#drabble text fic

[skzophreniic]

⍣ ೋ cw: soft pregnancy mention, implied smut, post-sex intimacy, emotional vulnerability, chris being extremely down bad, light humor, and overwhelming tenderness.

notes: in which you finally tell chan about your unexpected pregnancy.

The nausea comes in waves. Not sudden, but rising — quiet and cruel.

You slip out of bed on instinct, careful not to stir him. The room is dim, still painted in that pre-dawn blue where shadows blur soft against the walls. The floor’s cold under your feet, the silence heavier than usual.

You close the bathroom door behind you, but not fast enough to hide the sound.

You barely make it to the toilet.

Your body folds in on itself as you retch, one hand clutching the edge of the counter, the other pressed to your mouth. Your throat burns. Your eyes sting. You’re trembling again, just like yesterday. Just like every morning this week.

And you know exactly why.

But you haven’t told him.

Not yet.

The door clicks gently, and before you can even call out, he's there.

“Baby?” Chris’s voice is thick with sleep, curls still mussed, but his worry is immediate. 

He steps into the bathroom, barefoot and blinking against the light. You don’t turn around, can’t—your cheek is pressed to the cool porcelain, eyes shut tight, trying to keep the tears at bay.

You hear him crouch beside you. Feel the warmth of his palm, tentative but steady, on your back.

“Hey, hey…” he whispers, thumb rubbing soft, slow circles between your shoulder blades. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

You hate how kind he is. How easily he forgives the way you’ve been pulling away lately—your silence, the distance you keep curling between your bodies each night. You hate it because he still looks at you like you haven’t broken his heart in quiet, accidental pieces.

Like you haven’t been lying by omission.

“I’ll get you some water,” he says, already standing. But you reach back blindly, fingers clutching at his wrist.

His movement stills the second you touch him.

Your fingers curl weakly around his wrist, barely more than a brush, but he stays rooted like you’ve anchored him. He sinks back down beside you without hesitation, knees to the cold tile, one hand steadying you while the other moves to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I won’t go.”

Your fingers slip from his wrist to his forearm, anchoring there. Not tight, not pleading. Just... needing something solid. He shifts closer, gently tucking you against him, and you let him—half-curled over the toilet, cheek pressed now to the curve of his shoulder instead of cold porcelain.

It’s shameful how good it feels.

How much you missed him.

How much he still makes space for you, without question.

You breathe him in. Warm skin, sleep-soft cotton, the scent of dreams not yet dissolved. His hand returns to your back, tracing the same slow circles, patient and gentle. He doesn't rush you. Doesn’t push. Just stays.

A lump rises in your throat. You swallow it back down.

“You’ve been sick a lot lately,” he says quietly. “And I—I didn’t want to push, but… I was starting to worry.”

You close your eyes.

Tighter.

Like you can hold the truth inside your chest if you just try hard enough.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” you manage, voice paper-thin.

Chris lets out a small, broken exhale—half a laugh, half a sigh. His thumb is still tracing that same small circle on your back, over and over like a ritual.

“Too late, baby,” he says. “You know me. I worry when you don’t text back for ten minutes.”

You breathe out a tremble of a laugh. It barely escapes you.

He pulls you in a little more, his shoulder now against your cheek, his arm curling around your waist, like he could take this ache from you if you just let him.

“Come on,” he whispers. “Let’s get off this floor, yeah?”

You don’t protest. You let him help you up, let him walk you slowly back to bed. He moves around you like instinct — pulling the blankets over your legs, smoothing your hair back, propping a pillow behind your back like he knows how this all goes. Like you’ve always been this breakable.

He disappears into the kitchen, and you hear the kettle click on. The cupboard door. The soft clink of ceramic. It’s the kind of intimacy you never thought would undo you.

When he returns, he’s carrying a steaming mug. He sets the tea down, crawls in beside you, and tugs you gently against his chest. You go without hesitation this time. Your cheek finds his collarbone. His heartbeat is steady.

“Try to sip,” he murmurs, guiding your fingers to the mug. “Ginger and honey. Helps settle the stomach.”

You take a shaky breath. Sip once. Then again.

He strokes your arm, still not asking what’s wrong. Still just being.

“I don’t deserve you,” you whisper, the words too fragile to carry.

Chris doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t argue. Just presses his lips to your forehead, eyes closed.

“You’ve got me anyway.”

You hold the tea with both hands, and before you can stop yourself, before you can weigh the moment, it falls out—

“I’m pregnant.”

A beat.

Then two.

His breath catches just slightly. You feel it in the way his chest stills beneath your cheek.

“Yeah?” he says, quiet.

He doesn’t sound shocked.

Not really.

You feel his hand pause where it rests on your arm. Not jerked away, not pulled back—just still. Still like he’s been waiting for this. Still like he already knew.

You pull back just enough to look at him.

His face is soft in the low light. No widening of the eyes, no sharp intake of breath, no panic. Just a quiet kind of calm. Like he’s been holding this truth behind his teeth for days.

You blink. “You’re… not surprised.”

