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kthologue · 2 months ago

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operation: get over your childhood crush! — gojo satoru

synopsis. in an attempt to move on from your childhood best friend—who definitely doesn’t see you the way you want—you hatch a series of plans to help you get over him. it doesn't go as planned.

contents. hurt/comfort, fluff, nerd!gojo, college au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, unreliable narrator, miscommunication, insecurity, dorky references bc u make him go dumb and digimon inaccuracies probably

notes. i did not proofread this monster!! enjoy :P

The hum of the air conditioning fills the room as night settles in, the light from Satoru’s bedside lamp casting a soft glow over his mess of a room. You’re both sprawled out across his bed, limbs entangled like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Because, for the two of you, it is.

Satoru’s Nintendo Switch is balanced on his stomach, hands lazily tapping away as his little Digimon charges into battle on screen. You’re curled into his side, one leg hooked around his and a blanket thrown haphazardly across you both. The half-abandoned textbooks sit at the edge of the mattress, tragically ignored. Another study session: failed. Not that Satoru needed it. He passed everything with flying colors. It was more of an excuse for you to come over.

“Your room still smells like that cheap vanilla air freshener,” you mumble, nose scrunching.

“That’s because you bought it,” he replies without looking up, thumb expertly guiding his character through an attack.

“Because your room would end up stinking with sweat and whatever freaky stuff you do in here.”

“Hey!” He whines. “I shower everyday and you know it. The stink is all you. Have you ever sniffed yourself, princess?”

You swat at his stomach, and he lets out a dramatic grunt. “Rude. I brought that candle to add ambiance.”

“Ah yes,” he deadpans, “nothing like artificial sugar scent.’”

You snort, settling your head back down on his shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie soft beneath your cheek. There’s a long pause before you say, “You know, if we fail our exams, I’m blaming your Digimon addiction.”

He grins. “I’m raising digital warriors, thank you very much. And I’ve never failed an exam, don’t wound me now!”

“They look like mutant toddlers with attitude problems.”

He gasps, clutching his heart. “They’re champions, you monster.”

You laugh, letting the sound dissolve into something quieter as your fingers absentmindedly trace a pattern into the blanket. His hand rests near yours. Not holding it. Not not holding it.

His glasses are tilted again. Of course.

You reach up and straighten them with a sigh. “Honestly, you’d be lost without me.”

“Not true.” He says it reflexively, then pauses. His voice softens. “Okay, maybe. I’d probably just let them slide down until I walked into a wall.”

You smile faintly. “And there’d be no one there to patch you up.”

“Tragic,” he agrees. “Would bleed out on the floor, probably.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re so bossy,” he counters, shooting you a sideways look.

“Admit it,” he says, voice full of faux-smugness, “you’d miss me if I died tragically and left you all alone.”

You hesitate for a second too long before mumbling, “Don’t joke about that.”

It’s quiet. The game music loops in the background as his Digimon wins the battle with a triumphant fanfare.

He doesn’t say anything.

You suddenly feel too warm under the blanket. The joke had been harmless, stupid even.

But something inside you twists, the same something that’s been unraveling lately every time he mentions another girl.

Another type. That’s not you.

“You know,” you say slowly, eyes peeling from the screen to his phone, which lights up with a notification, revealing one of his favorite gravure model’s latest issues as its wallpaper. “You could probably date any girl you wanted. Why do you partake in freak stuff like this? It’s anti-girl repellent.”

He makes a noncommittal sound. “Doubt it.”

“I don’t. You’ve got that whole genius-who-doesn’t-realize-he’s-hot thing going on.”

He glances at you, skeptical. “Is that a thing?”

“It is. Annoying, but effective. Girls love it.”

He hums, clearly amused, cheeks slightly flushed. “Well, good to know I have options.”

You try to laugh, but it catches in your throat.

You shouldn’t ask. You really shouldn’t.

But you’re lying in his bed. Wrapped up in him like you belong here. And some part of you aches to know the answer.

So you pretend it’s a joke. You tilt your head against his shoulder, voice airy, teasing. “Hey, be honest—do you think I’m cute?”

He goes still.

His hand tightens slightly on the Switch. You think you’ve pushed too far, so you try to backpedal before he can respond.

“Not like… like that,” you say quickly. “I just meant, like, in general. Compared to those girls you’re into. Say, Waka Inoue. You know, long legs, shiny hair, cute face?”

His jaw tightens.

You’re still trying to play it off. “I mean, I’m not fishing for compliments. I just—was wondering.”

He finally turns to look at you.

His gaze lingers. And for the first time all night, he’s not smiling.

You feel your breath stutter in your throat underneath his gaze.

Then he shrugs.

“…Nah.”

It slices through the air with quiet finality.

Your heart drops. You don’t let it show. Not fully. But it must flicker in your face, because he quickly looks away.

You laugh. It sounds forced.

“Yeah, that’s fair. I mean, I wasn’t expecting a yes or anything.”

He’s silent.

You shift away from him slightly, giving him space. “I should head home soon. We didn’t really get any studying done, anyway.”

“It’s late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Usually, you’d accept his offer with a smile, but you really wanted to go home and wallow in your own self pity.

“It’s fine, I have something to do anyway,” the lie slips out of your mouth easily as you begin to pack your things.

And you miss the way he watches you—guilt in his eyes, frustration on his tongue.

You knew it was time. Twenty years of hopeless, fruitless pining had done enough damage to your heart.

It had started the day your parents moved next door. Satoru had been the loud, obnoxious, too-pretty-for-his-own-good boy on the playground who shoved candy in your hand and asked if you wanted to be friends.

You’d been doomed since day one.

And to make things worse, you’d both gotten into Japan’s most competitive university—together. Same neighborhood. Same school. Same train route. You weren’t just stuck with him. You were haunted.

But you were young and hot. And allegedly in your prime. You couldn’t keep orbiting around a guy who still thought microwave gyoza was a food group and used your shampoo because it “smelled like you, so why not?”

You were sipping coffee with your two closest friends, and today’s topic was—unfortunately—your love life.

“Honestly, I can’t believe you’ve been stuck on Gojo for this long,” Utahime said, disgusted, as she stirred her latte like it personally offended her. “You could do so much better.”

“It was kind of cute in high school,” Shoko added “but now it’s just sad.”

You sighed, blowing on your drink. “I know, okay? It’s not like I haven’t tried. But he’s literally the only guy I’ve ever been close to. I don’t even talk to guys besides him.”

“That’s because he’s been gatekeeping you since the two of you met,” Utahime said flatly. “I swear, every time someone so much as glanced at you, he pulled that overprotective act.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That doesn’t sound like ’Toru…”

Shoko and Utahime exchanged a look. One of those knowing glances.

Utahime cleared her throat. “It doesn’t matter! What matters is you are hot. You’ve got the face, the body, the grades, the personality. You just need the confidence.”

You peeked up at her, unsure. “You really think so?”

Utahime leaned forward, smirking like she’d just won a war. “I know so. And that’s why I’ve come up with a plan.”

You narrowed your eyes. “A plan?”

She slammed her hands down on the table, eyes alight. “Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru.”

You blinked. “That’s… a long title.”

Shoko blew a slow stream of smoke. “It’s either this or pine until you die and haunt him as a love-sick ghost.”

You stared into your cup, sighing. “Fine. I’m in. What’s step one?”

Utahime grinned.

“Whatcha doing?”

Gojo’s voice drifts lazily over your shoulder, followed by the soft rustle of his hoodie as he leans in. He’s far too close, obnoxiously so, his breath tickling your ear and his chin was nearly resting on your shoulder.

You don’t even glance up. “Studying.”

The two of you are supposed to be studying— finals loom overhead like a guillotine, but as usual, very little academic progress has been made. Mostly because your study partner is a six-foot-something genius who insists on sitting sideways in the booth, long legs tangled in yours under the table like it’s second nature.

He hums, skeptical. “Liar.”

You hum noncommittally, thumbing through the dating app Utahime suggested with vague disinterest. The guys blur together: not tall enough, too cocky, too bland, too not Satoru. One makes a joke suspiciously close to a Gojo classic, and you immediately hit unmatch with a scowl.

“Wait,” Satoru says slowly. “Are you on a dating app?!” He practically yells the last part. Half the cafe turns to glare at the source of the disruption.

You hiss under your breath, mortified, swatting at him. “Keep your voice down, idiot!”

His eyes widen dramatically, hands thrown up like you’ve stabbed him. “I leave you alone for two minutes and you’re already planning a life with someone named ‘Keita, aspiring poet and spiritual healer’? I’m wounded.”

“You weren’t supposed to read that far.”

“I’m a speed-reader,” he says with a smug grin. “It’s part of the whole ‘genius’ thing.”

Before you can argue, he snatches your phone with a level of ease that tells you this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. He grins like he’s won a prize.

“Satoru!”

“Relax, I’m not texting anyone,” he says, fingers flying across the screen. “Just optimizing.”

Your heart drops. “What are you typing?”

“Nothing~”

You make a grab for your phone, but he effortlessly leans back, holding it above his head with those ridiculously long limbs. You glare at him from across the table, arm outstretched like a furious cat trying to swat at the moon.

“Give it back!”

“Patience.”

“Gojo Satoru—”

“Okay, okay!” he relents with a dramatic sigh, finally placing your phone face-down on the table like he’s done you a huge favor.

You snatch it up immediately, eyes scanning for damage. No weird messages. No unsolicited likes. No new matches.

“…What did you do?”

“I didn’t message anyone,” he assures, too innocent to be trusted. “I’m not that cruel.”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious.

“But,” he adds with a grin, “I didn’t know you were dating.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, clicking your phone off. “Just considering it. Trying. It’s not going well.”

“Good.”

The word comes out too fast. Too sharp. And his face doesn’t match the light tone he’s trying to play off.

You raise an eyebrow. “Good?”

He shifts, leaning back in his seat, suddenly very interested in stirring the foam in his overpriced coffee. “I mean, it’s good you’re not settling. You should be picky. Guys are the worst.”

You snort. “You are a guy.”

“Exactly. I know what we’re like.”

You smile despite yourself, rolling your eyes. “I’m sure you think you’re the exception.”

“I know I am,” he says, winking. Then he sobers slightly, eyes flickering to yours. “I’m just… looking out for you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You wish it was more than just him being protective in that big-brotherly, annoyingly loyal kind of way.

You take a sip of your coffee to cool your nerves. It doesn’t help. The words come out before you can stop them.

“You know with the way things are going… maybe you should just date me at this point.”

Silence.

It’s a joke. Supposed to be. But the second it leaves your lips, it tastes real.

Gojo freezes.

You panic. “I didn’t mean—like, I was just joking—”

But he turns toward you, eyes unreadable behind the fringe of snowy white hair. “Maybe I should.”

You blink.

And then, with infuriating ease, he grins.

“Anyway,” he says quickly, swiping your phone from the table again before you can stop him, “Yuto here looks like the type to ghost you after three dates and a karaoke duet. You can do better.”

You gape at him, completely thrown off, your heart slamming in your chest.

You don’t even notice what he’s done until later—until you get home and open your app to find that your bio has been changed.

Taken. Mentally married to a nerd since birth.

You want to scream.

Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru?

Yeah. Not going great.

Not at all.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to it.

Maybe it was the look in Utahime’s eyes, so determined and hopeful. Maybe it was Shoko promising she would help you find true love. Maybe it was the quiet part of you that wanted to see yourself through someone else’s eyes. Someone who wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Today,” Utahime had declared, curling the last strand of your hair like she was threading a spell, “is the first day of your Gojo-less future”

You laughed nervously, tugging at the hem of your skirt. It wasn’t your usual style—not the dewy makeup you weren’t used to seeing in the mirror, not the new haircut that made your eyes look almost too bright, not the blouse that left your shoulders bare in a way that made you feel strangely noticed.

But when you caught your reflection, your heart fluttered. You looked beautiful.

When you stepped onto campus, the sun was out, the wind teasing your hair. You spotted him immediately—Gojo, slouched against the wall outside your lecture hall, nose buried in his Switch as he muttered something under his breath about evolving stats and attack modifiers.

He didn’t notice you at first.

Then he looked up.

His game froze mid-battle. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, like someone had unplugged his brain.

“Wha—” he said eloquently. “Wh—what did you do.”

You blinked. “Hi to you too.”

He stared, unabashed. His glasses were slightly crooked, his ears glowing scarlet. He looked like someone had just told him Digimon was real and living in your shoes.

He blinked. “You look like… like you skipped two evolution stages overnight. Straight to Mega. Like if Angewomon fused with… I don’t know, some kind of rare, limited-release goddess-type Digimon that only spawns on a lunar eclipse.”

You blinked.

Utahime’s voice in your head: You’re hot. Unstoppable. He’s going to be speechless.

And Gojo was. But not in the way you wanted.

You tried to laugh. “So I look like a cartoon?”

“A beautiful cartoon,” he said, serious now. “Like the kind of boss character they only show for two frames because animating her costs too much.”

Your heart stuttered. It was the sort of compliment only Gojo could give: clumsy and dorky, yet brilliant in its own way.

But the moment passed.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, sunglasses slipping slightly as he muttered, “You just… you look different. That’s all.”

Different.

Not better. Not prettier.

Just different.

You swallowed. “Yeah, well. Thought I’d try something new.”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” he added quickly, but the words felt unsure. Flimsy.

“I should… use the restroom,” you mumbled, turning before he could say anything else.

In the bathroom, you stared at your reflection. Your lipstick looked too bold now. Your lashes too heavy. Despite the change, you were still painfully you— the you Gojo teased during study sessions, the one he let borrow his hoodie when it rained, the one who sat next to him during endless all-nighters. And maybe that was the problem. You weren’t like those girls on the magazines.

What you didn’t see, what you couldn’t see, was Gojo still standing outside the lecture hall, staring after you, Switch forgotten, game over screen blinking on the screen.

He didn’t even notice.

“You good, Satoru?” Shoko asked, walking by.

He blinked. “I think I just saw my best friend… and my final boss… and my future wife… all at once.”

Shoko snorted. “You’re a dork.”

Gojo just sighed, shoulders slumping as he muttered, “I’m so doomed.”

It’s a mild Friday evening when you meet him—Kazuya, the guy from your psychology class. He’s polite, articulate, and kind of cute. The kind of guy who asks if you prefer cats or dogs before ordering his drink, and actually listens when you answer.

Utahime and Shoko had insisted you say yes. “A change of pace,” they called it. “You need a baseline. Not every guy is going to be Gojo Satoru.”

Exactly. That was the point.

You’re sipping a matcha latte and nodding along as Kazuya explains his thesis on cognitive development when a very familiar voice cuts through the air.

“Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

Your stomach drops. You look up, and sure enough—

Satoru.

In all his tall, obnoxiously eye-catching glory, wearing a white t-shirt that was inside out and a grin like he just won the lottery. He's holding a bottle of ramune and standing directly next to your table, like he’s been there the whole time.

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Thirsty. Wanted a drink.”

“At this café? On this side of campus?”

“Yeah,” he says, tone innocent. “Weird coincidence, huh?”

Kazuya offers a polite smile. “You’re her friend, right? Gojo?”

“Oh, best friend. Lifelong. Practically her shadow.” He plops into the empty seat beside you without asking, casually tossing his ramune onto the table. “What’s your name again? Kaname?”

“…Kazuya.”

“Right, right. I always mix those up. You look like a Kaname, though. Or maybe a Yusuke.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “Satoru—”

But he’s already leaning over, squinting at the book tucked under Kazuya’s arm. “Ooh, Piaget. Bold move. Love that for you.”

Kazuya blinks. “Do you… like developmental theory?”

“I like being correct,” Gojo says with a cheeky smile. “Also, [Name] hates Piaget. She called him ‘the Freud of toddlers’ last semester.”

Kazuya turns to you in mild surprise. “Really?”

“I—I mean, yeah,” you mumble. “Sort of.”

Gojo beams. “Told you.”

Kazuya makes a valiant effort to steer the conversation back to safe, neutral ground.

“So, you mentioned you're interested in behaviorism, right?” he says, offering a gentle smile. “I thought Dr. Takeda's lecture on conditioned responses was kind of fascinating—”

“Oh, riveting,” Satoru cuts in, lounging back in his chair like he owns the café. “Nothing like bonding over Pavlov’s dogs to spark romance. Did she tell you she cried during Inside Out because the depiction of core memories was ‘psychologically resonant’? Real charmer, this one.”

You shoot Satoru a look. “I was twelve!”

Kazuya blinks, trying not to smile. “I actually thought that was pretty moving, too.”

“Wow,” Satoru deadpans. “A match made in neuroscience.”

Kazuya laughs politely and continues, undeterred. “So, uh, any research plans after graduation?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Satoru beats you to it again.

“She used to want to be a vet. Cried when she had to dissect a frog in middle school. Tragic day.”

“Is that true?” Kazuya turns to you, amused now.

“Technically, yes,” you mutter into your drink.

By the time your cup is empty, you realize you’ve laughed more at Satoru’s interjections than you have at anything Kazuya’s said. Not because Kazuya wasn’t interesting—he was. He was calm, thoughtful, well-read, and clearly trying. But next to Satoru, whose entire presence seemed impossible to ignore, Kazuya didn’t stand a chance.

Still, to his credit, Kazuya maintains a steady, if slightly strained, expression as he sets down his cup and finally says, carefully,

“So… is Gojo your boyfriend?”

The question hangs awkwardly.

You and Satoru answer at the same time.

“No,” you say quickly.

“Yes,” he says with a smile.

You both turn to stare at each other.

“I mean—no,” he corrects, waving his hands. “Just a joke. Hah. Obviously.”

Kazuya blinks. “Right.”

You can’t meet either of their eyes. Your drink is finished, your palms are damp, and the café is suddenly too warm, too small. You push back your chair and stand.

“I should go. Early lab meeting tomorrow.” It’s the weakest excuse, but neither of them calls you on it.

Kazuya stands too, polite as ever. “Thanks for meeting up. You seem like a really cool person.” He hesitates, then adds, gently, “I just think maybe you’ve already got someone.”

You freeze. You open your mouth, then close it again. There’s nothing to say.

Outside, the cold air kisses your cheeks like a reminder. It stings a little, or maybe that’s just the confusion burning in your chest.

Satoru’s already waiting for you. Of course he is. He’s leaning against the lamppost, silver hair catching in the wind. But his eyes are downcast, trained on the sidewalk.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Neither do you.

You exhale, watching your breath curl white in the air. “You didn’t have to crash it, y’know.”

“I didn’t crash,” he replies without looking at you. “I was invited.”

“By who?”

“Fate. Karma. The gods of poor decision-making.” He shrugs.

You roll your eyes, but it tugs a laugh from you anyway. Stupid, annoying, charming Gojo.

“So,” he says after a beat, nudging your arm gently with his elbow, “how’d it go?”

You glance at him. He still won’t meet your gaze. His lips are pursed like he’s holding back a hundred words and none of them are funny.

“He was nice,” you admit. Despite being rudely interrupted by the white haired idiot beside you.

“Nice is boring,” he mutters, kicking at a loose stone on the pavement.

You laugh, soft and tired. “You’re the worst.”

He finally looks at you then, lips quirking into that smug, too-knowing smile. “But you like me anyway.”

You look away, cheeks burning, heart thudding like a traitor in your chest.

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

Despite Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru failing in every imaginable way, things were starting to feel bearable.

Almost good, even.

Satoru still hovered a little too close, always with that same half-smile like he knew something you didn’t. And maybe, just maybe— his constant sabotage, the teasing, the jealousy, the way he looked at you like he was about to say something important but never did. Maybe it all meant something.

You let yourself believe it, just a little.

And that was your first mistake.

It happens quietly, without fanfare or warning. Just a throwaway line between sips of lukewarm coffee and the soft shuffle of paper. You’re both at your usual spot in the library, surrounded by open notebooks and highlighted packets, pretending to study more than you actually are.

You’re halfway through underlining a term in your psychology notes when Satoru leans back in his chair, stretches like a cat, and says far too casually:

“So, guess who asked me out?”

You hum absentmindedly. “Who?”

“Ayane.”

The name hits you like a slap.

You freeze, highlighter paused mid-sentence. “…Ayane? From the biochem track?”

“Yeah,” he says, practically glowing. “You know her, right? She's in your study group sometimes.”

You do know her. Of course you do. Everyone knows her.

She’s beautiful, with this effortless, clean kind of elegance—long legs, perfect posture, and that quiet, poised confidence that makes professors adore her and guys fall over themselves. The kind of girl who posts one blurry bookshelf photo and still racks up a thousand likes. The kind of girl Gojo always jokes about marrying.

But he’s not joking now. He’s beaming.

“She asked me out to dinner this Friday. She’s so smart, too. I didn’t even have to pretend to know what quantum entanglement was. It’s wild.” He laughs, brushing a hand through his hair. “I thought she’d never go for a guy like me, y’know?”

You force a laugh. “A guy like you?”

“Yeah. I dunno. Too much, I guess? But she said I was ‘refreshing.’” He grins.

Your stomach sinks.

This is what you thought you wanted—for him to move on, so you could finally do the same. For Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru to succeed, for real this time.

But now that it’s happening, it feels like someone’s slowly pulling your ribs apart.

“Oh,” you manage, smiling like you’ve practiced it. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

He doesn’t notice the way your voice cracks on happy. He just keeps talking, rambling about restaurant reservations and how she likes contemporary poetry and used to live in France. You nod in all the right places, but your thoughts are already slipping away.

Because it isn’t just that he’s going out with someone else.

It’s that he chose her.

Her with her flawless skin and quiet charm and the kind of beauty that doesn’t need to try. Her, with everything you’re not. And more than that, it’s that he made you believe you could have meant more to him, when really, he’d been searching for someone else all along.

You excuse yourself early, mumbling something about laundry.

He doesn’t follow.

You don’t cry until you’re halfway home, the cold air biting at your cheeks as your vision blurs.

For the first time in years, you don’t text him goodnight.

You don’t wait for a meme. Or a dumb joke. Or his usual, “Hey, genius. Sleep.”

You go silent.

And when he texts the next day, you don’t reply.

You skip your library meet-up. You don’t sit next to him in class. You even duck into the stairwell when you see his ridiculous white hair from across campus.

It’s not because you’re mad. It’s because you’re heartbroken.

And you can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter—that he doesn’t matter.

You weren’t just losing your best friend.

You were losing the love of your life.

And he didn’t even notice.

It takes him three days to notice you’re gone.

Well—no. That’s a lie.

He notices immediately. The moment your usual seat in the library stays empty. When your laugh doesn’t echo in the café line. When your name doesn’t pop up on his screen at 2AM with some stupid meme captioned, “this reminded me of you, idiot.”

But he tells himself you’re busy.

Midterms, right? Stress. Coffee. You get like this sometimes, and he gets it. He really does.

So he waits. Tells himself not to be clingy.

But then Friday comes.

And he's sitting across from Ayane in some expensive, quiet restaurant where the napkins are folded like origami cranes and the water tastes filtered. She’s telling him about her research internship in Osaka, about enzymes and international grants, and all he can think is—

You’d be making fun of me right now.

You’d be kicking him under the table. Whispering some dumb pun about digimon. You’d be pulling faces every time he tried to pronounce the items on the menu. You’d be you.

Ayane is lovely.

But she doesn’t laugh when he says something stupid. She just smiles politely.

She doesn’t ask about why his glasses are always crooked (it’s so you could fix them). Doesn’t tease him for double-knotting his laces like a paranoid grandma. Doesn’t call him “Sato” like it’s some private joke only the two of you get.

He walks her home. Thanks her for a nice evening.

Then he goes to the convenience store. Alone.

And he sees your favorite snack on the shelf and buys two out of habit.

He stares at his phone the entire train ride back.

No new messages.

Just the last one you sent days ago:

“Laundry. Rain check?”

And nothing since.

He waits. Another day. Then two.

You don’t show up to class again.

You don’t like his latest meme.

You don’t comment on the Digimon pun he texted you out of desperation.

You are silent.

And Satoru Gojo—brilliant, blind-sighted, the golden boy of theoretical physics, always five steps ahead realizes, too late, that he’s been a fool.

That he didn’t just lose a study partner.

He lost the one person who knew him better than he knew himself.

The one person he couldn’t replace with rare Digimon pulls, half-solved physics equations, or overly sweet desserts.

And for the first time since he was a kid—

He’s afraid.

It’s been a little over a week.

A little over a week since Gojo Satoru has heard your voice. Since you shoved your coffee at him without asking, muttering “too sweet for me” when you really meant “I got this for you.” Since you poked fun at his stupid sock choices, or knocked your foot against his under the table like it was nothing.

And Satoru is suffering.

He's tried everything. Showed up to your house with excuses too weak to be called plans (“Hey, I brought your favorite snacks. I just... figured maybe you forgot you liked them?”). Waited outside your lecture hall until a security guard asked if he was lost. Took detours between classes hoping to catch a glimpse of your ponytail, your laugh, anything.

