#i really did not intend to start the year out so slow | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shaiyasstuff · 4 months ago

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pit-a-pat | zayne

synopsis : He was never really yours. Not when she existed.

content : ANGST, zayne x non-mc!reader, some cannon some non-cannon, doctor zayne (a dash of sylus x reader)

It started beautifully.

Not with fireworks or declarations, but with something quieter—something softer.

You met Zayne on a Tuesday. The skies were overcast, and the campus café was packed with students trying to squeeze in one last coffee before the end-of-term chaos. You had just picked up your order, arms full of books and notes and a half-finished thought buzzing in your mind, when you turned too quickly and collided with someone.

The impact jolted through you. Your books scattered, your pen rolled under a chair, and your coffee splashed onto your sleeve. You let out a soft curse under your breath, flustered, apologizing before you even looked up.

Then a hand reached down, brushing against yours.

“I’m sorry,” came a low voice.

You looked up.

And that was the first time you saw him.

Zayne.

Tall, composed, sharp around the edges but inexplicably gentle in the way he moved. His eyes—hazel green, clear and steady—met yours like they already knew you. Like they had always known you.

He picked up your pen, handed it to you.

“I owe you a coffee,” he said. “Let me make it up to you.”

You smiled. Gave him your number.

The rest unfolded the way falling does—slow, weightless, inevitable.

There were no grand gestures. No overly rehearsed first dates. You didn’t even realize you were falling in love with him until you already had. He was simply there, steady and quiet and comforting in a way the world rarely is.

He never raised his voice. Never made you feel like you had to be more or less than exactly who you were. He wasn’t perfect—he kept things to himself, and his silences could stretch into days—but you loved him all the same. You told yourself it was enough. That love was never about loudness, but about staying.

And Zayne stayed.

For eight years.

You stood beside him through every sleepless night of his internship, through every heartbreak he brought home from the hospital. You held his hand when he was promoted, when he won awards, when the weight of lives saved and lost pressed too heavily against his shoulders.

You built a quiet life together. Shared takeout containers and cold pillows. Lazy Sunday mornings and long nights where your laptop glowed across the room as he dozed off beside you in his scrubs.

You became a writer, the kind with notebooks full of fictional heartbreaks, never quite knowing you were walking toward your own.

And you thought—foolishly, recklessly—that he was your ending.

That one day, you would wear white, and he would wait for you at the altar, hands trembling, heart full.

But some love stories are not meant to be lived. Only written.

—•

You stood outside his office now.

Your hand clutched his notebook, the one he left behind this morning in his rush to get to the hospital. His keys jangled faintly against your palm. You had texted, but he hadn’t responded. It wasn’t unusual. He got busy.

You told yourself that.

But the dread sitting in your chest was new.

The door to his office was slightly ajar. You stepped closer without thinking, intending only to knock—just knock, hand the things over, and leave.

But then, you heard his voice.

Low. Familiar. But not like you’d ever heard it before.

“I did this all… for you.”

Your body went still.

Inside, Zayne was standing with a girl you didn’t recognize—not at first. She was smaller than you, delicate. Her eyes were wide and wet. Zayne’s hand hovered just beside her cheek, and his other gripped her forearm like she was something slipping from his grasp.

“I planned this. To be your physician. To work here. Just so I could see you.”

The world tilted.

A cold, sharp pressure settled in your chest, and your fingers loosened. The keys dropped first, hitting the floor with a sound that sliced through the silence. His notebook followed, landing with a dull thud on the waiting chair beside the door.

Both of them turned.

She looked at you with startled recognition.

Zayne’s eyes locked onto yours. And in that instant, everything changed.

You knew.

You remembered her now. He had mentioned her once. His childhood friend. The one with the heart condition. A passing story over dinner, shared like a memory too old to matter.

You hadn’t thought anything of it then.

But you understood now.

She wasn’t a memory.

She was the reason.

The reason he became a doctor. The reason he worked here.

The reason for his choices, his ambition, his silence.

The reason he stayed up at night, staring at the ceiling.

The reason he chose a life of saving people—so he wouldn’t lose her.

You wanted to ask him if it was all a lie. But the words wouldn’t come.

Because deep down, you already knew the answer.

And he didn’t deny it.

He didn’t say your name. He didn’t come after you.

He just stood there. Watching.

And that hurt more than anything else.

You turned and walked away.

Not out of pride. Not out of anger.

But because staying would’ve shattered you in ways you weren’t sure you could recover from.

You made it to the elevator before the tears came. Quiet ones, slipping down your cheeks like they had every right to be there. You didn’t wipe them away. You didn’t try to breathe through the ache.

You let them fall.

Eight years.

Eight years of loving someone who had always belonged to someone else.

You had been writing your love story in ink.

But he had written his in pencil. And now, he had erased you.

You don’t go home right away.

You wander the streets with no destination, the city blurring past you like watercolor in the rain. Cars pass. People pass. The world keeps moving, unaware that yours has come undone.

By the time you return to your apartment, it’s dark.

You don’t bother turning on the lights. You sit on the edge of the bed where he’s slept beside you for years, staring at the familiar shapes in the shadows—his worn coat slung over the chair, the framed photo on the nightstand, the mug with his initials you always forget to put away.

And then the door clicks.

You don’t move.

You hear the soft shuffle of his shoes being kicked off. The hesitant steps down the hallway.

Then his voice.

“Hey.”

Quiet. Careful. Like the word might break.

You still don’t move.

A beat. Two. Then he speaks again. “I didn’t expect you to be there.”

You almost laugh. Didn’t expect—

You turn slowly to face him. The expression on your face is not angry. It’s worse.

It’s tired.

Empty.

“What was I supposed to see, Zayne?” you ask. Your voice doesn’t tremble, but it’s raw. “Because all I saw was a man in love with someone else.”

He doesn’t deny it.

He doesn’t even flinch.

He just looks at you with that same unreadable gaze he always has, like he’s weighing truths against silence. Like he’s trying to choose the least painful version of honesty.

“She was sick,” he says quietly. “You knew that.”

“That’s not the part that hurts.” Your words are sharp, but they don’t rise in volume. “The part that hurts is you built your whole life around her—and I didn’t know. I loved you for eight years. And I didn’t know.”

Zayne’s eyes darken, but he says nothing.

You continue, barely able to keep your voice steady. “Every step you took, every choice you made—becoming a doctor, working at Akso Hospital… You said you wanted to help people. You made me believe that was who you were.”

“I am that,” he says quickly.

“But that’s not why you did it.” Your voice cracks on the last word. “You did it for her.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You almost laugh again, but it turns into something hollow.

“You didn’t mean to,” you echo, staring at him like you’re trying to memorize the face of someone you no longer recognize. “Zayne, I built my life around you. I was ready to marry you. I was planning forever with someone who—”

You choke. You try to breathe.

“—with someone who’s heart was never really mine.”

His shoulders stiffen. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is,” you say. “You loved her. You still love her. I was just… convenient.”

“That’s not true,” he says sharply. It’s the first time he’s raised his voice. “You weren’t convenient. You were—”

“What, Zayne? What was I?” you whisper. “A distraction? A substitute? Someone you convinced yourself you could be happy with because she wasn’t here?”

He looks away. That’s all the answer you need.

You don’t cry. Not this time. There’s nothing left in you to fall apart.

Instead, you stand.

“I would’ve understood if you had just told me,” you say quietly. “I would’ve left. I would’ve let you go. But you didn’t. You let me believe I was your person. And now, I don’t even know what was real.”

He doesn’t stop you when you move past him. He doesn’t call your name.

He just stands there, in the center of the hallway, with guilt written all over his face.

And you realize, for all his brilliance, for all the lives he’s saved.

Zayne never had the courage to save yours from this.

—•

You don’t even know why you agreed to be here.

Maybe part of you wanted closure. Maybe the angrier part of you wanted to look her in the eye and find something—anything—to blame.

Or maybe, in the raw aftermath of it all, you just wanted to understand what could possibly be so powerful that it unraveled eight years of your life like thread from a seam.

The hospital courtyard is quiet when you arrive. The air is cold, overcast with a brittle kind of stillness. You sit down on the far end of the stone bench, your hands curled inside your coat sleeves. The silence hums in your ears.

You almost leave.

But then you hear footsteps—soft, hesitant.

She stops in front of you. The girl.

The reason.

She looks like something out of a different life—slight, pale, wrapped in a coat two sizes too big. Her hair is tucked behind her ears, and her face is gentle in a way that feels unfair.

You wish she had sharpness to her. Arrogance.

Something you could hate on sight.

But she doesn’t.

She looks… kind.

And somehow, that hurts more.

“Hi,” she says, tentative.

You don’t answer. You just watch her, expression unreadable, trying to see what he must’ve seen.

She glances down, wringing her hands. “Thanks for coming.”

You almost say don’t thank me. Almost. But the words stay behind your teeth.

She sits, carefully keeping distance between you.

A long silence stretches out.

“I know this is strange,” she begins, “and I don’t want to make anything worse. I just thought… maybe you deserved to hear it from me.”

Your jaw clenches. “Did you know about me?”

She hesitates. Then, “Yes.”

You inhale slowly. That answer burns.

“So you knew,” you murmur, your voice tighter than you want it to be, “and you still let it happen.”

“I didn’t let anything happen,” she says softly. “I didn’t come looking for him. I didn’t expect to see him again. And when I did, I didn’t know how to undo it.”

Undo it. As if this is something she can unspool. As if your heart was a thread to pull clean.

You turn to her then, finally meeting her gaze. “I tried to hate you.”

She flinches, but you continue.

“I wanted to. I really, really did. I told myself you were selfish. That you ruined everything. That he wouldn’t have drifted if you hadn’t been there.”

Your eyes sting. But the tears stay where they are.

“I needed to hate you. Because hating him… it’s harder. And hating myself—well, that’s already happening.”

She looks at you with something close to sorrow. Not pity. Not guilt. Just a deep, quiet understanding.

“I never meant to take anything from you,” she says. “But I think… I always had him. Even when I didn’t want to.”

You nod slowly. That’s the part that kills you.

“It wasn’t fair,” you whisper. “I loved him for eight years. I gave him everything. And he—he was building a life around you the entire time.”

The girl’s lips tremble. “I don’t think he knew how to let go of me. Not fully. I don’t even think he knew he hadn’t.”

You close your eyes. The wind picks up, threading cold fingers through your coat.

“You know what’s funny?” you say, voice hollow. “I thought we were preparing for a wedding. Turns out, I was standing in the way of a reunion.”

Silence falls again. Heavy. Unforgiving.

She blinks quickly, her throat working around words she can’t say. “I’m sorry.”

You believe her. That’s the worst part.

You wanted her to be cruel, or callous, or indifferent. You wanted her to be easy to hate.

But she’s just a girl with a fragile heart, loved too deeply by someone who was never entirely yours to begin with.

You rise slowly. Your legs feel heavy, as if grief has settled in your joints.

“I hope he saves you,” you murmur. “I hope it’s worth everything he lost.”

You don’t wait for her to respond.

You leave. And this time, you don’t cry.

But something in you quietly, irrevocably, closes.

—•

He shows up three days later.

You don’t know how he finds the nerve.

You’ve ignored his calls. His texts. The pathetic, half-sincere “Can we talk?” messages that began the night after the garden. He should’ve known better. He should’ve stayed gone.

But here he is.

You hear the knock this time. You sit still for a moment, your fingers curled around the edge of the blanket you’ve barely left for days, breath caught between dread and fury.

He knocks again. Harder this time.

You stand. Not because you want to see him—because you need to. To put a face to the damage.

When you open the door, it’s like nothing has changed. He’s still Zayne. Rain-damp, serious, heartbreakingly familiar in that coat you once buried your face into when the world felt too loud.

But he’s not yours anymore.

Not really.

“What do you want?” you ask. No softness. No welcome.

His jaw tenses. “To talk.”

Your laugh is sharp and joyless. “Of course. Now you talk.”

“I know I should’ve—”

“Spare me the guilt,” you snap. “I’m not in the mood to hear you pretend this wasn’t calculated.”

He flinches. “It wasn’t.”

“Oh no?” You take a step forward. “You became a doctor for her, Zayne. You took a job at her hospital. You became her physician. How long were you going to keep lying to me?”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You didn’t tell me!” you shout. “That’s the same thing!”

Your voice echoes through the hallway. You don’t care who hears. You want it to hurt.

He looks at you, lips parted like he wants to defend himself—but nothing comes out.

“I asked you once,” you continue, quieter now but no less cutting, “why you wanted to be a doctor. You told me it was to save lives. You looked me in the eye and lied.”

“I didn’t lie,” he says again, harsher now. “That’s still true. Saving her doesn’t make that less real.”

“It makes everything less real,” you spit. “Eight years, Zayne. I gave you everything. I built a future around someone who was still living in his past.”

“She almost died,” he snaps. “Do you understand that? She was twelve. I thought I lost her. I made a promise—”

“To her,” you interrupt. “You made a promise to her, and you made a life with me. You don’t get to have both.”

He falls silent.

His hands are clenched at his sides. His mouth is tight. You can tell he wants to argue, but he won’t. Because he knows you’re right.

“She was never gone,” you whisper. “Not from your heart. Not from your plans. And you… you let me believe I was enough. That I was your beginning and your end. But I was just—” your voice cracks, “I was just a pause in the story you’d always meant to return to.”

He shakes his head, voice strained. “That’s not what you were.”

“Then what was I, Zayne?”

He looks at you like he’s searching for the right words. The truth. But it’s too late for carefully packaged honesty.

You take a breath. It’s cold in your lungs. “You don’t get to grieve this. Not now. Not when you’re the one who ended it.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

You laugh again. This time, it sounds like it might break you. “But you did.”

You walk back inside and return a minute later with the box—his books, his charger, the old hoodie you used to sleep in. You shove it into his arms.

He doesn’t take it right away. “Please—don’t let this be how it ends.”

You stare at him, empty. Tired. “Zayne, it ended the moment you chose silence.”

He lowers his head. Grips the box like it’s the only thing holding him together.

And when he finally turns to leave, you don’t stop him.

This time, you don’t look back.

And this time—he does cry.

He doesn’t go home.

Not right away.

He drives. Somewhere. Anywhere. The roads blur beneath the city lights, each turn as pointless as the last. He forgets where he’s meant to be.

He doesn’t cry at first.

That doesn’t happen until later—when he pulls over on the side of an empty street, kills the engine, and sits in the silence he spent years wrapping around his truth.

And then it hits him.

Not like a punch. No, it’s slower than that.

It’s the steady, suffocating realization that you’re gone.

Really gone.

Not just upset. Not waiting for him to make it right.

Gone, because you loved him too deeply to stay where you were never really seen.

He rests his forehead against the steering wheel and exhales a broken sound that might be a sob. Might be a prayer. Might just be everything finally coming undone.

How did he get here?

He thinks back to when you met. Your laugh—unexpected, soft. The way you always saw right through his silences, but never pushed too hard. How you held his hand during exams, during sleepless nights, during the moments he thought he might collapse under the weight of what he couldn’t say.

And now?

Now you won’t even look at him.

And he doesn’t blame you.

He’d clung so tightly to a ghost of the past, he never noticed he was strangling the only real thing he had left.

The worst part? He meant it. Every word he said to the other girl. The promise. The devotion. He did want to save her. He did want to protect her.

But he never asked himself why.

Maybe he thought saving her would fix something in him. That if he kept his promise, if he held on tightly enough, he’d redeem himself for that helpless, broken boy who once stood in an ER, covered in blood that didn’t belong to him.

But he never meant to love both.

Not like this.

He stares out the windshield, watching the rain bead and slide down the glass. It reminds him of you. Of the way you never cried in front of him—not even when it hurt.

Especially when it hurt.

And that night in the hallway—your voice shaking but never pleading. Your eyes full of betrayal, not begging. That was love, too. The kind that breaks itself before it breaks you.

He wipes his face with the back of his hand, as if that will erase the weight in his chest.

But it stays.

God, it stays.

And for the first time since med school, since the long nights that almost drowned him, Zayne doesn’t know what to do.

Not with himself.

Not with this regret.

He was always good at silence. At burying what he didn’t want to face.

But this time, silence cost him the only person who ever stayed.

The hospital doesn’t feel the same.

It should.

Same corridors. Same sterile smell. Same rustle of nurses’ shoes against polished floors. He walks these halls every day—he knows the pattern of the tiles, the rhythm of the fluorescent lights above. He’s built a life inside this place.

But now?

It feels hollow. Too bright in some places. Too quiet in others.

He stands outside Operating Room B with a chart in his hand, staring at words he isn’t reading. His mind drifts. Again.

“Doctor Zayne?”

He blinks. A nurse is looking at him, brows slightly furrowed.

“You’re needed in Cardiology.”

Right. Cardiology. Her department.

He nods, mutters something close to thanks, and moves.

He still performs the surgeries. Still signs the charts. Still nods when interns look at him like he holds the world in his hands.

But something is gone.

And it’s not skill. It’s not precision.

Its presence.

He’s no longer in his life. He’s moving through it. Performing. Like muscle memory.

The girl—his childhood friend—she’s recovering. Stable. And she smiles when she sees him, small and grateful and warm.

But it doesn’t make him feel anything.

Not now.

Not since he saw the look on your face—the woman he promised a future to. The one who gave him all of herself without knowing he was never giving you all of him.

He remembers your hands, trembling when you pushed the box into his arms. The edge in your voice when you asked, “Then what was I, Zayne?”

He didn’t have an answer then.

He still doesn’t.

Because how do you explain to someone that they were your peace, your softness, your home—and you lost them because you couldn’t let go of a promise made by a boy who hadn’t learned how to speak his grief out loud?

Zayne finds himself in the stairwell, long after his shift ends. He doesn’t even remember walking here.

He sits on the steps. Folds forward. Buries his face in his hands.

He doesn’t cry. He already did that. He’s past crying now.

What he feels now is worse.

Emptiness.

The kind that seeps into everything.

He pulls out his phone. Opens your name. Stares at the last message you sent.

“Can you grab oat milk on the way home?”

He didn’t even answer it.

He thinks about texting. Something. Anything.

“I miss you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t know I was choosing wrong until you were gone.”

But he doesn’t.

Because what could he say now that wouldn’t sound like too little, too late?

And because maybe—deep down—he knows you deserve someone who doesn’t have to lose you to realize you were everything.

—•

You were sitting at your usual corner table in a café tucked between a bookstore and a florist—one of those quiet places where time didn’t feel so heavy. You weren’t writing. Not that day. You just sat there, fingers wrapped around a chipped ceramic mug, watching the world through a pane of glass slick with water.

Existing in the small, still spaces between grief and recovery.

You had been doing that a lot lately. Watching.

It was raining. Of course it was.

It had been seven months since Zayne. Since the silence. Since the hallway.

You hadn’t dated anyone. You couldn’t.

Not when your heart still ached in places you hadn’t named.

That’s where you met Sylus.

He walked in, his footsteps confident as he strides up to the counter.

You didn’t look up at first. Just heard the low hum of the door chime, the soft sound of boots on wet tile. Then came the voice.

“I’ll take whatever’s strongest and not completely terrible.”

It made you glance over your shoulder.

And there he was.

White silver hair that stood out against the interior of the coffee shop.

Sharp-featured. Tall. Dressed in black with a half-dried coat slung over one arm and stormy red eyes that didn’t belong in a place like this.

He looked… misfit.

Like someone who had gotten lost on his way to something louder.

He caught you staring.

Smirked.

“Judging me already?” he said as he passed your table.

You blinked, caught off guard. “You looked like you came in here by accident.”

“I did.” He set his cup on the table across from yours without asking. “Lucky me.”

You stared at him. He stared right back. There was no hesitation in him.

No over-eagerness. No rehearsed charm. Just a strange kind of confidence, like he didn’t care whether you invited him in or not.

And yet… somehow, he was easy to talk to.

That first conversation was short. Nothing special. He told you he was in the city for work. Said he hated the rain. You said you didn’t mind it.

He teased you for that. Called you a poet. You didn’t correct him.

Before he left, he asked for your name. Then he gave you his. Sylus.

He didn’t ask for your number. He didn’t flirt. He just said, “Maybe I’ll see you here again.”

And you did.

The next week. And the week after that.

Same table. Same rain.

He never asked about your past, and you never asked about his.

He talked to you like you were new. Like you weren’t made of broken pieces.

And you liked that.

You liked that he didn’t try to fix you. That he didn’t reach for your scars or ask what happened.

He just saw you. All of you.

Eventually, you started writing again.

He’d sit across from you, reading some obscure book or sketching something in a notebook he never let you see.

“You ever gonna tell me what that is?” you asked one afternoon.

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug, “when you’re done hiding behind yours.”

You laughed. For the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel strange.

He didn’t slip into your life the way Zayne did.

No, Sylus walked in with loud footsteps and called attention to all the parts of you that still needed to be held.

And when he finally kissed you—months later, after too many late nights and half-finished conversations—he didn’t whisper promises.

He only said, “You don’t have to be ready. Just let me stay.”

And you did.

Now, you’re curled up on the couch in one of Sylus’s old sweaters, legs folded beneath you, a half-read book resting in your lap.

You’ve read the same paragraph three times. The words blur and smear.

Not because you’re tired—though you are—but because your thoughts won’t sit still.

He notices.

He always does.

Sylus steps out from the kitchen, two mugs in hand. You hadn’t asked for tea. You never really need to. He knows the nights when you can’t quite find your center.

He sits beside you, close but never crowding, and offers the cup without a word.

You take it, fingers brushing his. His touch is warm. Steady.

You don’t speak right away.

He doesn’t push.

That’s the thing about Sylus. He doesn’t try to draw the pain out of you. He just makes space for it. Holds it. Waits until you’re ready.

After a long moment, you say quietly, “It’s almost been two years.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Since him?”

You nod.

Sylus leans back against the couch, stretching an arm along the top. Not possessive. Just there. Like a safety net.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head. “Not really. I just… thought I’d be past the memory by now.”

He hums softly. “Memories don’t care about time. They’re like bruises under the skin. You forget they’re there until something presses too hard.”

You glance at him, lips tugging into a faint, worn smile. “Is that your poetic way of saying it’s okay to feel like this?”

He smirks. “It’s my poetic way of saying I’m not going anywhere.”

Your smile softens. Fades into something real.

He’s never tried to replace what came before. Never asked you to forget it. He simply stayed.

When you turned away.

When you flinched at first touch.

When you said not yet.

When you said I’m not whole.

Sylus looked you in the eye and said, You don’t have to be.

And you believed him.

Now, you lean your head against his shoulder, tea still warm between your hands. He lets you rest there in silence.

No questions. No expectations.

Just the quiet knowing that this—whatever it is—is something different.

Something earned.

And when his hand finds yours and doesn’t let go, you feel it again.

That peace you thought you’d never know after Zayne.

The kind of love that doesn’t arrive like a storm.

But like a home.

—•

Two years later, you see him again.

You hadn’t expected it—weren’t prepared for it.

It’s a charity gala, the kind Sylus rarely agrees to attend, but he’s here tonight for you.

One hand on your back, the other wrapped loosely around a glass of champagne he hasn’t touched. He looks just like he always does, sharp suit, sharp tongue, a man made of storm and steel, and yet—when he looks at you, it softens him.

Always.

You never thought you’d get to feel this way again.

Safe.

Loved.

Chosen.

You’re speaking to someone—maybe a publisher, maybe a donor—you don’t really remember.

And then you feel it.

That cold flicker down your spine.

That familiar stillness before the silence breaks.

You turn.

And there he is.

Zayne.

Two years older. A little more tired. A little less certain.

He’s standing just across the room, alone in a sea of people.

He looks like he doesn’t quite belong here, like he’s watching a world he no longer fits into.

And then his eyes find you.

You don’t look away.

You let him see it—all of it.

The soft smile on your lips. The ring on your finger. The way Sylus leans in, brushing a kiss to your temple without even realizing he’s doing it.

Zayne’s expression doesn’t change. Not really. But you feel the ripple.

Because this time, you are not the one breaking.

You are not the one watching love walk away.

You’re standing still.

And someone is holding on.

You excuse yourself quietly from the conversation, fingers brushing Sylus’s wrist as you turn to whisper something.

He catches the look in your eyes. He knows. Of course he knows.

But he says nothing. Just stays close. Just keeps his hand resting at the small of your back like he’s reminding you—you’re not alone.

When you approach, Zayne doesn’t speak right away.

He just looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the life you’ve built without him. The one he didn’t stay long enough to deserve.

“You look…” he begins, but falters. His voice is rougher now. Thinner.

“Happy?” you offer gently.

He nods. “Yeah.”

You glance back at Sylus, who’s watching from a respectful distance, sharp-eyed and protective as ever. He always gives you space when you need it. But never too far.

“I didn’t know you were back in the city,” Zayne says.

You nod. “We moved here last spring.”

“We?”

“My husband and I.”

He flinches—just barely. But you see it.

You don’t gloat. You don’t need to.

There’s a grace in moving on that silence can never rewrite.

“He’s good to you?” Zayne asks.

You smile. “He sees me.”

The words hang between you. Heavy. Sharp. True.

Zayne swallows hard. “I’m glad.”

You nod. And this time, it’s real. “So am I.”

You don’t stay long. Just long enough for him to see that you survived him. That you bloomed after the break. That someone else saw what he couldn’t hold.

You return to Sylus without looking back.

He slides his arm around your waist and leans in, his lips brushing your ear. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I am now.”

And as the music rises and the crowd begins to move again, you rest your hand over your husband’s and let yourself forget the boy who couldn’t choose you.

Because you’ve already chosen the man who never had to be asked.

masterlist

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asxgard · 4 months ago

Note

I wanted something where Abbott gets involved with a younger resident — maybe everyone in the ER knows about it, except the interns, since it’s their first day. Maybe the resident doesn’t like Trinity’s style, and Trinity goes to complain to Jack, but Jack defends his resident.

In Your Defense | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!resident!reader

Requested

Summary: After getting on your nerves all day, you and Santos finally go toe-to-toe over a patient. Jack comes to your defense.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: I’ve been floating around ideas of my own of Jack with a resident👀so this was fun!

Sorry it took a bit! I got distracted with a few other things, and I wanted to make sure Companionship got out yesterday. Plus, this became a lot longer than I originally intended. I hope you like it @mayabbot !

Word Count: 2.7k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: age gap, semi-established relationship, foul language, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, mild Santos hate due difference in style, Pittfest

not beta read

The thing about Dr. Jack Abbot was, you did not need a label to know what you meant to him. There was no officiality of a title, even though you were both serious about each other — but frankly, the title was just a word. You knew where you stood, spending nights in his apartment and cooking breakfast together. He never hesitated to remind you that you belonged to him. Not in the overly possessive way, but in the silent always there type of way.

Jack had a past, and while you never pushed, he opened slowly. He had held you out of reach for some time before you realized what was truly brewing between you, and after he began to share, you thought the slow, quiet way you existed around each other was enough. He had loved and lost, he had fought and sacrificed, so you always assured him there was no rush. Not with you. You supposed there would be something to be said when you finished your residency, since that was a big priority in your life, but that was still a year away.

Like most things, your relationship with Jack did not stay secret for long in the halls of the Pitt. You really should have known better — Princess and Perlah were bloodhounds when it came to sniffing out things like that, and the bet did little to keep it private. You were unsure who had started it, but you were surprised that it was Robby who had walked away with the money. It felt like cheating, since he had insider knowledge after catching the two of you at a bar, but you never said anything.

Waking up in his bed alone was not uncommon — since after your dayshifts you sometimes would just wander to his apartment as opposed to your own. You would curl into his sheets and his smell, even when he would not be home all night. He never minded, and frankly even encouraged it. Working opposite shifts than him cut back on time you had together, but you knew it was only a matter of time before you were back on nights due to your flip-flopping schedule.

He looked worn down when you arrived at the Pitt for your shift, bright-eyed from a full night's rest in his bed. He followed you into the staff lounge so you could put your lunch away and he poured a bit of coffee to top off your thermos.

“Is it a ‘good morning’ type of morning, or a quiet ‘let me contemplate’ type of morning?”

He pursed his lips, “Neither. I lost a vet last night, spent two hours coding him.”

You sucked in a breath, knowing it had been a rough one for him. Those nights were far and few between, but never handled them very well. He was getting better, but oftentimes, he found himself on the roof.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” You said, knowing there was not much to say that would actually make it feel any better. “I made dinner last night, I left some leftovers in your fridge.”

He nodded, “At least we’ll have tonight and tomorrow together.”

You smiled, “I’m looking forward to it. Meet at yours?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

You chuckled, “Go get some rest, old man.”

An eyebrow rose in a challenge, “You won’t be saying that later.”

You smirked, “Counting on it.”

He gave you a rushed kiss on the lips, ensuring it was quick and private, before he was out the door. You sipped on your coffee and let out a long sigh, moving towards the charge desk and greeting Dana with a grin.

You let out a low whistle when you looked up at the board, “Damn, they got hammered last night.”

Frank Langdon stepped beside you to lean against the desk, “Why do I have a feeling you’re going to say the Q word? Don’t you dare, or I swear to god.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “It was one time over a year ago. Who do I look like? Shen? I’m no longer an amatuer.”

“I’m so glad I don’t work with him much. He’s like a walking jinx at this point.”

“He’s not so bad.” You laughed, “I see we got some newbies.”

Langdon glanced over his shoulder, “Two med students, an intern and an R2.”

“Oh, fun.”

—

You learned all the new faces over the course of the next hour. You found you liked the med students well enough, and the R2, Melissa King, but the intern was beginning to rub you the wrong way. Calloused and indifferent did not mesh well in the chaos of the Pitt, or the team player attitude Robby always tried to instill in everyone.

Santos was the type of person you had vehemently disliked during your med student rotations, and after hearing a few cruel nicknames she had picked for Whitaker and Javadi, you brought it to Langdon’s attention. According to Jack, Langdon had walked into the Pitt with the same type of overconfident attitude, and Robby had taken him under his wing and straightened him out. Maybe you thought he would pass on the wisdom. Not to mention, it took the drama off your plate. You had enough worries keeping your relationship with Jack away from Gloria’s ears, and the last thing you wanted to do was get in the middle of something.

“Trust me, I hear you. She already ordered something without clearing it with me first.”

Your nose scrunched in annoyance, “We don’t need someone like that down here.”

“Maybe you could let her shadow you…” he said, a smile growing as your annoyance did. “Show her the ropes. You know, that whole no-nonsense but still empathetic thing you’ve got going on might be right up her alley. You’d be a wonderful teacher.”

You deadpanned, “You owe me. Like super, major—”

“You’re the best!”

You wished you had gone to Collins instead.

Try as you did, the brashness of Santos did not quell under your careful hand and you grew more frustrated with her poor bedside manner and knack for doing things before clearing them. Just when you stepped away to use the restroom, she ordered BPAP for one of your patients and nearly killed him. Yelling was not in your wheelhouse, nor was letting something like this get the better of you, but as the shift ticked on, your fuse grew shorter. Screaming would be the worst teaching tool, but she seemed to railroad over any and all of your advice.

You passed her off to Mohan to take an hour seeing your own patients without Santos’ shadow. At the end of the hour, Mohan only gave you a knowing glance before getting back to it. By the time you went to complain to Langdon, he had disappeared. Just a bit after that, Robby sent Collins home.

Taking a deep breath, you pep-talked yourself into holding it in until the end of your shift. Then you could pass the news on to Robby and go home to forget about it.

—

When the mass casualty event was called, you fiddled with your hands, rubbing anxious circles on one of your palms. The shift had beat you up and left you out to dry, and you knew you were not likely to get out on time. Anxiety thrummed through your system, or perhaps it was the anticipation

Jack’s face was a welcomed one and you wanted to thank whoever you could that he had showed up when he did, a mess of supplies from his truck. With both Robby and Jack at the head of this, you knew the team would get through it. One patient at a time.

Robby placed you in the pink zone, with instructions to float over to yellow if they needed help. Jack found you in the supply closet trying to grab what you could to prepare for the influx in your zone, and he seemed to read you like your shift had been written on your face.

