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verstappenverse · 2 days ago

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Always Almost Yours

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: He was your best friend. The boy you grew up with. The boy you loved in silence. Now that his relationship is over and he finally sees you, really sees you, you’re already halfway out the door. (Requested)

2.7k words / Masterlist

He never looked at you the way you looked at him.

That was the cruelest part.

Max was your best friend.

Not just in the way people say that when they mean we talk often and like the same music. Max was the scraped-knees-and-late-night-phone-calls kind of best friend. The first person to teach you how to throw a punch and the first to teach you how to lie to your parents without getting caught. The boy who once held your hand under the covers during a thunderstorm when you were both eleven and too proud to admit you were scared.

He was the one who always came back to you, even after the worst races. The one who let you see the parts of him no one else ever would, sharp and soft, boy and man, storm and shelter all at once.

And still, somehow, never yours.

You were the one in the passenger seat. The one who knew when to leave him alone after a bad quali, when to pull him close and whisper “you’ll get ’em tomorrow.” The one who stood in his corner for so long you stopped realising you were still hoping he’d turn around and see you.

You were always there. Until suddenly he didn’t need you anymore. Not when she came along.

Beautiful, confident, glossy-haired and golden-skinned, and you told yourself it was fine. Of course you did. You smiled when he brought her to your birthday party, even when he forgot to tell you he was bringing someone. Even when she kissed his cheek in the middle of your kitchen like it was nothing.

You laughed with everyone else, poured drinks, unwrapped gifts, made small talk with drivers and engineers. But you spent half the night locked in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub, blinking up at the ceiling as your reflection blurred behind tears you refused to let fall.

You didn’t want to hate her. She hadn’t done anything wrong except exist in all the ways you weren’t allowed to, with your hand in his, your head on his shoulder, your future mapped beside his.

Still some part of you couldn’t help but ask: What does she have that I don’t?

What did she say that made him lean in a little closer? What laugh of hers replaced the space you used to fill?

And most of all: What would it feel like to be looked at by him the way he looks at her?

Because he never looked at you like that. Not in all the years you’d known him. Not when you were seventeen and he called you at three in the morning because he couldn't sleep in Bahrain and you talked until sunrise. Not when you showed up at the track the day he won his first Grand Prix, teary-eyed and breathless, and he ran into your arms like he hadn’t seen you in years.

Close enough to know every version of him. Every scar, every secret, every softness he never let the world see.

But never close enough to keep.

Still you loved him, because loving Max wasn’t something you decided.

It had always been that way.

Always almost his.

Never quite.

You didn’t mean to fall out of love with him. And truthfully, you aren’t sure you actually have, not entirely, not in the way people mean when they say they’ve moved on. The feelings are still there, somewhere beneath the surface, lingering in the hollow parts of your chest that still expect him to show up, but the edges of it have dulled. Worn down not by time, but by the slow, painful realisation that loving him wasn’t going to be enough to make him love you back.

Somewhere between the unanswered texts, the forgotten plans, the way he spoke about her, something inside you began to quietly fracture. Not all at once, and not with any grand moment of clarity. A hundred little moments where you chose not to say what you were thinking, not to reach for him the way you used to. Because what was the point?

You started packing your things about two months ago. Not in any physical sense, your life still looked the same on the outside, still orbiting his in all the ways it always had, but emotionally you’d begun the process of leaving, like someone backing out of a room without turning on the lights.

You removed his contact from the pinned position at the top of your phone, so the ache wouldn’t hit so hard when he didn’t reply how you had hoped. You stopped buying his favourite ice cream at the store, the kind he used to steal from your freezer late at night, grinning like a teenager. You stopped screenshotting tweets or saving videos you thought he’d laugh at. And eventually you stopped wondering whether he’d noticed any of it.

You weren’t angry… just tired, in that deep, soul-heavy way that comes from wanting something for so long and slowly realising it was never meant to be yours.

Max knew you were in Barcelona this weekend, still he hadn’t expected to see you tonight.

The party was an afterthought. He hadn’t planned to stay long. He’d barely touched his drink when he walked in, just enough to be polite, to show face.

It had been a couple of weeks since the breakup.

It hadn’t been sudden, not really. The end had been coming for a while slow and quiet, a withering sort of feeling that didn’t crack so much as fade. She’d grown distant and he’d let her. He’d grown restless, and she hadn’t tried to stop him. They’d gone through the motions, races, events, photo ops, dinners where the silence spoke louder than anything either of them said.

The fights when they came were never loud, just flat, low-voiced disagreements that ended with someone walking out and no one following.

She’d asked him, finally, if there was someone else.

And he’d hesitated.

Not because there was. Not in the way she meant. He hadn’t cheated, not physically. But there was a pause in his answer, long enough that they both felt it settle into the space between them like a bruise.

She knew before he did. She knew the name he didn’t say.

He hadn’t spoken to you since. Hadn’t known how to… maybe he still doesn’t.

It isn’t until tonight, standing across the room with a drink in his hand and a weight in his chest, that he feels the full weight of what he’s done. What he’s missed.

You’re laughing, your head tipped back, hand resting on the arm of a chair, body turned toward someone else in a way that makes Max feel like he’s watching a different life you stepped into without him.

You look good. Effortlessly beautiful in that way you never tried to be, eyes warm, smile wide, you just are, and somehow that’s more magnetic than anything he’s ever known.

And fuck, he feels it now. All of it.

The way his eyes search for you in every room. The way his day feels off when he hasn’t heard your voice. The dull ache he carries when he sees something funny and instinctively reaches for his phone, only to stop, unsure if you’d even want to hear from him anymore.

It hits him with a clarity that makes his breath stop, and he misses you in every way a person can be missed.

You glance up. Spot him.

For a second your smile falters. A flicker of something in your eyes before you school your expression into something smooth and indifferent. It’s a tiny crack, so small no one else would notice, but it splits him open.

He starts to move before he can think better of it. Cuts across the floor, his hand tightening around the glass in his palm, trying to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to say after months of silence. After choosing someone else. After pretending like he hadn’t known what he was doing when he left you in the shadows.

But you’re already turning. Already slipping out the side door with your phone pressed to your ear, and your smile stitched back into place.

He stops and stands there, stupidly, watching the door swing closed behind you, knowing that for the first time in all the years he’s known you, he’s the one who missed his moment.

You didn’t expect him to follow you out of the party.

So you went back to your hotel alone, slipped out of your dress, washed off your makeup, and packed the last of your things.

Now you’re sitting on the edge of your hotel bed, suitcase zipped, passport tucked into your carry-on, and your ride to the airport fifteen minutes away when there's a knock at the door.

You don’t have to ask to know it’s him, and despite everything telling you not to you let him in.

“You’re leaving?”

It used to be so easy with him.

Movie nights sprawled on his couch, bickering over snack choices like an old married couple. Late drives with the windows down and music turned up too loud, him tapping the steering wheel and glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking. The way he’d toss his arm around your shoulder without thinking twice, not noticing how your breath always caught for a second too long. Or how he’d call you liefje by accident sometimes and then pretend it didn’t mean anything.

You let it slide.

You always let it slide.

Because you were scared of the answer if you ever asked what you were to him.

And now he’s the one asking you why you’re leaving?

You don’t look up. Not at first. You focus on the zipper, on the way your hands tremble slightly as you fix the handle of your suitcase into place.

“Yeah,” you say after a moment, voice flat, too carefully even.

He shifts, like the floor’s been pulled slightly off balance beneath him. “Tonight? You didn’t tell me.”

You let out a soft, humourless breath. “We haven’t exactly been updating each other lately have we?”

He flinches, just barely. “Still… I thought I’d see you before you left.”

“I was at the party,” you say. “You saw me

“No, I thought—” He cuts himself off, brows pulling together. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

You finally lift your head to look him properly in the eyes.

He’s standing just inside the doorway, his eyes are tired, his expression cracked open in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” you say quietly.

Maybe that’s the cruelest thing you’ve ever said to him, because it does matter. Of course it does. It shows in the way his shoulders tense and his hands curl into fists at his sides like he’s trying to stop himself from shaking.

“That’s not fair.”

You pick up your bag, ignoring the weight of the silence between you, and step toward the door.

“I didn’t know,” he says, voice low, like he’s ashamed of it now.

You don’t look at him. “Didn’t know what?”

He hesitates, and when you finally glance up, he’s looking at you like the truth is a sharp thing he’s only just worked up the courage to hold.

“That you loved me.”

Your fingers slip slightly from the handle of your bag. “What…?”

“I never said that,” you manage, your voice catching on the edges.

“You didn’t have to.” His eyes are steady now, searching. “It was always there I should’ve seen it,” he says. “Should’ve seen you.”

You shake your head, “I guess you were too busy loving someone else.”

He looks gutted.

You wish, God, you wish that it didn’t still matter. That it didn’t still sting.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he says.

“You didn’t even know you were Max. That’s the whole point.”

The room feels too quiet. Too small. Your heartbeat too loud.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” you continue, voice shaking now, “to love someone for years and never be seen. To be right there always and still not be enough.”

Max stares at you like you’ve told him the world is ending.

“I see you now,” he says, and it’s not slick or smooth, it’s wrecked and raw.

You swallow. “You’re only saying that because I’m walking away.”

“No.” He steps forward, desperate now. “No, I’m saying it because you’re the only thing that’s ever felt like home and I’m an idiot for not realising it sooner.”

Your throat tightens, and you hate how much it still hurts. How much of you still wants to believe him. Still wants to stay.

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve never said them before.”

“Because I didn’t know,” he says, the words sharp and uneven. “I didn’t know what it meant, all those times I looked for you first. Or why I couldn’t sleep unless I heard your voice. I didn’t get it until now, and I know that’s my fault, but please—”

You shake your head, eyes stinging. “You did know. Somewhere in there, you did. You just didn’t want it. Not back then.”

He exhales, broken. “I thought you’d always be there.”

“I was,” you whisper.

You don’t stop him when he reaches for you this time. When his hand brushes yours, and for the first time in what feels like years, you let yourself feel the gravity of him.

He’s looking at you now like the sun has just split through storm clouds. Like he’s seeing you clearly for the very first time.

But it’s not enough anymore.

You step back, voice soft but steady. “I spent years being almost yours Max. I can’t do that again.”

“I broke up with her.”

“I know,” you say, and your heart shatters a little more for it. “But it doesn’t change what it felt like to stand beside you all that time and never be chosen.”

“It changes everything.”

“Not for me.”

He opens his mouth, searching, maybe, for some last piece of you to hold onto, but nothing comes. Just the rise and fall of his chest and the silence that says too much.

So you keep going. You have to.

“You don’t want me. You just don’t want to lose me.”

“That’s not true,” he says quickly.

“Isn’t it?”

He looks at you like you’ve just gutted him with a lie.

“Please,” he says, voice hoarse and breaking.

If he’d said this even just a few months ago…

But now?

Now it just splits you open.

He walks you down to the lobby anyway.

The car pulls up. You reach for the handle, and of course he stops you. Fingers curl around your wrist, and it’s the first time in your entire friendship he looks terrified to let go.

“Stay,” he says, rough and low and entirely unlike him. “Just… stay. Let me prove I mean it.”

You look down at his hand and you want to. More than anything, you want to, but you shake your head.

“So that’s it?” he asks. “You’re just going to walk away?”

“I have to,” you whisper, voice already trembling. “Because if I don’t, I’ll spend the rest of my life being the girl who waited around for you to love her back.”

Max looks at you like his entire world is falling apart.

You lean in, press the softest kiss to his cheek, and then you step into the car and close the door before you can change your mind.

He texts you later that night.

Just one message.

I’m not letting us end like that.

You see it the moment it comes through. The screen lights up on the nightstand beside your bed, a soft glow in the dim room. The kind of light that feels too hopeful. Too late.

You lock the screen and place the phone face-down on the nightstand. The room falls quiet again, heavy with all the words you don’t say.

You read the words again, and again, because it’s not a grand gesture. It’s not an apology wrapped in flowers or fireworks.

It’s simple... but for once he didn’t wait too long.

You place the phone gently back on the nightstand, but something in your chest has started to shift. To warm. To hope

You don’t reply, not right away, because maybe if he really means it…

He’ll come find you.

And he’ll show you you were never just almost.

Taglist: @shigarika @bunnisplayground @thecoolpotatohologram @ymrereads @alexxavicry @gigglepre @esw1012 @satorinnie @percysaidnever @osclerc @sainzluvrr @autumn242 @shadowreader07 @joyfulpandamiracle @inmynotes63 @athanasia-day @embonbon @waterdeeply @shadowsoundeffects13 @fastandcurious16 @odegaardlia @skzvibes-blog @iambored24601 @e10owmaks @painfromblues @leto-twins-3107 @rxx-eegh @lewishamiltonismybf @mara1999 @armystay89 @ramonaflwsr @zazima @mischiefmxnxgedhp @yoonessa @wordskeeper @freyathehuntress @brumstappen @irenkaproszepana @butterkaput @blueskies4everxo @teamnovalak @taylordaughter @taetae-armyyyyy @kitty-m30w

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pellucid-constellations · 21 hours ago

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omg please i’ve been feeling shit and really having a hard time atm, pls some hurt n comfort n az being super supportive n lovinf

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Word count: 630

Warnings: Injury, light angst

a/n: I'm sorry you've been feeling bad <333 I hope this helps a little!! Thank you for the request :) I'm having a little drabble spree on my blog!!

____________________________________________

"You're pushing yourself too hard." Azriel kept his voice low under the slight hum of faelights in the washroom. He used cautious fingers to bind the deep bruise on your knee with herbs and gauze, moving to the gash on your ankle when the final clasp was in place.

"I'm just weak. This will make me strong," you replied, tone final and concrete.