But you were always one step ahead.

You stopped answering his texts. Blocked him on that stupid dating app (which—ouch, even though you hadn’t used it seriously). You didn’t even show up to the library anymore. And even Shoko started looking at him with thinly veiled pity and a you really fumbled the bag look in her eyes.

Gojo Satoru is just tired.

Miserable.

So when he finally finds you—not because he’s chasing you down this time, but because he’s walking the long way home, and there you are, sitting on the old swings at the park where you first met—it knocks the wind out of him.

You don’t look surprised to see him. Just tired too.

“I figured you’d find me eventually,” you say quietly.

He swallows. His hands curl at his sides like he’s preparing for a fight.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, like it isn’t obvious. “Why?”

You look away. “You’re smart. Figure it out.”

Gojo looks down at his feet.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and stinging. The playground is empty except for the wind dragging a soda can down the sidewalk and the faint creak of the swing chain.

Then he exhales, ragged and unsure. “Look, I can’t—I can’t take this anymore.”

You glance up.

“I can’t either.”

Hope flares too fast, too naive in his chest. His shoulders drop like he’s been holding up the world. “That’s good,” he breathes, stepping forward. “Because the silent treatment— God, I thought I was going to—”

“I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

The words stop him cold.

“What?” he breathes.

You laugh, but it’s hollow. Like something already broken. “Don’t you get it? I can’t be friends with you and pretend that nothing’s changed. That I’m okay just being your best friend. I’ve been in love with you for years, Satoru.”

His heart stutters. You don’t stop.

“And I love myself too much to keep hurting for someone who doesn’t even look at me that way.” Your voice cracks, but you push through. “Do you know how humiliating it feels? To love someone so much it aches, and still feel like you’ll never be enough?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

You wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You never even thought I was cute.”

He looks like he’s been hit.

“I’ve been chasing scraps. Leftovers. Mixed signals and stupid inside jokes. I—I can’t do it anymore.”

You finally meet his eyes, and that’s when he sees it: the hurt you’ve been hiding behind every smile, every brush-off, every joke you cracked to keep the silence from swallowing you.

And for once, Gojo Satoru can’t find a single thing to say.

Not yet.

Not until he stops you from walking away.

“Where did you get an idea like that?” His cerulean eyes search yours desperately. “I-I don’t think you’re just cute, are you kidding?” he blurts, eyes wild.

“Y-you’re breathtaking! Everything I’ve dreamt of and more! That night when you asked me if I thought you were cute, I only said no because it would be a divine crime to reduce to such. All of my fantasies have been centered around you since we first met on that playground—since you tripped over your shoelaces trying to race me to the monkey bars!”

Your breath catches.

He continues, desperate now, like every second of silence might kill him.

“I love you! And not like a brother. Like—I want to marry you. Like, small wedding in Okinawa, barefoot on the beach, you wearing that soft blue dress you like. I already planned it. Our firstborn would be a daughter, with your eyes, my hair. She’d be the boss of the house.”

You gape.

“Wait—”

“I’m not done!” he says, hands thrown up. “Then we’d have twins. Boys. Chaos gremlins. One would look like my twin and the other yours, and they’d absolutely terrorize us—but their sister keeps them in check, she’s fierce like you.”

You blink. A tear slides down your cheek.

“I want to move to Kyoto,” he says, softer now. “Buy a house with a dumb little garden. Grow tomatoes we’ll never eat. Live out the rest of our lives where it’s quiet.”

You cover your mouth, stunned. “You… really thought all that out?”

“It’s easy,” he breathes, “when all I can think about is you.”

He steps closer. The wind tugs his white hair into his eyes, but he doesn’t blink.

“I go to study nonlinear quantum field theory and all I see is your face. I try to cool off and play Digimon, and even that’s ruined—my lineup is garbage now! I only keep the ones you said were cute!”

A laugh bubbles out of you, fragile and watery.

“You idiot,” you murmur.

“I am,” he nods solemnly. “I’m the world’s biggest idiot. And I’m in love with you.”

Another tear slips down. He wipes it away before you can.

“Is it too late?” he asks, voice cracking slightly. “Please tell me it’s not too late.”

You stare at him, this man, this brilliant, ridiculous boy who had held your heart long before you ever admitted it.

“It’s not too late,” you whisper.

He doesn’t speak. Just steps closer. Gently and carefully, like he's handling something sacred, he cups your cheek in his hand.

Your nose bumps his. His breath ghosts over your lips.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for years,” he whispers.

And then, finally, he kisses you.

It’s not perfect, your cheeks are still wet, his nose bumps yours again, and his hand trembles just a little, but it’s warm and sweet and soft. It tastes like home..

When he pulls away, his smile is sheepish. “So… are we still doing the whole ‘Operation: Get Over Gojo’ thing, or?”

You laugh, heart full, forehead pressed to his.

“Mission failed,” you whisper.

He grins. “Good.”

And then he kisses you again.

art by leimiruu on x!

#kt.writes.·:*¨༺#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojou x reader #gojou x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jjk angst #gojo angst #gojo hurt/comfort #jjk hurt/comfort #nerdjo #jjk x you

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strawberry-nugget · 23 days ago

Text

You ask Katsuki to give you a massage and end up with him blowing your back out♡♡

Warnings: smut, 18+ minors do not interact, fem!reader, happy ending massage, p in v sex, fingering, (some light) anal fingering, oiled up sex yall #holyfuckingairball, slight!dirty talking, slow sex, biting, spitting, prone-bone position, unprotected sex, All characters are 20+

Katsuki’s hands are huge. Heavy. Warm like stones left out in the sun. His fingers are thick, bulky and chubby where his knuckles are, the pads of his thumbs are calloused and rough, freed from the texture of a print due to regular filing, and still, my god— do they feel good rubbing zig zag lines and uneven shaped circles against your sore back.

His hands settle over every curve of your back like they were made to be there. Broad palms that are quirk charged bracketing your waist, spreading heat through his thumbs over muscle and skin until you’re not sure where your body ends and his begins. The weight of them is grounding, like gravity doubled. Like exhaling for the first time in hours.

You have been sore for way too long. Debating on whether you should book an appointment for a massage or get doctor prescribed physios, but ultimately in your lack of time and indecisiveness, you’ve let the issue come to its boiling point, let your back feel sore and aching to even the touch of your nails when you scratch yourself.

You tell yourself it surely wasn’t an excuse to make Katsuki get his hands on you like this, but then again if you were asked, you couldn’t say the opposite. The feeling of his hands on your skin is scorching every cell of your existence at all times and now— now you’re enjoying this way too much.

Naturally, your breath starts to stutter. Just a little. Shallow at first—barely-there catches of air that stalls in your chest each time his thumbs roll in deep near your spine, right where it always hurts worst. Katsuki notices. Of course he does. His hands pause for half a beat, then glide lower, smoothing the ache with a gentler pass like he’s coaxing the tension out instead of breaking it.

“Too much?” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep and heat and something else he doesn’t name. Something that lives between the cracks of his touch.

You shake your head into the pillow.

No. Not even close.

If anything, you feel as if you might as well melt.

The room is candlelit, filled with that slow bloom of lavender and something warmer—jasmine? Chamomile? It smells almost toasted from where his palms heat up the oil, seeping into the air like steam curling off summer pavement after rain. Soft music is playing in the background, drumming low with every single lyric the singer sings; Katsuki has gone out of his usual way to make you feel comfortable.

You’re already half-melted into the mattress by now, face buried in a pillow that still smells like his skin, the edge of your tank top pushed up to your ribs. You feel him behind you, quiet, deliberate, the bed dipping beneath his weight as his hands find the bottle of oil again.

When his hands leave your back, you’re back to feeling like hell, like all the alleviated pain just punched its way back into your rear.

To save you from this agony, Katsuki’s hands—those massive, brutish hands that have torn through half the villains in Japan, the hands that have been worked in excruciating and harsh conditions over the years—are moving over your back again like they’re made of sunlight and patience.

He presses again, harder this time. Not cruel, not rough. Just deliberate. One thumb working in a crooked elliptical circle beneath your shoulder blade while the heel of his other palm drags slow, wide strokes across your lower back. There’s no rhythm to it, no pattern. Just instinct. Just him. And maybe that’s why it feels so good. Because it’s not technique, not some learned routine from a textbook. It’s just him and the way he cares about you. Cares enough to soften his rough edges, to make his hardened palms feel incredible and soothing on your back.

Katsuki settles on either side of your legs, sitting on his knees above you as his oily thumbs hook under your bunched up shirt, coaxing you to lift only ever just a little, so he can take the article of clothing off of you.

With only a small tag, the flimsy piece of clothing is over your head, discarded onto the edge of the bed and Katsuki moves over your legs again, this time sitting low, just over the back of your knees. Rough palms that drip of fresh lavender oil feel your tummy as you stay lifted up, running up, up, up, until they slide across your breasts, thumbs softly brushing your nipples.

You moan with a rasp, at the loss of the feeling, or maybe at how hot his palms are when they engulf your shoulders and give a pinching little rub.

You feel Katsuki press in with a slow, unyielding pressure that makes your breath hitch against the pillow. He knows exactly where to go—where you hold stress, where it bites. Right between your shoulder blades, far up on the back of your neck, low at the base of your spine, the outer edges of your hips. His thumbs circle there, digging in just enough to ache, then easing off like a tide pulling back from shore.

He tags at your pyjama shorts next, just the waistline at first, then the start of your panties, but his thumbs stain the fabric in lavender sweetness, tagging even further when he says “Off”

You lift your hips without a word. It’s not even a decision—it’s instinct. A quiet offering. A permission that’s already been granted a hundred times in your body before it ever reaches your lips.

The shorts slide down slow. The elastic tugs over the swell of your ass, catching just slightly at the curve of your thighs before easing off, guided by thumbs that are far too gentle for how rough they look. His hands are reverent, even now. Even with your bare skin revealed under the low flicker of candlelight, with the smell of lavender thick in the air, wrapping around you both like a silken ribbon.

There’s a pause. Not long. Just enough to make you breathe in, hold it. You feel the weight of his gaze on your back. Feel it like a touch. Like heat.

Then his hands are on you again, and it’s almost worse than before. Better. Unbearably better.

His thumbs drag low, slow, slick with oil as they part the dip of your spine. They don’t press too hard. Just smooth you open—figuratively, literally—with strokes that make your toes curl into the sheets. His fingers knead into the meat of your hips now, heavy and full, pressing into places that ache with tiredness, places that never get touched this way unless it’s under the guise of something much filthier.

“You wait too long,” he mutters. Voice rough, low, almost annoyed—but not really. Not at you. “Could feel the knots from the second I touched you.”

You hum, something low in your throat. Almost a laugh. Almost a whimper. “Didn’t have time.”

“Make time,” he snaps, but it’s soft. Almost affectionate. His hands say more than the words ever could. They dig in again, dragging slow zigzags along the base of your spine, making your back arch and your thighs twitch. He smooths them over your ass, dragging the oil agonisingly slow over you, until his thumbs brush over the lower crevices of your bottom.

“Just ask, I’ll rub your back”

You can’t tell if it’s the oil or your own sweat making your skin slick now. Can’t tell where the ache ends and the heat begins. Can’t tell where you end and his skilled fingers begin.

All you know is that Katsuki’s hands are still on you—huge and hot and unrelenting—and that you never want them to stop.

You’re starting to forget the ache.

Not because it’s gone, but because it’s changed, morphed into something else under his hands. It’s still there, but not sharp. Not angry. Just… full. Blooming warm in your chest and pooling low in your belly like syrup, like honey slowly melting down a spoon.

You breathe again. Really breathe. And it comes out shaky, lips parted against the pillow, lashes fluttering in the candlelight.

“Fuck,” you whisper. Not directed at him. Not even really a word. Just a sound of surrender.

Katsuki shifts behind you, and you feel it—his weight bearing down gently on the back of your thighs, his thighs bracketing yours now, his body closer than it was before. Still clothed. Still in control. But not distant.

Never distant.

You feel his breath brush across the back of your neck a second before his lips do.

A soft press. Nothing more. Just warmth. Just acknowledgement.

“I know you’re tired,” he murmurs, voice low, sticky with quiet tenderness and worn-down. “But you can’t let yourself get like this.”

You nod—barely—but he sees it. He always sees you. Even when you try not to be seen.

“I’m here,” he says. “You got a boyfriend to fix your back anytime”

It’s simple. Not romantic, not flowery. Just your usual Katsuki.

His palms flatten against your waist again, spreading out like wings, dragging slow and deliberate as they glide up your sides. They pass over the swells of your breasts without urgency this time, just pressure and heat and familiarity, before curling over your shoulders. His thumbs dip under your arms, into the softest parts of you, and rub gentle, grounding circles.

You lean into it. Into him.

“You don’t have to fix everything,” you murmur, voice hushed against the pillow. His hands still. Not gone. Just still.

You call out his name, almost sheepishly, sleep dragging a voice that’s ready to complain, in contrast to your previous statement. You pout even, “Don’t stop babe i'm sore”

Katsuki exhales through his nose, and it sounds like a laugh, except it’s lower. Thicker. Like he’s trying not to let on how fond he is of you when you get like this tired and whiny and melting beneath his hands like you were made to be touched and felt up by him.

“Yeah?” he mutters, and you hear the smirk even before you feel it. “Thought I didn’t gotta fix everything.”

You nuzzle your cheek deeper into the pillow, refusing to dignify that with an answer.

He hums. His thumbs move again, slow, small circles into the soft spot just below your shoulder blades. You sigh, finally loud and satisfied again—and he shakes his head like he’s trying to be annoyed, even as his hands keep coaxing little, blissed-out sounds from your throat.

“Back’s all locked up like you’re made of concrete. What the hell’ve you been carryin’ around?”

You shrug lazily, the motion barely registering. “Life?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Too much of it.”

He shifts again, the bed dipping as his weight adjusts. One arm slides beneath your stomach, anchoring you gently, while the other keeps working slow and steady down your spine. Every stroke is fixated to every dip of your back like he’s trying to draw something out of you. Not just the tension. The tired. The worry.

You make another soft, contented noise, and he presses his lips to the side of your neck again—no heat, no rush, just a quiet, grateful touch.

One moment you’re relaxed, open, muscles soft, the dull ache of being rubbed with such pressure weighing you down to complete relaxation and the next—Katsuki’s lips find the edge of your shoulder blade. Smooching once, twice over spots that are oiled up.

He can’t help himself.

The lavender scent. The way your ass is curved upwards, so perky. The oil makes your skin shine in the low light of the candles. The angelic way the music starts sounding as the notes hit your skin like the softest raindrops on flower leaves; He feels himself lean into the fondly softness of the moment, growing hotter by each second. His cock has already started giving him warning throbs inside his briefs.

It’s almost quite dangerous, what you do to him. The sight of you sprawling limp and sleepy and soft under just the touch of his hands. So in a bold movement he smooths his wonders once again over your ass, thumbs parting your legs from the inside of your thighs, just a little. When he pulls back to his original position, vermillion eyes flicker where your slit is, glistening softly, not throbbing quite yet.

The slow drag of his hands, smoothing lower, is parted only by a moment from the pause just above the dip of your ass, where his thumbs rest—hover—like he’s thinking something over. Like he’s holding himself back, the way he always does when he thinks this might be too much, too soon, too selfish of him.

But to assure him, it isn’t, you push your hips back, just a tiny bit. So eager for him as always, even in this vulnerable state.

“Katsuki,” you breathe through a moan slurred, not like a question, not a plea. Just his name. Like you’re granting him permission by calling it out.

It’s all he needs.

His hands firm at your waist again, grip tightening just slightly, a groan catching low in his chest as his body bows over yours. You feel the warm press of his mouth at the nape of your neck, open and slow and wet. Feel his breath, the way it shakes. The way it matches yours.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he mutters against your skin. “Lyin’ here like this. Soundin’ like that.”

You’d laugh, a soft breathy chuckle, but it comes out like a whimper when his thumbs knead into the meat of your thighs and spread you gently apart. Lavender clings to everything. Your skin, your breath, the air—but now it’s mixed with eerie desire, like it wouldn’t turn out exactly like this when you asked him to rub your back.

His hands don’t rush, like they usually do when his chest is so tight with desire, arousal. They drag over your hips, your waist, until his fingers slide down the sides of your belly and find the edge of your hips again. This time, when he tugs your love handles, doughing them into the pads of his palms, there’s no hesitation. Just soft skin and warm oil peeling away from your skin, pooling on the sheets behind you.

You’re bare. Completely. The candlelight flickers, catching the sheen of sweat and oil across your back, your thighs. Katsuki pours more oil on his palms. You feel it trickle down your spine, between your legs. You feel him there too, kneeling behind you, hovering over you like heat itself.

And when his hands return, when his fingers slide between your thighs and find you already wet, already open—his breath punches out in one low, reverent curse, like he doesn’t remember seeing the way you were glistening when he looked over a second ago.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands slowly opening your ass cheeks “Look at you.”

You press your face harder into the pillow, hips tilting, thighs spreading wider in a silent invitation you’ve never needed to say aloud with him.

He slides one thick finger through your slick and groans, low and guttural like it hurts. Like he’s the one unraveling.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he says, voice rough, dazed, groaning out his words “fuckin’ dripping…”

The first push of his fingers is slow, deliberate—just one at first, thick and sure. Dragging the edge of the knuckle softly against your clit. Your back arches. Your mouth falls open. His other hand braces at your hip, grounding you, owning you.

Then another finger joins the first.

And god, his fingers are just as big as his hands, and you swear they’re made for this. Not gentle, but not rough either. Just pressure. Heat. Depth. The kind of stretch that makes your legs tremble, your body pulse with something deeper than need.

You sob into the pillow, and he shushes you softly—lips at your shoulder, tongue dragging the edge of your skin, teeth sinking in.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he breathes in your ear. “Let me make you feel good.”

You shiver when the pads of his thumbs push on the outter lips of your pussy, spreading you wider for him with that same careful control he uses in a fight—like he knows exactly how much force to use, how far to take it before it ruins you. And maybe you want to be ruined a little.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Katsuki murmurs, voice nearly gone, wrecked from how hard he’s breathing. His thumbs hold you open while his fingers curl slow, deep—dragging against that spot, under the hood of your clit that makes your thighs jolt, makes your chest squeeze tight. He watches you clench around him, watches the oil and slick mix and drip down to the crease of your thighs. Watches everything with that starved kind of look on his face, biting his lips and scrunching his nose, eyes blown wide like he’s being allowed to witness something sacred.

And he can’t help himself, once again, not to drag his left thumb over your entrance, circling softly, to gather some slick before his finger taps at your other puckered hole, rubbing once, twice, before slowly sinking in.

At the same time, almost, his right pointer finger enters your pussy, the thumb never leaving your clit, always circling it lazily, elliptical.

You both hiss, you at the feeling of both of your holes being entered, him at the feeling of how tightly you clamp around just his fingers.

His cock is furious inside his pants now. Angry at the top and leaking over the spot the tip has settled at.

“Fuuuuck,” he whispers again, this time quieter. Like it’s just for himself. Like he can’t believe how good you feel, how warm and wet and tight you are, clenching down on both fingers like your body’s trying to drag him in deeper.

And he feels like he might as well go insane.

Because it’s not just the way your body reacts to him, not just the way you sob and tremble and push back against his hand like you can’t get enough, though all of that drives him crazy. It’s that you let him see it. Let him touch you here, like this, in this kind of quiet, candlelit intimacy where everything is soft and raw and slow.

Your thighs tremble. Your breath catches.

It’s too much and at the same time, not enough.

His left hand, still slick and strong, adjusts where it holds you open. That finger still lazily and slowly pumping —almost still of movement— in the hole of your ass, teasing in slow, subtle pushes that make your whole spine tense, makes your toes curl into the sheets. And all the while, his right hand works in tandem; pointer finger deep inside your pussy, thumb lazy and steady on your clit like he’s marking time. Like he knows just how fast to take you, just how slow to pull you apart.

You whimper, shamefully loud.

It’s the kind of sound you’d usually try to bite back, bury into your wrist or his bicep, but Katsuki doesn’t let you this time. He growls at it, low, like a threat, pushes in just a bit deeper, rubbing the pad of his thumb in slow, wet circles against your clit until your hips twitch again.

“There you go,” he mutters. “That’s it. Let me hear it, baby.”

You do. Because you can’t not.

As you carefully wiggle your hips just a little more upwards, you yelp, feeling just a little pain from the thick finger in your ass and it takes all of Katsuki’s humility to gather a ball of spit in his mouth and let it go off, past his raspberry blown lips and onto the slit of your ass.

His finger exits so, so, so slowly, still you groan at the slight discomfort due to it, making his chest swell, and he catches some of his spit with his finger and enters you again.

Every nerve in your body is lit, every edge of you aching and raw. Katsuki doesn’t let up and with his chest bearing all this excitement and humility that makes his ears red and tingly from seeing you so spread open like this, he doesn’t stop. Just holds you open like you’re something precious and obscene all at once, his fingers working slow and deep until you’re shaking under him, toes curling, face buried in the pillow to keep from sobbing his name.

Suddenly, the bed creaks under his knees as he leans down, dwelling chest brushing your back, breath hot on your neck. His fingers never stop working—sliding deeper, curling, then scissoring your pussy open just slightly as if to test how ready you are for what comes next. He simply rasps at how wet you are, but it’s swallowed under the silky sounds of your squelching.

You feel open, loose, hot to the touch and unable to move, like your lower half has been lost in a cloud of overbearing pleasure.

Then, like you're kicked to the gut and jolted out of your pleasure cloud nine— you feel it. The weight of it.

Katsuki’s cock, hard and heavy, presses against the swell of your ass, sizzling hot even through the thin cotton of his boxers, begging to be set free.

You feel yourself leak, a beady drop of sticky sleek that trails down the lips of your pussy and onto his thumb. He presses down on your clit like it’s a button, squeezing just enough before flicking it, left then right, up then down and all over again until you’re screaming into the pillow.

Your pussy feels like it’s on fire and for once, the finger in your ass is starting to feel way more pleasing than it’s ever felt in the few times you two have tried this.

You feel the steady pulse of his throbbing mushroom tip beneath your skin, a weight that drags and shifts with every careful motion of his hips, like he’s tracing the shape of you without needing to see. Every inch memorized in the heat of this moment.

Slowly and so deliberately, his hands exit out of you with a pop and a treacherous whine from the depths of your chest that drips on your lips and slip to the waistband of his briefs, fingers rough only to himself as they peel the fabric down his thighs, releasing the tight hold. The cool air hits the bare skin of his cock, already glistening with heat and promise, and your breath catches at the sound of his dick hitting his abdomen.

Katsuki shifts closer, lips trailing a feather-light kiss along your shoulder, warm and urgent, grounding and electric all at once. His fingers slip free from where they held you open just moments ago, replaced by the thick, slick head of him pressing between your folds, nestling there like he’s already part of you.

His cockhead on your clit feels like heaven. Everything nice. Big and bulky and heavier than his thumb, it glides over a few, agonisingly slow times, before his voice breaks into speech.

He finds your clit again, traps it between flesh and fingertip, giving a small, delicious pinch that makes you shiver and arch against him.

“Y’gonna let me in, baby?” he whispers, lips dragging over your shoulder as his fingers slip free, replaced by the thick head of him nestling between your folds again.

You’re going crazy. Aching at the loss of his tip on your entrance. Drool catches at the side of your mouth and spills over the pillow, walls clamping down around thin air. You need him inside you right now or else you’ll combust. You’ve been spread out and toyed with for oh so long.

“Y-yes, please baby, put it in”

His breath fans across your skin, hot and ragged, as he shifts the last bit of distance between you. The head of him presses deeper, teasing the wet, swollen gate of your slit, just at the edge of full surrender. Your body tightens, trembling with the delicious agony of waiting.

Then, painfully slow, he pushes inside you, past the tight rim of your entrance—inch by inch, and so deliberate, a tender invasion that makes your chest rise and fall in ragged gasps. The heat of him floods you, filling every ache and hollow with only his tip that's pouring clear precum like a river. A vein on his cock throbs, catches close to your g-spot and you moan at the feeling, your clit throbbing like its on fire, by the action.

Katsuki’s hot hands slide down your hips, gripping firm enough to anchor you but gentle enough to let you melt beneath him. His lips find the curve of your neck, pressing soft, chaste kisses that trail lower—each one a quiet confession, a promise stitched into flesh. He bucks into you again, broken breath and a rhythm to match it, hips far from even stuttering against you.

All Katsuki can think right now as he looks down at his hands on your plush skin is that he loves you. All blown out and barely spread open as he pushes your ass close, chanting his name as he feels you trap his veiny cock inside your walls. He couldn’t keep his hands off you for a second and it’s like a blessing that you asked him to massage you. A curse too, because he knew he wouldn’t hold back from turning it into sex even if he tried.