The braindead boy who no one could help. The drowned little girl no one could have saved. Dana being punched by an angry patient, which set your teeth on edge. The anguished screams of grieving family members. Your frustration with the cocky intern. Langdon abandoning you. Collins going home early. The anticipation of all the blood and loss that was sure to be waiting for you as soon as the first cars arrived with the Pittfest victims.

He squeezed your hand, “Find me if you need anything. I got you.”

There it was, that silent, all-knowing ‘always here’ anchor you had needed given in just a few simple words and a giant gesture. You smiled at him and squeezed his back, exhausted and relieved all at once.

You kicked it into gear, getting to work in your zone. Trying to ignore the tragedy around you and just focus on the medicine was easier said than done, especially getting more and more covered in blood as the shift dragged on. It truly was a blur, except for the fact that each patient was clear as day in your head.

Intubating, assessing, applying pressure to wounds, checking on the status of the operating rooms for your more critical patients, forwarding a few to red. Rinse. Repeat. A never ending cycle of carnage.

Mel whizzed past you and you looked back down at your patient, checking his pulse points. He was as stable as he was going to get, and you waved McKay over to him so you could run by yellow zone to see if they needed anything.

Whitaker’s wide eyes greeted you, “She’s doing a REBOA.”

You stopped dead, “What? Who?”

His eyes looked over to Santos, who was leaning over a patient. All the blood rushed from your head, anger and fear tangling together.

Mel was beside you then, tapping her fingers together in an anxious fashion, “I told her—I tried—“

You swallowed before rushing forward. She had already inserted the balloon, and there was not much you could do. You had only done one before, during a mass pile up over a year before, but it was under Jack’s careful supervision.

“Are you insane?” You hissed low, trying not to cause a scene.

Santos only glanced at you, “Patient was bleeding out, need to—“

“No, no, no, no.” Something snapped and all the frustration you had been feeling all day came barreling out of you. “What you need to do, Dr. Santos, is clear shit like this with your senior resident. With an attending. Literally anyone else. Mel already told you no and what do you do? This is how people die. Doctors feeding their own fucking egos and not letting themselves be checked.”

She simply stared at you, “It’s already—“

“No, this was rash.” You glanced down at the patient, seeing that the balloon was likely already in place, but from Donnie’s grim features, the patient was not doing much better. “If it worked? Amazing, great. You saved a patient. But if you keep doing this shit, someone is going to die. You’re not as infallible as you seem to think you are.”

You felt him before you saw him, a once calming presence now beside you and it made all your hairs stand on end. Like you had been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

At the hospital, he was your attending, you were the resident and you definitely should not have lost your cool like that in the middle of the shitstorm that was already occurring. You physically braced yourself, steeling your composure and trying not to wince. Jack did not scold in public, but you had made a scene.

Jack’s attention had been pulled away from his patient at a particular voice carrying through the air, growing louder as it continued. Your voice. Unmistakable and in the chaos, completely unnerving. It was not like you to shout, or yell, especially in the mess the Pitt had found itself in. He was walking towards your voice without even thinking about it, gait rushed but not running.

“She performed a REBOA.” Mel told Jack as he approached, eyeing each of you warily. “I told her not to.” She gestured to you. “She told her not to.”

You felt Jack’s eyes on your face, and you glanced over to him. He took in your features and looked back to Santos.

“A REBOA? Are you shitting me?”

“Dr. Abbot, I couldn’t get any of the attendings and the patient was bleeding out. No other options.” Santos told him, looking at you again. “I don’t think her yelling about it, or at me right now is exactly—“

“She is a resident and you are an intern. You never should have done that on your own, ever.”

You blinked, half surprised, half thankful. You never wanted your relationship with him to bleed into the professional act you two played whenever you were in the hospital. You never wanted him to play favorites or defend you when you didn’t deserve it. But a part of you relished in him supporting you. Especially after dealing with her going over your head your entire shift.

Two nightshift nurses — Alma and Riley — and Donnie exchanged knowing glances, hiding their smirks well, while Santos just stood there. Jack looked back to you and raised an eyebrow, asking if you were okay without any words.

You gave him the tiniest of nods, likely not to be seen as anything more than a twitch, but Jack caught it easily. You were okay, for the most part anyway. You could talk to him about all of it later. You hoped this could all be behind you soon, as mild embarrassment for yelling in the ED crept up your cheeks. You would pass along the information to Robby and let him handle it. He would be likely to scold you for losing your cool and yelling like he had earlier with Langdon, who was now back floating through zones with little explanation as to why he had left.

Santos looked between you two like she was trying to read you.

Jack had his focus back on the patient, asking Donnie for her vitals.

“Carotid’s weak. Radial’s barely there.” Donnie said.

“Another three cc’s in the balloon.” Jack advised and Santos followed the instruction.

Whitaker looked up, “Radial’s much stronger now.”

“Lock the balloon. Check the wound.”

“Wound’s dry, barely a trickle.”

“That’s because there’s no blood going to her legs.” Mel whispered from beside you.

“Get IR and Vascular on the case.”

The patient began coming to, opening her eyes and looking around her tiredly. There was a relief in the sight, but the fact that this would only make Santos more bold in the future made you worry.

Jack leaned in close to Santos, “That was reckless and could have killed the patient. You need to follow the chain of command here.”

Santos gave a tense nod, her tiny smile disappearing.

You stepped away when Jack did, finding a few moments when you pulled off your gown to replace it with a fresh one. He stepped behind you to tie it while you reached for new gloves.

“It’s been a shift.” You explained simply, not even needing him to open his mouth. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

“We can talk about it later.”

You turned to face him, “No, if you’re going to scold me, I’d rather you do it now. Get it out of the way.”

He studied your face. “Can’t change anything now. She did save the patient, but she could've just as easily made it worse. And you lost it for a minute. You know as well as anyone that yelling achieves nothing.”

You cringed, remembering your med school days.

“But you weren’t wrong.” He added, grabbing your arm and forcing you to look at him. “She took an unnecessary risk and hopefully next time, will try to find an attending, or a resident. I’ll mention it to Robby, maybe he can help her get back on track. The Pitt doesn’t need any more egos, I think we’re at capacity.”

A small smirk broke through on your lips, “Thank you.”

“You feel good enough to get back to it?” He raised a careful eyebrow.

You took a breath and nodded. You parted without ceremony, heading back to your respective zones and got lost in the work.

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged

Did my own feelings about Santos bleed into this? …maybe. She grew on me, but oh my god she really was getting on my last nerve for most of this season. I hope season 2 comes with some growth from her.

#the pitt #jack abbott #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot x you #the pitt x reader #asxgard writes

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s1rawb3rry · 5 months ago

Text

Cupid’s arrow has struck… the wrong target!

Oh cupid… do you love me, or do you love me not?

synopsis: As a cupid, Y/N's job has always been to make people fall in love– that has been her task for centuries. However, everything goes horribly wrong when Jake accidentally locks eyes with her instead of his intended match. Now, she's stuck with a hopelessly in-love Jake, following her around like a lovesick puppy. The worst part? Cupids aren’t allowed to fall in love…

word count: 10.3k

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, no smut, maybe a little suggestive, absolutely smitten and hopelessly in love jake, he fell first and fell harder, acts of service jake, jake is somewhat yn's boss, magic (???)

genres: office au, cupid au, rom-com, slow burn

pairing: enhypen Jake x reader

featuring: Chungha

a/n: oh my god this took FOREVER but im so glad its done im so happy with it hehe

Taglist: @heestoleurgirl @stariekis @jaehoodies @morganaawriterr @luvashli@kireistrawberryjayla @annovaz @bambieheeseunglee @firstclassjaylee @flowerwinds @veilstqr(comment if you want me to add / remove you from the list <3)

⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯

Cupids don’t wear halos and wings, or float around on fluffy clouds. At least, not anymore. We live among humans, blending in seamlessly, living for the purpose of matchmaking. Year round, we work behind the scenes of every soulmate pairing. This has been my classified, top secret occupation in the world for centuries, that I wouldn't trade for anything. When I'm off the clock, I work at a dull office job– that I love!– but it's boring enough to allow me to keep up with my much more important tasks.

Seeing my Boss slowly making his way near my desk, I planted my hands on my keyboard and started to type away, pretending to be fully immersed in the spreadsheets that are on my computers. In actuality, my mind was completely preoccupied, I kept eyeing the thin paper folder with the name “J.S.” on it. I was assigned my last assignment before my much-needed “cupid break”. The thought of rest made me giddy enough to move my hips in my office chair and hum an off tune harmony.

“What's the matter with you?” Chungha asked once she noticed my movement, her desk in front of mine. I smiled like a kid on christmas, well really rest did feel like christmas to me, “i got my final assignment before my break. I just have to find this Jake Sim.” I whispered to her. She smiled, sharing my excitement. Chungha has been one of my, if not the, closest friends for years. She is the person who knows everything about me, she knows me like the back of her hand. She is the one and only person that I could ever trust with this secret job.

“I swear I heard that name not too long ago… “ she said, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, trying to remember. I jump in my seat, lean forward to reach her desk and hold her hand in mine, “I beg you, tell me who he is so I can go into this break early.” I whisper-yelled, misery clear in my voice.

As she was laughing at my desperation, the clear glass office door swung open with an exaggerated creak. Our Boss strides in like a man who will make the biggest announcement of the decade, again. He always makes this grade entry, makes you feel like he will say something important, only for you to find out it's absolutely nothing. His dramatic flair is only rivaled by his complete lack of self-awareness. I suppress an eye roll and stare back at my spreadsheets, these seem way more interesting in fact.

“Team!” he calls out, his voice booming as he stands at the front of the office room, making a couple chairs turn around and make multiple people stop talking and clicking their keyboards. “I’d like you all to meet your new supervisor for the upcoming project I already told you about–” he told us about a new project? – “This is Jake Sim, our new project manager. So he will only be here for a couple of months until the deal with the other company is sealed.”

My eyes widened and my ears perked up when I heard that name. I glanced at Chugha who was already looking at me with that same bulging eyes. There he is– Jake, my new assignment. He stood tall in the sharp lines of his suit, his dark hair neatly swept back, and his dark eyes carrying a quiet intensity. As the Boss continued talking, jake gave the group a friendly but reserved smile. As his eyes were scanning the room, as if he's trying to memorise our faces. I tried to follow his gaze to get his perspective on my colleagues. Maybe I can find his pair in the office?

As my eyes look back at him, our eyes lock. He held it for a second before he gave me another polite smile. I returned the smile fast enough before he continued his scan of the room. I perch up on my seat when I notice Jake staring for longer than usual at the other side. My eyes land on a coworker, Mira. Both of them also exchange a polite smile.

As the boss continued to babble about the new project, that familiar feeling comes to me: when an idea of a couple clicks in my mind. Jake and Mira, they seem perfect together, well on paper they do. I open my Jake’s paper file and quickly read the notes written on him, trying to confirm to myself that he is a perfect match for Mira. Warm personality. Charismatic. Loyal. Energetic… Oh, it’s spot on.

“Alright team, that's all for today. You can get back to your work.” he wrapped up his speech, which dragged on longer than needed, motioned to Jake to follow him. Jake smiled and nodded his head at us one last time before turning his back on us. I clicked my pen and started scribbling some notes about Mira in Jake’s file. I can not waste time on a case like this. I can get in and out quickly out of it, sending them on their merry way. I beamed with excitement, unwrapping a chocolate covered almond from my drawer and popping it in my mouth.

“I remember now where I heard his name,” Chungha whispered to me. I looked up from my notes, paying my attention back to her. “He has been going to the café I always go to after work. I heard the barista always calling his name, that's why it's familiar.”

“Wait, that's perfect,” I said as the idea sparked in my mind, “if we can get Mira to come with us to the café, I can absolutely do the job there.” I continued with Chungha nodding at me. “Leave it to me, I will ask her.” she said, getting up from her office chair. I watched as she walked over to Mira, starting up a conversation with her. A moment later, her head turns to me, smiling, I smile back and do a little wave to her.

I pull my eyes from her, when I notice the light of the office in front of us turn on. That office is almost always empty, so my surprise grew when I saw Jake again, standing at the doorstep with a small moving box. He walked over to the desk and placed the box on it. Oh that's his office now. Well, him being right across from us just made my job a whole lot easier. I can monitor the progress of my work firsthand, almost front-row seat to a movie I directed.

-♥︎-

As the workday wrapped up, the three of us settled on a table in the café, the scent of bitter roasted coffee beans filled the air, making me wrinkle my nose each time the barista made a new espresso. Mira and Chungha were chattering up a storm, drinking their coffee orders while I stirred my strawberry milkshake’s straw absentmindedly, barely registering anything that is being said. My focus was set on the door, waiting for him, in any minute, to come in. Every second that passes is a second closer to my break. I take a sip of my drink, trying to suppress my excitement.

Yet, nature called at the worst moment, “I'll be right back, I need to use the restroom,” I said, sliding out of my seat and leaving my milkshake barely touched. They nod at me before returning to their conversation.

As I step out a few minutes later, wiping my hands on a paper towel, I pause just outside the restroom door. As if it’s a twist from fate, I find myself standing in a perfect spot to have the perfect shot. Jake was standing, waiting for his coffee, not noticing me. His position is exactly where I need him, flawlessly aligned with Mira. Excitement ran through me, It’s almost too perfect.

Almost there… One clean shot– quick and easy.

Letting my muscle memory instinctively reach for a cupid arrow, I take a steady breath and discreetly wind up my arrow. My heart bubbles in my chest in anticipation. Just as I’m about to let the arrow fly…

“Hey, did you notice that–” Chungha said, coming from behind me, disturbing the silence.

I gasped, her sudden loud voice making me jump forward and making my heart leap to my throat. My hand jerks, my aim going completely rogue, accidentally hitting Jake. I gasped again, “oh my god, no!” panic sets in my bones as I walk forward to try to recover the arrow. Before I can even process the rest, my foot catches on a stray chair leg making my world tilt.

I closed my eyes, bracing my fall before I felt two tight arms around me, steadying me effortlessly. When air got back to my lungs, I opened my eyes to find Jake's face inches away from mine. Oh dear god, please no… “I’m so sorry,” I said, the words left out of my mouth with my mind running much faster. Am I sorry that I fell or that I accidentally struck him? This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to see Mira, not me.

His usual polite warmth in his expression softens into something more tender, something deeper. His brows furrow just a little, as if he's suddenly aware of a feeling—a feeling that stirs something in him undeniable. The more I look at his eyes, the more my plan crumbles.

“Are you okay?” Jake asks, his voice low and surprisingly gentle, his gaze lingering a little too long. His grip on me is still tight, my heart and stomach felt twisted in knots, as if they were bound together. This doesn’t feel like love—it feels more like alarms blaring in my mind.

Chungha, my traitor of a best friend, noticed the mistake she just made. Her eyes darted between us, her face painted with realization. I could see her from the side of my eyes trying to come up with a last-minute fallback plan.

“No way!” she exclaimed almost cartoonishly with an exaggerated gasp, practically lunged forward tugging me out of his grip with force, “I—uh—I forgot something at the office! Come on, let’s go!” she lied, turning her heel to the opposite side of the cafe, with my heels right behind her.

With my heart still pounding, I slapped a 20 dollar bill on our table, grabbed my coat and pushed both Mira and Chungha out of the café. I could feel his piercing gaze on me as we were shuffling out of the café. He was still looking at me as I was walking away—like I was the center of his universe.

-♥︎-

Later that night, I stood in my dimly lit kitchen, surrounded by flour, sugar and butter. My stand mixer whirring loudly with the warm smell of cookies coming from my oven. My hands trembled as I measured out the flour, my mind still reeling from everything that had just happened. I turned off the mixer, slowly adding the flour.

Chungha leaned against the kitchen counter, looking in the oven to see the cookies. Then her eyes landed on the already freshly baked cookies on the counter, still warm. She watched my unsteady movement with a confused expression, her eyes held concern. “This is the batch number…?” she asks, leaving the question for me to finish.

I exhaled a shaky breath, trying to steady myself and my hands. “Baking calms me down,” I muttered, my voice tense, matching how my muscles felt, “besides, it’s the only thing that doesn’t make my head feel like it’s about to explode.”

“I’m sorry…” she said quietly after a moment passed, her voice full of guilt, referring back to what happened in the café. I sighed in defeat, putting down the mixing bowl. I gave her a weak but genuine smile, “it's not your fault. I'm the one who was impatient,” I said before going back to my bowl, “I never rushed the process of pairing a couple, look where that got me…"I trailed off, scraping the side of the bowl a little too roughly.

She stayed silent, looking at me, waiting for me to actually explode. My frustration bubbled up again when I dropped my spoon on the floor, even dropping spoons is putting me on edge. I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath to ground myself, “this whole situation is too risky,” I started once Chungha picked up my spoon and started washing it.

“Men liked me before, but none were under the influence of a Cupid’s arrow. It's just too strong. If this goes wrong, if I fall in love, I will systematically lose my job. I love my job, you know that.” I rambled, pouring out what's in my heart.

Chungha was silent, listening to me, “So… what now?” she asked, uncertainty laced her voice.

I exhaled a shaky breath, turning back to my mixing bowl, “I have one week. A week before the arrow’s effect turns into true feelings.” I said, grabbing a new, clean mixing spoon, not sure if I was trying to focus on the dough or just distract myself from my spiraling thoughts. My hands moved automatically, though my mind raced, “I have a week before this turns into a full-on disaster. If I don’t reverse the arrow in time.”

“That’s not a lot of time.” Chungha commented, taking a cookie. “You're not helping, Chungie,” I grumbled. She laughed, biting into a cookie, “don’t worry, we’re in this mess together.” she said, her hands found my tense shoulders, reassuring me. I just nodded, leaning into her.

I began to bake again, the nervous energy inside me didn’t dissipate. There was no time to waste. I couldn’t let him genuinely fall in love with me. Not when everything I’d worked for hung in the balance. My hands shook slightly as I carefully scooped the cookie dough onto the tray. I close my eyes for a second.

Focus. One week. I can reverse the arrow’s effect. I have to reverse it.

♥︎ DAY 1 ♥︎

I strolled into the office with my heels clicking behind me. I readjusted my purse on my shoulder when I noticed a pink drink sitting beside my keyboard. Condensation beads down the plastic cup, the whipped cream still holding its shape—fresh.

“You got me a milkshake?” I gasped in awe, turning to Chungha. She appeared from behind her screen, brows knitted together, “I got you a milkshake?” she echoed my question, leaning to the side to see what I’m talking about.

I blink at her as if she just sprouted another head. "Yes, this!" I said, looking back at the milkshake, squinting at a small sticky note attached to the side of it. I carefully unstick it from the drink, holding it like it’s evidence in a crime scene.

forgive me for making you leave early yesterday… - Jake

I closed my eyes hoping, wishing, the earth would open up and swallow me. Of course it was him. Chunghun leaned forward to catch the note, squinting. A smile grew on her face, “okay, you gotta admit that this is cute.” I shoot her a glare, “I need to thank him.” I said, placing my purse on my desk and grabbing the milkshake. Chungha’s grin widened at my announcement, “you caused this.” I reminded her playfully before leaving.

Each step I took toward his glass-walled office feels oddly heavy. It’s just a thank-you. Nothing more, not a big deal. Knocking the door twice made Jake turn around. His eyes brightened when he saw me, just like a puppy who was told they will go on a walk.

“Hello, sir,” I greeted, the milkshake suddenly felt a little too heavy in my hands.

"Good morning," he says, a smile full of warmth and admiration spread across his face. Oh, he got it bad…

I held up the milkshake, "Thanks for this. You really didn’t have to." I said, returning the smile sheepishly.

His eyes glowed with adoration, "Consider it an apology. Hope I got the right flavor?" he said, motioning to the milkshake. I should be the one apologising.

Then it dawned on me, he did remember the flavor… "Yeah," I say, my voice softer than I mean it to be. "You did."

He opened his mouth to say something, but a sudden interruption from outside the office stopped him, “Team!” our Boss shouted before his voice became muffled to me. Slightly jolting, I gave Jake an apologetic look, “I must go. Thank you again for the milkshake, sir.” I said, watching him walking towards me.

“Jake,” he said, as if he’s correcting me. His gaze flickering between my eyes.

I stared blankly at him, “I’m sorry?”

“Please, call me Jake.”

-♥︎-

Avoiding him was proven to be impossible. It started off small: he held the elevator door open for me even when I was still ten steps away, he would offer to buy me anything and everything the cafeteria offered, even suggesting ordering something. But now it was the worst situation. We had a meeting before we could leave for the day, something about that project the Boss keeps fussing about. Focusing, however, was beyond me.

Between Jake sitting besides me and the lack of sleep last night, my brain was running on fumes. The anxiety of this whole situation tangled itself around me, and that damn milkshake moment kept playing in my head like a broken record. I blinked hard, trying to fight off the weight of exhaustion dragging my eyelids down. My notes in front of me blurred together. The voices in the room became distant, background noise to the quiet battle I was losing against sleep.

A small piece of folded paper appeared on the table in front of me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jake's hand retreating back to his side. I tried to decipher his face from the position i was in, but his expression was unreadable. Carefully, without trying to pull attention towards us, I unfolded the note.

Are you feeling okay?

I stared at his handwriting in black ink, oddly neat, like he had taken his time. I reached for my own red pen, scribbling down how I just didn't sleep well last night. I refolded the paper, sliding it back to him. A few seconds later, his response appeared in front of me.

Close your eyes. I can cover for you.

I almost snorted, exhaustion making everything funny now. What is he even talking about? Hesitating only for a moment, I grabbed my pen and scribbled back something. I straighten my back, trying to wake myself up. Again, his response popped up in front of me.

Trust me on this one. No one will notice.

I frowned in confusion, but before I could decide on how to respond, he subtly tilted his body, his broad shoulders blocking me from view. All I could see was his back and how everyone else was listening to the meeting.

Slowly, undeniable fatigue took over me, making me shut my eyes.

-♥︎-

“Hey… Wake up.”

A hand shook my shoulder gently, pulling me from the depths of my nap. I stirred, my mind still heavy with exhaustion, before I finally blinked my way back into consciousness. Once my vision focused, I found Chungha standing beside me, casually packing my notepad and pens into my purse.

“Meeting’s over,” she announced, tilting her head. “I was this close to tucking you in and leaving you here." she laughed, putting my purse on my lap. I groaned, stretching out my arms as I forced myself upright. My body still felt sluggish, my brain foggy from sleep. The conference room was empty now—everyone was gone.

“Now, come on, let’s go eat something. I’m starving…” she grumbled, heading towards the door. As I stood up and slung my purse over my shoulder, I slipped my hands into my coat pockets out of habit. The sleepiness fog vanished the moment I felt a piece of paper already in my pocket. I pulled it out only to find very similar handwriting in black ink.

Didn’t have the heart to wake you up.

It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t need to be.

♥︎ DAY 3 ♥︎

I had spent the last two days trying every trick, every strategy, everything and anything in my power to undo this ridiculous mistake. Yet, every desperate attempt led me to a dead end. It was completely hopeless.

I tried acting uninterested, distant, cold, downright dismissive towards him. Jake would greet me every morning, warm smiles and bright eyes. It took every ounce of willpower not to match his puppy-like energy, to keep my response flat and indifferent. "Morning," I’d say, voice devoid of emotion. But no matter how lifeless I sounded, his grin never wavered.

I also attempted to make him lose hope by acting like I have a ‘secret office admirer’, Chungha’s idea. We thought, maybe, this would make him give up on me.

“Are you sure this will work?” I whispered, watching her place a vase of flowers– that she picked– onto my desk. She shrugged at me as we eye the soft yellow and white rose bouquet with a small note. It looks legitimate, at least in my eyes. I sighed as I popped a chocolate covered almond in my mouth.

When I felt Jake’s presence coming closer, I started acting as if I just noticed the bouquet, putting on a full play in front of Chungha. His steps slowed as he passed my desk a few steps away, watching me pull out the note that was with the roses. I made sure to read out the note in a loud voice, I cleared my voice, "To the most beautiful woman in the office. I hope these flowers bring you as much joy as your smile brings me, your secret admirer." I read, acting surprised while turning to Chungha, “that is adorable.” she played along, smiling.

His chuckling made me turn my head towards him, “didn’t know there were secret admirers in this office…” he muttered, hands in his pants pockets, his tone dripping with amusement. I glanced at Chungha who’s now completely turned away from us, speaking to another colleague.

He bent down his head a little to read the note in my hand, his cologne was woody and intoxicating. I could see his slicked back, soft, black strands. His closeness made a fluttering warmth spread through my chest. “What’s funny is that they call themselves an admirer…” he started, his voice snapping me back to reality, “... yet they got your favorite color wrong.” he said, eyeing my outfit, my accessories, my desk decorations– all pink. He looked at me one last time in the eyes before turning his heels, leaving my heart into a wild, nervous rhythm and warmth rising to my face.

That was not the intended effect, and not on the right person.

Desperate times called for unflattering, repulsive measures. I was standing next to the vending machine after buying myself a Coke. Jake and a couple other colleagues were standing on the other side, chatting away. Perfect position.

I took a long, fast and exaggerated sip of Coke, stood for a moment when I felt the carbonation bubble up in my chest. I eyed Chungha who was on her phone, slowly sipping her coffee.

Then, it erupted like a thunderstorm. A loud, unexpected burp that could’ve registered on the Richter scale. Chungha choked on her coffee, the room fell silent, eyes were on me. I stood there, waiting. Surely, this would do it. No one finds that attractive.

Jake burst into laughter, his eyes glistening with adoration, “Impressive," he said, smiling and nodding before turning back to his conversation.

I turned back to Chungha, my jaw to the floor, “oh he didn’t find that disgusting. Quite the opposite.” she whispered to me, smiling in amusement, “I want to throw my Coke at him.”

I told myself that the next time he compliments me, i would be ready to shut it down. I was standing next to the printer, waiting for it to finish printing a paper that the Boss asked me to finalise. Jake passed by me, his eyes shimmered with light when he noticed me. "You look nice today." he said, stopping right dead in his tracks.

Bingo. I smiled sweetly, itching to put on another play. "Oh, thanks! I haven’t washed my hair in three days." I beamed, brushing my hair with my hands. A normal person would recoil. A sane person would be appalled. But him?

"Still looks stunning," he said easily, tilting his head. "What’s your secret?"

I wanted to scream. Who gave him permission to be this… tantalizing?

If I couldn’t drive him away with disgust, maybe I could with annoyance, if I just bother him enough to make him lose interest. I thought about barging into his office every hour or so, each time asking for something different but completely useless. I thought that if I just got under his skin, he would get tired of seeing me. I already went in, asking for a stapler, even though both him and I know I have one on my desk. Yet he gave me his without hesitation.

Half an hour later, I stood in front of his office door again, knocking as hard as I could, making sure that even my knocking was irritable to listen to. I opened the door after I heard a faint ‘come in’ from the other side.

I walked into his office as if I owned it. "What are you working on?" I asked him, as if he's not my higher up and could fire me. He looked up from his laptop, amused. "Something very important," he replied, still smiling.

Each time I left, I felt a little more defeated.

Twenty minutes later, I was back at his office. "Still working on something important?" I asked. Oh my god please, any reaction.

This time, he just laughed and shook his head. "You tell me. You seem very interested." he grinned, his arm propped up with his head resting in his hand. I stared at him, searching for a flicker of frustration, anything to indicate he was growing tired of this. But no, he looked at me like I was the one who painted the sky.

Then, I decided to really test how far I could push him. “Hey… uhh…” I squinted at him, tapping my forehead as if I’m really trying to remember something, “What was your name again?” I asked, trying to act casual, pulling out some chocolate covered almonds from my pockets and popping them in my mouth. This reverse the arrow mission will actually get me fired.

He raised an eyebrow, but there was no sign of irritation, only humor. Jake let out a soft laugh, shaking his head in return. Slowly, he pointed to his nameplate that’s on his desk. “Jake Sim,” he said, dragging out his name with a knowing smile.

I stared at him for a second. Was he really going to play along with this? Did he seriously not mind being the target of my ridiculous antics?

♥︎ DAY 5 ♥︎

I was in front of my computer’s screen, the room was filled with the sounds of keyboards clicking and telephones ringing. Focusing on any type of work was impossible, all I could think about was him. I thought to myself that I should still try to set him up with someone else, Just get him interested in someone. I leaned back into my chair, my gaze following Jake who was at the water cooler. He was standing casually, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up just enough to show off his forearms. The way he moved—effortless, composed, yet somehow magnetic—was enough to make my thoughts spin out of control.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I flew up from my chair and headed towards his direction. “Hello, sir,” I said, politely. Oh suddenly I remembered what manners are…

He turned around his signature warm smile appearing the moment our eyes met. “Hey,” he replied, voice as smooth as ever. “Need a refill too?”

“Yeah, just a little,” I replied, but before I could move, he already took another cup. After he filled the other cup, he handed it to me. “Thank you, sir.”

He huffed a laugh, “you know, the ‘sir’ ages me by a lot.”

“Right, I’m sorry. I forgot.” I said with a soft laugh.

We both stood there, side by side, the silence almost comfortable but the tension between us thickening. Then I broke the silence, “You know, don’t you think Mira is cute?” I asked, trying to sound natural as I fiddled with my paper cup filled with water. “I mean, she’s very elegant. Charming. Professional as well, don’t you think?”

Jake nodded, listening intently, but I noticed him drifting his gaze lower. I froze, my breath catching as I saw his fingers carefully adjust the small cupid bow-and-arrow pendant on my necklace that had somehow gotten tangled. His touch was so gentle, almost like he was afraid to hurt it—or maybe afraid to hurt me. My heart skipped a beat as he carefully set it back in place, and for a moment, everything seemed to slow.

His focus was still on me, his eyes lingered on mine for a heartbeat longer than I expected. And when he spoke, his voice was so sincere, it made my chest tighten. “She’s okay,” he shrugged, “but she’s not what I’m looking for.” His gaze never wavered, locking with mine as if trying to make sure I understood every word, every feeling behind them.

-♥︎-

Later that day, I went to the restroom before heading home for the day. As I was walking towards my desk, I noticed a couple familiar candy wrappers on my desk with a sticky note next to them. They were my chocolate covered almonds, the same brand even. I pulled the sticky note and stared at the neat handwriting, the words so simple, but they made my heart flutter more than it should have.

It simply read, enjoy. Again, not signed.

My fingers lingered over the edges of the paper, tracing the strokes of his pen. I stuffed the sticky note into the drawer of my desk, trying to ignore the strange feeling in my chest. But even with it hidden away, the flutter in my chest didn’t go away. If anything, it only grew stronger. I wasn’t supposed to feel this way. I couldn’t let myself feel this way.

♥︎ DAY 7 ♥︎

It was almost the end of Monday, and I felt completely defeated. None of the tricks had worked. Not the cold, distant act, not the jealousy plan, not even trying to be completely gross—nothing. Every strategy I tried to reverse the effects of that damn arrow had failed. It was like Jake just couldn’t be swayed. I was beyond tired, drained in every way. I hadn’t even seen Jake all day, and that should’ve been a relief. but honestly, it instead felt like something was missing. Every time I passed his office, there was a strange ache in my chest.

By the time the clock finally struck five, I gathered my things, shoved them into my bag, and walked out of my office. Today was the last day to reverse the effect, I’m seriously fucked.

As soon as I stepped outside, the sky opened up, and rain poured down in sheets. The cold wind cut through my jacket, and my already exhausted mind screamed at me to just hurry up and get home. Groaning, I fumbled with my purse, mentally preparing myself for the walk home.

“don’t tell me you're walking home in this.” a voice called out from behind me, cutting through the sound of the rain.

I turned around, I saw Jake with his bag in one hand and an umbrella in another. His hair was slightly messy, but still looking incredibly soft. His blazer was draped over his arm, leaving him in his button down white shirt. I forced a laughed, “"It’s fine. I don’t live that far," I said, trying to downplay how miserable I felt. "Really, it’ll just take a minute."