Chris gives you a small, lopsided smile, and there’s something tired in it. Something knowing.

“I kind of figured.”

You freeze.

Chris shifts slightly, just enough to press his lips to your temple. 

Your fingers tighten around the mug. “You… what?”

“I’ve known for a little while,” he says, and there’s no accusation in it. Just fact. “Not for sure, but… yeah. I knew.”

You pull back slowly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes meet yours, gentle and tired and a little sad around the edges.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

Chris exhales through his nose, brushing a thumb along your jaw. “Because I wanted you to tell me when you were ready. And if you never were—” he swallows, voice thickening, “—I figured I’d wait anyway.”

You stare at him. Your chest aches. He’s holding you like you haven’t broken his heart a hundred times over by keeping this to yourself.

“You should’ve been mad,” you whisper. “I pulled away. I lied. I let you think something was wrong with us.”

He shakes his head, thumb still moving, like he’s trying to wipe the guilt from your skin. “You didn’t lie,” he says softly. “You were scared. That’s not the same thing.”

“But—”

“Baby.”

The word silences you.

He shifts closer, rests his forehead to yours. The kind of closeness that feels like home, like breath shared between ribs.

“You’re pregnant,” he says quietly, like he’s still wrapping his heart around the truth. “That’s huge. That’s life-changing. You didn’t owe me a perfect response to that.”

Your eyes fill again. The tears this time are different—no longer the kind that come from fear, but from the ache of being known, and loved anyway.

“I didn’t want you to be disappointed,” you breathe.

Chris huffs a sound that’s half a laugh, half a sigh. “Disappointed?” He leans back, just enough to look at you fully. “Sweetheart, I’ve been walking around for the last two weeks trying not to hope too hard. Every time you flinched at the smell of eggs, I thought I was going to lose it.”

You blink.

He smiles, slow and tender. “I started carrying extra granola bars in my bag like some kind of dad training simulation.”

A laugh breaks from you, wet and surprised and a little wild. He kisses the sound off your cheek.

You want to believe him. God, you do.

But it still claws at you — the weight of it. The impossibility. The quiet voice that’s been whispering the same thing over and over since the first test turned positive.

Your laughter fades as quickly as it came, and you drop your gaze, fingers twisting in the hem of your shirt.

“But your career…”

The words are quiet. Almost too quiet. Like you’re afraid of waking something up by saying them aloud.

Chris stills.

You press on, slowly. “You have enough on your plate already. The tours. The schedules. The pressure. I didn’t want to be the reason everything got harder. I didn’t want you to feel… trapped.”

His face folds in on itself, soft and stunned, like your words physically knock the wind from him.

“Trapped?” he echoes. “Is that what you thought I’d feel?”

You swallow hard, shrugging helplessly. “You’ve worked your whole life for this. And I know what it looks like from the outside — you, me, suddenly pregnant in the middle of everything. Headlines. Rumors. People blaming me for pulling focus. I just… I didn’t want to be a detour.”

Chris is quiet for a moment. Not the kind of silence that stretches with tension, but the kind that holds something. Thoughtfulness. Heartbreak. The ache of someone hearing what wasn’t said aloud.

Then, softly:

“You think I care about headlines?”

You open your mouth, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

“You think I’d let any of that matter more than you?” His voice breaks—just enough to make your eyes sting again. “I don’t care what the outside looks like. I care about you. About the way you’ve been hurting and hiding it. About how you’ve been carrying all of this alone.”

He sits up a little straighter beside you, pulling your hands into his lap, like he needs to anchor both of you to the moment. His thumbs rub over your knuckles, steady and warm.

“I didn’t spend all this time building something just to let it become a cage,” he says. “I built it so I could choose what matters.”

Your lip trembles. You want to crawl into his words and never leave.

“I want this baby,” he says simply. “And I want you. And if that makes everything harder, then so be it. I’ve never been afraid of hard things. Just losing you.”

You press a shaky hand to your mouth, trying to bite back the sob threatening to rise.

Chris leans in, gently tugging your hands away to cup your cheeks.

“I love what I do,” he whispers. “But I love you more.”

And then, softer still—

“Let them talk. Let the whole world think what they want. I’ll hold your hand through every bit of it. I’ll shout it from the rooftops if that’s what you need.”

You break.

You fall forward into him and he catches you instantly, wrapping you up in the kind of hold that feels less like comfort and more like coming home. He rocks you slowly, like you’re something precious, and murmurs nothing but love into your hair until the shaking stops.

Neither of you speak for a while. Not in words. Just the rhythm of breath shared, the way his thumb never stops moving across your spine, the quiet tremble of your body as it starts to finally release the weight it's been holding for too long.

Eventually, you shift just enough to look up at him, eyes red and swollen.

“You’re really not scared?” you whisper.

Chris smiles. It’s tired, but steady. Steady in the way he’s always been.

“Oh, I’m terrified,” he says with a soft laugh. “But I’m not scared of us.”

His words settle into the quiet like a promise, like a hand pressed to a wound. Not to hide it—but to hold it. To keep it warm. To let it heal.