With every -barely- measured thrust, you feel his chest swell against your back, pounding with something more than desire—a love so raw and fierce it almost hurts. His cock drags deep inside you, the slow rhythm setting fire to every nerve, every whisper of skin-on-skin.

He buries his face into your shoulder, breath hitching, biting onto your earlobe and sucking before he speaks, voice thick and vulnerable at once. “Love you babe.”

Your body trembles, caught between the sweet sting of pleasure and the weight of his words. You press back into him, aching to close the distance, to be lost in the overwhelming pull of this moment—where every touch, every breath, every heartbeat says you.

“Love you too” you whisper, finally.

You gasp when he grinds deeper, and he groans like he’s hurting, like it physically aches how much he wants to make this last.

And then he starts kissing you. Everywhere.

“I gotchu babe, let go” he whimpers “You’re killin’ me,” he breathes. “Feels so good—I just wanna stay here, baby, please—lemme just…”

His hips stutter and you feel him shake into your sore neck, just a little—and his lips press harder, tighter, to your shoulder as he groans your name into your skin like a vow. Like he’s praying and you're his only god.

Your hand reaches back blindly, desperate to touch him, to grab at something real, with your face still squished into the pillow and he catches the movement, brings one of his hands to match yours and threads your fingers together without a second of hesitation. His hand tangles with yours above the pillow. Fingers sticky with lavender oil and need, pressing into yours like he needs the anchor. The other stays at your hip, guiding you back into him with the same rhythm he holds in battle—steady, devastating.

You can feel the way his heart beats against your back when he leans in close. Can hear the way his breath hitches when you let out a soft moan into the pillow, hips pushing back into his, seeking more.

His grip is tight, grounding. A promise made in the trembling space between sweating and hot skin.

You feel every inch of him, not just inside you, in the squelching in and out and the sound of skin slapping, but around you, covering you, his chest flush and hot on your back, the way his arm tighten around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold you close enough.

With every thrust, he leans in, chest brushing your back, lips dragging kisses along the curve of your shoulder, your neck, the back of your ear. His breath is warm and ragged, but his mouth is gentle. If saying ‘I love you’ wasn’t enough, his cock spells it out inside you, like he can’t stop saying the phrase without saying it out loud.

“You’re killin’ me,” he mutters, kissing the nape of your neck, voice breaking against your skin. “Don’t even know what you do to me.”

Katsuki’s hips roll again, and you gasp more from the emotion than the sensation. You’re so full, he’s so deep in it almost hurts. But he’s so tender with it. You feel him kiss your shoulder again, then the spot just underneath your ear. You shiver under the weight of it, under the heat of his breath.

“Can’t get close enough to you,” he mutters, almost like he’s mad at himself for trying. “You’re all I fuckin’ think about.”

You reach for him with your other hand as well, fingers searching behind you until your hand finds his forearm. Taut, huge as always and trembling from the control he’s holding. You clutch him there, and he groans at the contact, your nails dig in and he’s thrusting just a little deeper, a little slower.

Each time his hips meet yours, your breath stutters, your throat tight with the aching swell of something bigger than arousal. It’s overwhelming—the way he fills you, how soft he’s being, how quiet and gentle he is when usually he’s all noise and heat and thunder. But now? There’s no room for temper now. And if he’s always just slightly embarrassed and aroused by that feeling in the bedroom, this time, it’s becoming something worse. His belly tightens, stomach tight and numb and falling like he’s been punched.

That bubbling feeling is travelling straight to his cock, making him impossibly hard, letting the start of an orgasm shimmer, his balls tightening so much he can feel it.

You can feel it where his hard abs brush your back, where his nose presses into your shoulder blade, where his hips move with more emotion than rhythm. His voice is cracking, his fingers are squeezing yours for dear life.

But the way he is fucking into you, is not rough, nor fast. It’s worship. Slow and delicious.

Every inch of his body sings with it, matching the soft song in the background. Every part of him is working to memorize a body he already knows like the back of his hand—not just how you feel around him, but the sound of your voice when you gasp, the way your hand tightens in his when the pleasure crests too high, the way your breath stutters when he kisses the back of your neck like he’s saying sorry for every time he ever doubted he’d deserve this.

He doesn’t even know what’s gotten into him right now.

It’s probably that he only feels safe when you touch him, when he touches you. It’s probably that the feeling of your skin on his is unlike any touch that he despises in this world. The hand you're digging your nails in is scarred, littered with skin tissue that’s newer, tissue that isn't going to match his old skin no matter how many years pass. And even though he hates looking at it, his cock throbs inside you at the sight of your bodies connecting there.

And it’s in every groan that leaves his lips, every kiss he drags across your spine, every tremble in his arms as he pulls you impossibly closer, like he needs your bodies fuse when he fucks you fron the back like a sin. Slowly, never picking up pace, likes he’s fucking you through it instead of towards it.

Your stomach feels likes it’s dropping, adorned in adoration, his love laced rhythm, that slow-motion hammering way he’s fucking you with is messing with your mind and body in delicious ways.

You’re almost at your breaking point.

Your breath catches again, again as the tension rises unbearably, a string pulled tighter and tighter through every snug and wet thrust, every kiss he plants tenderly, along your back

Katsuki’s forehead falls to your shoulder. He’s barely trembling by an inch but you feel it. Not from strain, not from fatigue, but from the way this is undoing him. And fucking hell if this isnt the hottest sex youve had in a while.

There’s no fight for dominance, no cockiness, just tenderness. Him not being close to you enough, you not being close to him enough either.

He desperately wants you two to merge into one.

You can hear it in his voice when he speaks next. Not a growl, not a command. Just a whisper. Frayed, cracked, raw.

“Can’t—can’t believe I get to touch you like this.”

The words split you open somewhere deeper than sore muscle. Because it’s not just the way he’s moving inside you, it’s the way his heart feels like it’s pulsing against your spine, the way he’s holding you like you’re both breakable.

You're scared for a second, that he's going to get irregular heart palpitations again, but the thought is pushed away when his lips brush your ear. “Your pussy 's so tight. Fuck...I’m not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like that.”

But he doesn’t make a move to pull away despite his words. Doesn’t even speed up. If anything, he presses in closer. Slower. Like he’s trying to memorize this exact second—the shape of your back under his chest, the soft pull of your fingers on his scarred forearm, the hitch in your breath that comes every time his hips roll forward.

You can feel the tremble in his thighs now. The catch in his rhythm. You’re so close, just on the edge, and he knows it. You know he is too. But he’s holding it back like he’s trying to stretch this moment out forever, like climaxing would mean letting go and he doesn’t want to let go.

But oh—you can feel it coming, like thunder on the horizon.

It coils in your belly, winds tighter with every breathless thrust. Slow, grounding, devastating in its tenderness. Katsuki’s mouth is at your shoulder again, dragging crazed open-mouthed kisses along your skin, the base of your hair, drunk on the scent of lavender and your skin like it’s an aphrodisiac.

You think you hear him whisper your name. Just your name. Not even his usual ‘babe’ like it’s the only word he remembers how to say, but it’s so cracked and under his breath you can’t pinpoint it over the sound of your own heart beating in your ears.

His cock pulses deep inside you, catching the perfect angle of your g-spot and it’s so hard now it aches, dragging against every place that makes you cry out, stretch, tremble. He’s still slow. Still careful. Always clinging to you like the act of letting go might mean waking up from this.

His arms wrap tighter around you. His scarred hand finds your chest from underneath you , just above your heart, and stays there, pressing down like he needs to feel every beat. His other is tangled over yours, fingers still locked tight, sweaty and trembling and unrelenting.

“Katsuki—” you choke, and he moans like your voice alone just finished him. A total fatality.

“I know, baby,” he breathes. “I know—‘m right here, come f—ah— for me. Let me fucking feel you. Say it babe, say you wanna come and I’ll —fuck, I’ll get you there”

“Wanna come on your cock Katsuki, feels s’good”

“Let go babe, ‘m here, I got ya” he whispers against your ear.

“Please… please, mhmm”

You shudder under him, your legs trembling as you reach that edge and go right over, your whole body clenching, fluttering around him, pulling him deeper as everything breaks open inside you. Your cry is caught in the pillow, but he feels it. Feels you squeeze, feels your hips arch, your back press flush against him, feels your ass fill out the space on his v-line.

And then he loses it. Sweat drips from his forehead and it takes all of his restraint to not let anything in his body ignite his quirk right now. You feel so good, so wet, so hot around him.

He sinks as deep as he can go and stays there, buried, kissing your cervix with his leaky tip, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, one long broken sound leaving his chest as his body jolts once, twice, into yours.

You feel him come inside you. Hot. Filling out every tight spot his cock doesn’t kiss in you. And still, he doesn’t stop holding you.

His breath is a mess against your skin. Lips still find you in the aftermath—your shoulder, the side of your neck, the shell of your ear. Your cheek. His arms won’t stop shaking. Neither will yours.

But he doesn’t move. He goes still. Stiff like his whole body is cramping.

Minutes pass like this. Breathing each other in. Skin to skin. Not a single space left between you as he pushes you with his hand from underneath you, into his chest.

You shift your head, enough to reach for him with your mouth, just barely brushing your lips to his knuckles where your fingers are still laced together.

“Babe—Kats,” you breathe, lunges closing in, a hint of guilt closing in as you know he has no other way to make you feel he means it when he says he loves you “I love you so much but I’ll pass out”

“Yeah, yeah, just let me—” he shifts a little, just to pull out, dragging his hand just enough to flip you over as he lays on the bed “all good now. Love you”

Katsuki catches your cheeks and presses a tiny kiss to the apples of both your squished cheeks. He flattens you against his chest with that same arm—the one that pulled you through it all. His hand is spread wide over your back like he’s trying to cover every inch of you.

Your cheek rests against his collarbone, lips parted, lashes damp. You feel the flutter of his pulse against your mouth, a part of you, the one that’s worried about his heart, tries to count how many times his heart beats in sixty seconds.

“I can’t feel my thighs,” you murmur, the words slurred, not really a complaint, when you decide his heart is pumping just fine.

“Shut up,” he says, but it’s all rasp, no bite. His lips press to your sticky forehead like punctuation.

You hum a soft laugh against his chest, then pout as you hold and squeeze onto his peck, kissing the outer rim of his scar over and over again. “No, really. I think I forgot how to walk, you’re gonna have to massage me all oooover again”

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missdynamighttt · 3 months ago

Text

sigh... bf! katsuki wasn’t the type to let anyone get away with slacking off, especially not you.

he’d been noticing the way you’d been procrastinating, pushing everything to the last minute. he didn’t mind when you were distracted sometimes, but when it became a pattern? hell no.

one afternoon, you were sprawled out on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling mindlessly through social media when katsuki marched in, clearly fed up.

"oi," he growled, standing over you with his arms crossed. "the hell do you think you’re doing?"

you looked up, giving him a tired smile. "just taking a break, katsuki. i’ll get back to it soon."

"bullshit," he snapped, his fiery eyes locking onto you. "you've been taking breaks all day. what’s your excuse this time?"

you sighed, sitting up. "i don’t know. i.. can’t get into it. my brain’s just all over the place."

he walked over to the couch, sitting down beside you and giving you a quick, pointed look. "you’ve been wasting time for hours. you know that, right? if you keep this shit up, you’re gonna be behind."

you shook your head, feeling a little guilty. "i know... i just don’t feel.. motivated."

katsuki’s gaze softened, but there was still an edge to it. "i get it, okay? you’re tired, you’re stressed, but you can’t let this shit slide. you’re smarter than this. you know that."

he leaned in a bit, his voice growing lower, almost like a challenge. "so you’re gonna sit here and waste your potential? huh? is that what you’re gonna do?"

you paused, your mind racing. he was right. you were better than procrastinating, better than letting your goals slip away. katsuki knew how to light a fire under your ass, even without trying too hard.

"fine," you muttered, getting up from the couch. "i’ll study."

"good," he huffed, giving your shoulder a quick shove. "get your shit together. and when you’re done, i’ll reward you. but don’t think you’re getting anything until i see results."

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile creeping onto your face. katsuki may have been rough around the edges, but he always knew how to push you in the right direction.

you hummed, flipping through your notes. "what's the reward, anyway?"

his grin was downright evil. "wouldn't you like to know?"

the next few hours were grueling. every time you lost focus, you’d catch katsuki’s gaze burning into you, silently daring you to slack off. and every time you did, his voice would cut through like a knife.

"oi. focus."

"don't even think about picking up your phone."

"you got five more pages. don’t quit now."

it was relentless, but it worked. you were powering through more than you had in the past few days combined. and admittedly? it was kind of hot seeing how serious he was about you succeeding.

eventually, you slammed your textbook shut, sighing dramatically.

"alright. i'm done. can i get my reward now?"

katsuki didn’t move from his spot on the couch, just raised a brow.

"let me see."

"what—"

"your notes. show me."

groaning, you brought your notebook over, dropping it into his lap. he actually flipped through it, scanning your work like he was grading you. "hmph. not bad. you finally use that brain of yours, huh?"

you pouted. "okay, great. can i get my reward now?"

"tch. desperate, huh?"

"you promised—"

"and i'm a man of my word, ain't i?"

the next thing you knew, he was on you. soon enough, his hands were on your hips, yanking you down onto his lap. his mouth was on yours, hot and hungry, like he’d been waiting for you to finish just so he could devour you.

"katsuki—" you gasped between kisses, "i thought the reward was gonna be like... dinner or something."

"dinner’s later," he growled, his teeth scraping against your jaw. "this is your reward."

and ohhh, he rewarded you alright. every kiss, every touch was dripping with pride — like he was genuinely turned on by you grinding through your study session.

"so fuckin’ proud of you, baby," he murmured against your skin as his hands slid under your shirt, "knew you could do it. my smart fuckin’ girl."

it caught you off guard — the way your eyes started to sting when he called you that.

you hadn’t even realized how much you needed to hear that. how much you’d been doubting yourself lately — feeling like you weren’t doing enough, like you were somehow always behind. and here katsuki was, holding you close, praising you like you’d just moved mountains.

"hey…" his voice softened, your shaky breath giving you away. "shit, baby, what’s wrong?"

"n-nothing," you sniffled, wiping at your face. "sh-shit, i’m sorry... i’m just... being stupid. i didn’t mean to be... a turn-off or anything, holy fuck..."

"nah, nah, don’t gimme that," he said, tipping your chin up so you couldn’t hide. "what is it? c’mon, sweets.. talk to me."

"i just..." you let out a weak laugh, embarrassed at how emotional you’d gotten. "you called me your smart girl, and i... i don’t know. i guess i haven’t really... felt like one, lately."

his brows furrowed, like the thought alone pissed him off. "that’s bullshit. you're smart as hell — way smarter than you give yourself credit for. don’t care how long it takes you to get something done; you always pull through. always."

his thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "and i’m proud of you. so fuckin’ proud, y’hear me?"

that did it. you broke down, melting into his chest as he held you close, murmuring soft reassurances into your hair.

"s’okay," he whispered, rocking you gently. "gotcha. always gotcha, baby."

and he did. katsuki wasn’t the type to throw around words like that easily — so when he said he was proud of you?

he meant it.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ been procastinating a lot lately and im getting there(?) hope you guys arent like me, procrastinating is a bitch😵‍💫 hope you guys enjoyed and if no one told you this yet, im really really proud of you💜💜

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senascoop · 9 months ago

Text

☁︎ . , IN HIS ARMS , S.JY !

PAIRING: boyfriend ! jake × girlfriend ! afab reader. SYNOPSIS: when jake just can't get enough of your touch and keeps clinging by your side even when you wish he wouldn't. GENRE: fluff, drabble. WARNING(S): kisses, hugs, not proofread, pure fluff. WORD COUNT: 591. [ARCHIVE]

♫︎ REBLOGS + FEEDBACKS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED

“Jake, let go,” you murmured, feeling the familiar weight of his arms wrapping around your waist from behind. You were seated at your desk, textbooks and notes sprawled out before you, but concentration was impossible with him so close. His chin rested on your shoulder, his soft breath tickling your neck.

He tightened his hold, nuzzling his face against your hair. “But I don’t want to,” he whispered, his voice muffled but laced with that playful clinginess you couldn't resist. You could feel his smile against your skin as he pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, his fingers lazily tracing patterns over your stomach.

“You need to let me study,” you sighed, trying to sound stern but failing miserably as his warmth seeped into you, making it hard to focus on anything but him. His scent, the feel of his arms—it was all too comforting, too distracting.

“I’ll be quiet,” he mumbled, his voice soft as he cuddled closer, legs tangling with yours beneath the chair, as if that would make you forget he was there. You rolled your eyes but smiled, heart fluttering at how needy he was for your touch.

“Jake,” you muttered again, but there was no conviction behind your words, and he knew it. He grinned, tightening his arms around you once more, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “I just want to be close to you.”

And with that, your studies were all but forgotten. You sighed, giving up the fight, and leaned back into his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath you. “You’re impossible, you know that?” you muttered, but a soft laugh escaped your lips as you felt him grin against your neck.

“I know,” Jake whispered, his voice teasing, “but you love it.” He placed a gentle kiss on your cheek, his lips barely grazing your skin as he shifted his position slightly to pull you even closer, like he could never get enough.

Your hands fell to his, now resting comfortably over your stomach. You absentmindedly traced small circles on the back of his hand, his touch so familiar and comforting. “How am I supposed to study when you’re like this?” you asked, sounding more amused than frustrated now, the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth betraying you.

Jake let out a soft chuckle. “I’m just here for moral support,” he teased, resting his chin on your shoulder again. “You’re the one who keeps getting distracted.”

You raised an eyebrow, finally turning your head to look at him. “Me? Distracted?” you said, feigning innocence. “You’re literally clinging to me like a koala.”

He shrugged, unbothered, and gave you a mischievous smile. “Maybe because you’re my favorite tree,” he said, his playful tone making you laugh as he leaned in to plant another kiss on your cheek.

“Jake!” you whined, trying to suppress your laughter, but it was no use. His playfulness was contagious, and soon enough, you were giggling along with him.

“You know you like it,” he said, his tone softening as he kissed your temple this time, his lips lingering. “I just want to be close to you.”

You sighed again, this time in contentment, and turned in your chair to face him properly, your arms wrapping around his neck as you met his gaze. “Fine, you win,” you said, pressing your forehead against his. “Just… maybe a little less clinging next time, okay?”

Jake chuckled softly, his eyes full of affection as he pulled you onto his lap. “No promises.”

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chrissssssmut · 17 days ago

Note

Hi hello sir, I kindly ask a story with popular girls Asa and Ahyeon asking shy+nerdy mreader for help studying. No smut obviously and no need for yandere. Just fluffy stuff

Perks Of Being The Nerd

Asa & Ahyeon x Nerdy Male Reader

You didn’t expect much out of sophomore year.

Not fame. Not a girlfriend. Definitely not two.

Your goal was simple: survive AP Chem and keep your manga collection hidden from the occasional hallway tormentor. You were painfully good at blending in—until they happened.

Asa and Ahyeon.

The reigning queens of the junior class. Known for their looks, wit, and tendency to dominate literally every school event. Asa was sharp-eyed, tomboyish, and had a habit of chewing gum like it owed her money. Ahyeon was sweeter, mischievous, and occasionally so charming it felt like she was glitching the simulation.

And somehow, through some cosmic joke, they were now sitting at your kitchen table, flipping through your perfectly highlighted notes like they belonged there.

“Okay, so explain covalent bonds again,” Asa said, squinting at the textbook like it had personally wronged her.

“They’re the ones where atoms share electrons,” you muttered, pushing your glasses up and refusing to make eye contact. You could feel both of them looking at you.

“That’s so cute,” Ahyeon said suddenly.

You blinked. “...Covalent bonds?”

“No,” she giggled, “you. When you explain things like you’re afraid we’ll break.”

“I—I'm not afraid,” you said, then immediately regretted it. “I mean, not of you. Just, like. Talking. In general.”

Asa smirked and leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “You talk more when you’re passionate. Like, just now. You went full anime professor mode.”

Your heart skipped.

You were going to die. Right here. In your kitchen. Surrounded by girls way out of your league and a stack of flashcards.

It all started three days ago when Ms. Kim paired you up for peer tutoring. Apparently, Asa and Ahyeon were “slipping” in chemistry. You’d expected them to blow you off immediately.

But instead—

“Hey, you’re that smart kid, right? The one with the cute notes?” Asa had said, cornering you after class.

“You have the best handwriting I’ve ever seen,” Ahyeon added, eyes twinkling. “Can we study at your place?”

You said yes before your brain could stop you.

Which brings us back to the present.

“You make this stuff sound easy,” Asa said, tossing a pencil up and catching it. “I swear, if teachers explained things like you do, I wouldn’t be failing.”

“I-it’s not really hard,” you mumbled. “Just patterns and logic, mostly. Like code.”

Ahyeon tilted her head. “You code too?”

You nodded. “A bit. Mostly games. Visual novels, sometimes.”

“You’re like, the most interesting guy here and no one knows,” Asa said, stealing one of your erasers.

“Maybe because he’s hiding behind his bangs and hoodies,” Ahyeon teased, leaning toward you slightly. “We’re gonna fix that.”

“Fix what?”

“You,” they said in unison.

Somehow, “study sessions” became a regular thing.

They always brought snacks. Ahyeon liked lying on the floor with her feet up on your bed, whining about reaction rates. Asa always claimed the desk chair and spun in it until she got dizzy.

You tried to stay professional.

Tried.

But sometimes, Asa would lean over your shoulder and ask about a formula, her breath warm against your ear. Sometimes Ahyeon would rest her head on your arm while you explained things, and it was impossible to focus when your heart was beating like a drumline.

“You’re blushing again,” Asa said one afternoon, grinning like a shark.

You immediately buried your face in your hoodie.

“No fair,” you mumbled. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“But it’s cute,” Ahyeon chimed in. “And you never tell us what you think.”

“I—I do!”

“Okay,” Asa leaned in, eyebrow raised. “What do you think of us?”

You froze.

“I—I think you’re both…” You swallowed. “Very…good at learning?”

They stared at you.

“Wow,” Asa said, snorting. “That’s the nerdiest compliment I’ve ever received.”

“I love it,” Ahyeon said.

You peeked up at them.

And found two girls smiling at you like you’d just given them the moon.

“Hey,” Asa said quietly, after a silence. “You ever think about, like…dating?”

You choked on your juice box. “W-what?!”

“Not like that!” she added, laughing. “Okay, maybe like that. It’s just—we were talking, and you’re…kind of great?”

You blinked.

“You help us study, you’re smart, you make the best snacks, and your dog loves us.”

“And,” Ahyeon added, sliding closer to you on the couch, “you make me feel calm. Which almost never happens.”

Your face felt like it was on fire.

“Are you saying… you like me?”

“We like you,” they said in unison again.

“I—I don’t know how to—”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Ahyeon whispered. “Just let us hang out with you more. Maybe hold your hand sometimes. That okay?”

Your voice came out small. “Yeah. That’s okay.”

So that’s how it happened.

One minute you were the quiet nerd with an anime wallpaper and a carefully curated pen case, and the next you were dating the two most popular girls in school.

Well. “Dating” might be a strong word. It started with long tutoring sessions that turned into movie nights. Hand-holding during breaks. A cheek kiss here, a forehead bump there. Soft “good luck” messages before tests and chaotic selfies from their classrooms.

Sometimes you caught people whispering when you walked down the hall with them on either side.

But then Asa would glance at you, bump your shoulder, and smirk.

Ahyeon would flash you a grin like you hung the stars.

And suddenly, you didn’t care what anyone thought.

Because somehow, impossibly—you were their favorite nerd.

End.

(But they definitely make you teach them anime intros next week.)

#kpop fluff #fluff story #fluff scenario #fluff stuff #fluff #asa babymonster #ahyeon babymonster #fluff stories #fluff x reader #fluff fic #fluff fluff fluff #fluff fanfiction #fluff for once #fluff fanfic

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wendichester · 1 month ago

Text

｡𖦹°‧ across the room²,

summary. you've seen sam around. he's seen you too. all you're both waiting for is the perfect opportunity to go from strangers to something more.

pairing. stanford!sam winchester x reader genre. more fluffy fluffing fluff

wordcount. 1398

ᯓ★ read part 1

You blame the weather. Rainy Saturdays are basically a divine invitation to cancel plans and stay in stretchy pants. Add a looming midterm and a text from Sam Winchester that reads “Wanna study together? I promise not to distract you. Much.” and, well... resistance is futile.

So here you are, curled up on the floor of his dorm room, legs tangled in a beanbag that’s seen better days, psych textbook open but very much unread. Sam sits beside you, back propped against the bed, one leg stretched out, the other bent so his notebook balances perfectly on his knee like this is his natural habitat.