His eyes told me didn’t seem convinced, though. “Let me give you a ride home,” he offered in a heartbeat, but I quickly shook my head. “I’m fine, sir. Really, I—”

Before I could finish my sentence, he interrupted, pulling off his jacket and holding it out to me. "Take my jacket at least," he insisted. As I hesitated to say no, he held up his blazer in front of me, the insides of the blazer facing me. I sighed in defeat– more like too exhausted to argue– and slid my arms into it while he held it for me. As I was fixing the collar, he gently pulled my hair out from underneath the blazer. His fingers traced my neck, leaving hot trails behind. I turned around to see strands of hair falling on his forehead.

"Here, take this too. You will catch a cold." he muttered, handing me his black umbrella. “Thank you, really…” I said, flustered by the gesture. He flashed a warm smile, “anytime.”

without another word, he turned and ran toward his car, the rain pelting his back. As he reached his car, he paused and turned to wave at me. I watched him, feeling an unexpected warmth spread through me. He looked like a soaked puppy—wet, tousled, and far too endearing for his own good. It made my heart give a little thump.

"See you tomorrow!" he shouted, his voice muffled by the rain.

I waved back, an involuntary smile tugging at my lips. As I watched him get into his car and drive off, I had accepted the fact that he was in love with me. But that does not mean I will fall for him. Ever.

Pulling the jacket tighter around me, the weight of his gesture still warms me. As I was walking in the opposite direction towards my apartment, I instinctively reached out for my phone and put my hands in his blazer’s pockets thinking it was mine. I frowned as I felt small wrapped spheres in the pocket. Pulling it out, I found a familiar sight: my chocolate almonds.

I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head, despite the growing flutter in my chest. That idiot really was hopeless.

-♥︎-

A few weeks have passed after the arrow’s effect has indefinitely settled in. My cupid duties have been on pause for a while, but not the office job. Our Boss kept on giving me– and it seemed like it was only me– many different tasks to finish for this upcoming project that forced me to stay late, after my usual office hours.

The office was nearly empty. The usual hum of ringing phones and clicking keyboards had long since faded, leaving only the soft buzz of overhead lights. I leaned in my office chair with a sigh, rubbing my burning eyes from my screen. My documents were scattered around, words blurring together and losing their meaning.

Despite all my attempts, my mind circles back to Jake. Guilt was eating me alive as I felt like I ruined his life, his love life. He was meant to fall in love with someone who can be with him, someone whose world aligned with his own. The guilt was so unbearable that I started avoiding him. I would turn to the opposite way whenever I sense he's nearby, I would be late for meetings on purpose so I could sit away from him, I would take the stairs so I don’t cross pathways with him in the elevator, I would make it seem like i get an important phone call each time I see him coming my way. I could see that it hurts him, but my remorse was overwhelming. Slowly but surely, his own attempts to speak to me reduced.

Even though his office wasn’t in my line of vision, I could sense his gaze on me from time to time. He was also still in his office, only his desk lamp was on, with him clicking away, very concentrated on his own computer. Whenever I stayed late at the office, Jake seemed to always be there too, leaving only us on our floor. He would never say anything to me, he wouldn't even step inside the shared workspace. He would stay in his office, but I could feel his presence from across the office.

My eyes scanned over to the clock, 1:12 am. I took a deep breath and returned back to my screen. The sound of a foot creaking open made me stop reading a sentence midway. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. His footsteps were slow, but purposeful as he made his way to my desk.

“You’re working way too hard.” Jake’s voice was softer than I expected, like he was choosing his words carefully, with his hands in his pockets. I couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh. Before I could shut him down, he continued, “Do Cupids get paid overtime as well?”

My grip on my mouse tightened, my heart stilled. For a split second, I thought I misheard him. Surely the lack of sleep made me a little delirious. My eyes looked up at him before I could stop them, Jake had this knowing expression.

My stomach twisted in knots, my head is spinning, “I think you should head home, sir.” I dismissed, my eyes locking back to my screen with a thumping heart. God please tell me I’m imagining this…

He glanced down at the scattered notes on my desk before his gaze flickered back to me, “It’s funny, isn’t it?” Jake said, his smile not reaching his eyes, “You can make people fall in love… but you don’t know what to do when it happens to you.”

I swallowed hard, trying to stay still, unreadable even though every nerve in my body was on high alert. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jake raised a brow. “Really? You have no clue what I’m talking about?”

“No clue.”

He let out a quiet exhale, his expression unreadable. A moment has passed of complete silence, I was praying that the earth’s crust would crack open and swallow me.

“At first, I just had a feeling that something was up...” His voice wasn’t accusing or even angry, just observant. “Miss. Chungha slipped up and said something about how you ‘messed up’ the matchmaking…” the more he spoke, the more my chest tightened itself on my pounding heart.

“And then,” he continued, watching me carefully, “I saw your open files on your desk a couple of times, with the names of couples you helped.” I winced, I should’ve been more careful.

The fragile rawness of my soul felt like it was on open display. It felt like he had carefully taken apart every building block of my defense that i had built and was looking at what was is actually underneath.

The feeling of guilt emerges once again when I look at his sincere eyes. I felt like a deceiver and a liar, he had to know at this point, there was nothing left to hide. I sat up straighter than I already was, forcing my voice to stay even and failing miserably, “the love you feel for me isn’t real. I was supposed to matchmake you with someone—”

“I know.” he said it softly, with certainty.

I blinked, “what?”

Jake tilted his head slightly, watching my reaction as if he were giving me a moment to process it, a soft smile on his lips. “I know about the arrow, Y/N.” He said my name so gently it made my chest ache, my heartbeat pounded in my ears. “I’ve known for a while.”

“However…” he said, leaning on a desk that was near mine, “i think the effect wore off faster than it should have. I think two days later I was feeling normal again.”

I closed my eyes to ease my beating heart, exhaustion and this deranged conversation was a dangerous mix at this hour, “that’s impossible.”

“If I had a choice,” he said, making me open my eyes and look up at him again, “I’d still want you.” He held my gaze before looking at my lips and then back into my eyes.

I could no longer compute rational thoughts, or any thoughts at that. The world was spinning and steady all at once. Jake straightened himself and turned his heels towards the exit, “Don’t stay too late, okay?” his voice called out before he left, without facing him.

He left me with my heart racing, feeling completely ruined. The weight of it all pressed down on me as tears fell down. I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was making me cry– Jake finding out my sworn secret? Jake knowing I messed up on said secret job? or the fact that I have been feeling my powers slipping away? The thought of losing everything I had fought for because of my growing feelings was unbearable. My tears unraveled faster than my realisation that I actually fell for him.

-♥︎-

As if my life couldn’t be any harder, our Boss announced an emergency work trip across the country for a couple of client meetings, big ones at that. The kind that could define the next few months of the company’s future. Our trip was a haze for me, I stayed near either Chungha or Mira the entire time. My jake avoidance persisted despite the tension in the air, if i just act like none of this exists, it won’t affect me.

Before I knew it, we were off the plane and checked into our individual hotel rooms. The hotel lobby had this muted hum of chatter and telephones ringing filling the space. As to not waste time, we were all immediately called down for the first client meeting. As I sat down, my B oss handed me a notepad with a pen, “please, take notes during the meeting.” I just nodded, no energy left in me to argue.

As usual, Jake was running the presentation. Though, this serious and composed attitude was a side of him that I hadn’t seen before. It caught me off guard, the way he stood at the front of the room, the projector illuminating his face as he explained the new project to the clients. His voice was steady, authoritative, and it was clear he was in his element.

My notepad and pen sat in front of me, waiting to be used. But as the meeting progressed, I found my focus drifting from the content of the presentation to Jake. my eyes kept following his movements, how his hands gesture as he explained the key points, how his fingers occasionally adjusted his tie or brushed his hair back in that absent-minded way. The way his dark hair slightly tousled as he leaned forward, the little crease between his brows that appeared when he was deep in thought. In this room, in front of clients, he was assertive, and maybe even a little intimidating.

This was a stark contrast to the Jake who has been putting almond chocolates on my desk, or the one who always complimented my perfume choice of the day, or the one who leaves endless sticky notes at my desk. He was different, and it was… captivating.

I tried another attempt to focus on the presentation by scribbling down the client’s questions, what Jake was saying. The meeting continued, and Jake seemed to glide through it effortlessly. Every once in a while my mind would wander back to him, how easy it seemed for him to command the room with just his presence, how natural he was at all of this.

Soon enough, the meeting wrapped up. The clients were satisfied, Jake finished his presentation with a final handshake and brief thank-you to the clients. Our team packed up soon after, I raced to leave the suffocatingly hot room. The moment that our Boss gave us the green light that we can leave for the day, I beelined to the elevator, itching to just take off these stifling layers of clothes.

Once I reached my hotel room, I started a cold shower immediately, letting the icy stream douse over my skin to cool the heat that had been building ever since the meeting. I needed to clear her head, to push away the fluttering thoughts that refused to leave my mind. As I stood under the water, I kept remembering how Jake moved, the sharpness in his gaze and how my body responded to his subtle but undeniable presence. How can someone look like a cute puppy one second then the hottest man alive the next?

After washing my hair and body, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in the hotel’s bathrobe. My skin was still tingling from the cold water, my face still flushed from my racing thoughts. I left the bathroom and tried to find my phone in the pile of mess I left before rushing in the shower.

Soft knocking was heard from my door, making me stop my search. It must be one of the girls. Another series of knocks made me pick up my pace and rush over to the door. When I opened it, it was, in fact, neither of the girls. I locked eyes with Jake instead. He was only in a light blue button down shirt, the sleeves were rolled up. His hair was a little messy compared to how it looked in the meeting.

It took a moment for the both of us to register the situation, the ‘I’m only in a robe’ situation. Jake stood there, looking just as flustered as I felt, making me tug the robe tighter around my figure. His gaze quickly flicked downward to the floor, clearing his throat, “god, I’m sorry. I will come back lat-”

“It’s alright, really.”

“I just need your notes of the meeting earlier,” he said, his eyes now looking at me. “Oh shit, I completely forgot,” I pinched the bridge of my nose.

I went back into my room, trying to find my notepad and my phone now, “I swear I can’t find anything. The plane landing, then the meeting… it was all too fast.” I said as I rummaged from my stuff. Jake held the door open, watching me frankly running around the room. “I’m sorry, this is really unprofessional of me…” I uttered. As if professionalism has been common in my behavior these past months…

Jake stepped in my room, letting out a short laugh because of my state, “take it easy, I’m not in a rush.” he said, letting the door click shut behind him. After moving my sweater to the side, I found the notepad tucked under it. I got up on my feet and handed it to him, “here they are, I'm so sorry again…”

“No need to apologise, hun,” he chuckled, taking the notes from hands. The nickname made my heart flip. Considering my current state, this was a really bad time for flirting.

Instead of just walking away or leaving the room, Jake comfortably opened them right there, standing at the door. He quickly scanned through them, his brow furrowing as he reread a few lines. He looked the same way he did in the meeting—so serious, so focused. His lips barely moved as he reread the notes, his entire body leaned forward in concentration. Every little thing he did—how his fingers brushed against the paper, the way he chewed the inside of his cheek when he concentrated—it all made my mind scream at me to stop looking, to stop thinking about him this way, but my body betrayed me.

“Your face is burning up,” he asked, his voice soft but laced with genuine worry. “Did you catch something from the plane ride?”

Before I could react, Jake gently placed his hand on my forehead, then my cheeks, my jaw, his touch surprisingly tender. His hand lingered for a moment, trying to assess if my red face is because of a fever. The warmth of his skin was clashing with my ice cold shower earlier. He came a little closer as his hand cupped my face, still trying to see if I’m sick.

I looked up at him, I probably looked dazed, “sir…” I finally said something, my voice was barely a whisper. My eyes involuntarily flickered to his pink lips.

“When will you get it that it's ‘Jake’ to you?” he said, his thumb moving from the side of my face to my lips, his touch sent shivers down my spine, his own eyes looking at my lips. The air between us thickened as he leaned in, letting our lips touch.

His hands found my waist, pulling me closer to him. Each kiss was more urgent than the last. My fingers tangled in his now extremely messy hair, pulling him deeper. His cologne was stronger than ever. If I could memorise this feeling, if I could memorise how he tasted and felt, before it slipped away I would. There was no thought—only the desperation to feel more, as if this is our one and only chance to hold each other.

I pulled back slightly, catching my breath. His forehead rested against mine, "for a Cupid," he murmured with a chuckle, "you're quite confusing." I couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh, my fingers found the nape of his neck.

Just as the distance between us closed again, a loud knocking echoed from the hotel door. “Y/N! Why aren’t you picking up your phone?” Chungha’s voice rang through the door, filled with concern and a touch of annoyance.

I froze, panic seizing me in an instant. "Oh no," my eyes wide with realization. "Jake—" I barely whispered, my mind racing as I quickly backed away from him. Jake immediately took a step back, his hand held mine, his face turning to confusion as he caught the urgency in my eyes. “I can’t be seen like this with my Boss,” I whispered to him urgently.

We scanned the room, finding a hiding spot for him. I ended up grabbing his wrist, leading him to the closet near the door in a hurry. Without protest, I pushed him into the small space as he ducked into the closest with a chuckle, leaving me to try to regain control of the situation.

I rushed to the door and opened it just enough to reveal Chungha’s expectant face. "Hey, what’s going on?" she asked, her eyes darting over me as she stepped inside. I waved my hand frantically, trying to act casual. “Just came out of the shower,” I said, motioning to my robe that I was still wearing, that I was wearing while kissing our Boss.

“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked, trying to distract her. Chungha raised an eyebrow, “I tried, but you weren’t answering. I wanted to order something, I wanted to see if you wanted anything.” She glanced around, stepping further into the room. Her attention was diverted, I could feel my heart pounding, the sound of Jake shifting in the closet just beyond the thin closet door.

I took a deep breath once Chungha was out of my line of vision, and then hurriedly, without thinking too much about it, shooed Jake out the closet. “Go, go, go!” I whispered urgently.

He smirked, “you’re cute when you panic." he commented, as if this was the right moment to do so. “Oh my god, i will kill you with my bare hands, go!” I whispered, pushing him out the door.

“I'm hesitating between pizza and sushi. What do you say?” I heard Chungha’s voice call out as I clicked the door shut. I swear my hotel’s door looks like a revolving door.

“I'm fine with both!” I responded, trying to catch my breath. I leaned against the door for a second, pressing my palms to my flushed face, trying to ground myself. My heart was still racing, my skin still burning from his touch, and worst of all—my lips still tingled from the kiss.

What the hell was I doing?

-♥︎-

After many meetings and conferences that we were all forced to sit through, the familiar hum of the office was back—the ringing phones, the clatter of keyboards, the distant murmur of coworkers chatting by the coffee machine. Everything was the same. Except me.

I sat at my desk, blankly staring at my screen. I blinked, trying to focus on the words that are blurring together, but it was no use. I felt like a zombie, just so drained– not just physically, but in a way I couldn’t even describe.

The little magic I once felt at my fingertips was gone. I used to hear it, the universe’s quiet whisper, the way love threaded itself through the world like a melody only I could recognize. But now? Silence.

Jake noticed my changed humor. Of course, he did. He noticed the pile of untouched almonds on my desk that he left on desk, how I poked at my lunch instead of eating it, and how I barely even reacted when Chungha cracked a joke during their break.

Chungha noticed, but she knew I wanted space, so she didn’t push. Everytime i would space out in my thoughts, she would put her hand in mine, kiss my hand ever so lightly before leaving me to it.

I would catch him staring– his brows drawn together in concern. I would frown back at him, feeling my chest bubbling with unreason frustration. I hate this. I hate the way he looks at me like I am slipping through his fingers, like he wanted to reach out but didn’t know how. And most of all, I hated how much I felt, how much all of this hurts.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to care this much. I wasn’t supposed to lose this part of myself. And yet, here I am. A complete mess without it.

I decided to go home early, my Boss just waved me off while on the phone, muttering a ‘whatever’ under his breath. If I had strength in me, I would have reacted to his rudeness, but I just quietly walked to my desk. Chungha watched me pack my purse, “heading out?” she asks, her eyes sympathetic.

I weakly smiled back at her, “i will see you on monday, i promise,”

“Lemme walk you home, you look pale,” she said, standing up from her seat and ready to put on her jacket. “No, stay. I will be fine. Plus, I don't know what’s up the Boss’ ass right now, but he won't appreciate both of us leaving,”

Her shoulders slumped down, “alright, as you wish.” she said in defeat, pulling me in a tight hug before letting me leave.

-♥︎-

The knocking at my door stirred me out of my nap. I groaned as I lifted myself off my couch, still in my office clothes. I was so tired that I just collapsed on the couch the moment I walked in. I pulled the thin blanket I used tighter around my shoulders as I made my way to my apartment’s door.

The knock came again—gentle but insistent. I glanced at the clock on my wall, 11:45pm. No way it's Chungha… she would've come by earlier than this hour. My eyes and heart still feel heavy, the nap was not enough. I caught a glimpse of myself in my small hallway mirror, hair poking from every direction, puffy eyes, red face. With a sigh, I unlocked the door and used all the force I had left to open it.

The moment it opened, I froze and my throat dried up.

Jake stood there, holding a basket in one hand and some leftover containers in the other. He was no longer in his office suit, instead he was wearing jeans, a simple shirt and a basketball hat, however his heavy signature Rolex is still on his wrist. His brows knitted together in concern the second he saw my face.

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat, “I thought you were under the weather, so I made you some beef stew and cookies,” he continued, lifting the leftover containers slightly. I stare at him, and then at the food.

Then, it just hit me all at once as tears filled my eyes. The fact that he’s here trying to fix something he never caused, or the fact he cared so much he cooked me food and dessert, or the fact that I have been unreasonably angry at him, all just made those tears spill over.

“I… I can’t—” my voice broke, “I don’t know how to fix this. Any of this.”

Jake’s face shifted from confusion to alarm the moment he saw my tears. “Y/N,” he murmured, his voice softer but laced with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked, set the food down as I let out a choked sob. The amount of crying I have been doing has been leaving my head pounding against my skull.

“Everything. I just…” I trailed off, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. I felt pathetic, to be quite honest. He opened up his arms without hesitation, through my tears, I got closer to him and wrapped my arms around him, steading myself.

“Oh, love…” he sighed after hearing another sob from me, his voice filled with nothing but warmth. Without a word, he guided me inside, shutting the door behind us. After setting the basket on the kitchen’s counter, his eyes landed on me again. I probably looked like hell, from the work clothes to the unkempt hair to the probably smudged makeup.

“Y/N…” his voice comforting but hesitant. “Talk to me.”

My throat tightened, not allowing me to speak. When he saw new tears threatening to come out, Jake inhaled, with a quiet murmur of, “come here,” he led me toward the couch. I didn’t argue. Didn’t think. All of those actions took too much energy. I just simply followed, letting myself collapse next to him on the couch.

The grief of losing a part of my identity, the exhaustion, the feeling of failure, the weight of everything—it all felt heavier than ever. I shifted slightly, curling up and resting my head on his lap. He didn’t flinch or hesitate, his fingers found my back, running slow, soothing circles on it.

After a while, the apartment became calmer, the soft hum of the city could be heard outside my apartment window. Jake’s been quiet ever since, every so often you would only hear my sniffling. I let out a breath I have not realized I was holding.

“I’m no longer a Cupid,” I murmured, eyes staring blankly at the side of the small living room, face pressed up against Jake's chest. “And I don’t know what that means for me.”

Jake hummed thoughtfully, his fingers never stopping their soft movements. “Well,” he said, amusement lacing his voice, “you could always be my retired Cupid.”

I huffed out something close to a laugh. “That sounds exhausting.”

“Nah,” he grinned. “Just means you get to sit back and let me do all the chasing. Nothing new.”

I giggled against his chest, hearing his heartbeat again once my laughter faded. “Can I be honest with you?” I asked hesitantly, looking up at him from my position.

“Always.”

I swallowed hard before I spoke up again, “I was… mad at you for a moment,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “For making me fall for you.”

He blinked, surprised, before suddenly laughing. “Wait—that’s why you were avoiding me? Shit, I thought you regretted the kiss.”

“That’s not the case.” I blurted out before I could stop myself. Jake stared down at me, one brow raised and a smile slowly forming on his lips. I opened my mouth to backtrack, to save myself, but all that came out was a flustered, “I—I mean, it was—you were—”

he let out a full, warm laugh. “Oh my god,” I groaned, immediately burying my face back into his chest “I hate you.”

“You enjoyed it,” he repeated, smug now.

“Stop talking.” I whined, my voice muffled against his own laughter.

-♥︎-

I walked into the office the next morning, my shoulders feeling much lighter. A warm smile spreads across my face as I greet my coworkers, noticing a slight rosiness in my cheeks. The bounce in my steps slowed down when I noticed a large bouquet on my office desk.

“Always a special delivery for the Miss…” Chungha said, the bouquet completely blocked me from seeing her. I snorted a laugh at her comment before I stepped closer to the bouquet. I ran my fingers ever so slight over the soft petals of the pink roses, my heart doing an embarrassing little flip as I spotted a note tucked between them. Carefully, I unfolded the small card.

For my retired Cupid.

Unsigned. I huffed sharply with a smile, a mix of amusement and something warmer blooming in my chest. Instinctively, my gaze flickered upward—to the glass walls of his office. And, of course, he was already looking at me, probably saw my whole reaction.

Jake didn’t even pretend to be subtle. His chin rested on his hand, smiling and eyes glistening with that same familiar puppy love. I rolled my eyes, a smile still on my lips, I pulled out my phone.

“For someone no longer under Cupid’s influence, you’re really not acting like it.” - “Me”, Delivered 30 sec ago

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dreamdragonkadia · 5 months ago

Note

would you consider writing a jealous xaden riorson? please andd thank youuu 🥹🥹

I thought about writing this into a spicy scene, but I am so out of practice that I didn't want to mess it up. x.riorson x reader

You hadn’t thought to bring it up. Not because you were hiding anything—but because it just... hadn’t mattered. It had been before becoming a rider. Before the Gauntlet. Before Threshing. Before Xaden Riorson had started looking at you like the world might crack in two if you didn’t make it through the next challenge.

You and Septon Izar had ended things cleanly, amicably, and left it at that. He’d been a friend before, and somehow, he still was—one of the few people who hadn’t flinched when you first started sitting with the marked ones. Honestly, his support during that time had meant more than you'd ever said aloud.

And honestly? Since Xaden? You hadn’t thought about Septon once. And maybe, maybe, you had mentioned it to Xaden. In passing. At most.

But judging by the sudden silence that swept through the dining hall—and the way Xaden’s head snapped toward you the second Septon opened his mouth—you definitely hadn’t mentioned that part.

"I think we only had sex twice," Septon said casually, sipping from his cup like he hadn’t just tossed a live drake into the center of the table. “And both times we were pretty drunk.”

You blinked.

What?

Your fork hovered above your plate as the table fell into a mixture of choked laughter and stunned silence. Garrick muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like oh shit. Nyra was already dragging her hands down her face. Bodhi looked delighted. Of course he did—this had his meddling written all over it.

You squinted up at Septon. “Man, that was so long ago, I barely remember.”

Xaden didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

Not when you could feel the way his gaze landed on you—deadly calm, unreadable, and very, very still.

Someone coughed. Garrick kicked Bodhi under the table. Septon, gods bless his complete lack of self-preservation, raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not like it meant anything,” he added, glancing between you and Xaden with a shrug. “We were just—”

"Don’t," Xaden said, voice low and even, but it carried like a cold front.

The entire table froze.

“Anyway,” you said quickly, forcing a smile as you turned your attention down the table, “Nyra, I don’t think I’ve ever heard about your physical escapades. Please, if we’re airing things out, do share.”

There was a pause.

Then Nyra leaned back with a knowing small grin. “Which year?”

And just like that, the conversation shifted. Nyra launched into a truly unhinged story involving a third-year from Rider’s Quadrant, two years ago and a storage closet full of training gear.

Everyone moved on.

Except you.

Because while the rest of the table erupted into laughter, Bodhi caught your eye and gave you a subtle salute—good luck with that—and Xaden’s shadows curled around your calves in a slow, possessive climb.

You had really thought that would be it. Completely and utterly it. There was nothing there.

You and Septon were barely a footnote, a hiccup in your timeline. But clearly, someone at the table had missed that memo—and that someone was now walking three paces behind you, silent, shadows brushing the edge of your steps like a warning.

You turned the corner just past the gym hall, fully intending to head toward the dorms, but a hand caught your arm—not rough, but firm—and suddenly, you were being pulled into a recessed archway you hadn’t even noticed.

Xaden didn’t speak at first.

Just looked at you.

That onyx stare that made it feel like he was peeling back your skin to see what was underneath. His jaw was tight, shadows curling restlessly around his boots.

“You’re mad,” you said flatly.

“I’m not mad,” he said. “I’m…” He exhaled through his nose, like he was trying to force the word back in. “You never told me.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” you shot back, arms folding. “It was nothing, Xaden. It was before.”

His brow twitched. “I watched him look at you like he still wanted something.”

“He was talking to Bodhi!”

“He was talking to you.”

You stared at him, pulse thrumming harder than it should’ve been. “Are you seriously jealous right now?”

His shadows surged, crawling up your spine like a storm about to break.

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m possessive. There’s a difference.”

Your back hit the wall.

His hand came to rest beside your head, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him in waves. His voice dropped lower, into that gravel-smooth edge that made your knees a little unstable.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, eyes flickering down to your mouth, “and I don’t like being surprised.”

Your heart tripped over itself.

And because your pride had a death wish, you arched a brow and said, “Well, maybe I do.”

That was apparently the final straw.

He kissed you like it was a declaration, like he had to remind you—remind himself—that he knew every part of you better than anyone ever had. His hands found your hips, grip just shy of rough, and your fingers curled in his shirt like you needed something to hold onto before the ground gave way.

“Tell me again,” he said against your lips, voice thick with something that wasn't just anger, “how it meant nothing.”

Your breath caught—because you couldn’t. Not with the way he was looking at you. The only thing that mattered.

“It didn’t,” you whispered, barely audible. “It didn’t mean anything.”

He lingered there, just for a second, his forehead brushing yours as if he was searching for the truth in your skin. And then, with no more warning than a flick of his shadows, he pulled back just enough to say, “Come with me.”

You followed him without thinking.

Past cadets loitering in the halls, past flickering sconces and low murmurs, up flights of stairs that you barely registered because your heart was thundering in your chest. Xaden didn’t look back once—but his shadows stayed close, curling possessively around your wrist like a tether, a silent mine whispered over and over again in the dark.

By the time you reached his room, your pulse was high in your throat.

He opened the door, stepped inside—and then, just as you were about to follow, his hand shot out.

And pulled you in.

Hard.

You stumbled, but only for a heartbeat—because he was already there, catching you, pinning you back against the closed door with a thud that echoed in the silence.

“You think I care that it happened before me?” he murmured, his mouth brushing along your jaw, your neck. “I don’t.”

You shivered.

“I care that you didn’t tell me,” he continued, his hand sliding to your waist, hot through the thin fabric of your shirt. “I care that he thought he could say your name like that. Look at you like that.”

“Xaden—”

“I’m not going to be polite about it,” he interrupted, voice a low rasp. “I’m not going to pretend I’m okay hearing another man talk about what’s mine like it’s some casual memory.”

His lips found the corner of your mouth again, softer this time. A contrast to the words that came next.

“You’re not his story to tell.”

Your breath hitched.

“You want to tell me it meant nothing?” he asked, gaze catching yours with such intensity it felt like a command. “Then let me show the world who you belong with.”

Your hands fisted in his shirt, dragging him down.

And he did.

#✨️by yours truly✨️#fourth wing x reader #fourth wing #fw #xaden x reader #xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson #listening to the maplestory soundtrack #😭😭 i cant explain it but Ereve ost just hits

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keraawrites · 2 months ago

Text

Tinker

Summary: You were a little oblivious when it came to Bakugo and his flirting so it was only right that you had a little push. ۶ৎ Bakugo x black fem reader ۶ৎ

Context: nicknames (ma, baby, mama), raw, nipple play, Oral (f receiving), missionary, cowgirl, jealous Bakugo,

Word count — 7k (fucking hell)

Babble: I don't know if I like this...

It was no secret that you were one of the best on the support course; you never joined UA to be a pro, that was never your dream. You loved to tinker, build, destroy. Your eyes always lit up whenever you got a new project; some would say you were worse than Mei.

You had made a name for yourself at UA, straight from first year when you helped the hero course with their support items and made some friends along the way.

So even though you were a support course student with a C-list quirk, you were always welcomed in Class 3-A dorms.

"Thank God you're here!" Your brows raised from the sound of Mina's screech. Your pink friend was currently sat with the rest of the girls, snacks all around them as they tried to tackle on what seemed like a new homework assignment that Aizawa probably set for them.

"You guys know damn well I cant help you--"

"No, we don't need your help." The pinkette giggled, gesturing for you to join them.

You huffed as you dropped your bag on the floor, you were still currently in your uniform, minus the blazer. Your shirt had some stains on it from all your tinkering you had done earlier.

"So what do you want?"

"Eh, that's no way to talk to your best friend." You rolled your eyes at Mina's outburst, the rest of the girls giggled, Jirou offered you some sweets as you snatched an empty skietch pad from the circle.

"We haven't seen you in a couple of days. What's so precious that it's taken your time away from us?" Ochako asked, voice slight of teasing as she nudged her knee with yours.

"A boy, maybe?' Hagakure chimed in, your face scrunched up in slight disgust. It's not that you didn't appreciate the guys in your school; you just didn't have time for them. Most of the time.

You weren't a virgin, far from it, but some of the guys didn't give you as much pleasure as tinkering with your gadgets did (pun not intended)

"No, the boys in my course are boring as fuck and expect to just get a girl off on penetration alone."

A beat of silence.

Then the whole group howled.

“Damn, say it louder!” Mina cackled, nearly choking on a chip.

“I’ve just given up on men until I meet one who knows what he’s doing.”

“Oh?” Mina leaned in, eyes sparkling. “So you’re open to the right one?”

You paused, side-eyeing her. “I guess? But no one’s really caught my eye.”

The circle went suspiciously quiet.

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jirou said way too quickly.

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me—what’s with the faces?”

“It’s just…” Mina grinned, eyes devilish. “There might be someone who could keep up with you.”

You laughed, leaning back on your hands. “Highly doubt it.”

The group kept giving you knowing glances that started to irritate you, but before you could demand anything, Midoriya walked into the kitchen, his eyes glancing over to you before they lit up.

"You're here." The green-haired boy ran over to you, excitement in his voice. '"ohmygod thank god, ineedhelpwithmysupport--"

"Deku, slow down. You know I can never understand your rambling"

"R--right sorry. My support item’s been acting weird and I wanted to see if you could take a look at it. I didn’t want to bother Hatsume again—last time she added a grenade launcher without asking.”

You snorted. “Classic Mei. Yeah, I got you.”

Midoriya lit up, you already started walking as he rambled on next to you.

Bakugo had watched the two of you walk off together, he had froze mid step as he stepped into the common room, Kirishima and Kaminair stopping behind him.

“…The fuck?” he muttered, eyes narrowing into slits.

"Aww, was that y/n just now? I wanted to tell her about this new game I found." The overenergetic blonde let out as he waltzed up to the girls.

"Where the fuck are they going?" He barked, not caring how outraged he sounded.

"Oh, Izuku asked her something and she agreed. I guess they are getting it over with." The blonde blinked at his pink friend, he must not have heard her right.

"The fuck you just say?"

Mina looked up at him, and her grin spread slow and sweet. “He asked her for something,” she said innocently. “So she said yes. I guess they’re getting it over with.”

Bakugo blinked.

“Excuse me?” His voice cracked around the edges.

“Oh, you know,” Mina said, fake-casual. “He asked. She said yes. So now they’re off… getting it done.”

“They’re working on his support gear, Bakugo,” Jirou cut in, rolling her eyes. “You can calm down before you combust.”