Azriel hummed disapprovingly. A swipe of antiseptic on your broken skin was followed by a kiss on the inside of your knee, and then Azriel rose to your seat on the washroom counter. He caged you in between his arms, locking them out with his face just inches from yours. You gazed down at the scars that freckled his skin, trailing along until they met at the web of tissue on his hands.

Azriel was strong because he had suffered. You had nothing of the sort to call upon.

"Cassian tells me you passed out."

You rolled your eyes. "Cassian should mind his business."

Azriel raised a brow and kept you in his eyeline. "I asked Cassian to make you his business. You keep coming home like this. It's not safe. You're putting yourself through this unnecessarily."

You bit the inside of your cheek as Azriel looked upon you. He still looked so soft, despite the reprimanding, his eyes searching for something you wouldn't so easily give. His mouth twitched once, as if it was difficult to look at you and not smile. But you knew this was nothing to smile about; he had told you to be more careful in training, and you hadn't listened.

"It was just a little hot, and I didn't drink enough water," you shared, gripping the counter by your legs.

"You weren't taking breaks?"

"I was sometimes."

"Did you take a break after this?" he asked, brushing a gentle finger along your bruised jaw. You looked up at the ceiling guiltily, and Azriel sighed. "It's likely that led to you passing out. Along with the heat. And not taking breaks. And the fact that you started two hours before everyone else."

You twisted your mouth to the side. So he'd caught you there, too.

"It all heals," you argued. "By tomorrow, I'll be completely fine. This makes me stronger."

"But it makes me weaker."

You reluctantly met his gaze, a hint of confusion masked by bruises and puffy cheeks that he sighed at. Azriel parted your legs with his hips and settled between them, his hands finding a home on your waist. His fingers rubbed shapes into your ribs almost immediately, almost on instinct.

"You think you have to suffer to be strong, but that is not true," Azriel began, raising his brows in a silent reprimand as you went to cut in. "I love you. I am proud to have you as my mate. I know that is why you're doing this. That you feel you must meet some imaginary baseline to be worthy.

"I worry about you. I think about you constantly, and knowing you're doing this to yourself makes me weak. Do you want me to falter in battle, my love?" Azriel teased.

Your face heated at the attention he was giving you, the seriousness balanced by his light tone and the light squeeze of his hands on your waist.

"You aren't battling anyone, Az," you mumbled, covering your face in his neck as he chuckled. "But if you were, I would want to be able to fight alongside you. To help you."

"Ah, I know, my love," Azriel soothed, rubbing his hand along your back. "And whenever that time might come, I would welcome your help. But don't—don't hurt yourself to get there. I love you now. I don't need you to suffer."

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #acotar #acotar fanfiction

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thebunnednun · 3 days ago

Text

Hang on

Pairing: UA student! Teen! Katsuki Bakugou x UA student! Teen! Fem!Reader

Summary: It’s late. You’re in your parents kitchen, secretly on the phone with him, cause home life sucks, and he’s strangely got some soft spot for you.

wc; 820, tw; angst and themes of anxiety/depression + hinted abusive home life

Could be read as platonic, could be romantic, or a classic 'will they, won't they' situation. at the very least, you two are cannon friends.

The kitchen tiles are cold beneath your feet. You’re standing still, shoulders heavy, a dish rag in your hand and your phone tucked between your sweater sleeve clothed shoulders and your ear. The screen is dark, but the soft crackle of the call through the app tells you he’s still there on the other end.

Barely breathing. Waiting for you to continue.

You haven’t said a word in five minutes. Just the faintest sniff here, a soft shuffle and a dish clink there. But he knows you’re listening. And he knows what you’re doing, cleaning the damn kitchen at 1:37 am, because if you don’t, there’ll be more yelling. More guilt.

More walking on glass in your own home.

“...You don’t deserve this shit,” he says, voice low and firm, like gravel ground smooth with care.

“Ya hear me?”

You do. You close your eyes.

“You are not a fucking burden. Yer not lazy. yer not broken. You’re tired. You’re overwhelmed. And they’ve got you thinkin’ that makes you worthless, when it just means you’re human as shit.”

The kitchen’s still, save for the soft dripping of the faucet you forgot to shut. Your sleeve trembles as you wipe your face.

“I don’t care what they say. yer not the problem just ‘cause you’re sad. yer tryin’, every goddamn day, and that’s more than most assholes ever will.”

You press your sleeve harder to your cheek. Sniffling quietly. He can’t see it, but somehow you feel like he knows.

“I wish I could blow down that door right now,” he mutters, something raw slipping into his voice. “Drag you outta there and remind you what’s what. But I know you can’t leave. Not yet.”

His voice softens, rough edges melting into something heartbreakingly gentle.

“So just hang on. A little more. For me.”

A shaky breath leaves your lips.

“I’m so proud of you, y’know?” he adds, quieter.

“For cleanin’ that damn kitchen when you’re falling apart. For still showin’ up. Even when it feels like nobody gives a shit.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, nodding, while tears gather and run down your face. Katsuki can’t see you. But he hears the tiny sniff of agreement.

“You’re doin’ everythin’ you can,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna be outta there soon. School’s comin’ up, and I’ll be right there. I’ll fuse you back together if you can’t do it yourself.”

You swallow hard. Press the phone tighter. Your voice stays small, silent. Katsuki sighs into the call, almost like he doesn’t wanna hang up. But he says,

“Go get some sleep. it’s late as fuck.”

The call ends and your line goes still.

Somewhere across town, both of you tilt your heads up to the sky at the same time, drawn by some invisible string.

You staring up at the kitchen ceiling like God is staring down at you deciding your fate. Him out the window of his bedroom, wondering if what he said helped at all.

The moon hangs quiet above it all, a soft silver witness to your aches.

Katsuki stares at it like he’s trying to beam his thoughts through the clouds. Like maybe somehow, if he stares at it hard enough, the moon will shed some light on you and cease your pain.

---

You close your eyes, breathing in a fragile moment of peace. The anxiety of when the line went dead and he had to go almost violently thrust another anxiety attack onto you.

So you selfsooth by wringing and unwringing the dishcloth in your hands until the smell of soapy water and onions permeates into the skin of your palms.

---

Katsuki presses his forehead to the widow in a deep scowl, and wonders if he made the right choice there in hanging up.

Palms sparking, he picks up his phone again and turns the screen on to see your smiling face on the lock screen below.

How strange and special, to be loved by someone who hates all.

With a sharp ‘tch’ Katsuki throws his phone onto his bed and stomps over before throwing himself into the mattress before trying to get comfortable and failing because he can’t get his mind off you.

----

You can’t physically feel his arms around you yet somehow that one sided conversation felt like he was there holding your hand in his large sweaty one.

Tomorrow will come.

And then one day will turn into a week, when you blink it’ll be a month, before finally giving way to the fall, beginning a new school year.

And even though you feel like you’re physically drowning right now because of your home life and mentally exhausted from school, it’ll be time to dorm soon. All your friends and safe places will be there.

And so will Katsuki.

So tonight… you can hang on.

Just for a little longer.

I wrote this to try and get out of a funk. Lemme know if you want a part 2.

I DON'T OWN THE IMAGES!!!!

also that one line was inspired by: 'How wonderful; how strange. To be loved by something that hates all else.' <- idk where its from but that shit is metal.

My requests are free and open.

The master list is a work in progress with things being updated but there's plenty more Katsuki, and other characters if you request them. my Ao3 is pretty hot too.

You can also tip me a coffee if you want.

Remember: Comments and lives, they really help. Don't be afraid to leave me a sexy little reblog too.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ -Angie

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rafesteddy · 17 hours ago

Text

𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝙰 𝙶𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚜’ 𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝...

𝓓𝓘𝓛𝓕!𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝔁 𝓜𝓘𝓛𝓕!𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

c/w: language, pet names, + suggestive comments

Based on this ask 🩷

600 words

You’re trying really hard to get ready. Really, really hard. Dress laid out, makeup half done, hair styled... You keep telling yourself, ’this is your night’. Long overdue, girls night out, no kids, no responsibilities, just you and your friends and maybe a drink or three.

Every time you pass through the bedroom you get stuck because there’s Rafe. Still—he’s sprawled out on the bed, acting like he’s relaxed but not fooling anyone. Long legs stretched, sweatpants riding low on his hips, messy hair falling just right… and those baby blues locked on you, dragging over every inch, slow and shameless. Seducing without even trying.

Every time you rush past, grabbing something you forgot—lip gloss, your purse, your earrings—he’s watching and smirking, shamelessly proud he can call you his.

“You almost ready, pretty?” He asks, voice low and casual as his tongue glides along his plump bottom lip, watching as you rub some body oil on your skin.

And suddenly you’re standing there with your keys in one hand and absolutely no clue what you were supposed to be doing next because his gaze is distracting in the best possible way.

“Baby…” you scold, “stop it already.” Your cheeks heat up under the weight of his gaze; burning from your smile. And still, every time you pass by he lets a lazy, “hey pretty girl” slip out or reaches out to touch wherever he can.

You can feel his eyes follow you as you walk in front of the big floor mirror in your bedroom, putting in your earrings, adjusting the straps of your dress, swiping on your gloss.

He stands up, seizing the opportunity to hold you for a bit. You giggle giddily and roll your eyes.

Rafe stands tall behind you. His big hands wrap around you as his fingertips graze the silky fabric of the dress he’s dreaming of tearing off. His chin drops to your shoulder; breath warm where it fans over your skin and he murmurs, “You sure you’re goin’ out tonight, baby?”

He’s only kidding, but his voice isn’t; lips, brushing right under your ear, lazy and sweet, making it almost impossible to finish what you’re doing.

And then you catch it, just out of the corner of your eye as Rafe’s hand slips into your purse, tucking a neat fold of hundreds inside, casually, like he doesn’t even want you to notice. But you do.

And you know exactly what he’s saying without a word, ’Treat yourself, baby. I want to buy your drinks tonight—even if we share everything. Even if it’s all ours.’

“You deserve this,” he says quietly, nuzzling your neck, thumb stroking over your hip. “I’ll leave you alone… I just can’t help myself. Not when you look this fuckin’ good. You’ll have to forgive me.”

You laugh lightly, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “You make me feel beautiful, baby.”

“You are beautiful, honey,” he hums. “Don’t know what I did to deserve all this.” He mumbles those words as his eyes fall down your body and up again. “Whenever you want—and don’t you dare fuckin’ rush—I’ll be right here. Endin’ your night right. Keepin’ you up for a bit… Remindin’ you how lucky I am… And then, I’ll put you to bed. You’ll sleep like a fuckin’ baby when I’m done with you.”

You turn into his chest, dizzy from it all, and his mouth finds yours, soft and slow.

“I love you,” you whisper against his mouth.

His fingers tighten at your waist, holding you as long as you’ll let him.

“I love you too, baby.”

You rub your thumb gently over his mouth, laughing lightly as you scrub off a smudge of your sparkly gloss.

“You’re perfect,” you whisper.

But he shakes his head, grin tugging at his mouth as his fingers brush over your hip one last time. “No,” he murmurs, leaning in close. “You are, baby.”

#ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ dilf!rafe x milf!reader au #dilf!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #dilf rafe #dilf!rafe #older!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #older rafe cameron #dad rafe #rafe cameron #rafe #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe fluff #rafe cameron x reader #rafe blurb 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹#rafe blurb #rafe obx #⋆.°🧸๋ྀི࣭⭑ daddy

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cameronsbabydoll · 19 hours ago

Text

✦ COD MEN × MILF!READER ✦

✦ JOHN PRICE — "married above his class and knows it"

absolutely adores that you’re older, richer, and put-together. he walks around your house like a man who just won the lottery but doesn’t want to jinx it.

loves when you’re a little condescending in that posh, cruel-woman-who-reads-literary-smut voice.

you once told him, “you’re cute when you try to argue,” and he got hard immediately.

buys you flowers that don’t match your decor—just to hear you say, “next time, darling, red roses. not gas station daisies.” 

loves watching you dress. tights, garters, earrings, lipstick. drinks it in. “you’re going out like that?” “yes. and no, you’re not invited.” 

💋 bedroom dynamic: you keep him on a leash emotionally and let him off it physically. he groans your name like it’s a prayer. he’s your little war dog. proud to serve.

✦ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY — "would crawl across broken glass for your approval"

you scare the shit out of him and it turns him feral. like you ask if he’s ever “dated a woman with her own will before,” and he goes silent.

loves your cold tone, your smug little smirk, the way you sip wine and speak slowly like you’re explaining something to a child.

you call him “simon” when you’re serious, and he shivers. “simon, sweetheart, sit. I’m not done speaking.” 

he calls you ma’am more than your first name.

your house is spotless. your perfume costs more than his rent. your stare makes him feel small.

he could kill a man with his bare hands, but you could ruin him with one raised eyebrow.

💋 bedroom dynamic: you call him a good boy and he thanks you. he doesn’t take the mask off—but he whimpers when you press lipstick kisses to the fabric. “m’not scared of anyone but you.”

✦ JOHNNY “SOAP” MACTAVISH — "barking up the tree and loving it"

shameless about it. sees you in heels and immediately goes, “jesus fuckin’ christ, woman. let a man breathe.” 

knows you’re out of his league and flirts anyway.

calls you “Mrs. Robinson” as a joke. you roll your eyes. he almost comes on the spot.

offers to carry your groceries just to feel useful.

will talk to your kid’s school principal, fix the leaky faucet, and still ask, “...so when are you gonna ruin my life, gorgeous?” 

gets flustered when you kiss his cheek. cocky on the surface, melting underneath.

💋 bedroom dynamic: you tell him to shut up and take it. he loves it. he moans with your heel on his chest. likes being bossed around. likes being lectured.