It shouldn’t be this cozy. Dorm rooms are small, usually smell faintly of ramen and gym socks, and his desk is cluttered with loose papers and a comically large water bottle. And yet—somehow—it feels like home.

The two of you have been meeting up like this for a week now. Library tables. Coffee shop corners. That one empty stairwell between classes.

And okay, maybe you both do more laughing than actual studying. Maybe your pens keep “accidentally” brushing. Maybe you’ve started recognizing his footsteps before he even enters a room.

But none of that changes the fact that there’s a midterm coming.

“I swear this chapter is cursed,” you mutter, letting your head fall dramatically back against the beanbag. “I’ve read this paragraph four times and retained nothing.”

Sam chuckles beside you. “Want me to quiz you?”

“No,” you groan. “I want you to read it to me in your deep brooding voice while I nap and absorb the knowledge through osmosis.”

“That’s not how osmosis works,” he teases, elbow gently nudging yours.

You hum. “Then what good is science?”

He snorts. You feel it vibrate through the beanbag before you realize how close you’ve drifted.

And then his voice drops, low and dramatic. “Chapter twelve: Cognitive behavioral therapy is a form of psychotherapy aimed at modifying dysfunctional emotions, behaviors, and thoughts…”

You break. Full-on giggle. “Stop, I didn’t actually mean it!”

“Too late,” he says, continuing with a straight face. “Therapists work with patients to identify patterns and—”

You throw a pillow at him. He laughs and ducks, and somewhere in the movement, you shift, and suddenly your head lands right in his lap.

Silence.

It’s not awkward. Not quite. Just… very, very still.

You glance up at him, half-expecting him to freak out or gently nudge you off. But Sam’s looking down at you like you’re the rarest species of bird and he doesn’t want to startle you.

“Sorry,” you murmur, starting to move. “Didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” he says quickly. “I mean… you can stay. If you want.”

You blink. “You sure?”

His fingers fidget near your shoulder. Not touching—just close. “Yeah. Feels nice.”

You settle back in place, cheeks warm. Your heart is beating too loud. Or maybe that’s his. You’re not even sure whose pulse you’re hearing anymore.

The rain keeps falling outside. Steady. Gentle.

And then—his fingers find yours. Slowly, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away. You don’t. You lace them together, feel his warmth seep into your skin like sunlight through the clouds.

You don’t mean to fall asleep. You really don’t. But his hand in yours, his other hand absently tracing circles along your arm, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it’s all just too much.

Too safe. Too soft. Too perfect.

By the time he glances down again, you’re out cold.

Sam blinks, staring at you like you just transformed into some mythological creature. His free hand hovers, then gently brushes a lock of hair off your forehead.

“You’re killing me,” he whispers.

But he doesn’t move. Not even when his leg falls asleep. Not even when the textbook slides off his lap and lands with a dull thud.

Because for the first time in months—hell, maybe years—Sam Winchester feels calm.

Like maybe he can have this. A future. Be normal. Someone to fall asleep on his lap during study sessions. Someone who makes dorm rooms feel like places worth coming back to.

Eventually, he leans back, head against the wall, eyes closing too. And for the rest of the rainy afternoon, the world pauses.

When you wake up, you’re warm.

Not just “under a blanket” warm—more like wrapped in another person’s heartbeat warm.

The kind of warmth that makes you want to stay very, very still. Because if you move, if you breathe wrong, the moment might slip away like a dream you almost remember.

Sam.

You don’t open your eyes right away—you don’t need to. His scent is already there, filling your lungs: clean skin, coffee, and something that might be his shampoo or just the quiet smell of comfort.

You’re not on the beanbag anymore. At some point, he must’ve moved the both of you up onto his twin bed, awkwardly narrow and way too short for his stupidly long limbs. You’re tucked into his side now, one leg slung over his, your face against his chest. His arm is around your back, hand splayed like he’s holding you in place even in sleep.

It’s… intimate. Stupidly intimate.

And yet, somehow, it doesn’t feel weird. Doesn’t feel too much. It feels like something you’ve both been quietly leaning toward for weeks—drifting into each other orbit like two magnets too stubborn to admit it.

You feel his breathing change—slow and deep shifting into soft, fluttering inhales.

He’s waking up.

Your eyes open just in time to see his lashes flutter, his brow crease like he’s not quite sure where he is—until he looks down and sees you.

And smiles.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice all husky and cracked at the edges.

Your heart trips over itself. “Hey.”

Silence hangs between you, thick with what now? and don’t move too fast.

You’re both blinking at each other, like you’re not sure if the other one’s real.

“Sorry,” you murmur, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

He gives a breathy laugh. “You kidding? Best part of my week.”

You glance up at him through sleep-heavy lashes. “You say that to all your study buddies?”

“I only have one.” His fingers brush your back. “And she drools on my hoodie, so she’s special.”

Your face scrunches in horror. “Did I actually—”

“No,” he grins. “But you believed me for a second, and that’s what counts.”

You swat at him, weak and half-laughing. He catches your wrist in one big, warm hand. Doesn’t let go.

And now you’re staring at each other. Close. So close. His thumb brushes gently over the side of your wrist, slow, thoughtful.

It’s quiet again. But not awkward. More like the breath-before-a-kiss kind of quiet. And this time… you don’t look away.

“You’re not gonna kiss me right now, are you?” you whisper.

His eyes flick to your mouth. Just once.

“I want to,” he says softly, like a confession he’s been carrying way too long. “But I don’t wanna screw this up.”

You can’t help the way your chest tightens. “Sam… it’s already happening.”

That gets a blink. “What is?”

“This.” You squeeze his hand. “You and me. It’s already happening. Whether we admit it or not.”

His breath catches. Like you just cracked open something big.

And then—finally, finally—he leans in.

It’s slow. No sudden moves. Just inches closing like pages of a favorite book. His nose brushes yours first, and then—soft as a promise—his lips touch yours.

And oh.

It’s warm. It’s sweet. It tastes like leftover sleep and caffeine and something new.

His hand cups your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll float away. Yours fumbles into his hair, tugging gently as the kiss deepens—just barely. Just enough.

When he pulls back, it’s not far. He keeps his forehead pressed to yours, smiling like a boy who just got everything he never dared ask for.

“Still not gonna focus in psych class,” You mumble.

He snorts. “Guess I’ll just have to tutor you.”

“Oh no! You’re gonna make me learn.” You groan, and he dramatically flops onto his back and drags you with him.

“Only I get to kiss you when I get the flashcards right.”

Your grin is crooked. “Deal.”

And just like that— Somewhere between a rainstorm and a midterm and the softest kiss of your life— Sam Winchester became your favorite kind of distraction.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester fic #supernatural #spn #.docx

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darlinluxx · 5 months ago

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𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐑 | 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐀𝐄 𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐊 ౨ৎ

pairing : saebyeok x fem!reader

fluff

warnings : none

summary : Cheol starts seeing you as a mother figure

a/n : inspired by @karli6 comment on one of my posts bc it’s so cute i couldn’t not write about it

𝐓he scent of lavender fills your small apartment, a comforting aroma that’s become synonymous with Saebyeok. it’s a stark contrast to the grit of her life, the harsh edges that you know so well, and a gentle reminder of the soft woman beneath. you’re perched on the edge of the couch, a half-finished crossword puzzle abandoned in your lap. Saebyeok is at the small table, her brow furrowed in concentration as she counts the meager money spread out before her.

you watch her, a fondness blossoming in your chest. you love that even in her moments of vulnerability, there’s a strength that radiates from her. it’s the same strength that protects her younger brother, Cheol.

speaking of Cheol, a small, hesitant cough echoes from the doorway. you look up and see him, his backpack slung low on his shoulders, his eyes large and uncertain. he’s holding out a crumpled sheet of paper.

“i… i need some help.” he mumbles, his gaze darting between you and Saebyeok.

Saebyeok glances up, her expression softening as she notices Cheol. “homework again?” she sighs, a hint of exasperation in her voice. she picks up a pen, ready to tackle the task at hand. but Cheol shakes his head, his focus locked on you.

“not for you.” she shuffled closer, his gaze imploring. “can you help me, please?”

your heart melts. it’s not that Saebyeok isn’t good at academics, but her way of teaching sometimes involves a lot of direct answers, whereas you prefer a more patient, guiding approach. you know that Cheol can be easily intimated, and perhaps you offer a calmer space for him to learn.

you set aside your crossword and smile, beckoning him closer. “of course, Cheol. let me see.”

he practically barrels himself into the space next to you on the couch, his small body warm against your side. as you smooth out the paper, you see it’s a math problem involving fractions, a subject dreaded by many young students.

“okay,” you say, pointing to the equation with a pen. “this looks a little tricky, but we can break it down. what do you think about first finding the common denominator?”

you spend the next half hour patiently explaining the concepts, drawing diagrams on scrap paper, and gently nudging him towards the solution. you praise him for every small victory, and his eyes light up each time he grasps a new idea. you realize these moments are precious. you enjoy being able to support and teach him.

Saebyeok watches from the table, a subtle smile playing on her lips. when you finally help Cheol arrive at the correct answer, he bursts into a grin, his satisfaction radiating through the room.

“thanks! you’re the best!” he declares, his eyes shining with newfound confidence. he scrambles off the couch, heading to his room, leaving a trail of discarded papers in his wake.

you turn to Saebyeok, a warm feeling settling in your chest. “he’s a smart kid, just needs a little encouragement.”

she nods, her eyes holding a complex mix of affection and almost… relief? “yeah.” she says quietly, returning to the money.

over the next few weeks, you notice a pattern forming. Cheol starts seeking you out for help with his homework more often. it’s never forced, always a gentle request. and you never refuse. you find yourself looking forward to the quiet evenings spent poring over textbooks and diagrams with Cheol. it’s a nice change of pace from the anxiety and fear that usually permeates both his and Saebyeok’s lives.

sometimes. he even asks for help with things beyond schoolwork. it’s in these seemingly mundane moments, as you help him, that you feel a strange connection to Cheol, like you’re something more than just his sister’s girlfriend.

one evening, as you’re helping him with a particularly challenging history assignment, Cheol pauses, his small fingers tracing the outline of an illustration in his textbook. he looks up at you, his eyes wide and earnest.

“you’re like mom,” he says, the words spilling out before he can think them through. “she used to help me with my homework too.”

a wave of emotion washes over you. it’s not even a conscious decision, but you pull him into a gentle hug, holding him close. it’s a bittersweet revelation. his mother is a gaping hole in both their lives, a void you can’t ever hope to truly fill. but if you can offer him a semblance of stability, of care, it’s something you desperately want to do.

you feel Saebyeok’s eyes on you from across the room. you look up and lock her eyes. she’s watching you with a soft smile on her face, a silent understanding passing between you. she knows the weight you carry with Cheol’s words, and she knows the strength you hold within as well.

you squeeze Cheol gently, kissing the top of his head. “well, i’ll try my best, okay?” you say, before returning to the history book, a different kind of warmth filling the space within your small, lavender-scented apartment. it’s more than just homework, it’s the beginning of something that feels like family. and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

#kang sae byeok #kang saebyeok #sae byeok #saebyeok #kang sae byeok x reader #kang saebyeok x reader #sae byeok x reader #saebyeok x reader #squid game #squid game x reader

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mahalachives · 3 months ago

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Part 2: The Reluctant Villain

TW: Mention of suicide

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Genre: angst, romcom, humor, fish out of water reader, canon (ish)

Summary: Murdered after a late-night study session in the modern world, you awaken in Prythian—still yourself, but with Fae features and the infamous title of Beron’s cold-hearted and ruthless daughter.

Then, fate snaps the mating bond into place between you and the shadowsinger, Azriel—who rejects it so fiercely, even the magic recoils.

You died a healer. You woke up a villain. Now fate’s mated you to who wants nothing to do with either—you’ll prove them all wrong, one heartbeat at a time.

Between Two Fires - Masterlist

Morning came with amber light filtering through stained glass, painting warm patterns across your skin.

Your dreams had been filled with burning hands and screaming servants, but beneath the horror lurked memories of your real life—white hospital walls and the antiseptic smell of disinfectant.

"Rise and shine, my lady," Briar chirped, pulling back heavy curtains. Golden light flooded the chamber, making dust motes dance like tiny faeries. "Lord Eris sent word that the Night Court delegation arrives by midday."

You groaned softly into silk pillows scented with cinnamon and smoke. "Already?" The pillowcase felt impossibly soft against your cheek—another reminder of how different this world was from yours.

"Indeed! And he's arranged weapons training to help restore your... equilibrium." Briar's fingers trembled slightly as she laid out your clothing, though less so than yesterday.

Weapons training.

Exactly what every nursing student needed—instructions on how to efficiently disembowel magical beings. You thought of your anatomy textbooks and wondered if Fae physiology was similar enough for your knowledge to be useful. At least in a way that didn't involve killing.

"Can't I claim I'm still unwell?" you asked, your voice gentle despite your reluctance.

Briar's silence spoke volumes. When you looked up, her face was horrified, eyes wide with genuine fear.

"My lady," she whispered, glancing nervously at the door as if afraid someone might be listening, "never let Lord Beron hear you suggest weakness. Not after Lord Tallan."

You felt a chill despite the warm morning. "What happened to Lord Tallan?"

Briar shook her head minutely. "It is not spoken of. But the screaming lasted three days."

Right. The mysterious Lord Tallan. Probably set on fire for sneezing incorrectly. You made a mental note to never, ever show weakness around Beron.

"Of course not," you sighed, your lips curving into a small, wry smile. "How foolish of me."

"Lord Eris also said appearances must be maintained." Briar emphasized these words carefully, as if reciting them exactly as they had been told to her.

You noticed her fingers trembled less than yesterday as she helped you dress in supple leather training clothes that felt like a second skin. The craftsmanship was exquisite—another reminder that whatever else this world might be, its beauty was undeniable.

"What exactly happens when the Night Court arrives?" you asked, pulling on boots that laced halfway up your calves.

Briar's expression lightened slightly. "Oh, the usual diplomatic theatre. Thinly veiled threats, ancestral grudges aired like cherished heirlooms, and enough alcohol to make it slightly less excruciating."

You laughed softly, the sound surprisingly melodic in this body's throat. "You're funny."

Briar froze, her eyes widening in alarm. "I—I didn't mean—"

"Relax," you said gently, touching her shoulder with instinctive compassion. The same way you'd reassure a nervous patient. "I'm not going to hurt you for being honest. Ever."

Her expression cycled through confusion, suspicion, and cautious relief. She studied your face carefully, as if trying to read a language she only half-understood.

"You really are different," she murmured.

"Perhaps I am," you admitted. "But it'll be our secret. Otherwise..." You cast about for something appropriately menacing. "I'll turn your toes into... roasted chestnuts?"

Briar's lips twitched despite her obvious effort to remain solemn. "Not your best, my lady, but I appreciate the seasonal theme."

When her fingers brushed yours as she handed you a leather band for your hair, she didn't flinch.

Progress.

You caught your reflection in a mirror as you prepared to leave— Beautiful, but with a predatory edge that felt foreign to your gentle nature. No wonder poor Briar had been terrified of you.

The eastern courtyard blazed with autumn colors. Trees with impossibly vibrant foliage surrounded a training area of packed earth. The air smelled of woodsmoke and fallen leaves, crisp and invigorating.

Eris stood waiting, magnificent in training leathers that emphasized his lean, powerful frame. Unlike Beron's cold malevolence, Eris carried himself with calculating precision—a blade rather than a bludgeon.

"Ah, sister," he called, amber eyes assessing you with the same careful scrutiny as yesterday. "Ready to remember who you are?"

There was a double meaning in his words—a warning, perhaps, or a genuine question.

You wondered, not for the first time, how much he suspected.

"Always," you replied, approaching with graceful steps, surprising yourself with how natural it felt in this body. Your borrowed muscles moved with fluid ease, as if simply walking was a form of lethal dance.

Eris gestured to a weapon rack displaying an assortment of blades that gleamed in the autumn sunlight. "Choose."

As your eyes scanned the deadly array, one name echoed strangely in your mind.

Azriel.

An inexplicable warmth bloomed in your chest, like the golden hour of sunset captured in feeling. The sensation was so unexpected that you almost missed a step.

You selected the smallest dagger with a golden-leafed hilt, its weight unfamiliar but somehow right in your palm.

Eris raised an eyebrow. "The ceremonial dagger? Not your usual battleaxe?"

You tried not to show your alarm at the revelation that your body's previous occupant favored something as brutish as a battleaxe. It seemed fitting with everything else you'd learned about her.

"I'm focusing on precision today," you improvised, your voice soft but steady. "Sometimes the smallest wounds cut deepest."

Something flickered in Eris's eyes—not quite approval, but perhaps reassessment. "Indeed," he murmured.

Without warning, he lunged forward, his movement a blur of deadly grace.

Your body moved before your mind caught up, sidestepping with inhuman speed. The dagger felt suddenly right, an extension of your arm rather than a foreign object. Muscle memory, you realized. This body remembered what your mind did not.

For several moments, you let that memory guide you through an intricate dance of blades. Eris pushed harder, faster, and remarkably, you kept pace—until your human consciousness asserted itself, wondering at the physical impossibility of what you were doing.

The moment's hesitation cost you. You landed hard on your back, Eris's blade at your throat.

"Sloppy," he commented, though genuine confusion flickered in his amber eyes. "Your form was perfect until you... what? Forgot how to walk?"

"Momentary distraction," you murmured, accepting his outstretched hand. His grip was firm but not cruel—another small difference from what you might have expected.

"Distraction gets you killed," he replied sharply. "Especially with the Night Court. Their shadowsinger could slit your throat before you even sensed him."

Shadowsinger. The term sent another peculiar flutter through your chest, like butterfly wings against your ribs. A fleeting image flashed behind your eyes—hazel eyes flecked with gold, shadows coiling like smoke.

"Their shadowsinger," you repeated, trying for casual but hearing a note of interest in your voice. "Azriel, right?"

Eris gave you an odd look, his head tilting slightly as he studied you. "Since when do you struggle to remember the name of the male you once tried to burn alive?"

Your stomach dropped like a stone. "I—I did what?"

"During the war. You caught him alone near our borders." Eris's voice was matter-of-fact, as if recounting something unremarkable. "His wings still bear the scars where your flames touched them before Cassian intervened." He studied you, something calculating in his gaze. "You bragged about it for months. Said it was the sweetest sound you'd ever heard, his wings crackling."

Horror flooded through you, though you managed to keep your expression neutral with effort. What kind of monster had occupied this body? Your natural compassion recoiled at the thought of such deliberate cruelty.

"I just like to hear how others tell the story," you lied softly, fighting the urge to apologize for something you hadn't done.

Eris watched you for a moment longer, then stepped back into fighting stance. "Again," he commanded.

This time, you consciously surrendered to the body's instincts, letting your mind drift slightly. The result was immediate—your movements flowed like water, precise and deadly. Each strike perfectly balanced, each block timed with inhuman precision.

A small crowd of servants had gathered at a safe distance, their expressions ranging from fear to fascination. You noticed Briar among them, watching with wide eyes.

"Better," Eris conceded after a particularly complex exchange left you breathless but exhilarated. "Now, let's add fire."

His dagger erupted in golden flame that somehow didn't melt the metal or burn his hand. The heat washed over you like a physical caress, reminding you that elemental magic was as natural as breathing to these beings.

You stared at your own blade, willing flame to ignite.

Come on, fire. Burning. Heat. Nothing happened.

"Problem, sister?" Eris's voice carried an edge, but beneath it—concern?

"Just... conserving energy for the Night Court," you improvised quickly.

"Since when do you conserve anything?" Eris scoffed, though his eyes remained watchful. "You once set an entire forest ablaze because a deer startled you."

You suppressed a wince. An environmental disaster in addition to everything else. Lovely.

Closing your eyes, you searched for that wellspring of power you'd glimpsed yesterday. There—a warm current beneath your consciousness, pulsing in time with your heartbeat. But unlike yesterday, when fear had guided you, you focused on healing, on warmth that restored rather than destroyed.

Heat tingled down your arm like liquid sunlight.

When you opened your eyes, your dagger was encased in... pink fire.

Eris stared at the rosy flames as if you'd suddenly sprouted a second head. "Pink? PINK?"

"It's... hotter than regular fire," you improvised, smiling sweetly. "More efficient."

The flames seemed to respond to your amusement, reshaping themselves into a small, hopping rabbit with impossibly delicate ears and a fluffy tail. It pranced along the blade before hopping onto your wrist, leaving no burns despite its fiery nature.

A serving girl giggled, then clapped her hand over her mouth in horror at her own temerity. You beamed at her, making her eyes widen with shock. The pink bunny responded to your playfulness, performing a little somersault in the air.

"That's it," Eris declared, his own flames vanishing with a wave of his hand. "Training over. Go... meditate or whatever you need to do to remember how to be terrifying."

As he turned to leave, he paused, looking back at you with an expression you couldn't quite read. "Father would burn that creature from existence if he saw it," he warned, with strange protectiveness. "And then he'd wonder why his daughter was creating something so... whimsical."

You recognized the warning for what it was—perhaps the closest thing to brotherly concern Eris allowed himself to show. "I understand."

The pink bunny hopped up your arm to nuzzle against your neck before dissolving into sparks that drifted away like embers.

By midday, the Autumn Court was in frenzy. Hearths roared hotter, servants scurried with silver trays and decanters of amber liquid, and guards in burnished copper armor took up positions at every doorway. The air thrummed with tension and ancient power.

You paced your chambers, memorizing Briar's briefing about the Night Court while she wove actual flame into your hair—tiny tongues of fire that danced among your strands without burning.

"High Lord Rhysand," you recited for the dozenth time. "Most powerful High Lord in history. Married to Feyre, a former human."

"Excellent," Briar nodded, her fingers working with surprising confidence given that she was literally playing with fire inches from your scalp. "And his Inner Circle?"

"Cassian and Azriel—Illyrian warriors with battle wings." That flutter in your chest again at the shadowsinger's name, like recognition of something you'd never seen.

"Yes, my lady. The shadowsinger hears whispers from the shadows themselves. Some say he can step through darkness as others walk through doorways." Briar's voice had taken on a storyteller's cadence. "They say he was kept chained in darkness for the first years of his life."

Your expression softened, compassion rising unbidden. "That's horrible." No wonder you'd felt that strange pull—your nursing instinct responding to past trauma.

Briar glanced at you, surprised by your empathy. "Perhaps that's why he's so... reserved." She added softly, as she adjusted the ember-orange gown that made your skin glow like firelight, "You've always been especially hostile toward him."

"Why?" You couldn't imagine deliberately targeting someone who had already suffered so much.

"You never said. But there was an incident during the war..."

"I tried to burn his wings," you finished quietly, the words ashen in your mouth.

A horn blasted from the walls, its deep tone reverberating through stone and bone alike.

"They're here," Briar whispered, making final adjustments to your appearance. Sparks trailed behind you like a comet's tail when you moved, a dramatic effect that suited the intimidating persona you needed to project.

"How do I look?" you asked, studying your reflection. The female who gazed back was undeniably beautiful, but with a predatory edge that seemed at odds with the gentleness you felt inside.

"Terrifying, my lady," Briar assured you. After a hesitation, she added, "But... different. There's something in your eyes that wasn't there before. Something..."

"Good?" you suggested hopefully.

"Softer," she replied carefully. "Which may not serve you well today."

"What if I just... don't set anyone on fire today?" you suggested with a small smile.

Briar's eyes widened as if you'd suggested flying to the moon. "That would be... unprecedented."

"Maybe unprecedented is good."

"Lord Beron expects cruelty from you," she replied carefully. "The last time someone in this court changed unexpectedly, he had them examined by the Bone Carver for possession. And then... eliminated the problem."

Your blood ran cold. "Possessed? As in..."

"A different soul inhabiting a body." Briar's eyes searched yours with unsettling perception. "My lady, are you... are you still you?"

Before you could respond, the door swung open.

Eris entered, resplendent in formal attire of deepest burgundy that complemented his auburn hair. His gaze swept over you critically.

"It's time," he announced.

The Great Hall throbbed with ancient magic that made the very air shimmer with power. Tapestries depicting autumn hunts and conquests hung between tall windows of amber glass. Lord Beron sat on a throne that appeared to be made of living flame, your mother beside him, beautiful but tense. The tight set of her shoulders and the way her fingers gripped her armrest betrayed her anxiety.

Courtiers lined the hall in their finery, a riot of autumn colors—russet, gold, deep orange, and blood red. The anticipation was palpable, a current of nervous energy that made the flames in the massive hearths dance higher.

Eris guided you to stand at Beron's right—a position of obvious importance. You could feel your "father's" gaze on you like a physical weight, assessing and suspicious.

The enormous doors swung open with theatrical slowness. A wave of power—cool night air and starlight—washed over the assembly, so different from the fiery magic that permeated the Autumn Court.

