulder and basically carried you into the nearest free room he could get to. Once in, he set you down on your feet by the bathroom door and held it open for you.

“Can you clean yourself up? Or do i need to get your friends? Are they here? Do you need help?” Jisung rambled, unsure what to do.

You grimaced, looking down at yourself and instantly starting to regret drinking so much so fast, you fingered at the edge of your soiled crop top, wanting to peel it off but too weak to actually make the move, you barely registered Jisungs panic mode beside you.

“Off… want it off” you whined

“You want me to… do it myself?” He stuttered

“I want it offff” you started to throw a small tantrum, palming at the shirt and soiling your hands even more.

“Shit okay okay I’ll help you”

He hesitantly pinched the clean part of the top and helped you peel it off over your head, all the while he kept his head firmly facing away from you in order to provide privacy.

He heard you struggle some more before letting out a sad whine sounding almost like you were about to cry.

“Sungie it’s so hot…,” you murmur, tugging at your jeans buckle. "Can you take off my jeans…?". You look at him with puppy dog eyes.

He audibly sucks in a breath, ears turning bright red at the thought of having to see you in any state of undress, he sighs and turns around to help you.

"Fine, I'll help you take them off Noona" He gingerly reaches towards your fly to pop the button, all the while keeping his eyes trained on his hand and not letting them wander.

In his peripheral vision though he realized that you were completely bare under the shirt you had tossed, Jisung gulped hard, his brain short circuiting for a moment before you sighed in relief as you took over undressing and started to peel off your jeans while you staggered into the bathroom and closed the door.

Jisung stood frozen in his spot, the image of you full perky breasts burning into his memory. Heat and blood rushed to his cock immediately filling him out. He knew he had to get the fuck out of that room and fast. But leaving you there in that state would mean letting anyone come in to take advantage of you and that was even worse.

The sounds of the shower turning on and a little ruckus from you struggling to get clean in your tipsy state came through the bathroom door, Jisung gulped hard, his imagination was running wild, there was literally only a door separating him from your naked form in the bathroom, he could already imagine the water cascading down your soft skin and God those fucking tits? He groaned dragging his palm over his face, he was so down bad for his best friend’s sister and there was nothing he could do about it.

He knew he absolutely had no chance for several reasons, the most being that you never looked at him that way, except as your little brother’s best friend who you babied alot, another reason being that Felix would absolutely kill him if he ever knew he thought about his sister like that.

The water stopped running and Jisung stood alert, not knowing what to do with himself as he heard you finish.

“Sungie?” You called.

“I’m here…?” he called back, almost like a question than an answer.

You gingerly opened the door a little and poked your head out to him.

“I dont have a shirt” you said in a small voice, you were already feeling a little better after you threw up and washed yourself, but the pain and anger from earlier still lingered. You were a bit more sober than before with just an underlying buzz.

His eyerows immediately shot up, completely disappearing under his bangs, he rushed to pull off his own shirt to offer to you without really thinking. “Oh right! Sorry you can put this on!” He said, stretching a very toned and musclar arm towards you.

Your eyes locked onto his body. Wow.

You hadn’t seen him shirtless for years now and you had heard in passing that one of Felix’s friends had gotten tattoos but you never really bothered to know who it was or what they got, so the markings of ink on your little brother’s best friend’s body was not something you expected to see.

He had a compass on his right pec, along with a gothic text saying BLESSED, and some smaller sentences underneath it that you could not quite make out. You let your eyes roam even further, checking out his very tight and toned body, he wasn’t as big as San but damn was he fine!

Without really meaning to, you took a step closer to get a better look at the writing on Jisung’s tattoo, in the process letting go of the door you hid behind. He instantly turned red, eyes nearly popping out of its socket when he saw your naked tits for the second time that night.

“Your tattoos,” you reached for his chest, tracing your fingernail along the smaller writing, which in turn caused Jisung to shudder under your touch. “What do they mean?”

Completely stupefied, His mouth hung open his words failing him. “Wh-what?”

You took another step closer, stepping completely into his space still blissfully unaware that you were flashing him as you had nothing but your panties on, Jisung wanted desperately to look away, to respect you but he was having a hard time taking his eyes off your beautiful body. The way your full perky breasts danced with each breath and movement, he watched as you stared in awe at his own body, not even bothering to hide your approval, your palm laid flat over the BLESSED ink and your other hand came up to touch him too like you were examining an expensive piece of sculptural art.

“Beautiful” You muttered wistfully under your breath but still he caught it, it was when your fingers lightly brushed over his nipples that he jolted out of his temporary paralysis. His hand instantly flew up to stop yours from causing more damage to his resolve.

“Noona! Wait, I… your shirt?” He offered weakly. The tip of his ears had turned a pretty shade of red, he hadn’t had any alcohol but at this point, he was the one who looked more tipsy between the two of you with his red face and dilated pupils.

“So pretty”

Your brain supplied the only two simple words that occupied it as you looked up to meet his eyes, seeing him like that with such a fucked out expression instantly had you realizing the state of your undress which he had just pointed out. That sobered you up completely.

Jisung knew the moment he saw your eyes widen, that you had just now realized the position you both were in, he fully expected you to scream or run back into the bathroom or something. Anything. You only just stared back at him in mild shock but you didn’t move, you didn’t even take your hands off his body, it was like you were frozen in place but very much assertive.

You knew at that moment that you were about to do something really fucking stupid. You knew you were going to regret it, but stubbornly you wanted to leave the consequences for future y/n to handle, you could worry about all that shit later, hell you could even blame it on the alcohol but right now, you were hurting and you needed to numb the pain, you needed to forget.

With newfound courage, you leaned in closer, standing up on your tippy toes and your eyes flitting from his own eyes to his soft looking lips and back.

Jisung knew instantly what was about to happen, the atmosphere in the room was suddenly charged and you could literally cut the tension with a knife. As you pressed your breasts to his chest when you stood on your toes to reach him, he knew at that point that he had lost the battle between common sense and his already raging boner.

“Fuck it” He swooped down and captured your lips, meeting you halfway there and you instantly melted into him.

Your hands slid up his body and found purchase behind his neck, he in turn wrapped his arms around your small waist, pulling you impossibly closer and deepening the kiss. You both moved against each others lips, seemingly not being able to get enough of each other, the kiss went from gentle to heated in a matter of seconds, both your hands groping each other wildy.

The two of you stumble backwards and fall on the bed, only breaking apart for him to pepper kisses along your jawline and down your neck.

You straddled him already feeling how much he wanted you, his impressive length sat thick and hard against your butt, your underwear being only material separating you from him.

“I need to know if you’re sure about this” he mouthed against your neck, “Noona, if we dont stop now-“

“I dont know what i want Ji, but i dont want to stop” you moaned, grinding down on his member and eliciting a desperate groan from him.

He pulled you away from him just to scan your face, he wasnt sure who even looked more fucked out between the both of you. You lifted your body off him climbing down from the bed completely, not breaking eye contact you hooked your thumbs onto your panties and slowly pulled, gyrating your hips in a sexy manner and watching his eyes follow every movement. Jisung visibly swallowed when you kicked off the offending material and stood before him in your birthday suit.

You had to be the most beautiful creature he ever set his eyes on, he could hardly believe he wasn’t in one of his wet dreams where you were a regular visitor.

Jisung sprawls to a sitting position on the bed, legs opened wide, head lifted and eyes on you, beckoning you closer.

"Sungie-" you crawl on the bed and kneel between his open thighs, raking a hand through his messy hair.

He tilts his face upwards, sitting up taller, "Yes Noona."

His hands ghost on the outside of your body, not touching, but asking wordlessly for permission to touch. You groan, climbing into his lap and grasping one of his hands to press it into your ass.

Jisung moans your name, fingers biting into the bare cheek of your ass as he tumbles back onto the bed just as your lips ghost over his.

"Let me take care of you" You whisper to him.

He responds with his hands greedily trying to roll your hips into his trapped erection. You giggle at that, drawing out another groan from him along with a string of profanities.

Sitting up, you press your full weight into his pelvis, Jisung starts to whine underneath you, bucking into your soft ass.

"Tsk tsk, don't get so worked up just yet," you kiss his cheekbone before sitting back.

You come into his space after taking in the view of him beneath you, you plant a soft kiss to his lips and down his cheek, along his jaw and neck. As your hands work to unbutton his jeans, he lifts his hips with your guidance and you gift him another soft kiss before pulling them off and tossing along with your other discarded clothing.

The air between the two of you sizzles with anticipation. Slowly, tauntingly you reach up to cup him through his briefs, watching as his head kicks back with a pitchy groan.

“I want you to taste me Ji” you said before gently pushing him back to lie against the pillows.

He followed your lead, lying back and gazing up at you as you straddled him. He touched every expanse of your skin that was within his reach, your breasts, your stomach, your ass, he grabbed at everything. It was like he wanted to memorize every curve and contour of your body.

Your cunt was already drenched, you had soaked a wet patch through his briefs, leaving a pussy sized stain on it. You then lifted yourself, moving to positioning yourself so your cunt was hovering over his head.

“Wanna cum on your mouth…” you said before letting your body down on his waiting mouth.

He looked up at you with those beautiful eyes, eyes that were already rolling back at your taste.

He lapped at your folds, tongue fucking into your core. You grabbed his hair rolling your hips on his tongue. As you rolled your hips you leaned back to grab his cock through his soiled briefs, his precum staining the underwear and making more of a mess that you left it.

He jumped at the sudden touch making him groan. You started moving your hand on him, squeezing and pumping him faster and faster knowing he wasn’t gonna last.

“Keep that up and i’m gonna cum” he choked out. You let go of him making him whine ruining his high.

“Please” he whimpered.

“Why should I let you cum when you haven’t even made me cum yet hmm?” You teased.

Jisung was now on a mission, sucking at your clit as you rode his face. He nibbled on you ever so gently, the moan you let out had his head spinning .

You were getting close- He was already there and desperately fucking into your hand for a release.

His hands found their way to your hips pulling you down onto him as far as you could, basically smothering himself in your cunt. His hands slinking their way up your chest to twist at your hardened sensitive nipples. As much as you wanted to protest you didn’t, feeling your high quickly approaching. Something he knew all too well was that you needed his touch, you craved it as much as he craved yours.

“I need you to cum for me! Please Noona” he begged. Those pretty eyes stared up at you with desperation. You snapped. Pulling his hair harshly as your thighs closed around him. Your orgasm came crashing down on you like a tsunami.

When you finally came down from your high and your legs stopped trembling, you moved yourself back down and without a warning, pulled him free of his briefs and you sunk yourself down taking his throbbing cock fully. Your cunt fit so perfectly on him.

“Fuuuuuckkkk”, He moaned out, body twitching like he was trying to get away, “You’re - I’m-“

He couldn’t even get out the words before he was cumming inside of you, cock twitching deep inside you, you rolled your hips as you felt him pump you full of cum over and over again, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his hands gripping your waist so tight you were sure it would leave nail marks.

“I’m sorry!” he said in a whisper, closing his eyes tight and not being able to bring himself to look at you, and yet he made no move to pull you off because guess what? His cock was still very hard.

You started to move up and down on his sensitive cock, not caring about his overstimulation. His hands gripped at your hips pathetically whimpering.

“Then make it up to me Sungie” you smirk, not slowing your movements, you knew he had more in him judging by how he was still rock solid inside you.

Jisung easily lifted you with his arms and flipped you over, you landed under him and he sunk back into your sopping heat in one stroke, your cunt already slick and messy with your mixed juices.

“I can do that y/n” his eyes darkened and it was like he flipped a switch the moment he flipped you over, something primal was dancing behind his eyes.

“Oh God!” You moaned as he started to thrust into you, creating a sharp and steady tempo, his skin slapped yours repeatedly making pornographic lewd sounds that mixed with the music in the background.

He doesn't relent fucking into your cunt, looking down at where you were joined and watching how you were literally sucking him in, Jisung felt as though his eyes might roll to the back of his head from the sight alone.

"Fuck, you feel so fucking tight," he groans, throwing his head back as he pistons his hips as if to match the beat of the music outside. “So good”

"Jisung!" you yell, you felt yourself quiver as your orgasm slammed into you with the onslaught of his cock on that sweet spot he kept hitting that had your back arching.

He picked up your left leg and threw it over his shoulder, creating a deeper angle, he felt like he might have convulsed from pleasure in that moment.

Jisung had his mind set, he was going to ‘make it up to you’ as you wanted and to do that, he wasn’t going to stop until you were shaking, sobbing mess, until you marked his back with your pretty nails murmuring nothing but his name over and over like a prayer. Even if this was going to be his only opportunity, he wanted to fuck the memory of San out of your body.

He was rutting his hips into yours so desperately now, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and eyebrows drawn together as he tried to hold himself back from spilling inside of you again, he needed to make this last, but the way you were clenching around him and fucking him back, the way your body responded to every movement had his self control hanging by a thread.

"Sungie! Please please- ah fuck! Please" you begged, pulling his head down and biting into his neck as your second orgasmn crashed down on you, your body convulsed beneath him, you saw white.

“I’m cumming!” You managed to gasp.

"That’s it Noona, just a little longer and i’m gonna fill you up so fucking good" Jisung mutters.

He felt you squeeze and clench around him again as he fucked you through your orgasm. he couldn’t hold out much longer, so gathered the last of his energy to slam his cock against your slippery warm walls so fucking hard you has practically become one with the bed.

“I’m cumming! Take it baby” he groaned. His hips stilled as he gave you ropes and ropes of his cum.

Jisung scattered wet kisses all over your face and chest as he slowly pumped out the last bits of his cum into your spent cunt. You both panted heavily as you came down from your highs, holding onto each other tightly like you were scared you would drift away.

A comfortable silence fell upon you both and you separately wondered about the events that just happened, you ran your fingers through his hair that had gotten damp with sweat, he lifted his head to search your eyes.

“Are you okay y/n” he asked in a small voice, the primal version of him suddenly back in its shell. “Did i hurt you?”

You smiled sweetly at him. “No you didn’t sungie, i can handle it” you winked and he blushed red.

“Okay noona, but i think its time to get you home for real” Jisung said, standing and retreating to the bathroom to get towels so he could clean you up. You made to sit up and follow him but he shook his head no and gestured that you lie back down.

You knew that by morning, after the hangover you were sure to get, you were going to be in a whole lot of shit, but you just allowed yourself a night of escape, you would think about what you had done later, right now all you wanted was to be taken care of by your little brothers best friend who had just fucked the living daylights out of you.

***

Authors Note: This was a result of my horny friends imagination! I just brought it to life!

Please leave a like and reblog if you love it!

#stray kids smau #minho audio smut #bang chan #leeknow smut #han jisung #bang chan angst #skz imagines #bang chan smut #bang chan skz #chan smut #han jisung smut #jisung x reader #jisung stray kids #skz smut #jeongin #skz drabbles #stray kids

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thoughtfulfiction · 11 hours ago

Text

Friend zone? End zone.

Author’s note: Anon requested🧡

July

Packing everything up and moving to France with no idea where you'd live or how you were going to make money, to study under some of the most well known pastry giants in the world was...crazy. But somehow, opening up your own bake shop in Cincinnati felt even more like you were losing the last hold on your sanity. You didn't know anyone here, no friends or family nearby, but Velvet Clementine was your dream. And today, the dream smelled like vanilla, caramelized sugar, and the bright zest of fresh clementines, located in the middle of the Queen City. You had your own staff, granted it was four people but still, you were the owner, the boss, of your very own place.