“I am calm,” he growled.

“You’re clenching your fists so hard your knuckles are white,” Hagakure pointed out.

“You’re jealous,” Mina teased, wiggling her brows. “So cute.”

“I’m not fucking jealous!”

Kirishima raised a brow. “You sure? Because it kinda looks like you want to murder Deku.”

“Tch.” Bakugo scowled, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “Dumbasses. Don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

He turned and stomped off, ears red.

“Where’s he going?” Kaminari asked, watching him leave.

“Probably to pace a hole into the training room floor,” Jirou replied.

It had only been two days since you started working on Deku’s wristbands, and honestly? You were kind of obsessed.

They were one of your favourite projects to date. Originally designed by a renowned American tech engineer and brought to life by Mei during your first year, the bands were a blend of precision engineering and brute-force durability. Honing them to perfection? A dream.

Your lab was your sanctuary—quiet except for the bass-heavy rap playlist bouncing off the walls, the smell of solder and metal in the air, and the hum of your tools in your hand.

You were currently bent over the workbench, shorts riding up your thighs, cropped tank clinging to your body as you adjusted one of the internal circuits with surgeon-level precision. You barely noticed the way your hips swayed to the music while you worked—it was instinctual, natural.

Deku had followed you to your lab that day, notebook clutched like it was his lifeline, rambling about specs and hopeful upgrades. You listened. You even took a few notes. Then, you promptly kicked him out.

“I’ll bring them to you when I’m done,” you said.

That was 48 hours ago.

You wiped sweat from your brow, tongue poking out between your lips as you tightened the last screw on the left bracelet. The power calibration was just right now.

“Fuck yeah,” you murmured under your breath, pleased with yourself.

You were about to run a final diagnostics scan when—

“Oi.”

The low, gruff voice snapped you out of your focus.

You blinked, barely registering the thunk of something heavy being dropped on your bench until you looked up—and damn near lost your train of thought again.

Katsuki Bakugo. Resident rage monster of 3-A. Towering in front of your workstation, a towel slung over one shoulder, chest still gleaming from a fresh workout. His black tank clung to every inch of his torso like it had been painted on, and those gray joggers hung low on his hips like they had a damn grudge against your willpower.

Your gaze flicked to the gauntlet he’d dropped, then back to him.

“Can I help you, Bakugo?”

“There’s something wrong with this damn thing,” he grunted, jaw tense. “Don’t got time to mess with it myself.”

Your brows raised in surprise, you heard that he worked on his gauntlets himself. Refusing to let anyone tinker with his babies so yes, you were surprised that he was asking (?) for your help.

You blinked, honestly a little thrown. “You want me to look at your gauntlet?”

“I’m asking, ain’t I?” he snapped, irritation laced with something that felt like… impatience.

You blinked, thrown off. This was… weird. Not that he was asking for help—well, okay, yes, that too—but it was the way he was doing it. Almost like he trusted you. Like he was trying not to sound too desperate, and failing miserably.

You squinted at him, skeptical. “You don’t let anyone touch your shit.”

He just folded his arms tighter.

You scoffed, pushing your glasses up your nose as you looked over him, it wasn't a secret that Bakugo was a hot head, he called everyone he could extra's and blew up at people for little things but he was one of the strongest at UA and he was fucking hot.

“You’re not really asking, though,” you said, grinning. “You’re demanding. That tone? It needs work.”

“Oi—”

“Hush.” You leaned over the gauntlet, trying (and failing) to tamp down your excitement. If working on Deku’s wristbands was thrilling, Bakugo’s gauntlets? That shit had your panties wet. You’d always wondered how the internal mechanisms kept up with the sheer output of his quirk. The heat, the pressure, the exhaust management—how it didn’t blow his damn hands off every time.

Your fingers danced over the gauntlet, brushing the edge of the release valve. “God, this is so sexy.”

Bakugo couldn't help but watch you, you were in your element. The way your fingers ran down his gauntlents, like they were your prized possession. The excitement that glimmerde in your brown eyes as you began to tweak his shit.

His eyes trailed down to your bare thighs, specks of oil and dirt taineted your brown skin but you still looked beautiful none the less.

It wasn't normal for him to have a crush, he didn't do crushes. Yeah he's been with a couple of girls but that was just sex. He had never wanted something more, but yet he somehow had feelings for you and you still were unaware.

He thought he made it obvious a couple of times but the blonde came to learn you were quite oblivious and blind to things that weren't your gadgets.

"I could have fixed this for you right now but I don't have the part I need. I'll have to run to the mall tomorrow for it. That okay?"

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered. “I’ll come with.”

You blinked. “Huh? You don’t have to—it’s just a quick trip—”

“I’d rather know what you’re puttin’ in my gear, so yeah. I’m coming.” You blinked at his bluntness as he walked out of your workshop, your eyes following the way his back muscles moved as he walked.

Wait.

Did he just sugest that you two spend time together?

Alone?

Willingly!?

It was a mistake to tell your pink friend about your visit from the blonde.

"NO WAY! It's a date. It has to be a date!" Your eye twitched at the level of excitement that came from her lungs.

"it's not a date Mina, he's just being possessive about his gear and wants to make sure I'm not messing it up or whatever." You said as you finished putting on your outfit.

"Yeah, so why you dressed like it's a date?" You blinked at her question, looking in the mirror over your outift. It wasn't strange that you wore an outfit like this, everyone who knew you outside of your tinkering knew you'd like to t dress girly whenever you had the chance.

So yes, a pink skirt and crop top shouldn't have screamed date. But Mina has now put ideas in your head.

“Okay but like,” she started from behind you, voice softer now. “You like him. Don’t you?”

You paused, fingers hovering over your hair.

“…I don’t know.”

She snorted. “Liar.”

You didn’t reply.

Because maybe you did know. Maybe the way your chest fluttered when he called you dumbass with no real malice, or when you watched him spar with Kiri and the others. He was a sight for sore eyes, so yes he found him attraive, as hell. But did you like him?

You said you didn’t have time for any of the guys in your course and while that was true, the most part of it was because you often wondered if the blonde was cocky in other areas.

"Bakugo doesn't do hangouts, Kiri has to drag him whenever we do group hangouts and he just suggested he'd come with you? He's finally given up on sly ways of flirting I'd give him that."

"W-what are you on about?"

The pink girl grinned as she looked over at you, "We told you that there was someone who could keep up with you the other day did we not?"

You glared at her, but she just grinned wider, chin propped on her hands. She hummed as she got up from your bed, pulling your hair out of its ponytail, your curls stopping just below your shoulders.

“Keep it out,” she said softly. “Trust me.”

“Mina…”

“I’ll shut up. But text me everything. Like, updates. Live feed. I want tea in real time.”

And with a wink, she left.

You turned to look back at yourself in the mirror-- no you were not changing. This wasn't for him, you dressed for youself, your girly counterpart to your greasy tinker fairy.

This was not a date. You were just going to to get the part you needed, pick up some manga and other bits and come back and finish of his gear.

You made your way out of your dorm building, walking over to the gates where he said he'd meet you. You noticed him before he noticed you, he wore a white t-shirt with some black jeans...

Fuck, fuuckkkk. Why was he so fine!?

"You're late."

"Huh, I'm actually early," you replied, swallowing thickly as his eyes dragged over you.

You felt your pulse spike under his gaze, and suddenly every word Mina said was back in your head. You crossed your arms over your chest—just to do something with your hands—but didn’t realize it only pushed your boobs up a little higher.

Bakugo's pupils dilated only for a second before he started walking.

"Hey, you can't just walk off."

"Then keep up."

You jogged a few steps to catch him, lips twitching. “You’re the one who invited yourself, y’know.”

“Tch. Only ‘cause you’d pick the wrong shit.”

“Oh, so now I’m the dumbass and the liability?”

His shoulders twitched—maybe from a laugh, maybe from irritation. With Bakugo, it was always a coin toss.

You kept walking, the silence falling in comfortably between you both. You didn't know what to say, you wanted to say something, there couldn't just be silence between you two for the whole time.

But what would you even say? Mina had put ridiculous ideas in your head about Bakugo, and now you didn't know how to act around the blonde.

"Here." You blinked, looking up at him as he handed you his left earbud.

"I can just listen to my own music."

"Huh? What's the point in that if we're together." He rebuttled, shoving the bud into your ear.

"Yeah, but you probably listen to heavy metal, that's probably the only thing that keeps up with your exposiveness." You teased, the blonde clicked his tongue as he pinched your cheeks, causing you to whine.

You were about to scold him, but the sound of his choice of music caught you off guard.

“…Wait. Is this—?”

“Don’t say shit.”

“Is this—SZA?!”

Bakugo growled low under his breath, glaring at the sidewalk like it betrayed him.

“Oh my god.” You bit your lip, grinning. “You listen to Snooze?”

“She’s got good vocals, alright?” he snapped. “Shut up.”

You couldn’t help it. You full-on laughed. “This is so soft. You’re soft. I’m gonna tell Kiri.”

“You tell anyone and I swear to god—”

You were still giggling as the two of you turned the corner. He kept his head turned slightly away from you, but you could see the pink creeping up his neck.

Your fingers brushed his briefly as you walked—just a flick of skin on skin. Neither of you moved away.

“…You listen to music like this often?” you asked quietly.

He shrugged, still looking ahead. “Sometimes. When I’m working. Shit gets loud in my head. It helps.”

Your smile softened.

You didn’t expect him to say something like that.

And maybe you didn’t need to.

It wasn't long until you reached the shop you needed.

It was tucked into a side street—one of those speciality spots that looked half abandoned from the outside but had everything a gearhead could dream of on the inside.

You pushed open the door, the bell above jingling as you stepped into the cool, metal-scented air. Immediately, your eyes scanned the shelves, familiar with the layout. Organised chaos. Home sweet home.

Bakugo followed behind you, hands shoved in his pockets as he glanced around. "This place looks like it's one breath away from collapsing to shit."

You grinned. "That’s the point. All the best stuff is in the mess."

You walked confidently toward the back where the hardware modules were displayed behind glass. “This guy sources from the same place the Support Course pulls from. He just doesn’t bother with the fancy labels.”

You crouched down, scanning the second row until your eyes lit up. “There. That’s the one I need.”

He leaned over your shoulder, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his chest behind you. “Sure that’s it?”

“Do not question me.”

“Tch.” He leaned in closer, voice low. “Just makin’ sure. Can’t have you screwin’ up my shit.”

“Your shit was overclocked and fried through three layers of plating. That’s not on me.” You tilted your head up with a smug smile—and regretted it immediately.

His face was right there.

Crimson eyes. Faint scent of whatever cologne he wore mixed with burnt caramel. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch. Just looked down at you, his mouth twitching like he was about to say something.

Instead, he reached over and knocked on the glass.

“Yo! You got this one in stock?”

An older man shuffled out from the back, nodded, and went to grab the part. You quickly straightened up, heart thudding like a drum in your chest. You avoided Bakugo’s eyes as you pulled out your wallet.

He stopped you with a hand on your wrist. “I got it.”

You blinked. “What? No, this is my—”

“You’re fixin’ my gear,” he said gruffly, not looking at you. “Least I can do is pay for the part.”

“But I—”

“Shut up and let me do it.”

You opened your mouth again but closed it when you saw his ears going red.

You both stepped back out into the sunny street, walking shoulder to shoulder in a much more relaxed silence than before even if he still refused to meet your eyes for paying for the part.

You tucked the part carefully into your bag and sighed contentedly. "Alright, mission complete. Wanna head back?"

Bakugo made a sound like he was already halfway through saying “yes,” but then you turned slightly, eyes catching on a storefront a few doors down.

“Ooh—wait,” you pointed, already switching direction. “Hold up. I wanna check out the manga shop.”

Bakugo raised a brow. “Seriously?”

“You decided to tag along with me, so put up with my side quests.” You shot him a look over your shoulder.

You pushed the door open, the little jingle ringing out again, and walked inside. The place was compact but cosy—wooden shelves lined every wall, organised by genre and series. You let out a little happy sigh and made a beeline for the romance section, already scanning for the next volume of a series you’d been waiting on.

Bakugo followed behind, keeping his hands in his pockets, pretending to look bored. But you noticed how he didn’t stray too far. Not even when you stopped in front of a bright pink-covered volume with delicate art.

“Ooooh—finally.” You grabbed it like it was a treasure, flipping through the pages. “My Star’s Last Confession, volume 10. I’ve been waiting months for this one.”

The blonde glanced at it, and froze.

You caught it. “What?”

“…Nothing.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You know this manga.”

“No, I don’t.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Katsuki. You paused. You definitely know this manga.”

His jaw ticked. “It’s just—whatever. It’s popular. You see it online.”

You blinked at him. “You read romance manga?”

He turned his head like he was trying to physically escape the question. “Tch. Not usually.”

You gasped, stepping in front of him. “Oh my God, you do. Don’t even lie. Wait—wait—do you actually like My Star’s Last Confession?!”

“…maybe.”

You smacked his arm with the volume in your hand. “No way! First music and now manga, you actually have taste.

He rolled his eyes, but his ears were pink. “It’s not about taste. The story’s just… good.”

“Ohhh, so you cried when Rika confessed at the shrine, didn’t you?” you teased.

“I didn’t cry.”

“You so cried.”

Bakugo tried to look annoyed, but the way his mouth twitched said otherwise. “You get loud about everything, you know that?”

“Only things I'm excited about,” you grinned.

You both browsed for a while longer, laughing over a few ridiculous plot twists and complaining about series that dragged out too long. At one point, your hands brushed reaching for the same volume—and neither of you pulled back.

You quickly grabbed your manga, pressing it to your chest, and cleared your throat. “Okay… I’m ready to head back to campus.”

Bakugo didn’t move. “We don’t gotta yet.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I mean…” he scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “I was thinkin’… There’s a noodle place not far. You hungry?”

You tilted your head. “Like… get food?”

He shrugged. “Why not?"

Your heart did that dumb little flutter again. “...Like, you and me?”

He gave you a look that was definitely not annoyed—just a little too intense. “Yeah. You and me.”

You tried not to smile. “Okay. Yeah. I could eat.”

As you both walked out of the store, bags in hand, earbuds still loosely shared between you, you couldn’t help but feel like maybe Mina had been onto something after all.

You two had a great time, the blonde wasn't the silent brooding type you expected him to be. He asked you questions, spoke to you about your goals for after UA.

The conversation was good-- comfortable, and if it didn't happen more than once, you would have surely thought you were hearing things. But Bakugo was being flirty, in his own ridiculous way.

And to top it off, he paid. Again.

Like it was normal. Like you two did this kind of thing all the time. And somehow, it felt like that—natural, easy. No explosions (yet), no arguing (much). Just the two of you, side by side, eating and talking about stupid things and he made you laugh.

Was Mina… right?

The question had been gnawing at the back of your mind the entire walk back. Every time your arms brushed. Every time he looked over, like he was checking to make sure you were keeping up—even though you both walked in step.

“You good?” he asked, finally breaking the silence. He didn’t look at you, but his voice held something gentler than usual. That gravelly low that came out when he wasn’t on edge.

“Huh? Yeah, yeah. Just… thinking.”

His eyes cut over briefly before he nodded, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

You breathed out, still feeling the leftover heat of him beside you. It wasn’t even cold, but the wind caught your skirt and made you curl slightly inward.

“You cold?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Maybe if you brought a jacket, given what you’re wearin’—”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” you shot back, brows raised, even though there was a smile tugging at your lips.

He glanced at you, eyes flicking down then back up. “Didn’t say there was. You look good. But now you’re cold.”

I… look good?

You silently thanked God for two reasons: one, that it was dark outside. Two, that you were Black, because the flush rising to your cheeks would’ve been way more obvious otherwise.

“Thanks, by the way,” you said, a little quieter. “For the food. I wasn’t expecting… well, I dunno. Just… thanks.”

“Tch. Told you not to make it weird.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, and this time when you looked over at him, he didn’t look away.

The gates to the dorms were up ahead, and even though your feet were aching, your chest was heavier at the thought of the night ending.

“I’m gonna start working on the gauntlet,” you murmured. “Should be ready by tomorrow. Midday, latest.”

Bakugo gave a little nod, then slowed just a fraction, tilting his head toward you.

“Y’know… I wanna trade.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

His ears were red. He wasn’t looking right at you. “I got a signed first edition of somethin’ you might like. You give me what you bought today, I’ll trade you.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“What series?!”

“You’ll see.”

“Well show me!”

You barely waited for his response before you bolted toward the dorm doors, Bakugo’s low laugh trailing behind you like heat.

He watched you go, a smirk pulling at his lips. In the common room, Mina nearly dropped her phone trying to wave you down as you beelined past everyone and made a beeline for the elevator.

“Girl! Where the hell you—?”

“Later, Mina!” you called over your shoulder, not stopping.

Bakugo strolled in a second later, ignoring the confused looks, a small smirk tugging against his lips.

The journey up to his room was fast, it was probably from all the excitement to see what series he was talking about.

But that excitement soon turned to nerves once you actually got to his room.

It was what you expected to be fair. His room was completely clean and organised, a couple of All Mighht posters and some rock bands, his books laid out on his desk and a pile of gym clothes on his chair in his corner.

You slowly entered the room, jumping slightly from the slam of his door. Your eyes darted over the room, noticing small things that seemed to make sense for him but before you could get a deeper look you felt a nudge into your arm.

A sealed plastic sleeve, slightly worn at the edges from age. Your eyes widened.

“No. No fucking way.”

He smirked. “Yep.”

“You have A Garden In Winter?! SIGNED?!”

The title alone sent a jolt through your whole body. It was one of your favorite slow-burn romance manga—long out of print, basically impossible to find in good condition.

And he had it.

“Don’t play with me, Katsuki” you said, snatching it gently from his hand like it was made of glass.

“Hey—careful with it,” he warned, but his tone was light. Almost teasing.

You stared at the neat signature across the front page, your mouth dry. “How the hell did you even get this?”

Bakugo shrugged and plopped down on the edge of his bed. “Had it since second year. My mom got it signed at some con. Didn’t know what it was until I actually read it.”

“And you read it?”

“…Yeah.”

You looked up from the sleeve slowly, still half in shock. “So you’re telling me you’ve been reading romance manga this whole time and hid it from everyone?”

“Those extras don't gotta know this shit.’,” he muttered, leaning back on his hands.

You laughed—this delighted, disbelieving sound that made his lips twitch.

“I’m not letting this outta my sight,” you muttered, flipping it open like it was sacred.

“So? You tradin’ or not?” he asked, nodding toward the small bag you still clutched.

You set your bag on his desk and pulled out the part he needed, laying it neatly beside his blueprints. You hadn't even realised you sat on his bed until you madce yourself comfortable, skirt riding up your thighs softly.

You could feel his stare on you, you tried so hard to concertate on the book in your hand. Your fingers brushed against the fabric of his sheets untul they hit something wooden.

Blinking slightly, you picked up to woddedn sticks, looking back at the blonde who just continued to stare at you.

"Oh my God yeah, your a fucking drummer boy. Remember from the festival in first year."

Bakugo scoffed slightly, taking the sticks from you before placing them down on his desk.

"Those extras know I'm good at everything and goaded me into playing."

You bit your lip, eyes wandering over him, heart beating slightly against your chest. "Maybe people underestimated you, you say your good at everything-- doesn't mean your actyally good at everything."

The blonde's eyes dipped slightly, gaze dropping to your lips before meeting your eyes once again.

"I am good at everything."

You licked your lips softly, watching how he inched closer to you.

"Some people have to see it to believe it."

You weren't suprsied it happened, what you was suprised about was how fucking amazing it felt.

Kissing Bakugo was just what you’d always imagined it would be. He didn’t do anything half-assed, so you weren’t surprised by the passion behind it. Being this close to him was exhilarating. You could smell the faint scent of caramel on him when you breathed in, tilting your head slightly as he ran his tongue along your bottom lip.

He wedged his knee between yours, prying your legs to open futher as he pushed you both down onto the bed. Your hands were planted firmly in his hair as his fingers ran on the inner skin of your thigh.

He pulled away, the two of you breathless. He didn’t go far, his lips trailing down your jaw and to your neck, nipping lightly as he went. You sighed when his hands moved from your thigh, fingers drifting along the exposed flesh of your belly and trailing lightly up your sides. Your nails began scratching lightly along his scalp and tugging at his soft locks as his teeth worried at the place where your neck and shoulder met.

It wasn’t long before his fingers smoothed their way up your calf. Your breath hitched when he spread your legs wider, tracing one finger over your clothed slit. The look in his eyes was positively feral when they met yours. “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?”

You moaned softly as he began drawing small circles, but it was short-lived when you pulled the blonde off you, the worry in his eyes was bright before disappearing as he watched you pull your top over your head. His eyes galzed over in lust as they darted down to your boobs that were covered in a white lace.

He leaned in, mouth warm as he traced the edge of your bra with his tongue. You unclasped it and he wasted no time tossing it aside, big hands kneading your tits while his mouth closed around one nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking until it was stiff and aching. Your back arched into him, fingers tangling in his hair, gasping when he switched to the other with the same slow, tormenting rhythm.

You dragged him up into another kiss, messier this time, as your hands worked beneath his shirt. He pulled back just enough to rip it off, and fuck—he was gorgeous. Cut like a sculpture, every line and dip begging to be touched.

Your hands roamed, nails dragging over his pecs and abs before you leaned up to mouth along his collarbone, feeling the rumble in his chest when you nipped his skin.

He let out a low growl, flipping you further up the bed and covering you with his body again. His forearms braced on either side of your head, hips pressing into yours while he kissed you rough and slow, like he needed to make the moment last.

Then his mouth was gone again, trailing heat down your torso. He tugged your skirt down, and you helped him kick it off, breath catching as the room's cool air kissed your exposed skin. He groaned when he saw your soaked panties—black, delicate, and clinging to your folds.

“You know how fucking long I’ve been waiting for this?” he muttered, hot against your thigh as he settled between your legs.

Your head fell back when his hand slid higher, his thumb brushing slow, deliberate circles over your clit. Even through the lace, it made you twitch.

“Katsuki—” you whimpered.

“You’ve been so fucking oblivious,” he growled, voice rough with restraint. “Actin’ like I didn’t want you. Actin’ like I wasn’t ready to drop everything just to touch you like this.”

You gasped as he slid your panties aside, thick fingers gliding through your soaked folds. “Shit—you're so wet already.”

Then he hooked his fingers in the waistband and pulled them down, slow and deliberate, letting his eyes roam as he took you in bare for the first time.

He groaned like he was in pain. “Fuck. Look at you.”

You spread your legs for him, shameless, your cunt glistening under the soft light, already clenching on nothing.

He kissed the inside of your thigh, then again, higher, until he was just breathing against you.

“Bet you taste even better than I imagined.”

Your hand threaded through his hair, and the second your hips lifted in silent invitation, he dove in.

His mouth met your pussy like he’d been dreaming of it—tongue flat and slow at first, licking from your entrance to your clit, groaning when your thighs trembled around his head. He sucked your clit between his lips and you cried out, hips twitching, legs instinctively trying to close, but his hands were there—gripping your thighs, holding you wide open for him.

He was messy with it. Tongue fucking you between tight circles over your clit, moaning into your folds like he couldn’t get enough. You were panting, writhing, one hand clawing at the sheets, the other gripping his hair like a lifeline.

“Fuck, Katsuki— please—don’t stop—”

That just made him go harder, sloppier, like he was trying to make you come with his mouth alone.

And you would. You were close. Too close.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, “Gonna come for me, baby? Gonna soak my fuckin’ face?”

Your back arched. “Yes—yes, I’m gonna—”

“Good. Make a mess on my tongue.”

It was almost a shame how fast you came. A choked moan leaving your lips, hips rolling, body shaking as he lapped you through it, humming into your cunt like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

And when he finally pulled away, his mouth glistening, he wiped his chin with the back of his hand and smirked.

“You good?” His arm came up to wipe the wetness from his mouth and chin, a smirk on his lips when you nodded.

You cleared your throat. “So good.” You sat up on your elbows, watching him stand again and shove his jeans along with briefs down his legs. Your eyes widened slightly at his size, appreciating his body quietly. He was an Adonis, and you wanted to trace over every inch of his body with your fingers and tongue.

He didn’t give you a chance, crawling back towards you. You spread your legs wider to accommodate him. “Do I need to grab a condom?”

“I’m on the pill.”

You weren’t sure why the question made your stomach flutter the way it did, but something about the way he asked—so sure, but still asking—sent heat straight to your core.

“Oh, thank god,” he groaned, leaning down, palms flat on either side of your head as he kissed you deep. The taste of yourself on his tongue was lewd and addicting, your hand sliding to the back of his neck, anchoring him to you.

You don't know why it took you so long, but God, you knew you’d probably never get enough.

“Katsuki,” you whispered, voice airy and pleading as he coated his tip with your slick, your hips rocked up toward him, impatient to feel him filling you up.

He didn’t say a word—just locked eyes with you and began to push in.

Your mouth dropped open on a moan as the stretch began to build. He was so big it almost hurt, your body instinctively tightening around him.

“Fuck,” he hissed, jaw clenched tight. “You’re squeezin’ the hell outta me.”

You whimpered, legs trembling as he sank deeper, inch by inch, until he bottomed out and you swore the air left your lungs.

"Kat—fuck." You were full, completely and utterly stuffed. It was the best kind of pressure, and your cunt fluttered helplessly around him.

He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, one hand gripping your hip, the other stroking along your waist to soothe you. Then he started to move.

He pulled out almost all the way, then rolled his hips back in, setting a rhythm that had your breath hitching on every exhale. Slow at first, his pace deliberate, like he was learning what made you moan, what made your thighs twitch, what made you lose your goddamn mind.

“Fuck, you feel insane,” he grunted, voice strained as he dipped down to kiss your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. “So fuckin’ warm, so tight—shit, you were made for me.”

Your hands ran up his back, nails scratching lightly over his shoulder blades. “Faster,” you begged, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Please, Katsuki, harder—”

Your moans and mumbled pleas of faster and harder were answered with a smirk, the boy between your thighs raising himself up to his knees and lifting one of your legs onto his shoulder. Large hands held your hips firmly in place as he slammed himself inside, tip kissing your cervix as you arched up in pleasure. He picked up speed, the sound of skin slapping skin filling your ears as you bit down on your bottom lip, focusing on the feeling of him filling you up just like you’d always wanted.

“F-fuck!” you cried out, eyes rolling as his cock hit your sweet spot dead-on.

“Yeah?” he growled, hips snapping into yours with obscene, wet slaps. “That what you needed, baby?”

When he bent forward, pressing your leg up toward your chest, the stretch burned again in the best way, your body forced open for him. He sealed your lips in a kiss, groaning as he felt how your cunt squeezed around him when his tongue met yours.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered into your mouth, “wrapped around me like this—like you were waitin’ for me.”

Your walls kept fluttering around him, you could feel your orgasm trying to wash over you, but you didn't want it to end yet.

You pressed your plams aginast his chest, the blonde halted his movements, his brows furrowed as he stared down at you but didn't get a chance to ask you what was wrong.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pivoting your weight and flipped him over. Katsuki's eyes widened as you took your place, straddling him, cook still buried in your cervix.

"Fuck mama."

Katsuki threw his head back, eyes closed, his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked so pretty like this, his skin flushed and chest heaving, hair mussed from your hands running through it. You leaned forward, dragging your lips along his sharp jaw, breathing in the scent of caramel.

He chose that moment to tighten his hands around your hips, holding you steady as he bucked up into you, forcing you to sit up, your back arching in pleasure. The muscles in your legs burned from exertion, but you kept moving, bouncing on his cock and clenching around him. You knew you’d be sore the next day but felt too good to stop.

One of his hands moved from your hip, fingers trailing across your skin to dip between your thighs, one calloused finger pressing against your clit. Gasping, you moaned his name lowly, your head falling back as you felt your body preparing to throw you over the edge again. “Oh fuck, I’m close.” Voice trembling, you held your breath, letting your eyes close.

He sat up suddenly, chest to chest, feet pressed into the mattress as he fucked up into you. Your hands flew to his hair, moaning as you fluttered around his cock, his breath was warm against you as he whispered praises into your ear

“Katsuki,” you gasped, mouth falling open as your back arched. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah? Come on my cock, ma. Come for me.”

Your orgasm ripped through you like a live wire—thighs shaking, fingers clawing at his arms, your pussy fluttering around him as he slammed up into you,, milking every last drop of pleasure out of you.

Your toes curled as you rode out your orgasm, nails digging into the pale flesh of his back as you tried to keep yourself tethered to him, feeling as though you might float away, his name shuddering from your parted lips

He slowed, grinding deep, but never let you go. “That’s it. That’s my girl. Fuckin’ beautiful when you come.”

Groaning lowly in your ear, he came right after, his cum painted your walls, the warm liquid filling you up as he continued to fuck you both through your orgasm.

Your thighs trembled around his hips as the aftershocks rolled through you. For a long moment, neither of you moved—just breathing in sync, sweat-slicked skin pressed close, foreheads resting together.

Eventually, Katsuki eased you both down, his back hitting the mattress with a soft thump as you collapsed on top of him, cheek pressed to his chest. You could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat under your ear. His hand found your back, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles along your spine.

"What's so funny?"

You peeked up at him, eyes still hazy with bliss. “Just thinkin’ about how long I’ve been clueless.”

Katsuki clicked his tongue and nipped gently at your neck, just enough to make you squirm. “Tch. Took you long enough. Now you’re stuck with me.”

You hummed softly, but the blonde lifted your chin up to press a kiss to your lips.

“You're stayin’ over,” he mumbled against your lips. “Not negotiable.”

You grinned, brushing your nose against his. “Guess I better get comfy then.”

𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘢𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 ©

#black fem reader #black female smut #katsuki bakugo mha #my hero academia #bakugo smut #katsuki x black reader #katsuki smut #katsuki bakugo x black reader #bakugo x black!reader #mha x black reader

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codnasties · 9 months ago

Text

cod characters fucking fleshlights

this post includes: soap, ghost, gaz, price, graves, konig & alejandro

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soap 🧼- the one that takes his time

now, this ain't soap's first time using a fleshlight. he started with a tenga egg or something like that, just for the sake of trying something that wasn't his hand. and i just know that troughout the years he has created a decently sized collection with a lot of varietiy: fleshlights imitating pussies, asses, mouths,... even if a man like him could easily pull a pretty lass to fuck, with the job he has and what it requires of him, it isn't always ideal.

but there is one thing that soap does, no matter weather he's fucking one of his partners or a plastic replica: he takes his time. stroking himself tentatively before lubing his dick up and loweing the fleshlight onto his hard on until he's balls deep. and when i say he fucks it as if it were a real person i mean it. he's fucking int in diferent positions, jerking himself with it but also fucking into it, both slow and fast until cums all over himself

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ghost 👻- the stretcher

ghost sometimes has to ask himself if he's really that big and thick or if it's just that the one or two fleslights he owns are way too fucking small. he doesn't know, but he very much loves it. there is something about the size difference, the way the plastic stretches to fit him and how he can perfecly see it expanding as he pushes his dick deeper into it that makes him go feral.

now, other than his size kink goin brrr, he finds himself swiping his cock against the flesglight's pussy-like entrance, as if he were teasing a real cunt, before fucking himself slowly into it. he's mersmerized by the plastic doll completely swallowing up his aching hard dick until he's balls deep. he also intends to pull out - just to save himself some clean up - but he finds himself so overwhelmed by the feeling and visuals that he just fill the fleshlight up with his potent cum - more than once, at that -.

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gaz 🧢- mess making perpetrator

this may be my most repeated gaz headcanon but he's a mess maker and there is no deniying. when he get's home from a mission or something like that and he doesn't feel like trying to find a partner to fuck, he always has a trusty fleshlight. the thing is, he doesn't even make it to the bedroom most of the time, deciding to just fuck it in his livingroom.

he just plunged deeply into the plastic pussy, stretching the plastic over his limit because his dick is too long for the small fleshlight, almos breking it. the pent up hornyness and the feeling of something other than his hand wrapped around his dick sending him into an orgasm faster than he expected. he pulls out to first his impossibly hard cock when he feels himself about to cum. and he stains the sofa with it as the mess perpetrator that he is - and let me tell you, it ain't the first time he's had to clean his seed out of that sofa.