The Night Court had arrived.

They entered like living shadows, bringing the night sky with them despite the midday hour. The very atmosphere seemed to shift in their presence, as if darkness itself had taken form and walked among you. At their head, a male of such breathtaking beauty that several courtiers gasped audibly. His power rippled before him like heat from pavement, midnight and stars and ancient secrets.

Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court.

Beside him, a female of extraordinary loveliness moved with lethal grace, her eyes scanning the hall with the assessment of a predator sizing up potential threats—Feyre, his High Lady.

Behind them came the Inner Circle—two enormous warriors with folded wings shadowing their broad shoulders, and a tiny female whose delicate appearance was belied by eyes of ancient silver.

But it was one of the winged warriors who caught and held your attention like a hook through your heart. Unlike the others whose expressions ranged from diplomatic neutrality to barely concealed disgust, his face was an impassive mask. Shadows seemed to bend toward him like faithful pets, writhing around his shoulders in constant motion.

Azriel, the shadowsinger. The name echoed in your mind with peculiar resonance.

When his hazel eyes finally swept across the Autumn Court assembly, they paused imperceptibly on you. The gold flecks in them caught the firelight like tiny stars.

For a heartbeat, you felt... seen. Truly seen, beyond the body you inhabited. The connection left you breathless, a moment of recognition that made no logical sense yet felt undeniably real.

"Night Court," Beron intoned, his voice betraying no emotion despite the flames at his fingertips that betrayed his agitation. "Welcome to the Autumn Court."

"Lord Beron," Rhysand replied, his voice cultured and smooth as dark chocolate. "How gracious of you to host us. Particularly given our... colorful history."

"History written in blood rarely fades," Beron responded, malice wrapped in silk. "The Night Court has cost the Autumn Court dearly over the centuries. Or have you forgotten the Massacre at Kharos Ridge?"

Tension crackled like lightning about to strike. Every member of both courts was poised on a knife's edge of diplomatic civility, centuries of grudges barely contained beneath polite veneers.

"Ancient history," Rhysand replied with a smile that didn't reach his star-flecked eyes. "Much like your claims to the northern forests."

Small flames licked between Beron's knuckles—the only indication that the verbal barb had landed.

"We have prepared refreshments," your mother spoke, her voice surprisingly gentle—a cool stream in a burning forest. "Perhaps we might proceed to more comfortable surroundings? The treaties of old demand hospitality, regardless of... past disagreements."

"A lovely suggestion, Lady," Feyre replied, though her eyes remained watchful as a hawk's. "We come in peace, after all. At least for today."

As the assembly moved toward the adjacent dining hall, your gaze was repeatedly drawn to the shadowsinger like a magnet finding true north. He moved with predatory grace, yet there was something contained about him—tightly controlled, as if holding himself apart from everything around him. His shadows occasionally formed shapes before dissolving again, like messages written in smoke.

You couldn't help but wonder about the child who had been chained in darkness, and how he had survived to become this warrior of shadow and steel. The thought made your heart ache with a tenderness that was entirely your own, not borrowed from this body.

In the dining hall, you found yourself seated between Eris and another brother, directly across from the larger of the two winged warriors—Cassian, with his brutal grin and assessing eyes—with Azriel seated silently beside him.

The shadowsinger kept his gaze carefully averted from yours, but you couldn't help noticing how the shadows around him coiled more agitatedly whenever your eyes strayed his way.

The elaborate feast was a masterpiece of autumn bounty—roasted game glistening with honey glaze, jewel-toned fruits arranged in spirals of artful decadence, pastries that steamed with cinnamon and nutmeg. Wine flowed freely from decanters that never seemed to empty, though you noticed the Night Court members barely touched theirs.

Conversation moved like a complex dance, pleasantries exchanged with the precision of blade work, double meanings layered beneath every comment.

"I must say," Amren remarked, as she reached for her goblet, "the Autumn Court is particularly vibrant this season. Almost as if the trees themselves are putting on a show for us."

"Nature recognizes power," Beron replied coolly. "As do we all."

"Speaking of recognition," Rhysand cut in, his voice deceptively casual though his eyes missed nothing, "we've heard reports of unusual magical fluctuations from this region. Any insights you care to share, Lord Beron?"

Every head turned toward the high lord, whose expression remained impassive despite the flames that flickered brighter in the nearest hearth.

"Nothing unusual," he replied. "Just my daughter's continued explorations of her considerable gifts."

Suddenly, all attention shifted to you.

Feyre's gaze was particularly keen, as if she could see beneath your skin to the human soul residing there.

"Is that so?" she asked, one perfect eyebrow arched. "What manner of explorations, if I might ask?"

The scrutiny of so many powerful beings made your heart race, though you managed to keep your expression serene. The unfairness of your situation—trapped in a body not your own, forced to pretend to be someone terrible—suddenly felt overwhelming.

"I've been studying the relationship between elemental fire and emotional resonance," you explained, your voice soft but clear. "Intent matters as much as power."

To demonstrate, you raised your palm, concentrating on the hollow ache of homesickness in your chest. A small flame appeared, dancing above your hand—not the violent inferno your body's previous occupant might have conjured, but a gentle, wavering light tinged slightly blue around the edges.

The room fell silent, all eyes fixed on your small, melancholy flame.

"How... unexpectedly poetic," Rhysand commented, genuine surprise in his violet eyes.

"And unlike you," Cassian added bluntly, suspicion evident in the set of his shoulders.

You managed a small, enigmatic smile in response, though your heart raced beneath your calm exterior. "Perhaps we all contain unexpected depths."

"Forgive my sister's sentimentality," Eris interjected smoothly. "Her recent... incident has left her somewhat philosophical."

Your eyes accidentally locked with Azriel's across the table. His hazel gaze had been studying you with subtle intensity, shadows writhing around his shoulders, reaching toward you before pulling back like waves uncertain of the shore.

Then it happened.

A golden cord snapped into place between you—a connection so powerful it physically rocked you backward in your chair. A rush of sensation flooded through you—warmth, recognition, belonging—followed immediately by confusion and alarm.

Azriel flinched visibly, his wings flaring slightly, shadows coiling in chaotic patterns. His normally impassive face registered naked shock for a split second before shuttering into cold neutrality. But not before you glimpsed something else—confusion, perhaps even fear.

The entire table had gone deathly still.

"Well," Rhysand said into the silence, his voice dangerously soft. "This is unexpected."

"What just happened?" you asked, managing to keep your voice steady despite the strange sensation pulsing between you and the shadowsinger like a living thing.

"The mating bond," Amren said, "It just snapped into place."

"This is some trick," Beron snarled, rising from his seat. Small flames erupted around his clenched fists, dancing in disturbing patterns. "Some Night Court deception."

"I assure you," Rhysand replied, his own voice tight as a bowstring, "this is not our doing. The mating bond cannot be manufactured or falsified. It is the Cauldron's will, not ours."

"Mating bond?" you repeated, a slight tremble in your voice the only indication of your shock. The term meant nothing to you, yet the golden cord between you and Azriel pulsed with undeniable reality.

"How convenient," Beron hissed, flames now dripping from his fingertips onto the priceless tablecloth, "that my only daughter should suddenly be bound to one of yours. What better way to infiltrate my court?"

"Father," Eris began carefully, "perhaps we should—"

"Silence!" Beron's command cracked like a whip. "I will not have centuries of careful diplomacy undone by... by whatever this is." His burning gaze fixed on you with terrible intensity. "First the strange behavior, now this. Perhaps we need to discover what exactly has happened to my daughter."

Your blood ran cold.

Azriel spoke then, his deep voice cutting through the chaos with quiet authority that commanded attention despite its softness. His face was completely closed off, his eyes cold as winter frost.

"There's nothing to worry about," he said, addressing Rhysand rather than you. "A mating bond can be rejected." He turned that cold hazel gaze to you, and the dismissal in his eyes made your chest ache anew. "I have no interest in the Lady of the Autumn Court. I want nothing to do with her. Not after what she's done. No bond can erase that history."

His words struck like physical blows. The connection between you—the mating bond, apparently—throbbed with pain at the rejection. You breathed deeply, fighting the urge to show how deeply his words cut.

Yet beneath that mask of cold indifference, something in his eyes flickered—a moment of doubt, perhaps. His shadows, despite his rigid control, stretched slightly toward you before he harshly pulled them back.

"I said, I want nothing to do with you," Azriel repeated, each word precise and final. "This changes nothing."

You rose with quiet dignity, despite the ache in your chest. "Please excuse me," you managed, and slipped from the hall with as much grace as you could muster.

"Stop her," you heard Beron command behind you. "Something is not right."

You moved quickly through the corridors, your mind racing.

The mating bond. Rejection.

Beron's suspicious anger. All of it spelled danger, but you had no idea how to navigate any of it.

You found refuge in a small garden courtyard, enclosed by trees whose leaves burned like living flame in the afternoon light. The beauty of it momentarily took your breath away, despite your distress.

A tiny pink flame flickered to life in your palm unbidden, forming a miniature bunny that hopped up your arm. The fearsome Lady of Autumn, reduced to creating cuteness while nursing a broken heart over a male who despised her.

The irony wasn't lost on you.

"My lady?"

Briar stood at the entrance, concern evident in her expression.

"What's a mating bond?" you asked, your voice carefully controlled.

"Oh... My lady..." Briar approached without her usual hesitation and sat beside you. "It's rarest and most sacred connection between Fae. It's said to be the Cauldron's way of identifying your perfect match. Two halves of a whole soul." She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with gentle fingers. "It can't be forced or faked. It simply... is."

"But he rejected it," you said softly, feeling the golden thread still pulsing between you despite his denial.

"The shadowsinger?" Briar asked, surprise evident in her voice. "Your reputation with the Night Court is..."

"Terrible," you finished for her. "I tried to burn his wings off."

"The bond doesn't consider past actions," Briar offered hesitantly. "It sees something deeper, something true. Perhaps your recent changes..."

You laughed softly, without humor. "My 'changes' are more significant than anyone realizes."

Briar studied you for a long moment. "You truly are different, aren't you? Not just acting differently, but... something fundamental has changed."

Your breath caught. Was it possible to confide in her? To tell someone the impossible truth?

"Briar," you began cautiously, "what if I told you I'm not who everyone thinks I am?"

Before you could continue, footsteps approached—measured, deliberate. Eris appeared at the courtyard entrance, his expression thunderous.

"Leave us," he commanded Briar, who squeezed your hand once before scurrying away.

For a long moment, Eris simply stared at you, as if trying to solve a particularly vexing puzzle.

"A mating bond," he finally said, the words falling like stones. "With the Night Court's shadowsinger." He shook his head in disbelief. "Of all the ways you could have disrupted negotiations, this is... creative, I'll give you that."

"I didn't do it on purpose," you protested, arms crossed protectively over your chest.

"Obviously not. The bond cannot be faked." He paced before you, agitation evident in every movement. "But why now? Why him? And why are you... different? You've never cared what anyone thought of you."

"Maybe I'm changing," you whispered.

"People don't change their fundamental nature overnight," he countered, echoing words you'd heard before.

"What if I'm not who you think I am?" The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Eris went still, his amber eyes narrowing. "Explain."

You hesitated. Beyond the courtyard, guards' footsteps approached. Your time was running out.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted behind you. Two guards appeared at the courtyard entrance, their faces tight with tension.

"My lady, Lord Beron demands your presence immediately. The Night Court delegation—"

Before the guard could finish, a flash of movement caught your eye. An assassin—dressed in nondescript leather—appeared on the garden wall, bow drawn.

The arrow flew—not at you, but at Eris.

Without thinking, you moved, pushing your "brother" aside. The arrow found your chest instead.

Pain—bright, burning pain—bloomed between your ribs. You gasped, falling to your knees.

"Sister!" Eris caught you, lowering you to the ground. His face, normally so controlled, twisted with shock and something that looked remarkably like genuine concern. "Guards! Healers!"

Commotion erupted around you.

Shouts, running footsteps, the rush of wings. Through blurring vision, you saw the courtyard suddenly fill with figures from both courts—Beron rushing forward with unexpected speed, Rhysand and his Inner Circle appearing as if from thin air.

"What happened?" Beron demanded, his power flooding the courtyard like midnight tide.

"Assassin," Eris growled, still cradling your head with surprising gentleness. "The arrow was meant for me."

A healer knelt beside you, hands glowing with golden light. But you could feel something already—the magic of this body failing, your grip on this world loosening. The arrow had struck true, poisoned perhaps, or enchanted.

Darkness swept in from the edges of your vision.

The last thing you saw was Azriel pushing through the crowd, hazel eyes wide with alarm—alarm that belied his earlier rejection—as shadows coiled frantically around him. Then nothing.

Beeping. Rhythmic, electronic beeping.

Your eyes flew open.

White ceiling. Fluorescent lights. The antiseptic smell of hospital disinfectant.

You gasped, trying to sit up, but pain flared in your chest—an echo of the arrow wound, though when you looked down, all you saw was a hospital gown and bandages wrapped around your torso.

"She's awake!" A voice—familiar, human. Your roommate from nursing school. "Doctor! She's awake!"

"What happened?" you croaked, your voice rusty from disuse.

"You were stabbed." Your roommate's eyes filled with tears. "You've been in a coma for three days. The doctors weren't sure if you'd wake up—the knife nearly hit your heart."

A coma. A dream. Relief washed over you despite the pain. The magical world, the borrowed body—it had all been some elaborate fantasy while your brain healed from the trauma.

"I had the strangest dream," you told your roommate. "I was in another body, in a magical world with fire magic and winged warriors."

Your roommate squeezed your hand. "The doctors said you might have vivid dreams. Just rest now. You're back. You're safe."

The stab wound ached whenever you moved, a constant reminder of your mortality. Yet you reveled in the normalcy of hospital routines, fluorescent lights, cell phones, and the absence of magic fire. The steady parade of modern technology—IV pumps, vital monitors, tablets with medical charts—all reassured you that you were home.

It had all been a dream. A vivid, incredible dream.

Until, It wasn't.

A strange warmth in your chest, radiating from your wound. A pulling sensation, like a golden thread tugging at your very soul.

"No," you whispered. "No, I'm home. I'm where I belong."

The warmth intensified, spreading through your limbs. You could almost hear voices—unfamiliar and familiar at once. Feel hands—not human hands—working over your body.

"Stop it," you murmured, then louder. "Stop it!"

The hospital room wavered around you, reality thinning like mist under strong sunlight. The monitors, the IV stand, the sterile white walls—all began to fade, replaced by a strange golden light that seemed to flow through your very veins.

"No! Please—"

"—don't take me back!"

Your eyes flew open to find yourself in a healing chamber rather than the courtyard where you'd been struck. Fiery amber light poured through stained glass windows, casting jeweled patterns across stone walls lined with shelves of potions and dried herbs. The air smelled of cinnamon and strange medicinal scents you couldn't identify.

You lay on a raised stone platform covered with soft furs, your chest burning with half-healed pain. Around you stood members of both courts, watching with varying degrees of concern and suspicion.

A healer—one of the Autumn Court's—pulled back her glowing hands from your wound, startled by your outburst. The magic hummed in the air, warm and tingling against your skin.

"My lady?" she questioned, confusion evident.

"I was home," you whispered, disoriented by the sudden transition. "There were beeping machines and fluorescent lights and doctors and—" You looked around wildly, finding both Eris and Beron nearby, along with the entire Night Court delegation.

Azriel stood in the shadows near the arched doorway, his darkness seeming to blend with the corners of the room as his hazel eyes fixed on you with unreadable intensity.

"Why did you bring me back?" you asked, tears welling in your eyes despite your effort to remain composed. "I was in a hospital. I was stabbed during a robbery. My roommate was there—"

"She's delirious," the healer said quickly, adjusting the bandages wrapped around your torso with gentle fingers. "The poison from the arrow—"

"I'm not delirious!" you insisted, struggling to sit up despite the pain that lanced through your chest. "I was home! In my world! With cell phones and subway trains and—and no magic! I was a nursing student, not... not this!" You gestured weakly at your borrowed body.

Beron's expression darkened dangerously, the flames in the room's central brazier leaping higher in response to his mood. "What nonsense is this?"

"I was there," you insisted, tears now streaming down your face.

Your distress triggered your unpredictable magic.

Small pink flames flickered around your fingers, forming tiny dancing animals—rabbits, deer, little birds—that hopped and flew in circles above your healing platform. They cast soft rosy light across the stone ceiling, making the runes carved there seem to dance.

Beron looked absolutely appalled. Eris seemed caught between concern and mortification.

"This is... unprecedented," the healer murmured, backing away slightly as one of the flame rabbits hopped curiously toward her herb basket.

"I think," Feyre said cautiously, "that the trauma of the attack may have affected her mind."

"Oh, Cauldron," Cassian muttered from where he leaned against a pillar, barely suppressing a grin despite the tension. "She's gone from terrifying to adorable. The little pink bunny things are actually... cute."

"It was real," you insisted, your voice growing smaller as reality reasserted itself. The pink creatures multiplied with your distress, creating a small menagerie of flame animals that darted between hanging bundles of herbs and crystal bottles. "There were cars and buses and no one had pointed ears or wings and—"

"Shh," Eris said, surprising everyone by approaching your platform and awkwardly patting your hand. "The arrow was poisoned. These... delusions will pass."

"They're not delusions," you whispered, looking directly at Azriel, whose stoic expression had slipped just enough to reveal confusion. "When I died, the mating bond took me home."

A collective intake of breath swept through the gathered Fae, the sound echoing against the stone walls.

"She probably lost the will to live after you rejected her," Cassian remarked to Azriel, whose face suddenly paled.

The shadowsinger's eyes widened fractionally, his shadows swirling in agitated patterns around the healing chamber, momentarily dimming the brazier's flames. For a brief moment, genuine alarm flashed across his features before he controlled it.

"I didn't," you started to protest, then faltered. "I mean... I did, but..."

Azriel stepped forward, his shadows reaching toward you before he visibly reined them in. "You should rest," he said stiffly, though his eyes betrayed something more complex than indifference.

Beron's patience finally snapped.

The brazier flames roared suddenly, casting the room in harsh orange light and sending your pink creatures scattering in alarm.

"Enough of this," he snarled, rising to his full height. The temperature in the healing chamber rose several degrees. "I believe it's time for the Night Court to take their leave."

Rhysand's eyebrows rose slightly. "Is that so? When your daughter has just revealed such... interesting information?"

"My daughter," Beron emphasized coldly, "has been poisoned and requires rest. Whatever delusions the venom has caused can be dealt with by Autumn Court healers."

"Lord Beron," Feyre began, stepping forward with diplomatic grace, "perhaps under the circumstances—"

"The circumstances," Beron cut in, "are that my only daughter has been injured saving her brother's life, and now requires peace to recover." His amber eyes glittered dangerously. "Or perhaps the Night Court would like to explain why an assassin penetrated our borders during your diplomatic visit?"

The accusation hung in the air like smoke.

Rhysand's expression cooled several degrees. "A baseless accusation, but not an unexpected one." He turned to his delegation with calculated casualness. "We'll take our leave. For now."

Your eyes found Azriel's across the room.

The shadowsinger stood motionless, his face once again a perfect mask of indifference. But his shadows betrayed him, twisting restlessly as they reached toward you before being sharply pulled back.

Something in your chest ached at the sight—a hollow feeling that didn't entirely belong to you. The golden thread of the mating bond seemed to stretch painfully as he moved toward the door with the others.

Azriel hesitated a moment, then gave Rhysand a single, tight nod. With one last unfathomable look at you, he turned and followed his High Lord.

You watched them go, your pink flame creatures dimming slightly as the Night Court delegation filed through the arched doorway. The last glimpse you caught was of Azriel's wings disappearing into the corridor's shadows.

Your heart felt strangely fractured, torn between relief at their departure and an inexplicable sense of loss. The bond pulled like a physical weight, making your healing wound throb in sympathetic pain.

Then, abruptly, a realization struck you.

A terrible, perfect clarity.

A small, broken giggle escaped your lips.

Eris and Beron both turned to stare at you, identical expressions of alarm on their faces.

"Sister?" Eris questioned cautiously.

The giggle blossomed into full laughter, slightly hysterical. The pink flame creatures danced faster around you, reflecting your manic energy.

"I know how to get home," you whispered, just loud enough for them to hear. Your eyes met Beron's, then Eris's, a strange smile spreading across your face.

Beron took a step toward you, suspicion darkening his features. "What did you say?"

But you just smiled wider, the revelation burning in your mind like the clearest truth you'd ever known.

I just need to die.

The thought should have terrified you, but instead, it filled you with a twisted sort of hope.

Die here, wake up there. So simple. So perfect.

You lay back against the furs, smile still fixed on your face, as one of your flame bunnies settled onto your chest directly above your wound.

"Nothing, Father," you said sweetly. "Just a passing thought."

Eris's eyes narrowed, as if he could somehow read the dangerous idea forming in your mind. "Perhaps the healer should administer a sleeping draught," he suggested carefully.

"An excellent idea," Beron agreed, still watching you with open suspicion.

As the healer approached with a vial of amber liquid, your gaze drifted to the doorway where the shadowsinger had disappeared.

If he didn't want you, and you didn't belong here anyway, what was there to lose?

The mating bond tugged painfully in your chest, as if in protest.

Just one more death, you thought as the sleeping draught was pressed to your lips. And then I'll be home for good.

Author’s Note:

This chapter had it all: fire bunnies, accidental war crimes, surprise soul-bonding, and one (1) medically inadvisable resurrection. Shoutout to Azriel for rejecting his mate like a dramatic Victorian ghost. See you next chapter—bring snacks and emotional support. 💀🔥🐇💘

Taglist: @circe143 @lunarxcity @willowpains @messageforthesmallestman @lreadsstuff

#acotar #azriel #azriel x oc #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #rhysand #cassian #feyre acotar #eris vanserra

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woso-dreamzzz · 9 months ago

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Miracle III

Aitana Bonmatí x Baby!Reader

Summary: An early morning with Mama

The sunlight filtering into the room has Aitana blinking awake, squinting as the soft rays of sun glow directly in her eyes.

She yawns, glancing away from the gap in the curtains to look directly at the baby monitor on her bedside table.

The image shows you clearly, wide awake and standing. One hand grips your pegasus plushie while the other stretches up to play with one of the hanging stars on your mobile.

You're probably getting too big for it now, developing quickly from baby to that weird baby-toddler in between that Aitana can remember happened to Skatt and before Skatt, Conejita.

She wishes that she'd studied them more carefully so she'd be prepared for this.

You seem to realise she's watching you though with the same weird sixth sense you have when you're playmates are ready to climb in the playpen with you at training.

You babble a bit, interspersing nonsense with real words as you blow spit bubbles.

"Mama Ta-Ta! Ta-Ta!"

Aitana finds a fond smile appearing on her face as she rolls over in bed, slipping her feet into a pair of fluffy slippers and pulling on a bathrobe to keep the early morning chill out.

You make a little noise of happiness when your bedroom door opens and Aitana plucks you into her arms without anymore nagging.

"Good morning, estrella," She coos, dropping a soft kiss to the end of your nose which makes you go cross-eyed.

"Mor'ing Mama Ta-Ta."

You reach out a hand to grab at Aitana's face, scraping weak little fingers against her cheek before finally getting a grip on her ear.

She laughs, gently pulling your grabby little hand away as she checks the funny little cuckoo clock Mapi had gotten you as a joke.

It's still early.

Too early to be up on a day off.

"Let's go to my bed."

You seem fascinated with the soft blanket covers as Aitana lays you in the middle of her bed as she strips back down to just her pjs, running your fingers over the patterns again and again as you gnaw on pegasus' wing.

Aitana drags you towards her in just the way you like, pulling out your fuzzy onesie legs until you're right next to her.

You kick out happily as she gently manoeuvres you into a sitting position.

There's no hope in getting you to sleep again, not when you're wide awake like this but that doesn't mean the two of you can't stay in bed for a little while longer.

Aitana is easily amused by the funny little sounds you make and the way that you try to sound out words you've heard her say before.

You're startlingly intelligent for your age, far advanced than what Aitana can remember baby Skatt and baby Conejita to be like. She isn't quite sure whether it's a genetic thing or just how much time she dedicates to your education, young as you are.

Tv time is spent only watching educational kid's shows or some documentaries. Time is set aside to watch a bit of football together of course but even then, Aitana waffles on about tactics and formations and everything else under the sun she can think of.

She's read all the baby books about raising children bilingual and how to foster a love for reading in them. She'd taken you to her parents once and returned to find her mother reading a university grade textbook to you before bedtime.

She doesn't know if it's just a Bonmatí thing or if it's how she's raising you.

Either way, she's glad because even now you're working your brain and you've barely gotten up.

"Mer-ry," You say and Aitana smiles.

"Mercury," She corrects.

"Mer-cry."

"Mer-cury."

"Mercury!"