✦ KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK— "absolutely thinks you're the hottest woman alive"

he’s respectful. smooth. clean-shaven and chivalrous because he thinks you deserve the best.

brings you wine and says “it pairs well with someone like you.”

watches you do your makeup and acts casual, but his dick is hard the whole time.

will listen to you complain about your ex for 2 hours just to be near you.

you called him “charming, for someone your age” and he turned pink.

gets off on the fact that your text messages sound like formal invitations.

💋 bedroom dynamic: he’s gentle. attentive. desperate to prove he can please a woman like you. you ride his face and he thanks you. calls you “gorgeous” until your ears ring.

✦ Phillip Graves — "calls you ma’am with his mouth and baby with his hands"

delirious over the fact that you’re older, richer, and don’t need him.

comes over in full tactical gear just to fix your WiFi and flirt. “you got a man for that?” “i have employees, Graves.” “ouch, baby. that hurt my feelings.” 

loves your little gold jewelry, your classy kitchen, the way your heels sound on hardwood.

gossips with you like a southern church wife while taking off your panties.

says he loves a woman with “history.” “makes you real. earned. strong.” “plus, them younger girls can’t handle what I’m packin’, sugar.” 

💋 bedroom dynamic: filthy. nasty. relentless. calls you “mama” to your face and somehow makes it hot. ties your wrists with your own scarf and says,“that’s what happens when you mouth off, darlin’.”

✦ König — "silent simp for the woman who terrifies him"

you’re the most confident person he’s ever met and he is obsessed.

opens doors, carries your bags, stares at your legs like a man dying of thirst.

you ask if he’s nervous. he goes “...yes.”

lets you push him down onto the couch and straddle him, trembling the whole time.

you kiss his neck and ask if he’s scared. he nods.

stares when you walk in wearing heels and perfume and a silk robe. “you look… wow.” “use your words, baby.” “i don’t have them anymore.” 

💋 bedroom dynamic: he worships you like a goddess. moans in German. lifts you up like you weigh nothing. likes being praised for lasting long. “did I do good?” “...can I do more?”

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rafesyangel · 3 days ago

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++ can i pls req something with rafe taking readers virginity but he’s SOOOOOOOO condescending and mean and doesn’t care if it hurts

Rafe takes reader virginity!

Cw: mean, slightly possessive rafe

You knew Rafe wasn’t sweet — not the kind of guy who asked twice, or softened just because you were nervous. But nothing prepared you for how cruel he looked tonight, looming above you like he owned the air you breathed.

"Spread your legs," he said lowly, voice soaked in venom and heat. "Don’t make me say it again."

You hesitated — and that was enough.

He grabbed your face, fingers digging into your cheeks, eyes dark and unforgiving. “You’ve been begging for this with those looks. Always hanging around, acting innocent. So why are you shaking now?” His lips twisted into a smirk. “Thought I’d be gentle?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

Every touch was rough, like he was punishing you for letting him take your virginity to open you and forcefully snatch your innocence from you — like your body was a warzone and he was here to destroy it.

Your whimpers only made him harsher. He liked the sound. Fed on it.

“Hurts?” he murmured in your ear, voice thick with mock concern. “Good. Maybe you’ll learn not to give yourself to a man like me.”

You clawed at his shoulders, not to stop him just to ground yourself. He leaned in, teeth grazing your jaw, and spat the next words like poison.

“Don’t you get it dumb girl? No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to ruin you like this.” “Why are you pushing me?”

“Do you think another man will take my leftover “ he groaned as he slid inside your virgin warm walls ,instantly widening from the sudden force of him

He kept slamming and sliding on you , kness almost touched your ears , using his full force to shove his cock inside you, His pace didn’t slow until your breath hitched body too sore, brain too hazy. And even then, he stayed on top of you like a threat, hand circling your neck, pressing just enough to make your pulse spike.

“You asked me to take your virginity right?,” he growled. “Don’t cry now.” He panted slowly sliding again in you

“You knew it will hurt”

You didn’t know if it was the ache between your legs or the burn in your throat from trying not to cry, but everything felt raw. Rafe hovered over you, chest heaving, his eyes never leaving your face. Not in worry — no, not Rafe. He watched like a man surveying damage he’d done on purpose.

Your lip trembled. His gaze dropped to it.

“Don’t pout,” he said coldly, wiping his thumb over your mouth, not gently. “You begged for this. You could’ve said no. You didn’t.”

You didn’t answer couldn’t. You weren’t even sure you could move.

“My name isn’t the safe word baby”

His hand slid down your face to your neck again, fingers brushing that bruised spot he kept claiming, over and over, like he wanted his name written in your pulse.

“That’s why I didn’t stop,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “You take it. Even when it hurts.”

He leaned in then — mouth brushing yours, not a kiss, just contact — and you thought, for a second, he might shift. Show softness. Regret. Anything.

Instead, he gripped your jaw tight, forcing your head back.

“You don’t cry unless I say you can,” he hissed. “You don’t feel unless I allow it.”

Tears threatened anyway.

He sat back, looking at your body marked up, trembling, used. A slow, satisfied breath left his lungs. You hated that part of you lit up under that gaze.

“You look ruined,” he whispered, voice low and sickly proud. “Good.”

Rafe stood up, towering over the bed, stretching his arms like he hadn’t just broken something inside you. He reached for his shirt — tugged it back on — then looked at you again, expression unreadable.

“You’re not going home tonight,” he said. Not a question. Not a suggestion. Just fact. “You can’t even walk. And I’m not done.”

You blinked up at him, lips parted, trying to catch your breath.

He tilted his head.

“What? You thought that was it?” His laugh was bitter. “That was just the first round, sweetheart.”

He turned and walked into the bathroom, tossing a towel on the bed behind him without looking back.

“You’ve got ten minutes to stop crying,” he called over the sound of running water. “Then I’m coming back. And you’re gonna thank me.”

#rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x original female character #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x smut #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe obx #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe x you #obx smau

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theonlyonesora · 2 days ago

Text

The Man Who Married Me

PAIRING: Lewis Hamilton x Reader x Max Verstappen

CH – 15

Max had won the Japanese Grand Prix.

Mercedes’ first win of the season. A dominant one. Clean. Fast. Deserved.

You could still hear the screams of the team echoing from the pit wall. The joy was electric—desperate, almost—like a drought had finally broken.

And you? You were the Director of that team. The face behind that podium. You should’ve been nothing but proud.

But now you were standing in a hotel room with your husband—one of the two men you couldn’t choose between—buttoning the last clasp of your necklace while he looked at you in the mirror like he was trying to memorize something before letting it go.

“At least wear red,” Lewis muttered, the irritation laced in his tone sharper than he meant it to be. “You’re not coming with me. The least you can do is look like Ferrari tonight.”

You glanced at him through the mirror. “I didn’t bring anything red. The best I can do is purple.”

“It’s not the same,” he said, stepping into the bathroom behind you, eyeliner in hand.

“You love purple,” you reminded him, soft.

“I know,” he replied, quieter now, as he set the pencil down and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind.

You let yourself lean back against him, his warmth seeping through your dress.

“It was a good weekend, wasn’t it?” he murmured near your ear.

“Yes.”

“Finally back on the podium,” he added, and you could hear the pride under the fatigue. “Third place. Not a win, but it felt good.”

“Are you satisfied?” you asked, resting your hand against his cheek, pulling him slightly closer as your eyes met in the mirror.

He closed his eyes at your touch. “For now. But I want more.”

You almost smiled.

“You always want it,” you whispered.

You didn’t say whether that was a compliment or a curse.

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, lingering like he didn’t want to leave.

“I miss when we celebrated together,” he said quietly. “When there wasn’t a choice to be made.”

You held his hand gently. “You chose it.”

“I know,” he said. “But I didn’t think it would feel like this.”

You turned in his arms, fingers brushing against the collar of his black shirt. “We’ll see each other tomorrow.”

“But not tonight.”

You kissed his cheek. “Not tonight.”

And when he left—Ferrari red sneakers on, smile ready for the cameras—you stood in front of the mirror alone for a long time, watching your reflection.

Wearing purple. Going to celebrate a win. That didn’t belong to him. But maybe, in a way, still belonged to you.

The restaurant was all polished brass and moody lighting, tucked high above the Tokyo skyline with panoramic windows that glowed like gold. The Mercedes team had taken over half the space—laughing mechanics in polos, engineers already half-drunk, and press officers desperately trying to keep the celebration Instagram-appropriate.

You walked in like you belonged there—heels sharp, dress sleek, a glass of champagne handed to you the moment your name was whispered near the bar.

Max and Kimi were nowhere to be seen. You hoped someone had taken Kimi’s glass before things got nuclear and Max? You didn’t know whether you wanted him to appear or not.

Toto found you before you could finish your first sip. He was in full celebration mode—tie loosened, a whiskey in hand, and that amused glint in his eyes that said he’d been watching everything.

“I have to say,” he said, “this feels good again. Feels like us.”

You smiled. “It is us. We just forgot for a while.”

He nodded toward the team across the room. “And you? You look a little less... fractured than last week.”

You knew what he meant. You’d barely spoken to anyone that time. Just tight smiles, quiet check-ins. Toto had noticed, of course he had.

“I’m okay now,” you said softly.

Toto raised an eyebrow. “You and Lewis? That little marital... speed bump? Sorted?”

You gave him a look. “We’ve managed to work things out. At least... that’s what I want to believe.”

He clinked his glass against yours. “Sometimes it’s easier to run a company than a marriage.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Sometimes?”

He smirked and walked off, already being dragged into a group photo and James Allison.

You retreated to the bar, needing a breather. The music was loud, the champagne bubbles relentless. You stood near the edge, half in shadow, nursing a second drink and pretending to scroll through your phone.

Then came the voice—slurred and far too confident.

“There you are, boss.”

You turned. Max was leaning against the wall beside you, hair messy, team jacket half-off one shoulder, and a grin that made him look nineteen again.

“Max,” you said, half-smiling, half-bracing.

“Enough is enough,” he declared.

“Oh?” You raised a brow.

He pointed at you—or tried to. His hand swayed halfway up and gave up. “You. Hiding in a corner. Looking hot and mysterious and all powerful. Not fair. Not fair at all.”

“You’re drunk,” you said, amused.

“I’m happy,” he corrected, slurring slightly. “I won in Japan. Did you see me? You should celebrate with me. Properly.”

His eyes could barely stay open, but his grin was dazzling. He was glowing. Giddy. It reminded you of something.

Of someone.

Of Lewis, years ago. That same wild energy after a Mercedes win. Champagne-drenched suits, stolen kisses in dark corners of the paddock, sex in a storage room in Monaco so risky you nearly lost your job.

You used to be reckless together. You used to be on fire.

But now, you were here. And Lewis was somewhere else. Wearing red.

You wondered, just for a moment, how Ferrari celebrated tonight.

“Are you even listening?” Max was saying.

You looked back at him, blinking.

“Sorry. What?”

He leaned in, lips close to your ear, playful and impossible. “I said... if you don’t kiss me tonight, I might cry.”

You burst out laughing.

“Don’t mock me,” he whined, eyes fluttering dramatically. “I’m sensitive. Deep down. Somewhere.”

You shook your head, placing a hand gently on his chest. “You need water. And maybe a wall to lean on.”

“I need you,” he said, as if the word were sacred.

Your heart skipped. Not because he meant it. But because part of you wished someone did.

And in that moment—half-drunk, half-lonely—you weren't sure who you were missing more: The man standing in front of you... Or the one you used to follow into every dark, dangerous place without looking back.

The music was loud enough to blur thoughts, but not loud enough to drown them. Somewhere behind you, the Mercedes team laughed over another bottle of champagne. You had excused yourself—half bored, half restless.

Max had followed, silently this time.

Now, you were in the back hallway of the bar, pressed against the cool wall near the restrooms, his hands already beneath the hem of your dress. His breath was hot against your neck, his voice low and urgent.

“I’ve wanted to do this all night,” he said.

And you didn’t stop him. You didn’t want to.

Across the city, Lewis was in the back corridor of a Tokyo club—darker, red-lit, pulsing with bass and sweat. Someone was laughing on the other side of the velvet curtain.

He didn’t care.

The woman in his arms was a mystery—an old friend. Someone who smiled too easily, whose perfume was far too expensive, and who looked nothing like you.

But she was warm, and willing, and right now that was enough.

Her dress was hiked around her thighs as she leaned back against the marble sink of the VIP restroom. Lewis’s hand was around her throat, lips at her collarbone, the chain he always wore swinging against her skin.

Max groaned into your mouth, and you pulled him into the restroom, locking the door behind you.

“You’re insane,” you whispered, but you were already pushing him back against the door, already kissing him like he belonged there.

“I’m winning,” he whispered, voice rough, tugging you toward him.

It was messy. Your leg hooked around his hip, his hand sliding up your thigh as if claiming territory.

The tile was cold. The air thick. Your moan echoed softly when his fingers found you—quick, skilled, confident.

Lewis pressed his head to the mirror, sweat beading down his temple, breath ragged as the woman infront him clutched his shoulders.

He let her use him.

Let himself pretend this was passion and not the ghost of something else.

Because the truth was, when he closed his eyes—He saw you.

The way you used to whisper his name, the way you laughed in the middle of being kissed, the way your nails dug into his neck when you were trying not to moan too loudly in a place you shouldn't be.

He missed your chaos. Your recklessness. He missed your sin.

Max buried his face in your neck as you clenched around him, your bodies moving in sync, breath shallow, skin slick with heat. His hand covered your mouth when you got too loud.

You tasted champagne and guilt on your tongue.

And something else.

Victory.

His and yours.

Lewis came with a hiss between his teeth, a hand braced against the mirror, the woman beneath him panting, whispering praise he wasn’t listening to.

He didn’t kiss her. He never did.

And you?

