#grins. I’ve solved it

[dykebeckett]

ummmm what if I change half the premise of my queapmash fic and redo like a third of it to make it easier to finish.

[just-aake]

Friends Don't Kiss

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Friends spend time together. They share inside jokes, quiet moments, maybe even late-night movies. And sometimes…they kiss. That’s normal. Right? At least, that’s what Natasha keeps telling herself.

Warnings: fluff, light angst

Words: 4140

“Would you kiss me?”

Steve chokes on his coffee, spluttering mid-sip. He coughs violently, thumping his fist against his chest as he tries to catch his breath.

Across the kitchen, Natasha doesn’t flinch. She stands coolly with a mug in hand, one hip leaning against the compound’s countertop, her expression unreadable.

“You know,” she adds, far too casually, “as a friend.”

Steve finally manages to recover, blinking at her like she’s grown a second head. 

“I’m gonna need a little more context.”

Natasha shrugs, gaze fixed somewhere past him. 

“Just making a point. I’ve kissed you before. We’re still just friends.”

“That was different,” Steve says slowly, carefully, like he’s not entirely sure where this conversation is headed. “We were on the run. It was for a mission.”

“Right,” Natasha nods quickly, seizing on that. “Exactly. So sometimes a kiss doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Steve sets down his coffee, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Did you kiss someone, Nat?”

She scoffs immediately, a sharp breath meant to dismiss the question, but her shoulders stiffen, betraying her.

“No,” she says too quickly, brushing past it. “Why would you ask that?”

Before Steve can press further, the kitchen door slides open.

You step in, pausing just briefly when your eyes meet hers. A flicker of something passes between you—then it’s gone, replaced by your familiar, easy smile.

“Morning,” you say, grabbing an apple from the counter before sliding easily into the space beside her. “You two solving world peace already?”

Natasha’s grip on her mug tightens. Her pulse trips over itself at your closeness, at the casual brush of your shoulder against hers.

“Morning,” she mutters, not quite meeting your eyes.

“You’re up earlier than usual,” Steve returns your greeting while watching both of you now with a curious gaze, noticing the subtle shift in the air. 

You shrug lightly.

“Decided to turn in early last night,” you respond before turning to Natasha. “Sorry, I didn’t see you when you got back, Nat.”

Natasha shakes her head, brushing off the apology.

“It’s fine,” she says simply. 

But it’s not. Not really. She had looked for you last night when she came back from her mission, hoping for your usual smile at the hangar. Instead, FRIDAY informed her you were already asleep. She’d swallowed her disappointment and told herself it didn’t matter.

Natasha takes another sip to keep herself occupied from further conversation. Unfortunately, it seems you have no intention of letting her do that.

“Can I have some?”

Natasha glances at you with a raise of her brow, and you give her a small smile as you nod at the mug in her hand.

“There’s more brewing,” she responds, gesturing to the coffee machine in the corner.

You don’t move her gaze from hers.

“I know,” you grin. “But I want yours.”

Natasha sighs, long-suffering but fond, and hands it over.

You take it with a bright smile in thanks, drinking the last of it with satisfaction.

Natasha watches you as you finish, her lips twitching slightly into the ghost of a smile before she can stop it.

Something about that simple exchange makes the room feel smaller. 

Steve observes you two quietly, picking up on the subtle tension that hums under the surface like a taut wire. You and Natasha have always been close. That’s not new. But something feels different now.

“Well, I’m heading to the training room,” you announce, handing Natasha back the mug and tossing the apple in your hand once before catching it again. “See you two later.”

You’re gone before either of them can respond.

The silence that follows stretches.

Steve leans against the table, watching the doorway you disappeared through before turning his eyes back to Natasha. 

“So,” he says, voice even, “something you’d like to share?”

Natasha scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pivots to rinse out her mug. 

“This has nothing to do with her.”

Her tone is dry and dismissive. But her mind betrays her.

She remembers the way the two of you had been curled up on the couch in the common room just a few nights ago. 

A rare, quiet evening with no missions, no alarms, just shared stories and laughter over absurd field mishaps. Your knees touching hers. Her arm draped along the back of the sofa. 

You leaning closer, head tilted back slightly as you laughed, completely at ease.

Natasha remembers the way her fingers twitched with the urge to touch you. 

How, without quite realizing it, her hand lifted to cup your cheek. 

The moment stretched, her breath caught, and then she leaned in.

The kiss was soft, hesitant in the way that Natasha had not fully comprehended what she had done.

When she does, she goes to pull away when you suddenly kiss her back.

Your hand had come up, anchoring against her shoulder, the other sliding to the back of her neck as you deepened it, slow and sure. 

Then, the elevator chimed.

And the moment shattered.

Instinctively, Natasha pulls back, jumping to her end of the couch by the time the other team members come into the room. 

Next thing she knows, you were swept up by a conversation with Wanda while Natasha sat there frozen, lips parted, heartbeat wild, her hand brushing over her mouth in disbelief. 

The warmth of your kiss still lingering on her skin like a brand.

You never brought it up again.

Neither did she.

And now, days later, she finds herself standing in the kitchen convincing herself that friends kiss sometimes. 

That it doesn’t have to mean anything. That it didn’t mean anything.

“Sure, Nat,” Steve says slowly, watching her a little too closely now. “A kiss doesn’t have to mean anything...”

Natasha relaxes slightly, but before the relief can take hold in her mind, Steve continues nonchalantly.

“…unless you want it to.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. Her jaw sets just slightly as she stares into her empty mug. Then, with a sigh, she curses herself for even asking Steve.

His words just brought up a flurry of new problems for her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

She did it again.

She’s doing it again.

What started as a simple spar at your request had quickly escalated—one move leading to another, until she had you pinned flat on the mat. Her knees straddled your hips, hands locking your wrists above your head with effortless control.

You were both breathless, sweat-slicked skin flushed from exertion.

Then you smiled up at her, teeth flashing, that same teasing spark in your eyes that always got under her skin, and Natasha couldn’t look away. Couldn’t think past the heat in her chest. Her gaze dropped, lingering on the curve of your parted lips as you panted beneath her.

And before she could stop herself, she leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t hesitant this time. It was hungry, claiming, as if making up for every second she hadn’t let herself think about the feel of your lips since that night on the couch. Her grip loosened, hands sliding from your wrists to your sides, fingertips brushing over the sliver of skin just above your waistband.

Like before, you didn’t pull away.

Instead, your arms curled around her shoulders, pulling her closer with a quiet urgency. 

Her mouth moved against yours again, and again—slow, deliberate, until your breath caught and you exhaled her name in a moan that made something in her pulse stutter.

“Natasha…”

Her name on your lips.

It cracked through the haze like a whip.

And she freezes.

Reality slams back in, fast and merciless. 

Natasha pulls away suddenly, breathing hard as her eyes search yours. Her hands lift, hovering like she wasn’t sure where to place them anymore.

“Shit,” she mutters, shaken. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

You blink at her, dazed and confused, lips still parted.

But before you can say anything, the door slides open.

“Damn,” Sam’s voice calls out as he steps into the training room, towel slung over his shoulder. He pauses at the sight, then lets out a low whistle and smirks.

“Give her a break, Romanoff. She’s already red in the face.”

Natasha straightens back instinctively, only to realize the flush on your face wasn’t from exertion.

You let out a breath of laughter, dragging a hand through your hair. 

“I’m fine,” you say, voice light, easy. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your palm lightly taps Natasha’s thigh—a subtle, casual cue.

She blinks at you, still hovering above, startled by how calmly you are taking all of this. Then she shifts, climbing off with fluid grace, but her mind still reels. 

Why weren’t you reacting differently? Why were you acting like what just happened between you two was normal for friends?

You push yourself to your feet and turn to offer your hand down to her.

Without hesitation, she takes it.

Your grip is warm and steady as you help her up. Before she can say anything, you brush your hand over her shoulder, flicking away the dust from your earlier scuffle. Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, you pat her cheek twice, a gentle, reassuring touch.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you repeat, softer this time.

And then you walk off coolly and composed, leaving her standing there.

Staring.

Processing.

“What the hell…” Natasha mutters under her breath.

Sam moves beside her, picking up a dumbbell nonchalantly like he hadn’t just walked in on something.

“Hey, Sam?” she asks, still staring after you. 

“Yeah?”

“Friends can kiss, right?” she asks. “Like… that’s a normal thing friends do sometimes?”

Sam pauses mid-curl and turns to look at her with a slow grin. 

“What kind of friends you got, Romanoff?” he chuckles. “’Cause I’d love an introduction.”

Natasha doesn’t respond.

Her eyes are still locked on the door you disappeared through, her thoughts a whirlwind of tangled lines she couldn’t figure out how or if she wanted to untangle.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The movie plays on, its flickering light casting soft shadows across the darkened room. But Natasha isn’t watching it.

She’s trying to. Or at least pretending to.

Her eyes are on the screen, but her mind drifts, tangled in thoughts she can’t quite sort through. The question loops endlessly in her head like a broken reel.

Can friends kiss? Should friends kiss? Did it mean anything?

You shift slightly beside her, and the motion draws her out of the haze. Then comes a soft sound—a small yawn, muffled behind your hand. 

Natasha glances down at you.

Your head rests gently against her shoulder, your body curled comfortably into the side of hers. You’ve been like that for most of the movie—close, warm, familiar. Nothing new for the two of you. 

But now, it feels different. Everything feels different.

She tilts her head toward you slightly. 

“We can stop here if you want,” she offers, her voice low. “You’re tired.”

You shake your head with a sleepy smile, eyes barely open. 

“It’s fine. It’s almost finished anyway.”

Natasha studies your face for a moment longer, searching for something beneath your words. Then she relaxes, leaning her head against yours again, letting the rhythm of your breathing soothe her.

But only a few minutes pass before she feels your body grow heavier against her, your breath evening out. She shifts subtly to glance at you, and sure enough, your eyes are closed, mouth slightly parted in sleep.

A quiet exhale escapes her lips.

She lets the laptop finish playing the credits, then carefully reaches over to close it, setting it on the nightstand without disturbing you too much.

As she leans back again, her eyes linger on you, peaceful and completely unaware of the storm still quietly waging inside her.

She hesitates.

You’d probably sleep better in your own bed. Less risk of a sore neck.

“Hey,” she whispers, brushing her fingers lightly against your arm to wake you. “Want me to carry you to your room?”

You stir, eyes fluttering open, still half-lost in sleep. You look up at her, your gaze soft and unguarded.