"Good job, estrella!"

You giggle as Aitana tickles your tummy, hand coming out to imitate her movements but Aitana captures it easily, pressing a soft kiss to your palm.

The rest of the early morning goes the same way, with you struggling to say all the planet names until Aitana helps to correct you.

At some point, you migrate to her lap, head tilted all the way back on her shoulder so you can see her clearly.

Something about the way you look at her, your soft baby features, the smile on your face, the sparkle in your eyes, has Aitana's chest bursting with warmth.

"I..." She says, feeling slightly choked up as your hands gently explore her fingers," I love you, estrella."

"Lub you," You say back," Lub Mama."

The warmth turns to ice instantly, like a lance cracking her chest open and finding a home in her heart.

"No," Aitana says gently," No Mama. Mama Ta-Ta, remember? You've already got a Mama."

You shake your head. "Mama."

"I...Estrella...Estrella, no. I'm not Mama. I'm Mama Ta-Ta."

It feels disrespectful to take that role.

This was never the life Aitana was meant to have. You were hers biologically. That had been the plan.

She was meant to donate her egg, the least she could do for her two best friends who desperately wanted a child but couldn't have any of their own. She was meant to be Tia Aitana, Tia Ta-Ta who would swoop you up occasionally and show you the joys of life. The one that you could come to when you were a moody teenager and in that stage where you 'hated' your parents.

Maybe if you had called her 'Mami' it would be different but Mama was the name that Aitana's friend referred to herself as. She was meant to be your Mama, not Aitana.

Not Aitana who is already pushing invisible boundaries by allowing herself to be called Mama Ta-Ta.

You shake your head stubbornly. "Mama!"

It seems you've inherited the Bonmatí stubbornness too as your smiling face sets into a little frown just like Aitana's.

She doesn't know how to explain it to you, doesn't know how to explain that she can't be your Mama. No matter how much she wants to.

"Mama..." You whine, frown morphing into a chin wobble and a chin wobble morphing into big fat tears rolling down your face.

"No, no, estrella! It's okay! Don't cry! I'm sorry!"

Aitana desperately tries to bounce you, to soothe your tears but you're inconsolable until you're tucked into her chest, hand reaching up to tug at the collar of her sleep shirt.

"Mama," You babble through your tears, trying to shuffle even closer," Mama, please."

Aitana's own bottom lip wobbles as tears prick in her eyes.

She rests her cheek on the top of your head, breathing in the soft baby smell that never quite left, lingering on the edges of her senses like it had the first time she'd met you.

It feels disrespectful to take her friend's name but at the same time, it feels right.

To be your Mama.

To take the name that you've so happily bestowed upon her.

The name you've chosen for her.

No longer Ta-Ta or Mama Ta-Ta.

Just Mama.

You whimper a little, wiping your runny nose all over the front of her shirt. "Mama?"

"Yes, estrella," Aitana says," I'm your Mama."

#woso x reader #aitana bonmati x reader #aitana bonmati #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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camzeecorner · 10 months ago

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𝙼𝙰𝚃𝚃 𝚂𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙾𝙻𝙾 ₊˚ෆ 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄

smut ღ dividers → @bernardsbendystraws ฅ^._.^ฅ

I lay on my back, gazing at the familiar patterns on my ceiling, the soft glow of the lamp casting gentle shadows as I listened to Matt flip through his pages repeatedly. It was almost hypnotic, the way he immersed himself in his studies. I couldn't help but wonder what fueled his passion for school; he cared for it with a devotion that was rare among our peers. People often whispered that I kept him around for his grades, that I used him, but they didn't understand. Matt was my favorite person, my best friend.

No one ever talked to him, and girls never seemed to approach him, which, oddly enough, made me happy. I liked how closed off he was to everyone else; it felt like I had a little piece of him all to myself. I began to wonder if Matt had ever been with a girl. He never mentioned crushes or the girls he found pretty, which was strange considering how open I was with him. I shared everything about my life, my escapades, my heartaches, but his world remained a mystery. At first, I didn't want to push him, but now I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe he was just embarrassed to share his secrets with me.

Sitting up, I fixed my gaze on him. Matt was different from the other boys at our school—only Chris and Nick shared that same vibe, but for entirely different reasons. To me, he was always attractive, with a magnetic charm that made my heart race. His sharp jawline and godlike features were mesmerizing, and his hair was perfectly soft, almost inviting to touch. But it was his eyes that captivated me the most—an enchanting shade of blue that seemed to hold entire galaxies within them. His glasses only accentuated his striking looks, making him the quintessential nerd, though never in my eyes. It was a shame that other girls couldn’t see what I saw. I pondered a little longer, taking in every detail, my heart fluttering as I examined him from head to toe, wondering if he could ever see himself the way I saw him.

“hey Matt..” I call out, catching his attention “..yea” Matt said looking up from his textbook. He turned his head slightly to the side so he could see me. I took a moment looking at him, “You ever..kiss a girl?” I say smiling. Matt shifted in his seat quickly reverting his eyes back to his book. He cleared his throat, his chest rising and falling. He began looking over the words on his book nervously. “Why are you asking me that..?” He spoke quietly. I got up walking next to him. I placed my hands on his shoulders running them up and down. “I’m just wondering matty.. you gonna answer my question?” He looked around in front of him, he had beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. “I really have to study .. you’re disturbing me.” I knew he was trying to avoid the conversation, but I was curious. I wanted to know everything about him. “It’s just one question..” I say scoffing. I look at his stuff sprawled out on my desk. I quickly grab his things and place them in his bag. “I was using those!” Matt barked at me. Turning around in his chair fast. “Matt you’ve never kissed a girl have you..” I whisper to him.

I bend my body down so I’m eye level with him. “You’ve never felt the touch of someone else on you” I lean forward to whisper in his ear. “S-stop” Matt stuttered. It was so fulfilling listening to him speak pathetically. He didn’t want me to stop. “Matt..” I look in his eyes, then his lips. His soft pink plump lips. They were chapped from the amount of time he had bit them. I bring him to my bed sitting him on the edge.

I knew what I had to do. I knew what I wanted to do. I kissed him.

It felt like a suction cup and I never wanted to release him. It took him a moment to realize I was kissing him. He moved him lips in a matching pace to mine. I tug on his hair pulling him even closer to me. I lick his top lip asking for an entrance. He doesn’t understand that, so I bite his lip gently. He gasps opening his mouth slighty. Being fast i slip my tongue inside his mouth. I find his tongue and start to gently suck on it, moaning into the kiss. I pull away with a string of saliva connected to our mouths. Matt’s eyes are wide open. “What..what was that for.” i shrug my shoulders smiling at him. Gently placing my lips back on him. I pull away and chuckle. “I was curious of what you tasted like..” I look up at him. His eyebrows raise. “I’ve never done that before..” he smiles blush slightly. I smile at him looking down. I licked my lips, tasting him. I look at Matt and smirk. “Have you ever seen a girl naked?” I bite my lip at him moving his glasses back onto his face as they slid down. Matt shook his head. “uhm..no.. I-i haven’t” “do you want to?” I ask him smirking. “Well. I don’t know.. if that’s a good idea” I stand up and take my shirt off. “I don’t see why it’s an issue.. if you want me to stop, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

I walk over to my bed, climbing on it. I scoot back so I’m at the headboard. I look at Matt and pat the spot beside me signaling him to sit there. Matt gets up and walks over. I can see his slightly hard boner, making his pants tighter. I smirk at myself. He sits beside me, putting some space between us. I scoot so I’m closer to him. I reach for Matt’s hand interlocking our fingers. I place our hands on my chest, gently squeezing them. Matt’s breath hitches in his throat. “Oh my god.” Matt spoke in a hushed breath. I let go of his hand reaching behind me unclasping my bra. I let it fall in my lap, picking it up tossing it to the side. His eyes immediately look down and my bare chest. “Do you like them matty?” He nods his head quickly. “I’ve never seen them in person, they never looked this perfect in the movies.” I laugh at his comment, enjoying the praise. He smiles lightly.

I lean forward grabbing Matt’s face. I kiss him rougher than I did the first time. He climbs on top of me making sure not to break the kiss. He begins massaging my boobs rolling my nipple in between his fingers. “Oh fuck Matt” I grind my hip upwards towards his hard erection trying to create friction. I reach my hand down gently palming him. He moans loudly into my mouth. I could’ve came right then and there from his sounds. I pull away from him and flip us over quickly. I straddle his waist. He’s lying down and I’m on top of him. I begin unbuttoning his shirt. Pulling it off of his body throwing it in the same direction as mine. I trail my hands up and down his toned stomach. “Do you want to have sex with me Matt?” I ask him shyly. “Yes.” He speaks quick. “But.. I don’t know how..” he looks away getting embarrassed. He’s so cute. “ that’s okay baby. Just lie down and be good f’me” I reach down kissing him. I pull away and get off of him pulling my shorts off. I look up and see Matt copying my movements, taking my underwear off I get back on Matt. I grab his fingers and place them right into my wet folds.

He gasps loudly looking up at me. I roll my body into his hand enjoying the feeling. I’ve never felt like this towards anyone before. “Oh g-god m-matt.. you make me feel s-so good” I moan throwing my head back. I feel him moving his fingers in a circular motion. I grip his wrist feeling my stomach tightening. He slips two fingers in moving them fast, in and out. “Oh god Matt.. right t-there.” I moan loudly. “Shit shit” my breath picking up. “Matt I’m gonna cum” bucking my hips forward, I cum all over his fingers feeling my body shaking. I slowly come down from my intense orgasm, feeling limp. “Did I do good for you?” I look at Matt and smile nodding my head. “So good baby” I kiss him. “Such a good boy” I whisper in his mouth. I pull away grabbing his hand placing his fingers into my mouth sucking my juices off of him. I lick each finger making sure to clean them perfectly. “You wanna taste me baby?” “Please..” I bring my lips towards him and kiss him sliding my tongue in his mouth, my cum mixing between us. He inhaled in the kiss. “So sweet” I pull away, resting my forehead against his. Leaning back up i repositioned myself so I’m sitting on his hard dick. “I’m gonna ride you now okay baby” he nods looking up at me.

I rub his cock slowly giving him satisfaction. He moans lowly closing his eyes at the feeling. “That feel good baby?” “S’good.. so good mommy” I stop my motions right then looking at him. Matt opens his eyes fast, and begins to sit up. He looked so scared. So vulnerable. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that I’m so sorry-“ “don’t apologize,” I smirk at him. Cupping his face tilting my head to the side. “be a good boy for mommy okay” he whimpers at my words bucking his hips up. I sit up, placing his tip at my entrance rubbing it back and forth before slipping it into me. “Fuck Matt, you’re s-so huge” I pull my body up and slam back down, fast. Repeating the process until I build a pace going back up and down. Throwing my head back I moan. God I could ride him all day. My legs felt like they were getting weaker and weaker. I place my hands on his chest gaining balance. Matt noticed how tired my body was getting, he grabbed my thighs and started to thrust up. For a virgin he was so good at this. Hitting every perfect spot, at such amazing angles. I could feel him start to twitch in me. He must’ve been so close.

“M’so close mo-mommy” he whimpered. “Wait for me baby.. can you do that? Be a g-good boy and wait for me” he moaned and started gaining speed adding his fingers. He rubbed fast on my clit making me scream. “Fuck shit- oh my god- I’m gonna cum” he kept going fast hitting the same spot over and over. The pressure from his fingers and the way he was fucking himself into me making me squirm. “C’mon mommy.. wanna feel you cum on my cock” hearing him say that was enough to send me over the edge. I whimper chocking on my sobs. “I’m cumming Matt shit shit-“ I felt the knot in my stomach releasing over matt for the second time. I saw liquid flow out of me fast, Matt getting pushed out of me in the process. I felt his cum dripping out of me. Our fluids mixing together. “You made me squirt Matt..” I look at him shocked. I begin giggling covering my face. I look at Matt in disbelief, “No one has ever made me feel that good.” He smiles at me through his heavy breathing, the look he was giving me was enough to make me want to fuck him again.“does that make me special?” He closed his eyes trying to catch his breath. His glasses had fogged up, I grab them wiping the lenses. “You’ve always been special to me.” I look up at him through my eyelashes. “I’ll get something to clean the mess” I get up going into my bathroom and grab a cloth. I run the rag through hot water, ringing the extra water out. Walking back to my room I climb on my bed beside matt.

I gently wipe him down, being careful not to startle him. I can tell he’s sensitive; he hisses every time I touch him. Getting up, I head to my closet and grab some clothes for us. Walking back to Matt, I hand him the clothes. “Thank you,” he says, a soft smile spreading across his face. “Of course,” I reply, slipping into my own outfit.

I climb into bed, scooting next to Matt and resting my head on his chest. It feels so comfortable here; he always makes me feel safe, like I can truly be myself. My mind races with thoughts, and I can’t help but wonder how we would look together as a couple. I look up at him, my heart pounding, and finally speak up. “I wanna be with you, Matt. I’ve never thought any less of you. You’ve always been so perfect to me.” My voice is quiet, but I hope he hears me.

For a few seconds, he doesn’t respond, just picks at his lips with his teeth. Doubt creeps in, and I start to regret my confession. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? He clears his throat, licks his lips, and pushes his hair back before turning to look at me, gently grabbing my chin. “You’ve always been my favorite girl,” he says, leaning in to place a soft kiss on my lips. I smile into the kiss, warmth flooding my cheeks. When he pulls away, he tucks some hair behind my ear and locks his fingers in my hair, scanning my face as he tugs his lip between his teeth. “I wanna be with you too…”

In that moment, I feel like the happiest girl alive. I leap up from the bed, swinging my arms around him in pure joy. I’ve never felt this happy before! I shower him with kisses all over his face, feeling myself melt into him. He giggles, wrapping his arms around me, and I finally place a gentle kiss on his cheek, relaxing into his embrace. It’s perfect.

#camzeespills #matt sturniolo fluff #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfiction #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets imagines #sturniolo smut #sub!matt

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pinkdaiisies · 5 months ago

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Fred Weasley x Reader Favourite

summary: Late night common room cuddles lead to quite eventful mornings.

notes: anybody a fontaines d.c fan? I've had the line: "You've been my, favourite for a long time" stuck in my head for a while.

Fred glanced at you from across the couch in the common room. It was late, and the common room was nearly empty. Even George had gone upstairs because he was tired.

Fred had slowly started to inch closer to you on the couch. The spot that was once occupied by George was now empty, allowing Fred to sneakily sit closer to you. You paid no attention to him, your gaze followed the words within your potions textbook, preparing you for your exam later next week.

You and Fred have been playing this game for a while now. Lingering glances, legs touching on train rides, sitting too close in the great hall, and even late night common room cuddles.

It was tearing you apart.

You were best friends with Fred and George since the first train ride to Hogwarts. As the years progressed you realized how much Fred meant to you. Although it seemed like Fred felt the same way, it was too nerve-racking to have a conversation about it. Because what if you were imagining the stolen glances, or the hand holding that lasted too long for just friends? You'd rather just enjoy it than to put a label on it and ruin something great. Because at the end of the day he really was your best friend.

The heat from the fire comforted you as you tried to retain the information from the book. Eventually, you felt Fred at your side, still paying him no mind.

"Hey," he said while taking your chin into his hand, guiding your gaze from the pages to his freckled adorned face. You knew he could tell the exam was eating you up inside. "Take a break, would you?" He whispered softly. His voice sent butterflies to your stomach. You nodded reluctantly as you closed the book and tossed it to the ground.

Fred put his arm around you, and you rested your head on his shoulder. You two had spent many nights like this. Waiting for everyone in the common room to leave just to spend some time alone, rushing back to your dorms before anyone would suspect anything.

You two chatted about nothing important for a while. Fred occasionally tracing patterns onto your leg. The motions being extremely relaxing, made your eyelids feel heavier. The last thing you remember was Fred whispering in your ear about pretty you looked with the lighting from the fire.

Next thing you know, you're laying horizontal, Freds arms completely around you. Your back was to his chest, with your legs scrunched due to the size of the couch. Your hands were intermingled with his.

"Harry do you still have that muggle camera? I have got to remember this forever!" The voice of George made you wake up a bit.

"Merlins beard!" Ron's shout made both you and Fred jump up.

You both looked at each other. Realization setting in at the same time. With widened eyes, you separated from Fred, adjusting your clothes from the day before.

What felt like the entire Gryffindor class, was in the common room staring at you two.

With overlapped shouts trying to defend yourselves, you and Fred slowly backed into the dorm entrance to make your escape.

You got dressed and clean as quick as you could. Although you wish you could curl up into a ball and never leave your dorm ever, you grabbed your bag and descended toward the great hall for breakfast.

You entered the common room in a rush. Fred was waiting for you. The common room was empty besides the couple sitting on the couch you and Fred had fallen asleep on. The boy kissed his girlfriend on the cheek as she giggled.

You kept walking in a rush while Fred caught up with you. You turned towards him as you stopped walking.

"What are we going to say Fred! This wouldn't have happened if you had just let me keep studying!" You whisper shouted, not wanting to draw any more attention to yourselves.

"What do you mean! I thought you wanted this as badly as I do!" Fred shouted back.

"What do you mean?" You said as you looked up at him.

"Well, obviously I'm in love with you! I thought you were too, but if you want to pretend this never happened go ahead!" He turned for the common room exit, but before he could leave you grabbed his wrist.

"Are you sure?... that you're in love with me?" you asked nervously. Having this conversation was just as scary as you had imagined.

Fred said your name softly, "We fell asleep on the same couch together, what do you think?" This caused you to giggle.

"I love you too." You smiled up at Fred who pulled you into a hug.

"Let's get breakfast. I'm starving." Fred said as he grabbed your hand and guided you to the great hall.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley angst #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter

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windser · 5 months ago

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some people think zayne is competition for caleb, but that’s laughable. zayne’s too smart for that. he’s not about petty rivalries or juvenile posturing. if anything, they’ve always played on the same team—not bros before hoes, but bros for hoes.

it starts with a glance. not from caleb, but from zayne. the first time he notices the way caleb looks at you. maybe there’s a flicker of something in caleb’s expression, the barest hint of unease, like he wonders if zayne might be a problem. josephine is already on his ass, pressing too close with her suspicion, warning him that he’s getting too attached.

so yeah, caleb’s tense when zayne starts inviting himself over. he expects scrutiny, a quiet kind of policing, but instead, there’s just a pattern.

zayne is always there—but not really. just an extra presence in the room, his back turned, head bent over a textbook, fingers skimming the edge of a page like he’s the only person in the world. he’s deep in the grind, the relentless pursuit of academia, as if nothing beyond equations and medical journals exists.

at first, caleb doesn’t think too hard about it. zayne’s already got promising feedback from a medical institution. he’s miles ahead, practically untouchable. why would he—?

but then there’s this.

"caleb—not here."

your whisper is breathless, a warning, but caleb only presses in closer, his mouth finding the juncture of your neck, slow and deliberate. he’s watching zayne, though. watching the way his back remains rigidly straight, his hand steady over his notebook.

almost steady.

it’s subtle, but caleb catches it—the way zayne flinches. not in shock. no, it’s something else. something slower. like a split-second adjustment, a muscle memory that barely needs activation. and then, instead of turning to investigate, zayne exhales. his shoulders relax.

like he was waiting.

that’s when it clicks.

growing up, zayne probably only tolerated their presence. he was the kind of kid whose parents nudged him toward friendships he didn’t necessarily need, and the years stacked up between them until they became a fixture in his orbit. but not once did it ever translate into this kind of closeness.

zayne never needed study buddies. he never needed distractions while preparing for his entrance exams.

but caleb did.

and now, they’re of age. the warnings have been drilled into their heads. josephine has been more reluctant to leave you two alone, always lurking just out of sight, ears pricked for any telltale signs of impropriety. caleb isn’t sure if the old woman ever caught anything, but she didn’t have to. she saw the aftermath. the wreckage in the form of your flushed skin, your glassy eyes, the way your breath came a little too fast.

not that caleb would ever blame you for it.

he’s patient, after all. he was ready to wait. just another year, and he'd be gone—out of the house, and you would follow.

he could have waited.

really.

and then zayne walked in and handed it to him on a silver platter.

zayne, whose presence gave josephine the confidence to leave the house without worry, to meander around in the garden or run errands that had been pushed off for weeks.

zayne, the responsible one.

caleb’s attention flickers back to you, his voice nothing more than a murmur against your skin as he adjusts you in his lap, his hands smoothing over your hips with easy confidence. he isn’t rushed anymore. he isn’t cautious.

because zayne never says a word.

he doesn’t react when your voice carries a little too far, when the hush of movement is broken by the unmistakable shift of bodies and the low sound of satisfaction. his pen remains steady, ink bleeding into the paper, his notes pristine, untouched by the obvious.

if anything, caleb almost finds it funny—the way zayne calmly, methodically gathers his things, the way his timing is always impeccable. like clockwork, he packs up right before josephine’s return, his composure iron-clad.

but caleb notices something this time.

the effort.

the way zayne fights to keep his gaze steady, resisting the pull toward where you’re sprawled against the cushions, utterly pliant, eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion.

zayne adjusts his bag strap, voice even as ever. "i practice for my exams on tuesdays and thursdays. a different setting from home helps me think."

caleb—bare-chested, his shirt lazily draped over the back of the couch—can only grin.

"see you thursday then."

and like the perfect host, caleb is already put together by the time he reaches the door ahead of zayne, just as josephine steps inside, her face warmed by the afternoon sun, relaxed and smiling.

"stay for dinner?" she offers, ever hospitable.

zayne declines, as he always does.

caleb shuts the door, steering her toward the kitchen with practiced ease, all charm and timing.

"i can help, gran."

and behind them, you sleep peacefully.

#caleb x reader #caleb x you #the way i keep thinking of zayne being a lil voyeurist #and caleb is just like i got you bro here's a lil treat

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wongyuseokie · 22 days ago

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Theories & Heartstrings | k.m.g

Chapter 5: Forever Bonsai 'ed & Epilogue

Summary: As a writer with a mildly cynical take on love, you’ve always believed people have a “type”—a pattern they never stray from when it comes to dating. And Kim Mingyu? He’s the textbook definition of someone who wouldn’t go for someone like you, nor would you go for him. But you test your theory when a fateful run-in with your charming neighbour sparks an unexpected attraction.

The plan? Go on dates with him and count how many it takes before your heart gets involved—if it ever does. But Mingyu is unpredictable, effortlessly breaking down your carefully constructed walls with every smile, every late-night conversation, every moment that feels too easy to be just an experiment.

The real problem? Secrets never stay secrets for long. And when Mingyu finds out the truth behind your so-called theory, will it prove you right, or that love doesn’t follow the rules you thought it did?

☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ☁︎ angst | ♕smut

Word Count: 7782

Pairings: Neighbor! Mingyu x Journalist! Female Reader

Genre/Trope(s)/AU(s): Neighbours AU! Fake Dating AU! (but only one is fake dating. It’ll make sense when you read it, lol). Non-Idol AU!.

Content Warnings: lots of emotions yn being a sad sap but its very much warranted, its soft actually lots of growing up. yn’s parents are the best and wonu is being a snappy little shit, bonsai’s ig are some sort of hazardous plant in this story, very wholesome and soft moments between the two. tension between wonwoo and yn and not the good kind but it heals over time. Smut Warnings: mingyu being a horndog but who can blame him, they both are horndogs, unprotected sex, very longing and deep sex idk? praise, and big dick! mingyu because ofc. slight edging, soft aftercare, cumming inside, oral sex (female recieving) cum licking. fingering. Author's Note 1: I'd be remiss if I didn't thank the lovely people who helped beta this monster of a story. thank you @lovetaroandtaemin @nebulousbrainsoup @strxwberry-skiess for your patience time and love thank you guys so much!! Author's Note 2: welp and with that! this series is done, thank you all so much to those who read, and gave me feedback, or yelled all of it was so appreciated, what a beautiful way to end my time here on tumblr, thank you all so much 🩷 🩷 🩷 🩷 🩷 🩷 (don't worry I'll still come here time to time maybe reblog gifs or something, but as for writing, I'm closing that book for now--see what i did there? HAHAH) Series Masterlist

The following morning, you wake up tangled in your sheets, the weight of everything sitting heavy in your chest. The apartment is too quiet, but your thoughts are louder than ever. Last night plays in loops—every word, every silence, every look that said too much and not enough.

You sit up slowly, rubbing your face. Your eyes sting. The air feels too still.

Without thinking too hard, you start packing a small overnight bag. Just a few essentials. A charger. Your journal. Something that smells like home.

It’s not an escape. It’s a pause.

You lock the door behind you and exhale, hoping it’s the first breath of many that finally feels clear.

When you finally emerged from your room, Joshua and Wonwoo were at the kitchen table, finishing breakfast. Joshua looked surprised to see you up and about. “Hey. Where are you going?”