Cincinnati had been your home for six weeks when the bell chimed, and two men—tall enough to make your display case look like a dollhouse—ducked into the shop. They moved with effortless confidence, their voices a low rumble of laughter as they scanned the display case with the focus of someone choosing their last meal. You watched them pile on various pastries, looking through the rows of mini pain au chocolat, almond croissants and pastel de nata. The mini fruit tarts featuring clementines and red velvet cakes were the items that made you fall in love with baking, hence the name of the place. The shorter man reached for a tart, its glossy colorful slices glistening under the bakery lights, nestled in a bed of creamy white chocolate mousse. You watched as the other one picked up a croissant, giving it a slight squeeze—a soft crackle of delicate layers breaking beneath his fingers. They seemed satisfied with their various selections, happily walking over to the register, the tall one flashing his almost sinfully perfect smile as he paid for everything. You thanked them for coming in and sent them on their way.

"You can't be serious, how did you not say anything?" Your sous chef Quinn let out a breath she had probably been holding since the two guys walked through the door.

"What are you talking about?"

She scoffed, remembering the fact that you’d lived in Europe the last few years so their presence didn’t hold much weight. She tossed a dish towel over her shoulder as she turned to face you, “they’re Bengals, babe. Like, literal football gods. Also, it helps that they’re stupidly attractive."

You hummed, processing everything she just threw at you. "Well, that part I did notice. And they’re freakishly...big. Good thing we made extras of everything, because I think they just wiped out half the front shelf."

Quinn laughed, stepping around you to check for herself. "I have a shelf they can—sorry."

"Okay easy tiger,” you let out a laugh, “they're gone. Are we still on for drinks tonight?"

"Oh absolutely, I definitely need a martini or three after seeing the best receiving duo in the game, in person. My boyfriend is actually going to lose his mind when I tell him."

You shake your head with a smile on your face, walking back to the kitchen to restock, the scent of butter and cocoa bean filling the air as you slip behind the counter to arrange the freshly baked tarts.

Much to your surprise, they were back three days later. The door sounded again, and the tall one walked up to you, his broad shoulders barely fitting in the doorway. "I'm Tee."

"Hi Tee," you smile, surprised. "Didn't expect to see you back so soon. Or your friend over there." Tee turns around to find Ja'Marr loading up on cheesecakes this time, not paying attention to anything else. The sight of him, mouth half-full of a pastry, causes you to chuckle.

"I didn't either but...damn. You the owner?"

You nod, hesitant but flattered.

"Excuse my language, but yo, this shit fire—like man. We had to come get some more. Everything’s made fresh, from... scratch?"

"Yeah, every morning I get here at like 5:30 and we bake everything. From scratch."

Ja'marr appears next to him, holding a mini crème brulee. "You are VERY good at your job. You'll be seeing a lot of us now that we're back for the season. Swear you weren't here when I left Cincy, how long you been here?"

"Stop, it's not that great.” You wave him off as he continues to nod profusely, holding up his latest find with wild eyes as you laugh again. “And I've been here a little over a month, just moved to Cincinnati actually."

"From?" Ja'Marr pipes up, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

"France, lived there for a few years to perfect my pastry skills and really focus on my craft."

"That's crazy, I just got back from Paris for Fashion Week. The food was amazing and looks like the classes worked cause you definitely know what you're doing."

"Thank you guys. And spread the word will you? I heard you two are kind of a big deal around here."

"Something like that, we appreciate you for these," Tee flashes a wide grin, holding up the bag as he thanks you one more time, "you'll see us back here soon."

The next day they returned the favor and since you'd been feeding them, they wanted to take you to a special spot downtown to really introduce you to the city. Of course you brought Quinn with you. Her boyfriend didn't believe this was actually happening until he Facetimed her and saw the guys for himself. It was nice to finally feel like you'd met people you got along with without having to try to be anyone but yourself. Over the next few weeks while exploring the Cincinnati food scene, you found out that Tee and Ja'marr were funny, sweet and kind, just two guys enjoying the last few weeks of the offseason before training camp ramped up. Both of them were in the midst of contract negotiations, having to explain to you the ins and outs of NFL life. They appreciated that you didn't care about their status and never asked unless they started the conversation and you loved having people around that made this city feel so much less like a foreign country.

Ja'Marr strolled in one morning with a grin, practically bouncing on his feet as he leaned across the counter. "Hey, so listen...you gotta make those mini cakes for my housewarming on Saturday. I mean, you have to be there, since we’re your best friends now and all. It’s only right."

Quinn, who had been wiping down the counter, stopped mid-motion and squinted at him. "Excuse me? So now I’m invisible? You’re just gonna act like I wasn’t the one keeping her entertained before you waltzed in with your designer sweatpants and phenomenal taste in bakeries? Some people." She shakes her head in mock disbelief.

Ja'Marr smirked, completely unbothered. "Anyway, Imma ignore that. Jealous isn't a good look on you Quinn." He quickly turns his attention back to you, "so...you'll be there Saturday right? I'll text you the address."

"Yes, I'll be there."

"And so will I, since we wanna exclude people from the conversation." Quinn adds in from behind you.

Ja'Marr, clearly pleased with his victory, flashed a grin as he turned to leave. "Speaking in third person? You know what I'll just see y'all Saturday." Before heading out, he shot you one more look over his shoulder. "Don’t forget, mini cakes."

As he walked out, Quinn glanced at you, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Looks like you’ve got some serious new friends now, huh?"

"We," you correct her, "we have some serious friends new friends now."

As a business owner, you prided yourself in being a professional. Even at your friend's party, you wanted to be more than on time and make the cakes look as pretty as possible. Quinn had joined you in the last-minute preparations, both of you arriving an hour before the gathering started to get things in order. The large living room was already buzzing—caterers setting up a lavish buffet, trays full of appetizers being placed on side tables. Some of Ja'Marr’s friends, who you assumed were visiting from Louisiana, lounged in the corner, their laughs echoing over the low hum of video game sound effects.

You and Quinn worked in tandem, setting the delicate mini cakes on a table near the center, the soft scent of the various flavors filled the room as you arranged the treats just so. You hadn’t even noticed Ja'Marr and Tee walking towards you until Ja'Marr's voice cut through the conversation.

"You brought my favorite ones, that’s so sweet. I am gonna tear. These. Up." His grin was wide as he took in the display of your pastries while wiggling his fingers.

"Be classy, please," you teased, glancing at him, "we don’t want your neighbors thinking a wild animal moved in next door."

"Nah, it’s cool," Ja'Marr shrugged nonchalantly, glancing down to check his phone. "I think one of the neighbors just got here."

The door clicked open, and in walked a tall figure. Your breath caught slightly in your chest as your gaze followed the man’s movement. His striking blue eyes swept across the room, a faraway intensity to his expression that made it seem like he was seeing more than just the people around him. There was a quiet confidence to his posture, the kind of calm authority that made him impossible to miss. His light brown hair, a little tousled in that effortless, perfect way, gave him the air of someone who had just stepped out of a high-end catalog.

"Burrow!" Ja'Marr exclaimed, his voice shifting into an easy familiarity. "Damn...I’m really surprised you here. Didn’t think you were leaving the house for a year after your little world tour."

"We went to the same country," Joe replied, his voice steady and slightly dry. "And it was just one." He gave Ja'Marr a side hug, but the moment was strange—a quick pinky shake that made you tilt your head, wondering what it meant. Something about it felt oddly intimate.

Ja’Marr turned his attention to you. "You remember that bakery we been tellin' you about? This is Y/N, the owner. We kinda best friends now so you need to get used to seeing her around. And that's Quinn, they're a package deal."

"Nice to meet you both." Joe’s voice was smooth, but there was a slight tension in the air as he extended his hand.

You reached for it, but Quinn—who had been standing beside you—was frozen. Her eyes were wide, staring at Joe like he was some kind of myth brought to life. The words she'd been about to say caught in her throat, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to process the moment. The seconds stretched on, but she didn't seem able to move, her usual confidence wiped away by her starstruck shock.

You nudged her lightly with your elbow, snapping her back to reality. She blinked, her expression changing in an instant. “Sorry,” she said quickly, her voice higher-pitched than usual as she shook Joe’s hand. “It’s just—um—I'm, like, a huge fan. My boyfriend, too. He’s gonna lose his shit when I tell him I met Joe Burrow.”

Joe’s eyebrow raised slightly, a small, amused smile pulling at his lips as he noticed her flustered reaction. He let out a soft chuckle. "Well, nice to meet you, Quinn."

You laughed softly, shaking your head at Quinn, trying to play it off while feeling your own pulse steadily increasing. Quinn, still flushed from her sudden nervousness, was no longer frozen but her eyes were still glued to Joe, unable to hide the awe on her face.

"Okay, now that we've got that out of the way," Ja'Marr said, clearly enjoying the shift in energy. "I know you don't play about your diet but when I tell you these cakes are the best thing I've ever put in my body? I'm being serious."

Before you can roll your eyes or downplay it, the homeowner stops you. "Don't even think about it, I don't wanna hear none of that. We just need to get him to try one."

Joe grabs one with a Biscoff cookie on top and takes a bite, completely unfazed by the fact that everyone is watching. "Wow, this is. This is incredible. I get why they won't shut up about your place. This is really good."

"Thank you," you laugh softly, trying to push down the weird sense of nervousness pooling in your chest. "And thanks for breaking your strict diet to try it, that means a lot."

He nods and more people start to show up so Ja'Marr leaves to greet them and Tee grabs a few tiny cakes for himself, Quinn asking him if he wants a plate. Everyone moved on from the previous conversation but as you made eye contact with Joe, something unexpected happened—a flicker of recognition, of something unspoken, passing between the two of you. His gaze held yours for just a heartbeat longer than usual, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the room had melted away. Although you didn’t really want to, you ignored that feeling and focused on enjoying the night.

You and Quinn moved around the party, getting to know different groups of people, mingling with different players on the team, their significant others and she had to explain to you who all these people were. Of course you'd heard the names before, the buzz around the city the closer the players got to training camp and to the season actually starting. But if years in Europe had taught you anything, it was that sports fans are obsessively dedicated and somehow now you had also become an honorary Bengals fan because of Ja'Marr and Tee. And you couldn't wait to cheer them on. But right now? You couldn't wait to be home and in bed.

The exhaustion of the being up since 4:30 in the morning was continuously creeping up on you. The noise and the laughter mixing with the smells of rich food and the clinking of glasses was all becoming a bit too much after a long week of work. Your mind was constantly racing, your body tired and your spirit longed for some peace and quiet.

You slipped outside into the cool evening air, the chill of the night sky a welcome relief from the heat of the crowded room you'd successfully slipped out of. The city buzzed faintly in the distance, but it felt like a different world out here, away from the chatter and the constant movement.

You leaned against the porch railing, closing your eyes for a moment to just breathe.

The door clicked open behind you, and for some reason you knew exactly who it was. His presence was unmistakable.

“Didn’t expect you to be out here,” Joe’s voice was low, a little gruff but soft in the quiet of the night.

You didn’t answer right away, too focused on the quiet of the moment to form any words. You’d seen Joe around the party—he’d been laughing and chatting, looking perfectly at ease, but now he seemed... different. There was something in the way he stood, in the way he gazed at the horizon, that told you his social battery had run out just like yours had.

“You all good?” Joe asked after a beat, his voice a little more concerned than you expected.

You nodded, finally turning to face him. “Yeah. Just needed a minute. It’s...a lot, sometimes, you know? New city, new life, always on the go.”

Joe looked at you for a long moment, as though weighing something in his mind. “I get it,” he said quietly. “I’ve had days where I just need to...step away for a second. Guess we both needed some air, huh?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony. Two people who seemed like they could handle anything, both seeking a quiet moment to themselves, at the same time. You glanced at him, noting the way his hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his jaw slightly tense. He wasn’t trying to fill the silence with empty words or forced jokes, and for that, you appreciated it.

Neither of you spoke for a while, just standing there in the cool night air, the sounds of the party muffled behind the door. For the first time, you felt the world slow down a little.

Joe shifted, and you glanced over, catching the faintest flicker of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Tee and Ja’Marr won’t shut up about you. Guess it’s my turn to see what all the hype is about."

You smiled back, the moment stretching on, neither of you in a rush to move. "Hope I don’t disappoint."

Ja'Marr had you over a few nights later to go over some film with you to get you ready for "the most important season of your life." Tee walked into the living room holding an iPad full of notes, including the presumed depth chart for week 1. Joe sat on the opposite couch, a water bottle on the table in front of him. They gave you a rundown on what everybody's role is on the team starting with Joe.

"He's QB1, you know. Heart of the team, he's our leader." The more he talked, the more it sounded like he was reciting wedding vows to his quarterback, who looked like he was bored out of his mind. You glanced over at him, but he didn’t react, just sipped his water and let Ja’Marr ramble on. You had barely spoken to him all day—just small glances here and there without taking it any further.

The same thing happened the next day. And the day after that.

Finally, you spoke up. "You're not a man of many words, are you?"

Joe barely looked up as he responded, "Depends on who it is and what they're asking." His tone was casual, but there was a weight to it, like he didn’t give away words freely. Like almost every human interaction he had was a secret interview prying into his personal life.

"Okay, well, you've attended three sessions of my exclusive Bengals 101 class, and you've barely said a word," you pointed out, shifting on the couch to face him. "But yet, every day, you're here."

"I love football," he said simply, taking another sip of water. Then he set the bottle down, finally looking at you. "And I would hate for the newest football fan of the crew to be confused in the middle of the Jungle."

"Is that what they call it? The Jungle?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at the fact that he may have just cracked a joke.

Joe gave you a half-smirk and nodded. "It gets pretty wild, Y/N," he said, standing up and patting you lightly on the back as he walked past. "You better be ready."

He always kept interactions short, never going out of his way to talk to you in group settings, refusing to join the group chat that Tee had created with you, Ja'Marr, and Quinn. Instead of treating him like an onion who needed to be peeled, you just went with it and tried to lean in and embrace his dry sense of humor.

One night, you plopped down next to him on the couch. "Hey," you said casually, tilting your head to study him. "I was just wondering—do you ever smile? Like, unprompted? Or do you just reserve happy Joe for the comfort of your gigantic house when you're alone watching SpongeBob reruns?"

Joe turned his head slightly, his lips twitching into a smirk before he quickly looked away, trying to hide it.

Too bad for him—you caught every second of it.

A few hours later, as you cleaned up after another “film session”, you caught Joe watching you from across the room. Not in an obvious way—more like he was trying to figure something out, like you were a broken play he was seeing on his tablet.

He left without saying much, as always. You figured he preferred sticking to his usual routine—keeping his world small, guarded and unbelievably predictable.

So, when you saw him on the other side of Quinn's door after days of radio silence holding several bags of food, you almost dropped the bottle of wine in your hand.

"You know, you probably shouldn't have tipped that delivery guy. He just handed me these bags when I told him I was coming up here. I could've just been some horrible person stealing a perfectly good breakup recovery meal."

"I think because you're...you know—you? He probably would've handed you anything. I’m surprised he didn't ask for a selfie."

“Oh, he did,” Joe deadpanned, shifting the bags in his arms. “I signed the receipt instead. How's Quinn?"

"Honestly? She said she saw it coming, but it still sucks. You can come in."

Before long, everyone had found a spot, the coffee table now covered in takeout containers, the aroma of fried rice and lo-mein filling the air. The soft glow of the TV flickered across the dimly lit living room as Quinn sat curled up in the corner of the couch, picking at her food while Tee animatedly recounted his worst breakup story.