“Can I sleep here?”

Natasha stills.

The way your face is tilted toward hers makes her heart stutter. You’re so close, lips parted slightly, your breath warm against her cheek.

Her fingers tighten against the sheets.

She should say no. But she doesn’t.

“…Sure,” she says instead, voice barely audible.

You smile in that sleepy, content way that always makes her chest ache, and shift to lie back more fully on the bed, your head finding the pillow beside hers like it’s always belonged there.

Natasha stays seated for a moment, just watching you. Studying the soft lines of your expression. The trust etched so easily into every part of you.

Then your eye cracks open, lazy and amused, and you pat the empty space beside you.

“Come on,” you murmur. “You should sleep too.”

Natasha swallows.

She moves beneath the covers slowly, cautiously, like the sheets might burn her. The moment her weight settles, you immediately scoot closer, nuzzling into the curve of her body with a comfort that’s almost too much.

She freezes.

Her arms hover mid-air, unsure where to land. Her instincts war with her confusion about the situation.

But then you sigh softly, and it eases something in her. She lets her arms wrap around you, tentatively at first, then fully. Her hand rests lightly against your back.

Your body fits against hers like it was always meant to.

Her heart beats too loud. Her thoughts race too fast.

But your breathing, soft and steady, grounds her.

You’re not overthinking this. You’re not avoiding eye contact or spiraling like she is. You’re just there. 

Maybe she is overreacting.

So she presses her lips to the top of your head, just barely a kiss, light and reverent.

And tells herself it’s fine.

That it’s just something friends do.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The corridor outside the tech lab is mostly quiet, the hum of machinery muffled behind glass walls. Natasha had only meant to drop by to check on some routine data upload from her last mission, but she slows as she rounds the corner and catches sight of you through the glass.

You’re leaning against the counter in the lab, your stance relaxed, familiar. A quiet, polite smile plays on your lips as you speak to one of the newer lab techs, who is a little awkward in their stance and clearly trying to flirt.

Natasha pauses at the entrance, something instinctual anchoring her in place. 

“I just figured,” the technician says, nervously fidgeting with their hands, “maybe we could grab a coffee sometime?”

Natasha blinks. Her fingers tighten unconsciously around the datapad in her hand.

You let out a soft chuckle, not unkind. 

“That’s sweet,” you say, your tone warm but edged with gentle finality, “but I’m actually already seeing someone.”

Natasha frowns, her heart skipping heavily.

Since when?

The lab tech falters only slightly, nodding good-naturedly.

“Ah. No worries. It was worth a shot.”

“We could still be friends,” you offer kindly.

They chuckle lightly as they gather their things, nodding in agreement.

“Well, if they mess up,” the tech jokes, “you know where to find me.”

You smile again, a brief lift of your brow.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They leave, footsteps fading down the hall.

Natasha stays frozen for a beat longer, her brain racing as she tries to understand. A strange, unfamiliar tightness lingers in her chest, something sharp and green and burning low.

Why didn’t you ever tell her you were seeing someone?

The question echoes through her like a bruise, throbbing harder the longer she thinks about it.

A few seconds pass before she finally moves, stepping into view from where she’d been half-hidden around the corner. Her approach is quiet, boots soft on the tile, but you look up at the sound anyway.

“Nat, hey,” you greet, still casual, like you hadn’t just said something that made her stomach drop unexpectedly.

Natasha crosses her arms across her chest.

“Were you ever going to introduce me to them?”

You blink at her, brow furrowing.

“Who?”

“The person you’re seeing.”

There’s a flicker of confusion in your expression, your head tilting slightly as if trying to piece together something obvious that you’ve somehow missed.

“That’d be…difficult,” you answer slowly.

Her heart skips again—this time not from surprise, but from something closer to hurt. 

“Why?” she presses, a little sharper now. “You don’t want them to meet your friends?”

Your mouth parts slightly. You study her, eyes narrowing faintly, not in anger, but in realization. 

“Is that what you are?” you ask quietly. “Just my friend?”

Natasha hesitates. Her arms tighten around herself, defensive.

“I thought I was,” she says with a shrug that tries too hard to be casual.

The silence that follows isn’t long, but it feels like it stretches forever.

You nod slowly, the movement small and almost imperceptible. 

“Right,” you murmur. “My mistake.”

And even though you smile, easy and familiar, there’s a flicker behind it. Something small and wounded that vanishes just as quickly as it appears. Like it costs a little more this time to offer it.

“I thought we were something more.”

Natasha’s lips part in stunned silence.

You shake your head slightly, not in denial, just…regret. 

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”

Before she can find her voice, before she can reach out and ask what you mean—what she means to you—you step past her.

“I’ve got to prep for my mission,” you say quietly. “I’ll see you after, Nat.”

And then you’re gone.

The hallway seems impossibly still.

Natasha doesn’t move.

She just stands there, frozen in place, her eyes still on the space where you’d been just seconds ago.

I thought we were something more.

The words echo in her chest like a hollow ring of glass about to break.

Natasha presses a hand lightly to her sternum, as if she could push the ache away.

But it lingers. Deep and burning.

She knew it.

She knows it now more than ever.

Friends don’t kiss.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The hangar is nearly silent at this hour, long past the time anyone should still be awake.

But Natasha is.

She leans against a metal railing in the far corner of the bay, arms crossed loosely, her mind racing in quiet loops. The empty stretch of concrete around her does little to ease the restless energy in her body. She’s been replaying your last conversation for hours now, trying to decipher what it meant, what you meant.

The distant hum of turbines pulls her attention up.

The Quinjet descends slowly, its engines quieting as it settles onto the landing pad. Her spine straightens involuntarily. She catches herself smoothing her palm against her thigh, like she’s bracing for something.

The ramp lowers with a hiss, and then there you are.

You spot her the moment you step down.

Your steps falter just a bit, surprised but not displeased. Your expression shifts into something soft and unreadable before you offer a faint smile.

“Hey,” you greet lightly. “You’re still up?”

Natasha picks up on the subtle wariness in your voice. Not distrust, just a layer of confusion she knows she put there.

“I wanted to talk,” she says, quieter now, her arms unfolding slightly. “If that’s okay.”

You pause. Then, after a breath, you nod.

“Yeah… we probably should’ve had this talk before I went around thinking we were something other than friends,” you joke, a little self-deprecating, but not cruel.

Natasha winces, her mouth twitching. She knows she earned that.

You exhale and tilt your head toward the hallway. 

“Come on. Let’s talk in my room. I need to get this mission stink off me.”

She follows without hesitation, grateful for the return of your usual teasing tone.

“Yeah, you do,” she quips back.

You gasp in mock offense, throwing a look over your shoulder. 

“Wow. Brutal honesty? No mercy, huh?”

Natasha just smirks. “Would you prefer lies?”

“Only the flattering kind,” you call as you enter your room.

Natasha follows in after you with a small chuckle. She sits at the edge of your bed, hands in her lap, waiting as you disappear into your bathroom. She hears the rush of water from the shower and feels oddly tense like she’s waiting for a mission to start, but this one requires emotional precision she hasn’t quite mastered.

When the bathroom door finally opens, and you emerge, a towel draped around your shoulders, skin still damp and fresh from the steam, Natasha’s thoughts short-circuit for a moment.

Her gaze catches on the curve of your neck, the soft line of your collarbone—

She tears her eyes away, scolding herself silently.

This is exactly how things got so muddled.

You shoot her an amused look as you dry your hair with the towel. 

“You gonna stare all night or talk?”

Natasha clears her throat, suddenly focused on her hands again. 

“Right. Sorry. I just…wanted to ask something.”

You toss the towel aside as you nod.

“Ask away.”

She hesitates. 

“Why…why did you think we were dating?”

You blink, surprised at the question. Then you let out a soft breath and sit beside her on the bed.

“Well,” you begin, voice easy but edged with a thread of honesty, “months ago, you asked me to go to the Avengers Festival with you. We spent the whole day together. Just us.”

“I thought you’d enjoy it,” Natasha replies quietly.

“I did. And I was even more excited when I thought you were asking me out on a date.”

You glance at her, gauging her reaction.

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line. 

“Only it wasn’t… to me.”

“Right,” you say, a hint of disappointment in your tone before you continue with a sigh. “But then you invited me to that new restaurant for dinner the next night.”

“You mentioned it once. I thought you’d want to go.”

“I did mention it. To Wanda. I didn’t expect you to remember something I had said in passing.”

Natasha lowers her gaze. 

“I do,” she murmurs.

You smile faintly. 

“Then came movie nights. Every week. Just us.”

“You hadn’t seen any of the classics. I thought it’d be fun.”

“And it was,” you say before teasingly adding as you lightly nudge her shoulders. “Especially learning you know all the lines.”

There’s a pause. Then your voice softens.

“Then…you kissed me.”

Natasha’s breath catches.

“Twice,” you continue.

Her eyes flick to yours.

“Three times,” you correct with a small smile, “if we’re counting the one where you got nervous and bailed halfway through, settling for the top of my head instead when you thought I was asleep.”

Natasha swallows, stunned into silence.

“Well?” you ask gently. “You gonna explain? Because last time I checked…”

You shift toward her, slow and deliberate.

“…friends don’t kiss.”

She searches for an answer. Any answer. But none of them feel true. Not the ones she told herself, not the ones that let her avoid the real thing.

“These past days I've been trying to convince myself that kissing didn’t have to mean anything,” Natasha admits, voice small. “That I could just…”

She trails off.

“Avoid what you actually felt?” you offer, your tone gentle, not accusatory.

She meets your eyes then, and something in her cracks. 

“Maybe I just didn’t want to admit I wanted something more. Because if I did…and you didn’t…”

“I did,” you interrupt softly.

Your hand lifts to her hair, your fingers brushing a few loose strands back, tucking them gently behind her ear.

“I do.”

Her breath trembles.

You stroke her cheek with your thumb, grounding her.

“No more mixed signals, Nat,” you say with a playful edge, though your eyes are sincere. “You’re gonna have to be more direct, or I’ll start thinking I made it all up.”

She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her hands slide to your waist as she pulls you closer, steady and sure.

“Tomorrow night…will you go out with me?” she murmurs.

You grin, raising a brow.

“On a date?”

She nods, smiling now too.

“On a date.”

You lean your forehead against hers.

“Then I’d love to.”

There’s a beat of stillness, warmth blooming in the quiet between you. Then Natasha’s gaze flicks behind you toward the bed and back at you, one brow rising.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

You raise an amused brow.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

You smirk playfully.