“I’m scared of screwing it up,” he admits. “Of not knowing what I’m doing. Of forgetting diapers at three in the morning and dropping the car seat manual in a puddle.”

You huff out a shaky laugh.

“But I’m not scared of loving you through this. Of being here. I want to mess it up with you. I want the sleepless nights and the ugly furniture and the weird little onesies your mom’s definitely going to send.”

You let your eyes close for a moment, breathing in the space between you. The safety of it. The calm after the unraveling.

Chris shifts behind you, easing both of you down beneath the covers again. His arms wrap around your waist from behind, palm splaying gently over your stomach—hesitant at first, then firmer, like he’s grounding himself to what’s real.

To what’s already begun.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you murmur, voice muffled against the pillow.

“Neither do I,” he says. “But I think we’ll figure it out. Together.”

His thumb draws soft, mindless circles against your skin. You can feel his breath on your shoulder, warm and even.

“We’re gonna be so bad at swaddling,” you whisper after a moment.

Chris snorts into your hair. “Horrible. Absolute disaster.”

“They’ll probably pee on us within the first ten minutes.”

He laughs again, and it rumbles through you like something holy.

“You mean they won’t wait twenty?” he teases. “Already disappointed in our future child’s manners.”

You smile. Not because the fear is gone. Not because it’s easy now. But because he’s still here. Still him. And somehow, even in the dark—especially in the dark—he’s made space for all of it.

You roll slightly, enough to face him, and he meets your gaze instantly. His eyes are red at the corners too, but soft. So soft.

You reach for his hand again. 

He gives it without hesitation.

______________________________________________________________

The sheets are still warm.

They’re tangled around your legs, half-forgotten, pulled low from where Chris tugged them back earlier in careful haste—like he couldn’t wait another second to feel you again. To love you the way he’d been aching to for weeks.

But it had been gentle. So slow. So careful it almost hurt.

He’d kissed you like he was scared you’d break beneath him. Like every part of you needed to be cherished differently now—worshipped not just because he loved you, but because you were carrying something he already did.

Now, the room is quiet again.

Not the sharp quiet from earlier—the kind lined with secrets and held breath. This silence is sweeter. Fuller. The kind that lingers in the air after closeness, after truth, after love has been made and remade and made again.

You lie curled in the sheets, his hoodie pooled beneath your head like a pillow, your body still humming from the weight of him—on you, in you, with you.

Chris is beside you. Propped on one elbow, hair a mess, eyes soft in the gold light pouring through the window.

He hasn’t stopped touching you.

His fingertips skim the slope of your stomach—slow, aimless strokes over skin still too tender. He traces the curve like it’s already changed. Like he can already see the future stretching beneath your navel.

“You sure you’re okay?” he murmurs, for the third—maybe fourth—time.

You smile, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m okay.”

“Did I hurt you at all?”

You open your eyes again, shifting to face him more. He looks almost pained asking it—like he’s still afraid he was too much, even though every touch had been measured, every motion guided by whispered I love yous and soft gasps.

You reach up, fingers brushing through his hair—so soft, still sleep-mussed, still clinging to last night’s weight. His eyes flutter at the contact.

“You didn’t hurt me, Chris,” you say gently, your thumb sweeping across his temple. “You couldn’t have. You were…” You pause, cheeks warming. “You were so good to me.”

He leans into your touch like it’s instinct, nose nudging your palm, lips brushing the edge of your wrist. “I just didn’t want to rush anything,” he mumbles. “I didn’t want to take from you.”

“You gave to me,” you correct quietly. “More than you know.”

His gaze finds yours again. And it’s so open—so filled with something fragile and gleaming that it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be careful with someone the way I want to be with you,” he murmurs, hand still slow on your stomach. “Like every piece of you deserves a softer kind of love.”

Your throat tightens, eyes stinging with the tears you thought you’d already run out of. You don’t speak. You just lean forward and kiss him—soft and close and wordless. A promise.

When you pull back, Chris smiles, all crooked and boyish, like it still surprises him he gets to kiss you whenever he wants.

“Do you think…” he starts, then hesitates, biting down on his lower lip in that familiar way he does when he’s about to say something that scares him. “Do you think they can hear me yet?”

You blink. “Hear you?”

He shrugs, flushing a little. “I don’t know. Maybe not hear, but like—feel me.”

You smile, hand still resting over his where it sprawls protectively across your belly.

“I think,” you say, voice soft with wonder, “if they feel anything at all, it’s love.”

Chris lets out a slow breath, almost like a laugh, almost like a prayer. “Good,” he murmurs. “That’s all I want them to feel.”

And then he lowers himself again—carefully, reverently—so his face is level with your stomach, his curls brushing your skin. You feel his breath before his lips, warm and tender, and then—

“Hi,” he whispers. “It’s me again.”

You bite back a watery smile, brushing his hair back from his face. He doesn't look up. He’s focused, eyes closed, words blooming straight from his heart.

“You’re still tiny,” he says. “Probably the size of… I don’t know. A peanut? A lentil?”