“At least your ex didn’t break up with you via emoji,” Tee said, waving his fork.

Ja’Marr nearly choked on his drink. “You lyin’.”

“Bro, she deadass sent me a salute emoji and just—gone.”

Quinn let out a weak laugh, shaking her head. “Okay, that’s tragic.”

“Exactly. So if I survived that, you’ll survive this.” Tee nudged her with his elbow.

The weight in the room had started to ease, the heaviness of Quinn’s breakup quickly turned into a lighter and softer energy. You sat on the couch sharing a blanket with her, almost having to force yourself into finishing your food because it was unfortunately your first real meal of the day. Joe sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, his knee brushing against yours every time one of you shifted. You told yourself it was nothing.

Every once in a while, your eyes met—quick glances during a particularly funny scene, a knowing look when Ja’Marr started yelling at the TV. He was more relaxed tonight, his usual quiet guardedness giving way to something looser, something easy.

For the first time since moving to Cincinnati, you felt it. That feeling of belonging. Of finding your people.

Quinn let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning her head against your shoulder. “I guess I’ll survive.”

“You definitely will,” you reassured her, placing your hand on hers, giving it a squeeze.

Joe shifted beside you, his voice low. “You picked a hell of a crew to stick with.”

You turned your head, meeting his gaze, something unreadable in his expression.

“Could be worse,” you teased, nudging his leg slightly.

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. For a second, it seemed like he might say something else—but instead, he just reached for an egg roll.

After that night, things started to shift more toward football. The usual late-night hangs became less frequent, the group chat more active with reminders about packing lists and schedules. Training camp was looming, and you could feel the weight of it, even though you weren’t the one suiting up.

One night at Ja’Marr’s, Tee stretched out on the couch, scrolling through his phone. "This is our last free weekend before camp. Y’all better soak it in.”

Quinn groaned. “Ugh. That means my social life is about to take a massive hit.”

Ja’Marr snorted. “Don’t act like we don’t have days off. We just gon be tired as hell.”

Joe wasn’t there that night—he’d taken off for a few days on his annual lake trip, something about needing to “reset.” Not that you were keeping tabs on his whereabouts or anything, but the house felt quieter without him.

Then, two nights before camp started, he walked into Ja’Marr’s house like nothing was different.

Except, everything was different.

Tee was mid-sentence when he noticed, his words dying in his throat as he squinted at Joe. “Boy, what the hell?”

Ja’Marr turned, eyes widening. "Nah. No way."

You blinked. “Did you—did you shave your head?”

Joe barely reacted, setting his keys down like this was any other day. “Yeah.”

“And bleach it?” Quinn added in, looking intrigued...and a little scared.

“Yep.”

Tee leaned forward, inspecting him like he was some rare species. “You look like a villain in a Fast & Furious movie.”

Joe smirked, rubbing a hand over his buzzed, bleach-blond head. “Perfect.”

Ja’Marr was still in shock. “Bro, what possessed you?”

Joe shrugged, completely unbothered. “Felt like it.”

You tried to stifle a laugh, shaking your head. Of course. The most dramatic change of the offseason, and he acted like it was nothing.

Quinn tilted her head, appraising him. “You know what? I don’t hate it.”

Ja’Marr ran a hand down his face, groaning. “Man, now we gotta deal with this version of Joe all season.”

Joe just grinned, casually grabbing a side salad off the counter like he hadn’t just broken everyone’s brains. Training camp hadn’t even started yet, and he was already causing chaos.

Quinn, Tee, and Ja’Marr burst out laughing, looking at each other with wide grins. "Hold up—do y'all realize what this means?" Tee pointed between them. "We all got buzzcuts now."

Ja’Marr gasped, nodding. "Oh, it’s a sign. We're about to be in sync this season. Chemistry off the charts."

Quinn snorted. "What, like you're the bald-headed Avengers?"

Tee clapped his hands. "Nah, we’re like…an Olympic relay team. Faster, stronger, better communication."

Joe shook his head, amused. "You guys are ridiculous."

"You say that now, but just wait," Ja’Marr said, stroking his chin like he was cooking up a master plan. "I'm over here manifesting greatness."

Joe just rolled his eyes, taking a bite of his food, but then he caught your expression. You were dying to say something. "Go ahead, tell me what you really think. I've heard a few. Cody Rhodes, Eminem..."

"I was gonna say a more attractive version of Jonah Hill in the 21 Jump Street flashback scenes."

Tee and Ja’Marr lost it. Ja’Marr literally had to grab the counter for support, and Tee was staggering away, gasping between wheezes. "Bro, I can see it!"

Joe stared at you, lips pressing together like he was physically restraining himself from laughing. "That’s just hurtful."

"You asked." You bit back a grin.

The chaos continued around you, but somehow, it ended up just the two of you standing there as the others got distracted by something else.

You hesitated. You shouldn’t ask. But you did.

"Why did you do it?" You tried to sound casual. "Your hair looked fine—I mean, more than fine—but… why?"

Joe leaned against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. His lips twitched like he was about to say something stupid. Then—

"I want frosted tips."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"And I’ve never seen anyone actually look good when they just go get them, so I’m doing it the natural way."

You just stared at him. "Joe. This is the most insane way to get blond highlights, and you know it."

"Sorry you feel that way," he said, totally unbothered. "But I don’t do things halfway. Go big or go home."

He said it so casually, but the way he was looking at you? That was dangerous. The kind of look that made the room feel a little too warm, made your stomach do an annoying little flip. His icy blue eyes held yours just a second too long—long enough for you to realize that you should run for your life.

Because if you stayed here any longer, you might have to admit that you were developing a teeny, tiny, completely inconvenient crush on Joe Burrow.

August

Having a crush as an adult kind of feels like you're having a heart attack. You could be completely fine one second and then suddenly your entire being was consumed with thoughts of him so vivid it made your chest hurt.

The first preseason game was finally here, giving you the perfect excuse to focus on literally anything else. Your first tailgate was an experience, that morning of the game was by far the busiest day you'd ever experienced. Pre-orders were being picked up left and right, mini pies and cheesecakes were snatched off the shelves before 11am and the only thing that remained by the time all of you left the shop at 2pm was a lone batch of cupcakes that you ended up giving away for free at the stadium. It was easy promo.

Paycor Stadium felt like magic. A chaotic, slightly unhinged kind of magic. Fans were everywhere—some already drunk, all of them decked out in orange, fully prepared to dedicate their mental health to a 53-man roster for the next several months. You just wanted to see your friends do what they loved—well, at least two of them, since Ja’Marr was in the middle of a holdout. Or, technically, a hold-in, since he was still around the building but not practicing. You were still trying to grasp the nuances of contract negotiations, and honestly, you needed a few more Bengals 101 cramming sessions to feel more confident in your abilities to explain the situation, if anyone were to ask.

Time slowed when Joe stepped onto the field. And the stadium erupted when he threw a touchdown to none other than Tee. You swore you saw a couple of fans crying, which was kind of heartwarming but also a little funny, considering they didn’t know him personally.

Joe hadn’t talked much about his wrist injury or the recovery process after surgery, and you never wanted to pry. You figured he’d open up when he was ready. But as you watched him out there, commanding the field like nothing had ever been wrong, you couldn’t help but wonder if it had been as easy as he made it look.

He commanded the field like he commanded every room he entered. You met up with him, Ja'Marr, Tee, Quinn and a bunch of his friends from Athens along with his family to gather at his house, not only because it was the beginning of the season, but it was also a new beginning for him post surgery. The celebration was on, laughter and quiet music filling every corner of the house. You couldn't really hear it, but it had to be from Joe's never ending playlist filled with Gunna and Kid Cudi songs. People drifted in and out of conversations, drinks in hand, taking in the importance of indulging in the calm before the storm of the regular season.

At some point, you found yourself in the kitchen, away from the noise, refilling your drink. You weren’t alone for long.

Joe lingered in the doorway for a second before stepping into the kitchen, leaning against the counter beside you. His presence was quiet but steady, like he was still deciding if he wanted to speak.

For a moment, the two of you stood next to each other silently. You were perfectly happy listening to the muffled sounds of the party happening in the next room. Then, finally, he exhaled, his voice low enough that it almost got lost in the noise.

“I um—I cried last night.”

You turned to him, startled by the sudden confession. His gaze stayed on the counter, fingers idly tracing the grain of the wood.

“There were nights when I thought I wouldn’t make it back here,” he admitted. “Like, really about thought it. More than I ever have before.” He swallowed hard, jaw tightening for a second before he let out a humorless laugh. “I’ve never been afraid of failure. Not really. But this time… it was different.”

You could only imagine what that felt like—to have the thing you built your whole life around suddenly feel uncertain. To sit in the unknown and not be able to do anything but wait.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted softly, shifting so you were fully facing him. “I can’t even imagine what that must’ve been like for you.” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “But I do know I’m glad you’re here. That you made it through. And that I get to see you come out on the other side of it.”

Joe finally looked at you then, really looked at you, and for the first time that night, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease.

Before you could stop yourself, you sighed, "I think about failure all the time."

His brows furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

You glanced down, running your thumb over the rim of your glass. “Every single day at the bakery feels like a risk. Like one wrong move, one slow month, and it all comes crashing down. I try not to let it eat me alive, but it’s always there in the back of my mind.” You huffed out a quiet laugh. “Every day is either a risk or a victory. Some days, it’s both.”

Joe was quiet for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, almost to himself. “I get that.”

And you knew he did. Probably more than anyone else. Maybe that was the thing about him—he understood the weight of expectations, the pressure of something you love being both the best and hardest thing in your life.

The party carried on around you, but the two of you stayed there, in the quiet.

Joe wasn’t sure when it started, but sometime after the day he met you, he’d found himself wanting to be near you. To talk to you. To hear what you had to say.

Now, standing here, watching the way your eyes softened when you spoke, he realized something that both excited and terrified him.

He liked you. He really liked you.

And when you smiled at him—soft, understanding, like you really saw him—something in his chest tightened. He was absolutely fucked. And he knew it.

The day after his ill-timed epiphany, he had to figure out a way to see you, without making it completely obvious that he wanted to see you. So he did the one thing he could think of.

"THE Joe Burrow, gracing my humble bakery with his presence?" You place a hand over your heart in mock surprise. "Did hell actually freeze over? Or did you finally crack under the pressure of living a sugar-free life?"

The quarterback looks around and shrugs, "told my parents about this place and I wanted to grab them something before they head out. What should I get? What's good here?" He laughs and you glare at him.

"Everything," Quinn interrupts before disappearing in the kitchen to go over their fall menu, "you know this."

"Well…surprise me." Joe says, when it's just you again. "You're the professional here. And I trust your opinion."

You pick out a few things, putting them in a box and handing them over to him after he tapped his phone on the tap to pay. His fingers brushed against yours on the box, just for a second. Just long enough for his slightly calloused touch to settle into your skin. He didn’t pull away immediately. Neither did you. And then, just like that, the moment passed.

Joe thanked you, turning on his heel and walking out without another glance. He told himself not to think about it. About the way your hand felt against his. About how his skin still felt warm where you’d touched him.

He spent a considerably long time staring at his palm in the car before shaking his head, gripping the wheel, and driving himself home.

September

The month came with the promise of real football. Instead, it delivered losses. Three straight. By the end of the month, they were 1-4, and the frustration was suffocating.

Losing wasn’t new to Joe—football was a game of highs and lows. But this? This felt different. This felt like clawing for air and only inhaling more water. He’d been playing pretty well but that hadn’t translated to team success so needless to say, he was frustrated.

And when Joe was frustrated, when the weight of the season pressed down on him, he did what he always did: he shut people out.

His routine became even more rigid. Early mornings. Earlier nights. Film. Practice. Ice baths. Rehab. Study. Sleep. Repeat. No distractions. No detours. Just football.

No one took it personally. Not really. This was how he was wired. How he dealt with things. But that didn’t mean you didn’t notice the way his texts became shorter, the way he started disappearing from the group chat, the way even Ja’Marr and Tee could barely get more than a few words out of him after a loss.

You weren’t even sure if stopping by was the right move. Still, you showed up at his house the day after their first win, peanut butter oat cups in hand and a ton of nerves in your stomach. You just…wanted—no needed to see him. To lay eyes on him and know he was okay.

Joe opened the door a few moments later, looking like a guy carrying a losing record on his shoulders. His hoodie was slightly wrinkled, his hair, which had already grown out tremendously, was still damp from a shower, and there was something unshakably tired about the way he stood.

But when he saw you, his posture relaxed just a little.

“Hey,” he said, voice low.

“Hey.” You offered a small smile, holding out the box. “Figured you’d be on lockdown mode, so I won’t keep you. Just wanted to drop these off.”

His lips twitched like he was debating whether or not to smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” You shrugged. “But I did.”

Joe exhaled, running a hand over his face before glancing down at the box in his hand with a small smile. You were definitely going to consider this a win.

You let the silence settle between you for a moment before finally saying, “I know this is my first season actually paying attention to all this, but…I do know one thing.”

He looked at you then, a softer expression on his face as he shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“This season isn’t over,” you said firmly. “Not even close. I know you well enough to know you won't just give up without a fight.”

Joe swallowed hard, slowly nodding his head. He didn’t respond right away, but you didn’t need him to. Instead, you reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder—just for a second, just to ground him.

“I’ll let you do your thing,” you murmured. “I just needed to see you for myself.”

Something flickered in his expression, something almost vulnerable, but before you could place it, he sighed, releasing a significant amount of tension in his muscles.

“Come on,” he said, closing the door behind him. “I’ll walk you out.”

The morning air was cool as the two of you walked in quiet steps toward your car. When you reached the door, you turned to say goodbye, but before you could, Joe pulled you into a hug.

It caught you off guard at first, the warmth of him, the way he held onto you like he needed this moment more than he was willing to say.

And then you felt it.

The steady, rapid beat of his heart against your chest.

You weren’t sure what it meant. If he even realized how much he was giving away just by standing here, holding you like this. And as much as you wanted to say something—to push—you got in your car holding back a smile.

October

The guys were riding on a high after beating the Giants, allowing themselves to celebrate for a total of...four hours.

By the time Joe made his way to Ja’Marr’s place, the energy in the house was still buzzing. Most of the guests had gone home and it was just the core four cleaning up in the kitchen, while others made their way in and out of the house. For once, nobody was sulking over film breakdowns or injury reports. It was rare for Joe to show up to things like this—especially in-season—but a win after weeks of frustration made it easier to step outside his routine, even if only for a little while.

He kept to himself for the most part, sitting back and listening while his receivers talked over each other about plays, what went right and what they could’ve done better. But the conversation took a sharp turn when Quinn, comfortably stretched out on the couch with a glass of wine in hand, looked up and announced, “Oh, by the way, I got her on dating apps.”

Silence.

Then all hell broke loose.

“Wait, what?” Tee sat up so fast he almost knocked over his drink. “Are you serious?”

“Like, for real?” Ja’Marr leaned forward, grinning. “Ain’t no way.”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Quinn smirked, pulling out her phone. “Took some convincing, but she finally caved. And now I get to be the supportive best friend who helps her swipe.”

Ja’Marr rubbed his hands together. “Hand it over. We gotta see this. Make sure ain’t no weirdos on there. Last thing I need is for you to end up on some true crime Netflix special.”

Joe stayed quiet, gripping the neck of his water bottle a little too tightly as you handed them Quinn your phone and she pulled up the profile. Tee and Ja’Marr crowded around, making dramatic noises every time they scrolled past a new guy.