“Because, in case you’re unsure…” you whisper, tilting your head closer to hers. “…friends don’t typically sleep with each other either.”

Natasha’s eyes sparkle, a soft smile forming on her face.

“Then it’s a good thing,” she says, drawing you in, her voice a low murmur at your lips, “that we’re not just friends anymore.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: a little something as I procrastinate on my series 😅 thank you for reading!

[sweetstrawberryys]

“That’s Your Wife?!”

--- Younger!Reader x Husband!Price

Reader decides to go visit her older husband at work.

Rating: Sweet with a bit of spice.

Warnings: Age gap (legal and consensual), teasing, flirtation, protective Price, and Soap being a menace.

---

You stepped onto the base wearing tight jeans, a cropped hoodie, and a pair of sunglasses that cost more than most soldiers’ paychecks. Your duffel bag swung casually at your side, and your lip gloss shimmered in the sunlight like a beacon of “not military approved.”

You looked like a college girl who’d made a wrong turn and wandered into a war zone.

And that’s exactly what every soldier thought.

“Who’s the civvie?” one of them whispered.

“Damn, did she get lost on the way to the mall?”

“I’ll help her find her way…”

“Oi, careful, she looks real expensive.”

You just smiled, walking past the whispers like you didn’t hear every word.

And then:

“Baby,” came that deep, unmistakable voice.

Everyone turned.

Captain John Price, beard perfect, sleeves rolled up, standing like some military-grade Greek god in the middle of the chaos. His eyes lit up the second he saw you. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

You ran into his arms, jumping up with the kind of excitement that definitely didn’t scream “military spouse.” He caught you like it was nothing, grinning like a damn fool. “Missed you, Daddy.”

Dead silence.

Absolute silence.

Soap dropped his protein bar.

Gaz blinked like he just saw a ghost.

Ghost muttered, “No fucking way.”

You kissed Price on the cheek, then looked around with a sweet smile. “Hi! I’m Mrs. Price.”

“Mrs.—?” Soap choked. “You’re married? To him?”

Price just smirked. “Is there a problem, Sergeant?”

Soap: “Nah, just… you sure she’s not a hired actress or—?”

“Say one more word and you’re cleaning latrines with a toothbrush.”

Gaz leaned over to Ghost. “She’s gotta be, what, 23? 24?”

“She called him Daddy, I don’t want to do this today,” Ghost replied, turning around.

---

Later in the rec room…

You sat on Price’s lap while he read over reports. Soap was still staring like he was trying to solve a math equation.

“Does she even know what you do for a living?”

“I’ve seen him shirtless. I know enough,” you said sweetly.

Gaz choked on his water. “She’s dangerous.”

Price just kissed your cheek, totally unbothered. “That’s why I married her.”

---

Bonus:

When you left the base the next day, wearing his dog tags and his hoodie, Soap muttered, “That man’s living my dream…”

And Ghost?

Just said, “That girl’s gonna be the death of him.”

But from the way Price watched you walk away, hand casually adjusting the waistband of your leggings like it was a reflex?

He’d die smiling.

---

[iris-qt]

charmed, i'm sure

(feat. accidental truth serum, public chaos, and one very flustered reader)

It starts during double Potions.

Snape’s droning on about the stability of truth serums, and Mattheo Riddle (gorgeous, brooding, completely full of himself) is stirring his cauldron with that signature air of boredom and menace.

You’re seated next to him. Unfortunately.

Well, technically it was alphabetical. But you’re starting to think fate just has a sense of humor.

Snape snaps his fingers. “Taste test. Two drops each.”

It's obvious he thinks no one made the potion right.

You arch a brow. “Taste the potion? Isn’t that, like, illegal?”

Mattheo shrugs. “Probably. But I’m dying to know what secrets you’re hiding.”

You roll your eyes and raise your vial. “Bottoms up, Riddle.”

And then.

He drinks. You pretend to drink.

You blink. He blinks.

And then... chaos.

“Your eyes,” he says dreamily, “should be illegal in academic settings. I can’t focus. I think I failed last week’s quiz because of them.”

You look over at him in horror. “What?”

“Oh no,” he says cheerfully. “I think it’s working.”

Snape narrows his eyes. “Mr. Riddle, is there a problem?”

Mattheo turns to him, absolutely beaming. “No, Professor. Unless you count the fact that I’m catastrophically in love with the girl next to me and have been writing her name over and over in the margins of my Arithmancy textbook for three months.”

There is a beat of silence.

You drop your quill.

Snape sighs. “Hospital wing. Now.”

“But I feel fine,” Mattheo says. “Better than fine. Actually, I feel free. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to tell her that her laugh makes me feel like I’m choking on happiness?”

You slap a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry, Professor,” you mutter, dragging him out of the classroom as fast as your legs can carry you. “He’s clearly unwell. Tragic. Don’t wait up.”

In the hallway, Mattheo’s grinning like a madman.

“Wait,” he says, eyes wide. “Did I tell them about the dreams yet?”

You freeze. “WHAT dreams?”

He looks slightly panicked. “Oh no.”

You push open the hospital wing door and hiss, “Mattheo Riddle, if you say one more thing that makes me want to throw myself out a window—”

“I think you’re smarter than me,” he blurts. “It’s not fair. You’re so clever. I watch you solve things and it’s like... like watching lightning happen in real time. And you don’t even brag about it. It’s disgusting. I’m obsessed with you.”

You gape at him.

Madam Pomfrey appears with a raised brow.

“Veritaserum, I assume?”

You nod numbly. “Yes. And please. Make it stop before he proposes.”

Mattheo places a hand on his chest, gasping. “Do you want me to?! Because I will. I have the ring picked out.”

A/N: missed this trainwreck | mattheo masterlist |

[mywritersmind]

WANT ME IN RED - LN4

summary : Lando Norris is the bane of your existence, him following you into your drivers room yelling about on track drama is enough for you to spiral. What you don’t realize is that you both have been dancing around one specific issue, something that you solve. Something that involves his mouth on yours and his hands on you.

listen up : something everyone’s been waiting for… smut!!!!! p in v. dirty talk. unprotected sex. yelling. hot people doing hot things.

words : 2105

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“Get the fuck out of my driver room, Norris!” He doesn’t listen. Lando slams the door behind him, storming after me as if he owns the place.

“What the hell was that!?” He yells at me as I roll my eyes, too mad to even speak. I’m sweaty, i’m sore, and i’m really fucking pissed off.

“I could ask you the same thing!” I spin around, my suit now half unzipped and hanging around my hips, “You cut into my line and you fucking know it!”

“Cry me a goddamn river, Y/n! A second later you ran us both off track and put me into the wall!” I bite back a smirk, the memory fresh and completely true in my mind.

“Deserved it.”

This makes him even angrier, his cheeks red and his eyes dark, “I cannot stand you!”

“Poor baby,” I fake sympathy, “Did you forget we’re racing to win?”

“I’m racing to win!” He points at his own chest, his suit undone and his hair wild, “One of us hasn’t gotten there yet.”

“I could have if you hadn't tried to do more than you’re capable of!” Another loss because of a bitch in orange got on my nerves. “Are you ever not an absolute cunt? Or is it just your nice fancy car that gives you all this false confidence?”

“Oh please don’t pull that shit! You lost because you’re batshit crazy!” I scoff, throwing my Ferrari hat down and stepping closer to him.

“It’s called aggressive driving but you wouldn’t know that, would you? Mr. gave a win away!”

He shakes his head, “Keep my moves out of your bitchy little mouth.”

“Can’t own up to your mistakes?” I pout, his eyes dropping to my lips, “Or is it your pathetic team that’s making you such a pussy?”

He’s backed me up into the wall, staring down at me as if he wants to hit me. Or worse, kiss me.

“Has the red dye gone to your head already!?”

“Has the vocabulary of only ‘papaya rules’ gone to yours?” I laugh in his face, “Get off your high horse, Norris, you’re not all that special.”

His arm braces itself next to my head as he leans in closer, “Wanna know what I think?”

I cross my arms over my chest, “Not particularly.”

“I think that you want me.” his voice lowers, his head dipping closer to mine, “And it fucking kills you.”

My heart is beating faster than in our cars. I stand my ground, blinking as if he has absolutely no effect on me, “Are you still sour that I said no to being your teammate?” He scoffs, looking away from me and giving me a face full of his hardened jaw, “Because it really was the idea of doing everything with you that made me physically ill. That, and I don’t look good in orange.”

His eyes find mine again before trailing down my body. “It’s gotta be better than red.” He catches his lip between his teeth, pulling at my skin tight fireproofs and snapping the fabric against my side.

“Do you wanna know what I think, Norris?” I look him dead in the eye, his body tensing as a smirk forms on my lips. I stand taller, leaning into him and whispering so close to his ear that my lips dust his cheek. “I think that you’re a horrible fucking liar.”

Our bodies are against each other now, waiting for one of us to make the first move. I snap my head back against the wall, his eyes zoned out as I grin to myself. I’ve got him and he knows it.

His gaze finally meets mine, dark and full of lust. “Admit it.” I say, looking up at him mischievously. His breath is calmer than I'd expected, but something tells me his heart is beating like crazy. Just the thought makes me want him even more. “You want me. Right here. Right now.”

He doesn’t say anything, just drops his head and closes his eyes. God… he looks hot when he’s pissed off and sweaty. Especially when he knows damn well that both of us want him to take it out on me.

I watch his head sway from side to side, thinking… contemplating. Then, he looks back up, his back hunched and his eyes at my level. I know what he’s waiting for. I know we both want it.

My eyes lock on his, “Wanna fuck me in red, Norris?

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. His lips are on mine in an instant, a hand already on my waist and shoving me into the wall. I’ve never kissed Lando before, every moment I've shared with him was one of us aching for each other.

Now that I have, I can confirm that the rumors are true.

He mumbles something against me but I can’t even register it because the second he runs his hand under my fireproofs and over my nipple, I groan. Christ, he’s quick with it. His hands are huge, exploring my chest, waist, and slipping below my race suit.

“Lan-” I’m about to tell him to slow down but my mind is quickly changed by his hand snaking up my leg and moving it off the ground so he’s gripping my thigh.

His mouth is hot against me, straying from my mouth but never leaving my skin as his lips navigate to my neck. My skin is on fire, a warmth that pools between my legs and makes me grind against him.