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price 🚬- the first timer

price is an older and more traditional man, he would rather fuck another person than some piece of plastic. but he keps hearing his men talk about fleshlights, how good they feel,.. and all that combined with the fact that he ain't getting younger, he's extra tired and trying to find a partner with a job like his is tedious, he decides to get himself a fleshlight just to try it out of curiotisty.

what he did not expect was that god forsaken piece of plastic would feel that fucking good. all it took was some slow deep strokes into it before he found himself cumming. and at that moment his lust filled brain took over and he started fucking himself into the fleshlight again, trying to extend the pleasure of the orgasm. let's say he now fully understands why his men praise them plastic holes.

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konig 🗡- the nasty fucker

lets be real, konig is fleshlight collector number 2. anxiety gets the best of him so he would rather to make do with some plastic pussy or ass than having to deal with the hassle of interacting with people. his not that experiended ass is fucking enamoured by the feeling of and ass or pussy, even if it isn't a real one.

now, konig allways finds himself doing two thing every time he uses one of his fleshlight. a. he moans. like a bitch in heat. he can't help it, it just feels overwhelingly good to have something wrapping tightly around his unexperienced cock. and the fact of finally getting some release. b. he makes messes - yup, mess making perpetrator no. 2 -. spit, precum, lube and cum mixing all together, covering his dick, hands and fleshlight as he fucks himself dumb and slaps his dick all over yhe plastic ass.

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graves 🪦 - the stressed

now, these military men always find themselves stressed out, it's a part of the job. but for graves, said job and the tension that it generates have kept him away for some time now from a real pussy or ass. so a fleshlight is a good alternative, giving him all that he needs to reach some much needed release.

the few occasions he has had enough time to indulge in some pleasure, he's going to make the most of it. alternating slow, sensual deep strokes and fast shallow ones. hands making sure that the fleshlight stays in place as he plunges into it chasing an orgasm and moanig at the sweet feeling of release. he for sure cums deep inside of the plastic masturbator, because it may be plastic, but he loves creampie-ing it the same way he would creampie a real person.

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alejandro 🤠 - the tip teaser

alejandro doesn't strike me as the type of person that would have a proper fleshlight, you know? instead of a piece of plastic that fully engulfs his dick he has one of those quickshot ones. a transparent one at that. it gives him a lot of options, from fully jerking his cock with it to just teasing his tip.

and oh does he love to tease his tip! using that comact masturbator to play with his angry red bulbous tip. pushing just the head in and out, sometimes tilting it to make his dick pop out of the fleshlihgwith a wet noise. and seeing his cock breach into the plastic, dick twitching at the feeling, his stomach spasming from the sensation... he always inevitably cums all over himself, staining his hard shaft, lower hairy stomach, thights and even the quilt.

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yanadolls · 1 month ago

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preying on u tonight

18+, mdni ୨୧

jealous!nagi x fem reader, unprotected sex, degrading, praising, overstimulation, size kink, sending ur nude pics to reo

part one

part two of this req <3

at first, nagi was overjoyed to be with you. after all, this was the girl of his dreams we were talking about. you were perfect- so sweet to him, always giving him a smile and cheering him on during his games and spending time with him when nobody else wouls. then, when he had asked you out and started dating you, it was only going uphill. you made him feel special and loved, always making sure he felt cared for and even making meals for him whenever he was too lazy to eat. nagi was sure he was in love with you from the very start.

so when he eventually found out that you had been sleeping with his best friend for MONTHS, it made his heart drop.

nagi felt betrayed for the first time in his life- both by reo who he trusted, and a bit by you. the white haired boy had gushed over you for god knows how long and the other man who was always supportive; how could reo have been fucking you while encouraging nagi?! then..there was you. after confronting you about this entire situation, he did understand that it was just a friends with benefits thing, and nothing more. he knew you had no feelings for reo and he really did believe you when you said you had loved nagi all along. you were just doing it for stress relief.

however, just because he understood didn't mean he wasn't seething with jealous, blood boiling the entire conversation. nagi didn't hate reo per say, he was just very angry with him at the moment. it was a normal reaction to discovering the fact his best friend was sleeping with his crush for half a year, and had even called you over to fuck the night prior to nagi's confession to you. it made his stomach twist in an uncomfortable feeling, and maybe even causing him to feel anxious.

what if you got bored of him, and went back to reo? what if he couldn't pleasure you as good as his best friend could? nagi needed to prove that he was the right choice, not the other rich man.

"hah..s-shit sei! aah, too much! slow down!"

nagi clicked his tongue at your crying, holding you down by your wrists with one of his larger hands which entirely covered both of yours, thrusting brutally in and out of you. nagi wasn't one to get so worked up emotionally, but this was different. he was jealous and angry, so what better way to make himself feel a bit less bad than burying himself deep into your pussy and showing you who you belonged to? you always took it like a good girl, anyway.

"shut up." he growled against your neck, "sluts like you don't get to command. take all of it and stop complaining."

he didn't intend to be so mean to you, but could you blame him? multiple feelings were bubbling in his chest, primarily jealousy and lust. his intense gaze locked onto your fucked out face, before bringing his vision down to your sopping little hole which had cum leaking out. this was, what- maybe the third time he made you cum already? you were so sensitive it was overwhelming, yet it felt too good to stop. your boyfriend's hand grabbed your face and squished your cheeks, slamming his lips down onto yours with a heated passion.

"do you even understand how it feels to find out- shit.. t-that my girlfriend was fucking around with my best friend before all of this? what are you, some hooker? were you with other men as well?"

he moved his hands to your thighs, pushing them up to your chest so he could dick you down even more. your mind was clouded at this point, and the only thing you could babble out unconsciously were apologies that fell from your lips like a chant, and cries of his name. you really were sorry- you felt awful about it.

"m'so sorry sei! f-fuck, so sorry!!" you choked a sob, trying to bring your eyes to meet his. "was only reo- m'so sorry, baby! please please, w-wish i never did it..!"

nagi's eyes softened at the way your dolly ones were filled with fat tears, guilt written all over them with a hint of lust from how good he was fucking you. he knew that you couldn't have known about his feelings for you while sleeping with reo- if you had, then you definitely wouldn't have been going to him instead of the lazy genius. the purple haired man was the one at blame.

"mh.. such a cute thing, aren't you? can't believe fucking reo got to see this as well."

the mere thought made him feel jealous all over again, although he wasn't mad at you anymore. if he was gonna be angry at anyone, it was 100% going to be his best friend who went behind his back knowing how much nagi liked you.

"m'sorry, so sorry sei! i-if i knew you liked me-"

"shh, love. i know, i know."

with another kiss to your lips, you felt more reassured. nagi wasn't really good at expressing his feelings, but he was starting to feel a bit bad for being so mean during the entire night you two were having sex, even if being a bit more rough with you was turning him on secretly. while the fact reo slept with you still would be on his mind for a month or so.. nagi couldn't find it in him to stay frustrated at you, even if he wanted to.

"you're mine now, yeah? reo could never fuck you the way i do, only my dick could make you get like this.."

nagi was confident in his words for once as he intently watched your expressions, slamming his heavy, fat cock into your overstimulated cunt over and over. you were squirming under him, smaller body bucking up into his larger, much more muscular one without even meaning to. the mere size difference between you and him made his dick throb in your gummy walls, groaning at the bulge his length made every time he thrusted inside you.

"i'm all yours, sei! love you so much..! haah, love your dick s'much.."

"such a cute little thing, aren't you? so tiny and easy to manhandle.."

he pressed deeper into you, tip kissing your cervix and stretching out your walls so deliciously. he didn't miss the way your walls clenched around his dick when he mentioned how small you were compared to him, silently noting that reaction. you felt so full, so connected to him on an intimate level- something you never felt when you were fucking with reo. you never wanted nagi to feel insecure or jealous again- you just loved him too much.

"aah.. g-gunna cum again! oh sei, please please please-"

nagi moved his head back to yours, pressing more gentle yet passionate kisses to your lips, tongue clashing with yours. his rhythm became more sloppy as he buried himself deep inside you, dumping his load into your tummy once more while you cried out and came on his cock.

looking down, the messy sight made his dick twitch again. your hole was leaking with both your cum, dripping onto the bed- and your sweaty, fucked body was just the perfect sight; eyes rolled to your skull, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling quickly, hips still bucking a bit from how stimulated you had been..it was the hottest thing he had ever seen.

"stay still, babe."

nagi reached out and grabbed his phone from the nightstand, snapping a photo of you (and you were far too delirious right now to even acknowledge what he just did), before opening a certain someone's messages..

nagi: attachment: 1 image

nagi: you jealous, reo? ur never fucking her again lol

would he regret sending that in the morning? probably. however, he was far too tired now to care. with a lazy clean up and a kiss to your forehead, he held your tinier body in his arms and fell asleep, happy you were only his from now on.

AN; new layout! i hope yall like it xoxo i loved writing this sm ugh jealous nagi is so hot <3

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angelicsoka · 1 year ago

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DISAPPROVAL, t. owens

word count | 1.6k

pairings | tyler owens x fem!storm chaser!reader

summary | in which javi disapproves of his sister’s relationship

warnings | contains spoilers for the movie!! mentions of death, tornadoes, and panic attacks. brother-sister fighting, slight angst. one use of ‘y/n’. not proofread. lowercase intended.

a/n | i literally can’t stop thinking about this movie. tyler owens x javi’s sister has me in a choke hold

you had never been the type to run from your fears, not now and definitely not five years ago. you used to storm chase with kate carter and your brother, javi, as well as three other of your friends. the six of you, led by kate, had come together to see if it was really possible to reduce the intensity of a tornado. you knew that the experiment would be dangerous, but it had never fully occurred to you that you or anyone else could die. that was a mistake you swore you would never make again.

five years had passed and you still were waking up, sweating and shaking from the horrid night where you lost three of your closest friends. you shakily tore the covers from your body, walking quietly to the bathroom so as to not wake the sleeping body still in bed. you closed the door to the bathroom before turning on the light. you turned the sink on, splashing water on your face as a sigh escaped your mouth. you gripped the sides of the sink, attempting to center yourself. “fuck.”

“babe, you in there?” you jumped when tyler knocked on the door, your breathing quickening once more. “babe?” tyler turned the door knob, pushing it up to see you slowly sliding down the wall as you began to hyperventilate. he rushed to your side, which wasn't far in the cramped bathroom. he helped you to the floor, sitting in front of you. “hey, hey, let's just sit down. just breathe with me, okay?” you nodded, following tyler in his exaggerated breathing, feeling as your heart rate began to slow down. “you’re okay, you’re safe.” you nodded, finally noticing the tears streaming down your face.

“sorry, ty, i didn’t mean to wake you.” you apologized through sniffles, wiping at your nose.

“you didn’t wake me. plus, i just wanted to make sure you were okay.” you still felt guilty about it, about him constantly dealing with your nightmares and panic attacks. you felt guilty that you still pushed yourself to storm chase even though you are terrified of losing the ones you love most. you knew you shouldn’t push that guilt or fear away, but there was another part of you that just wanted to help people. “why don’t we go get some breakfast?” tyler helped you to your feet, the two of you trudging over to the diner across from the motel.

breakfast had been mostly silent, tyler trying to start a conversation but you were too stuck in your head. your knee anxiously bounced as you realized you would be heading to oklahoma, and that you were more than likely to run into your brother javi. you had talked to javi a lot over the phone, but it had been at least a year since you had last seen him in person. he’d been begging you for a few weeks now to leave tyler and the wranglers behind and to join his crew and help with a new tornado scanning system. you knew javi just wanted to help people, but the people funding his projects did not have the same interests at heart. “you ready?” you looked, not hardly having touched your food, accepting tyler’s extended hand. “boone’s getting pretty antsy about leavin’. dude’s been blowing up my phone for like the last thirty minutes.” you giggled when tyler showed you his phone with nearly fifty texts from boone.

“i’m surprised he’s even up, let alone ready to hit the road.” tyler tossed an arm over your shoulders, placing a delicate kiss on your temple as you walked back to the motel.

“yeah, well, best not to keep the man waiting.” tyler went to grab your stuff from the motel room before checking out, leaving you to rig up the gps.

“boone! you ridin’ with us?” you shouted over to boone who was talking with dexter, dani, and lily. “we’ve got a seat open for you as well, ben.” you smiled to the journalist, who thought you to be the only sane one of the group. ben smiled at you, his body language showing he was clearly uneasy. “don’t worry, the ride to oklahoma shouldn’t be too bad.”

“it's not that ride that i’m worried about.” before you could question him, boone hopped in beside him, tyler entering the driver’s seat not a moment later.

“let’s ride!” boone whooped, tyler tearing out of the parking lot. you couldn’t seem to find it in yourself to be hyped up like your boyfriend and friend, too anxious about seeing your brother. he had already disapproved of you riding with the wranglers, you couldn’t imagine how he’d react when he found out you were dating tyler owens of all people.

at some point during the ride, you had fallen asleep only to be startled awake by boone, camera in hand as he yelled out the truck. “sorry, babe.” tyler quietly apologized to you, squeezing your hand. you squinted out the window, your stomach dropping at the sight of javi and kate, stood side by side. all the shouting and cheering seemed to be muted when your eyes locked with javi’s. even though you were nervous, the sight of your big brother brought a soft smile to your face.

tyler put the truck in park, the crowd surrounding them. you pushed the door open, hopping down as tyler got the crowd chanting. boone was walking around, filming, while dani, lily, and dexter began to sell the merchandise. you stood off to the side, watching tyler do his thing, a smile gracing your lips. you looked around, catching kate’s eye, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her friend. she walked over to you, engulfing you in a hug before you had time to say anything. “kate! i wasn’t expecting to see you here!” you laughed, gripping kate tightly.

“i didn’t realize you were still chasing, i thought you would at least be riding with javi.” you tensed slightly at your brother’s name, pulling back from kate’s arms.

“uh, yeah, i’ve just decided to ride with the wranglers this season.” your tenseness didn’t go unnoticed by kate, but before she could ask you anything your attention was brought to your brother waltzing over. “javi!” your nerves dissipated when javi threw his arms around you, pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

“i’ve missed you, sis.” you let out a sigh, trying not to let the tears well in your eyes.

“i’ve missed you too, javi.” you pulled back, now seeing your crew watching you. the crowd had mostly left, and the sight of you hugging a man that wasn’t tyler had them concerned. “why don’t you come meet my crew?” you knew javi had no interest in meeting your crew, but you wanted him to see they weren’t just daredevils with a need for a thrill. “hey, guys, i want you to meet my brother, javi, and my good friend, kate!” everyone but boone and tyler had come to meet them. “javi, kate, meet dexter, lily, and dani! oh, and ben! he’s a london journalist writing a piece on american storm chasing.” you pointed to each member, getting soft ‘hellos’ and ‘nice to meet yous’.

“nice to meet you guys!” kate smiled, javi not saying anything. you felt a pang in your heart when javi didn’t seem to take the people you considered to be some of your closest friends.

“well, who do we have here?” you turned to see tyler and boone walking toward you, a large smile breaking out on your face. “you must be javi, and… kate, right?” kate nodded, shaking tyler’s hand.

“kate, javi, this is boone, and this is tyler owens.” tyler walked to your side, slinging an arm loosely around your shoulder while boone waved, going to put the camera back into the truck. “nice to meet you both.” he tipped his hat to the two. you watched javi closely, he practically had steam coming out his ears at the sight of tyler’s arms around your shoulder. javi had always been overprotective, and you wished he would realize you can hold your own. “we’re headin’ out in a few, ‘kay?” you nodded, tyler pressing a kiss to your temple before jogging over to boone. you looked back to javi who was red in the face, and kate who was clearly shocked.

“javi–” you started, javi pulling you to a quiet spot away from everyone else.

“really? tyler owens?” he spat out tyler’s name like it was venom. “c’mon y/n, he’s an idiot who drives into tornadoes! he doesn’t give a shit about anyone, especially those affected by said tornadoes!” tears welled in your eyes, anger bottling up.

“oh, and you do? javi! your investors don’t give any shits about these people! they only care about the money! and you, you’re helping them by getting this data!” you wiped at the tears that spilled over, “we help people, javi! we sell the merch to pay for the supplies, and the revenue we make off the streams and videos go to families in need. we just don’t show that part on the internet.” it seemed to dawn on javi that you would have never ridden with the wranglers for as long as you had if you weren’t helping people. “tyler treats me well, and maybe you’d have seen that if you weren't so busy making assumptions about him.” you spat at him before turning on your heel, walking toward the truck, actively ignoring javi’s shouting.

“you okay?” tyler asked, noticing your rosy cheeks. “want me to beat his ass?” you glared at him, a smile tugging at your lips. tyler was mostly all bark and no bite.

“no, he just needs time.” you reached up, kissing tyler before taking his hand in yours and walking back to the truck. javi watched as tyler opened your door and helped you in, watching tyler stare lovingly at you. and javi knew that he had fucked up.

#angelicsoka #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens x reader #twisters #twisters imagine #javi rivera #javi rivera x reader #javi rivera x sister!reader #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens x rivera!reader #glen powell x reader #glen powell imagine #glen powell #imagine

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ktownshizzle · 8 months ago

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Love & Lullabies | Part 4

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter warnings: slow ass burn because the series will be extended indefinitelyyyy yall wanted this 😅, so much kissing, sexting, star wars reference, THIS YOONGI, cliffhanger hehe

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 6.7k

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: December 14, 2024

✎ ˎˊ˗ A/N: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Masterlist

You glance at the clock again and chew your bottom lip, heart ricocheting against your ribcage. When you sent Yoongi the text, you knew it was overdue. You were finally in a good place—and he was part of what was good.

You’ve known Yoongi for years, but it’s only in the past few months that you’ve really gotten to know him. At this point, you’ve spent hours with him in every context imaginable, from tantruming Haneul to Miss Rachel dance sessions, from boring afternoons to big milestones. But this feels… different.

He’s coming to your place. You haven’t seen him in weeks, not since you kissed in the rain, and he showed up in the hallway, not since everything fell apart and started to piece itself back together again.

You’d started in your pajamas—just a soft cotton set with peaches on them—but after one glance in the mirror, you decided against it. Too casual. Now you’re in a cream-colored cardigan with a camisole underneath and matching joggers. You dabbed on a little lip tint, brushed out your hair, spritzed on a tiny bit of perfume. Now, you honestly look like you tried and while you don’t want to be too obvious, you remember he has been the one trying for months. It wouldn’t hurt if you showed him a little effort. And at least now you know you look cute.

The doorbell startles you, and you jolt forward causing a dull pain in your neck, which has been bothering you for days. You roll your shoulders back, in hopes to shake some of the tension away. You wipe your palms on your joggers and rush to the door, catching a quick glance at your reflection in the hallway mirror. You look… fine. You hope.

When you pull the door open, there he is.

Yoongi.

Yoongi stands in your doorway, wearing a gray hoodie, jeans that sit just right on his hips, and New Balance slides—slides—despite the winter chill. His hair, slightly longer now, still looks as soft as when you ran your fingers throu—

“Hey,” he says, stalling your thoughts. His dark eyes meet yours, something in his expression making you a bit self-conscious. But boy did you miss him.

“Hi,” you manage, your voice smaller than you intended. You clear your throat and gesture at his feet. “Slides? In this weather?”

Yoongi glances down, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “I was in a rush.”

“Come in,” you say, motioning for him to enter. “When I texted you, I didn’t say it had to be tonight.”

“It had to be,” he says quietly. “For me.”

Your cheeks flush, and you quickly change the subject. “Do you want something to drink? Water? Tea? Iced americano?”

He smiles, seemingly glad that you recall his favorite. “Iced americano sounds good,” he says, settling onto the couch.

You head to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with ice and coffee. When you return, you hand it to him, watching as he fumbles with the straw a bit. You forgot just how cute he is.

You sip your drink, glancing at him over the rim before deciding to fill the quiet. “So… first day at the daycare,” you start casually. “It went well.”

Yoongi leans back, his shoulders loosening just a little. “Yeah? Tell me about it.”

“It was… honestly, it was so great,” you say, the words tumbling out as you set your drink on the table. “The kids are adorable, and the space is beautiful. Everything’s so well set up.” You pause, the memory of the morning making your chest feel warm. “I forgot how much I missed doing that, you know? Like, preparing activities, seeing their little faces light up when they learn something new… it just—it feels good.”

Yoongi’s lips tug into the faintest smile, his gaze steady on you. “You look happy talking about it.”

You nod, almost to yourself. “I am. I feel… lucky, I guess. That I get to do this again.”

His eyes soften in that way that makes your stomach flutter. “I’m proud of you,” he says simply, his tone steady and sincere.

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, all you can do is blink at him. “Really?”

“Of course,” he says simply, leaning back against the couch. “It’s not easy starting over. But you did it.”

“Thanks, Yoongi. I really appreciate that.” You pause, then add, “I’m proud of me too.”

He smiles at that, the kind that’s so subtle you’d miss it if you weren’t looking.

You grin back, the memory of the morning still fresh. “Well, we also had a capybara mascot.”

Yoongi coughs. “Oh? A mascot? That’s… interesting.”

“Yeah,” you nod, narrowing your eyes at him. “It seemed really into me. Kept shaking its ass in front of the kids, though, which… you know, questionable.”

“Shaking its ass?” Yoongi repeats, lips twitching.

“Weird, right?” you protest, though you can’t help but grin. “The thing was strangely enthusiastic.”

Yoongi shrugs, taking another sip of his drink. “Sounds like a fun mascot.”

But then, he’s not done, like he’s empathizing with the man in the suit. “And of course he would be enthusiastic, it’s your opening day. I mean they probably briefed him to be supportive of you and whatnot. And to be that energetic despite the tormenting heat of that costume, he’s seriously doing the lord’s work…”

Huh.

You blink at him, before you decide to test the theory out.

“Haneul kept calling it Appa,” you say with a straight face. “I told him there’s no way his appa is in a capybara suit.”

Yoongi chokes on his drink, coughing again.

“Are you okay?” you ask, patting his back.

“Fine,” he croaks, his voice raspier than usual. “Just… went down wrong.”

You eye him suspiciously but let it slide, suppressing a smile that’s threatening to slant your lips.

He’s definitely the man in the suit. You’ll get him to admit it one day.

But for now, you brace yourself for the talk you wanted to have.

You set your phone down carefully, the action feeling weighted, like it’s tethered to the words you’re about to say. Your fingers twist nervously in the hem of your cardigan, and you glance at Yoongi, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “Yoongi… umm, I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

He looks up at you sharply, his brows furrowed in confusion. “For what?”

“For shutting you out,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. You swallow hard, the vulnerability in your chest blooming uncomfortably. “I was in such a bad place mentally. I hated myself, I was dealing with so much unresolved shit that I hadn’t even begun to work through.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away. Quiet eyes, just watching you, letting you process your emotions. So you continue.

“Just as you depended on me to care for Han, I started depending on you too. I wasn’t happy with my life, but when I was in your place, I felt detached from my misery. Felt wanted and needed which made me feel good. But then… when Sung Kyung showed up, it was like everything I was already struggling with just got amplified. I thought I was protecting myself, but instead, I just… pushed you away.”

He leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, and the way he looks at you—tender and unguarded—makes your heart ache. His eyes are dark and steady, the kind that seem to see straight through you, but not in a way that feels invasive or harsh.

“I felt very insecure and abandoned from so many things in my past. I have been working on it though, and I feel like I’m in a better place now.”

The faintest trace of a smile ghosts across his lips as he finally speaks. “I get it,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I’m glad you’re better. I’ve been there too. Feeling like you have to be strong for others when inside you’re struggling.” He gnaws at his lip. “If I’m gonna be real, I thought you pushed me away because you wanted out. Honestly, if I were you, I’d dip too.”

“Oh Yoongi…” you start, but he shakes his head, so you let him carry on.

“It’s okay, I know my life is… complicated. Everything that happened in the last two months, hell, in the last year, threw me off, too. Like I just lost control of my life. Shit kept piling on and I didn’t know how to deal. But at the end of the day, all I wanted was to do right by Haneul, to make sure he was loved and safe. That was my focus.”

“You’re an amazing dad,” you say with sincerity. “And you’ve been an amazing friend to me, too. Even when I didn’t deserve it. You didn’t give up on me.”

His eyes soften further, and he shakes his head, brushing your gratitude away like it’s unnecessary. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he says, his voice almost gentle.

“At first, I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me,” you admit quietly, glancing down at your hands. “I thought maybe you moved on. Or… that you’d rather I wasn’t in your life anymore.”

Yoongi leans back slightly, his posture relaxing as he tilts his head to study you. “Peep the countless messages on Kakao that’s left hanging…”

“I know, and I’m sorry for that. I read every single one. And there were many times that I thought about replying, but I needed to sort myself out. I’m a mess and I didn’t want to drag you down, or add into whatever’s on your plate. You did say your life is complicated.”

“Yeah, but I was just worried about you, because…” his eyes drop to his drink, pauses, then he shakes his head with a chuckle. His gaze meets yours again, his expression firm. “Just promise me something.”

You blink, your hands stilling in your lap. “What?”

“Promise me you won’t do that again,” he says, his voice carrying just the faintest edge of vulnerability. “Don’t shut me out, no matter what’s going on.”

You nod before you can even think. “I promise.”

His lips curve into a faint smile, and the sight of it tugs at something deep inside you. It’s such a small thing—a slight upturn of his mouth, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes—but it feels monumental. Like the bridge you’ve both been too scared to cross is finally, tentatively, being rebuilt.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You think about the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, the way his voice wraps around your name like it’s something precious. And so you think, maybe, just maybe, this could still be something.

Yoongi’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Hey–what happened to your shoulder?” he asks suddenly, breaking the moment.

You blink, caught off guard by the shift. “What?”

“Your shoulder,” he repeats, nodding toward it. “You’ve been rolling it a little since I got here. Is it bothering you?”

“Oh, I didn’t realize,” you say, feeling a little self-conscious. “It’s nothing, really. Just a strain from running, I think. I’ve been pushing myself a bit harder lately, trying to, you know, get my life together and shit.”

Yoongi frowns, his brows knitting together. “Running’s good, but you can’t overdo it. A shoulder strain’s no joke. If you don’t take care of it, it’ll just get worse.”

You smile faintly, appreciating the concern in his voice. “Okay, Dr. Min,” you tease lightly. “Any recommendations?”

He huffs a quiet laugh but doesn’t let it go. “I mean it. You have to be careful. My shoulder was busted for years, you know. I have a few tricks,” He pauses, glancing at your cardigan. “Can I…? I can take a look if you want. Only if you’re okay with it.”

You gulp. Loud. The neighbors probably heard it. And for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. His expression is earnest, his hand already halfway lifted in a gesture of permission.

“Uh, sure,” you say, your voice quieter than intended. “That’d be… yeah, okay.” You shift in your seat, angling your shoulder for better access.

He waits for your nod before gently tugging at the edge of your cardigan. “May I?”

Your pulse quickens as you shrug it off your shoulder, leaving the strap of your camisole exposed. The cool air brushes your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of Yoongi’s hands as they settle lightly on your shoulder.

His fingers press gently at first, testing the tension in your muscles before applying more pressure. You inhale sharply as he works through a particularly tight knot, your body instinctively leaning into his touch.

“Here,” he murmurs, his tone soft but focused. “This is where it’s worst, right?”

You nod, unable to form coherent words as his hands move with ease, kneading the aches away. Each press of his fingers sends a mixture of relief and something else coursing through you, straight down towards your core.

“You’re really… good at this,” you manage to say, your voice a little breathless. Brain starting to turn into mush.

He chuckles lightly, the sound vibrating against your back. “Years of experience. Needed surgery to get my shoulder sorted out. That’s why I’m serious about this stuff. You need to be careful with it.”

His words linger in the air, and you find yourself focusing not just on the pleasure of his touch but on the deep timbre of his voice, and the way he’s always looking out for you even in the smallest ways.

“Thank you,” you whisper, glancing over your shoulder to meet his gaze. His hands still for a moment.

“Of course,” he says softly, licking his lips as you find his eyes going to yours.

Oh my god. You want to kiss him. Shit, you really do. You wonder if you should turn fully to face him.

But then his hands slip away, leaving your skin feeling colder.

You adjust your cardigan, clearing your throat as you sit back, your mind spinning. The intimacy of the moment—of his hands on you, the quiet concern in his voice—has left your heart like it’s going into cardiac arrest. If he fancies himself as Dr. Min he better fix this.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say, smiling faintly. “Better. Thanks, Yoongi.”

“Anytime,” he replies, with a small, almost shy smile.

He leans forward slightly, eyes searching yours, and you find yourself doing the same, your heart pounding in your chest.

For a second, you think he might kiss you—or maybe you’re the one who wants to close the distance.

But then he stands.

“It’s pretty late, I should go,” he says softly, though his voice carries a hint of reluctance.

“Yeah,” you say, standing with him. Your legs feel unsteady as you walk him to the door.

As he steps out, you hesitate for a moment. “Thanks for coming over, at short notice.”

“Nah, I wanted to,” he says, pink dusting his cheeks before he admits. “Is it weird if I say I’ve been waiting for it?”

Before you chicken out, you lean up and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for waiting, Yoongi.”

He blinks, startled, then he’s rubbing his wrinkled nose with his index finger. “Goodnight.”

“Drive safe…”

You close the door and lean your back against it, pressing your hands to your cheeks as if that’ll somehow contain the giddy energy bubbling up inside you. It’s stupid, really, how much a simple night with Yoongi—his laugh, his voice, that damn massage—has you grinning like an idiot.

But you can’t help it.

For the first time in a long time, you feel like your heart is beating again, a rhythm that feels almost foreign after the weeks of emptiness you’d carried around.

So, it’s been a week since Yoongi came over.

Each morning at the daycare, Haneul’s nanny walks through the door with her usual warm smile, holding Haneul’s tiny hand as he toddles in. It’s what you’ve grown used to, so you’re not expecting anything different. But sometimes, when the door swings open, you hope that maybe this time, it’ll be Yoongi instead.

It never is.

You shake off the feeling quickly each time. He’s busy, of course. He has his music, his idol schedules. It makes sense that he’d leave the daycare routine to someone else.

But still.

The thought lingers, one you don’t want to examine too closely. Instead, you focus on the small joys: Haneul’s excited “Sarang!” when he sees you, his delighted giggles during circle time, the way he clutches Bora 2.0 during nap time.

And at night, when you’re settling into bed, your phone buzzes. That’s when Yoongi comes to you—not in person, but through his name on your screen.

Yoongi: How’s your shoulder? Dr. Min is still monitoring your progress. You: Much better, thanks. Might even survive the crossfit sesh Joon’s dragging me into. Yoongi: I just texted Namjoon. You’re off the hook. You: What? Yoongi: Can’t do crossfit with a bad shoulder. Doctor’s orders. You: Fine You: You know you’re not a real doctor right? Yoongi: 😑

Then another night:

Yoongi: Haneul wouldn’t stop saying sarang this, sarang that today. Like a little broken record. You: 🥺 My heart can’t handle this. Yoongi: I know.

And then the casual starts to shift:

Yoongi: Did I tell you Haneul fell asleep on my lap during my zoom meeting today? I couldnt move for like an hour and my arm died. You: No, but that sounds adorable. He probably misses u. Yoongi: Yeah. Shld probably cherish this while he’s still not embarrassed by me You: Definitely cherish but why would he be embarrassed by you? You’re such a good dad. Yoongi: I’m trying. But honestly? Sometimes it’s hard. I think about how much I’m giving him and I wonder if it’s enough

You pause at that text, staring at the screen for a long time.

Yoongi doesn’t open up often. When he does, it feels like he’s peeling back a layer, letting you see something raw, something vulnerable.