“Absolutely not,” Tee muttered, swiping left.

“Oh, hell no.” Ja’Marr swiped even faster. “Why he posing like that?”

“This one’s kinda decent, though,” Quinn argued, nudging the phone toward them. “Look at him.”

Joe didn’t look. He didn’t join in on the commentary, didn’t make a joke, didn’t do anything except sit there, staring at the condensation rolling down his water bottle, wondering why there was a weird feeling sitting heavy in his chest.

It wasn’t like he had a right to feel any type of way about this. And he knew what it meant.

But that didn’t stop him from feeling it anyway no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

Between the temperature fluctuations and the sudden boom in business, your head was spinning. The bakery had never been more popular. What had started as a hidden gem over the summer had officially become one of Cincinnati’s go-to spots. Lines stretched out the door on weekends, with customers raving about the new fall menu: cinnamon swirl snickerdoodle blondies, apple cider donuts, maple pecan scones. You barely had time to catch your breath between managing the chaos and perfecting each batch, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Meanwhile, the Bengals’ season remained a rollercoaster. A solid win against the Browns gave everyone a glimmer of hope, but that optimism came crashing down when the Eagles steamrolled them by twenty. After that game, no one heard from Joe. His silent rage wasn’t unusual after a loss, but it was nevertheless, felt from miles away.

The next week, they bounced back in a big way, blowing out the Raiders at home. The scoreboard said it was a dominant win, but Joe was still visibly pissed, seen on the sidelines venting to Zac Taylor about missed offensive opportunities and a shit ton of penalties that should've been avoided. The moment went viral—clips of his animated rant flooded social media, with analysts debating whether his frustration was a sign of his competitive fire or a deeper issue brewing in Cincinnati.

That night, everyone met at Jeff Ruby’s for dinner, but Joe didn’t show. To the surprise of absolutely...nobody.

Toward the end of the night, the restaurant manager approached your table with a takeout bag in hand. “This is Joe’s order,” he explained. “He called it in, but something came up. He asked me to give it to you, is that okay?"

You hesitated for a second before nodding. “Yeah, I got it.”

It wasn’t long before you were standing outside his house, takeout bag in hand, knocking on his door. When he opened it, he looked exhausted. Not physically—no visible bruises or signs of injury—but mentally. His eyes were dull, his usual composed demeanor carrying an edge of frustration.

You gave him the bag. “Figured you should still eat.”

Joe took it with a small nod. “Thanks.”

For a second, you considered just leaving, letting him sit with whatever was weighing on him. But instead, you crossed your arms and leaned against the doorframe. “You wanna talk about it?”

He let out a slow breath, rubbing his jaw before stepping back to let you in. You followed him to the kitchen, watching as he set the bag down on the counter but didn’t open it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, finally breaking the silence. “I just—” He sighed. “I’m playing well, but I don’t know if we as a collective have what it takes to close out games when it actually matters. We can beat shit teams, but the moment we go up against a real contender, it’s like everything falls apart. And I hate feeling like we’re right there but just not good enough.”

You nodded, understanding the weight of what he was saying. Joe wasn’t the type to be satisfied with mediocrity. He needed to win, and not just in ways that looked good on paper. At this point, to get back on track they needed to look dominant— unstoppable. Not like kids throwing together a project at the last minute because they forgot the due date.

“I get it,” you said softly. “This is your job, your career. You don’t half-ass anything, and you don’t want to settle for middle of the pack.”

Joe’s lips pressed together, his gaze flickering to yours. “Exactly.”

He ran a hand through his hair before exhaling sharply. “I’m sorry for missing dinner. Just…had a lot on my mind.”

You tilted your head, a flash of curiosity taking over. “Anything besides football?”

For a second, he was quiet, debating whether or not to answer. You could see the internal battle written all over his face, his jaw tensing and flexing as he pondered the risks of honesty.

Then, he muttered, “Fuck it.”

Your brows lifted, but before you could ask, he looked at you—really looked at you—and said, “I’ve been...thinking about you.” His voice was low, steady, but you could hear the weight behind it. “More than I want to. More than I should.”

The words knocked the air from your lungs.

You should’ve said something, but for once, you had no idea what to say. Instead, you took a step forward. Joe’s eyes tracked your movement, and when you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance. His hand brushed against your waist, his gaze flickering to your lips, leaning in ever so slightly—

“Yo, have you seen my phone charger?”

Ja’Marr’s voice shattered the moment like glass.

Joe immediately stepped back, cursing again under his breath as Ja’Marr walked into the kitchen, completely oblivious to what he had just interrupted.

Your entire face was on fire and you were sure your heart was seconds away from bursting out of your chest.

Joe looked like he wanted to murder his best friend.

November

Neither of you brought up what almost happened. Maybe because neither of you were sure it should have happened. Or maybe, deep down, you were both afraid of what it would mean if you admitted that it did.

So, instead, things carried on like normal—except they weren’t normal at all.

Joe still came by the bakery, though now he had a habit of showing up under the guise of casual excuses. Like when he walked in one morning, a familiar water bottle in hand, and placed it on the counter in front of you.

“You left this at my house,” he said, completely straight-faced. “Wanted to make sure you’re staying hydrated.”

You blinked at him, then down at the bottle—one of many you’d undoubtedly left behind at places far more inconvenient. “You drove all the way here for…this?”

Joe shrugged. “Seemed important.”

Quinn made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. You didn’t have to turn to know she was giving Joe a look—one that said she saw right through him.

Still, nothing was said.

The two of you danced around the elephant in the room for 17 days. Then came the bye week, and as fate would have it, or your own personal hell, you ended up at Joe’s house, standing side by side in his kitchen as you baked a pumpkin pie together. The whole thing came randomly, he mentioned in passing that it was his favorite and he was spending his entire bye week on the couch so naturally you came up with a solution. Nobody else was free so it just ended up being you and him. Of course.

The kitchen smelled of cinnamon, nutmeg, and warm sugar, the scent pulling you into your natural element. This was your Paycor Stadium, your stage. R&B played in the background, filling the comfortable silence as Joe rolled out the pie dough with slow, concentrated movements. The counter was dusted with flour, the remnants of your work scattered across the surface.

"You’re pressing too hard," you murmured, stepping in behind him. You placed your hands gently over his, guiding his movements. "You want it even, but not overworked."

Joe huffed out a breath, the warmth of his chuckle brushing against your cheek. "So what you’re saying is, I’d be terrible on a baking show?"

You grinned, your fingers brushing against his as you both worked the dough. "I’m saying, there's some room for improvement for sure."

Joe turned his head slightly, just enough for his blue eyes to catch yours, his expression hard to read but there was a certain glimmer in his gaze. You didn’t move away. Neither did he. This was how it had been for months now—a quiet understanding, an unspoken closeness that had slowly built between you. It was in the way he showed up to your bakery with your favorite coffee, the way you memorized his weekly schedule, the way he looked for you after every home game, his gaze scanning the crowd in the player guest section postgame until he found you.

The pie crust was ready now, but neither of you were ready to move to finish it.

Joe’s hands lingered under yours, his thumbs lightly grazing your knuckles. "I like this," he admitted after a moment, his voice low. "Us. Doing this."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Me too."

It wasn’t just about the pie, and you both knew it.

You helped him move the dough into the pan, your fingers brushing again, sending little shivers up your spine. The pumpkin filling sat ready in a glass bowl, waiting to be poured, but Joe seemed far more interested in you. His eyes traced over your features, cataloging every detail as if he was afraid he’d forget them.

"What?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.

Joe shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"About?"

He exhaled slowly, rolling his lips together as if debating what to say. Then, instead of answering, he reached out to touch you, his fingers trailing down to your jawline, resting there a smidge too long. His movements were gentle, almost hesitant, as if he was giving you the chance to pull away.

You didn’t. You couldn't.

The space between you evaporated, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss so delicate, so achingly tender, that it stole the breath from your lungs. It was slow, unhurried, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of you against him. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and you let yourself sink into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. The warmth of his body, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with vanilla extract—it was intoxicating.

Joe deepened the kiss, a quiet desperation laced within it, months of lingering glances and fleeting touches culminating in this moment. You felt his hesitation fade, replaced by something raw and real, something neither of you could ignore any longer.

But then he pulled away.

And you saw it—regret, creeping into his expression before he even said the words.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. “This was a mistake.”

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Are you serious?”

Joe exhaled, looking anywhere but at you. He was still standing somewhat close but his hands weren’t on you anymore, making the temperature in the room instantly feel like it had dropped 20 degrees. Even the expression on his face was a little colder than before. “I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

Your heart was pounding, anger curling hot in your chest. It was the only thing fueling you and keeping you warm. “I think it's a little too late for that. Joe, things have already changed. These past few weeks—hell, these past few months—we’ve been dancing around this. We’re not in fucking high school. Just tell me the truth.”

You took a step closer, forcing him to face you. To look at you. “Do you honestly have no feelings for me?”

Silence.

Then, finally—too quiet— “I don’t.”

You flinched like he’d slapped you.

Joe must have seen it because he let out a heavy breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just—overwhelmed. The team is losing, and I’m playing the best football of my life, and I just—I can’t add another thing to my plate right now.”

You studied him for a long moment, jaw tight, hands clenched at your sides. Then, finally, you nodded.

You stared at him, waiting for him to take it back, to say something—but he didn’t. He just stood there, shoulders tense, eyes locked on the floor like he was hoping if he didn’t look at you, this would all just go away.

“You’re such a coward.”

Joe’s head snapped up, but you were already shaking your head, anger and frustration crashing into you all at once.

“You are so stuck in your own head,” you continued, voice sharp, unrelenting. “You keep everyone at arm’s length so you don’t get hurt. So you don’t have to admit that you actually feel things like a normal human being. You’re not some heartless football machine, Joe. You don’t have to live, breathe, and die this sport 24/7 to be fulfilled.”

You took a step forward, forcing him to face you, forcing him to hear you. “And you can stand there and act like this isn’t real, like there’s nothing between us, but I know there is. And you do too. Maybe it’s new, maybe it’s always been there, but I’m not stupid. At least I didn’t think I was.”

Joe’s jaw tightened, but he still said nothing.

And that? That pissed you off even more.

You scoffed, blinking away the sting in your eyes as you turned on your heel, grabbing your things off the counter. “If you want to pretend none of this is real, then fine. I won’t fight you on it.”

Joe didn’t move. He didn’t stop you.

You lingered for half a second, hoping—praying—that he’d snap out of it. That he’d reach for you, say your name, give you anything.

But all he did was stand there, motionless, watching you go.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head one last time before you reached for the door.

“Don’t burn my pie,” you muttered, then stepped outside, slamming the door shut behind you.

December

Joe told himself, over and over, that he’d made the right decision.

That pulling away had been necessary. That it was better this way.

But as the weeks passed, the reality of it settled in like a dull, persistent ache in his chest. The group dynamic wasn’t the same anymore. Quinn was firmly on your side, and Tee and Ja’Marr were caught in the middle, trying their best to act like everything was normal when it clearly wasn’t.

You only hung out with them if Joe wasn’t going to be there, and eventually, he stopped showing up altogether. Left the group chat, too, because what was the point?

So, yeah. He told himself this was what he wanted. That it was for the best.

Then one day, the night before his birthday while the Bengals were in Dallas, his house was broken into.

It was everywhere. The footage of the smashed window. The grainy security cam stills of showing the inside of his house. The headlines dissecting every detail—what was stolen, how much damage was done.

For a second—just a fleeting, stupid second—he thought maybe you’d reach out.

But you didn’t.

And why would you? It wasn’t your place anymore.

You were moving on. Meeting new people.

Like Cory.

Sweet, mature, honest-about-his-feelings Cory.

More than Joe could say for himself.

Joe wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.

At all, really.

But when he overheard Tee and Ja’Marr talking about you, about how you’d been going on several dates with some guy named Cory, he couldn’t help but listen.

“Seems like a good dude,” Tee said, scrolling through his phone. “Takes her out, treats her right.”

“She actually looks happy, too,” Ja’Marr added. “Not whatever the fuck that was with Joe.”

Joe rolled his eyes, slamming his locker shut. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Ja’Marr turned to him, unimpressed. “It means you fumbled, bro.”

Tee nodded. “Big time.”

Joe exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He wasn’t in the mood for this. But they weren’t letting it go, so he told them. Everything. The kiss, the fight, the way he let you walk away because he was too caught up in his own head to admit how he really felt.

By the time he finished, Tee and Ja’Marr were looking at him like he was the dumbest man alive.

“You fumbled twice,” Tee corrected.

“She’s moving on,” Ja’Marr added. “And from the sound of it, dude’s actually putting in effort. You had your chance.”

Joe didn’t respond, just sat there, feeling more irritated by the second. He told himself he didn’t care.

The restaurant was dimly lit, the soft hum of jazz playing in the background as you swirled the last bit of your wine in the glass. Across from you, Cory was smiling, eyes warm and excited in a way that made you feel a little guilty. He was sweet, thoughtful, and easy to be around. The kind of man that you bring home to your parents and settle down with. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He was easy. There was no tension, no unsaid words, no history thick enough to make the world stand completely still for a minute.

You were on your fifth date now, and even though you liked him, you knew deep down you weren’t feeling it the way you were supposed to.

“I, uh—I actually got something for you,” Cory said, reaching into his jacket pocket. “Well, it’s more of a surprise, really.”

You set your glass down, watching as he pulled out a sleek envelope and slid it across the table toward you. “Go on, open it.”

You hesitated before peeling it open, your heart practically stopping when you saw what was inside. Two tickets to the game—Bengals vs. Broncos. A must-win. And VIP passes for the postgame meet-and-greet.

You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you.

“I wasn't snooping in your house or anything but I did see a Bengals cup in your cabinet the other day. But you never really said anything about being a fan?” Cory said, clearly proud of himself. “i don't know, I figured you might like it. And hey, you can finally meet some of the players.”

Your stomach twisted painfully. You swallowed down the instinct to refuse, to make up an excuse, to say absolutely the fuck not. But what reason did you have? To Cory, there was nothing complicated about this—just a thoughtful gift for someone he was getting to know.

You forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look as fake as it felt. “Wow, Cory. This is...really sweet of you.”

“So, you’ll come?” he asked, his grin widening.

You nodded, the weight of your own decision pressing against your chest. “Yeah,” you said, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “I’ll go.”

And just like that, you sealed your fate.

Admittedly, it was their best game of the season. A win in OT, a Tee touchdown to keep their playoff hopes alive, and all the players riding on a high of a multiple game win streak. A month ago, you would've been celebrating right along with them. But tonight you really needed to get through this meet and greet without throwing up. And without blowing your cover. If nothing else, this was Cory's opportunity to have a once in a lifetime experience and the last thing you wanted to do is ruin that.

And then you saw him.

And Joe saw you with...him.

He saw how the guy next to you couldn’t wait to shake his hand—Joe thought it was a joke. Thought maybe this was some kind of sick cosmic punishment for all the terrible decisions he’d made in the last few months.

You looked good, unfairly good in your jacket and Bengals beanie, one that Tee had given you and Joe felt his irritation morph into something else entirely.

You weren’t even looking at him.

Cory, meanwhile, was beaming. “Man, it’s so cool to meet you. You played great tonight.”

Joe barely managed a nod, jaw tight.

Cory didn’t seem to notice the tension thickening the air, but you did.