You came with Max’s name on your lips, your fingers tangled in his hair, breathless and dazed in a Tokyo bar’s bathroom, trying not to think about who wasn’t there.

Because here was the truth no one knew— You and Lewis still moved the same way. Still chased the same highs. Still needed the same kind of danger.

But the difference now?

You were doing it in separate rooms. With different mouths. And the same ache, that never really went away.

Is anyone still alive?

TAG LIST: @virtualperfectioncat , @starrgir1 , @the-secret-formulaone, @anunstablefangirl, @tillyt04, @dakotapaigelove, @loadedwafflefries, @forensicheart, @lorena-mv33, @d0llyh3rtz, @teenagetoadghostwobbler

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femrafe · 1 day ago

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⋆˙⟡ mommy issues

⤷ rafe finds in you the twisted comfort he never got from his absent mother.

cw: mommy kink, rafe is coked up, praise kink, emotional dependency.

The first time Rafe calls you Mommy, you think it’s a joke.

You're sitting on his lap in his room, the windows open, the sound of crickets bleeding in through the warm night. His hands are all over you like he’s trying to crawl under your skin, restless, and needy.

You smirk, fingers brushing his jaw. “You’re clingy tonight.”

Rafe doesn’t answer at first. He’s looking at you like he’s studying you, but not with softness.

And then, like it slips out too easy:

“Say you’re proud of me, Mommy.”

Your whole body goes still. “What did you just say?”

His hand tightens on your hip. “Just, say it. Please. Just for once.”

You look into his eyes, and something in you cracks. He’s high, you know the signs. There's sweat at his temple, a tremble in his fingers and his voice when he speaks again is low and wrecked and desperate.

“She never did. My mom. Not once. Not when I won, and Rose won’t. Not even when I tried to get clean. Not when I—” He cuts himself off, jaw tight.

You soften, your hand threading into his hair. “Rafe…”

And then he’s kissing you. Sloppy, hot, bruising. Like he's trying to swallow the memory of every time he was made to feel like a mistake.

You break the kiss and pull back just slightly breathless. “You want me to say it, baby?”

“I need it,” he whispers.

So you let him have it. You wrap your fingers around his jaw, make him look at you, and say it soft but firm:

“I’m proud of you, baby. So proud. You’ve been such a good boy for me.”

Rafe lets out a sound that’s half a moan, half a whimper. His eyes flutter shut like the words physically affect him.

And that’s when you realize: this isn’t a kink. It’s a need. Somewhere deep in his fucked-up psyche, he’s latched onto you like a lifeline, twisted the gaping hole his mother left into something obsessive towards you.

“You’re mine,” he mutters, kissing down your neck. “You’re the only one who gets me. You see me. You, fuck, Mommy, you’re perfect.”

It becomes a thing after that. Not just in bed, though there, it’s almost ritualistic. Him whispering it while he fucks you deep and slow, needing to hear you call him good, needing your approval desperately.

But it bleeds into real life, too.

He snaps when you ignore him for too long, going cold, twitchy. Pacing. “Don’t leave me. Don’t fucking do what she did. You’re not like her. You’re not gonna leave me, right?”

You try to soothe him, but the more you give, the more he needs.

And maybe part of you likes it. Likes being the one person Rafe depends on. But late at night, when he’s wrapped around you needy and murmuring, “You love me more than she ever did, right? You’ll never stop?”, you start to wonder if you're his lover, or just the ghost he’s chasing.

You don’t know when he pulled your panties to the side, or when he started grinding his cock between your thighs, just that by the time you’re aware of it, he’s desperate. Sweaty. Pupils blown wide. Not a trace of that rich-boy smirk left, just raw, aching need.

He doesn’t ask permission. He never does when he’s like this, needy and fucked up and clinging to you like a lifeline.

Rafe slides into you with a groan so guttural it doesn’t sound human. His hands grab at your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. Like he has to hold you down or else he’ll spiral.

“Fuck—Mommy…”

You exhale a shaky breath, your body arching into his. “There’s my good boy,” you whisper, stroking his hair as he starts moving. “So desperate for Mommy’s attention, huh?”

He shudders. “Only yours. Only ever yours.”

Every thrust is a little rougher, a little more frantic. He’s not trying to be pretty or polite, he’s claiming. Like if he fucks you hard enough, deep enough, the part of him that’s still that little boy, still begging his mom to love him, will finally shut the hell up.

You wrap your legs around his waist and moan for him, high and soft. “That’s it. You just needed someone to love you right, didn’t you?”

His eyes flutter closed. His voice cracks. “Yes—fuck, yes—I need it, I need you, please don’t stop, Mommy—please.”

You grab his jaw, force him to look at you. His expression is wrecked, flushed cheeks, tears at the corners of his eyes.

“You want Mommy to tell you you're good?”

He nods fast, almost frantic. “Please—please—I am, I’ve been so good—”

“You have, baby. So fucking good. Mommy’s proud of you.”

That’s all it takes for him to break.

The thrusts turn frantic. His fingers dig into your thighs hard enough to bruise. His head drops into your shoulder, panting your name between broken cries of 'thank you,' and 'I love you,' and 'don’t ever leave me.'

You’re gasping, moaning his name, clenching around him, losing track of where he ends and you begin. And when you come, it hits like a fever, sharp and dizzying, just from how much he needs you.

Rafe follows seconds later, hips jerking deep, spilling inside you with a choked-off groan that sounds almost relieved.

He doesn’t pull out, instead he collapses on top of you, face buried in your neck, breath ragged.

“Say it again,” he whispers.

“Say what, baby?”

“That you’re proud of me.”

You press a kiss to his temple. “I’m proud of you, Rafe.”

#rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe fic #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe smut #rafe fanfiction

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amortsukii · 21 hours ago

Text

dumb & poetic | choso kamo

sum. who knew that your sexy emo bestfriend was a virgin? certainly not you! so when you find out, your first thought is to rectify that. your second thought, however, is holy shit he's so big... | wc. 3.2k | 18+

cw. dirty talk, pervy!cho, kissing/making out, male masturbation, breast play, tit sucking, handjobs, piv, unprotected sex, cowgirl, virginity loss, mommy kink, premature ejaculation, switch!choso, cunnilingus, cum eating, fingering, missionary, mating press, choso is so in love with you, breeding kink, creampie, lots of cum

a/n. im so sorry for the wait! i've pretty much just been exhausted the entire month cuz of the heatwave. hope this is worth the long wait though — i'm pretty proud of it and i absolutely love cho so i had to write something for him. maybe more in the future depending on how this does?

short n' sweet collection. | masterlist. | request info.

"you're a virgin!?"

choso hums and ducks his face, black strands of hair falling further in front of his eyes. you're both sitting cross-legged on his living room floor, some random movie playing in the background whilst you sip on beers and talk about anything. somehow, the topic of body counts came up, and choso admitted his large lack of sexual experiences.

it's surprising to you, of course, as you aren't blind to your best friend's attractiveness. the thought that he'd never had relations with someone before is honestly ridiculous.

"how!? you're so sexy—" you blurt, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, not noticing the blush quickly coating his pale face.

he splutters, coughing on the sip of beer he took previously, "s-sexy? you think i'm sexy?"

you scoff and reach over to pat his back in aid, though just before pulling back you lean into his ear and whisper seductively.

"i think a lot more than that."

"what do you mean..?" his voice is breathy, eyes wide and mouth parted in shock. a large hand subconsciously slides to your waist to steady you when he sees the slight wobble in your kneeled form and his fingers twitch on the oversized shirt of his you're wearing, chipped nail paint glinting in the lamp light.

your smirk, twirling some strands of his black hair around your fingers as you adjust your position— hiking a thigh over his lap and sliding your leg up against his, knees bracketing his hips. "i think about you like this," your mouth is still near his ear, and you feel his warm breath against your neck as he breathes shaky and unsteadily, "underneath me. completely at my will."

you're hovering just above his crotch, ass almost resting on his hips, and your other hand slides down his chest slowly. you feel the defined ridges of his abs even through the black shirt he wears, the thin piece of cloth restricting your touch. he shivers under you, hand tightening on your waist— fisting the fabric of your his shirt to ground him.

"what else do you think about?" choso hesitantly asks, already feeling himself grow harder in the baggy sweatpants he's wearing. the thought of you fantasizing about him is something he never would've guessed to be true. he always thought of himself as a pervert for dreaming about you— touching himself late at night, picturing you in every position he could think of, and even going so far as to steal your underwear when you leave it in his washing basket whilst sleeping over— but learning that you're likely doing the same has any ounce of guilt he may have had leaving his body.

"it'd be easier just to show you." you shift back to your previous position, kneeling next to him with a hand on his beefy shoulder to steady yourself. his hand never leaves your waist, rubbing small circles with his thumb into the fabric there. and when you lean close to his face his fingers halt their movement, squeezing slightly as your breath fans over his lips. your eyes flutter shut as you place a tender kiss there, letting him set the pace.

choso's lips press back after a few seconds, when his mind has finally caught up to the present that holy shit you're actually kissing him, and his dark brown eyes slowly close.

it's starting to get sloppy, your tongue slipping into his mouth, saliva dripping and teeth clashing. your free hand moves to palm the swell in his sweatpants and he whimpers at the feeling. that's when you pull back, desperate to see him in all his glory.

"touch yourself for me, cho. show me how you make yourself feel good." you lean away from him, fully sitting on the balls of your feet now, and tug down his grey sweatpants just enough to see the prominent bulge in his boxers. he whimpers, eyes fluttering open to watch as you slowly pull his dick out. its flushed red, already leaking from the tip, and practically throbbing with need. he's so thick (you briefly wonder if it'll even fit) and at least seven inches. you almost drool from the sight alone.

"you're so pretty, baby. such a beautiful cock."

he blushes as his hand slips down, gripping the base tightly. "can i.. can i see you?" he hesitantly asks and very slowly starts stroking his hand uppp and downnn his cock. you only smirk and pull the shirt over your head, chucking it behind you to pool on the floor, leaving you in only a lacey black bra. though that's discarded quickly as well, thrown mindlessly somewhere in his living room. your breasts spill out, bouncing in front of his face causing his dick to jolt. you then lean forward and spit directly onto the tip of his cock, sitting back up with a whispered command of "you can touch me however you want, pretty boy."

cho's eyes drink you in; the curves of your body and breasts, the softness of your skin, your nipples— hard in the chilled air. he's still for a couple minutes, just looking at you with fullfocused aw, before he hesitantly reaches out and skims a finger over your ribcage. you shiver at the feeling. his other hand starts up a steady pace on his cock, stroking up and down whilst tightening occasionally. you hear the wet slaps from spit and precum and smirk when his head leans close to your chest.

"can i..?" his voice is raspy when he asks, practically dripping with lust and anticipation, and hot breath hits the skin of your collarbone. you just wordlessly nod, slipping a hand onto the back of his head to tangle your fingers in his hair and lightly tug to encourage him to move forward.

finally, his lips enclose your bare breast, sucking slowly and tenderly as he learns how to please you. his tongue starts flicking against your nipple, matching the same rhthym of his hand that continues stroking his cock— getting faster and harder as seconds go by. his other hand still grabs and kneads at your opposite breast, thumb running over your hard nipple at a much slower pace. your quiet moans and subtle whimpers urge him on, feeling that coil in his abdomen tighten when you tug at his hair and cup your hand around his to help him jerk off.

you match his speed, learning how he likes it for the future, interlaced fingers working together to push him over the edge. you can feel yourself growing wetter and wetter as he's sucking on your tits and nipples, switching back and forth from each one when he's decided they've had enough attention, and you find yourself subtly grinding down on the carpet without even realising it. he notices though, and pulls his hand (and subsequently yours as well) off of his cock to instead grip your waist. his head pulls back off your nipple with a sharp pop! and a little bit of saliva is dribbling down his chin.

"why'd you stop?" you ask, voice breathy and low, as your thumb moves to grip his chine and wipe away the drool in one smooth motion.

"i- i want you to ride me."

your eyes widen at his forwardness but before you can even think of what to say he speaks again. "i'm really close— but... i want to come in you."

you nod wordlessly, unhanding his chin to instead reach down and slide your shorts and panties down together. it's a bit of a hassle in the position you're currently in but they're both chucked away as soon as they come off— leaving you completely bare.

choso has no time to comment on how wet you are because you throw your legs over his lap and straddle him. the soaking tip of his cock prods your ass cheek— while you try to adjust to the new position— until your hand goes to grip his base and align it just below your sopping hole.

he whimpers when he feels your wetness drip down onto him, coating the cum-covered thickness of his dick in your slick. his hands rest limply on the dip of your waist and his thumbs absentmindedly rub gentle circles into your skin. you wonder if it's to comfort you or ground himself.

"you ready, pretty boy?"

he's practically trying to pull you down by the time you ask. and he's so desperate that he begs. "yes, please! i need to f-feel you." he's whiny and pleading, with jet black strands stuck to his sweat-slicken forehead from when you unknowingly tugged out his pigtails.

"beg for it, cho."

you're really teasing him now. so desperate for his cock yourself but how can you help it if he sounds so pretty when he's begging? his head is tilted up, tearful lidded eyes boring into your soul, and his mind is already so gone from his previous orgasms that his words are slurred and barely registered by him.

"fuck— please. i wanna feel your pretty pretty pussy. i need it. please, fuck me, mommy!"

when the name accidently slips out your smirk widens, stashing away that little slip up for later as you slowly begin to sink down. his tip slips in first, and as soon as he finally feels your warmth he tries to thrust up. though, you catch him; hands flying to his hips to harshly push down and keep him steady. you almost lose balance but quickly right yourself.