You: I think every parent feels like that sometimes. But from what I see, Han is such a happy kid. You’re raising him well and he’s so lucky to have you. Yoongi: I needed that. Thank you.

And then, late one night, the tone shifts entirely.

Yoongi: What are you doing right now? You: Bed. About to sleep. U? Yoongi: Same. Thinking about that night. You: Which night? Yoongi: When I came over. And you almost kissed me. 🙂

Oh, shit. Is he drunk?! You sit up, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. Mind thinking nonsense, like if this is about to be a booty call, what panties are you changing into?

You: 💀Be for real. You were definitely leaning in more. Yoongi: Maybe. Yoongi: Would it have been so bad tho?

Your cheeks burn as you stare at the screen, unsure if your heart is racing because of his words or because of the way they make you feel. You start laughing in disbelief, and soon you're screaming into your pillow. What the hell?!

When you finally compose yourself, you decide you want to ask him if he’s being serious. But before you can even start to type, another message comes through.

Yoongi: Stop overthinking it, beautiful. Good night. 😉

It’s late afternoon, and the daycare is winding down. Kids are being picked up by the HYBE employee parents or the designated guardians. There’s only one kid left, and he just happens to be your favorite.

“Sarang!” Haneul’s little voice calls, his gummy smile wide as he wraps his tiny arms around your legs.

“Hi, baby!” you say warmly, scooping him up into your arms. His chubby cheeks press against yours as he nuzzles into your neck, and your heart melts a little. “Wonder where Nanny Mel is…”

Before you can fully bask in the moment, you hear another familiar voice.

“Ready to go, Haneul?”

Yoongi steps into the daycare, looking effortlessly casual (and annoyingly sexy) in his usual hoodie and slides. His hair is swept back today, and you have to mentally shake yourself out of staring, not just of how he looked, but because this is the first time he has ever picked up Haneul from your daycare.

The tiny tot, however, has other plans.

“No!” he says firmly, clutching onto you tighter.

Yoongi arches a brow, amused. “No? It’s time to go home, buddy.”

Haneul shakes his head, burying his face in your shoulder. “Play more!”

You stifle a laugh, patting Haneul’s back gently. “He’s been having a good day,” you explain, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest at Yoongi’s soft expression as he watches the two of you.

“Well, I can see that,” Yoongi says, his lips twitching in a small smile. He steps closer, holding out his hands. “Come on, Han. Let’s not bother Teacher Y/N anymore, okay?”

But Haneul just whines and clings to you like a little koala, refusing to budge.

Yoongi sighs, running a hand through his soft hair. And you would probably have swooned if you didn’t have other pressing matters. “Aish, this kid…” Yoongi sighs.

You shift Haneul in your arms, trying to coax him down. “Sarang, your appa’s here to take you home. You’ll see me tomorrow, okay?”

But Haneul just shakes his head again, this time tightening his little fists around your sweater. “Noooo!”

Yoongi crosses his arms. “You know, I thought I’d gained a bit more brownie points in the past months, but clearly, you’re still his favorite person.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” you tease, bouncing Haneul gently in your arms. “He loves you.”

“Yeah, but he adores you,” Yoongi counters, his eyes crinkling in a soft smile that makes your heart do a little somersault.

Finally, after a few more minutes of coaxing and promises that you’ll play together tomorrow, Haneul reluctantly lets go, sliding into Yoongi’s waiting arms.

As Yoongi adjusts Haneul on his hip, he glances at you, his expression softer than usual. “Thanks for putting up with him.”

“It’s not putting up with him,” you reply easily, ruffling Haneul’s hair. “He’s a sweetheart. You’re doing a good job, Yoongi.”

Yoongi pauses, his eyes meeting yours for a long moment. “Thanks,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with something you can’t quite place. “That… means a lot.”

Before you can respond, Haneul suddenly tugs on Yoongi’s hoodie, his little face scrunching up as he says in broken, hopeful words, “Sarang… come… home?”

Your breath catches in your throat, and your heart feels like it might burst.

Yoongi blinks at his son, his expression softening, before a mischievous glint sparks in his eyes. He looks up at you, lips curling into that smirk. “I know, buddy. I’d take her home too if I could.”

Stfu?

The comment leaves you completely shook. Is he joking? Is he serious?

As you try to process his words, Yoongi just winks at you, adjusting Haneul on his hip as he heads out the door.

You’re left standing there, stunned, as he calls back over his shoulder, voice smooth like butter, “See you tomorrow, sarang.” And with a bite of his lip, he’s gone. Taking the rest of your sanity with him.

The lights are dimmed, the daycare is quiet, and the faint smell of crayons and hand sanitizer lingers in the air as you finish locking up for the night. It’s been a long day, but instead of feeling tired, you’re restless. Yoongi’s words plague your mind. From the time he brought up the almost kiss over Kakao and that quip he dropped when he picked up Han the other day.

Now you’re sitting in a bus stop near HYBE, gripping your phone tightly, staring at Namjoon’s contact. You’ve already typed and deleted three texts. Why is this so hard? Finally, you force yourself to type something and hit send before you can overthink it again.

You: Are you with Yoongi right now?

A reply pings back almost immediately.

Namjoon: Nope, but why? 👀

You groan. Of course, Namjoon would latch onto that. You can practically hear his teasing tone in your head.

Before you can second-guess yourself again, you press the call button. He picks up after two rings, and before he can get a word in, you rush to say, “Don’t. Just—don’t say anything stupid, Joon.”

“Yo?? Me? Stupid? Never,” Namjoon says, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “But fine, what’s up?”

You hesitate, fiddling with the strap of your bag. “I need your help.”

There’s a beat of silence before Namjoon responds, his voice laced with amusement. “Okay, what kind?”

“Not the kind where you get to tease me endlessly,” you say, narrowing your eyes even though he can’t see you. “Just… can you get me to Yoongi’s studio?”

Namjoon is silent for a moment, and you almost think the call has dropped, but then he laughs. Hard. The kind of laugh that makes you want to hang up and never speak to him again.

“Joon!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he wheezes, barely catching his breath. “My baby's all grown up. I’m so proud of you.”

“Stoppp,” you mutter, your face heating up. “I just… there's something I need to say to him.”

“Uh-huh,” he drawls, clearly unconvinced. “And this ‘something’ couldn’t wait until, I don’t know, Monday?”

“Namjoon!”

“Alright, alright,” he says, the teasing note in his voice softening. “I’ll text you the access code to his floor. Yoongi’s probably in there working himself into the ground anyway. He’ll be happy to see you.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay…Thanks..”

“Use protection,” he says, his grin practically audible. “His kid’s still a baby.”

“GOODBYE, Joon.” You hang up to the sound of his laughter. Such an ass.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re standing in front of Genius Lab, Yoongi’s private sanctuary. The dimly lit hallway is eerily quiet, the only sound coming from the hum of a vending machine down the hall. Your eyes fall on the cat flipping you off on the doormat, bold letters reading: GO AWAY.

Yeah, okay. Maybe you should.

So you stand there, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. What are you doing? What’s the plan here?

You didn’t think this through. Not really. It feels reckless—like the day you went to his apartment and found Sung Kyung there with Haneul. You swallow hard, trying to push the memory away. You can’t think about that now.

Taking a deep breath, you raise your hand and knock. Once. Twice.

Nothing.

You start to think maybe you should leave. Maybe this was a shitty idea. Maybe you should turn around and—

The door swings open.

Yoongi stands there, his expression caught somewhere between surprised and exhausted. His hair is slightly mussed, probably from running his hands through it, and he’s wearing a black hoodie with the sleeves of one arm pushed up to his elbows. His eyes widen when he sees you.

“Teacher Sarang,” he says slowly, like he can’t quite believe you’re standing in front of him.

“Hi,” you manage, gnawing on your bottom lip.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

Yoongi glances past you, his brows furrowing slightly. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

“I know,” you say quickly, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. “I– I just… I wanted to talk. If you’re not busy.”

He blinks, his eyes scanning your face like he’s searching for something. Then he steps aside, holding the door open wider. “No, yeah, come in.”

You take a tentative step inside, the familiar scent of coffee and faint traces of cologne washing over you. The studio is dimly lit, the soft glow of monitors reflecting off sleek black walls. It’s minimalist but warm, the kind of space you’d expect from someone like him. There’s a quiet energy to it, one that feels a little intimidating.

Yoongi closes the door behind you, leaning against it. “So,” he says, his tone careful but not unkind. “What’s on your mind?”

“Honestly,” you take a deep breath, staring at your socks before you lift your eyes to meet his gaze. “You.”

“Oh…” His brows shoot up in surprise, but the smirk that tugs at his lips betrays him. He straightens, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh?” you parrot as realization dawns on you. The look on his face? Like he has planned this all along. Like all the things he’s been saying and doing is part of an elaborate Jedi mind trick he played on you. And now you’re here—right where he wants you.

A quiet laugh escapes his lips as he lets you stew in your own nerves. He doesn’t move—just stands there, waiting, like he knows exactly what you’ll do next.

You take a step forward, then another, closing the distance until you’re toe-to-toe with him. The smirk growing on his face is both sexy and infuriating as shit. But okay, you remind yourself, he’s been the one waiting on you, chasing you… It’s time to put your big girl pants on.

“I wasn’t planning this,” you admit, letting your bag drop to the floor. “Your doormat’s rude by the way. But… Been thinking about what you texted. If it would have been so bad… if we…”

“You’ve been thinking about that?” He tilts his head to the side like he’s trying to follow your train of thought. He licks his lips, maybe subconsciously, but your eyes are drawn to it like a magnet.

“Not just that. Don’t act all innocent. You’ve been planting all these little seeds in my head lowkey for weeks, Min Yoongi.”

His gummy grin widens. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Suspicious as fuck…” You huff, your fingers reaching for the drawstrings of his hoodie. You tug on them playfully, your gaze flicking up to meet his. “And saying that shit in front of your own kid?”

“Damn,” He full-on chuckles, shoulders bobbing as he looks up to avoid your accusatory gaze.

After a while, he looks down. “And you came all the way here just to call me out?” He challenges, voice dropping dangerously lower. “Or are you finally gonna do something about it?”

Your pulse quickens as the distance between you shrinks, his presence so close it feels like it’s wrapping around you. You swallow hard. The thread holding your resolve together snaps.

And then it happens.

You close the space between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s every bit as desperate as you’ve imagined it would be. There’s no hesitation with him, like he knows you are going to pounce and he is ready to be devoured. This mf–

Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as his arms wrap around your waist, steadying you against him. The way your lips move is fierce, breathless, like neither of you has the patience to take it slow. His tongue swipes against yours, curling in just the perfect way to turn your legs into jelly. Then, his grip tightens to spin you around and–shit–your back hits the door.

Hot and heavy, he breathes your name against the crook of your neck sending electric currents down to your fingertips. You’re easily coming undone with every graze of his soft lips, his wet tongue as it licks a stripe of skin from your neck towards the shell of your ear and the haze of lust is pulling you under slowly but surely.

But you’re not content to stay there. You push him forward, your lips locked again with his as you guide him toward the couch.

He follows easily. When the back of his knees hit the couch, he sits heavily, pulling you down with him so you’re straddling his lap.

You open your eyes and you find him locked on you, dark and all-consuming. But then something else catches your eye from your periphery, like there’s another pair of orbs vying for your attention.

“GAHH! The fuck is that?!” you push yourself to a standing position, pointing towards…

The head of the capybara mascot.

Yoongi immediately turns crimson, his ears burning as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Knew it,” you say, staring at him in amusement.

“Fuck.” He groans, slumping back against the couch as he covers his face with his hands. “This is literally the worst way you could have found out.”

“Why the hell didn’t you just tell me?!”

“Because I didn’t know if you wanted me there,” he mutters, peeking at you through his fingers. “I just… I wanted to support you. And obviously I wanted to see Han off on his first day so the costume was—” He pauses, clearly regretting his life choices. “Seemed like a good idea.”

Then it hits you—the exaggerated enthusiasm, the ass-shaking, the way Haneul kept calling the mascot Appa. You burst out laughing, unable to hold it in.

Yoongi groans again. “This is so embarrassing.”

You climb onto his lap, straddling him without thinking, and gently cup his puffy cheeks between your palms. “No, no, it’s cute.”

“You’re never going to let this shit go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

The laughter fizzles out, replaced by a quieter kind of warmth as you shift closer. His fingers tighten slightly on your hips, grounding you in a way that feels steady and sure.

“I wanted to be there for you,” he says softly, his voice low and sincere. “I didn’t know how to do it without… pushing too much.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you turn to face him, your gaze meeting his. “You didn’t have to do all that, Yoongi,” you say, your voice just as soft. “But it means a lot that you did.”

His lips quirk into a small, almost shy smile.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. When he lets out a quiet sigh, you get bolder, letting your lips trail down to the corner of his jaw and then just barely grazing his neck.

Yoongi’s breath hitches, hands twitching slightly where they rest on your back. “Y/N…”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. “I like this look on you,” you tease, your thumb brushing over the faint pink blooming on his cheeks. “My shy little baby boy…”

He narrows his eyes on you, hands settling more firmly on your waist. “Don’t push it,” he warns, but there’s no heat to his words, only fondness.

Suddenly, a knock sounds on his door.

“Yoongi-hyung…” the voice calls out. “You still alive in there?”

“Fuck off, Hobi. I’m busy.”

“There’s an extra pair of shoes out here. And I thiiiink I’ve seen it at the daycare.”

You meet Yoongi’s eyes and he’s barely suppressing a grin. He shrugs, as if to say, it’s up to you if you wanna soft launch this thing.

Eh, why not?

“Hello, Jeonghyeon’s appa,” you call out, confirming his suspicion.

You hear giggles and then a rap on the door. “Wow y’all really not gonna let me in, huh?”

“GOODBYE Hobi.” You and Yoongi say in unison, and then you burst out laughing.

“Bye, lovebirds.”

“Did he need you for anything?”

“Yeah, actually,” Yoongi sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “Been working on a track that’s due tonight. Actually it’s been due and this is my last extension.”

“Oh,” you pout.

“Don’t pout, pretty girl.”

“I guess you’re gonna have to kick me out now.”

“Not because I want to. You're welcome to stay, but you might have better things to do.”

“S fine. I’ll go…” you stand up, planning to collect your bag where you dropped it when Yoongi pulls you back down by your belt loops, your full weight settling on him. He doesn’t seem to mind as he cages your body against his strong arms, leaning you both back so his chin can rest on your shoulder, the one without the strain.

“I am so happy you came,” he mumbles against the fabric of your top.

“I haven’t. But you better make me. Soon.”

His chest shakes against your back, “You’re horrible.”

You stay wrapped in his arms for a while, neither of you saying much, the silence warm and comfortable. But eventually, the moment comes when you know it’s time to leave. With a reluctant sigh, you sling your bag over your shoulder and turn to go—only to find Yoongi already on you, his lips capturing yours once more.

“Yoongi—mmmph…” you giggle, pushing him away lightly. “You're never gonna get work done.”

“Let me take you to dinner tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He catches your wrist, pulling you back for one last kiss—this one softer, slower—before pushing the door open for you.

“Text me when you get home,” he says and you nod.

You leave the studio with your heart in overdrive, the ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin. By the time you’re in the elevator, you’re grinning like crazy, excitement bubbling in your chest.

Saturday can’t come fast enough.

That night—

You: Are u still in the studio? Yoongi: Yeah :( You: Good luck with your track. I’m going to bed. Gnyt. Yoongi: But i miss you.……….. You: lol You: What do you want? Yoongi: What can you offer? 😇

You sit up on your bed, pulse kicking up again, the way it usually does when Yoongi is involved. Is he really asking for…?

Fuck okay you’ll bite.

You let the strap of your thin cami fall on your shoulders, angle your phone camera so it’s aimed at your cleavage.

You compose the money shot: one hand softly grasps one of your breasts making it almost spill out of your top. Your other nipple, taut and perky, its outline faintly visible against the fabric. Just the perfect visual to tease and still leave a bit of mystery.

You get a few shots and send what you think is the best one.

You: [image attached] Yoongi: fuck Yoongi: baby you’re so sexy You: I’m baby now? What happened to Teacher Sarang Yoongi: idk she definitely not the one sending nudes You: stfu Yoongi: Go away im busy now You: GOODBYE yoongi Yoongi: pick you up at 7? You: If you make it worth my while Yoongi: [image attached]

Oh you’re dead. It’s a shot of his very pink knuckles, his very veiny hands grasping his very hard cock against his dark grey sweats.

You: shit You: yes you may pick me up at 7

Your head is spinning when you cozy up under your blanket and bury your head in your pillows.

Not knowing that come morning your head will be spinning for an entirely different reason.

Dispatch Breaking News: SUGA of BTS and Actress Lee Sung Kyung In A Relationship Congratulations to the couple.

Part 4.5 >

A/N: Ahhhhhhh 🥲 I was initially gonna end it in the part where Yoongi opens the door to his studio and you say Hi.

But decided last minute to throw y’all a bone(r) and extend the scene a bit, in the spirit of Christmas. But that also meant getting to that awful last bit… another dun dun dun

Hope you all liked it still! See you at the comments. As per usual, tell me what you liked, hated, etc etc. Shout at me or whatever!

I always appreciate your feedback. And if you are able to, reblogs are also amazing. :)

Thanks for reading you lovely, beautiful human xo

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thaatdigitaldiary · 1 month ago

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JADED. 04. | ⌗ 4.3K WORDS. | PAIGE BUECKERS.

╰ paige is a woman of many things—basketball, looks, but not her feelings. will one conversation with kameron change her perspective, for real this time?

➺ content warnings. angst. flashbacks. LIVE REACTIONS WELCOME!

➺ links. JADED MASTERLIST. | MAIN MASTERLIST.

➺ from ke, to you 📨. hi…. hello…. it’s been a minute LMFAO. this is really kind of a filler… but is really important for later. i told you this shit finna be slow, so bare with big mama PUHLEASE. surprises coming soon (yall so freaky), but remember—SLOW BURN. mkay love you enjoy send feedback!!

PRESENT TIME. DALLAS, LATE 2026

The Dallas Wings' facility was loud with the sound of squeaking sneakers, basketballs off the backboard, and the voice of Coach Lisa Leslie cutting through the air. The fluorescent lights glared down on the hardwood, reflecting off Paige's sweat-slicked forehead as she dribbled down the court, her focus slowly fraying.

It was late in the year, which meant a little downtime, but also plenty of practice. Playoffs were coming up, and this was nothing like last year, with Dallas losing the playoffs, a reyup was not optional. The team progressed a lot since Paige's rookie year, but that didn't mean she had time off.

Her shots were clanging off the rim, her passes were sloppy, and her footwork looked like she'd forgotten how to move.

Prepping for playoffs was serious, and Paige was playing like she'd never touched a basketball before.

"Paige, girl, what’s up witchu’?" Arike called from the baseline, hands on her hips, her signature ponytail and headband swinging as she shook her head. "You out here movin' like you got two left feet."

Paige didn't respond, just wiped her brow with the back of her hand and reset at the top of the key. She could feel the eyes on her—teammates, her coaches, and even some of the equipment staff. She'd been the talk of the WNBA last season, successfully taking her spot as ‘Rookie of the Year’, and proving her place in the league.

But today? She was a mess, and she knew why.

After letting it go with Verena, all she could think about was Sareli.

Her face kept flashing in her mind—her dark, voluminous curls, her laugh, the way she'd jokingly (not really) call Paige "papi" with that teasing lilt when Paige was acting extra.

Paige felt stupid. A drunk voicemail? Not her brightest idea, considering how her and Sareli left off. Sure, Paige was more immature back then, but she loved Sareli, that never changed.

She always knew it'd be her, she just couldn't prove it to herself—or Sareli.

Coach's voice cut through the air once again. "Paige! We sleepwalking out here? Run it again, lil' more energy please!"

Paige nodded, her jaw tight, and jogged back into her spot. As she did, her eyes caught Kameron, who she knew was Sareli's best friend, crouched near the sideline, her camera lens trained on the court.

Kameron, her curly hair, ever-present Dallas Wings hoodie, was the team's go-to photographer, capturing the best candids for social media and game-day promos.

She was also the only person that knew Sareli better than Paige did, and that fact was eating at her.

Kameron's shutter clicked as Paige drove to the basket, only to fumble the layup, the ball slipping through her fingers like it was greased. A collective groan rose from the bench. Paige cursed under her breath, snatching the ball and slamming it against the floor.

"Chill, P!" Dijonai shouted, jogging over with a smirk. "Just got the facility last year nd’ you already finna break some shit.”

"Man, I'm good," Paige muttered, but her voice lacked conviction. She glanced at Kameron again, who was adjusting her lens, her expression so hard to detect.

Paige's chest was tight. She needed to talk to her. She always intended to since Kameron started here, but it felt weird knowing how close her and Sareli are.

Paige needed to know about Sareli—how she was, who she was with, if she ever mentioned her. The not-knowing was killing her game, her sleep, her everything.

PRACTICE WRAPPED UP AN HOUR LATER, and the gym emptied out, leaving behind the scent of sweat and spilled gatorade. Paige lingered, wiping her face with a towel, her eyes tracking Kameron as she packed up her gear.

That girl was meticulous, checking her camera settings, zipping her bag with a kind of focus Paige envied. She took a deep breath and approached, her sneakers squeaking on the polished floor.

"Yo, Kameron," Paige called, her voice casual but her heart beating like no other.

Kameron looked up, one eyebrow raised, her lips pursed like she already knew where this was going. "Yeah, Paige?”

“You lookin' like you lost your dog out there.”

“No shade."

Paige forced a laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. Her gold chain—Sareli's gift—super subtle and thin, glinted under the gym lights. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Just one of them days, y'know?"

Kameron slung her camera bag over her shoulder, her expression skeptical. "One of them days? Nah, you been off for weeks. Coach 'bout to bench your ass if you don't get it together."

Paige winced. Kameron didn't pull punches, never had. She was Sareli's ride-or-die, the one who'd been there through every fight, every breakup, every late-night call when Paige had fucked up.

And Paige had fucked up plenty—bailing on plans, dodging commitment, letting her career and her fears keep her from giving Sareli what she deserved.

"Damn, Kameron, you comin' for my neck," Paige said, trying to keep it light. She leaned against the bleachers, her hands stuffed in her shorts pockets. "I'm just... going through some shit, aight? Everybody does.”

Kameron crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "Some shit, huh? Lemme guess. This got somethin' to do with Reli?"

Paige's stomach dropped. She hadn't expected Kameron to go there so fast, but then again, Kameron always saw through her.

"I mean... shit, maybe. I just—how's she doin'? You talk to her lately?"

Kameron's jaw physically tightened, and she took a step closer, her voice low, with this sharpness that tuned Paige in. "Why you askin' me, Paige? You got her number, obviously. You know where she at."

"Why you out here fishing for intel like I'm your PI?"

Paige raised her hands, defensive. "Alright, chill, Kam. I'm not tryna' start no shit. I just... I ain't heard from her in a hot minute. I'm worried, aight?"

"You worried?" Kameron's laugh was dry, and really bitter. "You wasn't worried when you was doggin' her out."

Paige shakes her head, about to speak until Kameron cuts her off again.

"You wasn't worried when she was cryin' her eyes out 'cause you couldn't get your shit together."

"Now you tryna' act ‘concerned’.” Kameron taunts.

Paige felt this pool of heat in her chest, all the guilt and frustration twisting together. Paige wanted to snap at Kameron, wanted to tell her that she was seriously trying, that she was scared—scared of fucking up something as real as Sareli, scared of not being enough.

But Kameron's stare was unrelenting, and Paige knew she didn't have the right to push back.

"I know I been fuckin' up, Kam," Paige said, her voice so quiet, there was no longer an echo in the gym when she spoke. Almost pleading. "I know I did her dirty. I'm not tryna' act like I didn't. I just seen that she moved down here. I need to know she's good. Please?"

Kameron studied Paige for a long moment, her expression softening by just a fraction. She sighed, adjusting the strap of her bag. "She's chillin', Paige. She's got a nice apartment down here, and she's still drawing and shit. She's... Sareli."

"Smiling and keepin' it moving."

Paige nodded, her throat burning. She could see it—Sareli in all her glory, her tongue peeking out ever so slightly when she was thinking about what to draw next, her giggle echoing when Paige told her how cute she looked doing so.

Sareli had always been like that, full of light, even when Paige dimmed it.

"She still wearing that jade bracelet? The one her grandma got her?" Paige asks.

"You can say 'abuela' Paige. Y'know Sareli would get on your ass for that." Kameron chuckled.

"Alright, chill. My Spanish still a lil' fucked up, mkay?" They both laughed.

Kameron's eyes flicked to Paige's chain, and she smirked, just a little. "Yeah, she's still got it. Never takes it off. You know how she is about that family shit."

Paige's lips twitched into a small smile, but it faded fast.

"She... she talk about me at all?"

Kameron's smirk vanished, replaced by a sharp glint in her eye. "What you think, Paige? You think she's just sittin' around pining for you? She's tryna' live her life, same as you."

"But yeah, your name comes up. Not 'cause she wants it to, but 'cause you left this mark on her."

"And not the good kind."

Paige flinched, the words hitting like a fast break she couldn't stop. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her hands clasped tight.

"I didn't mean to hurt her, man, I swear. I was just... Ion know. I got caught up in all this." Paige pleads, gesturing vaguely at the gym, the empty court, the life she'd chased for years, right here in Dallas.

"The game, the travel, the pressure. Shit, I thought I was doin' what I had to do."

Kameron shook her head, her voice softer, but that firm undertone never leaving. "You confuse the hell out of her, Paige. That voicemail, yeah, she can't tell if you're lying, or finally being deadass."

"I would say I forgot all about sending that shit, but I'd be lyin' my ass all the way off." Paige admits, her body tensing up at the thought of Sareli hearing her drunken thoughts.

"You chose this life over her, Paige. Don't dress it up. She was ready to ride for you, and hold you down through all this shit."

Paige nods in agreement.

"You kept pushing her away, actin' like she was askin' for too much when all she wanted was for you to show up. For real."

"I know exactly what you mean, yeah." Paige takes a deep breath, the realization stinging her core.

"Like think about it, you were so pissed cus' of playoffs last season, I couldn't get a single good candid of you cus' you were constantly frowned up."

"Who woulda been there for you, Paige?"

"Sareli would've." Paige blurts out, her chest feeling weaker and weaker by the second.

"Exactly. You gotta get your shit together."

Paige's eyes were stinging, and she blinked hard, staring at the floor. She remembered the nights Sareli stayed up, cooking mofongo in Paige's old Uconn apartment, trying to make it feel like home.

The way Sareli cheered at the games, her voice cutting through everyone else's in the crowd, screaming Paige's name.

That was her favorite part.

But now it felt like Paige was screaming—from the inside out.

She loved Sareli more than she loved herself.

But the way Sareli looked at Paige before she finally walked out, for good this time, her eyes wet, and her voice shaking, she told her she was done.

"I love you, Paige, but I can't keep lovin' you more than you love yourself."

It felt like a brick.

"I'm tryna' fix it," Paige said, her voice raw. "I don't know how, but I'm trying. I can't get her outta my head, Kam. It's fuckin' up my game, my sleep, my everything. Then knowing she's in Dallas? If I run into her, I'm cooked."

Kameron softened her expression, but didn't let up.

"Then go do something about it, Paige."

"Stop moping and actin' like you're stuck. You want her back? You gotta show her you're serious. More than a voicemail. And no callin' me to play middle-man. You gotta step up."

Paige nodded, her hands gripping the edge of the bleacher. "I know. I don't even know where to start—I tried callin' on 'No Caller ID', but that shit prolly seems creepy."

Kameron sighed, shifting her weight. "She's been protectin' her peace for a while now, Paige. You broke her heart, nd' I promise you she's not gonna let you do that shit again."

"You want my advice? Go find her. Show up. Y'know she's here, so go show her you can be ready. Not with some grand gesture bullshit, but real shit."

"Talk to her. Listen to her. And don't expect her to just take you back 'cus you're you."

Paige let out a shaky laugh, wiping at her eyes. "You think she'd even talk to me?"

Kameron shrugged, her camera bag swinging slightly. "I don't know, Paige. That's on her. But I know Sareli. She's got a huge heart, a lot bigger than most. If you show her you're for real, she might hear you out."

"But you gotta be ready for her to humble your ass, too."

Paige nodded, her thoughts racing faster than she thought. She could see it—driving down into the depths of Dallas, showing up at Sareli's place, seeing that face—and maybe a smile again.

“Yeah, she never failed to do that.” Paige scoffed, scratching the back of her neck.

That thought scared her as much as it thrilled her.

What if Sareli was done for good?

"Yo, Kam," Paige said, jogging towards the tall girl before she exited the gym building. "Do you have any... pictures of Sareli?"

Kameron's eyes narrowed, but she didn't say no. She pulled out her phone, scrolling for a moment before turning it towards Paige. The photo was Paige's draft night, her all black suit with the blinged out neckline, hitting perfectly on stage as she received her jersey.

Her speech was beautiful, the way she never fails to highlight the people who got her to this spot. Sareli still saw her as perfect.

It was a candid, and even with everything that happened between them, Sareli was teared up. She doesn't even know Kameron took it.

She was proud of Paige.

In her eyes, that was still her number one pick.

"She was so proud of you," Kameron said quietly, her voice losing it's edge.

"Still is, even if she won't say it."

Paige stared at the photo, her thumb brushing the screen, like she could touch Sareli through it. "Thank you, Kam," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Seriously."

Kameron slipped her phone back into her pocket, her expression unreadable. "Don't be thankin' me yet, Paige. You got work to do."

As Kameron headed for the door again, her camera bag bouncing against her hip, Paige stayed on the bleacher, the empty gym echoing around her.

"Ay, Paige!" Kameron yelled out.

Paige looked up, waiting on an answer.

"256 Main Avenue, apartment 4B."

"Write that shit down, and go get your girl."

╰ ⌗ tags : @pboogerswbb @cherryswisherz @mariahthealchemist @sierrale8ne @bueckersbitch @lovegalor333 @juspeaks @flipthepaige @omg-imtumbling @lilpaigeyherbo @wbbgetsmewetter @lupinqs @linebg0 @authentic-girl03 @melpthatsme @ashortyluvsports @paigesbabygirl @d3arapril @slut4uconnwbb @avvwritesstufff @xoxosierralane @vamptizm @uwupaige @naeswrrldd @paigebaby5 @ohmybueckers @azziswrld @noisygemini777 @angryflowerwitch @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @jieysiee @forward1212 @jadasogay @jaylie-bee

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scriptumsempra · 2 months ago

Text

IGNORANT

Summary: Sebastian Sallow is great at two things: dueling, and saying the worst possible thing to the girl he likes. Now she’s not speaking to him (but everyone else suddenly is). And not even six apology letters, a box of Honeydukes chocolate, or a toast-bribed owl can fix it. Word Count: ~4,900 (I’m a minimalist. That’s basically 10k in my language.) Tags: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC, Sebastian is not brooding, Explicit Language, Canon Divergence, Sebastian says something stupid and regrets it for 3000 words, Teen angst, Bird bribery, Character growth (probably), Love that might work if he stops being a prat, Sebastian being Sebastian, MC is so DONE, Emotional Spiral & Mental Breakdance, Slow Burn (kinda)

A/N: Back with some Ominis sass, a traumatised owl, and a healthy dose of teenage spiraling. This time, I stepped a little out of my comfort zone — wrote something longer, didn’t make everything too angsty, and just let them be teenagers. As they should be. (Also attempted to sneak in some humor. I hope I’m funny.)

Honestly, I feel bad for the characters in Hogwarts Legacy — so many of them are burdened by trauma far too early, not to mention that they're only teenagers. Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to the stories I write: to let them have the moments they deserve. To give them a break — a space to be young, reckless, ridiculous — to worry about crushes and quarrels instead of villains, curses, or saving the world.