And when your eyes finally met Joe’s, there was something there—something that made his pulse jump—before you quickly looked away.

Yeah. Joe was pissed.

The moment Cory got distracted meeting some of the other players, shaking hands and taking pictures, Joe saw his chance. He stepped toward you, lowering his voice.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You scoffed, folding your arms over your chest. “Attending a football game, in the city I live in. Apparently that's a crime now.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then be more specific," you bite out.

Joe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. “Him? This?” He gestured vaguely in Cory’s direction. “Really?”

Your expression hardened. “Yes, really. He’s kind, honest, actually says what he feels instead of hiding behind excuses and—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “You know what? No. I don’t owe you an explanation. I don't owe you shit.”

Joe clenched his jaw. “So that’s it? You’re just—what? Moving on like none of it mattered?”

“Oh, now you want to talk about it?” You whisper yell. “You didn't have anything for me when I asked you, remember? All you could do was look at the floor like a freaking idiot. It was crickets and now you have the nerve to ask me what this is? You don’t get to do this, Joe. You don’t get to push me away, call me a mistake, then act like you suddenly care when you see me with someone else.”

He stepped closer, voice low and tense. “You know damn well I care.”

You swallowed, blinking up at him, and for a second—just a second—Joe thought you might let your guard down. That you might admit there was still something there.

But then you shook your head. “If you actually cared, we wouldn’t be having this conversation here. We actually wouldn't be having this conversation at all. I would've been here, with you. Not looking for pieces of you in another guy, a perfectly nice guy who just wanted to meet the freaking Bengals today. So if you don't mind, I'm gonna go meet Tee Higgins and Ja’Marr Chase...for the first time.”

Joe didn’t know what to say to that.

So you left him standing there, walking back toward Cory with a smile, pulling him in for a hug like Joe wasn’t just barely holding himself together.

January

Exactly seven days later, while Cory was over watching the game with you, Joe took a hit and stayed down. This time you were hanging on by a thread, on the inside. On the outside, you shoved some popcorn in your mouth and sipped on ginger ale, hoping the bubbles would bring your heart back to its rightful place instead of where it currently resided...in your stomach. You didn't know if he had a concussion but he definitely looked out of it, missing throws he usually made and the Bengals escaped Pittsburg by the skin of their teeth, securing a two point win on the road, their destiny up to chance. Ja'Marr called you in the locker room after the game to tell you he needed you at the watch party for good luck in praying on the Dolphins and the Broncos downfall. You told him you'd think about it, part of you didn't mind being in the same room as Joe, especially after you caved and watched his postgame press conference to make sure he wasn't lying about being concussed. Maybe the two of you could be cordial with each other and leave the past behind.

You woke up on the couch with NFL Network still on tv. Something about it felt embarrassing, because it felt right. Months ago you were watching an introduction to football PowerPoint and now you'd regularly catch yourself having football withdrawals. Just as you were ready to call it a night, turning off the tv and mentally preparing yourself to head to your room, you heard a knock at the door. Who could possibly be coming over at 2 in the morning?

You stood frozen in the doorway, gripping the edge of the door like it was the only thing keeping you upright. Your stomach dropped—hard and fast—like missing a step in the dark. Joe was standing there, still in the clothes you had seen him wearing during in his postgame press conference. His hair was a mess, the shadows under his eyes deeper than usual. He looked exhausted. But that wasn’t what made your breath hitch. It was him. Here. Now. After all this time.

“Joe.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “What are you doing?”

He exhaled heavily, a far away look in his eyes. “I don’t know.”

You crossed your arms, trying to steel yourself, ignoring the way your pulse was racing. “You don’t know? What do you mean you don't know? You just drove around after you landed and magically ended up here?”

“I don't know, I just—I couldn’t go home. Not without seeing you.” He swallowed hard, eyes flickering over your face like he was searching for something, anything that might give him an answer. “I know I shouldn’t be here, but when I got on the plane, all I could think about was you.”

Your heart clenched painfully. Damn him.

“You scared the hell out of me tonight,” you admitted before you could stop yourself. “Watching you go down like that—” You shook your head, gripping the fabric of your hoodie. “I hated it.”

His eyes softened, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. “I know. Can we just—can I come in?”

You stared at each other, the weight of everything unsaid pressing in around you.

“Joe.” You sighed, your resolve crumbling at the sight of him standing there like that, like he wasn’t sure you’d let him in.

“Please,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Just for a minute.”

And against your better judgment, you stepped aside.

Joe ran a hand over his face and took a shaky breath. “I don’t even know what the fuck I was thinking on that play, the pocket collapsed so fast I didn't even have time to throw the ball away. And when I hit the ground, all I could think about was you.” He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Not football, not the game, not the playoffs. You. And how I’d fucked everything up so badly that you wouldn’t even reach out. That I wouldn’t get a chance to apologize.”

Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your expression unreadable.

“I’m so, so sorry. I was a coward,” Joe admitted, his voice breaking. “I am a coward. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be in control—of my game, my career, my emotions. It's kind of my thing. And you…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You fuck all of that up for me. The way I feel about you scares the living shit out of me.”

You blinked, stunned into silence.

“I’m not some heartless football robot,” he continued, his voice raw with emotion. “I’m a man who’s been terrified to feel anything real because it means I can’t control it. And when I’m with you, it’s real. It’s been real for months, and you were right. About everything. I was too much of a fucking idiot to admit it.”

Your heart was pounding, your breath shallow. You wanted to believe him—God, you did—but you couldn’t just let him walk back into your life like he hadn’t wrecked you before.

“I need you to give me a chance to fix this,” Joe pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Please.”

You swallowed hard. “Joe…”

“I swear to you,” he interrupted, stepping closer, his hands almost reaching for you before he forced himself to stop. “I promise, I will prove to you that I’m not that coward anymore. Just… just say you’ll let me try.”

You studied him carefully, searching for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there was none. Only raw, unfiltered desperation and a kind of vulnerability you had never seen from him before.

Your walls were still up, but something inside you cracked. Just a little.

“You have to earn me this time,” you whispered.

Joe nodded instantly. “I will.”

After a hard conversation with Cory in the morning, you decided to attend the watch party the next day to test the waters. And to see your friends all in one place again. The atmosphere in Joe's house had shifted from tense to comfortable, a soft kind of warmth that had been missing for a while. The room was still, save for the quiet hum of the television, which was showing the Broncos slowly dismantling the Chiefs, much to the frustration of everyone else in the room. Joe had been quiet for the most part, lost in his thoughts, but you could tell he had already come to terms with the inevitable.

You weren’t sure if you should be relieved or sad about the Bengals missing the playoffs, but you did know one thing: it didn’t feel like the end for you and Joe. Not anymore.

The room had cleared out, the others heading to their respective homes after the game, leaving you and Joe alone. The snow outside had started to fall heavier now, creating a peaceful stillness that you couldn’t help but love. Joe seemed to notice the shift in the air as well, his eyes softening as he glanced over at you.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His concern was still there like that first night he found you outside the housewarming party, that need to take care of you even now.

You nodded, even though there was a part of you that was more uncertain than you wanted to admit. “Yeah. Just…just thinking.”

He leaned back against the couch, eyes flicking to the window as the snowflakes danced in the cold air. “You want me to drive you home? It’s getting pretty bad out there. Or, you could stay? Only if you want to."

You hesitated for a second, a small part of you wanting to avoid the drive, to stay with him just a little longer. Maybe it was the way he looked at you—like he was sure this time. Like there was no more running. “I think…I think I want to stay,” you said quietly, meeting his gaze.

Joe didn’t need any more convincing. He pulled you in close to him on the couch, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he let out a slow sigh. “I’m really gonna miss football," he murmured. “But I’ve got a lot of work to do with you, so I guess I’ve got some time now. I messed up before. I’m not messing this up again.”

You smiled, the weight of the past few weeks lifting off your shoulders just by being close to him. “I can’t wait to put you to work, 6am at the bakery tomorrow morning. And the next few mornings. For a while.” you teased, your voice barely audible.

Joe’s eyes darkened for a moment, a quiet promise in his gaze. He cupped your face gently, leaning in with a tenderness that took you by surprise. When his lips met yours, it was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment. A kiss full of unspoken apologies, solidifying what was to come, and the quiet declaration that he was willing to do whatever it took to make things right between the two of you. Even if some of that ended up with him getting covered in flour for the foreseeable future.

You didn’t pull away. In fact, you melted into the kiss, your heart swelling in your chest as his hands slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place like you were exactly where you belonged.

He pressed one more slow kiss to your lips before his eyes flicked to yours, searching. “So… does this mean our friendship over?” His voice was low, careful, but there was something else there—hope, maybe.

You didn’t even have to think about it. You let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking your head and running your fingers through his hair. “Absolutely. It’s dead and gone.”

Joe exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head before reaching for you, fingers curling gently around your wrist. “Good,” he murmured, tugging you closer. “Because I really didn’t want to be your friend anyway. Got much bigger plans in mind.”

#Joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x you #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fanfic

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jazzy96scorpio · 3 days ago

Note

It's V-Day 🌼🌹 could you write Pedro x reader spending their first valentine's?

Will you be my Valentine?

Chapter 1 More Than Just Flowers

Description: Love blooms in the most unexpected places when a flower shop girl [You] and a Hollywood heartthrob find a connection that's more than just skin deep.

Pairing: You / Pedro Pascal

Warnings ⚠️: adult content, explicit content, angst and fluff, oral sex (m/f), sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, dirty talk, age gap, sugar daddy kink, SMUT.

Word count: 3,450

I was planning to write a fanfic with sugar daddy Pedro Pascal. So here is one with Valentine's Day. I hope so you are gonna like it. Write me your reviews❣️

You're mysterious, beautiful, a bit of shy, if you're honest with yourself. Fresh out of college, New York City is calling your name, a crazy mix of exciting and terrifying. Rent doesn't pay itself, though, so you've landed a gig at a flower shop. Not just any flower shop—this one's in the ritzy part of town, all fancy blooms and even fancier prices. It's a whole different world from your student days, but you're figuring it out. You're observant, you pick up on things others miss, and you can blend in or stand out as needed. Plus, you're learning the secret language of flowers. Each one has a meaning, a story. And you're becoming fluent.

One day, you notice him outside the shop.

Pedro Pascal. The Pedro Pascal.

Your heart does a little flutter-kick. He's even more captivating in person than on screen. Then soon after he enters the shop. Straight towards your counter.

"Good afternoon," he says, that warm, familiar voice sending a shiver down your spine.

"I need a bouquet of red roses."

"Of course," you reply, trying to sound professional, your strong composure kicking in. "For a special occasion?"

He gives a small, enigmatic smile. "Perhaps."

You get to work, selecting the most perfect, velvety roses. Your hands move deftly, arranging them into a lush, romantic bouquet. You add a touch of baby's breath and some elegant greenery. When you're finished, even you are impressed.

He watches you, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "That's…very beautiful," he murmurs, taking the bouquet. "Just like you."

Your breath hitches. "Thank you," you manage, your cheeks warming slightly.

He lingers for a moment, those intense eyes holding yours. "I'm Pedro," he says, extending a hand.

"I know," you reply, a small smile playing on your lips. "I'm [Y/N]."

"It's a pleasure, [Y/N]." He pauses, then adds, a touch of playful challenge in his voice,

"Perhaps I'll see you around."

And then, just like that, he leaves. Leaving you with a racing heart and the lingering scent of roses. What just happened? you wonder, your mind already replaying the encounter.

There was definitely something there, a spark… but was it just his natural charm, or something more? And what did he mean by "see you around"? Was he interested? Or just being polite? A little knot of nervous excitement tightens in your stomach. This could be interesting… or a complete disaster. Knowing your luck, probably a bit of both.

A delivery truck arrived soon after, packed to the brim with roses. "Need a hand?" you asked the driver, a young guy with a cheeky grin.

"If you're offering," he replied, giving you a once-over that made you roll your eyes internally. "A beautiful woman like you shouldn't be doing all this heavy lifting." He winked.

"Someone's gotta do it," you said, hoisting a box of Freedom roses. He chatted you up while you worked, the usual lines about how he'd love to take you out sometime.

He wasn't bad looking, but definitely not your type. You'd always been attracted to older men. Maybe it was the maturity, the confidence… something about the youthful energy of guys your own age just didn't do it for you. Which, you had to admit, was probably why you were still single. You'd never really been in love.

As you were carrying a particularly large box of long-stems, you glanced across the street.

And there he was. Pedro. Leaning against a sleek car, looking impossibly handsome.

Then, a woman appeared. She was stylish, laughing, and… they hugged. They kissed.

Shit. You thought. She's lucky. A pang of something you couldn't quite name went through you. I wish… you started to think, then cut yourself off. Ridiculous. You barely knew him, and that will never happen.

And then, he pulled out something from the car. The bouquet. The one you had made. He gave it to her. She beamed, clearly pleased. Of course she was.

You turned back to the truck, a little deflated. "Thanks for the help," you mumbled to the driver, who was still trying to get your number. "But I gotta get back inside."

You went back into the shop, the image of Pedro and the woman lingering in your mind. You had work to do.

💓

Closing up, mostly. The shop was quiet now, the day's rush over.It was almost the end of your shift. As you were tidying near the door, you spotted something on the floor. A wallet. You picked it up. It was leather, expensive-looking. You opened it. And there, staring back at you, was Pedro's ID.

"Oh god," you muttered, staring at Pedro's ID. You really didn't want to go through his wallet, but… what were you supposed to do? Damn it. How were you going to find him now? Calling the police meant paperwork, hassle… ugh. You ran a hand through your hair, frustrated. This whole day had taken a weird, unexpected turn.

Just then, you heard a knock on the door. Your heart leaped into your throat. Could it be…?

You took a deep breath and walked to the door, your mind racing. You flipped the sign to "Closed" just in case. When you opened it, there he was. Pedro. Standing there, looking slightly… panicked?

"Hi," he said, his voice a little strained. "I, uh, I think I left something here."

You held up the wallet. "This?"

His face relaxed in relief. "Oh, thank god! You found it." He reached for it, and you instinctively pulled it back just a fraction.

"You're Pedro Pascal," you said, stating the obvious, but somehow needing to hear yourself say it out loud. It still felt surreal.

He chuckled. "Guilty as charged. And you're… [Y/N], right?"

You nodded.

"I'm so grateful you found this," he said,

"I was freaking out. Everything's in there."

He gave you a charming smile. "You're a lifesaver."

"It's no problem," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, even though your insides were doing a little victory dance.

"I was just about to close up."

"Well," he said, "maybe I could… buy you a coffee or something to thank you?"

A coffee? This was actually happening.

"I… I'd like that," you managed, finally handing him his wallet.

"Great," he said. "How about we go somewhere where I don't get mobbed by fans?" He grinned. "There's a little place around the corner I like. Quiet. We can go there."

"Okay," you said, grabbing your purse and locking the door. As you walked with him around the corner, you couldn't help but think: This is insane. Just a few hours ago, you were watching him across the street, thinking how lucky the other woman was. And now, here you were, about to go for coffee with Pedro Pascal. Life was definitely full of surprises.

As you and Pedro walked around the corner, he suddenly stopped. He was staring at something in the distance, his expression hardening. You followed his gaze and saw… his girlfriend. Kissing another guy. It was far enough away that you couldn't see the other man's face clearly, but Pedro definitely recognized her.

He went still, a muscle ticking in his jaw. You instinctively knew this was bad.

Shit. you thought.

He looked at you, his eyes dark. You cursed inwardly.