You laugh softly. “A blueberry, I think.”

Chris grins against your skin. “Okay. Hi, blueberry.”

The tears return, but this time they don’t sting. They soothe. You let them fall.

Chris presses another kiss, slower this time. “Your mom is amazing. She’s strong, and patient, and really stubborn when she wants to be—don’t get any ideas—but she’s also the kindest person I’ve ever met. And she loves you already. So much.”

You can’t breathe. Or maybe you just don’t want to—don’t want to disturb the moment, the hush in the room, the way it feels like the world has paused just to let him say this.

“And I love you, too,” he adds, softer now. “Even if you’re already making her throw up every morning.”

You snort.

Chris finally looks up at you, face glowing with something boyish and stunned. Like he’s still adjusting to the weight of the word dad and how it might belong to him now.

“Do you think it’s okay to be happy yet?” he whispers. “Or is it too early?”

You blink, startled by the softness of the question. It’s not a doubt in you. It’s a doubt in himself—the way he was used to waiting for the world to collapse anytime something good entered the picture.

You tilt his face fully toward you, one hand on his cheek, the other still resting over his on your belly.

“It’s okay,” you whisper back. “We’re allowed to be happy.”

Chris leans into your palm, lashes kissing your skin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Even if it’s early. Even if it’s messy. We’re allowed.”

A long breath leaves his chest. When he exhales, it sounds like something unknots inside him.

“Okay,” he says. And then again, firmer: “Okay.”

He kisses your belly once more—then your ribs, then your shoulder, and finally your lips, slow and sure and lingering like he’s learning the shape of this new beginning through you.

Your breath catches.

Because there’s something different in this kiss—less cautious than before, less tentative. Still tender, still full of awe, but threaded now with a kind of ache. A hunger not for your body, but for closeness. For reassurance. For the promise of you and him and this tiny, impossible future you’re building together.

You kiss him back. Let your hands curl into the soft cotton at his shoulders, let your mouth part beneath his. He deepens it without a word, like your response is all the permission he’s ever needed.

Chris exhales against your lips, the sound low, almost relieved. His hand slides from your belly to your waist, guiding you gently onto your back, careful not to press too hard, like he’s still remembering how much softer the world has become.

You pull him with you, fingers in his hair now, breath mingling as he settles between your legs, his weight familiar, comforting. Not heavy—never heavy. He’s holding himself up even now, even in this, like you’re precious. Like he can’t risk the smallest part of you going untouched, unnoticed, unloved.

His kiss grows slower. Deeper. Tongue brushing yours, mouth warm and open and wanting, but not hurried. Nothing about him is hurried. He maps you like he’s memorizing—not rediscovering your body, but learning what it means now, with the quiet miracle curled inside you.

His palm returns to your belly halfway through the kiss.

It lingers there.

Anchoring.

You feel his hips roll, subtle and restrained, like he can’t help it—but even that is tempered by reverence. He groans softly against your lips and pulls back just enough to rest his forehead to yours.

“I want you again,” he murmurs, breath catching. “So bad.”

You smile, brushing your nose against his. “We just had sex, Chris.”

“I know,” he groans, dragging his lips down to your jaw, your neck, your shoulder—soft little kisses like he’s trying to keep himself distracted. “It’s not my fault. You’re literally glowing. Like… it’s actually not fair.”

You laugh, tilting your head to give him more space. “I think that’s just the sweat from me throwing up three times this morning.”

“Nope,” he says, grinning against your collarbone. “Sorry. Pregnancy glow. Hormones. Boobs. All of it. My brain’s broken. I’m ruined.”

You snort. “Are you seriously saying I got hotter now that I’m pregnant?”

Chris lifts his head to look at you, eyebrows raised, completely unapologetic. “Yes. Have you seen yourself? You’re radiant. Divine. A walking goddess with a baby growing inside her—my baby, by the way. Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

You blink at him, stunned and absolutely flustered. “Chris—”

He groans dramatically and drops his head to your chest. “You don’t get it. I’m suffering.”

You wheeze a laugh, your fingers threading through his hair again.

He looks up at you, eyes wide, completely serious now. “Every time you move I want to pounce. But I can’t. Because I am a gentleman. A respectful, self-restrained—” he kisses the top of your belly, “—incredibly patient father-to-be.”

You grin. “Uh-huh.”

His hand slides up your thigh, just high enough to make your breath hitch. “But if you even so much as breathe wrong, I’m folding.”

“Chris—”

“I mean it. One little sound. A sigh. A whimper. I’m gone.”

Your laughter breaks loose then, full and warm and aching at the edges. He kisses you hard, almost like he’s trying to prove his point—like he's sealing the moment in his mouth before it gets the better of him.

His hands are definitely not innocent anymore.

“Okay—okay,” he says, breathless, forehead against yours again. “I have to get up. I have to. You need food. I need distance.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, not letting him go. “You sure?”

He groans into your shoulder. “I’m going. I'm going. But I’m leaving in emotional pain.”

You release him with a teasing little kiss. “Breakfast, dad.”