He clearly likes his, pushing me harder against the wall and tugging at my race suit. I bring Lando’s lips back to mine, grabbing his chin forcefully and not missing the breathless smirk that plays on his lips.

That look tells me all I need. I don’t really know how it happens so quickly, both of our rushed movements and hurried kisses end up in my race suit on the floor.

“You’re so-” Lando kisses my neck, making his hands slide down my waist to where he snaps my panties back against my skin, “Fucking… hot.”

“Everytime we’ve fought- you’ve wanted to fuck me, huh?” I moan at the contact of his hand to my core, sliding over the fabric and teasing me to no end.

“Every. Damn. Time.” I kiss him again, resting my hands on his neck as his fingers explore the thin black of my underwear.

I breathe against him, pushing him away which earns me a slight whine from his lips. My hand goes to his hair, his head leaning into my hand as I do so. He’s eager for me.

I push down and he goes right with my movement, his eyes locked on mine as one knee finds the floor. I’m testing him and he’s too pathetic to even care. He looks as if he’s drooling for me, his mouth slightly parted as his lust clouded eyes stay on me.

I can’t help but smirk, grabbing the collar of his race suit and pulling him back up. Like I've got him on a goddamn leash. He doesn’t look mad- just in a hurry. “Tease.” He says against my lips as the satisfying sound of a zipper rips through the room.

“Slut.” I say right back, my hand moving down his body and letting the suit fall below his waist.

I can feel him against me now. The Calvin Klein waistband staring at me as his dick throbs under the fabric. His hands are on me again, now onto my ass which he squeezes as if he owns it.

His hands are something worth fantasizing about, cupping my ass like it’s nothing as one of his fingers, too big for his own good, slides my underwear down.

“Tell me you want this.” He says quickly.

“I want you.” my words make him shiver, his underwear long gone and his dick staring right at me. “You want me?” I whisper, my hand drifting over him just enough for him to whimper in my ear.

“If I ever say no to that question, kill me.” His hand covers mine, dwarfing me as he positions himself to my entrance. He lifts my lips for me and in a moment of intimate silence, he pushes into me.

My head goes back instinctively as I feel him in me. He groans when I accidentally slip down the wall a bit, “Fuck, I hate you.” I love it when he lies to me.

He starts going now, pushing into me like i’ve always dreamed of. His hand slams next to my head as his head lulls in between us. I moan, watching his arm tense against the wall as he quickens his pace.

I can’t even tell if my feet are on the ground anymore, he’s holding me so tight as if i’ll slip away. As if I'd want to.

I moan louder as my body squeezes against him, matching his whines before he moves his hand over my mouth. “Fuck you.” I bite out before he pushes against me harder, mumbling my voice and making him grin.

“Check.” He chokes on a laugh, turning it into a whimper and taking his hand off my mouth, “Gotta stay quiet.”

I can’t do anything but nod, feeling him so intensely as I grind into him more, wanting all of it. “So fucking good for me.” He mumbles, watching his dick move in and out of me.

He starts going harder, that dizzy feeling overtaking me as I roll my eyes back, “Norris-”

“Say my name, Y/n.” His voice, deep and gravelly, makes me reach my high even faster. He dips his head to my neck again, practically biting me.

“Lando.” I force out as my whole body catches fire. I cum just before Lando, pulling out of me and releasing on my thigh. I watch the milky substance drop down my leg as my own mixes in.

We both stand there for a second, out of breath and in shock. And then Lando and I collapse onto the floor, my head slumped against his shoulder, not caring about the mess or our suits.

“Y/n!” A voice comes from outside the door, “Just making sure you’re okay!” It’s my best friend. “You have an interview in twenty-“

“I’m good!” I yell back, still out of breath and achy, “I’ll be out in a sec.”

Lando leans his head back next to me, “Next time, we’re fucking in my room.”

I scoff, “Next time?”

He whips his head towards me, “Don’t do that- That’s not fair!”

I smirk slowly, “All's fair in sex and racing.”

He shakes his head, his curls still damn and his cheeks flushed, “You’re evil.”

“You love it.”

He cleans me up after that, being much gentler than he was during the act. I watch his hands- god I love his big hands, especially knowing that they were just all over me.

He slides my panties back on, slow and steady as if he doesn’t want to hurt me. Or he doesn’t want to stop looking. Then my race suit gets zipped back up, only halfway because his hands still on me means my skin still on fire.

He glances at my neck, “Just- pull that up a bit.” My eyes widen when I realize what he means. Standing up quickly and rushing to my mirror I stomp my foot.

“Norris!” There aren't many, but one hickey would be enough to make the media go crazy.

He appears behind me, grinning proudly as he looks at his handy work. He pulls up the neck of my fireproof just enough so it’s covered, “There.”

“You’re a lucky man.” I turn to him, my arms crossed.

“Trust me,” He grins, “I know that.”

I check both ways before we both step out of my room, going separate ways in the empty hallway. I watch him walk away, turning back and watching me walk backwards.

“Norris.” I say, biting my lip and impulsively grabbing the hem of my fireproof, pulling it up so I flash him my tits.

He groans immediately, looking like he’s ready for another round already. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” I shrug, still walking and pulling my shirt back down. “See you next weekend, love.” I say the last word in a mock accent, teasing him.

I can hear the whine in his voice after I turn around to walk fully away, “Suck my dick, red!”

I hold my hand, flipping him off and laughing, “Maybe at a later date.”

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

been loving the jack abbott fics soooo much!!!

A request for a potential fic about Jack. I was thinking something along the lines of his wife is maybe in the Peds/Psych department and comes to consult in the ER sometimes. The newbies don't know her as Jack's wife, but just the kind peds/Psych doc and then something something they discover she's Jack's wife and they're all like "how did that happen?"

thank uuu!!! this is a good one!!

The Other Dr Abbott

Pairing: Dr Jack Abbott x Wife!Reader

“Vitals are stable but he’s swinging between psychosis and charm like a damn metronome,” Santos muttered, watching the patient over the rim of her coffee cup.

Jack Abbott stood by the trauma bed, expression unreadable, arms crossed, as their patient—a shirtless man in his 30s with wild eyes and blood still drying under his nails—grinned up at the fluorescent lights like they were divine.

Dr. Whitaker explained the patient's history to Dr. Abbott, “He assaulted a pedestrian, bit a paramedic, and started quoting Shakespeare to the defibrillator. I think we’re out of our depth here.”

“Page psych,” Jack said without looking up.

“Already did,” Santos replied. “They said Dr. Abbot’s on call.”

Javadi looked up sharply. “But he’s standing right here.”

Jack sighed. “No. The other Dr. Abbot.”

Santos blinked. “There’s... two?”

Whitaker’s brows furrowed. “Is she your sister or something?”

But before they could interrogate further, the doors swung open.

In walked her—the hospital’s most requested psychiatrist. Elegant. Kind. Intimidating in the quietest way possible. She had a pen behind her ear, a folder under one arm, and a calm confidence that silenced the room the moment she entered.

“Hi,” she said gently. “I heard you needed psych?”

The patient lit up. “Ohhhh. There she is. Finally. Someone beautiful around here.”

Jack’s jaw ticked. “Watch it.”

The patient smirked. “What? Just saying. You all bring me the mean doctor with the wavey hair, but then this goddess walks in? Tell me you see it. She's the moon and you’re... I dunno. A pencil.”

Javadi bit her lip. Santos turned away, grinning.

The psychiatrist pulled on gloves with practiced grace. “I’m here to help, Mr. Reed. Can you tell me how you’re feeling right now?”

“Like I’ve seen heaven,” he said smoothly. “And heaven is you. Are you single?”

Jack stepped forward. “She’s married.”

The patient cocked his head, eyes narrowing like he suddenly understood something far more interesting. “Wait a second... no way.”

“What?” Santos asked.

The patient pointed at Jack, then her. “You’re married. You two. I see it now. That stare. The way you hovered when I called her beautiful? You’re totally married.”

Silence.

Then:

“She’s your wife?” Whitaker all but gasped, looking at Jack like he’d just revealed he was an alien.

Jack didn’t blink. “Yeah.”

Santos’s mouth dropped open. “Hold on—how long has that been a thing?”

“Seven years,” she answered calmly, scribbling notes onto her chart.

Javadi stared. “You mean to tell me we’ve been working beside both of you this whole time and never knew?”

“We keep it professional,” she said, glancing at Jack, who was clearly trying to sink through the floor.

The patient beamed, delighted. “This is way better than when I saw a guy get tasered in the cafeteria.”

“Please sedate him,” Jack muttered.

His wife smirked. “Not yet. He’s lucid enough to spill tea.”

Santos laughed so hard she had to turn around. Whitaker looked like he was trying to solve an algebra problem with no numbers.

“But—but she’s so nice,” he mumbled.

“She is,” Jack said flatly. “And she married me anyway. Try not to think too hard about it.”

As she moved to the side of the bed, the patient winked at her. “I’m just saying... you could’ve done better.”

Jack leaned down, eyeing him coldly. “Say that again and I will intubate you awake.”

Everyone blinked.

The patient raised both hands. “Okay damn. The wave’s kinda hot now that I get the context.”

Javadi crossed her arms. “Well, now I get why he punched that radiologist last year for calling her sweetheart.”

Jack didn’t deny it.

[zhelin-thames]

A Second Mystery Texter

Masterpost

Jason was sprawled on the couch in his safe house, phone in hand, casually texting Danny. Their conversations had become oddly entertaining for Jason, who enjoyed poking fun at the kid’s dramatic descriptions of ghostly chaos and the soap opera-worthy antics of this “Plasmius” guy.

Jason: So let me get this straight. This guy tried to clone you... and the clone ended up being a teenage girl who sees herself as your sister?

Danny: Yup. That’s Dani with an “i.” She’s great, though. Way less annoying than Plasmius.

Jason: Your life is so weird, kid. And this is coming from someone who’s been dunked in a Lazarus Pit.

Danny: Tell me about it. At least you don’t have to deal with green glowing homework.

Jason chuckled at Danny’s response, completely unaware that Tim had entered the room and was now leaning over his shoulder, curious about the smirk on Jason’s face.

“Who are you texting?” Tim asked, startling Jason.

Jason locked his phone and glared at his younger brother. “None of your business.”

“Come on,” Tim said, plopping down on the armrest. “You’re actually smiling. That’s rare. Who’s the unlucky person stuck dealing with you?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Just a kid who texted me by mistake. He’s dealing with some ghostly billionaire nonsense, and it’s hilarious.”