"uh uh, naughty boy. let mommy do it."

cho moans loud, eyes rolling into the back of his head, at the sultry and commanding tone of your voice. it's then that you feel a familiar warmth spread inside you, coating your walls and filling your hole. choso's shaking underneath you— hips trying to thrust pathetically, head thrown back against the couch, cock jolting and balls squeezing as he comes for the first time. and it was just the tip.

he's whimpering from the aftershocks of his orgasm, legs shaking and chest fluctuating fast from his unsteady breaths. tears are gathered in the corners of his eyes now from overstimulation and you only pull off him when he starts to beg for you to "stop."

you place a kiss on his forehead as his cock flops onto his stomach, cum dripping steadily from your hole onto his thighs. one of your hands caresses his head, gently scratching through his hair to soothe him. your thighs are starting to ache from the position you're in and so you start to get up.

and you're just about to pull away— thinking about cleaning him up— when you suddenly get flipped onto your back on the carpeted floor. choso's hovering over you now, biceps flexing on either side of your head. he starts placing kisses all over your face, smooching a trail down your jaw and neck then across your collarbone and chest. he briefly sucks on your breasts again— tongue circling each nipple— but quickly moves on down past your stomach and settles his chin there, looking up at you.

"i wanna make you cum" choso whispers, "please, can i?"

"—you don't have to." you try to say but his head instantly shakes in disagreement. he says something along the lines of "i want to" but it's heavily muffled against your skin. you smile endearingly at him and slowly spread your legs. "okay then."

your pussy is revealed to him— cum still dripping out and slick coating so much of your flesh— and his head eagerly dips down to lick a stripe all the way through your slit. his own cum gathers on his tongue and you think it may be the hottest thing you've ever seen— only to be proven wrong as he swallows all that he gathered whilst maintaining eye contact with you.

"—holy shit," you choke out just before his head plunges back down and he greedily starts practically munching down on you.

his hands are on your hips, pinning them down when you start to wriggle in desperation. his tongue is so skilled, despite it being his first time eating someone out (though you're starting to question if that's really true), circling your clit like an expert before sliding down to prod as far into your hole as it will go. you're already feeling your orgasm approaching embarrassingly quickly when one of his hands releases your hip to glide down and meet his mouth at the crux of your pussy. so when two of his fingers slink their way past your walls to replace where his tongue previously was, your cunt clenches tightly.

his tongue is back to its work on your clit, teaming with his lips to switch between sucking and circling in a way that's driving you mad. his long, slender fingers are penetrating deep inside you and when he adds a third, you come.

it's an aggressive orgasm— slamming into you with such force that you sob out his name, a high pitch "cho!" that you're sure his neighbours will hear. your juices wash over his face, coating it in even more liquid, and he eagerly slurps it all up with such passion.

it gets overwhelming quickly though. euphoric pleasure turning into overstimulating pain that has you weakly tugging at his hair to try and pull his head away. your voice is broken and raspy when you whisper, "—stop. 's too much!"

that seems to have snapped him out of whatever pussy-induced haze he was in as his head quickly reels back. and when it does, you finally get a good look at the aftermath on his face. the entirety of his lower half is just soaked— a mix of slick, cum, and sweat— and his tongue flicks out to lick his smirking lips.

"god... you taste so good."

you barely have time to recover from your orgasm before you're being picked up. and in one smooth motion, cho is standing up with you plastered to his front— bare legs wrapped around his waist and still-dripping cunt soaking his stomach. you feel his cock just underneath your ass, hard and throbbing yet again. he pulls you in for a love-filled kiss whilst maneuvering you both around his house to, where you can only guess is, the bedroom.

your assumptions are quickly proven correct when he unceremoniously drops you onto his messy bed, black covers practically invisible in the unlit room. he climbs on top of you in no time— planting his biceps next to your face and sliding in between your spread legs. your hands slide around his neck and you play with the split ends of his hair as he aligns his cock with your hole once more.

your legs are already shaking by the time he slips it in, feeling that burning stretch from before even more intensely now due to your previous orgasm. his lips meet yours in a tender kiss to distract you from the pain as he bottoms out. he's whimpering, the foreign feeling so much for him already and he finally thrusts after a few seconds of letting you adjust to the feeling.

he pulls out until just the tip is in, before slamming into you with a loud cry. "fuck!" you can't tell if it's your or his voice. his hips are already speeding up their thrusts, desperate to keep feeling the wet warm heat of your pussy around him and before you know it, choso's desperately pushing your legs back until your knees hit your shoulders. he's fully bent you in half now, the new position making his cock hit spots so deep you didn't even know existed. it's all uncomfortable— the stretch in your cunt and legs, the aches— but the overwhelming euphoric pleasure you're feeling is enough to let you ignore that.

"fuuuck, i love this prrrreeeetty pussy. so so pretty. love you so much." cho's babbling mindlessly, hips sloppily thrusting and your back arches up into him. your legs are aching, calves thrown over his shoulders with heels clicking together occasionally and your knees are bumping into your upper arms. there's carpet burns all along your back, the skin rubbed red and raw, and bite marks on your front. long story short, you look wrecked.

but choso doesn't look any better; his hair has fully fallen from its updos, covering his eyes with the inky threads, and he's covered in a thick sheen of sweat. his cock is hitting the deepest depths inside of you, stretching and bullying your gummy walls, and it's all so sloppy that the most prevalent noises in the room are squelches as you continue to suck him in.

your breasts are pressed hard against his chest and jiggle with each thrust. you're both so so sweaty— the bed is drenched, sheets rumpled with blankets and pillows thrown all over the room, and the air stinks of dampness and sex. the very familiar feeling of an incoming orgasm is creeping up on you and cho seems to notice as well because his thrusts are speeding up and he's moaning praise at you.

"gonna come, pretty girl? go on, come for me. c'mon, you're— fuck— such a good girl."

tears are welling in your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. and you're right on the edge when choso leans down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss. saliva drips down your chin as your teeth clash against one another, lips sucking and tongues roaming. you whine pathetically when he pulls away, teeth unlatching your bottom lip. his eyes are practically closed from how lidded they look now but he somehow manages to rub the tip of his nose against your own in a comforting gesture when he thrusts even deeper in you.

"'m gonna— cum! fuuuuck, gonna let me fill you up, sweetheart? s-shit— want me to breed you?"

his voice is low and right in your ear as your foreheads brush, lidded eyes locked onto yours. you can't tell if he's begging or promising at this point as the previous dominating persona he had seems to have worn off. back again is the whiny cho from before who beseeched and called you mommy. though you're no better as the pleasure seems to have completely taken over your own brain.

"please do! please cum in me! please... please!" your pleas trail off as you come with a loud moan, raspy and broken. your cunt convulses around him, pulsing in time to your orgasm, and the foreign feeling pushes him over the edge as well.

his dick shoots out thick wads of cum deep deep inside you but it's only a few seconds before they're nothing but pathetic spurts. it's enough though, as you're already filled to the brim. and when cho pulls out— body half collapsed onto yours— and rolls over onto the floor next to you, you feel it all start to drip out of your hole.

he didn't even try and pull out! you're thinking it's a good job you're on contraception until he shoves his fingers into your wet hole to plug it all back up with a raspy whisper right into your ear.

"need to keep it in. gotta make sure it sticks."

taglist. @articel1967

#♡ amortsukii writes #♡ short n' sweet #choso kamo x reader #choso smut #choso kamo #jjk choso #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #jjk fic #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu choso #smut

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kxsagi · 2 days ago

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cheered, jumped, did jumping jacks even when i saw ur reqs r open again

ANYWAYYYSSSS can i just request a fic of kunigami as obanai and fem!reader (player for bllk) as mitsuri plzpzlzpzlz like just personality wise after kunigami got wildcareded

ESPPPP LIKE THAT ONE SCENE WITH OBANAI GIVING MITSURI THE SOCKS AND WAITITNG FO RHER TO FINISHE ATIN FHSKJDJSDH i lvoe them sm omg

anyways that's rlly it. i just beg for a fic of these two tbh of them and their shenanigans with kunigami constantly being followed around by reader & her just rambling to him about something cool she saw (even if kunigami was also there to experience it) and her having bizarre explanations for stuff idk

kinda like bachira but way more extreme. v expressive

“𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫”

a/n: hiii i apologize this request took me much longer to complete, i had a hard time writing it and honestly put it off for a while because of that… i haven’t read demon slayer in 4 years lol but i hope i did this right!

ac goes to Sideburn004 on X!

kunigami rensuke was, unfortunately, allergic to nonsense.

he liked order. discipline. rules. proper stretching techniques. silent recovery hours. full-body training suits zipped all the way up even in summer. he didn’t do “vibes,” he did “structure.” the kind of guy who kept a pocket notebook of daily macros and actually knew where it was. the kind of guy who sent anonymous complaints to the dorm monitor when someone left their protein shaker unwashed for two days straight. probably slept on his back with both arms crossed over his chest like a vampire.

you, meanwhile, were shaped like a glitter explosion in human form.

you lived in the same blue lock dorm building as him, trained on the same pitch, and unfortunately for kunigami, were also on the same team during the current evaluation phase.

you – loud, dramatic, chronically over hydrated because someone told you once that water makes emotions stronger.

him – tall, stern, a human boulder with a voice that sounded like a “no” before he even spoke.

you adored him. no, worshipped was the better word.

“kunigami-kun!! did you see that pigeon outside the gym just now?! it was standing in a puddle like it was contemplating the meaning of water!!!”

he grunted. he was also there. you were both on cooldown walks. you both saw the pigeon. but you somehow made it sound like a god-sent vision.

“we were both there,” he replied, voice deadpan, arms crossed as you jogged to keep pace with his long-legged stride.

“yeah, but like,” you said, starry-eyed, “you didn’t see it like i saw it. the way it just. stood there. like. a soggy philosopher. i think i almost cried.”

kunigami stared forward. clenched his jaw.

you were definitely going to get them both kicked out for unsanctioned emotional outbursts again.

but you couldn’t help it. you were always like this. passionate to the point of danger. if someone scored in training, you were screaming. full-on “OH MY GOSH LET’S GOOOOO” with clapping, jumping, sometimes crying. if someone missed, you’d speed walk over and pat them on the back with something like, “that was beautiful. tragic. shakespearean. arthouse. i felt that shot in my bones.”

you were, as kunigami described you (to isagi, in private), “chaotic. loud. no sense of tactical discipline. doesn’t shut up.”

you were, as kunigami wrote in his notebook (very small, back page), “energetic. different. passionate. fast.”

and you were always right behind him.

during sprints? you’d run next to him, narrating your inner monologue aloud like a shonen protagonist.

“my legs are burning!! this is so good for character development. i’m literally ascending right now. kunigami, do you think muscles have feelings, like, do they know we’re proud of them?”

“no,” he said.

you ignored him completely. “like what if every rep we do is actually us saying ‘i love you’ in muscle language–”

“shut up.”

“rude,” you gasped, clutching your chest. “i’m literally giving a TED talk here.”

he sped up. you sped up with him.

he briefly considered injury. just temporary. minor ankle sprain. maybe then he could have five seconds of peace.

the worst part was you were good. terrifyingly good. like “no one knows where you came from and you won’t tell anyone your backstory” kind of good. and every time kunigami tried to focus during training, there you were. all kinetic energy and rogue commentary.

“watch this pass,” you’d whisper at him before doing something stupidly complex and somehow making it work. and then: “DID YOU SEE THAT?? DID YOU??”

“i was on the field,” he said.

“YEAH, BUT LIKE, WAS IT SEXY OR WAS IT SEXY? BE HONEST.”

“it was acceptable.”

he was lying. he wrote down your technique that night and tried it twice in secret before bed.

you followed him everywhere. like a shadow if shadows were talkative and deeply obsessed with post-practice smoothies.

you once sat next to him during a cooldown stretch and said, “kunigami. kunigami, listen. what if soccer is just reverse volleyball.”

he blinked. “what the hell does that mean.”

you flopped dramatically onto your back and pointed at the ceiling like you were giving a thesis.

“think about it. volleyball is about not letting the ball touch the ground. soccer is about letting it only touch the ground unless you’re a freaky little goalie. so like. yin and yang. balance. duality. kunigami, are you listening? this is the most philosophical i’ve ever been.”

“you’re doing hamstring stretches wrong,” he replied.

and the thing was somehow, somehow, he didn’t tell you to leave.

kunigami didn’t like people. they were messy. unpredictable. inefficient. but you? you were all of those things loudly, and still he never told you to get lost. not even once.

he told you to shut up. a lot. he told you to hydrate with electrolytes instead of pure coconut water because “you’re going to pass out one day and i’m not carrying you.” he told you to stop doing forward rolls into your warm-ups because they “aren’t real exercises” and you looked like “a deranged gymnast.”

but he never told you to go away. and that bugged him.

because the more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t mind when you followed him. or when you waved at him across the field like a lunatic just because the sun “hit his hair in a majestic lion way.” or when you gave him one of your friendship bracelets and said “you need more whimsy in your life and this has a little frog charm because it looks like your grumpy face.” he wore it. still wore it.

he hated that he noticed when you weren’t around. like that one day when you had physio and the locker room was just. silent. empty. quiet. normal. he hated it.

and one afternoon, after a match simulation, you collapsed dramatically next to him on the turf, panting, hair sticking to your forehead.

“kunigami,” you whispered, voice solemn. “i think i love soccer more than i love people.”

“i thought you loved people,” he said, barely turning his head.

you stared at the sky like it held the answers. “i do. people are like walking emotional meatballs and i’m obsessed with all of them. but soccer… soccer gets me. soccer is like–”

“if you say it’s a metaphor for the universe again–”

“no. no this time it’s different. soccer is like that one best friend who lets you scream and fall over and cry into their shin guards, but still passes you the ball anyway. soccer believes in me.”

you rolled over to look at him, eyes wide, sweat-streaked and sparkling. “do you believe in me, kunigami?”

he stared at you for a moment. the sun hit your cheek like a halo. your wrist was still wrapped with a second bracelet, the one he’d returned with a matching lion charm. you looked like a disaster. but a joyful one. like if chaos and sunlight had a daughter and enrolled her in blue lock.