You hesitated, shifting the duffle bag on your shoulder. “Home. To my parents’ place.”

Joshua’s brows knitted together. “Wait, for good?”

You shook your head. “Just for a while. I need some space... to think.”

Wonwoo glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Running away from your problems? Smart,” he muttered.

Joshua shot him a warning glare. “Wonwoo.”

You took a deep breath. “I’m not running away. I just... I miss them. I think I need a break from the city. From... everything.”

Joshua’s face softened. “How long will you be gone?”

You shrugged. “A couple of weeks, maybe. I have some annual leave saved up. I’ll figure it out.”

Joshua looked like he wanted to offer you a ride, but you shook your head. “It’s fine. I’ll take a cab to the station.”

As you reached the door, Joshua suddenly pulled you into a tight hug. “Text us when you get there?”

You nodded against his shoulder. “Yeah, I will.”

Wonwoo remained in his seat, his jaw clenched. “Not me. I couldn’t care less.”

The sting of his words made you wince, but you just nodded and slipped out the door before your emotions could betray you.

As you waited in the lobby for your cab, tapping aimlessly on your phone screen, you heard someone behind you.

“Y/N?”

You turned—and of course, Mingyu. Tall, messy-haired, slightly out of breath like he’d rushed to catch you.

Why was everyone awake and functioning on a Sunday morning?

“Where are you going?” He asked, eyes narrowing at your bag.

“Uh… home.” You gave a small shrug.

“Wait—for good?”

You shook your head. “No. Just for a while.”

He looked at you for a long beat. “Why?”

You hesitated. “I think… I just need to get out of everyone’s way for a bit. I’ve been making a mess of things.”

Mingyu frowned. “Did something happen with the guys?”

“No. It’s not them. It’s me.” You pressed your lips together. “I’ve been a bit of a baby. I just… keep screwing things up and then wondering why no one’s patient.”

“That’s not true,” Mingyu said quietly. “You just... have a habit of realising things when it’s already too late.”

You nodded, eyes stinging.

“How are you?” You asked, just to change the subject.

“I’ve been better.” He smiled faintly. “But I’ve also been worse.”

“Can’t get a cab,” you said, staring at your phone.

“I’ll drop you.”

“Mingyu, you don’t have to—”

“Let me. It’d make me feel better knowing you got to the station okay.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hesitating. “Can I blackmail you with the fact that you’ve broken my heart twice now?”

He let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

You didn’t say anything else as he drove, except for the occasional sniffle that betrayed you.

“Is it cold?” He asked gently.

You shook your head.

“When’s your train?”

“1:30.”

“Perfect.” He pulled over and turned to look at you. “Y/N. Look at me.”

You didn’t.

“I know you’re crying.”

You finally glanced his way.

“You look like Rudolph,” he said, reaching up to wipe at your cheek. “You really want your parents thinking I’m the one who made you cry?”

You cracked the smallest smile. “They’d believe it.”

“Y/N,” he said again, voice quieter now. “You don’t have to apologise for everything.”

“But I should,” you whispered. “The bonsai, the article, the whole ‘I love you—wait, never mind’ thing.”

“I’m not mad,” Mingyu said, squeezing your hand. “A little hurt? Yeah. But it’ll pass.”

You didn’t trust yourself to answer, so you just nodded.

He parked the car and got out before you could argue, grabbing your bag and walking ahead like it was just the natural next step. You followed silently, letting him lead you to the platform.

“Lovely couple,” an old lady said as she passed, her voice kind and lilting.

“Thank you,” Mingyu answered automatically.

You blinked at him. “Why didn’t you correct her?”

He shrugged. “She seemed happy thinking that. Why ruin it?”

You were quiet for a moment. “You know she’s right, though. I will see you again.”

“Then stop crying so much.”

You smiled, even through the new wave of tears. “I’m glad I’m crying here. It’s poetic.”

He laughed, hand slipping into yours.

“I’ll pick you up from here when you’re ready,” he said. “Just let me know.”

You bit your lip. “Can I ask you for something selfish?”

“Anything.”

“Can you stay with me? Just until the train comes?”

“I wasn’t going to leave.”

You leaned into his side, letting his arm curl around you. The silence was warm this time.

“You’re not running again, right?” He murmured.

You tilted your head. “Wouldn’t it be easier?”

“Maybe.” His thumb stroked your shoulder gently. “But it would suck.”

“Do I make you miserable?”

He didn’t answer, just held you closer. That was enough.

When the train pulled in, you stood, and he helped you with your bag. Before you could climb on, he peeled off his hoodie and placed it in your hands.

“You’ll freeze,” you said.

“My car’s right there. I have extras.”

“Why give me this one?”

“So you’ll come back.”

“I would’ve come back anyway.”

“I needed the insurance.”

You grinned.

“Sir, we need passengers who aren’t travelling to disembark in the next two minutes.”

Mingyu lingered.

“Text me when you get there,” he said. “I can pick you up. Or bring you back. Or both.”

You nodded.

“Y/N?” He said again, quieter this time.

“Yeah?”

He pulled you in for a quick kiss. “Take care, okay?”

Another kiss. One more.

Then he was gone, walking back to the platform with his hands in his pockets and a look on his face like he was holding it all together with string.

You boarded the train.

His hoodie smelled like laundry detergent and cedarwood. You wrapped yourself in it, closed your eyes, and let the city roll away behind you.

You were going home, for now. But it didn’t feel like running this time. Just a breather.

And maybe that was enough.

You didn’t even realise how badly you needed to be home until you were wrapped in your mother’s arms. The second she opened the door, all the strength you had been trying to muster crumbled into a flood of tears. Your mother held you tightly, whispering reassurances even though she had no idea why you were crying.

You buried your face into her shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender from her cardigan. “I missed you,” you choked out, voice muffled.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay. Come inside. You’ll feel better once you’re settled,” she cooed, guiding you through the threshold.

As you made your way to your room, you caught sight of your dad, hunched over the dining table, scribbling into his crossword book. “Hi, stranger,” you called out, voice strained but attempting cheerfulness.

Your father looked up, eyes widening. “Y/N!” He jumped to his feet, wrapping you in a bear hug. “Who do I need to beat up for making my daughter cry?”

You couldn’t help but laugh through the tears. “No one, Dad. I just... I missed you guys.”

Your parents exchanged a look — one of those silent conversations that couples seemed to master after years together. Your mother nodded knowingly. “Go freshen up, honey. We’ll have some food and something to drink ready for you when you’re done.”

You nodded, grateful for the space to collect yourself. As you headed down the hall to your old room, the memories hit you like a tidal wave — the posters you never took down, the bookshelf crammed with your favorite stories, and the cozy quilt your grandmother made. You sat on the edge of your bed, breathing in the nostalgia, letting it ground you.

After a long, hot shower, you felt marginally better. Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, and you saw Mingyu’s name on the screen. You hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, towelling off your hair.

“Uh, hi. You never said if you got there okay,” Mingyu’s voice was cautious, unsure.

You closed your eyes, trying to keep your voice steady. “Sorry. I got here fine. Just... cried a lot when I saw them. I guess I didn’t realise how much I needed to see my parents.”

“Yeah. That makes sense,” Mingyu murmured. There was a pause, and you could almost hear him trying to figure out what to say next. “Cool. Um, I should go. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Before you could respond, the line went dead. You stared at the phone, fighting the ache in your chest.

Later that evening, after dinner, your parents sat with you in the living room, sipping on glasses of wine. Your father nudged the bottle closer to you, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you could use this.”

You gave a weak smile, pouring yourself a glass. You took a sip, savouring the comforting burn. “It’s my fault. I messed up. I acted like an idiot,” you admitted.

Your dad shook his head. “I didn’t raise an idiot. Stop calling yourself that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You don’t even know what happened yet.”

“Doesn’t matter. Everyone makes mistakes. Doesn’t mean you’re an idiot. Just means you’re human.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

You ended up telling them everything — from the article experiment to the fallout with Mingyu, and how your insecurities had led you to pull back when he said he was ready to love you. You left out the more intimate details, of course, but you could see the concern etched into your parents’ faces as you talked.

Your mom gave you a pointed look. “So why did you say you didn’t love him?”

You hesitated, swirling the wine in your glass. “Because I don’t. I mean... I’m not sure.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sweetie, you love him. You may not know it yet, but you do. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t have worked so hard to make it happen. You wouldn’t be sitting here, crying over him.”

Your father chimed in, his tone gentler than before. “Love doesn’t always hit you like a train, kiddo. Sometimes it creeps up on you. Just because you don’t have all the answers right now doesn’t mean you’re wrong to feel what you feel.”

You sniffed, wiping at your eyes. “Wonwoo said I’m someone who can’t take accountability. He said it’s hard to be my friend sometimes.”

Your dad’s expression softened. “It’s not easy, learning how to face your own mistakes. But the fact that you’re here, reflecting on it, means you’re trying. You’ve always been sincere when it comes to fixing what you break.”

You took a shaky breath, finally admitting, “I’m just scared. Of ruining things even more. Of hurting him. I don’t know how to fix this.”

Your mother placed a gentle hand on yours. “Take your time. Don’t rush it. Sometimes the best way to make amends is to give each other space to breathe. He cares about you — that much is obvious. But you can’t force him to forgive you. You can only be honest with him when the time comes.”

You stayed with your parents for a little over a week, letting the comfort of home wrap around you like a warm blanket. You started writing again, not an article to impress anyone, but one that was true to your own story — one that was raw and honest. You didn’t hide behind metaphors or clever phrasing. You just wrote how you felt — about Mingyu, about your mistakes, and about what it meant to be vulnerable enough to love someone.

Your dad caught you writing at the dining table one morning and smiled. “Looks like my writer’s back.”

You gave him a small smile. “Yeah. I think I’m ready to face everything now.”

The suitcase clicked shut with a finality that felt heavier than it should have. You stood still for a second, your fingers wrapped tightly around the handle, just listening to the quiet hum of the house.

“You packed the snacks I gave you, right?” Your mom called from the kitchen.

“Yes, Mom,” you said, smiling softly as you stepped into the doorway.

Your father looked up from the newspaper. “Train’s in an hour. You want me to drive you?”

You shook your head. “I’ll cab it. I think I need the ride to... breathe a little.”

They both came to the door to hug you goodbye. Warm, lingering squeezes that told you without words that you were always welcome to run back, no matter how old you got.

“Text us when you reach,” your mom whispered against your cheek.

You nodded, throat too tight to answer.

By the time you were standing at the platform, duffel slung over your shoulder and your coat pulled tight around you, the weight in your chest hadn’t lifted—but your spine had straightened.

Tucked under your arm, nestled carefully beside your bag, was a tiny bonsai you’d picked up from a roadside nursery near your parents’ place. You figured if you were going to start over with Mingyu, it might as well be with a little on-the-nose symbolism.

You were going back. To Seoul. To the mess. To the people you loved and sometimes hated and often didn’t understand.

You didn’t know what you’d say when you saw Mingyu.

But you were done running.

You just had to show up.

When you arrived at Seoul station, you barely had time to take a breath before someone startled you from behind.

“Boo!”

You jumped, dropping the plant in your hand, and watched in horror as it landed directly on Mingyu’s foot.

He yelped, hopping on one leg. “Seriously? Bonsai assault, part two?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, tears pricking your eyes. “Sorry, sorry!”

Mingyu leaned down, picking up the poor, slightly cracked plant. “You have a knack for using these as weapons.”

You smiled, wiping at your eyes. “Maybe it’s a sign.”

“Of what? That you want to break my toes?”

“No,” you murmured, stepping closer. “That I’m always going to find a way back to you.”

Mingyu’s eyes softened, his hand gently brushing yours. “Yeah? I could live with that.”

“Wanna grab something to eat?” Mingyu asked, falling into step beside you as you both emerged from the station.

You shook your head, tugging your cardigan tighter around you. “Actually… I was thinking of just heading home. Kinda exhausted.”

He nodded, matching your pace. “Home-home or apartment-home?”

You looked up at him. “The latter.”

Mingyu grinned. “Cool. Mind if I tag along? I’m in the mood for comfort films and questionable snack choices.”

You smirked. “I was literally about to say Disney and popcorn.”

“Well then,” he said, mock-bowing as he opened the car door, “a perfect gentleman shall escort you.”

“Shua?” you called as you stepped inside the apartment, slipping your shoes off. Mingyu trailed behind you, grocery bag in hand.

He glanced around. “No one’s home?”

You poked your head into the hallway. “Double date night for them. Joshua left a note.”

Mingyu’s answering grin was all teeth. “Thank fuck.”

Before you could respond, his arms were around your thighs, lifting you off the ground with ease.

“Mingyu!” you squealed, half-laughing as he carried you toward your bedroom.

“Don’t act surprised,” he said, nudging the door shut behind him with his foot. “You know I’ve been thinking about this since the train.”

He sat down on the bed with you in his lap, one hand on your waist, the other already cradling the back of your neck as he kissed you, slow, deep, like he had all the time in the world to unravel you.

You kissed him back, melting into his hold as his hands slipped under the hoodie you were still wearing. His breath caught.

“Wait—” His fingers brushed over bare skin. “You’re not wearing anything underneath?”

You smirked. “Laundry day.”

“And no bra either?” he groaned, leaning in again, voice raspy now. “You’re trying to kill me.”

You let him kiss you once more before gently pulling back, crawling off his lap with a sheepish smile. “Gyu… wait.”

His brows lifted, but he didn’t press. “Yeah?”

“Just—can we slow down a little?”

Mingyu gave a small nod, lips still curved in a crooked grin. “Sure. I’ll behave. But I’m keeping the hoodie as emotional compensation.”

You rolled your eyes, heart thudding in that too-familiar rhythm he always managed to stir.

The room felt heavy with unsaid words and fragile hope, the kind of tension that kept your heart suspended between fear and longing. Mingyu’s hand on your thigh was warm, grounding, but the space between you was still filled with everything left unsaid. You took a breath, gathering the courage to break the silence.

“Mingyu,” you whispered, voice trembling despite your efforts to sound steady. “I know I hurt you. I know I made you feel like you couldn’t trust me, like my words didn’t mean anything. And I hate that I did that to you.”

Mingyu’s eyes softened, but his gaze remained cautious. “You can’t just say you love me after saying you don’t. You have no idea how that messed with me. One minute, I’m ready to let go and just... fall for you, and the next, it’s like you pulled the rug out from under me. You can’t do that to someone.”

You nodded, your hands trembling as you rubbed your thumb against his. “I know, and I never wanted to hurt you like that. I was just... terrified. Terrified of how much you mean to me. I didn’t think I could fall for you, not like this. We were supposed to be casual—no—strings, just fun. But then it wasn’t just fun anymore. It became real. You became real. And that scared the hell out of me.”

Mingyu’s lips pressed into a thin line, his fingers squeezing yours gently, as if testing whether he could still hold on. “You always said you didn’t believe in love — that it wasn’t something you wanted. Then, out of nowhere, you just... say it and take it back. I didn’t know how to handle that.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinking back tears. “When I went home, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About us. I kept wondering what would happen if I never told you how I really felt — if I kept letting fear stop me from saying the one thing that’s been true for a while now. I love you, Mingyu. I love you so much that it hurts, and that’s why I was scared. Because loving you means I have something to lose. And the thought of losing you terrifies me more than anything.”

Mingyu’s eyes shimmered with unspoken emotion, his lips parting as if to say something, but he remained quiet, letting you continue.

“I went back home because I needed to figure myself out — to understand why I couldn’t just say it when I felt it. And I realised that I didn’t want to keep running from this, from you. I’ve been falling for you since the beginning, and it’s terrifying because it’s the most real thing I’ve ever felt. But I’m done being afraid. I just needed you to know that.”

Mingyu looked down at your intertwined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he took a shaky breath. “You really love me?” He whispered, almost as if he didn’t dare believe it.

You nodded, eyes watering as you squeezed his hand tighter. “Yes. I love you. And I’m so sorry for making you doubt that.”

He pulled you into his arms, pressing his forehead to yours. “I wanted to believe you so badly, even when I was angry. I kept telling myself that maybe you just didn’t realise it at first. I was ready to say it back that night — I was so ready, but then you just... took it back.”

You could feel the pain in his voice, and it broke your heart all over again. “I was a coward. I know that. I was scared that saying it would make it real, and that real meant risking getting hurt. But being without you was worse. I’d rather risk everything than lose you.”

Mingyu closed his eyes, pulling you closer, his lips pressing against your temple. “You really don’t know how much you mean to me. Even when I tried to be angry, all I could think about was holding you. I missed you so much.”

Your hands moved to his face, cupping his cheeks as your thumbs brushed away the stray tear that slipped down. “You don’t have to forgive me right away. You don’t have to say it back if you’re not ready. Just... let me show you that I mean it.”

Mingyu let out a soft, trembling laugh, his fingers threading through your hair. “You’re so damn stubborn, you know that?”

You managed a teary smile. “You love that about me.”

He pulled you closer, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss that spoke of everything he was still too scared to say. When he pulled back, his eyes met yours, filled with something like hope. “We’ll take it slow, okay? I’m not ready to just jump back in and pretend everything’s okay. But... I want to try. I want us to be okay.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with a cautious joy. “That’s all I want. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.”

He pressed another kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips, slow and tender. “Let’s just... be here. Together. No pressure.”

You let out a soft laugh, snuggling closer to him. “That sounds perfect.”

Mingyu pulled you into his arms, his fingers gently tracing circles on your back. You felt his chest rise and fall, steady and comforting, and for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to just be — wrapped in his warmth, feeling his heartbeat against yours.

“I’ll never get tired of this,” he whispered into your hair, and you closed your eyes, savouring the moment.

As sleep tugged at you, you couldn’t help but think that this—right here, tangled up with Mingyu in the quiet of your room—was the kind of love you’d been scared of finding. And you were done running from it.

Mingyu’s fingers traced soothing patterns on your back, his lips brushing your forehead every few minutes, as if reassuring himself that you were still there. You breathed in his familiar scent, and for the first time in a long while, you felt safe — safe enough to believe that maybe love didn’t always have to end in heartbreak.

Maybe, just maybe, this time you could get it right. ~~

“Can you stop fidgeting?” Mingyu groaned later that night. He was curled up in your bed with you, his voice heavy with sleep as you wiggled around in his arms.

“I’m trying to get comfy,” you whispered, your cheeks warm from the proximity.

Mingyu pulled you closer, his arm curling protectively around your waist. “You’ve been moving for like five minutes. What’s wrong?”

You huffed, squirming a little more. “It’s the shirt. I can’t sleep with it on. I just… need to wear something else.”

Mingyu made a noise somewhere between a groan and a chuckle. “Sit up,” he mumbled sleepily.

“What?” you asked, but he didn’t bother replying. Instead, his hands found the hem of the shirt, tugging it up and over your head before tossing it to the floor. You shivered as the cool air hit your bare skin.

“There,” Mingyu muttered, tugging you back against his chest. “Better?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, feeling his warm breath on your shoulder as he pressed a soft kiss there. You couldn’t help but smile, though sleep still eluded you, especially now that your naked body was pressed against him. You could feel his heartbeat through your back, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

But you couldn’t ignore the way his half-hard cock was pressing into your lower back, especially as his arm shifted, his hand resting low on your stomach, fingers brushing the sensitive skin there. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay still, but it was no use.

“What are you doing?” Mingyu grumbled, clearly aware of your struggle.

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice small.

He sighed dramatically. “Count sheep.”

You smacked his forearm lightly. “That’s not helping.”

“Ow!” He protested, his pout evident even without seeing his face. “It does work, you know. Smacking me definitely isn’t the solution.”

You didn’t answer, just turned in his arms and pressed your lips to his, catching him off guard. He hummed against your mouth, a low sound of surprise that melted into a soft groan when you rolled on top of him, straddling his thighs.

“Either we fuck, or I make myself cum,” you whispered, your nails tracing the outline of his cock through his boxers.

Mingyu’s breath hitched, but he shook his head. “No.”

You shot him a glare. “Then I’m using a toy.”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” Mingyu muttered, and before you knew it, his fingers were on your clit, circling with just enough pressure to make you gasp.

“Gyu—”

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh. “You don’t need toys when I can take care of you so much better.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he moved faster, his hands guiding your hips to line up with his. He pushed his boxers down enough to free himself, and you shivered when his cock brushed against your wet folds.

“I need you,” you whispered, shifting your hips to let him slide inside. He moaned low and rough, his grip on your hips tightening.

“Fuck, it’s been too long,” he groaned, his breath shaky as he sank deeper. “You’re so fucking tight.”

You moved his hand from your breast to your neck, meeting his eyes. His brow furrowed, concern briefly flashing across his face. “You sure?”

You nodded, your lips brushing his. “Yes. Please.”

He gave a slow, tentative thrust, his hand lightly holding your throat. The pressure was just enough to make your head spin, your pulse racing. You whimpered, arching against him as he moved again—deeper this time, harder.

His hand loosened, his lips brushing yours. “God, you feel so good,” he whispered, kissing you softly as his hips kept moving.

You moaned, your hands finding his shoulders for support as you moved with him, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His breath was ragged against your neck, his voice low and rough as he whispered, “So good, baby. I’m not gonna last.”

You barely managed to murmur his name before you felt him tense, his grip on your waist bruising as he came, his warmth filling you.

Mingyu’s body relaxed, and he kissed your forehead, his hands gentle as he cupped your face. “You okay?”

You nodded, catching your breath. “Yeah. More than okay.”

He shifted, moving down between your legs. “Still feel like sleeping?”

You laughed softly, but the sound turned into a gasp as his mouth found your clit, his tongue moving in slow, precise circles. You whimpered, your fingers threading through his hair as his arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you still.

“Gyu—”

“Just relax, baby,” he whispered against your skin, the vibration making you shiver. He sucked lightly on your clit, and you couldn’t hold back the cry that escaped, your back arching as he brought you to the edge and over, his hands steadying you as you came.

He kissed his way up your body, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before lying beside you, pulling you into his chest.

“Mingyu?” You whispered.

“Yeah?” he replied, tracing shapes on your shoulder with his fingertips.

You hesitated, biting your lip. You wanted to say it—the words were right there. But fear kept your mouth shut.

“Shower,” you mumbled instead, pouting.

Mingyu chuckled softly and kissed your nose. “Come here.”

He scooped you up in his arms, carrying you to the bathroom, his lips brushing your temple as he murmured. “Whatever you need.”

The morning sun streamed through the windows, casting a soft glow across the room. You sat on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest, trying to gather your thoughts. Mingyu appeared from the bedroom, rubbing his eyes sleepily, his hair messy from sleep.

“Morning,” he mumbled, giving you a lopsided smile as he sat down next to you.

“Hi,” you replied softly, handing him a cup of coffee. Mingyu took it gratefully, breathing in the comforting aroma before taking a sip.

“God, I missed your coffee,” he murmured. You smiled at his familiar habit — the way he always inhaled the scent first. But he noticed your hesitation, your smile not quite reaching your eyes. “You seem... a little off,” he said, nudging your thigh with his knee. “Do you regret last night?”

Your heart clenched at the question, and you immediately shook your head, reaching for his hand. “No, not at all. I regret nothing.” You squeezed his fingers gently, offering him a reassuring smile. “Actually... I’m really glad we talked.”

Mingyu let out a soft breath, relief evident on his face. “Me too. I was worried I might’ve rushed things, you know? I don’t want to mess this up.”

You scooted closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “You didn’t. I needed to hear it, too. I needed to know that you still wanted to try.”

Mingyu kissed the top of your head, his voice a murmur against your hair. “I’ll always want to try for us.”

The comfort of his presence made you feel lighter, like the weight that had been pressing on your chest was finally easing up. You spent the next few moments in silence, just savouring the warmth of him next to you, the familiar way his thumb traced circles on your knuckles.

After a while, Mingyu shifted, his playful smile returning. “So... do you want to go out today? I thought maybe we could do something fun—something that doesn’t involve heavy conversations.”

You nodded eagerly. “That sounds perfect. What did you have in mind?”

Mingyu grinned, his eyes brightening. “You’ll see. Just dress cute. I’m taking you on a date.”

You didn’t know what to expect, but as you strolled through the bustling park with Mingyu’s hand firmly clasped in yours, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell. Mingyu had brought his camera, and he kept stopping every few steps to snap a photo of you.

“Seriously, Gyu? I probably look weird in half of those,” you protested, shielding your face from his lens.

He chuckled, lowering the camera just enough to see your pout. “You look beautiful. Besides, it’s just for me. I want to remember how happy you look today.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you gave in, letting him take a few more photos. Mingyu’s face lit up every time he captured your smile, and it made your heart race in the best way. After a while, he led you toward a row of food trucks, insisting on buying you your favourite snack.

As you sat on a park bench sharing the food, Mingyu turned his camera on himself, pulling you into the shot. “Smile,” he whispered, his face close enough that his breath tickled your cheek. You couldn’t help but laugh, and he snapped the picture.