Double shit.

He put his hands on his waist, as if trying to decide his next move. Then, in a move that surprised you, he grabbed your hand and pulled you closer. "Come with me," he said, his voice low and tight.

Triple shit. What was happening? What was he going to do? He was furious, the betrayal evident in every line of his body. You were just along for the ride now, a bewildered passenger in his drama.

He started walking faster, pulling you along. You stumbled a bit, trying to keep up.

"Pedro, what are you doing?" you asked, your voice a nervous whisper.

He didn't answer. He just kept walking, his grip on your hand tightening. You could feel the anger radiating off him.

You reached to them. Pedro stopped abruptly. His girlfriend turned, her eyes widening in shock when she saw him. The other man looked startled, then quickly backed away.

"What the hell is this, Sofia?" Pedro's voice was dangerously quiet.

"Pedro, it's not…" she stammered.

"It's not what it looks like?" he finished, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because it looks pretty damn clear to me."

"He's just a friend," she said weakly.

Pedro let out a harsh laugh. "A friend you kiss like that?"

"You're never around anyway!" she snapped back, her voice rising. "Always working, always away. I was lonely!"

"So you find comfort in another man's arms?" he retorted, his eyes flashing.

"Look at you!" she sneered. "What did you expect? I can't waste my time with an old man like you! I don't love you anymore! I want someone who is young and who can give me attention. I just wanted fame and money, and you were a ticket. Now I have a new ticket!"

"You used me?" Pedro's voice was low, laced with hurt.

"You're damn right I did," she spat. "And now I'm done. Don't call me again."

Pedro looks like he's about to say something, but you instinctively grab his arm. This is getting ugly, and you don't want him to get dragged down any further. You pull him back slightly.

Just then, Sofia turns her venomous gaze on you. "Looks like you found yourself a cheap slut too, huh?" she sneers.

Something inside you snaps. You're not going to stand here and take this. But before you can say anything, Pedro steps in front of you, his face a mask of fury. "Don't you dare talk about her like that!" he snarls. "She has nothing to do with this. You're the one who betrayed me, not her."

He grabs your hand again and storms off, leaving Sofia fuming. You can feel the tension radiating off him, the raw emotion of betrayal and hurt.

"You still owe me that coffee," you say quietly as you walk away, trying to lighten the mood.

He looks at you, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "You're right," he says. "I do."

You go to the coffee shop, and you do your best to distract him, to comfort him.

You tell him silly stories about your life.

He listens, and slowly, the tension begins to drain. He's still hurt, you can tell, but he's also grateful for your presence, for the simple act of human connection in the middle of a messy, public breakup.

He talks about his work, the passion he has for acting, the challenges of being in the public eye. You talk about your dreams, your ambitions, the things that make you tick. You find yourself connecting with him on a level you didn't expect. He's charming, funny, and surprisingly down-to-earth. He's vulnerable, in a way that makes your heart ache for him. You find yourself wanting to protect him, to shield him from the pain Sofia inflicted.

As you left the coffee shop, he thanked you again for being there.

"If you ever need a shoulder to cry on," you said, "I'm here."

He looked at you, a wry smile twisting his lips. "Well, tonight I might need one."

"I think we could watch a movie together," he suggested.

You agreed, and he gives a genuine smile finally breaking through.

You went back to his apartment. It was huge, luxurious—fucking amazing. There was a massive TV screen. You couldn't hide your amusement.

He offered you a drink. You accepted.

"So," he said, seeming a little more relaxed, "what are we going to watch?"

"Wall-E," you said.

He laughed. "Wall-E?"

"It's my favorite," you admitted.

"It's one of mine too," he said, surprisingly.

You settled on the sofa, sipping your drinks and watching the movie. You chatted a little about yourself, your life, your dreams.

Then, you looked at him. "You shouldn't have to go through that," you said softly, referring to Sofia.

"It's not the first time," he admitted. "That's why I've been avoiding relationships."

"I get that," you said. "I've been single for years. It's fucking amazing. No stress, no worries." You paused. "Actually, I've never been in love with someone."

He looked at you, surprised. "How could a beautiful girl like you haven't found someone?"

"Well," you shrugged, "it just never happened. They all say I'm was too cold and hard to get."

He laughed.

You continued watching the movie. The ending was emotional. "I wish I could find love like that," you said. "Where you can fix each other, be patient, be best friends, and have complete trust."

He agreed saying "That's so rare nowadays, almost impossible."

You noticed he was exhausted. "I should go," you said, thanking him for the evening. You headed for the door, but he stopped you. He leaned in, as if to kiss you.

"Don't do this right now," you said gently, pulling back slightly.

He took your hand, and you could see the pain in his eyes. "Don't leave me alone tonight." he whispered.

You didn't want to hurt him more. He'd had a rough night. "I won't," you said softly.

You took his hand, and he led you to his bedroom. "Can I borrow a shirt?" you asked. You were staying the night, but only to sleep.

He found a yellow Lakers shirt. "Thanks," you said, taking it.

He left you alone to change. When he came back, he said he'd sleep on the couch.

"No, you won't," you said firmly. "You asked me to stay."

He couldn't take his eyes off you in the oversized shirt, which barely covered your waist.

You both lay down on the bed. You stared out the window. "I've never slept in a bed with a man before," you confessed quietly.

He turned to you, surprised. "Well, you're the first woman in this bed," he said.

"What about Sofia?" you asked.

"No," he said. "We usually spent time at her place."

"Well, I'm glad I'm the first woman in this bed," you said, a playful smile touching your lips. You kissed him on the cheek and turned to go to sleep. He watched you as you turned to sleep, your breathing becoming slow and even. He was amazed by you, by the way you had come into his life so unexpectedly, so powerfully. He was so impatient, his body buzzing with desire, wanting you, needing you. But he also knew he didn't want to rush things. He wanted this to be real, to be meaningful. He wanted to earn your trust, your affection. He wanted�� more. He turned around, facing away from you, and closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep, the image of you, so beautiful and vulnerable in his bed, burning in his mind.

He woke up first. You barely stirred as he got out of bed. He was only in his boxers.

Damn, you thought, a little spark igniting within you. That man is hot. You really wanted him.

He made coffee, the aroma filling the apartment, and brought you a cup.

"You look beautiful," he murmured, his eyes lingering on you, a hint of mischief in them.

"Yeah, like a gremlin," you mumbled, still half-asleep, but a smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

He chuckled. "Well, one beautiful gremlin," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I don't have any plans for the day. It's the weekend. Do you want spending it with me?"

"Sure," you said, finally opening your eyes and sitting up. "I'd like that."

You got up and made breakfast, a simple but delicious. You laughed and joked, the earlier tension melting away. It felt… comfortable. Natural. Like you’d known each other for much longer than a day. Then, the doorbell rang, shattering the easy atmosphere.

Pedro frowned and went to answer it. It was her. Sofia.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice cold and flat.

"Pedro, please," she said, her voice trembling, on the verge of tears. "I made a mistake. I'm so sorry. I love you."

"You love me?" he scoffed, the hurt and anger from the previous night resurfacing. "You said some pretty harsh things last night, Sofia. Things you can't take back."

"I was angry," she pleaded, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "I didn't mean it. Please, give me another chance. I’ll do anything."

You stood there, a knot of anger tightening in your stomach.

She was playing the victim now, after everything she'd said, after the way she’d humiliated him.

"Get out, Sofia," Pedro said, his voice hard, unwavering.

"No," she said, stepping past him into the apartment. She saw you then, lounging in Pedro's Lakers shirt, and her eyes narrowed, jealousy and spite twisting her features.

"So, this is who you've moved on to? Some… some flower girl?"

That did it. You stepped forward, your anger finally boiling over. You were usually calm, collected, but Sofia's words, her harsh tone, pushed you over the edge.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that," you said, your voice low and dangerous, a warning in every syllable.

"Or what?" Sofia sneered, her eyes flashing. "What are you going to do, flower girl? Throw some petals at me? Arrange me a nice little bouquet of 'get lost'?"

"I'll do this," you said, your voice still dangerously quiet, and before Sofia could react, you slapped her, hard, across the face. The sound echoed through the apartment.

Sofia gasped, clutching her cheek, her eyes wide with shock and pain. Tears welled up in her eyes, but this time, they weren't tears of remorse. They were tears of humiliation and rage. She looked at Pedro, then back at you, her face a mask of pure fury. Without another word, she turned and fled, slamming the door behind her with a resounding bang.

Pedro stared at you, his mouth slightly open, a mixture of surprise, admiration, and maybe even a little bit of awe in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he seemed momentarily speechless.

"That's how you deal with that," you said, your adrenaline still pumping, your voice a little shaky. "I think she will not bother you anymore." you added with a wry smile.

He laughed, a genuine, hearty laugh that filled the apartment. "You're a tough one," he said, shaking his head, still chuckling. He looked at you, his eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you," he said softly, the laughter fading, replaced by something warmer, something deeper. He reached out and gently took your hand. "Thank you," he repeated, his voice husky. "For… everything."

❤️‍🔥

He leaned in and kissed you, and you didn't want to pull back. You kissed him back, roughly, passionately, your earlier anger now fueling a different kind of fire.

His lips were insistent, demanding, and you met his passion with your own, your tongues tangling in a heated dance. He lifted you up, his arms strong and sure, and carried you to the bedroom. He shrugged off his shirt, revealing his sculpted chest, and you quickly shed yours, your skin tingling with anticipation.

His kiss was fierce, possessive, a hunger in it that mirrored your own. His hands roamed over your body, caressing your curves, igniting a fire in your core. He kissed your neck, his lips tracing a burning path down to your breasts, teasing your nipples until they hardened into aching peaks. You, in turn, pulled down his boxers, your fingers brushing against his swollen cock, eliciting a groan from him.

His huge, thick cock was throbbing, pulsing with anticipation. You leaned closer, your tongue flicking out to taste him, swirling around the tip, savoring his heat, his size. "Mmm, you taste so good," you murmured, taking him deeper into your mouth, your hands cupping his balls, teasing them gently. He was so big you almost gagged, but you didn't stop, your right hand moving rhythmically along his length, stroking him, driving him wild. "Fuck," he groaned, his hands tangling in your hair. "You're going to make me come."

You pulled back, your lips glistening. "Not yet," you teased, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

He pulled you up by your arms, his eyes burning into yours, filled with lust and desire. He kissed you again, his lips bruisingly tender, then leaned down, his weight pressing you into the mattress.

He leaned down and kissed you softly, his lips lingering on yours. Then, with a playful glint in his eyes, he dipped his hand on your waist, in one swift, tantalizing motion, ripped off your panties. "Mmm," he murmured, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your hip.

His fingers drifted lower, exploring the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"Such a beautiful pussy."

You gasped as he reached your core, his touch sending shivers down your spine. He found your clit, teasing it gently, sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body.

"You're so wet," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "So ready for me."

He slipped a finger inside you, slowly at first, then deeper, exploring your depths.

"God, you're tight," he groaned, his voice husky. "I can't wait to fill you up."

You moaned, arching your back, your body instinctively responding to his touch. He added another finger, then another, stroking you rhythmically, building the tension, driving you wild.

"Oh, fuck," you breathed, your nails digging into his back. "That feels so good."

He continued to caress you, his fingers dancing inside you, finding every sensitive spot, every nerve ending. You were a symphony of moans and gasps, your body trembling with pleasure. He leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue mirroring the rhythm of his fingers, teasing and tantalizing you until you were on the verge of climax.

"I want you inside me," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "I need you inside me, Pedro."

He looked at you, his eyes burning with passion. "You're going to get what you want," he growled, his voice thick with lust. He positioned himself between your legs, his cock throbbing against your core. He pushed inside you slowly, filling you completely, stretching you, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Yes," you moaned, arching your back, meeting his thrusts. "Fuck, yes."

He began to move, his hips slamming against yours, the rhythm building, intensifying. You were soaked, dripping, your pussy aching for him. You squeezed him tightly, your nails digging into his back, urging him on.

"Harder," you begged, your voice barely a whisper. "Fuck me harder, Pedro."

He obliged, his movements becoming more urgent, more demanding. He gripped your hips, lifting you higher, taking you deeper.

"You're mine now," he growled, his voice thick with passion. "You will belong to me."

"Yes," you gasped, your body trembling with pleasure.

"I'm yours. Fuck me, Pedro. Make me yours."

He fucked you harder, faster, his thrusts driving you wild.

You squeezed him tightly, your nails digging into his back, urging him on.

"Ride me," he growled, his voice thick with passion. "Show me how bad you want me."

You flipped him over, straddling him, and began to move, your hips grinding against his, your breasts swaying with each thrust. "Like this?" you purred, your eyes locked with his.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements. "You're fucking amazing."

You rode him hard, your passion unleashed, your body consumed by pleasure. You were so close, so close…

"Cum with me," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Let me feel you come."

You squeezed him tightly, your inner muscles clenching around him, and then you let go, your orgasm washing over you in waves of pure ecstasy. He followed close behind, his release a hot, shuddering rush that filled you completely.

You collapsed back onto the bed, pulling him with you. You lay there, tangled in each other's arms, your breathing ragged, your bodies still connected, the echoes of passion still reverberating between you.

He kissed you one last time, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke of tenderness and affection.

"Fucking amazing," he murmured, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

You smiled back, snuggling closer to him.

"Yeah," you agreed. "That was something I haven't never felt"

He says "Me too..this was something special."

The rest of the morning was spent in a haze of lazy contentment. You stayed in bed, tangled in each other's arms, talking, laughing, just enjoying each other's company. The earlier drama with Sofia seemed like a distant memory, a bad dream that had faded with the dawn.

Pedro was different now. He was softer, more vulnerable, more… real. The walls he had built around himself seemed to have crumbled, at least for now.

Hour later, he got out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans. "How about we get some pizza?" he suggested. "And then… we can come back here and have some more fun." He winked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Sounds perfect," you said, your heart fluttering at the thought of more time with him, more of his touch, more of his kisses. "I'm falling for you, Pedro Pascal," you whispered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

He grinned, his eyes softening. "I'm falling for you too, [Y/N]," he said, his voice husky. He leaned down and kissed you softly.

"I'm going to prepare you a bath," he said, his voice soft and warm. He kissed you gently, a lingering kiss that made your heart flutter.

While you were soaking in the warm water, he appeared at the bathroom door, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he said, holding up a single, perfect red rose.

You'd completely forgotten! "Oh my gosh," you exclaimed, laughing.

"You're not going anywhere," he said, his voice playful but firm. "You're mine all day and night."

You laughed, your heart overflowing with happiness. "I wouldn't dream of going anywhere," you replied, reaching out to take the rose. "I'm exactly where I want to be."

You were falling for him, hard and fast, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. There was a connection between you, a spark that ignited every time you were near.

After you both got ready, you left for a charming little pizza restaurant. He was joking, so goofy, making you laugh until your sides hurt.

"You know," he said between bites of pizza,

"I never thought I'd find someone who appreciates a good pepperoni pizza as much as I do."

"Clearly, you haven't met many people with good taste," you teased, winking at him.

"You're right," he said, his eyes locking with yours. "I haven't. You're… different. I've never met anyone so kind and grounded."

After the restaurant, as you were passing a boutique with fancy clothes, he suddenly pulled you inside. "I'm going to buy you a nice dress for dinner tonight," he declared.

He waited patiently, a soft smile on his face, as you tried on dress after dress. You finally picked out a stunning red one. When you stepped out of the dressing room, he was genuinely amazed.