“… yeah,” he muttered. “i do.”

you beamed. kunigami immediately regretted it.

“does this mean you’ll let me draw you as a centaur for my next mood board–”

“no.”

the next day, kunigami found a new drawing taped to his locker.

it was him. but he was surrounded by frogs. in sunglasses. doing tactical drills. written at the bottom in pink marker: “FROGS OF DISCIPLINE – featuring king kunigami & his army of jumpy little rule-followers 🐸✨”

he stared at it for a long, long time. and then folded it neatly. tucked it into his notebook. never spoke of it again. but wore the new frog charm you snuck onto his water bottle. every single day after that.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #kunigami rensuke #rensuke kunigami #kunigami rensuke x reader #rensuke kunigami x reader #discipline meets disaster

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arthurmorganrp · 2 days ago

Text

Arthur was surprised to hear he had a good heart. Honestly, he didn't believe that. He imagined the good things he did were so little compared to the bad ones, which would never be erased anyway. And doing things out of guilt or interest, was it really something to be proud about? He just listened quietly though, it made him happy to be considered good, even if he fully didn't believe he was. Not as bad maybe, not an animal, not some sadistic monster, for sure. But good- good maybe was too much. He laughed at the good looking. "Naaahh I'm an ugly bastard, the bead hides a little bit." Arthur didn't like his appearance, because he looked like just like his father, and looking at the mirror to see the man that would beat him and his mom wasn't very nice.

Whenever Cass looked at him, he looked back, and he was so glad to know things were good between them. Her loss is my gain- that made him laugh again, also helping relieve all the tension around Cass he had been feeling. His charming smile was actually really funny, and all that talk and jokes got Arthur almost crying from how much he had chuckled.

"I already like sticking with you, even if it has been just a few days that we've met. I...I'm pretty sure I wanna spend the rest of my life with you." He only realized how intense that sounded once he said it, and...and it was okay. It was the truth. He was giving Cass an honest soft look. He had found a place in his gang and by his side, they had great moments together Arthur would never forget, and if they could keep enjoying life that way...then...would anything else be better?

Along the travel, he learned more about the gang and about how Cass viewed the world. Wanting on not, despite being outlaws, the Deadlocks brought order whenever they settled. They were like a force of nature, so big and so organized- a second state, to cover areas where the government didn't reach- or was too corrupt to reach.

Arthur was starting to accept that he might have been loving that man, even if for now they were just friends. He wondered if that feeling would eventually pass or if it would only get stronger, but it was true, it made him shiver and his heart beat faster.

"Sure, I'd love to go bandit hunting with you. We can see who can shoot more of them." he laughed.

"I've never heard about that kind of treatment. I sure hope it works. Maybe they have some herbs and teas as well." He was starting to truly believe there was a possibility of cure. The shots and then the tea...they had worked so far, so why a long term treatment would be impossible?

"Me? A good father?" He scoffed, smiling like an idiot, a first reaction as if he didn't care. But he cared. "Do you really think that? Why? It's duty of a father to protect his son..." He sighed. He had failed that. "After that? I'd like to stick with you. I have no one. The woman I loved married someone else, it was...very difficult to overcome...and...honestly, I think there's no truly a way to leave this life. And I...it's...it's just me and....this life is everything I have now, it's all I can do- and...and I have you. I have you." Arthur said, so sure of it. "I can't see myself going after some woman just to have a family. I don't know if I...- if I lost all that again, I..." His eyes got teary very fast, he took a veeery deep breath and just shook his head. "I guess I'll just stick witcha, cowboy." He gave him a tender stare and a soft smile.

Arthur helped Cole pack everything so they could continue on their way to find this tribe. No matter what, he was pretty sure he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Cass, even if it the treatment failed and it turned out to be short.

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seaskate · 3 days ago

Text

[Part 1]

Little Brothers

Jason was looking for Tim. This wasn't an overly uncommon thing to occur, Tim was one of the few bats that Jason truly liked and tolerated most days, the kid being absolutely terrifying when anyone paif any sort of attention to the things that he did. If there was information out there to be had, then it was more than likely that he already had it or could within moments of being asked.

If he and Jason were to work together, the younger would only slightly frown if it ended in death, though not lecture like most bats would, not when he was nearly just as violent as Jason himself (someone gave the kid a rocket launcher once, Jason doesn’t think he's ever been closer to a heart attck then he was the day that he learned of this)

When it came to working with the bats, Tim was one of the most likely ones that you would find Jason alongside these days. So, it was no suprise when he was at the manor looking for the kid now, even if it didn’t have anything to do with a case.

When he found the younger vigilante, the other was in his room, cleaning what looked to be camera lenses on his bed, a nice bag at the teen's side.

"Planning some late night stalking?" Jason asked, hoping to catch the other off guard and make him jump.

No such luck.

Tim doesn't even bother looking up as he moves onto the next lense.

"We both know that out of the two of us you are the one more likely to follow people around taking pictures, Mr. Having my pictures on his wall so that he sees me when he wakes up in the morning," Tim responds, a slight smirk in his voice as he reminds the other of Jason’s first few months back in Gotham. It wasn’t exactly a time that he was proud of. "But no, me and Duke are going to the park. I want to take some candids and he needs a different location to write his current assignment."

And the answer is so simple and mundane in nature that Jason almost laughs, because of course those two would be going out to do something normal when most of the others in the family couldn't be in the same room without it turning into something pertaining to vigilantism. He would never admit out loud that it was nice to see.

Tim pauses for a moment, finally looking up to meet the other’s gaze. "You could come if you want, take a look at the paper when Duke finishes it, bring your own book and read in the meantime."

And the thing was, that actually did sound nice, it really did, but something about it all bugged the older of the two reds.

"What about Damian?" Jason asks. "The Deomon Brat not want to tag along?"

He knows that they don't exactly get along, but he also sees enough to know that this is something that the sword user would like to change, even if he doesn't know how.

Tim only shrugs though, nonpullsed.

"I didn't really feel like dealing with the gremlin today," is all that the boy says on the subject, it even as he tries to hide it, Jason can see the hurt there.

Idiots, the both of them.

"You should ask him."

Tim scoffs. "Since when are you running around playing adult?" The teen asks as he pushes up from the bed, slinging his camera bag gently over his shoulder.

"Since when are you running around playing chicken?" Jason asks in retort.

And Tim stops then, something sad in his gaze.

"I have tried with him Jason," the younger says tiredly, sounding much older than his years. "He doesn't want me around, and I've lost too much to try and keep people that don't want to be there."

And wasn’t that something that Jason knew all too well, he had died after all trying to do just that.

Jason sighed. "Let me grab a book."

Tim smiled then, brighter then he ever had before Duke had come along but still dimmer than what has been shown in the months since the meta's arrival.

Damian walked away quickly before either of them could know that he had over heard it all.

The air is pleasant on the skin of the three vigilantes as Duke and Jason sit down on a blanket in the shade, while the pair glanced up from each of their works every now and then to watch Tim running around the park with a camera in hand, even as it always took each of them a few moments too long to find the teen as he slipped in and out of the shadows like the student of Lady Shiva that he was.

"You spoke to him earlier today about Damian, didn't you?" Duke asks suddenly after a while, though it isn’t much question at all. Jason turns to look at the other, his eyes a bit wider than he would like them to be even as Duke isn't looking at him at all but the teen in question that they were speaking of, as best as he cpuld that was. "He only gets this assassin like when an al Ghul is involved."

"I tried to get him to invite Damian," Jason admits.

Duke nods, the simple movement making him loose sight of Tim. "Today marks a year since Tim had to watch two of his friends die in front of him, him and the third almost dying with them." Duke could hear the intake of breath that he got at that. "He never got to bury them, Tim and Pru had to leave the bodies behind in that desert. But, Tim wanted to do something normal today to honor them because even though Tim had been on that mission to save Bruce, Owens had wanted to save Tim.

"You get that don't you, Damian?"

Damian flinched, stepping out from where he had been hiding behind the tree that the siblings had set up in front of. Jason sighed, knowing that he should have expected something like this.

"How did you get here?" The eldest asked, making sure he hadn't missed a child hiding in the trunk or something.

Damian made a small tick noise. "Pennyworth has excellent driving skills."

"Tim not inviting you today only had a small bit to do with you, Damian," Duke continues, sounding a bit like Tim as he does so. "For him, today is a day of mourning, he didn't want anyone to make it worse."

"I wouldn't have," Damian says then, something like horror slipping into his voice at even the thought of doing so.

"You have before," Duke says bluntly, cuttingly, protectively of the Robin that he had looked up to in the sky and admired long before he ever called him a brother. The one that brought him hope enough to take on the name for himself with the others even without the training that Batman's Robins had possessed.

Jason and Damian turn quickly to look at the teen then, confusion and hurt in both their gazes at the thought.

"When Superboy died, Tim changed the colors of the Robin suit to that of colors of mouring. A testament to his grief," the teen says factually, as if it wasnt a heartbreaking sort of thing to say, speaking a bit too much like the third Robin himself. "He took out all of the green then, leaving only Kon's colors. When the suit was taken from him, he could have chosen multiple other names and suits that have been used and discarded over the years, but the one that he did choose was of the very same colors that had been taken from him. Even out of the suit he still wears them, black suits with red ties even as green is his favorite color."

The three looked at him then, gazes sweeping across the field as they found the teen sneaking up upon a butterfly and taking a picture of it, and found that Duke was right, Tim wa wearing a deep red sort of hoodie with black pants.

Damian felt shame was over him then as he thought of the way in which he had gloated so proudly when he had worn the suit in the cave that day as both himself and Richard had watched Timothy fall apart before them, talking of a father lost in the timestream. He thought that he might have deserved worse then the strike across the face that he had gotten out of it all, even if Timothy likely felt guilt for the action now.

Damian slipped away before the teen ever knew that he was there at all.

(Tim had known since Alfred first followed them from the manor)

When Tim searches the manor for Damian, it takes him longer than he would have liked to finally find the other boy, the child sitting outside in grass of the front yard, looking up at the sky as if seeing something that no one other than he could. Maybe he was.

Damian doesn't look up as the older boy sits next to him on the grass.

"I don't hate you," Tim says as he looks off to the side , running a hand through the short grass around them both.

"I know," is all that the younger says in return, short and simple and something that they each knew was as much the truth as it was a lie.

They sit together for a long while, the wind kissing kindly at their skin as the only noise the surroend them was the sound of a pencil scratching against paper as Damian drew. Tim didn't look at the other until the noise stopped.

Damian held out the piece of paper to the other, watching as Timothy took it slowly into his grasps as if expecting that the child would steal it away before he ever got the chance to see it.

When Tim looked down at the sketch he felt his breath catch in his throat.

The drawing was that of Robin flying through the skies of Gotham, a grief stricken sort of smile on his lips that still managed to be bright. Tim knew that if the drawing had been rendered in full color, that their would not be a stroke of green upon it.

The suit wasn't perfect, some of the details a bit wrong with the version of Tim's suit that had so clearly been drawn from memory rather than a photograph or anything of the like. Tim thought that these imperfections made it more bearable to look at as the memories of one of the worst years of his life were brought so close to mind. It separated them in a manner that a photo could never have.

"Can I keep this?" Tim asks softly, holding the paper in his hands as if it were something precious that he didn’t know if he could part with if he was asked to. Holding it lightly in his grasps just in case he was made to anyways, with judt enough force so that the wind did not steal it away.

Damian nods.

Tim stands then, noticing immediately how the younger boy’s shoulders tensed with something like disappointment. Tim only holds out his hand to the child then.

"Come, Duke and I are going to watch a movie in a few minutes and you're coming too."

And Damian smiles then as bright as a child like him truly could as ge took that outstretched hand for the first time in his life, letting the other pull him to his feet as he knew that it meant far more than just this moment.

Tim laughs when the boy asks if Alfred the cat can join them, but says yes nonetheless.

(Little brothers, huh)

#i was almost done with this had the draft mostly saved as a draft except for the last half and then accidently closed the app [crying]#tim drake robin #kon x tim #timkon #kon el superboy #dc red robin #red robin #jason todd #red hood #duke thomas #tim drake #damian wayne #robin dc #dc #ficlet #part two #my emotionlly represseed idiots

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stewpidcheescatarinabluu · 1 day ago

Text

CHAPTER 1

Synopsis: Childhood best friends, a girlfriend, and a love realized too late. As Minju watches you fall for someone else, she tries to stay by your side — until silence replaces laughter and distance grows. But when the truth about your relationship unravels, you’re forced to ask: Were you ever really hers… or were you always almost Minju’s?

Word Count: 5,609

Kim Minju X Male Reader.

a/n: Hi KariNeko! 💌 Thank you so much for trusting me with your commission — it truly means a lot! I had such a great time writing this piece, and I’m really grateful for the support. It helps me grow as a writer and also lets me help my family in my own little way, so thank you from the bottom of my heart. If there’s anything you’d like tweaked or added, feel free to message me anytime! And whether it’s your first or fifth commission, I hope to write something for you again soon 🤍

It was golden. The afternoon was dispersing rays of honey through the café blinds — warm light cutting into the cold, brushing against your skin like a memory you didn’t ask for, but secretly needed. The kind of coziness that wraps around your chest and makes you forget that you’re older now. That things aren’t the same.

"Okay..." You tapped your fork against the table, eyes wide, dramatic. "...Tell me this isn’t one of the best chocolate cakes we’ve ever tasted?" You made a face so exaggerated it would’ve made Willy Wonka proud.