Tim’s interest was immediately piqued. “Ghostly billionaire nonsense? That doesn’t sound like your usual crowd. Let me see.”

Jason pulled his phone away. “No.”

Tim smirked. “Fine. I’ll figure it out myself.”

Jason sighed, knowing Tim wouldn’t let it go. Sure enough, an hour later, Tim’s phone buzzed with a new number.

Tim: Hi, is this Danny?

Danny squinted at the unfamiliar number.

Danny: Who’s asking?

Tim: I’m a friend of Jason’s. He mentioned your situation, and I got curious. I’m Tim.

Danny groaned. Great, another Bat-person.

Danny: Okay, hi, Tim. Why are you texting me?

Tim: I heard you’re dealing with some supernatural problems, and I wanted to help. Or at least get more details. Jason’s not exactly a reliable narrator.

Danny sighed, already regretting this.

Danny: Supernatural stuff is my thing. I’ve got it handled.

Tim: Sure, but you could always use a second opinion, right? I’m great with tech, research, and problem-solving. Plus, I’ve seen some weird stuff myself.

Danny hesitated. He wasn’t used to people offering help, and he didn’t know if he wanted another vigilante involved in his life.

Danny: Fine. What do you want to know?

Tim grinned as he began typing.

Over the next few days, Danny found himself juggling texts from both Jason and Tim. Jason was the sarcastic big-brother type, constantly making jokes about Danny’s weird life, while Tim bombarded him with questions about ghost science, ectoplasm, and portals.

One night, as Danny lay in bed, his phone buzzed again.

Tim: Quick question: Have you ever dealt with a ghost that manipulated tech?

Danny: Yeah. Why?

Tim: Just wondering. If one showed up in Gotham, what would you recommend?

Danny frowned, sitting up.

Danny: Wait. Is there a ghost in Gotham right now?

Jason: Tim, what the hell are you doing?

Tim: Expanding our resources. Danny’s clearly experienced.

Danny: Guys, what’s going on?!

Jason sighed, grabbing his phone.

Jason: Don’t worry, kid. If anything shows up here, we’ll handle it.

Danny: Yeah, no. If it’s ghost stuff, you call me. Don’t mess with things you don’t understand.

Tim: Good to know. Can I ask about your portal tech next?

Danny groaned. This was going to be a long friendship.

[ivyues]

Dreaming of Peaches ⋅ Bang Chan

Bang Chan has a dream of little curls and your eyes.

It had been a strange day. Chris had been acting a bit off, nothing too alarming, but enough for you to notice. He was quieter than usual, his touches lingering just a bit longer, as though he was lost in thought every time he looked at you. It wasn’t unusual for him to have moments of introspection, but today felt... different.

Later that evening, as you were settled in your bed, you felt his arms snake around your waist from behind. He pulled you close, his chin resting on your shoulder. His hand, warm and steady, came to rest on your stomach. It was comforting, and yet, there was a nervous energy about him.

“Chris,” you murmured, placing your hand over his. “Are you okay? You’ve been... distant today.”

There was a pause. You felt him shift slightly, his hand retreating as if it had been caught somewhere it wasn’t meant to be. That small movement made you turn around to face him. His eyes flicked away, uncharacteristically avoiding yours. That alone was enough to make you tilt your head in confusion.

“Hey,” you said softly, taking his hand in yours. “What’s going on? You know you can tell me anything if you want.”

His lips parted, but no words came out at first. He looked almost embarrassed, his ears tinged pink, and he ran a hand through his hair before meeting your gaze. “I... I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s... kind of silly, really.”

Your reassuring look must have encouraged him, because he sighed and began to ramble. “I had this dream last night. You were pregnant... and we had a little girl. She was running around, and she had my stupid curly hair and your eyes. And – I don’t know – it felt so real. When I woke up, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I don’t want you to feel pressured, or like I’m... pushing something on you, or that—”

“Chris,” you interrupted gently, squeezing his hand. He stopped mid-sentence, looking at you with wide, almost vulnerable eyes. “I don’t know what the future holds for us,” you admitted, your voice steady. “But if it’s with you, I’m not scared.”

There was a beat of silence before a smile broke across his face, soft and boyish. “She had your eyes,” he repeated, a hint of awe in his voice. “And the curliest little head of hair, just like mine. And—” He chuckled, his voice warming with amusement. “you had this little baby bump. Like, the cutest little bump I’ve ever seen.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the tension dissolve into something tender and warm. “The bump, huh? That’s what stood out to you?”

Chris’ ears turned a shade pinker as he grinned sheepishly. “I mean, yeah. You were glowing, and you kept resting your hands on it like it was the most precious thing in the world. I guess it just stuck with me.”

You looked at him thoughtfully, gently brushing a strand of his hair away. “Dreams can be silly, but can also hold wants of the heart. If ours don’t align, we should always be honest with each other. No matter what.”

Chris’s smile widened, and he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “You’re right. And hey, don’t worry, I’ve already got seven kids to take care of,” he said with a mischievous grin.

You laughed then raised an eyebrow, a thought hitting you. “By the way… what did we name the child?”

Chris paused for a moment, then let out a dramatic sigh. “I think we called her … Peaches,” he said, grinning like he had just solved the biggest mystery of the century.

You blinked at him, unable to hold back your laughter. “Peaches? Really?”

“Hey, it was your idea,” he teased, winking.

You gasped, still laughing, and held up your hands in protest. "Nonono, we are not naming our kid something like that," you said, eyes wide with disbelief.

Chris chuckled, the mischievous glint in his eyes never fading as you protested. But before you could argue further, he leaned in, silencing you with a gentle kiss. His lips were soft, a mix of affection and amusement, and the warmth of his touch sent a ripple of calm through you.

Shaking his head he mouthed the words "our kid" – almost as if he was testing the idea out in his own mind, as if it was too surreal for him to say aloud.

masterlist

[pucksandpower]

I’m a Feminist

Franco Colapinto x team principal!Reader

Summary: everyone knows that Franco has a thing for older women, okay … so when his team principal turns out to be a (stupidly attractive) older woman, he can’t be held responsible for his actions

Franco sprawls in the chair, arms crossed over his chest like he’s holding court instead of facing an emergency meeting. His grin is wide, cocky even, and wholly unapologetic. Across the desk, you pinch the bridge of your nose, willing patience to come like some kind of divine miracle.

“Explain,” you say, voice flat, your tone giving nothing away. You refuse to let him see how utterly exhausted you already are by this conversation.

“I sneezed,” Franco says with a shrug, “and liked all your pictures. Really, it was — how do you say — an accident.”

You stare. No, you glare. "And commented damn mommy on all of them?”

Franco falters — barely. There’s a half-second where his grin wavers, his bravado cracks, but then it’s gone, replaced by another shrug. “I-I have the flu?”

Your exhale is sharp, just shy of a growl. “Franco.”

“What?” He leans forward now, feigning innocence. “Is it so bad? You look muy guapa in your photos. Should I not celebrate my team principal’s beauty? This feels sexist, no?”

“Sexist?” Your eyebrows climb so high they might leave your face.

“I’m a feminist,” he announces, as if that explains everything.

“Do feminists call their bosses ‘mommy’ in the comments?”

“Only the hot ones,” he shoots back without missing a beat, then quickly adds, “Joking! I’m joking.”

You slam your palms down on the desk, the sound sharp enough to make him flinch, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. If anything, it widens. “Do you even understand how unprofessional this is? I have sponsors asking me if I’ve been hacked! The CEO of Dorilton Capital called me himself this morning!”

Franco’s face lights up like you’ve just paid him a compliment. “Darren! He likes me. He said I was charming.”

“He said you were a walking HR violation!”

His grin falters again, but there’s something annoyingly endearing about how quickly it returns. “Well, at least he talked about me.”

You sink back into your chair and drag a hand through your hair. God, you’re tired. “Do you even know how this looks? You went through every single photo I’ve ever posted. Franco, that’s-”

“Dedicated?”

“Obsessive,” you snap. “Creepy. Insane.”

“Romantic,” he offers, leaning back again like he’s just solved a puzzle.

“You are twenty-one years old!”

“And you’re …” He trails off, letting the sentence dangle in the air like bait.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

He smirks. “I was going to say timeless.”

“Franco, enough.” Your voice is sharp enough to cut through his bravado, and for the first time, he looks a little serious. “Do you have any idea what kind of position you’ve put me in? If this gets out-”

“It won’t.”

“It already has! You didn’t think people would notice when every post I’ve made since 2016 suddenly has your username in the likes and comments?”

Franco shrugs. “I’m a fan.”

“A fan?” You throw your hands up. “What are you even a fan of? My press conferences? My sponsor meetings? My ability to yell at you when you ruin your tires on lap seventeen?”

His grin returns, this time with a little more sheepishness. “How sexy you look doing that last one, mostly.”

Your head falls into your hands, and for a moment, there’s silence. You think — foolishly — that maybe he’s finally run out of things to say.

But no.

“You never answered my DM,” he says, voice lighter, teasing.

Your head snaps up. “Excuse me?”

“Last week,” he says, tilting his head like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “I sent you a DM. Very respectful. Very sweet.”

“I don’t even check my DMs!”

“Well, now I’m offended.” He places a hand over his heart like he’s genuinely wounded.

“I’m going to lose my job,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Franco says, waving you off. “You’re too good to lose your job. Everyone knows that.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “You’re the one who’s dramatic! I can’t believe I’m sitting here having this conversation right now.”

“I can’t believe you’re not flattered,” he counters, leaning forward again. “I thought women liked grand gestures.”

“Grand gestures?” You bark out a laugh, humorless and sharp. “Franco, this isn’t a romantic comedy. You don’t win me over by cyberstalking me!”

“Cyberstalking?” His mouth falls open, mock-offended. “That’s harsh, no? I think of it more like … research.”

“Research?”

“Sí. I’m just a very dedicated employee.”

“Dedicated?” Your laugh this time is louder, more incredulous. “I swear to God-”

“Would it help if I apologized?” He interrupts, holding his hands up like he’s surrendering.

“Yes,” you say immediately.

He doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head, watching you in that unnervingly focused way he sometimes has, the one that makes you feel like he’s cataloging every detail of your expression. “You wouldn’t believe me, though. Even if I apologized, you’d think I was lying.”

“Because you would be lying.”

“Touché.” He grins again, but this time it’s softer, less of a weapon and more of a shield. “Okay, so maybe I’m not sorry. But I didn’t mean to cause problems for you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter.