When he showed you the shot, you couldn’t deny how happy you looked. Mingyu looked at it for a long moment, his expression softening. “I missed seeing you like this.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “I missed feeling like this.”

Mingyu placed a soft kiss on your temple. “You know... I’ve been carrying my camera around more since you left. It reminded me of all the little moments I never want to forget. Like this one.”

You intertwined your fingers with his. “I want to be part of more of your moments.”

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Then don’t leave again. Stay.”

You bit your lip, the vulnerability in his voice pulling at your heartstrings. “I’m not leaving. I promise.”

The rest of the afternoon was filled with easy laughter and more spontaneous photos, Mingyu capturing every playful moment — from you accidentally tripping over a crack in the pavement to your exaggerated eye roll when he insisted on taking yet another picture of you with ice cream on your nose.

By the time the sun began to set, you found yourselves sitting on a blanket by the riverbank, watching the sky turn shades of pink and orange. Mingyu’s camera rested beside him, forgotten for the moment as he pulled you into his side.

“Thank you for today,” you whispered, tracing the veins on the back of his hand. “I needed this.”

Mingyu leaned down, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Me too. I’m really happy right now. Just... being with you.”

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes, and he smiled before leaning in to kiss you. It was soft, unhurried, and full of every unspoken word you hadn’t found the courage to say yet. When he pulled back, he brushed his thumb over your cheek.

“I’ll take it slow. However long it takes for you to feel safe with me again,” he whispered.

You cupped his cheek, pulling him in for another kiss, this one deeper, more certain. “I already feel safe. I just... I’m learning how to not run from that.”

Mingyu chuckled softly. “I’ll chase after you every time. You’re worth it.”

You smiled, letting your fingers tangle in his hair. “I guess I’m stuck with you then.”

His laughter filled the evening air, and you knew that no matter how long it took, you were ready to keep trying — to let yourself fall completely and trust that he’d catch you.

After the date with Mingyu, your heart was still fluttering as you walked back to your apartment. The evening had been unexpectedly sweet — Mingyu taking candid photos of you, insisting that every angle was your “best one,” and laughing when you tried to hide behind your scarf. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt so carefree.

When you reached the door, Mingyu pulled you into a soft, lingering kiss, his hands cupping your face as if he wanted to savour every second. “Take care of yourself tonight, okay?” he whispered against your lips, brushing his thumb over your cheek. You nodded, your heart swelling with warmth as he finally let you go, his eyes trailing after you as you stepped inside.

The apartment was quiet, but as you hung up your coat, you heard the faint hum of music coming from the living room. You tiptoed towards the sound and found Joshua sprawled on the couch, headphones on, humming to himself. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, but before you could sneak past him, he looked up and spotted you.

“Hey! You’re back!” Joshua’s face lit up as he jumped to his feet and rushed over to give you a bone-crushing hug.

You squeaked in surprise, your laughter muffled by his shoulder. “Joshua, can’t breathe!”

He pulled back sheepishly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he took a good look at you. “Sorry, just missed you. You look... happy. Wait, where’s Mingyu?”

You smiled softly, shaking your head. “He just walked me home. We had a really nice date.”

Joshua smirked knowingly. “Yeah, I figured. I wanted to say hi last night, but I saw Mingyu’s boots by the door and thought... yeah, better not interrupt.”

Rolling your eyes, you shoved his shoulder playfully. “Nothing happened. We just talked.”

Joshua raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Talked? You mean the kind of talking where I could hear muffled giggles through the wall? Sure, Y/N, just talking.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Okay, maybe some kissing. But really, we just talked. We needed it.”

Joshua’s expression softened, and he guided you to sit with him on the couch. “So... how was home? Did it help?”

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders finally easing as you curled up next to him. “Yeah, it did. I needed some distance to think. I finally told Mingyu I loved him. First, I wrote it, and then I actually said it out loud.”

Joshua’s eyes widened, and a smile spread across his face. “Seriously? You finally said it?”

You nodded, chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah. I was terrified, but I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t feel that way. He... he didn’t exactly say it back, though. He just said he needed some time. And that’s okay. I know I put him through a lot.”

Joshua wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Hey, that’s progress. You told him how you feel. That’s a big step, and honestly, it’s good that he’s taking his time. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t still be here.”

You leaned into his side, grateful for his reassurance. “Yeah, I know. I just... I really hope he believes me this time.”

Joshua nodded. “He will. He’s just cautious now. But trust me, he’s been way too mopey when you’re not around for him to just give up on you.”

Before you could respond, the front door creaked open, and Wonwoo walked in holding a grocery bag. “Joshua, they only had vanilla and pistachio,” he announced, making a beeline for the kitchen.

“Cool, thanks!” Joshua called after him before turning to you. “Seriously? Ice cream for breakfast?”

You snickered, but Joshua just shrugged. “It’s a Sunday. Anything goes.”

Wonwoo’s footsteps grew louder as he returned to the living room, and as soon as he saw you, his eyes softened. Before you could say anything, he crossed the room and pulled you into a tight embrace, nearly lifting you off the floor.

“Oof,” you mumbled, your face pressed against his shoulder. “Wonwoo?”

He didn’t let go, just squeezed you tighter. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice low and remorseful. “I was way too harsh before. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that.”

You closed your eyes, sinking into the hug. “Wonwoo... It’s okay. You were right, you know. I wasn’t taking accountability, and I needed a wake-up call. I just... didn’t expect it to hurt so much.”

Wonwoo sighed, finally pulling back enough to look at you. “I know. I was angry because I didn’t want to see you mess things up with Mingyu again. He’s my friend, but so are you, and it felt like I was stuck in the middle.”

You smiled faintly, your hands still on his shoulders. “I get it. I shouldn’t have said those things about you and Mia. I was being petty and defensive.”

Wonwoo gave a slight nod. “Yeah, but I still shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. Joshua and Mingyu chewed me out for being too harsh. I didn’t realise how much it would hurt you.”

You reached up to ruffle his hair playfully. “Hey, it’s okay. I kind of deserved it. I’m just glad we’re okay now.”

Wonwoo chuckled, pulling you back into another quick hug. “We’re okay. Just... stop being so reckless with your feelings, okay?”

You laughed against his chest. “I’ll try. Thanks for not giving up on me.”

Wonwoo ruffled your hair in return. “It’s a full-time job, but someone’s gotta keep you in line.”

Joshua’s voice suddenly cut through the moment. “Oh, so we’re all making up now? Does this mean I can finally break out the wine?”

Wonwoo groaned, rolling his eyes, but you couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine. But you’re not finishing the bottle this time,” you warned.

Joshua raised his hands in surrender. “Scout’s honour.”

The three of you ended up in the living room, sharing stories from your trip and poking fun at each other like nothing had changed. You knew things were still complicated with Mingyu, but right now, surrounded by your friends, you let yourself feel grateful for their support and the way they always found a way to put you back together.

As the night went on, laughter filled the apartment, and you realised that no matter how messy things got, you weren’t facing it alone. You had people who cared — and that was enough to keep you going.

The aroma of fresh flowers filled the cosy living room as you adjusted the string lights around the window. Mingyu’s apartment had changed a bit since those chaotic days — it felt more like home now, your home. Mingyu’s camera sat on the coffee table, surrounded by stacks of developed photos from his latest project, and you couldn’t help but smile at the candid shots he had taken of you: cooking, laughing, half-asleep on the couch.

You were putting the final touches on the makeshift photo wall when you heard keys jingle at the door. The familiar sound of Mingyu’s laughter drifted in as he walked in, carrying takeout and wearing that impossibly charming smile.

“Smells amazing in here,” he said, kicking the door shut and dropping his bag by the entrance. He shot you a lopsided grin, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how effortlessly handsome he looked.

“It’s just coffee and air freshener,” you teased, walking over to help with the bags. Mingyu pulled you into his arms instead, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll take it. Any excuse to have you smell nice,” he murmured against your hair, his fingers tracing patterns along your back.

You hummed contentedly and let him pull you closer, resting your head against his chest. After a few peaceful seconds, you whispered, “You’re home early.”

Mingyu kissed the top of your head. “Finished the shoot early. Figured I’d come back to you instead of hanging around the studio. Plus, I missed you.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him. “It’s been six hours.”

Mingyu smirked. “Too long.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only for you,” he shot back, leaning down to kiss you again.

Once you were both settled on the couch, digging into the takeout, you noticed the glint of something on Mingyu’s wrist. A new bracelet. You squinted at it, reaching over to get a better look.

“Is that... my handwriting?” you asked, squinting at the little engraved plate on the bracelet.

Mingyu looked at it proudly. “Yeah. Had it made from that one note you left me before my last shoot — the one that said, ‘You’re enough.’ I loved your handwriting, so I thought... why not make it permanent?”

You felt your heart squeeze in your chest. “You’re unbelievable,” you whispered.

“I know. But it’s true, you know? You’re enough. More than enough.”

You leaned in and kissed him softly, your hands cupping his face. “So are you, Gyu.”

Before you could say more, a loud knock interrupted you. The door burst open, and Joshua and Wonwoo walked in, each holding grocery bags.

“Guys, you still don’t knock?” You joked, getting up to help them.

“Why bother? This place is practically ours,” Joshua replied with a mischievous grin, setting his bags on the counter. Wonwoo rolled his eyes but gave you a quick hug before following Joshua’s lead.

Mingyu chuckled, stretching out on the couch. “What’s the occasion? You two brought food voluntarily.”

Wonwoo shrugged. “We figured you guys would forget to cook with all the lovey-dovey crap going on.”

Joshua snorted. “I still can’t believe you managed to get them to agree to that couple’s photoshoot for your exhibition, Gyu. They looked like two lovesick puppies.”

Mingyu’s cheeks flushed a little, but he tried to cover it up by busying himself with the takeout. You just laughed, remembering how awkward you had felt at first — until Mingyu made you laugh mid-shot, and the rest just felt natural.

As you all settled down to eat together, conversations flowing freely and laughter filling the room, you couldn’t help but glance at Mingyu. He caught your gaze and gave you a soft smile, his hand slipping into yours under the table.

Later that night, after the guys left, and the apartment was quiet again, you lay in bed with Mingyu’s arms wrapped around you. His fingers traced lazy circles on your shoulder as he spoke softly.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hmm?”

“I’ve been thinking... I know we’ve been doing this for a while now, and... well, what would you think about making it more... official?”

You turned to face him, your heart skipping a beat. “Are you proposing, Kim Mingyu?”

He grinned, his nose brushing yours. “Not quite... yet. But I want to keep coming home to you. Forever. I want to take photos of you laughing at my bad jokes and fighting with me over the last dumpling. I want this — you, me, our chaotic friends, and all of it. Officially.”

You couldn’t hold back the grin spreading across your face. “You mean... moving in together?”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “And then... maybe someday, more than that. But let’s start there.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I want that too.”

Mingyu’s smile was so bright it could have lit up the whole city. He kissed you, slow and sweet, like a promise.

As you curled up into his side, sleep tugging at your eyelids, you thought about how far you had come — from messy, unpredictable encounters to this: comfort, laughter, and love. You had found your way to each other, despite the obstacles, and you knew that wherever life took you next, you would face it together.

And for now, that was more than enough.

The End.

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astars-things · 4 months ago

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hiii would you be willing to do prompt 1&5 from the protective part with Ethan edwards. thankss 💕💕

1 " don't worry. everything's going to be alright… " 5 “It hurts so bad… please make it stop.”

Another loss.

It was starting to feel like a pattern — one that hurt to watch unfold. Michigan was struggling this season, and no matter how hard the boys fought, it just wasn’t clicking. I wasn’t able to make it to Yost tonight, stuck instead in my room with my laptop perched on my lap, the game streaming in front of me. Textbooks lay open around me, but I hadn’t read a single page. My eyes stayed glued to the screen, heart sinking with every turnover, every missed opportunity, and ultimately, every goal scored against them.

As soon as the final buzzer sounded, my phone buzzed on the blanket beside me. Ethan.

I didn’t hesitate, swiping to answer before the second ring even finished.

“E?” My voice was soft, but the silence on the other end said more than words ever could. I could hear him breathing, shallow and uneven, like he was trying to hold it all in — trying to keep it together just long enough to make it to me.

“It hurts so bad… please make it stop.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and my heart broke right along with it. Without thinking, I pushed the textbooks aside, already climbing out of bed.

“I’m on my way,” I said, grabbing my keys and shoving my feet into my sneakers. “Just hold on a little longer, okay? I’m coming.”

I didn’t wait for his reply — I didn’t need to hear it. The pain in his voice was enough to send me running. The walk to the rink felt endless, cold air biting at my cheeks, but none of it mattered. All I could think about was Ethan, how he felt everything so deeply, how hard he was on himself even when it wasn’t his fault.

When I finally got to the players’ entrance, Ethan was already there, leaning against the wall with his head down. His hands were stuffed in his hoodie pockets, shoulders slumped in defeat. My heart ached at the sight of him.

“E,” I whispered, stepping closer. His head snapped up, eyes glassy and red-rimmed, and before I could say anything else, his arms were around me, holding on like I was the only thing keeping him standing.

“It’s not fair,” he mumbled into my hair, voice thick with frustration and heartbreak. “I try so hard, and it still isn’t enough.”

I pulled back just enough to cup his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “Don’t worry,” I whispered, my voice steady despite the ache in my chest. “Everything’s going to be alright. I’ve got you.”

He shook his head, but I could see the flicker of belief in his eyes, the way my words settled into the cracks forming in his confidence. I leaned up, pressing my forehead to his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised. “We’ll get through this together.”

Ethan held me tighter, his breath slowing, grounding himself in me. And for now, that was enough.

#send in requests #thanks anon!#umich hockey #ethan edwards x reader #ethan edwards blurb #umich imagine #umich x reader #ethan edwards #ethan edwards imagine

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chrissssssmut · 3 months ago

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Femboy Wonyoung smut?

TUTOR ME SENPAI... (But not in studying)

Femboy Wonyoung x Male Reader

AN: Last fic for this week! I need to sleep bc im so tired and i feel sick😴🤒

It all started with a failing grade. Not yours—Wonyoung’s.

You had always been an above-average student, excelling enough to be recommended as a tutor by your professor. When he first gave you Wonyoung’s name, you were confused. He wasn’t the type to struggle academically. In fact, Wonyoung had always been a top student—one of those effortlessly intelligent people who barely studied yet still managed to stay at the top of the class rankings.

So why did he need a tutor?

You didn’t question it at first. Maybe he had been slipping. Maybe his extracurricular activities were distracting him. Regardless, when he approached you after class, flashing that usual confident smirk, you agreed without hesitation.

That was your first mistake.

The first session was at your place. Wonyoung had insisted, claiming he “needed a quiet environment.” The moment he stepped into your room, though, you started suspecting that studying was the last thing on his mind.

Dressed in a loose off-the-shoulder sweater that barely covered his thighs and knee-high socks that hugged his long legs, Wonyoung looked like he had stepped out of some kind of dream. A dream that should’ve been far from reality but was now sitting cross-legged on your bed, twirling his pen between his fingers.

“So, senpai,” he purred, leaning forward, his sweater slipping just enough to expose a bit more collarbone than necessary. “What subject are we covering first?”

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to focus on the textbook in front of you. “Calculus. You said you needed help with integrals, right?”

“Hm,” Wonyoung hummed, tilting his head, pretending to think. “I do need help… but math is so boring, don’t you think? We could do something more fun.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Wonyoung, we’re here to study.”

“Oh? You’re so serious, senpai.” He giggled, scooting closer until his knee brushed against yours. “I like that about you.”

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to ignore the way his voice dipped into something more sultry. This was going to be a long night.

This pattern continued for weeks. Every study session, Wonyoung would find new ways to test your patience.

One day, he “accidentally” spilled water on his sweater, forcing him to peel it off and remain in nothing but a sheer tank top. Another time, he stretched so dramatically that his shirt rode up, exposing the smooth skin of his stomach. He even had the audacity to crawl onto your lap once, claiming it was “easier to see the equations from this angle.”

Every time, you resisted. Every time, you reminded yourself that this was just tutoring. Nothing more.

But Wonyoung wasn’t making it easy. In fact, he was making it very difficult.

It happened on a rainy evening. The storm outside raged against your window, the dim glow of your desk lamp casting shadows across your room. Wonyoung was beside you, closer than ever, his fingers trailing along the edge of your textbook instead of actually turning the pages.

“Senpai,” he whispered, voice barely above a breath. “Do you really not see it?”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. His usual playful smirk was gone, replaced with something more vulnerable. More dangerous.

“See what?”

“The way I look at you,” he murmured. His fingers found their way to your wrist, tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin. “The way I want you.”

Your pulse spiked. You tried to remain composed, but the weight of his words settled deep in your stomach, igniting something you had been trying to suppress for weeks.

“Wonyoung—”

“Don’t pretend you don’t feel it too,” he interrupted, shifting so that his face was mere inches from yours. “You keep pushing me away, but I know you want me.”

You swallowed hard, every rational thought in your head screaming at you to stop this before it went too far. But then Wonyoung leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Show me, senpai.”

And that was all it took for you to snap.

Your lips crashed against his before you could stop yourself, hands gripping his waist as he melted against you with a soft, pleased whimper. Wonyoung wasn’t passive—no, he kissed back with a hunger that had clearly been building for far too long. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, deeper, until your breaths were mingling into one.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” you muttered against his lips, your hands wandering down, gripping the soft curve of his hips.

Wonyoung gasped, arching into your touch, his nails digging into your shoulders. “Then do something about it,” he challenged, voice breathy, teasing. “Or are you just going to keep holding back?”

Your patience snapped completely.

You lift Wonyoung onto the table, sending books and papers scattering to the floor as your lips crash against his. His hands wander boldly, fingers trailing down until they press against the growing bulge in your pants. He palms you through the fabric, teasing, stroking—his touch featherlight but enough to make you shudder.

A soft moan slips from your lips, and Wonyoung pulls back just enough to smirk, eyes dark with mischief. "So sensitive," he murmurs, his fingers applying a bit more pressure. "Have you been holding back this whole time?"

You grit your teeth, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but the way he’s looking at you—smug and knowing—makes it impossible. "Wonyoung, you’re playing a dangerous game."

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Then why don’t you punish me for it, senpai?"

You fumble with your belt, the metal clinking loudly in the quiet room as you shove your pants down in a rush. Wonyoung is already on his knees before you can even step out of them, eager hands tugging the fabric away. The moment you’re free, your cock bounces up, smacking against his cheek.

He blinks, momentarily stunned, before tilting his head with a playful grin. "Wow… you were really holding back, huh?"

Your breath is uneven as you watch him, heat pooling in your stomach at the way he licks his lips. "Wonyoung—"

He giggles, wrapping his fingers around you, stroking teasingly slow. "Don’t be shy, senpai. Let me take care of you."

Wonyoung bobs his head up and down, his warm mouth enveloping you as he takes his time, savoring every inch. The slick heat of his tongue sends shivers up your spine, and a deep moan escapes your lips before you can stop it.

"Fuck… you’re so good at this," you murmur, your fingers threading through his soft hair.

Hearing your praise, Wonyoung pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, eyes gleaming with mischief. He sticks out his tongue and lightly slaps the tip of your cock against it, teasing you with slow, deliberate taps.

"Hmm?" he hums, gaze locked onto yours. "You like that, senpai?"

You tighten your grip on his head, fingers tangling in his hair as you slowly push him down onto your length. Wonyoung gags, his throat tightening around you as a lewd, wet sound fills the room. His nails dig into your thighs, but he doesn’t pull away—if anything, he relaxes, letting you take control.

Saliva drips down from the corners of his mouth, trailing down his chin in messy strands, and his once-perfect makeup begins to smudge. His mascara streaks slightly under his dazed, glassy eyes, making him look even more intoxicating.

"That’s it," you murmur, voice low and breathless. "Taking it so well, Wonyoung."

Wonyoung grabs hold of your legs, his mouth still working you, taking you deeper with every move. Soft moans slip from your lips, each one louder and more desperate as he works you with precision. The feeling of his warmth and wetness has you losing control, and soon, you find yourself cursing under your breath at how perfect he’s making you feel.

After a moment, you pull him off, your chest heaving as you spin him around. He lands on his back, body arching against the table, his breathing ragged as he looks up at you, eyes wide with anticipation. You hover above him, gaze intense as you ask, “Are you ready for me?”

Wonyoung doesn’t need any more encouragement. “Please,” he breathes, voice thick with want. “I need you, senpai.”

Without hesitation, you push your cock inside him, the tight warmth almost overwhelming. A low groan escapes you as you grip his hair, pulling him closer. Your pace becomes rougher, faster, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room as you lose yourself in the heat of the moment.

As I keep moving at my own pace, my hand wraps around his cock, beginning to stroke slowly. The sound he makes—a loud, desperate moan—slips from his lips. He gasps, his voice trembling, 'Please... don't stop... I need you.' His words break through the quiet, a desperate plea that makes everything feel even more intense.

Wonyoung glances back at me, his eyes pleading. His breath quickens as he nears his climax, and he whispers, 'Please... kiss me.' Without hesitation, I lean in, our lips meeting in a desperate kiss while my movements don’t slow. My other hand moves to stroke him in time with every push, and the heat between us builds to an unbearable intensity.

Within minutes, Wonyoung's release becomes inevitable, his body trembling as he lets go. A sharp, breathless moan escapes him, and I watch as it spills out of him. Without missing a beat, I reach down, gathering some of it in my hand, tasting him. His eyes flutter shut, a soft whimper escaping his lips. 'You... taste so good,' I murmur, my pace never faltering as I continue inside him, each movement drawing another moan from him. 'Don't stop,' he whispers, his voice barely more than a gasp.

You could feel it building, that sweet, inevitable release, so you gently told Wonyoung to kneel for you, the tension in the air thickening. As I stroked my length in front of his face, Wonyoung's voice was soft but laced with teasing, 'I know you're close... I can feel it.' He looked up at me with a mischievous smile, 'Go ahead, let go for me. You know you want to.' Her words were like a command, the way he said them speeding up my release. 'You like when I watch, don’t you? Can’t hold back any longer, can you?

‘Fuck,’ I gasped, my breath catching as Wonyoung continued to drive me crazy with his words. His lips were soft, biting gently, teasingly against my skin, and his eyes—those damn eyes—were locked on mine, full of desire and need. He licked his lips slowly, his voice a whisper, 'You’re so close... don’t fight it.' The way he said it, so sweet and demanding at the same time, sent shivers down my spine. ‘Let go for me,’ he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. 'I want to see it, want to feel it.' Each word he spoke, his gaze never leaving mine, made it harder to keep control. His hands were on me, his touch light, but enough to push me to the edge, his eyes begging for my release like he already knew it was inevitable.

My release came in waves, splattering all over Wonyoung’s gorgeous face. I couldn’t tear my eyes away as some of it dripped down his perfect skin—slowly making its way to his hair, his cheeks, his lips. A few drops even slid down his chest, glistening against his soft skin. He didn’t hesitate. His eyes, full of hunger, flickered up to mine as he licked his lips, savoring the remnants that lingered there. His fingers traced the droplets on his face before he brought them to his mouth. With a soft, almost teasing smile, he whispered, 'You taste even better than I imagined.' The words sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn’t look away from him, consumed by the way he made everything feel so intensely real, so intoxicating.

The rain had calmed by the time the two of you lay tangled in the sheets, the soft scent of him and the lingering warmth between your bodies mixing with the air. Wonyoung rested his head against your chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns across your skin, the rhythm almost soothing as the storm outside faded into a distant hum.

“So,” he murmured, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk. “Does this mean I finally pass tutoring?”

You chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair, feeling his body relax under your touch. “No. You still failed your last quiz.”

Wonyoung pouted dramatically, though there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t bothered in the least. “Guess that means more private lessons then, huh?”

You sighed, already knowing you were doomed. “Yeah… more lessons.”

But before you could get comfortable in your exhausted state, Wonyoung lifted his head, his eyes dark with an insistent hunger. “Well, if I’m getting more lessons, why don’t we make it... a little more interesting?” He slid a hand down your chest, his fingers brushing over the lines of your abs with a teasing touch. “I think I’m still hungry for a second round.”

Your heart skipped at the words, a surge of desire flooding through you, but before you could respond, Wonyoung’s lips were on yours again—slow, teasing, coaxing you into something far less innocent than you’d originally planned. The kiss deepened, a hungry heat igniting between you two as he ground his hips against yours, reminding you just how much he craved you.

This time, studying was the last thing on your mind.

#smut #smut story #smutty smut smut #smut smut smut #smut stuff #smut scenarios #smut fanfiction #wonyoung smut #kpop smut #girl group smut #jang wonyoung #smut x reader #male x male #male reader #ive smut #kpop story #kpop fanfic #female idol smut

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