Across from you sat Kim Minju — your childhood best friend, your constant.

"The one from that old lady back on our street still wins," she said, already smiling before the memory could finish replaying.

"Ah, but they went out of business, right?" you asked, turning to her, that usual sparkle in your eyes.

"Yeah, unfortunately..." Her voice dipped slightly, softer now. She looked down at the chocolate cake and took a bite. "...But yeah, this one’s decent. There’s this café near campus too — their desserts are really good."

"Oh, really?" you perked up, voice full of that gentle, boyish giddiness that still felt like middle school sometimes. "My girlfriend would love that. I should take her. What do you think?"

And just like that — Minju’s smile faded.

It was the smallest shift — a twitch at the corner of her lips, a pause in her hand — but it was there. That soft, traitorous ache behind her ribs. That name again. That reminder again.

Your girlfriend. Not her. Never her.

But who cares? She’s just a friend. A long-time one. The one who knows your coffee orders, your ugly crying face, your worst haircut in 7th grade. And maybe that’s all she was ever supposed to be.

"Yeah…" she forced the smile back onto her face, careful, gentle. "She’ll like that for sure."

Then she zoned out. Your voice drifted off, became background noise, like rain on a window. Her eyes stayed on the cake but her thoughts ran elsewhere. Somewhere blurrier. Somewhere quieter.

"Hey, Minju? Are you listening?" Your hand waved in front of her, snapping her back.

"Yeah. Sorry…" She smiled again — smaller this time, like she was using the last of it.

You tilted your head. "You can have the rest. I’m not into sweets that much anymore." You slid the plate toward her, the cake now half-finished and slightly melting under the warmth.

THE NEXT DAY.

It was that sweet spot between classes, not quite lunch, not quite dismissal. The golden hour hadn’t arrived yet, but the light was already shifting. Warm and gentle, it made everything feel softer than it really was.

Minju sat beneath the old acacia tree near the west side of the courtyard. It was the usual spot, a little slope of grass with enough shade to keep her bento from turning into soup. Around her, a few friends lazed with their legs stretched out, backpacks half-zipped, laughter drifting with the breeze.

Yuna was lying flat on her stomach, giggling over a guy from her lab class. Chaewon sat cross-legged, editing a TikTok with serious concentration, the phone close to her face. Minju, meanwhile, hadn't touched her food.

She was staring, unfocused, past the crowd.

Not at the buildings. Not at the fountain. But at you.

You were sitting on the stone bench by the café steps, the one with the faint crack running through the middle. You always called it the lucky bench, because it was where you once passed a midterm you swore you’d fail.

Now you were sitting there with your girlfriend. Her head rested on your shoulder, and your fingers were lazily interlaced. You were laughing at something she said, that familiar laugh Minju had known since the fifth grade. The kind of laugh that crinkled your nose and made strangers glance up.

And you looked happy.

"Earth to Minju." Yuna waved a spoon in front of her face. "You’ve been staring into space for the past ten minutes. What’s up?"

Minju blinked, startled. "Nothing. Just zoned out." She smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Chaewon followed her gaze and smirked. "Oh. The legendary best friend and his dreamy girlfriend." She stretched her arms overhead. "They look like a Pinterest board."

"Yeah," Minju said, trying not to sound as flat as she felt. "They’re cute."

Yuna gave her a side glance. "Weren’t you lowkey in love with him back in high school?"

Minju didn’t flinch. She’d practiced this.

"That was years ago," she replied, casually opening her lunch box. "I don’t even remember."

But she remembered everything. How you used to sneak her gummy bears during math class. How you waited with her under the rain because she forgot her umbrella. How you’d text her dumb jokes at 3AM because only she would get them.

Minju picked at her rice without tasting it. The wind brushed a few loose petals from the tree above. One landed in her lap, then fell to the grass.

Across the courtyard, your girlfriend playfully smacked your arm. You leaned into her, your cheeks flushed with laughter.

And something in Minju’s chest curled up.

A quiet late morning in the main hallway of the university’s arts building. It’s not crowded yet — just scattered students walking with half-finished coffee cups, tote bags, and sleepy eyes. The tiles echo lightly under every step.

"You’re late."

Minju raised an eyebrow as you jogged toward her, backpack lopsided, a piece of toast comically sticking out of your mouth.

"Not true," you said, words muffled as you took the toast out. "I’m fashionably on time. There’s a difference."

She sighed, crossing her arms. "Class starts in five minutes."

You held up two fingers. "Still time to grab an iced americano."

"You don’t even drink coffee," she said, deadpan.

"Yeah, but I wanna look cool holding one."

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. This was the version of you she always loved best — the idiot, the goof, the boy who made even waiting outside a lecture hall feel like a sitcom scene.

You walked side by side down the hall, your shoulder brushing hers every now and then. Students passed by, some nodding, some whispering. The two of you had been "those two" since freshman year — always together, always bantering.

"Did you study for the quiz?" she asked.

"Define study."

"Don’t tell me you’re winging it again."

You shrugged. "I remember stuff better under pressure."

She scoffed. "You remembered Pi as '3.14159 Hotdog' last time."

"Hey," you said, grinning, "it worked, didn’t it?"

Minju rolled her eyes again, but her laugh was real. The kind of laugh that slips out before you can think, the one that makes the back of her hand lightly smack your arm.

You opened the classroom door for her like you always did, bowing dramatically. "M’lady."

"Please disappear," she muttered, but she was already walking in, cheeks slightly warm.

You slid into the seat beside her like clockwork. No questions. No asking. That seat was always yours.

As the professor began the lecture, Minju glanced at you.

You were already doodling in the margins of your notebook, humming a song you both used to sing during high school field trips. She didn’t even have to ask. You just knew.

And for that moment, everything was okay again.

No girlfriends. No aching. No distance. Just the two of you. Minju and you.

Best friends.

Lunchtime. The open-air cafeteria is buzzing — students laughing over rice bowls, trays clattering, a speaker playing soft indie-pop no one’s really listening to. Minju and Y/N sit at their usual table near the edge, shaded by an umbrella half-broken from last month’s storm

"You seriously packed instant noodles again?" Minju asked, staring at your tupperware like it offended her.

You grinned. "Adds spice to my life. Literally and emotionally."

"You’re going to burn a hole in your stomach."

"It’s a fun way to go."

Minju poked your container with her chopsticks, making a face. "You had time to memorize memes but not to cook rice. Impressive."

You were mid-slurp when your phone buzzed on the table. You didn’t even check it — just glanced at the screen, let it buzz again, and flipped it face-down.

Minju didn’t comment. Not at first. But she caught the way your jaw clenched for a second. The way your chopsticks slowed down.

"Everything okay?" she asked, casually, almost like she didn’t mean anything by it.

"Yeah," you said quickly. "Just… nothing. Just her again."

Her. No name. No warmth.

Minju blinked.

"She’s mad I didn’t text her during class," you said, trying to brush it off with a half-laugh. "Even though she knows I have back-to-back lectures."

Minju tilted her head slightly. "Did you tell her that?"

"I did." Your voice dropped an inch. "But you know how it is. Everything becomes an argument lately."

You smiled right after, like that made it better. But Minju didn’t smile back.

She watched as you shoved your phone deeper into your bag. Watched as your eyes darted across the cafeteria like you were checking for exits. You were tired. She could see it — not in your posture, but in the way you faked your usual energy. Like someone playing a role they didn’t want to admit they were tired of.

"You ever feel like…" you started, but trailed off.

Minju looked up. "What?"

You shook your head. "Never mind. Just me being dramatic."

She didn’t push. She just opened her packet of seaweed and slid a few sheets onto your tray. Like always.

You looked at them, then at her.

"Thanks."

Minju smiled. "Don’t mention it."

You started eating again, and the moment passed. But something had shifted.

Minju couldn’t unsee it now — the way you hesitated. The way your smile didn’t reach your eyes when you mentioned her. The way you seemed lighter when you weren’t answering her texts.

And for the first time in a while, Minju didn’t feel jealous. She felt sad. For you.

Late afternoon. The courtyard is quieter than usual. Most students have gone to class or tucked away into cafés. Minju walks across the main path, earbuds in but not playing anything, sipping a convenience store iced tea. She’s on her way to the library for a group project

She wasn’t looking for you. But she found you anyway.

You were standing just outside the covered walk behind the campus auditorium. Alone — or so she thought.

Your girlfriend was there too, her voice sharp, hushed but intense. And you? You looked different.

You weren’t smiling. You weren’t cracking jokes. You weren’t you.

Minju stopped walking, instinctively hiding behind the pillar next to the vending machine. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but something about your posture froze her in place.

"I told you I was in class," you said, voice low. Firm, but tired.

"But you always have time for her, don’t you?" your girlfriend snapped back. There was venom behind the words — not the playful kind. Real, bitter, unfiltered jealousy.

Minju’s stomach dropped.

"Don’t bring Minju into this," you said, voice cracking a little. "She has nothing to do with it."

"She’s always around. You act different when you're with her. Lighter. Happier."

There was a pause.

Minju didn’t breathe.

"You think I don’t notice?" your girlfriend continued. "She looks at you like you’re her whole world, and you just let it happen."

"It’s not like that."

"Isn’t it?"

Silence. Minju couldn't see your face anymore — you’d turned away, head low, one hand on your temple like this wasn’t the first time. Like it was exhausting.

Then your girlfriend’s voice dropped to a whisper.

"You only laugh like that when you're with her."

And that was it.

Minju stepped away. Quietly. Carefully. Back down the path, iced tea forgotten in her hand. Her heart was thudding too loud to think. Not from guilt. Not even from hope.

But from something worse.

You didn’t even realize you were unhappy.

And maybe, just maybe — you didn’t realize that you were already breaking apart.

Campus hallway, two days later. The vibe is different now. The hallway's still noisy, filled with students heading to lunch or back to class, but there’s a strange quiet that follows you around — like something’s missing

"Wait, where’s Minju?"

You looked over your shoulder, tray in hand, scanning the crowd outside the cafeteria.

Chaewon glanced at you from across the lunch table. "Didn’t she tell you? She’s been eating with her film group lately. Something about a deadline."

You frowned. That was the third time this week.

"Right..." you muttered, but the words felt too light in your mouth. No message. No call. Not even her usual ‘save me a seat’ text.

You thought maybe it was just a busy week — until you started noticing the little things. She started switching seats in class. Started taking the long way to the building. Started replying with just one-word answers when she used to send full-on essays and memes.

Minju was avoiding you.

You didn’t know why. And that bothered you more than it should have.

The same day. She’s seated on the library floor, laptop open, pretending to work. There’s a group chat open beside her script doc, your name at the top, unread.

She could feel it. The guilt. The confusion. The ache of you looking for her, even if you never said it out loud.

But she couldn't go back. Not yet.

Not when she’d seen it — how broken you looked behind that bench. Not when your girlfriend accused her of being the reason for your smile. Not when she knew how badly she wanted that to be true.

So she pulled away. Skipped lunch. Dodged hallways. Stayed behind on purpose.

Because if keeping her distance meant your relationship had a fighting chance... Then she’d do it.

Even if it meant pretending she didn’t miss you. Even if it meant watching you drift without ever knowing why.

Friday afternoon. The sun is starting to dip, casting warm light through the campus trees. Minju sits with her friends at the grassy hill near the Fine Arts building, the kind of place students go to unwind before the weekend — notebooks open but barely used, drinks half-empty, playlists playing softly through someone’s speaker

Minju sat cross-legged on the grass, resting her chin in her hand as Yuna went on about her disaster of a group project.

"So I said, ‘You can’t just ghost the entire group and come back with a Canva slide that says “Trust the process.”’ Like, what process?!"

Chaewon snorted, sipping her milk tea. "It’s always the marketing majors."

Minju smiled, nodding at the right beats, her other hand absently plucking at the grass. Her drink was untouched beside her, condensation dripping down the side.

And then she saw you.

Down by the paved pathway near the parking lot. Your girlfriend looped her arm around yours, playfully tugging you close. You laughed — the kind of laugh that made your shoulders shake, your head tilt back. She reached up and fixed your hair with both hands, and you let her.

It was nothing. So normal. So couple-y. So public.

It hurt anyway.

Minju’s gaze didn’t linger too long. Just long enough.

Long enough to notice how tightly your girlfriend gripped your wrist. Long enough to see how your eyes flicked away right after you laughed.

But she said nothing. Just looked away and grabbed her drink.

Yuna noticed. "You okay?"

Minju blinked. "Hm? Yeah."

Chaewon raised an eyebrow but didn’t press it. They’d noticed the shift — how Minju had been more distant, quieter around you. How her phone buzzed less. How she smiled like she was somewhere else.

"Do you wanna go to the movies tomorrow?" Yuna offered. "My treat. I need serotonin."

Minju nodded. "Yeah. That sounds nice."

But her eyes found you again. And for a split second, you looked up too.

You didn’t smile. You just blinked, like you were trying to figure something out. But then your girlfriend tugged your sleeve and said something, and your attention snapped back to her.

Minju looked away for good this time. Buried the ache beneath another sip of her drink. Because being your friend meant watching from a distance now. And pretending that was enough.

A bustling movie theatre on a Saturday night. Neon signs glow over ticket booths, the scent of buttered popcorn clings to everything, and couples, friends, and students chatter as they shuffle into screening rooms

"This is the dumbest movie I’ve ever bought tickets for," Chaewon muttered, balancing a soda in one hand and a jumbo popcorn in the other.

"You literally picked it," Yuna said, laughing. "Own it."

Minju just smiled, tugging her hoodie sleeves over her palms as they entered the dim screening room. The cool air of the theatre hit her skin instantly — comforting, familiar. They found their seats, middle row near the back, a perfect view.

"Minju, hold this," Yuna said, shoving the candy bag into her lap while wrestling with her jacket.