Chris smirks as he finally sits up, eyes sweeping over you one last time before he swings his legs off the bed. “Fine. But you better be decent when I come back or I’m canceling breakfast and blaming the baby.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

And with that, he trudges toward the kitchen in his boxers, muttering something about toast and torture under his breath.

You melt back into the sheets, laughing, heart pounding, belly warm—and for once, everything feels exactly, impossibly, beautifully right.

[dollerin]

𝓈𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑟𝐻𝑂𝑁𝐸𝑌𝓵𝑶𝑽𝑬 ──── BOYFRIEND TEXTS W/ HOON

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝑳𝐔𝐃𝐄 ─── boyfriend texts w hoonie & him treating you like his princess.

𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑛 x f. reader romance fluff jokes 𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝗐𝖼. none ─── 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒

🌺: i said it once and i’ll say it again.. hoonie is kali uchis coded.

[rafeys-angel13]

your kids interrupting “grown up” time. (requested)

rafe was immediately touchy with you when he got home from work, his hand slipping down to your ass when you have him a hug.

he had a hand on your thigh during dinner and pulled you into his lap when you guys were done.

as the boys talked about their days, rafe stares at you. the way your face lights up when one of them say something cute— or the way your head tilts back when you laugh at them.

“okay guys, it’s bedtime” rafe announces, standing up from his seat on the sofa. you had been chilling there for around an hour after dinner as the boys played.

jack and hunter both groan and whine.

you check the clock and you notice it’s half an hour earlier than you’d usually put them down. damn, he is desperate.

you look up at him and he shoots you a soft glare before picking jack up and tucking him under his shoulder and calling on hunter to come to bed.

after 20 minutes, rafe joins you in the bedroom, he shuts the door and smirks.

“you look so fucking sexy in those shorts, baby” he walks over to the bed, crawling on top of you.

he gently pins your arms above your head and dips his head down.

his lips meet yours in a hungry kiss. pressing his hips down against yours.

you return the kiss, just as passionately.

“mommy!” your 4 you’re old hunter’s voice cuts through the lustful atmosphere.

rafe drops his head against your shoulder.

“these damn kids” he groans and pushes himself off of you.

“mhm… damn kids” you chuckle and get up, heading to hunter’s room.

after around 10 minutes, you come back and drew immediately pulls you on top of him with a small smile on his face.

“hi” you chuckle and he pulls your legs to straddle his lap.

his hand dip under your shirt and he palms your breast.

“you’re so beautiful, baby… can’t help but touch you” he murmurs as he presses light kisses down your neck.

his teeth graze your throat and his tongue flicks out over the spot.

you roll your hips down onto his and he groans softly.

“mm keep doing that…” he guides your hips down, your crotch pressing over his hard cock.

you hear little footsteps pattering down the hall.

you sigh and turn to look at the door which cracks open slightly, jacks small, worried face poking through.

“momma? my room is making me scared” he whines and you get of rafe’s lap, walking over and picking him up.

you place a kiss to his forehead.

“come on… i’ll come sleep with you” you suggest softly, pushing jack’s hair out of his face.

as you turn to leave you give rafe a sympathetic look.

he shakes his head dismissively and lays down, deciding he needs sleep more.

- request a fic

[yun-fangz]

ateez fake texts — hyung line

synopsis: u turning down sex cuz you have a bush

pairings: hyung line!ateez x fem!reader

warnings: suggestive humor, mentions of sex/boners, brief period mention (yunho), overall kinda comforting, these boys are freaks LOL

a/n: when i tell u i laughed typing out the synopsis LMFAO. #freethebush fr tho. maknae line coming in the next few days you already know

INBOX IS FULL/NOT TAKING REQUESTS AT THE MOMENT.

hongjoong:

seonghwa:

yunho:

yeosang:

© 2025 Yun-Fangz All Rights Reserved.

[xzinbdg]

"wanna see your pretty face!" with enhypen ⋆˚࿔

enhypen masterlist ۶ৎ main masterlist

[dvrk-moon]

NISHIMURA RIKI ; 니키

BEST FRIENDS SECRETLY IN LOVE TEXTS

PART TWO HERE

requested : no

genre : crack, fluff

pairing : best friend!riki x fem!reader

warnings : cursing

a/n : hi long time no see

[fromdove]

TEXTS WITH JASON TODD ! j.todd x reader

“I’ve had bullets in me that hurt less than the thought of losing you.”