Anyway, this fic is inspired by Sebastian Sallow and his half-assed, owled apology (which, in my mind, is the wizarding equivalent of breaking up over text). And truthfully? The only thing that kept me going was the need to finally sleep at night, knowing he properly apologized to the MC Enjoy ❤️

If there’s one thing Sebastian Sallow is good at — better than reading, better than duelling — it’s definitely taking a certain new fifth-year for granted. (Gold star. Full marks. Ten points to Slytherin.) Which is why Sebastian hadn’t expected her to walk away. Not really. She was always ready with a comeback. A lecture. A frowned pair of eyebrows (that and a half-judgmental look). But this time? After he called her ignorant — after she flinched, just barely — she just stared at him. Silent. Lips parted like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Then she sighed. Turned. Walked out of the Undercroft like he hadn’t just cracked something wide open between them. And now she wasn’t speaking to him. And worse — everyone else was. ... “Look at this. Sebastian Sallow — hearts in pieces. Did you two lovebirds finally part ways?” Imelda asked one afternoon, leaning far too casually against a training dummy like she hadn’t been watching him fail conjuring Protego three times in a row. Sebastian didn’t even glance at her. “What now, Imelda?” “While you’re over here sulking, Larson and Prewett have been very chatty with your girl.” She tilted her head toward the other side of the room, where a small knot of students had gathered around her. “Oh, look. Even Clopton’s joined them.” “She can do whatever she wants. Now, go bite someone else’s head off.” He scoffed, turning his back and attempting to cast something — anything — with actual success this time. “I’m just saying — now that you’ve stopped hogging her, other blokes are lining up.” She gave a low whistle. “She’s not my girl” He snapped, voice louder than he intended it to be. “Of course.” Imelda grinned. “Care to explain why you look like you’re going to hex someone every time they say hi to her, then?” Sebastian didn’t answer. Didn’t even look her way. He squared his stance, eyes locked on the training dummy like he hadn’t heard a word. Wand raised. Jinx ready. Across the room, her laughter bubbled out at something Andrew said. Quiet, really — just not to him. A blast — wide. Off target. Again. “Your loss, Sallow.” “OH—fuck off, Reyes.” She walked off laughing. Satisfied.

He threw a tantrum that night. Not on purpose. It started with him stomping towards his room, scaring a pair of second-years along the way. Then it continued with his poorly written Transfiguration essay (and one quill that wouldn’t stop leaking). After that he’d tripped over his own shoes on the way to his trunk and stubbed his toe on the brass footboard. Next thing he knew, a downpour of profanities. The essay was in pieces. His robe was crumpled in one hand. He hurled it across the room like it had personally offended him. It landed in a sad heap beside his ink-splattered notes. From the other side of the room, Ominis groaned. “For Merlin’s sake — Sebastian, you’re being impossible.” “I’m not.” Sebastian snapped, voice cracking somewhere between protest and a whine. “Really?” Ominis sat up in bed, arms crossed over his night shirt. “Because it looks like you’re holding a personal vendetta against that robe.” Sebastian scowled. “I said I’m not angry, Ominis,” he repeated, half-screaming now. Ominis pointed toward the scattered essay pages. “Tell that to your Potions homework.” Sebastian didn’t even bother to correct him. He dragged a hand through his hair. “It’s just — she’s ignoring me.” “As she should be.” “And Larson’s been following her around like a lost kneazle.” “You called her ignorant, Sebastian.” “How did you— … I didn’t mean it—!” “But you said it.” Ominis replied, infuriatingly calm. “And she told me.”

Then he proceeded to dust off his sheets, as if the string of profanities his best friend had just graced him with had somehow soiled his expensive duvet. Sebastian groaned again. “Why are you even angry at the first place? You’re the one who put yourself in this position.” Sebastian opened his mouth. Closed it. Picked up a boot and dropped it again with a thud. “I’m not angry.” “You’re brooding.” “I am NOT brooding.” “And I am not blind.” Ominis went back to his bed, set his wand aside, and pulled his blankets up. “Try not to let your emotional collapse stain my side of the room. Good night, Sebastian.” He muttered yet another profanity (which brought his nightly violation count to three) before finally flopping himself into his bed, surrounded by a field of emotional debris. Eventually, he dragged himself to his desk, picked up his ruined essay, and glared at it like it might start apologizing first.

Sebastian woke up cranky. Ominis was right. He was brooding. Not that he’d ever admit it — no, his teenage pride would sooner hex itself than confess to something that pathetic. He tried to fall back asleep (emphasis on tried), but the word ignorant echoed in his ears every time he closed his eyes. And her face — he’d never seen her look at him like that before. Not angry. Not upset. Just… disappointed. An expression he hadn’t even known she had. Which is how he ended up with one hour of sleep and two dark circles under his eyes. For the hundredth time this morning, he groaned. Failure wasn’t something Sebastian was familiar with — not in class, not in duels, not in anything that mattered — but lately it clung to him like a second skin. Like now — after counting 520 imaginary mooncalves (he was that desperate), he gave up. Might as well start the day. Sleep-deprived or not. He kicked off the blankets and got dressed. Didn’t need a calendar to know it was Saturday. Ominis was nowhere in sight — breakfast, probably — and his bed was, of course, immaculately made. By the time Sebastian finished lacing his boots, he spotted an enchanted parchment and quill bobbing smugly over his desk, clearly Ominis’s handiwork — no doubt. It hovered like a nagging thought, practically vibrating with self-righteous energy. Go write her an apology. He squinted at it.

Piss Off. He’d already written five. Five bloody letters — and not a single reply. Sebastian stormed out of his room — no longer hungry for breakfast. So he turned on his heel and redirected his steps.

If there was one other thing Sebastian despised about being sorted into Slytherin, it was the distance from their common room to the Owlery — a fact he cursed under his breath, panting halfway up the foul-smelling tower. He had owled her. Not once. Not twice. Five times. (To which no single correspondence was ever received.) By the time he reached the top, he squinted through the rafters, eyes scanning for a familiar scops owl — the one with feathers as brown as his curls and eyes almost as big as Anne’s. A detail he remembered from when they’d first picked him out together. Didn’t take long. Their owl was perched there, nonchalant as ever, like it had absolutely nothing better to do. “What’ve you got, Nibbles?” he called. A peculiar name — if one must ask — but since he’d had the honor of choosing the owl, the naming rights had gone straight to Anne. If it had been up to him, he’d have picked something like Trouble. He found it completely ludicrous (and maybe a little bit brilliant) to imagine the reactions when people heard, ‘Trouble is here with your letter.’ The owl turned its head slowly. Let out a low trill. “Nothing? At all?” Nibbles blinked. Then hooted. One claw lifted — just enough to highlight the utter absence of mail. “Anything?” Sebastian thought he’d lost his mind, but he could’ve sworn Nibbles was judging him. As if it were saying: Do you see me with a bloody mail? Sebastian scratched his head. Having exhausted his own means, he resorted now to seeking out her owl instead. He didn’t spend long to spot the thing — small, white, and built like a snow-dusted paperweight with wings. Perched smugly just outside the window. Clearly, he was getting better at this whole owl-stalking business. “Hey, Cotton,” he murmured. It reminded him of the day she’d adopted her — that first trip to Hogsmeade, all wide eyes and cold fingers. He’d thought Chalk suited the owl better, but she’d insisted on Cotton. Something about wanting to be a seamstress as a child — a dream swiftly abandoned the moment she learned you could conjure fabric with a flick of a wand. (You can actually make them out of thin air? she’d gasped, completely scandalized, watching enchanted scissors float mid-air.) The owl didn’t even nudge. Like pet, like master. He muttered under his breath. “Can you help me deliver this?” He held out a neatly folded letter — his sixth one; faintly perfumed with florals. (Ugh. But Ominis had insisted.) No reply. Not even a glance. Sebastian was losing his mind. Academics? No problem. Curses? Easy. But girls? A completely different breed. (Witches and pets alike). Where was Anne when he needed her most? “Cotton, come on.. I’m trying here.” Sebastian groveled. “…Please?” he extended his other hand. A small piece of fresh toast laid on top of his palm. Sebastian never came unprepared, after all. The owl swiveled its head almost fully around, staring him down with its judgmental, marble eyes. Bribery won’t get you anywhere — He could’ve sworn the bloody owl had just spoken. With one single motion, it snatched the letter from one hand, pecked the toast from the other, and soared into the sky. Damned owl. Ominis might’ve been blessed with Parseltongue — Sebastian, it seemed, was cursed to negotiate with birds.

It was quiet in the library.

Not quiet quiet. Quiet enough to hear Madam Scribner’s boots echoing down the corridor — loud enough to make his headache throb like a cursed kettle. At some point, Sebastian briefly considered slamming his head into the nearest tome, if only to drown it all out. Sleep deprivation had a way of making everything too loud.

That place had always been his sanctuary.

Before the Undercroft, before the secrets, before he made a mess of everything — it was books, parchment, and peace. It fed his curiosity. Gave him silence. And most importantly — she never came here alone. So of course, now she did. (Sebastian was starting to think fate had a cruel sense of humour.)

He had come to borrow one bloody book. Not that he’d be reading it now. She sat on the same table near the Restricted Section. Same posture — back straight, eyes narrowed, quill tapping out some rhythm only she understood. She looked fine. Like she wasn’t having a spectacularly miserable morning. Like he hadn’t said something vile. Like her world hadn’t been tilted sideways by the boy who, for some reason, couldn’t keep his ego down or his bloody mouth shut. He hovered by the shelf for a beat too long, pretending to read the spine of Magical Theory. It might as well have been Magic and Misdemeanors: A Slytherin’s Guide to Self-Sabotage. He dared a glance. She didn’t look up. Didn’t pause. Didn’t frown. Didn’t shift the way she normally would if she felt someone watching her. She kept writing — head down, quill moving, completely undisturbed by his presence. A familiar envelope sat beside her books, dusted with crumbs from what looked suspiciously like his breakfast toast.

He made a mental note to return to the Owlery. Cotton had earned it — toast toll and all. Sebastian sighed. He thought about what he’d done — said — to her. Finally admitted (to himself, anyway) that Ominis was right. Again. He had been an arse, and he did deserve the silence. Another sigh. He was just about ready to walk over — maybe not to fix it, but to try — when: Everett Fucking Clopton. “Is that the new translation of Gamp’s Theorem?” he asked, sliding into the seat beside her like it was his by right. “Didn’t know Weasley mentioned it’d be in our test next week.” She gave him a small, non-committal hum. The audacity. Sebastian’s jaw tightened. That smug, know-it-all Ravenclaw sitting right there. Clopton — of all people — parked in his seat like he belonged there. His? Since when has it been his? Sebastian shoved the thought aside. But he noticed how Everett leaned in. How her grip around her quill tightened. Clearly uncomfortable — too polite to say anything.

Typical. That was all it took. He stalked forward, each step louder than it should’ve been. “Ah, Sallow — we were just talking about—” “Move.” Not a request. Not a question. A threat. Everett blinked. Mouth open. Words floundering. Sebastian didn’t wait. His eyes cut to the empty space across from her — his spot — and he dropped into it without permission. Clopton hovered awkwardly, still half-seated beside her. “Right. Well, I suppose I’ll—” “I said, Move,” Sebastian repeated. Flat. Final. Everett finally took the hint, muttered something about needing a book from Ancient Runes, and fled. Silence settled between them. Not tense. Not hostile. Just — careful. Like the quiet after an explosion, when the dust hasn’t fully cleared. She didn’t look up. Sebastian did. Studied the way her eyes tracked the page. The deliberate flick of her wrist as she underlined a sentence with her quill. The way she ignored him so completely, it might’ve been an art form. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Sebastian cleared his throat. No response. He leaned forward, trying again. “I know you’re angry. I get it—well, maybe not get it, but—look, I’m trying.” No answer. He sighed. “I was an idiot. More than usual. Just… talk to me, will you?” Still Nothing. “Please.” That made her look up. Not all the way. Just enough that her eyes met his over the top of the parchment. “Actually, I should thank you.” She said quietly. A pause — light, but deliberate. “...For teaching me something I hadn’t realised — that I’m actually quite… dim-witted.” Sebastian quickly opened his mouth, but she didn’t miss a beat. “—I suppose that’s what you really think of me.” Sebastian felt it — a knife to his gut. She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t even sound upset — but it landed like a curse. “What’s the word? … Oh — ignorant.” And just like that, the knife twisted. Sebastian didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t know how.

A minute passed. Then another. She didn’t cry. She never did. And that, somehow, made it worse.

…Fuck. “You don’t say that word by accident, Sebastian.” Her voice was quiet, but unwavering. She’d never said his name like that before — like it meant something broken. “You say it when you want to wound.” Fuck. Then she blinked, once — slow. Her eyes were glassy, but nothing fell. Didn’t need to. “Congratulations, Sebastian. You managed.”

Her words sank in slow — like poison. No antidote in sight. Completely fucked. And in that moment, Sebastian felt like he was going to be sick. Or die. Maybe both.

Sebastian returned to the dorm that night. No shouting. No slammed doors. Just silence — the complete opposite of the tantrum he’d thrown the night before. Quiet. Heavy. Like something had been carved out of him. Ominis tilted his head slightly. “Everything alright?” No answer. Not even a groan. Sebastian just stood there, eyes vacant — staring at the canopy like an Inferius that had just lost its soul. “Sebastian?” A beat. Then… “I’m fucked, Ominis.” Ominis calmly raised his wand, red light casting shadows over Sebastian’s face — as if checking to confirm whether he was, in Sebastian’s own terms, well and truly fucked. “Yes, well,” Ominis muttered, frowning. “I didn’t want to be the one to say it. But here we are.” Sebastian dragged a hand down his face and groaned. “I know that sound. You’re breathing like someone who’s either heartbroken… or hexed — Possibly both.”

“Brilliant, Gaunt. Really helpful.” He rolled his eyes as if Ominis could see him. “Well, you started.” Ominis crossed his arms. “And frankly, I’ve never seen you look more pathetic — and I’ve seen you lose a duel to a fourth-year.” “That was one time—” “And this is worse.” Sebastian groaned, collapsing into his bed like the weight of the day had finally flattened him. “She hates me.” “I’d say you earned it.” He groaned louder. Ominis leaned back, looking far too satisfied for someone not even trying to hide his I-told-you-so. “You’ll need to do better than just talk to her. Apologizing isn’t a one-time spell, Sebastian. It’s not Reparo.” Sebastian grumbled something about Ominis being utterly insufferable — but then his shoulders dropped, and he exhaled, defeated. “What should I do, Ominis?” He hated asking. But he hated not knowing more. “I could tell you to write her another letter,” Ominis offered flatly, “but we both know how well that went last time — or the other four times.” At this rate, Sebastian’s groans were starting to rival a banshee’s — tragic, high-pitched, and very hard to ignore. “Merlin, just kill me.” “No, no.” Ominis sat up with a grin. “I’d rather see you suffer. Much more entertaining.” Sebastian dragged the pillow over his head. “I didn’t mean it, you know. The word.” Ominis’s voice softened — just a little. “Then tell her that. Not with parchment. Not through Clopton’s seat in the library. Properly.” “I did, Ominis. I’m telling you, I did everything.” Sebastian flopped in his bed, dramatically. “And she’s still mad?” Didn’t need a pair of working eyes to know Sebastian nodded into his pillow. Ominis sighed. “Then you’re right. You’re completely fucked. There, I said it.”

Sebastian nearly cried. At this point, even ancient magic couldn’t save him.

Sebastian had spent the day circling corridors, half-expecting her to step from behind a stone pillar or breeze past him on the stairs with that unreadable look she wore so well. She hadn’t. Not in the common room. Not in Charms. Not even the Undercroft.

(And he didn’t miss the way she’d stopped calling it “ours.”)

He told himself — as he always did — that it wasn’t about her. That Anne was still slipping away, and everything else was just noise in the background: a blurry chorus of things that didn’t matter as much.

But then she looked at someone else the way she used to look at him.

And the noise became unbearable. ... “Violet, please,” he muttered under his breath in Herbology, elbow-deep in damp mulch.

“For the umpteenth time: No, Sebastian.” Violet pinched her lips. “She told me she’d hex my eyebrows off if I even tried to interfere.” “She wouldn’t,” he said, though he wasn’t sure — but he pretended he was. Had to. Asking her roommate for help felt like a low move, but he was desperate. “She would,” said Poppy next to her, pale and wide-eyed. “She made Imelda flinch. Imelda, Sebastian.” He blinked. “What did Imelda say?” Violet gave him a look. “Imelda said you were a ‘disgrace to the male species’ and that maybe next time, don’t insult someone you want to snog.” Sebastian blinked. Twice. “Snog—?” he echoed, already regretting opening his mouth. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then let his head drop onto the table with a dramatic thud. Fine. Let them think that. Let the whole castle whisper about it over breakfast, lunch, and Astronomy Tower detentions. If everyone was so intent on believing he fancied her— ...well. Maybe he did. (But in the name of Salazar, he was far too exhausted to argue the semantics of it.)

Damned be the whole world.

“She didn’t like that either,” Poppy added helpfully. “Almost blasted her off behind the Quidditch pitch.”

Sebastian groaned into his hands. He was losing allies fast. ... By the end of the day, he’d made it through the classes — barely. Words floated past him like fog, lessons sinking in like water on stone. The chatter, the spells, the dull drone of professors’ voices all blurred into a dull hum. Nothing truly reached him; his mind was tangled elsewhere, still circling the same thought over and over, a loop he couldn’t break. By the time he reached the dormitory, exhaustion weighed him down so thoroughly he barely noticed Ominis sitting cross-legged on his bed. “Rough day?” Ominis asked, arching an eyebrow. Sebastian dropped onto his bed with a hollow sigh. “You think?” Ominis might be entertained by Sebastian’s foolery, but he wasn’t blind to how fast things were falling apart—his relationships unraveling, Anne slipping further out of reach, and the whole Slytherin girls’ dorm convinced he was a laughingstock. Though, to be fair, he’d earned every bit of it. For the millionth time, Sebastian groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m a disgrace.” “More like a disaster,” Ominis said with a smirk before leaning forward. “But there’s something you need to know.” Sebastian looked up, wary. “She wants to see you — Undercroft.” His heart thudded, surprise jolting through him. “Are you sure? How did she look? Was she angry?” he asked, scrambling off the bed in a hurry. Ominis held up a hand. “Sebastian, might I remind you — I’m blind.” Sebastian froze mid-step, eyes wide. “Right. Of course. I forgot you navigate the world without sight and can’t see the utter mess I’m in. Lucky you.” The words slipped out easily — more habit than insult at this point in their friendship. Ominis snorted. “Precisely. So stop asking me what she looked like. You want an opinion, you’ll have to ask someone with eyeballs.” Sebastian flopped back onto his bed. For a long moment, the weight pressing on his chest lifted, replaced by something unfamiliar — a cautious flicker of hope. Maybe this was his chance. Maybe this was the moment to reclaim what he’d lost. He drew in a shaky breath — the quiet before the storm. “When does she want to meet me again?” He hesitated only a moment, heart thundering like he was walking into a duel. But this was worse. This time, he might actually lose. “Now.” Ominis never heard him bolt that fast before. (He probably should’ve offered a floo powder, but… better late than never.)

Sebastian stood before the odd-shaped cupboard that led down into the Undercroft. His breath came fast — half from the sprint, half from the weight pressing on his chest. Somewhere along the way, he’d remembered Floo powder existed — and how much of a pain Ignatia Wildsmith could be — but sod it. He was almost here. No shortcuts today. Not for this. In his palm rested a small box of chocolate truffles, still warm from his pocket. Not her usual thing — she’d told him once on their first trip to Hogsmeade that she didn’t like sweets — but as a relentless sweet tooth, Sebastian had insisted she try them. He’d never forget the look on her face when she finally did: surprise mixed with reluctant delight, like she’d found something unexpectedly good. He pushed the memory aside and stepped into the Undercroft. There she was, leaning against the cold stone wall — a heavy book in one hand, her wand in the other. She looked up at him — gaze like glass: hard, polished, nothing getting through. “Long time no see,” he said, voice cracking slightly.

What the actual fuck was that?

An apology? A greeting? A declaration of war? He wasn’t sure. Probably sounded like a nervous frog croaking for help. All the charm Hogwarts claimed he had — and that was the best he could come up with?

He wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

He held out the box, voice rough. “I brought these. Your favourite.” Peace Offerings, he thought. Her eyes flicked to the truffles, then back to him — still burning.

“Bribery?” Her tone sharpened, rising just a little. The word hit him like a hex. He was scared shitless. Then she said it — slow, deliberate, with that weight only she could carry: “Sebastian Sallow —” His heart nearly stopped. Cold sweat ran down his spine. “—What do you think I am? A bloody owl?” The tension shattered. He blinked, the fear slipping away as if someone had lifted a curse. Because yes — now that she said it — she really did look like Cotton. Fierce, sharp-eyed, and utterly unyielding. Her gaze said it all — Bribery won’t get you anywhere. Pets and their masters, after all. Judgmental stares included. That blasted owl. “And?” She snapped — growing more impatient by the minute. His mind immediately went back to the undercroft. The thought almost made him laugh, but he swallowed it down, hard. Focus, Sebastian. If he dared to laugh now, he’d be hexed to oblivion. No doubt about it. No, he’d literally die. So instead, he forced himself steady. “Maybe I’m just trying to learn from my mistakes.” She didn’t smile. The silence stretched, thick and heavy between them. After what seemed to be forever, she sighed. “What do you want now?” she finally asked, voice low. “Your forgiveness." His throat tightened. "I.. I didn’t mean it — didn’t mean the word like that.” Sebastian exhaled slowly, the weight of his pride battling the truth. “I was angry. Frustrated. I’m sorry. I really am.” For a moment, she was back in Feldcroft — back when he barely slept, back when he snapped at Ominis for breathing too loud and nearly hexed a Hufflepuff just for asking about Anne. She remembered how his hands trembled in the catacombs. How his voice cracked every time he said her name. How he flinched —flinched— when his uncle raised it at him one too many times.

She tried to understand. Merlin, she wanted to. Even when he lashed out. Even when he shut her out. Even when he looked at her like she was just another thing standing between him and a cure. But there had to be a line. And somehow, even after everything — even after she stood by him through spellfire and Scriptorium and loss — he still found a way to cross it. No matter how much she wanted to understand, there was only so much she could take. Her eyes softened for the briefest moment, just enough for a crack to show. “Words hurt, Sebastian. You don’t simply cast them out and pretend they were never said.” “—But I didn’t mean—” “It makes no difference.” Her voice was quiet, but every word landed like a curse. There was a slight pause before she finally continued “...You said it when it suited you best.” He exhaled — the weight of it sagging through him. “I know… I’m sorry. I mean it.” “Are you?” He looked at her. “I swear — I am.” Her lips curled into something resembling a smile — all edge, no warmth. “Am what, Sebastian?” she said, plucking a truffle from the box without ceremony. He knew where this was headed. The answer sat heavy on his tongue, pride coiled tight in his throat. "You’ll have to be more specific — I’m rather… dim-witted, as you can see.” His lips twitched. The sting hit sharper than he expected. He let out a bitter laugh. “… ignorant,” he muttered inaudibly. “Hm?” she asked, casually plucking another truffle, as if she hadn’t just heard him surrender the last shred of his pride. "I am ignorant." There. Said it. Let it hang. She leaned back against the wall, smile curling—dimples and all. “Precisely.” Sebastian shook his head, half-smiling like someone who knew they’d lost. Then he laughed — low, dry, a little pathetic.

Still, worth it. That was the first time he’d seen her smile in weeks. “Friends?” she asked, voice calm again — She extended her hand. eyes dry, unreadable. Sebastian hesitated. Then took it. “Friends.”

Their hands shook once. He let go. Hm?

It didn’t feel right — No, no. Not quite right. Not when her fingers had felt that warm. Not when her touch still lingered like a spell he didn’t know the counter to. He glanced at her — dimples flashing faintly as she turned back to her parchment. Unbothered. Recovered. Like nothing had happened. But something had. Something big. And late as ever, he was just now catching up. Sebastian stared at the spot where her hand had been and, very slowly, remembered what Imelda had said to Poppy in the Training Room.

Next time, don’t insult the girl you want to snog. (Brutal advice. Accurate advice).

Oh,

Oh.

Bloody hell.

He was in love with her. (Of course he was. Only took him a full-blown crisis and half a box of truffles to catch on.)

The rest of the day was… different. He didn’t hover anymore. He didn’t grovel. He didn’t owl six times a day or bribe birds with toast or offer sad, crumpled bits of Honeydukes chocolate.

He didn’t need to. She sat next to him again — sometimes. Walked with him after class — sometimes. And when she did, she leaned into his shoulder without needing to explain herself. He didn’t ask. She didn’t pull away. They didn’t talk about what had changed, but it was there — in the silence, in the glances, in the small, unconscious ways her arm brushed against his as they walked through the courtyard. And when one of their classmates — Leander, now — strolled up beside her outside Herbology, grinning too easily and saying something about Hogsmeade plans, Sebastian didn’t even flinch.

He reached up. Rested an arm across her shoulders. Let it stay there.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t mind.

If anything, she tilted her head — slightly — toward him.

Prewett took the hint.

Sebastian said nothing.

He didn’t need to anymore.

He’d earned his place beside her.

It had taken one insult, two owls, six letters, a box of chocolate, and a few minor mental breakdowns… but he was here.

No letters. No toast. No bribes. Just him.

And it was enough.

For once — Sebastian knew when to stop. (He'd gladly prove his uncle wrong.)

P.S. 1. Points if you can tell I was binge-listening to Sabrina Carpenter’s “Manchild” while writing this. (Lol. Fitting, isn’t it?) 2. Bonus points if you caught that “ignorant” was emotionally powered by Gordon Ramsay’s “idiot sandwich” meme energy. (Tell me Sebastian Sallow wouldn’t deserve the same treatment.) Thanks for reading — I hope it makes you laugh, wince, and maybe even yell at Sebastian a little. Let me know what you think! -Nina

✦ The Spiral (So Far): [2/3] : Sixth Time's The Charm

[3/3] : Signed, Sealed, Survived

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #Sebastian Sallow #Sebastian Sallow x f!MC #Sebastian Sallow x MC #Sebastian Sallow x Reader #Readers Insert #Sebastian Sallow fanfic #Slow Burn #Teen Angst #Sebastian is BROODING #Scriptumsempra

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lila-lou · 1 month ago

Text

✨Build for stayin´✨

Summary: You get your period early in a new relationship and try to tough it out, expecting the usual awkwardness. Instead, Beau shows up with patience, comfort, and zero judgment — turning a bad night into something unexpectedly tender.

Pairing: Beau x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2625

DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes.

You had been dating Beau for only a few weeks now, barely enough time to even figure out his favorite pizza topping, let alone show him the messier, more complicated sides of yourself. You were younger than him by quite a few years, and every guy you had ever been with before had handled the idea of a woman’s period like it was some sort of alien invasion. Some were disgusted, others just plain ignorant. Either way, you had learned to keep it to yourself.

Which was exactly what you were trying, and failing, to do tonight.

It had started back at the grocery store, not long after Beau picked you up after his shift. One minute, you were fine, holding his hand and teasing him about his obsession with the hot bar chicken wings. The next minute, a cramp hit you like a sucker punch, and your mood nosedived straight into the floor.

You had tried to cover it up with a tight smile, but you ended up snapping at him when he took too long picking a pasta sauce. And then again when he insisted on carrying all the bags, like he thought you were made of glass or something.

Now you were curled up on Beau’s couch, your arms wrapped around your middle, feeling like absolute crap. He was somewhere in the kitchen, clattering around like he was making dinner, but you couldn’t even focus on what it was. All you could think about was how much you wanted to cry for no reason and how badly you wished the earth would just swallow you whole before you embarrassed yourself any further.

You winced when another cramp twisted through you, and a frustrated noise escaped your throat before you could stop it.

Beau must have heard, because the next thing you knew, he was standing in the doorway, a worried look in his green eyes. “Hey”, he said, voice low and gentle, like you were a spooked horse. “You okay, darlin’?”.

You immediately sat up straighter, forcing a smile that felt like it might crack your face in half. “Yeah. Fine. Just tired, that’s all”.

Beau didn’t move. He just stood there, watching you like he could see right through all your bullshit. “Did I do somethin’, sweetheart?”, he asked, voice even softer now. “Piss you off somehow?”.

You clenched your jaw, the shame curling tighter than the cramps in your belly. “No!”, you snapped, sharper than you intended. “God, Beau, not everything is about you”.

The words hung between you for a second, too heavy, too harsh, and immediately you wished you could reach out and yank them back.

But Beau didn’t flinch. He didn’t look angry or wounded. He just nodded a little, like he understood you were hurting even if you couldn’t say it out loud. Like he wasn’t going to take your mood personally.

He pushed off the doorframe and walked over to you, slow and steady like he was approaching a wild animal. His big hands slid onto your thighs, grounding you, his thumbs rubbing gentle, mindless circles against your jeans.

“Alright”, he said, so calm it made your eyes sting with tears you refused to let fall. “Ain’t about me. Got it. Still doesn’t mean I’m gonna leave you sittin’ here sufferin’ by yourself”.

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him you didn’t need him fussing over you, that you were fine, really, but he squeezed your leg gently, cutting you off before you could spit out more bullshit.

Beau stayed crouched in front of you, his thumbs still stroking slow circles against your jeans, his gaze never wavering from your face. So steady. So heartbreakingly patient.

And God help you, under that steady warmth, that unconditional way he stayed when every part of you expected him to back away, you cracked. The first tear slipped down your cheek before you could even think about stopping it. Then another. And another.

You dropped your head into your hands with a broken little sound, trying to muffle it, but it was too late. Your whole body shook, a miserable, cramping, tear-stained mess.

"Hey, hey, sweetheart…", Beau's voice was barely above a whisper now. You felt the couch dip beside you as he shifted up, one arm sliding around your back, the other hand tilting your chin up so you had to look at him. Not to trap you, but to make sure you knew he was still right here.

And in that moment, watching the way you folded under something invisible, something hurting you deep inside, a thought slammed into him hard enough to steal his breath.

She's either pregnant… or she's on her period.

Beau blinked at you, heart thudding painfully against his ribs. The rational part of him knew it was way too soon — hell, you’d barely been dating long enough to know all each other's quirks. But another part of him, a deeper, quieter part, ached with a fierce, stubborn kind of hope. A baby. Your baby.

He shook the thought off for now, forcing himself to stay in the moment. Right now, you needed comfort, not crazy daydreams about what might be.

He wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb, so gentle it made you hiccup another sob. "You’re alright, darlin'", he murmured, pulling you into his chest. "I got you. Nothin' you can say or do is gonna scare me off, y'hear?".

You curled into him without thinking, your hands gripping the soft fabric of his flannel shirt like a lifeline.

Beau rocked you slowly, his hand warm and steady on your back, his mouth brushing the top of your head in the softest, most reassuring kiss. He didn’t push you for answers. Didn’t make you explain. Just held you tighter every time a new sob wracked through you, riding it out with you like it was his own battle to fight.

After a few minutes, once your sobs had quieted down to little, shaky breaths, he leaned down, his mouth brushing your temple, his voice rough and low.

“You can tell me what’s goin’ on, darlin’”, he whispered, like it was a secret meant just for you. “Even if the damn pasta burns to hell on the stove”.

You let out a wet, broken laugh against his chest, the tiniest sound, but he caught it, like he caught everything about you, and you felt his lips curve into a soft smile against your hair. “You’re more important than dinner”, he added, rubbing a slow, soothing hand up and down your back. “Way more”.

You sniffled, scrubbing at your face with the sleeve of your sweater, feeling raw and embarrassed and yet… so stupidly safe you could hardly stand it. “It’s stupid”, you mumbled, still not quite able to meet his eyes.

“Doesn’t sound stupid if it’s got you hurtin’ like this”, Beau said, firm and certain. “C’mon, honey. Hit me with it”.

You breathed out a shaky sigh, twisting your fingers in the hem of his shirt, clinging to him like you needed to borrow his steadiness for just a minute longer. “It’s just…”, you hesitated, the words thick in your throat. “I’m on my period. It just… started. Earlier. At the store”.