“I mean it,” he says, and for the first time, there’s something like sincerity in his voice. “I thought it was funny. I didn’t think-”

“That’s the problem, Franco. You didn’t think.”

There’s a beat of silence. For a second, you think you’ve finally gotten through to him. His expression shifts, the grin fading into something that almost looks like remorse.

Then he says, “But if I had thought about it, you’d still be mad, so really, why bother?”

“Franco!”

He laughs, bright and unrepentant. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop. I promise. No more liking your pictures, no more comments, no more DMs. Contenta?”

You eye him warily. “You swear?”

“On my life.”

“Franco.”

“On my seat,” he amends, holding a hand to his chest.

You sigh, long and heavy, but you nod. “Fine. Just — keep your head down for a while, okay? Don’t give anyone else a reason to call me about this.”

He stands, smoothing his shirt with exaggerated care. “Anything for you … mommy.”

“And don’t call me ‘mommy,’” you snap as he heads for the door.

He pauses, hand on the handle, and glances back over his shoulder, smirk firmly in place. “Not even in private?”

“Franco!”

He’s laughing as he leaves, the sound echoing in the hallway long after the door closes behind him. You sink back into your chair, exhausted, and wonder — not for the first time —if this job is going to kill you.

And if it does, you think grimly, it’ll probably be Franco Colapinto’s fault.

[sweetlovepascal]

knead me

pairings joel miller x sunshine!reader

summary joel rolls up his sleeves and starts kneading dough, muscles flexing with every movement and you’re instantly useless, staring like he’s the main course.

content warning established relationship, unspecified agegap. suggestive content, mentions of porn, dominant joel energy, kinda bratty reader, heavy flirting, implied sexual activity, kitchen counter makeout.

masterlist

joel used to hate baking. said it was fussy, unnecessary. claimed it wasted good firewood and better patience.

now he’s in your kitchen, arms crossed, brow furrowed like he’s trying to solve for x just by watching you stir.

you’re humming some old tune under your breath, apron tied at your waist, hands sticky with dough. cinnamon and sugar linger in the air, soft and sweet.

you slide the mixing bowl across the counter toward him. he blinks.

“you want me to knead that?”

“yup,” you say brightly. “just pretend it owes you money.”

joel snorts, brow lifting. “sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

“exactly why you’re perfect for it.”

with a long-suffering sigh, he steps forward and rolls up his sleeves.

you should be watching the timer. or checking the filling. or literally doing anything other than staring at him but the second those sleeves start creeping up his forearms, your brain short-circuits.

he’s not even trying. that’s the worst part.

those hands, broad and rough, the same ones that fix broken furniture like it’s second nature.

the same ones that cradle your face with a kind of reverence you’ve never gotten used to are now sinking into dough. slow, steady, and unhurried.

the tendons in his forearm shifting with each movement. muscles flex and roll and you can’t look away.

the dough sticks slightly to his fingers, and he curls them in.

his biceps twitch under his t-shirt. you can see the vein in his forearm start to stand out as he leans in, pressing down harder, like he’s putting real weight behind it now.

you’re acutely aware of every detail.

the way his shoulders move beneath the soft stretch of cotton. he looks like he belongs in a magazine spread and you're just standing there like an idiot with a spatula in one hand and very bad thoughts in your head.

he glances up, catching your stare, and smirks.

you blink, heat rushing to your cheeks but it’s too late. you’ve been caught.

“something wrong?” he asks, voice low, lazy, like he already knows exactly what kind of spiral you’re in.

you swallow hard. “show-off.”

“you always knead like that?” you ask, watching his arms flex.

joel smirks. “you always stare like you wanna be next?”

he arches a brow but doesn’t press just goes back to kneading, smug and silent, working the dough like it’s something that needs to be tamed.

you turn back to the counter, cheeks burning, trying to focus though joel miller, looking like a walking thirst trap, has thoroughly stolen your attention.

he knows you’re watching, stealing sly glances at you.

you bite back a smile, caught in the quiet battle of wills.

when he finally finishes, he wipes his hands on a dish towel, but not before leaving a fine dusting of flour on his skin.

“easier than i thought,” he says, voice low and rough.

you lean up and press a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek, meaning it as a thank you. but his hand slides around the back of your neck, fingers warm and steady, holding you just a second longer than necessary.

his voice dips, gravelly. “could get used to this.”

you smile, breath warm against his skin. “the baking, or the domestic forearm porn?”

he pulls back just enough to blink at you, eyes dark and amused. “the what now?”

you grin, teasing. “you know exactly what you’re doing, rollin’ up your sleeves like that.”

joel cocks his head, the corner of his mouth tugging into a slow, wicked grin. “so you’re sayin’ i’ve been bustin’ my ass fixin’ shelves all these years when all i had to do was knead some dough and roll up my damn sleeves?”

“pretty much,” you say, popping a piece of fruit into your mouth. “less risk of splinters. more chance of kisses.”

he steps closer, that unmistakable glint lighting his eyes. “yeah? that a promise?”

before you can answer, his floured hand brushes your cheek, leaving a streak of white across your skin.

you gasp, mock-offended. “joel!”

he grins, mischievous as hell. “oops.”

with a quick grab, you scoop a handful of flour from the counter and fling it straight at him.

the powder explodes against his shirt, puffing out like smoke. joel looks down at the mess, then back up at you with exaggerated menace, eyes narrowing playfully.

“oh, it’s on baby.”

you shriek, ducking behind the counter as he lunges for the flour bag, grabbing a fistful and tossing it like snow in a blizzard.

flour bursts in the air between you, a cloud of white that settles on your hair, clothes, and skin. you laugh. loud, breathless, caught in the ridiculous joy of the moment.

joel chases you around the kitchen island, flour flying from his hands, his grin wild and untamed.

you dodge, weaving between counters, throwing handfuls back at him, your laughter mixing with his deep chuckles.

when you finally collapse against the counter, gasping for air, joel leans in close, both of you coated in a fine dusting of white.

he bumps your shoulder gently, eyes sparkling with triumph and something softer.

you wipe a stray puff of flour from your forehead, your breath still coming a little too fast from the chaos of the flour fight.

joel's eyes darken as he leans in closer, heat radiating off him and seeping into your skin like a slow burn.

he cups your cheek, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate line through the flour dusted on your skin. you lean into the touch, breath hitching in your throat.

joel’s lips brush yours soft at first, tentative, like he’s savoring the moment before his mouth deepens the kiss, becoming possessive, demanding.

his hands slide from your cheek down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, your bodies molding together effortlessly.

“pie’s gonna taste like war,” he murmurs against your lips, voice low, gravelly.

you smirk, breath mingling with his. “then maybe we should work up an appetite.”

joel turns to face you fully, slow and deliberate, like he’s accepting a challenge meant just for him. his eyes sweep over you.

“you still got energy left after all that kneading?”

he hums deep in his throat, stepping closer until your back meets the counter. one hand lands beside your hip, steady and firm. the other brushes your jaw with the barest touch.

“sweetheart,” he says, voice dropping low enough to make your breath hitch, “you ain’t even seen what these hands are really good at.”

he kisses you again. hungry but slow, like he’s been waiting all day for this. his mouth moves, savoring every second, and his hand slides to your waist, gripping just enough to make your knees go weak.

when he finally pulls back, lips hovering over yours, breath warm and teasing, he murmurs, “still hungry?”

“starving,” you breathe.

he chuckles, low and wicked, then lifts you effortlessly onto the counter. your thighs part instinctively, and he settles between them, hands smoothing over your legs.

one hand hooks behind your knee, pulling you closer, the other pressing to the small of your back, holding you flush against him.

“you know,” he breathes, lips trailing your neck, “we can forget the baking for now… let it wait while i occupy you.”

you laugh softly, fingers tangling in the collar of his shirt. “joel.”

“what?” he grins, unrepentant as his hand slips beneath your shirt, fingers trailing over bare skin. “ain’t like we’re wastin’ time.”

your breath catches, heat pooling low in your belly as his tongue sweeps along the seam of your mouth, kissing deeper, dirtier.

when he finally pulls back, breathless and flushed, his grin is wicked and full of promise.

“gonna ruin you on this counter, sweetheart. then we’ll have dessert.”

"knead me instead, joel miller." in unison we all say. 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

[aajjks]

Love and War (m)

warnings: vèry lóng, híghly 18+ thèmès, èxplïcït smüt/sèx, únprótèctèd sèx, chèátíng, górè, múrdèr, prègnáncy, lônlíness, èxplïcït víölèncè, blóód, yándèrè cháràctès, bördèrlínè cóffèè àddïctïön, dàrk jüngkóók.

pairing: yandere police officer jungkook x fem!Barista reader

genre: strictly 18+ killer fic, rated M, Gore, thriller and erotica

word count: 6,000

note. My fingers have been hurting so much these days because I’ve been dedicating a lot of time to writing this. I started this draft on October 14 and now I have finally finished it today and I wanted to publish this because I have worked hard on this so much I’ve done a lot of extensive research so please guys like it and re-blog it. This is worth a read I promise please please send feedback and let me know what you think because I really need it.

•••

This case in particular is brutal.

As Jungkook sits in his office space, he’s looking at the latest crime scene pictures. And they are brutal, the man’s throat is literally spilling out, tongue cut off.

There’s so much blood.

Seodaemun-gu is particularly cold, and he’s been working overtime, as an inspector he’s been pretty busy thanks to a psychotic serial killer who’s been targeting a lot of men lately

This is the 17th victim.

Jungkooks been trying to piece the puzzle together, he picks up the warm cup of coffee and gulps down another sip, his furrows his eyebrows, he knows that it’s just one person doing all of these killings.

The pattern of killing is too similar, the gore, the marks, the method.

There is a familiar drug found in every single one of the victims bodies.

“Fuck.” He curses as he drops the pictures on the table, he needs to catch the killer before it’s too late, it is too late anyways.

October isn’t so kind this year, it is harshly cold. And this case has his whole attention. “I’ll catch you, psycho.” He mutters under his breath.

He will catch the psycho before Halloween.

Jungkooks grip on his cup tightens. He will make this killer pay. Just as he’s staring at the pictures again, his phone rings.

He sighs, averting his gaze to his phone as he picks it up, a small smile playing on his face. “Hey baby!!!” He grins speaking into the phone.

He loves his girlfriend so much. She’s the only thing that is making him happy these days.

“Hey koo!” as she greets him back, he cannot stop smiling, “ahh so are we still on for tonight?” He asks slyly, she makes him so happy.