Minju took it without a word, glancing around the theatre before the lights dimmed.

Her eyes paused for a second.

Across the aisle, two seats down and three rows forward — a guy was leaning back with his arm stretched behind the girl next to him. They were laughing quietly, heads close together.

It wasn’t you. But for a moment, it looked like you. The way he leaned in, the way she smiled up at him — it mirrored too many memories.

Minju turned away quickly, facing forward just as the trailers began.

She forced herself to focus.

She laughed when her friends laughed. Chewed on candy she didn’t even like. Held the popcorn when it was passed to her. Everything looked the same on the outside.

But her mind betrayed her.

This seat used to be next to you.

She remembered sneaking snacks past the theatre guards, you cracking dumb jokes during the trailers, your sleeve brushing hers in the dark. She remembered crying over a movie once and how you nudged her, whispering, “You cry over this but not when I failed calc?”

And she laughed through her tears.

Now she was here. Surrounded by friends, but feeling like a stranger in her own skin.

And she hated that one empty row of seats could make her feel like something was missing.

You weren't even here. And still, you filled the whole theatre.

11:48 PM. The city is quieter now. Just the occasional tricycle passing, music playing faintly from a nearby bar, and the crunch of footsteps along the sidewalk. The girls walk together, arms linked, shoes in hand.

"The movie sucked," Chaewon said, kicking a pebble down the street.

"Totally. But worth it for the popcorn," Yuna grinned, brushing sugar dust off her sweater.

Minju was quiet.

She hadn’t said much since they left the theatre — just nodded, laughed a little, smiled when spoken to. The kind of smile people wear when they’re trying not to say what’s really on their mind.

Yuna noticed. She always noticed.

"You okay, Min?" she asked softly, her tone more careful this time. "Your head’s been somewhere else lately."

Minju looked up at the night sky, the stars barely visible behind the city glow. "I’ve just been thinking too much."

Chaewon fell into step beside her. "About?"

Minju hesitated. She could lie. She could say school, or sleep, or that dumb movie. But she didn’t.

She clutched her hoodie sleeve tighter.

"About him," she said quietly.

The group didn’t react right away. Just silence. The kind that let her keep going.

"I know he’s happy. I know he has a girlfriend. I know I’m just his best friend and I should be okay with that." Her voice didn’t shake, but it was softer than usual. "But it’s hard, you know?"

Yuna slowed down a little, walking closer. "You still love him?"

Minju nodded once. "I don’t even know when it started. It wasn’t like this huge moment. It was just… one day, I looked at him, and everything felt different. And then it never went back."

She let out a quiet laugh, brushing hair from her face.

"And the worst part? I tried to stay close. I wanted to just be his friend and be happy for him, but every time I see them together..." She paused. "It hurts. And I hate that it does. Because I don’t want to ruin anything."

Chaewon placed a hand on her shoulder. "You’re not ruining anything. You’re just feeling something real."

Yuna gently bumped her side. "You’re allowed to hurt, Min. You’re not selfish for wanting something more."

Minju swallowed. "I’ve been avoiding him. And I know he notices. I just… I don’t trust myself not to want something I can’t have."

They walked in silence for a bit after that. No judgment. Just the sound of slippers hitting the pavement and distant music humming from somewhere nearby.

Minju looked up again. The sky hadn’t changed. But she felt lighter. Just a little.

Maybe tomorrow would still ache. But for tonight, she wasn’t holding it all in alone.

Campus basketball court, early evening. The sky’s turning pale orange, the echo of bouncing balls and shouting players fills the air. You and your friends just finished playing a game — sweaty, tired, collapsed on the side bench with water bottles and tired laughter.

"Bro," Jaemin said, wiping sweat from his brow, "I swear, if I miss one more free throw, I’m deleting my number off the team group chat."

You chuckled, leaning back on your arms, catching your breath.

The group settled into silence for a few minutes, watching the next batch of players take the court. The mood was easy, until Seungmin suddenly spoke up.

"Dude. Can I ask something?"

You nodded, grabbing your water bottle. "Yeah?"

He hesitated. "Are you and your girl even... like... good?"

You froze a little, mid-sip. "What do you mean?"

Jaemin glanced at Seungmin, then at you. "You just don’t look like yourself, man."

"You’re quieter. You snap more often. You don’t even make fun of Jaemin’s ugly form anymore."

"Hey—"

"Let him cook," Seungmin said.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "It’s just been rough lately. She gets mad over small stuff. Everything turns into a fight."

Seungmin nodded slowly. "You think you still love her?"

You blinked. The question hit a little harder than you expected.

"...I don’t know," you admitted. "I think I’m trying. But sometimes it feels like I’m just trying to not mess up."

Jaemin leaned forward. "Can I be honest?"

You gave him a look. "Since when do you ask?"

He smiled — just a little.

"I think Minju’s more suitable for you," he said quietly. "She gets you. Like, actually gets you."

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. So he kept going.

"I’ve seen how you look at her, bro. And how she looks at you? That girl would throw herself in front of traffic if it meant keeping your day from going bad."

Seungmin added, more gently, "When you’re with your girlfriend, you always look like you’re performing. But with Minju? You just exist."

You sat in silence for a moment. Thinking.

You hadn’t told them about the fight. Or the ones before that.

And still, they knew.

They saw it. The exhaustion. The way Minju made you laugh without trying. The way you only ever looked like yourself when she was around.

You stared out at the court again. You weren’t ready to say it out loud yet. But something shifted.

Because maybe… just maybe…

They were right.

After the basketball games, you started walking home, Streetlights are starting to flicker on. Students bike past or chatter on sidewalks. You’ve got your hoodie up, hands in your pockets, and your phone buzzes once. Twice. Then again.

You ignored the first vibration. Then the second. By the third, you knew who it was.

You pulled out your phone anyway, thumb already dragging down the notification bar.

[9 Messages from Her]

You exhaled through your nose. Opened them.

“Seriously?” “No text all day again?” “I saw your story. You had time for basketball but not to check on me?” “It’s like I don’t matter anymore.” “You didn’t even react to my post.” “But I bet you replied to Minju again, didn’t you?” “Whatever. Enjoy your little circle.”

You stopped reading.

You stood there, just outside a small bakery that had already closed. The warm light inside had been switched off, replaced by your own reflection on the glass. You looked… drained.

And the worst part?

You weren’t even surprised.

Not shocked. Not hurt. Just… tired.

Tired of the way she made you feel like you were always doing something wrong. Tired of walking on eggshells, of making yourself smaller to keep things from exploding. Tired of being accused of things you didn’t even realize you could do wrong.

You opened your messages.

Typed something. Erased it. Typed again.

Then locked your phone without sending anything.

You started walking again, slower now. The weight in your chest more noticeable with each step. Every word she sent echoed behind your thoughts, but all your mind could picture was—

Minju.

Her voice when she laughed. The way she looked at you like you were someone good. The way her presence never asked for anything — and still gave everything.

You crossed the street just as the signal turned red behind you.

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to feel this heavy. Maybe love wasn’t supposed to be this hard. And maybe… maybe you were starting to understand that.

Alone, under the yellow streetlight, you walked into the quiet — not knowing if you were walking toward an ending… or finally, a beginning.

You pass by the neighborhood 24/7 convenience store — its fluorescent light buzzing softly against the blue of early night. The bell above the door jingles just as you’re walking by

You barely noticed the door opening. But when you glanced up —

There she was.

Minju.

Gray hoodie, reusable tote bag slung over her shoulder, a bottled coffee and a pack of Chocopie in her hands. Her hair was loosely tied back, no makeup, just… her.

You froze.

And she did too.

Her eyes locked with yours for the briefest second — wide, startled — like you’d caught her doing something she shouldn’t have.

"Minju?"

It left your mouth before you could stop it. Half-whisper, half-hope.

But she didn’t answer.

She blinked once, looked down fast, and stepped around you like she didn’t hear.

Didn’t even look back.

Your heart sank, the cold air suddenly sharper against your neck.

You turned to say something, maybe ask if she was okay, maybe call her name again — but the bell jingled one more time, and she was already out of reach.

She was gone before you could understand why it hurt so much.

You just stood there.

In front of a glowing convenience store, still full of quiet music and freezer hums, watching the empty sidewalk where she used to be.

You didn’t chase after her. Not because you didn’t want to. But because you didn’t know if she wanted to be caught.

And the worst part?

For the first time in a while — you didn’t feel tired from the fight with your girlfriend. You felt tired because Minju walked away.

Yuna’s apartment, around 8:30 PM. The girls are sprawled out on the floor again, nursing instant noodles and cold soda, the TV playing some random reality show in the background. But Minju’s been quiet since she arrived — really quiet

"Minju," Chaewon said softly, finally breaking the silence. "You haven’t touched your food."

Minju blinked. She’d been staring into her bowl for the past ten minutes, chopsticks in hand, unmoving.

Yuna leaned over. "Did something happen?"

There was a long pause.

Then Minju whispered, "I saw him."

Chaewon and Yuna exchanged a look.

Minju’s eyes stayed fixed on the swirling broth in front of her. "Outside the convenience store. Just... randomly. I wasn’t expecting it."

"And?" Yuna prompted gently.

"I panicked." Minju let out a shaky breath. "I walked past him like he was a stranger."

"You ignored him?" Chaewon asked, surprised.

Minju nodded slowly, her lips pressed tight. "I didn’t mean to. My heart just— I don’t know. It started beating so fast. And I thought if I said one word, even just his name, I’d cry or say something I shouldn’t."

She dropped her chopsticks with a soft clatter. "And he looked at me like..." Her voice cracked. "Like I broke something."

The room was quiet for a few seconds. The show on TV kept playing — some cheesy confession scene between reality show contestants. It made the moment feel even more surreal.

"I’ve been so scared of getting in the way," Minju whispered. "So I avoided him. I distanced myself. I told myself it was the right thing to do. But now I’m starting to think I just hurt both of us for nothing."

Chaewon got up and sat closer, placing a hand over hers.

"Min," she said gently, "you didn’t hurt him by having feelings. You hurt him by pretending you didn’t."

Yuna added softly, "And maybe... it’s time to stop pretending."

Minju blinked fast, like she was trying to push the sting back down.

"I think I love him," she said. Finally. Not to herself. Not just in her head. Out loud. In the air. In front of people who mattered.

And it felt terrifying.

But also, just a little bit like relief.

12:17 AM. Your bedroom. Lights off, just the blue glow of your phone screen illuminating your face. You’re lying sideways on your bed, pillow half-tucked under your arm, blanket pulled just above your chest. The night is quiet — but your mind isn’t

You stared at the chat for a while now.

Minju 🐰 Last seen 11:49 PM.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Just say something.

“Hey.” Or “Sorry, did I do something?” Or even just “You okay?”

Anything.

You didn’t care if it sounded needy. Or sudden. You just… wanted to talk to her again. You wanted to fix what you didn’t even fully understand.

You slowly typed:

You: “Min—”

[New message: Her 💬]

“I thought you were asleep? Why is your status online.”

You sighed.

Closed your eyes. Reopened them.

Another message came right after.

“Funny how you’re always quick to reply to her.”

You didn’t respond.

You couldn’t.

You backed out of the conversation without typing anything back. The irritation was sharp in your throat. It wasn’t even about Minju. It was about control. About being questioned. About being monitored.

Your screen still sat open on Minju’s chat.

You stared at it again. Her little profile picture, her last seen status. Her silence after seeing you earlier.

You locked your phone. Unlocked it again. Typed.

You: “Are you awake?”

Deleted it.

Typed again.

You: “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Deleted again.

You shut your eyes and sank deeper into the pillow, heart aching in that quiet, unnameable way.

For someone still so close, Minju suddenly felt miles away.

And beside you, your phone buzzed again.

But this time, you didn’t check.

You weren’t sure whose silence hurt more anymore — Minju’s… or your own.

3:17 PM. A weekend afternoon at the mall. The food court buzzes with chatter and clattering trays. Jaemin, Seungmin, and the rest of the gang are crowded around a table with soda cups, half-eaten fries, and shopping bags at their feet.

"Bro, these onion rings are crazy," Jaemin said, mouth full, pushing the basket toward Seungmin. "You’re missing out."

Seungmin picked one up. "Still wild that Y/N’s not here though. It’s been forever since we had a full hangout."

"He said he couldn’t," another friend added, rolling his eyes. "Because she didn’t want him to. Again."

Jaemin frowned. "Dude, I get being a good boyfriend or whatever, but that’s not even a relationship anymore. It’s house arrest."

They all laughed lightly — but there was tension beneath it. A knowing frustration.

Then Seungmin paused, fries halfway to his mouth.

"Wait."

His brows furrowed.

"Isn’t that...?"

They all turned to where he was looking — just across the floor, near the milk tea stall. A girl. Your girl.

And she wasn’t alone.

She was leaning against the counter, laughing. Not just casual laughing — flirty laughing. Her body turned toward the guy she was with, his hand lingering at the small of her back.

They all went quiet.

Jaemin squinted. "Isn’t that the dude from her course? The one she swore she wasn’t close with?"

The guy reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Everyone saw it.

Everyone saw her smile. The way she looked at him like no one else existed. The way she didn’t even check her phone. Didn’t act like she was hiding anything.

"She told Y/N she was studying today," Seungmin muttered, stunned. "And she didn’t let him come with us because she ‘wanted space.’"

No one said anything for a long second.

Then Jaemin stood up, fists clenched around his soda cup.

"That’s it," he said. "I’m done being quiet about this. He deserves to know."

"Are you gonna tell him now?"

"I’ll give her a chance to explain," Jaemin muttered. "But if she lies — we’re showing him everything."

To be continued-

#spotify #kpop #kim minju #izone minju #izone fluff #izone x male reader #male reader

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