There. You said it. Braced yourself for him to pull back, wrinkle his nose, make some awkward excuse to leave the room like every other guy you’d ever known.

But Beau just hummed low in his chest, like you’d told him the most natural thing in the world. Like you’d said the sky was blue or the grass was green. “No wonder you’re feelin’ like hell”, he said, pressing another kiss into your hairline. “You shoulda told me sooner, sweetheart. Could’ve saved you all this sufferin’”.

You huffed a breath, part laugh, part disbelief. “Yeah, well. Not exactly romantic”.

Beau chuckled, the sound low and warm against your ear. You felt it rumble through his chest before he even spoke. "Hell, darlin’, romance ain’t just flowers and fancy dinners", he said, his voice dipping into that teasing drawl that always made your stomach flip — even now. "Sometimes it’s holdin’ your girl while she bleeds like a stuck pig and still thinkin’ she’s the prettiest thing in the room".

You let out a half-horrified, half-hysterical laugh, swatting weakly at his chest. "Beau!".

He caught your hand easily in his much bigger one, lacing your fingers together with a soft, shameless grin. "I'm just sayin'", he drawled, all fake innocence. "Still crazy about you, bleedin’ and all. Might even be a little hotter now, if I'm bein’ honest".

You groaned, burying your face against him again, but this time it was from sheer mortification — and the tiniest spark of affection that warmed your aching chest.

Beau laughed again, but it faded into something softer as he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. His hand stroked up and down your spine, slow and soothing. "Alright, honey", he murmured against your hair. "You stay put. I’m gonna grab that sad excuse for pasta off the stove before we set off the smoke alarm. And", he added, pulling back just enough to wink down at you, "I’ll grab that warm water bottle Emily left last time she was here. Think she even left one of those fuzzy covers on it too".

You blinked up at him, your heart clenching so hard it almost hurt. Somehow, in the space of a few minutes, Beau had turned your worst nightmare into something bearable. Into something safe.

"You don’t have to", you whispered, still half in disbelief that he was being so… him.

Beau squeezed your hand gently before standing up, towering over you in the soft lamplight, looking like the most solid, dependable thing in your whole world. "Darlin’, when I said I was yours, I meant all of it", he said, voice gruff with something that sounded dangerously close to love. "Good days, bad days, ugly cryin' days. You ain't gettin’ rid of me that easy".

With that, he ruffled your hair affectionately, earning another tiny glare you didn’t really mean, and disappeared into the kitchen, already muttering something about how he was gonna owe you a proper meal once he salvaged whatever disaster was happening on the stove.

Later that evening, you found yourself exactly where you never knew you needed to be. Curled up against Beau on the couch, a thick, soft blanket wrapped around both of you like a cocoon. The warm water bottle, tucked snugly against your stomach, radiated heat that dulled the worst of the cramps, and Beau’s hand resting lazily on your hip did more to calm you than any medicine ever could.

The TV flickered quietly in front of you, playing some old western movie Beau had picked — because, in his words, “it’s a classic, darlin’, and it’s got horses, so really, it’s a win-win”.

You weren’t even really following the plot. Between the throbbing in your stomach and the way Beau’s chest rumbled under your cheek every time he spoke, it was impossible to focus on anything else.

Because, of course, Beau wasn’t just watching the movie. No, he was explaining every second of it to you — in that deep, lazy, ridiculously sexy voice of his.

“Now, see”, he murmured, his thumb rubbing slow, absentminded circles against your hip, “he’s only pretendin’ to sell out the ranch, but what he’s really doin’ is settin’ up a trap for the bad guys. Smart as hell, that old cowboy”.

You hummed a soft sound of acknowledgment, more to let him know you were listening than anything else. Honestly, you couldn’t have cared less about the ranch or the bad guys or whatever double-cross was happening on the screen.

You were too focused on the steady rhythm of Beau’s voice, the way it wrapped around you, low and warm, sinking into your skin like sunlight.

“And that fella there”, Beau continued, tapping your side lightly to get your attention, “he’s the muscle. Ain’t got two brain cells to rub together, but he’s loyal. Important to have people like that around. Folks you can count on”.

You tilted your head up slightly, just enough to catch the way his mouth quirked into a soft, crooked smile. “Like you?”, you teased, your voice still rough from crying earlier but lighter now.

Beau chuckled, the sound sending a fresh wave of warmth through you. “Nah, darlin’. I’m the whole damn package. Brains and brawn”.

You snorted, the sound muffled against his chest, and he laughed again, full and real, before dipping his head to press a kiss to the top of yours.

You tucked yourself even tighter against Beau’s side, your fingers fisting lightly in his shirt, the steady beat of his heart under your cheek making your eyes grow heavier with every second.

For a few minutes, the only sounds were the quiet murmur of the TV and the soft, lazy sweep of his hand over your side.

Then, just as you were starting to drift somewhere between awake and asleep, Beau’s voice rumbled low against your ear — casual, but with a certain hesitation you didn’t miss.

"Y'know", he said, his fingers playing idly with the hem of your sweater, "earlier, when you started cryin' like that… part of me thought you might be tellin’ me you were pregnant".

You blinked up at him, startled, but Beau kept his eyes on the TV, pretending like he hadn’t just dropped a small bomb into the quiet room. He laughed, a little forced, rubbing the back of his neck. "Crazy, right? Only been a few weeks. Would’ve been somethin’ though".

He said it like it was a joke, but you weren’t stupid. You heard the way his voice went a little rough at the edges. You saw the flicker of something tender, something real, flash across his face before he masked it with another easy grin.

Your heart twisted painfully, sweetly, in your chest.

Without thinking, you reached up and cupped his jaw, feeling the scratch of his stubble against your palm. Beau immediately leaned into your touch like he couldn’t help himself, his eyes finally dropping to meet yours.

"I’m not", you whispered, your thumb stroking across his cheekbone. "Pregnant, I mean".

"I know, sweetheart", he murmured, so soft, so damn good. His hand slid over yours, holding it there against his face. "Ain’t sayin' I expected it or anything".

You hesitated, heart thudding, the words bubbling up before you could stop them. "But someday…?", you asked quietly.

Beau's smile softened into something so tender it nearly broke you. "Someday", he promised, his voice a rough whisper. "If you want it. If you want me".

You swallowed thickly, emotion burning behind your ribs. You nodded, just a small, shaky motion — but it was enough.

Beau leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead, wrapping you up even tighter in his arms like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go. "Rest now, darlin'", he whispered against your hair. "I got you. Always".

And with his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, his arms holding you safe and warm, you let yourself believe him. You let yourself dream. Of someday. Of always. Of Beau.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

#jensen ackles #beau arlen x female reader #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x you #beau arlen #beau x reader #big sky

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satorupi · 1 month ago

Text

happy birthday! wait...

with birthdays being your favorite celebration personally, you'd always envisioned having a partner that you'd have the opportunity to plan things for long before you'd even properly began dating. one you could make a fuss over, take out on a crazy day just to celebrate them.

what you'd really gotten was a 6-foot blonde that you were now terribly in love with that didn't care much for celebrations quite as much as you did.

It wasn’t that he’d throw a fuss if you did plan something big, it just wasn’t preferred – he didn’t see the point in making a big deal out of the day he’d been born. work had become a priority these days, but the connections there were truly lacking. the ones he’d made back in his days at jujutsu high were…complicated.

you got why he didn’t expect any big celebration, he hadn’t done anything of the sort for years.

but come on, you’d been together for months at this point and he’d at least gone and put in the effort for your birthday when it came around despite his personal reservations. even if it wasn’t something big, doing nothing at all wasn’t in the plan. you’d just have to…do a tamer version of what you’d usually do! it’s his first birthday with you around after all.

the cake took you the better part of the evening to put together. with him leaving around 8 to commute to work, it gave you time to start early on prep. the recipe had a ton of searching, weeks of perfecting with trial runs because you really didn’t want to mess this up. all that work from 11 am left you with a semi elaborate 2 tiered cheesecake, 2 dual, balanced flavors that wouldn’t be overwhelming on the palate, a biscoff crumb. not to toot your own horn or anything but…yeah, you’d done a good job here.

a fancy looking homemade cheesecake and his girlfriend in his favourite set and a novelty apron – this wasn’t too crazy. so it worked perfectly.

july 4th. you'd double, no triple checked the calendar, circled the date in red with little hearts drawn around it. his birthday. the first one you'd get to celebrate with him.

the steady beeps from the keypad outside cue you in to his arrival, putting an end to your last-minute fiddling with the fruit to turn to the arch of the kitchen just as he gets in through the front door. “welcome back.” you call out.

“hello sweetheart.” his footsteps halt in kitchen doorway, eyeing you. then the cake, then you again. “busy day?”

“didn’t take that long.” you shrug, reaching behind you to ease a single candle into the centre of the cake, turning back to him with a bright smile, “i know you said you don’t do anything big, so.. happy birthday, kento.”

the flicker in his expression gives you pause, silence stretching for a beat too long before he pipes up again, “happy birthday?” he repeats, voice taking on a slow questioning tone.

"yeah?" the word came out more tentative than you'd intended, mind already deluding you into thinking he didn’t like it. "your birthday.” you start, words gentle as though filling him in the day of his birth for the first time. “today. july 4th?”

understanding dawned on the man immediately, followed immediately by an expression that looked suspiciously like fond amusement. "ah."

ah? you’d prepared a small celebration for his birthday and all you get is…ah? it’s not as though you’d expected a big hoorah or anything but, ah??

“is that a bad ah?” your smile wavers slightly, searching his expression for any clues to how he felt about this at all. “we can treat it like a…um, pre-anniversary if it’s too-“ “july 3rd.”

“huh?” you’re the one to pause this time, head tipping in confusion, “july 3rd what?”

“my birthday? july 3rd, sweetheart.” he takes a few steps past the threshold and closer to you, smile still playing near the edges of his expression, “yesterday.”

“ah.” you blink up at him, slowly clueing into what he’s doing, keeping a straight face to go right along with this little joke of his. “not july 4th?”

he gives you a small shake of his head, fingers coming up in an easy motion to loosen his tie. “nope. have always celebrated on the 3rd.” “which was yesterday.” he gives you an encouraging nod, gesture for you to continue, “july 3rd. which was your birthday. not today.”

“not today, yes. because today is the 4th.”

and you let his words hang in the air for a little. you staring at him, him staring at you – still carrying that fairly amused expression. So, ultimately, as anyone in this situation would, you begin laughing at the obvious joke. the man whose humor bordered on dry sarcasm actually pranking you somehow made it even sillier. “okay, okay. very funny, babe.”

turning one more, you flick the cap of the lighter back, candle wick glowing a cool orange in a few quick motions. now with the cake in your hold you turn back to him just to meet his expression unchanged, maybe a tad confused if anything. “uh, good joke? can i sing you happy birthday now?”

brows raising at your insistence, he glances between the lit candle and your face, voice gentle as he clarifies once more, “we can sing it together, yeah. but my birthday is actually the third.” not a joke at all. he’d tried to say it as easily as he could to not make you feel bad but the falter in your expression is easily caught, lips parting as the words dawn on you. the flame wavers, hands easing the cake back down onto the counter. “that..no, you have to be joking because—well, because!” you spin to grab at your phone, proper view of the back of the cute set exposed before he’s set to see it.. but there were more important things – like figuring out what the hell was going on here, “baby, i have it in..i have it in my calendar,” you tap on the screen with a pointed nail, eyes still up on his. “see?”

“i do see.” he hums, leaning down into your space, gentle hand tucking a stray hair back out of your face, “but i was born on july 3rd, 1990.”

and the mortification hits almost physically. you could’ve sworn he’d said the 4th? or had you misheard? or made it up? “oh my god, you’re serious..”

the skin under your cheeks heat, hand with the phone lowering. first birthday with him, all the things you’d been planning and prepping for – all a day late. “i missed my boyfriend’s birthday.”

“it’s okay.” kento moves closer, his expression softening as he takes in your crestfallen face. “it’s not a big deal. dates are weird.”

leave it up to nanami to be the absolute nicest about your mistake. “i spent ages on that,” your head gestures in the direction of the cake left on the counter, brows furrowed, “and i made it a day late.” you celebrating (or trying to) on the wrong day is what had hit you first, but when you realize you quite literally did nothing for him on his actual day of birth? “the calendar near the bed has it circled with hearts!”

“I thought you just liked July the 4th for whatever reason.” And with how you stare at him like he’s grown two heads it takes everything not to laugh, “fireworks and all that..”

“oh my god, ken.” you bury your face into your hands with a longsuffering groan, weight pressing down into his chest. slightly vibrating chest, you’d add. “nothing about this is funny!”

“oh come on, it’s a little funny.”

“but it’s nottt.” you answer in protest, voice muffled by your palms, head shaking side to side against his chest. the slight tremor in his chest tells you he's still finding this amusing. “i’ve had your birthday in my mind as the 4th for the past…however long it’s been since you told me.” didn’t even have the mind to clarify because, why would you? “here i was thinking today would be sooo special. and boom, wrong date. this is terrible.”

“it’s not terrible, sweetheart.” his hands pry your hands off your face with gentle ease, smile widening that much more at the small pout spread on your lips, at your expression. his lips graze the insides of either wrist with a kiss, fingers lacing in yours, “i still think it’s very special.” “you’re just being nice.”

“and you’re just being a teensy bit dramatic.” to that he receives a narrowed gaze, “just a tiny bit.” “this is like celebrating christmas on the 26th. the 26th is boxing day, it’s not even..it’s not even the same.” you voice falters a bit at the end, breathing out a low sigh, gaze dropping, “i’m not being dramatic enough, really.”

as funny as kento finds the situation, he can’t have you all upset over an honest mistake. a very, very endearing mistake. his hands cradling your face ease it up so that you’re looking at him again, “you know what i loved about yesterday?”

“probably not that part where i didn’t even tell you happy b—”

“—i liked coming home after a long day and seeing you all cozy on the couch in my shirt. half asleep with your book open. and how you perked up as soon as you saw me walk in like nothing else mattered.” you try to interject but he continues, “and how you just so happened to make the best dish known to man.”

and well, there’s not much you can say now when he’s making your heart do this weird fluttery thing.

“and do you know what i thought about yesterday?”

well, from what he loved about yesterday you could make an educated guess, but you still shake your head no. “that i was lucky to have someone who made dinner for me, that listened to me complain about a field you have little understanding of. that laughed at my very lame jokes.” “i thought they were funny.” you murmur, smiling slowly growing once more.

“i know you did. strangely enough.” his thumbs circle the apples of your cheek, smiling fondly down at you, “and i was thinking about how this is the best birthday i’ve had in years. just doing whatever with you.”

you wonder if it’s possible for your heart to pop solely from being so filled with love? probably not, but it feels like it with the way it’s pounding in your chest. “i really wanted it to be special.”

“like i said, this is very, very special.” and something in his tone just has you believing him. that he appreciates this despite the clear error. “and before you ask, yes. even a day late. i love it.”

the intention was there, the effort was there – how could he not love this? love you for always making him feel the way you do. “my sweet, wonderful darling waiting here with a 2 tiered cheesecake. you look beautiful.”

“it's biscoff,” you say with a weak laugh, as if that somehow makes up for the timing disaster. “the crumb.”

“oh, my favourite.” he says, dipping to plant a soft kiss on you, hands falling away from your face to band around your waist. “though i think the baker may be my favourite thing about my not-birthday.”

the mortification had started to ebb from the moment he’d reassured you, laugh fuller now as you lightly slap his chest, “not-birthday, huh?”

“mhm.” he kisses you again, fingertips warming the parts of your exposed skin where they press in, hands sweeping along the flesh, “and for my not-birthday celebration, i’d like to show my thanks to the coordinator first.” he leans past you to blow the properly melted candle out, back in your space in a split second.

“kento,” you breathe, and the way his name sounds on your lips makes his grip on you tighten slightly. he hasn’t brought it up directly, having to handle the entire situation and all but…thinking about you all day and coming home to you in this. yeah, he was done for the moment he came through the door. “i think," he says, voice rough now as he pulls back to look at you, “the cake cutting can wait a little longer. don't you?”

“i think," you say, voice already breathless as his hands map the curves of your waist, fingers toying with the ties of the apron, "that sounds like a very good idea."

“i’ll go put it in the fridge then.”

so, that’s how his first birthday with you went. you two keep up with the extra birthday even now. long after you’d upgraded from girlfriend to fiancé, and then obviously to wife. just as a little thing between you two, an extra celebration of your favorite person.

#satorupi 𓃠 #nanami kento x you #nanami #sena's script ⏾#kento x y/n #jjk kento #nanami fluff #kento nanami #nanami kento #hehe #what else do i tag this as lol #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujutsu kaisen #kento x reader #kento smut #nanami x you #nanami x reader #kento x you #next best thing since no birthday post <3

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junnieverse · 2 months ago

Text

MWAH ! ➳ BOYNEXTDOOR

➙ the boynextdoor members favourite places to kiss you

pairing: bnd x gn!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: not proofread, lowercase intended, platonic relationship between reader and woonhak

a/n: did i think of this at like 2am one night like last month and it’s just been chilling in my drafts ever since? yes, yes i did.

a/n (2): as you guys know already, i only write platonic instances for woonhakie so take it all as such, reblogs greatly appreciated my luvs :p

🖇️ — 명재현 ; MYUNG JAEHYUN !

↳ your shoulders

myungjae loves loves lovesss the surprise and gentle back hugs

like he will just randomly come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist snuggling his head between the crook of your neck

when he’s feeling extra affectionate and yearning for your touch he will slowly kiss along your shoulder

sometimes he’ll just hold you kissing your shoulder slowing reaching up to your ear as he whispers little praises and words of adoration

“I don’t think I got to tell you how much I love you today but I really do. Thank you for being by my side.” he says softly before kissing the spot just below your ear and trailing down

you’ve gotten so used to this level of intimacy that you kinda just go along with it and quietly revel in it

you could be busy washing the dishes and you’ll feel his arms around you, but you’ll just continue as you were as a small smile grows on your face

“Ow! Jae what the heck!” you yelp out in shock as the boy in question only giggles holding you tighter and hiding his face

i may have forgot to mention he’s got a cheeky little streak where he playfully likes biting your shoulder sometimes too, oopsie

🖇️ — 박성호 ; SUNGHO !

↳ your hands

it wasn’t unusual for sungho to not want to hold your hand whenever he had the given opportunity

whether it be while you were walking, he was driving and holding yours, listening to you talk and intertwining your fingers with his

he will subtly kiss the back of your palm just as a silent reminder that he’s fully immersed in you and being with you

“Wow… just wow-“ sungho stutters out not being able to fully coherently talk upon seeing your outfit

you were both preparing to go out on a date and he was completely mesmerised making his way to you and holding your hands in his

lifting up your hand to his lips, he maintains eye contact before gently leaving a kiss on your hand and gently rubbing them with his thumbs

very gentlemanly form of affection

he really just likes holding your hands, kissing them just adds a lot more intimacy which leaves you both (mostly you) blushing at how sweet it is

🖇️ — 이상혁 ; RIWOO !

↳ your cheeks

if it’s not you kissing his cute squishy cheeks then best believe he’s kissing yours

sometimes he’ll just randomly come by in passing and swiftly kiss your cheek whenever he feels bold

but being the shy one he is, no matter how long you’ve been together, he’ll sometimes ask before giving you a kiss

“Could I… y’know…” he hints shyly as his ears turn red

“Hyeokie we’ve been together for like 2 years now, you know you don’t need to ask.” you laugh softly taking it upon yourself to tease him tapping your cheek lightly waiting for his kiss

as much as you tease, you find it adorable how he still asks for consent before kissing you

but this has also become a normal form of affection as the first thing he does when he gets to wake up beside you

“Good morning my love, how did you sleep?” he asks with his morning bed hair on display as he leans in to kiss your cheek softly

nothing beats a soft kiss from your favourite person to start the day

🖇️ — 한동민 ; TAESAN !

↳ your lips

taesan has one of the prettiest lips (complete side note: like if you think he should get snake bite piercings)

but boy is he a lot more obsessed with your lips

if he’s not constantly lingering on them while he watches you talk, he’s kissing you

“Are you listening to me?” you stop halfway through your story noticing your boyfriend who’s eyes kept going back and forth between your lips and eyes too

“Can I kiss you?” he flatly says catching you off guard

you ofcourse weren’t gonna say no because he gave the sweetest kisses

taesan loves kissing your lips because he finds them so soft and getting lost in kissing you somehow calms him down and makes him feel closer to you

any chance he gets he will kiss you and it leaves you breathless

does he ever get tired of kissing you? never. will you? absolutely not!

🖇️ — 김동현 ; LEEHAN !

↳ your neck/temple

he knows your weak spots and he definitely uses them to his advantage

your neck is one of them and he loves it

but just as much as you love your boyfriend showing his affection and kissing you, leehan gets a kick out of leaving you feeling for more

with his arms around you, he tenderly places soft kisses along your neck making you laugh softly as he pulls you in closer savouring the moment

seeing how you react whenever he kisses you wanting more makes him enjoy kissing you more

when he’s feeling a lot softer or when in public he simply sticks to leaving a soft pecks instead

gently pulling you into his side he leans down and places a kiss on your temple to show his affection

best believe you’re left a blushing mess when you make eye contact and you catch him already looking at you with much adoration and love

🖇️ — 김운학 ; WOONHAK !

↳ your forehead

this became a regular routine within your friendship

a form of affection from woonhak especially whenever he was comforting you or something he’d do after giving you a tight hug

having a height difference where he was taller than you even in the slightest made it a lot easier for him to easily place a peck on your head

“I haven’t seen you in awhile, I missed you.” your best friend says engulfing you in his arms in a long hug

hugging him back you feel him kiss the side of your head before pulling away to yap your ear off about his most recent trip

you were initially confused about the sudden kisses when he’d first done it but along the way you’d grown to enjoy his warmth and affection

“Hmm, new shampoo?” he asks randomly hugging you again secretly smelling the new hint of vanilla from your head

“Woonhak I’ve told you to stop sniffing my hair!”

and as comforting as the forehead kisses were, he’s silly little antics would never change

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slut-for-slutty-fictional-men · 3 months ago

Text

Left on Read

Pairing: Harry Lewis x Reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, slow burn, awkward tension, ghosting, unresolved feelings, dirty talk, resentment, angst, light enemies-to-lovers.

Summary: You hooked up once, then ghosted him the next day without a word. A year later, you’re hired as the Sidemen’s new social media coordinator. Surprise, bitch. The awkward tension is unbearable. Harry’s not the same since that night, and neither are you.

Word Count: ~2,500

Masterlist

It’s a surprise, really, that it took this long for you to end up here.

The Sidemen HQ. The most infamous collective of YouTube chaos. And you? Well, you’re their newest hire. Social media coordinator, of course, because they’re “growing.” You had the credentials, the connections — and hell, you needed the job. But, maybe more than that, you needed a change of scenery.

What you didn’t need was the heavy, suffocating tension the second you walked through the door. You should’ve known. You should’ve prepared for it.

You didn’t.

Your eyes catch him almost immediately — Harry Lewis. Leaning casually against a wall, earbuds in, scrolling through his phone, acting like he doesn’t see you. But you know he does. You can feel the weight of his gaze before you even register it.

Your heart stutters.

It’s been a year since that night.

The one where you let yourself go too far, where you let him pull you in without a second thought. And when the morning came, you’d run. You didn’t leave a text. No explanation. No apology. Just silence.

It was easier that way, or so you thought. Easier than dealing with whatever you were starting to feel for him. Easier than the aftermath of that night when you let yourself be weak and vulnerable. It wasn’t like you expected anything from him, but a small part of you had hoped he’d reach out.

But he didn’t.

And you didn’t either.

Now, a year later, you’re standing here, about to work with him. For him, even. And you can already feel the weight of that night pressing against you like a bruise that never quite healed.

He’s the first to speak, but only because he’s cornered. Ethan’s behind you, introducing you to the team, smiling and cheerful. But Harry? Harry is different. The air around him crackles with unspoken tension, the kind you’ve been trying to ignore since you stepped into this room.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he mutters under his breath. The words are low, almost drowned out by the noise of the room.

You force a smile, though it feels brittle. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

He doesn’t answer, just gives you a sharp nod and turns his attention back to his phone. The tension thickens. It’s like you’re a stranger again, like that night never happened. You almost wish it hadn’t.

But it did.

And now you’re here. And so is he.

The first few days are unbearable. The team is easy to work with, for the most part, but Harry? Harry avoids you at all costs. He doesn’t speak to you unless it’s necessary for work, and even then, it’s clipped and distant.

It’s like he’s a stranger. Like nothing ever happened. But you can’t forget.

One night, you’re walking out of the office late, ready to call it a day when you hear footsteps behind you. You don’t turn around.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

You recognize his voice before you see him. Of course you do. You’ve spent more than enough time pretending it doesn’t echo in your mind.

“I work here now,” you say, your voice coming out colder than you intend. “Shouldn’t be surprising.”

He’s quiet for a beat too long, and when you finally turn to look at him, his face is unreadable. But his eyes — God, they still hold that edge, the one that left you breathless the night you ran.

“You ghosted me.”

The words are simple, direct, and yet they feel like a slap.

You feel your breath catch in your throat. You didn’t think he’d ever bring it up. You didn’t think he’d ever admit that he noticed.

But he did.

And you… you didn’t know how to react.

“I wasn’t ready for anything serious,” you mutter, hoping it comes off convincing, even to yourself. “I told you that.”

His gaze sharpens. “We didn’t talk. You didn’t even leave a message. You disappeared without a word.”

You can see it now — the hurt behind the anger. The way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes flicker with something dangerous.

“I couldn’t do it,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know what it was between us, and it scared me.”

There’s silence between you two. He shifts uncomfortably, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t break eye contact.

“You didn’t think it was worth talking about?” he asks, voice strained. “Didn’t think I deserved an explanation?”

The hurt in his voice cuts deep. You wish you could take it back, but the words are out now, and they’re hanging in the air between you like a weighted truth.

“I didn’t know what to say,” you reply softly, feeling the weight of the admission sink in. “It wasn’t supposed to be complicated, Harry. I didn’t want it to be.”

His eyes flicker, but instead of saying anything else, he turns and walks away.

The days drag on. Each time you catch his gaze, it’s like a cold punch to the gut. His silence is deafening, and every moment feels like a reminder of that night. You want to talk to him. You want to apologize. But you don’t. Because you’re scared. Scared that if you say anything, it’ll make everything worse.

But then, one night, it happens.

You’re both stuck late at the office, finishing up some last-minute work. The rest of the team has gone home, and it’s just the two of you. The awkward silence is almost suffocating. You can feel him watching you from across the room, his eyes heavy with something unspoken.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice small but determined. “For ghosting you. For leaving you like that.”

He looks up from his phone, eyes dark and unreadable. For a second, you think he’s going to brush it off. But then he pushes himself off the chair and stands up.

“You don’t get to just apologize and walk away,” he says, voice low. “You don’t get to do that.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. You’re too scared of what might come next.

But he doesn’t wait for you to speak. He steps forward, slow and deliberate, his body close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him.

“You fucked me over, and I didn’t deserve it,” he murmurs. “But I’m still here. And I’m not letting you run from this again.”

Before you can say anything else, his lips crash against yours. Hard. Desperate.

The kiss is everything you’ve been avoiding — everything you’ve been denying. His hands are rough, tugging you closer, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t want to run anymore.

The tension between you explodes in a rush of need. His mouth is everywhere, and when his hands push your shirt up, you don’t stop him.

Not this time.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment, like he’s been aching for it.

When he finally pulls away, breathless and ragged, he looks at you, eyes dark with desire.

“You don’t get to walk away from me again,” he says, voice a low growl. “You hear me?”

You nod, heart racing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believe it.

The silence that follows is thick, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. Harry’s gaze is steady on yours, his eyes dark, but there’s an unfamiliar tenderness in them now, softening the usual fire. He’s waiting, just like you, for the moment when all the anger and confusion will finally slip away, and only the raw, desperate need remains.

His hands move to your waist, fingertips brushing the fabric of your clothes. Slowly, deliberately, he undoes the buttons of your shirt, his breath catching as he exposes the skin beneath. There’s no rush, no frantic need to hurry — just a steady, simmering intensity as he takes his time, as if savoring every inch of you. His lips ghost over your skin, barely touching but sending shivers through your body, making your breath hitch.

When your shirt falls to the floor, Harry leans in closer, his lips trailing a path up your neck, biting down on the soft skin just below your ear. The sensation sends a spark of heat straight to your core, and you can’t help but gasp, fingers curling into the sheets as you tug him closer.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he breathes against your skin, his voice rough with the hunger he’s been hiding. “I’ve wanted you... all this time.”

The confession stirs something deep inside of you, the lingering ache of longing and regret mixing with the heat of the moment. You don’t know why it took so long for you to admit it to each other, but now, in this space, it feels like the only thing that matters.

Your hands find their way to his shirt, pushing it up over his head. The moment his bare skin is exposed, you can feel the tension in his muscles, the way his body responds to yours, both of you finally giving in to the desire that’s been building for so long.

He groans softly when you press your chest against his, the feeling of your bodies so close, so desperate, making everything feel like it’s spiraling. Your breath hitches as you feel the hard length of him against your thigh, and you can see the way his eyes darken at the contact, the way his grip tightens on your hips as he pulls you closer, his lips crashing into yours in a kiss that is anything but gentle.

The kiss is bruising, urgent, like you both need to feel something, anything to break through the walls you’ve built. His hands are all over you now, roaming, exploring the curves of your body like he’s trying to make up for lost time. The way he touches you — with need, with longing, with a hint of desperation — leaves you breathless, overwhelmed, caught between the desire for more and the fear of what it might mean.

“Are you sure?” His voice is low, almost a growl, his lips just barely grazing yours. “Because once we do this, there’s no going back.”

You feel the weight of his words, but it only sharpens the craving that’s been building inside of you, that deep ache for him you couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried.

“Yes,” you whisper, your hand finding its way to the buckle of his jeans. “I’m sure.”

With that, Harry finally gives in, his lips crashing to yours again as he unzips his jeans, kicking them off in a hasty motion. You can feel the hardness of him as his hands slip down to your hips, lifting you easily, guiding you to where you both need to be.

The moment he enters you, a soft gasp escapes your lips, and Harry groans low in his throat, his body shuddering from the intensity of it. His hands hold you firmly, but the way his eyes search yours — like he’s looking for something, something deeper than just physical release — makes your chest tighten.

He moves slowly at first, testing the waters, his rhythm steady and careful. But the deeper you fall into each other, the faster it becomes, the harder, until the tension between you is unbearable, and all you can do is hold onto each other, gasping for breath with every push and pull. Each movement is rough, a little desperate, as though you’re both trying to forget the hurt of the past, the silence, the walls that had kept you apart for so long.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Harry murmurs against your ear, his hands digging into your skin, pulling you closer, urging you to meet him with every thrust.

You cling to him, your nails scraping down his back as the pleasure builds, the connection between you both now undeniable. Every inch of him feels like a contradiction — too gentle and too rough all at once, both apologizing and demanding.

“I’ve missed this,” you confess, the words slipping from your mouth as your breath becomes ragged, your body tensing, every muscle screaming for release.

His pace falters for just a second, his grip tightening, his lips pressing against your neck. “I’ve missed you. All of you,” he says, and there’s something so raw, so vulnerable in his voice that it makes everything feel even more intense. You can feel the desperation in his movements, the raw need, as he finally lets go of everything — the guilt, the frustration, the fear.

And when you both finally reach the edge, the release is nothing short of explosive, your bodies shaking, your names falling from each other's lips like a final confession. Harry collapses on top of you, breathless, both of you trying to steady your racing hearts.

You lie there for a while, tangled up in each other, neither of you willing to move just yet. It’s not about the sex anymore. It’s about what’s been said without words, the connection that was always there, buried under layers of hurt, now finally laid bare.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers, his voice soft against your ear. “For everything.”

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