— texts with jason todd x you, no warnings

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

you: you didn’t text me goodnight last night jason: i was on a rooftop bleeding. you: ok but you could’ve bled and sent a heart emoji jason: i’ll try to bleed more romantically

you: i stubbed my toe jason: do we need to kill the table you: yes jason: say less

jason: text me when you're home safely you: i am home dangerously jason: stop it you: i am home lethally jason: i will physically tie you to the bed next time dont try me

you: it’s 2am. where are you jason: working you: can you not die jason: not in the plan jason (2nd text): i’ll text when i’m heading back

you: i’m not talking to you jason: you just did you: now i’m really not jason: sends photo of the food he made you you: i hate you jason: bring a fork

jason: i saw a dog wearing a sweater and thought of you you: what??? jason: it was small and angry and had those dramatic little eyes

jason: im high and im thinking of u you: how high? jason: like missin-you-and-getting-existential high

you: some guy at the bookstore was flirting with me jason: did you flirt back you: no jason: good. jason (2nd text): bookstore still standing?

jason: do you ever think about how easily i could kidnap you you: what is wrong with you jason: romantic kidnapping. the love kind. you: still not okay jason: ok but i’d make you breakfast after

you: do you miss me? jason: my kitchen’s been too quiet you: that’s not an answer jason: yeah it is

you: are you ignoring me? jason: no. just pre-scheduling the argument for when i have energy you: you’re infuriating jason: i know. you picked me.

you: i’m mad at you jason: noted you: that’s all? jason: do you want a certificate or something

jason: if you get hurt doing something dumb again you: you’ll what jason: hold you all night while i contemplate turning your phone into dust you: thats hot

you: when is it again? jason: tomorrow at 1:30 pm you: i dont like your tone jason: tomorrow at 1:30 pm my sweet angel

you: do you love me jason: yeah you: that’s it? jason: i’m still here, aren’t i

you: do you think about me when we’re not together jason: unfortunately you: … jason: that was me being sweet. don’t push it.

you: what do you want for breakfast tomorrow jason: you you: 😐 jason: okay fine eggs. jason (2nd text): but like…eggs next to you

[liliesformingi]

"busy woman" - an ot8 ateez smau by @liliesformingi | reactions to texting ateez 'she's busy rn'

"yeah, i'm a busy woman, i wouldn't let you come into my calendar any night. but if you want my kisses, i'll be your perfect mrs. 'til the day that one of us dies." - 'busy woman' by sabrina carpenter

author's note: hi besties, a non-strategy post today bc i was feeling ot8!! this was the option that one my poll and the other one will come later on <3 also i bought a pink vs wallet as a treat and felt cunty and girlboss then made my guy friend carry the pink striped vs bag they put it in and felt even cuntier and girlbossier love you x warnings: sassy man apocolypse

taglist: @zelinkcrossing @hyunjiiza @zenlackszen @kur0kki @peskybirdysya @nujeskz @jessxxxfwd @xuchiya @bee-gremlin @radblizzardpizzas-blog @matchahintonagar @diekleinesuesse @xh01bri @lunaryoongie @jaehyunluvbot @k1xiara @cloudy-lilly @sunnysidesins @lveegsoi @arcvillie @flqwrlvr @huachengsbestie01 @subby-men-forever | send an ask, dm or comment to be added :)

[chosolar]

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈ only friends?

texts between flirty!gojo satoru and shy!femreader (pre-relationship)

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈

omg I just realized that there's a typo in the third pic, it's supposed to be "from everyone" oopsies

[kooffeecup]

sugar bound ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩ִֶָ

⋆ drabble series masterlist ⋆

summary:

⋆ You were at your lowest. Rent overdue. No job callbacks. A pile of unopened bills gathering dust. Desperation led you to the one person who always looked at you a second too long in class — Professor Jeon. He was untouchable. Respected. Married, even. But he was also rich. Cold. And maybe… just lonely enough.

So you made a deal with the devil: become his sugar baby in exchange for everything you needed.

Characters: Professor Jeon Jungkook (45), Y/N (26)

Genre: Angst, fluff, Age Gap, Sugar Baby AU, Forbidden Romance

credits : edited by me, heartshape envelop from pinterest

Index : coming soon! ( taglist open if anyone wants to get tagged)

[chaezpie]

WHEN YOU'RE HORNY (💬)

PAIRING! ⸻ enhypen ! maknae line × female reader

GENRE! ⸻ just some random texts (this was requested!! but I made it suggestive and not fully a smut 🫡)

© CHAEZPIE | 2024 | DO NOT CLAIM AS YOURS

[superbat-love]

Omegaverse AU. The annual Gotham Matchmaking Event was in full swing. Bruce Wayne, towering over the alphas and omegas around him, moved through the room with an unapproachable aura. The whispers followed him, just like they always did.

"Wayne’s so assertive. Doesn’t act like an omega at all," someone muttered.

"He should stop pretending to be above his station," another added with a laugh.

Bruce pretended not to hear them, his jaw tightening as he positioned himself near the door for an easy exit. If not for the fact that these matchmaking events were mandatory for all unmated omegas of age, he would have refused the invitation outright.

A new arrival caught his attention. The man’s tanned skin and wavy hair stood out, he didn’t seem to be from Gotham. His name tag read "Kal."

Bruce watched the foreigner as he mingled with the other guests. Kal’s alpha status was obvious, but unlike most alphas, he radiated warmth and charm. People naturally gravitated toward him, drawn to his approachable demeanor. The double standards grated on Bruce more than he cared to admit.

Until Kal’s gaze found his.

The alpha froze, wide-eyed as he stared at Bruce. Bruce glared at the shorter man. It usually kept alphas at bay.

No such luck. Kal approached him anyway.