There is a silence for a few seconds, but he waits patiently for her response, Jungkook holds the phone up his ear, waiting.

“Oh… sorry baby but no, I’m kinda busy tonight. You know this assignment is keeping me up all night. I can’t I’m so sorry.”

His smile falters.

“U-Uh..”

This is the third time.

“Umm it’s okay.” he replies, playing it cool but honestly, he’s a little upset because she’s been doing everything but spending time with him and he’s the one trying to solve a fucking murder case.

“Don’t be upset koo… I swear I’ll make it up to you.” He sighs. “It’s okay baby. I…understand.” Jungkook knows there’s no point in arguing.

He just misses her.

After talking to her for a few minutes, he finally ends the call. It’s time he refocuses on the case.

What he should be focusing on right now is catching the killer

And not the fact that his girlfriend is literally ignoring him for the past days, he’s barely seen her face this month, it’s bothering him, but he cannot afford to be distracted right now.

There cannot be an 18th victim.

He won’t let it happen.

•••

It’s lonely

But at least now he gets to go to his favorite coffee shop and drink, coffee in peace while staring out at the view, honestly speaking the view isn’t that special but jungkook likes to have some free time to himself just so he can reconnect with the world.

he enters the coffee shop, the bells above jingle as the door opens, it’s not too crowded today which is a good thing because the less the crowd the more he can focus and think.

Only a handful of people who are drinking and waiting for their orders as he approaches his table. Jungkook sits down on it, taking the chair out.

He scans the area. He likes how peaceful it is here because his job is not peaceful or neither cute, he has just come back from seeing a gruesome murder scene and this is exactly the detox He needs right now.

“Hey!!! Mr Jeon?” his snap of his thoughts when the barista calls out his name, he turns to look ahead, and smiles seeing the familiar face.

“Hey Ms yn! How’s it going? I think I’m just gonna have the regular.” He tells, looking at you, and you nod, you’re a sweet girl.

You’ve been serving him coffee for the past year almost, “well got it! Maybe I should get you some brownie too; of course courtesy of me.” You laugh, “looks like you really could use some sweetness in your life since you work so hard”

He laughs a little, shaking his head. “yeah you’re right. It’s been quite bitter these days.” He mutters to himself almost.

You walk away. impatiently, he waits for his coffee.. He might have an addiction, but it’s OK. Caffeine is necessary when you’re a police officer.

Sometime later you come back with his order. And he looks at you, thanking you.. “thank you Ms yn. Appreciate you for putting up with me.” he jokes, you give him a kind smile, “oh Mr Jeon how about you Just call me yn?” You insist and he almost blushes.

“Ahhh sure sure I will but only if you call me by my first name too.” He waves his hand, picking up his coffee to take a sip, and the smell of the brownie just fills his nostrils and he hums in delight

“The brownie smells so good and this coffee is awesome. Thank you so much.”

You wink in return, which has his cheeks actually burning up

You’re bold and you’re confident and that he appreciates about you because maybe you like him a little and you don’t really make an effort to hide the fact

“Okay.. I’ll go now have fun” he watches as you go away.

And he can’t help but feel his heart flutter in his chest.

•••

A few days later, his same routine just goes on and on, but there is not a single point that he has been able to catch, which could help him actually lead to the killer

And his days are only getting worse. There’s an emptiness that he’s starting to feel. Honestly, he feels like a failure.

A failure of a boyfriend and a failure of an inspector.

Jungkook steps into his dimly lit apartment, shrugging off his rain-soaked jacket. The warmth of the place feels hollow, as if reflecting the emptiness creeping into his chest. He slumps onto the couch, running his hands through his damp hair. His mind is a mess, caught between the horrifying images of the latest crime scene, Mina’s growing distance, and the subtle comfort he finds in your quiet presence at the café.

He pulls out his phone and stares at Mina’s name in his contacts. Something in him snaps, and before he can overthink it, he presses “Call.”

It rings longer than it should.

“Hello?” Her voice is clipped, impatient.

“Mina. Can you come over?” he asks out of desperation because he so lonely, and he needs to feel her love and her warmth.

“It’s late, Jungkook. I’m busy.” he understands it. She’s been busy, but it’s been so long since he’s been with her physically and she keeps on being distant.

He’s starting to break, his face falls, and his voice hardens at her sudden coldness.

“Busy with what?” he demands, the sharpness in his voice surprising even himself. he gripped the phone tighter and waits for her response with a thumping heartbeat.

There’s a pause, long enough for unease to settle in his gut. “Work,” she finally says, but the word feels rehearsed, flat.

“Bullshit.” He stands, pacing the small living room. “You’re lying to me.” he knows that she’s lying. Does she really think that he’s that stupid?

“Excuse me?” Her tone hardens, defensive.

“You’ve been distant for weeks,” he says, his voice rising. “The late nights, the dodged questions, the way you look at me like I’m a stranger. If there’s something you’re hiding, Mina, I deserve to know.”

She exhales sharply, a sound halfway between frustration and guilt. “You’re paranoid, Jungkook. You’re always at work, always chasing some killer. Maybe the problem isn’t me—it’s you.”

“That’s not an answer,” he snaps. “You think I don’t notice the way you’re pulling away? The phone calls you don’t take around me? If you don’t want to be with me, just say it.”

Her silence cuts deeper than any words could.

“You’re impossible,” she finally says, her voice trembling with suppressed anger. “You think everything revolves around you and your job, but you don’t even see what’s right in front of you. Maybe I have been distant, Jungkook, but can you blame me? You’re so wrapped up in your case that there’s no room for anything—or anyone—else.”

He clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “You’re deflecting. Just tell me the truth, Mina. Are you seeing someone else?”

Her sharp intake of breath tells him everything he needs to know.

“Mina,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous.

“I’m not doing this,” she says, and the line goes dead.

Jungkook stares at his phone, his breath coming in ragged bursts. The quiet of the apartment feels suffocating, pressing in on him from all sides. He throws his phone onto the couch and grabs his keys, his mind a whirlwind of anger, betrayal, and something he can’t quite name.

But for a fact, he knows that he’s lost Mina forever. And the realization dawns on him as he stares at his phone screen. He’s alone once again like he has been for a month.

But maybe this time, forever

And it doesn’t take him long to break down in his apartment. He’s so alone and maybe he will be forever. Why can nobody ever love him?

Is he not deserving of love?

•••

The coffee shop is dark except for the faint glow of a single lamp by the counter. You’re wiping down the tables, your movements unhurried, as if you have all the time in the world. The sight of you—calm, grounded—makes something in Jungkook loosen, just slightly.

You look up as he enters, the chime of the bell breaking the silence.

“Jungkook?” you say, surprised. “It’s late. What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, just walks over to the counter and leans against it. “I needed to get out of my head.”

You study him, noting the tension in his jaw, the shadows under his eyes. “Rough day?”

He laughs bitterly. “You could say that.”

The way you look at him, makes his heart flutter in an abnormal way, maybe it’s the loneliness that he’s making behave like this but you’re gaze actually drives him crazy

You hesitate for a moment before stepping around the counter, standing a little closer to him. “Want to talk about it?”

“No,” he says quickly, then softens. “I just… I don’t know. Everything feels like it’s falling apart.”

You nod, not pushing him for details. Instead, you reach for the bottle of whiskey you keep hidden behind the counter for nights like this. You pour him a glass and slide it across the table.

“Here,” you say. “On the house.”

He takes a sip, the burn in his throat a welcome distraction from the turmoil in his mind. “Thanks.”

You sit down beside him, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence. But you can feel his eyes on you, heavy and searching.

“You’re always here,” he says suddenly, his voice soft.

“Someone has to be,” you reply, your lips quirking into a small smile.

“You know Y/N? I’m so fucking alone. My girlfriend is probably cheating on me. She doesn’t care about me…. No one cares about me.” His voice breaks on the last sentence.

You look at him with pity and something deeper swimming in your gaze, but he doesn’t know how to pinpoint it, you urge him to continue so he does.

He chuckles, but it’s humorless. “It’s more than that. You don’t know what it means to me, Y/N. Just… knowing there’s someone who gives a damn.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you play it cool. “Well, you look like you could use someone in your corner.”

He turns to you then, his gaze intense, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The air between you feels charged, electric

“Why do you care so much?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitate, your pulse racing. “Maybe I just like seeing you smile.”

You’re the first person who has ever said that to him, and in that moment, he realizes that your silence is the only silence that doesn’t feel suffocating.

You look at him with such a deep emotion that it makes him go crazy, what are you doing to him? Why do you care about him so much?

You’ve been there for him since day one. You’re so comforting so kind and so nonjudgmental.

You listen to him rant, Complain, but you don’t say anything every time.

The more he looks at you, the more his heart keeps on thumping, inside his chest and alcohol just rushes through his body, and suddenly his pants feel so achingly tight.

The silence between you both is charged with tension, a tension that makes shivers go down his spine, you’re looking at him in a way that has him hallucinating that you want to lure him in.

He just wants to drown in your embrace, feel you in a way that no one has ever, he just wants to bury himself to hilt inside of you so maybe he can feel wanted again, and maybe he will feel safe for once.

His breath hitches, and before either of you can think better of it, his lips crash into yours.

•••

The back room of the café becomes a blur of heat and desperation as you both stumble in while he’s busy, shoving his tongue on your throat. It’s not tender—it’s raw, messy, driven by an ache neither of you can name. He breaks the kiss after it feels like hours, and he dips his head low and you feel his hot wet lips on your neck, His hands are rough against your skin, his lips leaving trails of bruises along your neck.

“Jungkook,” you whisper, your voice breaking as his hands grip your hips. It feels so fucking good. The desperation and the need is driving you insane.

You can feel his muscular body, he’s so perfect. You have dreamed of this moment for the longest time. But you never really thought that it would come true.

But as he kisses your neck, his lips burn on your skin. And that makes you realize that this is your reality. You are finally getting to live your dream.

You moan out his name again breathlessly gripping on his shoulders so tightly as he attacks your neck, whispers of his name leave your mouth, you’re getting breathless, just by him kissing your skin.

That’s how much you want him.

He doesn’t respond with words, only pulls you closer, his movements frantic. It’s as though he’s trying to drown in you, to forget everything outside of this moment.

His scent is so exotic, he’s always smelled so good whenever he’s visited the café, his son is so stronger it surrounds the whole café and right now you’re so close to him. It’s getting you high.