"You look… breathtaking," he whispered, his eyes filled with admiration. "Absolutely breathtaking."

After that, he showered you with kisses and bought you more things—a delicate necklace, a beautiful purse.

"Pedro, you don't need to do this," you protested gently. "I'm not some material girl."

"I know," he said, taking your hand. "But I want to. I want to spoil you. You deserve it." He looked at you, his eyes filled with sincerity.

"I'm so happy I have the chance to spend time with you. I'm really lucky… and happy."

You blushed, your heart swelling with affection. "Me too," you whispered. "I feel so lucky thay I finally met you."

After all the shopping, you went for coffee, and that's when the paparazzi appeared, swarming you with questions. They were intrusive, annoying, flashing cameras in your faces. Pedro was visibly irritated, but he tried to stay calm. He put his arm around you protectively.

"No comment," he said repeatedly, trying to shield you from the barrage of questions. You quickly got into his car and drove away, leaving the paparazzi behind.

Back at his apartment, he sighed. "That was a bit much," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I need to get some things done. I'll be back before dinner to pick you up. Get ready. We're going out."

He kissed you softly. "And don't worry about those vultures," he said, a glint in his eye. "I'll handle them."

He left, and you started getting ready, wanting to look your absolute best. You slipped into a stunning red dress that made you feel both powerful and vulnerable, the fabric clinging to your curves like a second skin. A couple of hours later, he returned. His eyes widened as he took you in, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Wow," he breathed, his gaze lingering on you. "You look absolutely stunning. Like a goddess. A vision in red." He kissed you, a gentle, lingering kiss that made your heart flutter.

"I'll just be a few minutes," he said, his voice husky.

"Don't keep me waiting too long" you say.

"I won't," he replied, a playful smile on his lips.

You watched him as he was getting ready. What a pleasure for your eyes.

He quickly changed, and then you were off to a truly elegant restaurant. The ambiance was perfect, the food divine, but the best part was the conversation. It flowed effortlessly between you, as if you were two halves of a whole, finally reunited. It seemed like you were meant to be, two souls who had found solace and understanding in each other.

"I feel like I've known you forever," he said, his eyes filled with warmth.

"Me too," you replied, your heart echoing his sentiment. "It's… it's like finally finding something uniquely."

After dinner, as you walked back to the car, your heels started to protest.

"These heels are killing me," you groaned, "I'm more of a sneaker girl, you know."

He immediately crouched down. "Then let me take care of my lady," he said, gently removing your shoes.

He then scooped you up into his arms, carrying you effortlessly.

"Pedro!" you exclaimed, surprised and delighted. "Someone's going to see us!"

He just smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Let them see. I'm proud to be seen with you." He kissed you softly, then carried you all the way to the car.

Back at his apartment, the air crackled with anticipation. As soon as you closed the door, he kissed you hard, his passion igniting yours. He was impatient all night, his desire for you palpable. He helped you with your dress, his fingers trailing down your zipper, teasing your bare skin beneath.

"You're driving me crazy," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I can't wait to have you."

You, in turn, helped him with his shirt, your hands lingering on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. "You're making me crazy too," you whispered back, your eyes locked with his.

You quickly unbuckled his belt, your fingers brushing against his hard cock, eliciting a groan from him. You pulled down his pants and boxers, revealing his throbbing erection. You kissed him again, passionately, your tongue dancing with his. You teased his tip with your fingers, circling him gently, eliciting another groan. "You're so sensitive," you murmured, "I love it."

He then lifted you up, his arms strong and sure, and carried you to the bed. He laid you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours. He leaned down and kissed you deeply, then trailed kisses down your neck, your breasts, teasing your nipples.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "I want to taste you everywhere." He entered you slowly, from the side, savoring every inch of you.

"God, you're tight," he groaned. "So fucking tight."

He cupped your breasts in his large hands, teasing them, squeezing them gently, driving you wild. "Yes," you moaned, arching your back, meeting his thrusts. "Fuck, yes."

He then shifted, his movements becoming more urgent, more demanding.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. "So fucking perfect pussy."

He pulled out slightly, then pinned you down to the bed, his eyes burning into yours.

"Lift your hips for me," he commanded, his voice rough and possessive.

You arched your back, offering yourself to him. He grabbed your ass cheeks, his grip firm, and entered you again, this time harder, deeper, filling you completely. "Oh, fuck," you gasped, as he pushed past your entrance, filling you to the hilt.

Your pussy squeezed him tightly, milking his cock with your juices.

"You're so wet," he groaned. He rubbed your clit with his right hand, his fingers expertly teasing you, bringing you closer to the edge. You moaned, screaming his name, your body convulsing with pleasure.

"Pedro! Oh, Pedro!" He came inside you, his release a hot, shuddering rush that filled you completely. "Mine," he whispered, his voice thick with passion. "You're mine."

He kissed you gently and helped you get cleaned up, his touch tender and caring. You fell asleep in each other's arms, feeling safe and content.

The next morning, he woke you up with soft kisses. "Good morning, sleepyhead," he murmured, his voice warm. "If you could make us some pancakes… I'd be so much grateful. I love your pancakes."

You agreed, of course. You enjoyed cooking for him, the simple act of preparing his favorite breakfast filling you with a sense of warmth and affection. You made a batch of fluffy pancakes with fresh berries, and you enjoyed a leisurely breakfast together, laughing and talking.

"I have to go to work," you said reluctantly, as you finished the last bite.

"I'll drive you," he offered. He paused, then added, "This week is going to be crazy. I'm filming for SNL."

"I know," you said, a tinge of sadness in your voice. "I wish we could have spent more time together. This weekend was… amazing."

He took your hand, his eyes filled with sincerity. "We'll have more moments like this," he promised. "I want this… I want this to last." He kissed you, a lingering kiss that made your heart melt.

"I really like you, Pedro," you confessed, your voice barely a whisper. "And I think… I think I'm falling in love. For the first time in my life."

He smiled, his eyes softening. "Me too, [Y/ N]," he said, his voice husky. "I've never felt like this before. You're… you're everything I never knew I was looking for. You make me happy. You make me feel… complete."

He drove you to work, kissed you goodbye, and then you parted ways. As you walked into the flower shop, you were filled with a mix of joy and apprehension. You were so happy, so deeply infatuated with Pedro. You truly believed you were falling in love. But a small voice of doubt whispered in the back of your mind. Could this really last? You were from two different worlds. He was a famous actor, constantly in the public eye, his life a whirlwind of glitz and glamour. You were a flower shop girl, your life grounded in the simple beauty of everyday things. Could you bridge the gap between your two worlds? Could you make it work? Only time would tell.

Thank you for your reading ❣️

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedrohub #pedrostories #pedro pascal fluff

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cherry-coffees · 2 days ago

Note

Would you write caitlyn with short chubby reader? Just fluff maybe reader is a lil insecure about her body type compared to the other women cait had been seen with?

Yes, ofc I will lovely! Hope you like <3

cw: mentions of body dysmorphia, insecurity, comparison to others

You love Caitlyn.

I mean, obviously. She's been your girlfriend for a little over a year now. You love going out with her in Piltover, always proud to be seen next to the Caitlyn Kiramman. And you love the nights when you just stay back at the Kiramman manor, especially when Caitlyn tugs you in to rest against her chest, her chin settling on the top of your head. She loves it too, you know, when your nights are filled with sleepy cuddles and soft kisses. You always seem to be in tune with each other, fitting together like yin and yang.

You know Caitlyn loves you: she shows it in her every word and action and gentle forehead kiss she gives you at the end of a long day. But sometimes, you can't help the slight tinge of insecurity that overwhelms your thoughts.

You've seen the other women Caitlyn's been with: Vi, Maddie, even the women that approach her at bars with heated eyes and flattering words. They're gorgeous. You are, too, at least from what Caitlyn tells you every day. But you've seen certain patterns: clear skin, muscular, slim, taller than you...

You just can't help but wonder what makes you different. Why she chose you over all the girls in Piltover that look like tall, skinny models. Caitlyn can have any girl she wants: half of Piltover is in love with her beauty and strength.

So when Caitlyn suggests a beach trip that a few of her friends are pushing for, you're less than thrilled.

"Hey darling?" Caitlyn calls from her office. She's been in there for a few hours, sorting through her usual paperwork she needs to fill out to keep Piltover running.

You glance up from your spot on the couch in the next room. "Yeah? What's up?"

You hear the shuffle of papers and the sound of her desk chair before your girlfriend appears in the doorway, flashing you a smile that always seems to make you weak. "Mel asked me about going to the sea for a few days," Caitlyn eyes you with curiosity. "She extended the invitation to you as well. We can walk on the beach, go swimming, have a bonfire...what do you think?"

You blink, staring at her silently for a second. "Oh, uh— the beach?"

"Mhm."

Your gaze drops to your lap. "Oh."

Caitlyn's eyebrows furrow, picking up on your less-than-excitement at the idea. She moves to you, sitting on the couch beside you. "Darling? Are you alright?"

"Yeah," you bite the inside of your cheek. "It's just..."

It's just that you'll be surrounded by Caitlyn and her friends. Mel is gorgeous: slim and fit, as are her other friends. You can't imagine being in a bikini by the water, beside all these other girls. And you know Caitlyn loves you, you know. You just can't help but wonder if she's ever had these same thoughts you're having right now. Would she notice that you didn't have the same body type as these model-like women?

"It's just what?" Caitlyn clasps one of your hands between her own, stroking the back of it with her thumb. "Talk to me, please."

"I-" you hesitate, your voice coming out small. "I don't know about being in a swimsuit in front of everyone."

"Oh," the word falls from her lips in a hushed breath, and that's all you have to say. Caitlyn knows. You've confided in her about your insecurity in your body type previous times, but that doesn't make it any easier.

"Look at me," Caitlyn coaxes your head to angle up, your eyes meeting her icy blue ones. "My darling. You're so beautiful, I'd love to see you in a bikini or swimsuit or anything else you decide to wear."

A flicker of doubt crosses your expression, and Caitlyn's heart aches. "Thank you, Cait. But I know I don't look like— like Vi or Maddie or-"

"Woah, woah," Caitlyn cuts you off, her features contorting into further concern. "Why are you bringing them up? You shouldn't be thinking about them. You're my girlfriend, not them."

"But they were," you burst out, unable to help your thoughts spilling out. "They were, and I can't help but notice that I don't look like them, that I'm not your usual type in girls. And it makes me worry if you're really happy with me."

You don't have time to say anything more before you feel a pair of soft lips on your own. Caitlyn kisses you gently, her hand cradling the back of your neck to pull you into her. Your eyes slide shut and you lean into the touch before she pulls back a few minutes later, her breath ghosting over your lips.

"Darling," Caitlyn's eyes are so soft that it makes your heart ache. "You are the only girl in my eyes. I adore you, truly. Your heart is the most important thing to me, what I love the most about you, but I also love your beauty. There is no one in the world more beautiful to me than you. I am the happiest with you, more than I could ever be with anyone else."

"You really don't mind that I don't look like all the girls that hit on you?"

"Love, I don't pay attention to any other girls besides you. I don't remember what they look like, and I don't care," she presses her lips to your arm, trailing gentle kisses down the length of it. "My sweet darling. I love you more than anyone in this entire world. I'd be in a room full of people, and you'd be the one who catches my attention every time. You're sweet and loving and beautiful and mine."

Caitlyn raises her head, placing another peck to your lips. "If you don't feel comfortable going, we won't. But I always want you beside me, my love, wearing whatever you want. And I hope you know how much I adore you."

"I do," you exhale, slight guilt creeping up on you for making your girlfriend worry. "Sorry, I know you love me, I-"

"Hey," Caitlyn murmurs. "It's okay. You're okay. I'll remind you how much I love you every day, if you need it. It's okay to feel however you do, just please promise me you'll always come to me when you need me."

"Okay," you mumble, and then Caitlyn's tugging you right back into her arms where you belong. And you feel safe and loved and so undeniably hers that you forget all about the what-ifs. You're here with Caitlyn. And honestly, that's all you really need.

I really really hope I did your request justice! I know body dysmorphia, insecurity, and comparison are different for everyone, so I hope this is what you were hoping for. I honestly think that Caitlyn would just shower you with all her love if you felt insecure about anything, so I hope I conveyed it well!

Much love <333

~Cherry 🍒

#cherry's requests 🍒#caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn x reader #arcane #cherry writes 🍒#caitlyn x you #fanfic #fanfiction #arcane fanfic #arcane fanfiction #lesbian #arcane fandom #caitlyn arcane #arcane caitlyn #caitlyn kiramman x reader

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lelengerine · 3 days ago

Text

pairing. na jaemin x reader

synopsis. you and jaemin had always believed in a future together, but as the years pass, and growing up starts to get in the way, you begin to wonder if some promises were never meant to last forever.

tags. childhood best friends to strangers, angst haha 😞, honestly jaem is a little toxic… just a little, the time skips are a bit wide but oh well, no specific prns are used

wc. 4.0k words

notes. hii its been a while TT i’ve been drowning from school work yet again but i managed to whip this up somehow (the longest thing ive ever written here so far) !! thank u my lovely pookies @teddyjun + @pwblant for proofreading this 😙🩷 likes, reblogs, and feedback are very much welcome!

꒰ m.list ꒱

you first met jaemin when you were ten years old.

the world was still big then, impossibly so, and yet, in his smile, you found a place to call your own. he was messy—his knees perpetually scraped, his grin too wide, as if he were holding the weight of all the impossibilities in life and yet, still finds time to laugh. his hand would reach for yours, tug you into the sunlight, and you both found yourselves running, the soft grass beneath your feet, breathless laughter spilling out between your gasps. it’s the simplest of moments, but you don’t know yet that this will be a forever built on a thousand such moments, moments too beautiful to question but too fleeting to understand.

it starts that way, with the purity of a child’s promise. the world is too big, too wide, but with jaemin by your side, it feels like you could touch the stars on your tippy toes if you tried hard enough. you make promise rings together one afternoon, and his face brims with excitement, eyes alight with the kind of certainty only a child could hold. "we’re meant to be together," he says, "no matter what happens."

“you sound so sure of it.”

“yeah, cause i’m not leaving you ever!”

you laugh at his response, a small sound that’s heavy with the weight of unspoken belief. your hands work quickly, clumsily, folding notebook paper into shapes that barely resemble rings, but when you slip them on each other’s fingers, neither of you question it. there is no doubt. this moment, like so many before it, feels sacred. a bond sealed not in reality, but in the purest of intentions. it’s a promise for the future—your future—and you both believe it, with all of your hearts.

"one day, i’ll start my own company," he utters out while fiddling on the ring you made him, voice filled with such quiet determination. "and we’ll be able to live together."

you smile, a perfect answer ready for him. "and i’ll be an artist," your voice carries the excitement you have, "i’ll have my own gallery and, oh! my paintings can decorate our home!"

he squeezes your hand, fingers tightening like he’s anchoring both of you to this moment, to the future you’ve already built together in your dreams. "i’ll be your first investor," he says, a laugh of his spilling out, one full of hope.

“do you even know what that means?” your eyebrow quirks up at him.

“isn’t that what they call it?” he looks at you, head tilted with slight confusion. “i heard my mom say something like how she was going to invest in someone the other day so i’ll invest in you.”

"fine.” you mutter with a sense of nonchalance, though you were more than happy with his answer. “i’ll have a painting ready for you then.”

“you’ll finish it in time?”