"Have you heard of Kryptonian queens?" Kal asked.

Bruce blinked, caught off guard by the question. "What?"

"In Kryptonian legends, queens were the biggest, strongest omegas in the colony. They either earned the title by winning dominance battles or left to establish new colonies on distant outposts," Kal said, his voice filled with awe. "You’re like a legend brought to life."

Bruce’s guarded expression faltered. Despite the absurdity of the alpha’s words, there was something in his tone—genuine respect—that made him pause.

And Bruce found himself listening.

The Omega Queen AU

[maybanksprincess]

seven minutes in heaven

warnings: suggestive but no actual smut, mature themes, dry humping, tongue kissing.

summary: a game of seven minutes in heaven leads to reader and jj stuck in a closet together.

pairings: childhood!bsf!jj x childhood!bsf!reader

requested by this ask (thank you anon!) i dont know much about the game, so if i got one of the steps wrong, im sorry in advance.

you and the rest of the pogues gathered together on a saturday night to drink beers, smoke weed, and play spin the bottle. typical pogue shit.

all of you were sat in a circle on the carpet in the living room floor of the chateau. there was a glass beer bottle in the middle of all seven of you.

for a half hour, the game was spin the bottle. everyone's facial expressions quickly grew bored. John B, and Sarah were talking about something totally different, Pope and Cleo gone to grab a new crate of beers.

After a few more moments of all of you staring at the wall blankly, Kiara's the first to break the awkward silence. "hey what's that game we all used to play when we were sophmores?" she asks, twirling a piece of her curly hair around her pointer finger.

after kiara speaks, jjs facial expression changes to one of interest. he thinks for a moment and then speaks, "the one where you get locked in a closet for like ten minutes?" he asks

Pope rounds the corner with a few beers tucked in his arm. Cleo not far behind him "seven minutes." he corrects, pointing a finger at him.

jj rolls his eyes at the correction and mimics a mouth with his hand, mocking his words "seven minutes" he says, trying his best to sound as much like pope as possible.

you flick the back of jjs neck, mumbling a shut up to him. he lets out a high pitched ow and rolls his eyes, but ultimately he stops his mocking.

John b turns back towards the group at the mention of the new game. "are we finally gonna play something other than spin the bottle? im kinda tired of landing on Sarah." he teases

Sarah shoves him playfully, and then turns back to the topic of conversation. "Yeah we should play, it sounds fun. how does it work?" she asks, tilting her head slightly.

Pope speaks up this time, "we spin a bottle for two people, whichever two people it lands on, they go in a closet together for seven minutes to do whatever they want." he adds with a hint of suggestion at the end of his sentence.

jj smirks and turns to look at you, memories of the last time you two played this game when you were fifteen, when you shared your first kiss.

it was the first kiss for both of you, so it was sloppy and had a lot of teeth and tongue, it was sickening to think about, but never forgotten.

jj pipes up next, "yup we can play. this games borin' anyways." he says with a shrug.

everyone else agrees and shifts themselves back into a circle on the carpet. Pope places the bottle in the middle, then darting his eyes from one pogue to another.

"so whos first?" pope speaks

jj doesn't waste a second in volunteering to go first. "me! uh- ill spin first." he says, clearing his throat. everyones eyes fly to jj, giving him a questioning look.

"dude you answered that way too fast." john b says with a growing smirk on his face, his eyes now flickering between me and jj sitting beside one another.

"dude shut up!" jj says, before reaching forward and spinning the glass bottle, he crosses his arms and sneakily crosses his fingers hoping, praying, that it lands on you.

everyones eyes are glued intensely to the bottle, the tension in the small room palpable.

eventually the bottle comes to a stop, the tip of it pointing right to your knee. jj has to hold back from jumping up and saying something like hell yeah!

he instantly stands up, holding his hand out for you to take. "cmon m'lady." he teases, and looks at you with his typical shit eating grin.

you roll your eyes and take his hand, standing up and walking to the closed closet with him.

"i bet everyone can guess what they're gonna do in that closet." john b says with a smirk, as he watches jj open the closet door and enter.

"gross! i dont even wanna think about it." kie adds on, then everyone starts to whisper about both of you in the open circle.

as you both get in the cramped closet, jj takes a seat on stacked boxes that clearly say "fragile" but he obviously doesn't seem to mind. he looks up at you still standing there awkwardly in the dimly lit space.

"seems oddly familiar, doesn't it?" he teases. your brain floods with memories of you and jj in the same situation back in sophomore year.

you both had been in this exact crammed closet, deciding you could both share you first kiss together. it was sloppy, uncoordinated, and you both were trying to figure out a comfortable spot to place your hands. it was an awkward and uncomfortable kiss, but it was stuck in your brain nonetheless.

"yeah, really familiar." you chuckle nervously, looking around, and tapping your foot on the ground. you avoid eye contact with the blonde, hoping this seven minutes would pass by quickly.

he notices your shift in mood, and he smirks. he spreads his legs and moves his arms behind his head as he speaks.