“please, who do you take me for?” you swat his shoulder, but there isn’t an ounce of malicious intent as you do so.

the sun is setting, and you are both wrapped in the warmth of those moments, of those words, of that belief. it’s easy then, to believe in forever. you believe in him, in the future he paints with such certainty.

you believe in the promises that hang between you, so heavy, so real.

ʚɞ

you used to believe that some things were unshakable. that no matter how much time passed, no matter how much life rearranged itself, certain people—certain feelings—would always remain within reach, but lately, with jaemin, you’re beginning to wonder if that’s really true.

it’s not obvious at first. just little things, small enough to ignore.

the way your messages sit on delivered longer than they used to. the way his responses come slower, more detached, like you’re a conversation he’s having in the margins of his life rather than in the center of it.

the way he no longer texts first.

you tell yourself you’re overthinking it. after all, people get busy. life gets in the way. yet try as hard as you might, the thought lingers, gnawing at the quiet spaces in your mind.

when was the last time he reached out first?

it shouldn’t feel like a risk to send a message. it never used to. but now, as you hover over his name in your contacts, your fingers hesitate just slightly before typing.

you up?

the text sends. you exhale.

and then you wait.

a minute passes. then two.

when the typing bubbles finally appear, a flicker of hope stirs in your chest, a quiet relief that maybe you were just imagining things.

hey, sorry, got caught up with another project. how’s everything with you?

it’s normal, it’s fine. but as you stare at the message, something about it feels... off.

perhaps it’s the way it’s phrased, so polite, so surface-level, when jaemin has never been the kind of person to keep things so distant with you. or maybe it's the way his words don’t quite carry the warmth they used to, like they’ve been filtered through a screen that dulls them just enough to make you feel the difference.

you shake the thought away and type back quickly.

i’m good, just the usual!

his next message comes just as fast.

cool. i gotta go—let’s catch up later?

three words. no specifics. no real promise.

you hesitate before responding. it’s not like he’s brushing you off. he’s just busy.

yeah, sure.

and yet, even after you set your phone down, the feeling lingers—the quiet weight of something slipping, so slowly that you can’t quite tell if you’re imagining it or if it’s really happening.

a few days later, you do manage to meet jaemin at your neighborhood’s café. a part of you hopes—foolishly, maybe—that seeing him in person will make everything feel normal again, that whatever weird distance has been settling between you will dissolve the moment you’re face-to-face, but when he finally walks in, he barely looks up from his phone. no teasing grin, no easy warmth. just a quick glance in your direction before he slides into the seat across from you.

“sorry, i’m late,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “got caught up with the project i told you about a few days ago.”

he doesn’t say much else. it’s such a small thing, but it stings in a way you don’t fully understand.

you swallow down the discomfort and force a light tone. “you’ve been really busy lately,” you say, trying to tease, trying to bridge whatever this gap is. “what’s so important that you can’t even keep our plans?”

jaemin exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s just… a lot, you know? school, deadlines, all of it. i didn’t mean to—” he stops, shaking his head slightly. “i’m just trying to keep up.”

the words settle between you, leaving a space that neither of you knows how to fill.

there was a time when jaemin always had time for you, when he would’ve made jokes that’d counter yours, nudge you playfully with that bright smile of his, and reassure you without even trying.

now, the only thing written on his face is fatigue.

and maybe that’s the part that’s hardest to admit—that you can’t even be mad at him for this. that you know him well enough to understand that whatever is pulling him away isn’t intentional, but knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less.

you nod, forcing a small smile. “yeah, i get it. we’ve all got a lot going on.” and maybe that’s where you leave it and start accepting that things don’t always hold the way you thought they would.

the boy glances at his phone again before looking back up. “anyway, i should go. got a meeting in a bit.”

you subconsciously nod once more, knowing it was the only thing you could do—pushing back your chair with slight force. “right.”

neither of you linger.

once, he would’ve waited. once, you would’ve stalled, finding excuses to stretch the moment just a little longer, but tonight, you walk in separate directions and for the first time, you don’t turn back.

ʚɞ

the last time you saw him, it was the winter of your last year of college. the sky hangs low, a dull gray that presses against the horizon, as if the world itself is holding its breath. the weight of unspoken things fills the space between you, making everything feel heavier than it should. you stand at the old playground, the one that once belonged to the two of you. snow falls in delicate flurries, each flake catching in his hair, softening the sharpness of his silhouette. he looks like the jaemin you once knew—his eyes still holding that spark, his posture still easy—but there’s something about him now, something subtle but undeniable, that tells you everything has indeed shifted.

his smile is still there, but it’s not the one you’re used to seeing anymore. it’s stretched thin, distant, pulled tight in a way that feels more like a memory than the real thing.

and it’s him who speaks first. his voice cuts through the silence, sharper than it should be. “i’m moving soon,” he says, and there’s a finality to his words that makes everything around you stop.

your heart drops into your stomach. the cold air feels like it’s suffocating you. “oh,” you manage to say, the word tasting like something you’ve swallowed too many times before.

he shoves his hands deep into his coat pockets, his stance rigid. his voice doesn’t soften. “the company’s expanding. i need to move closer to the headquarters.”

the words hang in the air, cold and empty, and you feel them sink between you like a stone dropped into still water. the weight of them cuts deeper than anything you’ve experienced in all the years leading up to this moment. it’s as if the ground beneath your feet is starting to crack, a fracture you didn’t even realize was there until now.

you want to be happy for him. you are happy for him, somewhere deep inside. this is the life he’s worked for, the he promised all those years ago, but there's a selfishness in the ache that rises in your chest, something broken and raw that you can’t quite name. it’s not just the news—it’s the quiet realization that, somehow, everything you once held close was slipping away.

“right,” you murmur, the word too small, too soft to bridge the gap inbetween. you hum, as if the soothing sound of it could convince both of you that this is okay. “that’s great.”

jaemin exhales, his breath a cloud in the sharp air. it lingers for a moment before dissipating into the gray sky. “what about you? still planning that residency in paris?”

you glance down at your hands, fingers trembling, cold from the winter chill. “yeah. got accepted,” you answer him, the words barely rising above a whisper.

his gaze flickers, something unreadable flashing in his eyes for the briefest of moments. “that’s amazing,” he says, but the tone is off, as though the words don’t quite reach you. “you’re really doing it.”

“yeah,” you reply softly, your voice small and quiet in the vast emptiness between you. “we both are, aren’t we?”

another silence stretches between you, thicker now, heavier than the snow that continues to fall. and in that silence, you both know. you know that whatever had been left of the promises made in the warmth of summer, whatever bond you once shared, was gone and that there’s nothing left to hold on to.

“we’ll still keep in touch,” he says, but even to his ears, the words sound like an afterthought, a feeble attempt at something neither of you believes anymore.

“i’ll still miss you,” you murmur, letting your guard slip—just a little. if this really was the last time you’d see him, then maybe it was worth the risk, even if you knew it wouldn’t change a thing.

jaemin glances at you one last time, his eyes glimmering with something you can’t name. maybe it’s nostalgia, maybe it’s regret, or maybe it’s just the weight of something unfinished, something left unsaid. “i’ll miss you too,” he whispers, and for a moment, you’re reminded of the boy who once promised you forever.

you let the silence settle around you both, its weight pressing down like the cold that’s beginning to creep into your bones. even though he’s stood in place, you feel the distance between you both widen tenfold, or perhaps it's always been that way and you simply refused to acknowledge it.

ʚɞ

the months pass in a blur, one indistinguishable from the other. time moves on, relentless, indifferent to the weight it leaves behind. in the world outside, jaemin’s success blooms like a flower in full bloom—his name now a staple in every conversation, his face brightening billboards, magazines, and interviews. every time you open social media, there he is, living the life you both once envisioned together.

and you?

you paint. you finish exhibitions, your name is recognized, but the colors you use now feel muted, the canvases emptier than they used to be. the passion you once felt when you picked up your brush has faded, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.

you remember the feeling—the exhilaration of creating, the joy of shaping something out of nothing. the way you used to stand in your workshop for hours, completely immersed in your work, with jaemin's words echoing in your head: "you’re going to make something amazing, i just know it." his belief in you, his unwavering confidence, was a light that made everything feel possible.

but now? the spark is gone. the excitement of making art has dimmed. it’s hard to even pinpoint when it started slipping away. maybe it was when he left—when he moved forward with his life, with his dreams, and you stayed behind, unable to catch up. maybe it was the quiet realization that you could never catch up, no matter how hard you tried.

and then, one day, as you scroll absentmindedly through your phone, a notification flashes on the screen. it’s a new interview with jaemin. his name, his face, as familiar as the air you breathe, yet foreign in a way you can’t explain. you pause, your finger hovering over the screen, an ache spreading through your chest before you even hear his voice.

you tap the notification.

the video begins, his voice smooth and controlled, but there’s something about it that strikes you—a coldness to his words, a calculated quality, as though every syllable is measured, rehearsed. as if he’s become someone else entirely.

“there was someone—someone who was my strength when everything was falling apart…” his words hang in the air like a ghost, the weight of them pressing down on your chest. it’s like hearing him speak from a distance, as if his voice no longer belongs to you, but to someone else, to the man he’s become.

you stop breathing. your hand hovers over the screen, your fingers trembling as you listen, though you’re not sure why you feel the need to hear more. his voice continues, talking about his company, his rise, his accomplishments—the things he promised, the things he’s achieved, the things you should be proud of him for.

but instead, all you feel is the sharp sting of distance. the space between you both has only grown, so vast that it feels like an ocean you could never cross. and then you remember—this is the man he’s become now. the man who’s built a life without you, whose name is no longer connected to yours. you should be happy for him. you should be thrilled to see him achieve his dreams.

but all you feel is this deep, aching void. the weight of all the things that never got said, all the things you once thought were promised between the two of you, now lost to time. you can almost hear the echoes of his laughter, see the way his eyes used to brighten when he talked about the future. that future, the one where you and jaemin would take on the world together, is gone.

you shouldn’t still be holding onto it, but you are. you can’t help it.

when the interview ends, the screen fades to black, leaving you in the silence of your own thoughts. you remain motionless, your phone still in your hand, but it feels like it weighs a ton. the words he spoke, the things he said about strength, about someone who was there for him when everything fell apart—it all cuts through you like glass. you realize then, in the quiet aftermath, that you never got to be the one who helped him pick up the pieces. you were never the one he turned to when the world got too heavy.

and the worst part? you knew. you knew that somewhere along the way, he had started moving without you.

the promise you made to him comes rushing back, unbidden—the painting. the one you swore you’d finish, the one you said would be the gift that captured all the things you couldn’t put into words. the one you started in a burst of inspiration, with the idea that it would be a way of showing him just how much he meant to you, how much you believed in him.

but now? that painting sits unfinished, collecting dust in the corner of your workshop. it’s become a relic of another time, a broken promise that you don’t know how to keep. and you realize, with a quiet ache in your chest, that you haven’t picked up that brush in months—not for him, not for anyone.

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and with it comes the crushing weight of everything that’s changed. time has moved on, and so has jaemin. he’s not the person you once knew, and maybe you’re not either. you’re both successful now, but success has a way of making you feel smaller than you ever expected. it fills the spaces where dreams once lived, and it pushes you further apart.

you look at the unfinished painting again, then turn away, leaving it there—just like everything else. there are other things to chase, other goals to reach. but none of them will ever feel like what you once dreamed with him.

and that’s the hardest part, isn’t it? that no matter how far you’ve come, some things—some people—were just never meant to be part of the journey anymore.

ʚɞ

years later, you find yourself walking through the streets of your hometown, your footsteps tracing familiar paths, the cracks in the pavement as unchanged as the memories that flood your mind. you hadn't planned to come back, but here you are. the air is colder than you remembered, but the sharpness of it doesn’t seem to matter. you pass by the old playground, its rusted swings creaking in the breeze, the slides faded and worn. it looks smaller now, as if the world around it has grown while the playground itself has been stuck in time. it’s a place you thought you would leave behind, but it’s here, pulling you in, drawing you back to moments that felt like they happened in another lifetime.

you stop in front of the old oak tree where you and jaemin once carved your initials. the bark has thickened, the edges of your names smoothed over by time. you touch it softly, your fingers brushing the faded markings, and for a split second, it reminds you of the memories that you once cherished.

and then, you see him.

jaemin stands at the far end of the playground, leaning against the fence with the same casual ease that used to make your heart flutter. it’s like he’s always been here, like he never left. his hair is longer now, tousled in a way that makes him look even more like the boy you used to know. and then, when he sees you, his face softens, and that familiar warmth washes over him—his smile, the one that used to make everything feel right in the world, is there again, lighting up his features.

for a brief, fleeting moment, it’s as if time has folded back on itself, and the years that separated you two dissolve into nothing.

“hey,” jaemin says, his voice tentative, the uncertainty hanging in the air like a fragile thread between you both. it’s the first time you’ve seen him in what feels like forever, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your chest tighten—a mix of longing and regret, as though he’s unsure whether to close the distance between you or leave it untouched.

“hey,” you reply, mimicking his words, but your voice catches somewhere in the space between the past and the present. it’s hard to place exactly what has changed, but the distance between you feels palpable now, like something invisible has grown taller and thicker between you two, despite how much you wish it hadn’t.

you stand there, side by side, the silence settling in like an old, familiar weight. neither of you knows what to say. there are so many things you both left unsaid, words that were swallowed in the years that passed, left to wither in the spaces between your conversations. but now, in this quiet moment, it all feels too big to address—too overwhelming to pull to the surface.

“i—uh, you look good,” jaemin says after a long pause, his voice still unsure, but there’s a tenderness in the way he speaks. it’s like he’s searching for something—validation, perhaps, or maybe just a sign that you’re still the person he remembers.

you look at him for a moment, taking in the boy who used to be everything to you. he’s still beautiful in a way that pulls at your heartstrings, but everything has changed, and you know it. you feel it in the way your gaze lingers on him a little longer than it should, as if your mind is still trying to piece together who he is now, who you both have become.

“so do you,” you finally reply, but your words feel hollow, even though you mean them. you know he looks good. you know he’s still jaemin, still the boy you used to hold so close. but the things that used to make you feel like you belonged together, the unspoken bond you shared, they’re gone. you feel it in the pit of your stomach—the ache of time pulling you both in opposite directions, the weight of what once was slipping through your fingers.

the quiet stretches again, thick and heavy, and you both seem to be standing on the edge of something too fragile to touch. there’s so much you want to say, so many things left unresolved. but you realize, in that moment, that there’s no going back.

no amount of time, no amount of silence, will ever give you the answers you’re looking for. the past—your shared moments, your dreams, the friendship that once felt like home—is something that has already faded, even if it still lingers in the corners of your heart.

the chill in the air grows sharper, but it doesn’t matter. you want to step forward, to bridge the gap between you both, but you know better than to reopen a wound that had already been stitched up.

jaemin shifts slightly, his hands slipping into his pockets, his eyes flickering toward the ground as if he’s lost in his own thoughts. you watch him for a moment, wondering if he feels the same ache in his chest, the same pull between wanting to move forward and holding on to what was.

“i should go,” you say finally, breaking the silence. the words are out before you even realize you’ve said them, but they feel necessary, like the only way to close this chapter.

jaemin nods, his smile faltering for just a second. “yeah, me too.”

and just like that, you turn away, the ache in your chest a quiet reminder that no matter how much you want to hold on to what was, some things are meant to fade, even if it hurts to let them go.

you walk away, and the footsteps behind you feel like the final acknowledgment of the future you both said goodbye to.

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