"you know, were in here for a whole seven minutes. we should put it to good use, right?" he was enjoying making you nervous, and teasing you.

when he doesn't get a response, he gently pulls you onto his lap so your straddling him. he looks up into your eyes in the dimly lit closet, with something you cant quite describe.

before you know it, your both leaning in slowly, jj is the one to connect his lips with yours. the kiss was gentle and chaste at first, your mouths moving passionately against one another.

jjs hands find their way to your waist, gently caressing the flesh. you take that as a sign to move your hands up his torso, then settling your arms around his neck, all while continuing to kiss him passionately.

the kiss grows more intense over time, your tongues fighting for dominance against one another. eventually you catch yourself grinding your hips against his, as you both makeout.

minutes go by, and he finds himself lost in your kisses and the way your grinding your hips against his. his cock doesn't take long to stir in his cargo shorts.

when you feel his buldge press up against you, your hips move a little faster, the kisses becoming more desperate. before you know it, a light is shining in the closet and the sound of the door creaking fills your ears.

you pull away from jjs lips briefly to look at who opened the door.

"seven minutes are up, lovebirds." john b says with a jerk of his head, motioning for you two to get out the closet with a smirk.

[enhaflixer]

texting bf! hyung line who you’ve sent grocery shopping.

hyung line enha x f!reader

Masterlist

maknae line ver

AN: REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!! pls any and all feedback would be so so amazing i'm trying to get into writing and fics more!!!

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

I could love you with my eyes closed

Tags: Suguru x fem!Reader, smau, (brother’s) best friend to lovers, modern!au, college!au, cursing, talks of mental health, reader is satoru’s little sister, mdni

An: Posting the caleb fic has rejuvenated me. Here’s another part to the Suguru smau 🙂‍↕️

Part one. | Part two. | Part three. | Part four. | Epilogue.

taglist: @vorfreudevortex @lastbreathtaken @indiewritesxoxo @jenzznyq @megumimeg @ziggy0stardust @saiki-enthusiast @ilovegetosuguru @saphiresuns @thegalaxyisunfolding @k1xn4a @7thsthings @spookypeacesandwich @beautifulwitchcandy @cloudxox

[strayingawayy]

nothing fucks with my baby

...the one where someone messes with you and seungmin isn't having it

the hallway is quiet, but it isn’t empty. it hums with the weight of something unspoken, something sharp enough to cut if you’re not careful. seungmin stands there, just at the edge of the dim light, his figure carved from shadow and slow-burning anger. the air around him feels different. thick, heavy, like it knows better than to move.

you’re a few steps away, arms wrapped around yourself, the echo of too-close laughter still burning under your skin. your heart stutters against your ribs, frantic and unsettled. he looks at you then, and it’s not just a glance. it’s the kind of look that holds things...promises, warnings, the weight of something you’re not sure you can carry alone.

"you okay?" his voice is low, tight, like he already knows the answer.

you nod, but it’s shaky. "yeah."

it’s a lie, and he knows it. his eyes darken, his jaw tightens, and the space between you shrinks as he steps closer, his presence wrapping around you like armor. his fingers find your wrist, barely there, a whisper of contact, but enough to keep you from unraveling.

"tell me who it was." his voice is steady, but there’s something underneath it now. something that simmers.

you shake your head. "it’s fine, minnie. really."

but it’s not, and you can see it in the way his lips press into a thin line, in the way his shoulders coil tight, like he’s holding something back. there’s a storm in him, slow and deliberate, the kind that doesn’t lash out. it waits. builds. consumes. and then...

then, footsteps. a creak of a door.

and there he is. the staff member. the one who thought he could take up too much space, could laugh too close, could touch too freely. still smirking like nothing happened, like he’s untouchable and you feel it prick at your skin and you're trembling again.

seungmin doesn’t hesitate. he moves with a quiet kind of purpose, the kind that doesn't need force to be felt. he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t shove. he just stands there, in front of the guy, like an immovable force. like something you don’t challenge unless you're stupid enough to try. because kim seungmin isn't one for confrontation. but you know you're absolutely fucked over if he does.

"you think you're clever, don't you?" seungmin's voice is calm, even and there's a twitch in his jaw which is visible even from the distance.

the man blinks, his confidence flickering. "i-i was just joking around-"

"don't," seungmin says, and it’s not loud. it doesn’t need to be. "not with them. not ever. you hear me? now get out of my sight before you dig yourself a bigger grave."

there’s something final in his words, something that settles deep, something that doesn’t leave room for argument. the guy stammers, shifts on his feet, then disappears down the hall, too cowardly to look back.

seungmin watches him go, unmoving.

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the tightness in your chest easing just a little. "you didn’t have to do that."

he turns to you then, and there’s something softer in his eyes now, something only for you. "i did."

his hand finds yours, laces your fingers together in a way that’s quiet and steady and everything you didn’t know you needed. his thumb brushes over your knuckles, grounding you back to this moment, to him.

"nothing fucks with my baby," he murmurs, and it’s not just a statement. it’s a vow, carved into the space between you, carved into the universe that's written with your names.

and you believe it.