You know that he’s drunk, he’s so fucking drunk and vulnerable, but you cannot bring yourself to stop him, especially not when he pushes your panties down, his lips hot on your collarbones.

How can you bring yourself to stop him when he’s suddenly licking his fingers, as he takes them out you, you stare at him, they’re glistening with his Saliva.

He’s so beautiful and so handsome, and the most sexiest man you’ve ever seen.

You can only encourage him, and you do that, when he finally starts to push his two digits inside of you, your hips buck up.

You’re so fucking wet it’s embarrassing.

He scissors them inside of you, curling them inside your gummy walls, hitting that spot that has you seeing stars, immediately and he’s barely even started

“AGGH…” you moan out loudly, He groans at the sound, sinking his teeth in your neck once again, he’s so needy right now, you feel his body temperature burning.

You’re burning up too.

Jungkook whispers in your ear, “take off my boxers.”

And you do, after that you start stroking his hard thick length, he’s so big, as you stare down at it, you gasp because it’s leaking already and it’s angry.

He’s been neglected for the longest time, you actually hate his girlfriend, but good for you. You get to feel him inside you like this.

He’s hungry for this. As you finally start to do the magic of your hands, he lets out a guttural moan, it’s so loud, and it rings in your ears.

you love the sounds he’s making right now. He sounds so hot almost like an animal in heat.

But he starts fucking your hand furiously, you lift his head up from your neck to look at him and you just want to keep him with you forever

He’s so beautiful.

He’s drooling, his eyes are closed as he feels the pleasure that you are giving him, the pleasure that he’s been denied for the longest time.

“T-Thank you so much for this because you have no idea how much I need this you have no idea how much I need you… yn- ngh… I’ve been dreaming about this… how about you… and you feel so much better than my imagination”

Jungkook cannot wait anymore though, just as he’s close, he wraps your legs around his waist and gently removes your hand, kisses you hard as he shoves his cock in your warm pussy.

“Let me feel your pussy, I need you, baby…” he begs, you grip his shoulders and kiss his cheek. He lets out a shuddering breath once your heat cages him in.

He starts moving his hips at a really fast pace, he’s jackhammering into you, Jungkooks moaning is echoing throughout the back room.

“NGHH mhmm AHHHG…. AHHH…”

The pleasure that you’re feeling right now is the most that you’ve ever felt in your life and you never knew that you could feel this good while having sex.

The sex with him is feeling so hot, so good and so fucking raw.

He’s so big you can see it bulging from inside of you, you gasp.

“Cum… please Cum inside me.”

You press desperate kisses on his neck, and on the hollow of his throat He’s so vocal about this. So hot. And then he lets out a desperate mewl as he cums inside your cunt.

It’s hot, thick and full as he fills you up to brim.

But it’s starts leaking out because it’s so much, you can feel it running down your thighs.

“You felt a-ah… so fuckin good, yn.”

When it’s over, the two of you lie tangled together on the worn couch, your breaths mingling in the quiet.

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, his voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, resting a hand on his chest. “Don’t apologize.”

He looks at you, his eyes searching for something he can’t find.

“You’re not alone, Jungkook,” you say softly. “Not anymore.”

But as he drifts off to sleep, your words echo in his mind, and unease curls in his chest.

•••

The first rays of sunlight filter through the cracks in the blinds, casting faint streaks across the cramped backroom of the café. The room is quiet, save for the sound of Jungkook's breathing. He lies awake on the couch, staring at the ceiling, your head resting on his chest, your arm draped over him like a lifeline.

The memories of the night before play in his mind on an endless loop-your soft moans, the way your body had responded to his touch, how you had whispered his name like a prayer. He feels a pang of guilt, but not for what he did. He doesn't regret it. Not the way your warmth had pulled him from the cold void he'd been living in, not the way you made him forget the weight of the world for a few fleeting hours.

What eats at him is the realization that he used you-your body, your kindness, your feelings— for his own selfish needs. And yet, as much as the guilt gnaws at him, a darker truth lingers: it had felt so good. You had felt so good.

Your breathing changes, pulling him from his thoughts. You stir slightly, your fingers twitching against his chest before you lift your head to meet his gaze.

"Good morning," you say softly, your voice thick with sleep.

He swallows hard, unsure of what to say.

“Morning,” he replies, his voice quieter than he intends.

You sit up slowly, the blanket slipping from your shoulders as you adjust yourself on the edge of the couch. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the weight of what happened between you hanging in the air.

“Are you okay?” you ask finally, breaking the silence.

“I don't know,” he admits, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

You bite your lip, looking down at your lap. "Last night..."

“Wasn't supposed to happen,” he says, cutting you off.

You flinch slightly but force a small smile. “I know,” you murmur.

He sighs deeply, sitting up and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don't regret it,” he says finally, his voice low.

Your head snaps up, your eyes wide with surprise.

“I don't regret being with you,” he continues, his tone softening. “But I regret... I regret that I used you. That I let my emotions... my loneliness take over. You didn't deserve that.”

You shake your head, reaching out to touch his arm. “Jungkook, you didn't use me. I wanted it too.”

He looks at you, his dark eyes filled with conflict.

“I know you did. But that doesn't make it right.”

You hold his gaze, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his expression. “It's not wrong either,” you whisper.

He exhales sharply, standing up and pulling on his jacket. “I need to think," he mutters. “I need to figure out what I'm doing.”

Jungkook walks through the quiet streets, the early morning chill biting at his skin. His mind is a storm of emotions-shame, guilt, longing. He knows he should be thinking about Mina, the case, about everything that's been spiraling out of control in his life. But all he can think about is you.

You, with your soft smile and kind eyes. You, who had welcomed him without judgment. You, who had given him a moment of solace in the chaos.

He doesn't regret being with you, but he regrets what it means. He regrets how easily you've slipped into the cracks of his carefully constructed walls.

And yet, even as he walks away, he knows he'll come back to you. He always does.

Meanwhile, you’re feeling the same… after he leaves you at the door as it shuts.

You sit on the couch long after Jungkook has gone, staring at the spot where he had been just minutes before. Your heart feels heavy, conflicted. Last night had been everything you'd ever wanted, but now it feels tainted by his guilt, his regret.

Still, you can't bring yourself to regret it. Not when it had felt so perfect, so right.

But as you move to the front of the café, preparing for the day ahead, you can't shake the feeling that something has shifted between you and Jungkook. And you're not sure if it's for better or worse.

But you do know that this was only the beginning and this is not gonna end ever and you don’t want to.

•••

A month goes by, he hasn’t visited the cafe after that night woth you, he’s started to get over Mina, The investigation starts to grow worse, the killer more mysterious than ever. Jungkook’s focus shifts entirely to the case, but the memory of that night with you lingers, a dangerous distraction. He avoids Mina entirely, his guilt toward her eclipsed by the tangled emotions he feels when he sees you.

It’s only a matter of time before everything comes crashing down.

•••

The night Jungkook slept with you still lingers in his mind, haunting him like a half-remembered dream, a moment of clarity and chaos all at once. He tells himself it was a mistake, that he was drunk, confused, and in need of something—someone—that wasn’t Mina. But he knows deep down, it was more than that. It was the kind of intimacy that made him feel human again, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Yet, when he wakes up the next morning, reality settles back into place. He tries to push you out of his thoughts as he makes his way to work, but every time he passes by the café, he finds himself looking for you, wondering if you’re there. The guilt gnaws at him, but the emptiness inside makes him think about you again, just for a moment.

What Jungkook doesn’t know, what he can’t see, is that the girl behind the counter, the quiet barista with the warm smile, has already made up her mind. You’ve already planned it out.

Mina is your problem now.

Mina never did anything wrong. She never even knew the darkness that lurked beneath your calm exterior. To her, you were just another face behind the counter, the one who always smiled, who always gave her the right change with a soft chuckle. She was just another customer. But that was before you realized she was still with Jungkook, and that was the last straw.

Mina knows about your crush on Jungkook because, on several occasions in the past, Jungkook had brought her with him when he visited the café. It wasn’t frequent, but enough for Mina to catch on to the subtle tension that simmered between you and him.

You hadn’t meant to make it obvious, but every time Jungkook walked into the café, your demeanor shifted. You’d become a little more flustered, your heart would race, and your eyes would light up, especially when he greeted you with that easy smile. It didn’t take much for someone like Mina, who was always looking for cracks in the façade, to notice.

The first time Jungkook brought her in, you did your best to be casual, to act as though you weren’t paying any special attention to him.

But Mina, watching from across the table, saw how you seemed a little more eager, a little more careful with every cup you made for him. She observed how your voice softened when you spoke to him, how your hands trembled just slightly as you handed him his order. It wasn’t hard for her to figure it out: there was something more than just friendship between you two, even if it was unspoken.

After that day, Mina started coming in more frequently when she knew Jungkook would be there.

She made a point of sitting at a table near the counter, watching the subtle interactions between you two, almost like a game. It gave her a sense of satisfaction—of control—to see how much you cared for him, how much you tried to hide it.

What really gave Mina the final piece of the puzzle was the day Jungkook brought her in again. This time, the way you interacted with him was different. You didn’t hide your feelings as well. You weren’t as guarded. Maybe you thought Jungkook had stopped noticing, that you could just be yourself around him without it being awkward, but Mina saw through it.

She watched you smile at him a little too brightly, watched how your voice softened when you said his name.

That’s when she knew. She had been right all along.

From that point forward, Mina began to play with this knowledge, poking at you, dropping little comments here and there about Jungkook. It wasn’t out of genuine interest in your well-being.

No, Mina was the type who thrived on power, on knowing things others didn’t. She knew you had feelings for Jungkook, and she wasn’t above using that against you.

Mina wasn’t a regular customer, but she made it a point to come by whenever she knew Jungkook would be there. She’d sit back, watch, and wait for you to slip up—because she knew it wouldn’t be long before you showed just how much you cared.

You watch her from the back of the café, your fingers tightening around the edge of the counter as she orders another coffee, laughs too loudly at something a friend says, her smile a little too bright.

You’re not the type to go unnoticed, not anymore. You’ve made sure of it. But this girl? She’s everything you’re not. Beautiful, untainted. Her life is easy—untainted by secrets or shame. But that life is a lie. And she doesn’t deserve it.

The tension builds like a slow-burning fuse as the afternoon wears on. Your hand shakes as you wipe down the counter, the hum of the coffee machine loud in your ears.

Mina doesn’t know how much you hate her. Doesn’t know that she’s the one thing standing between you and what you’ve convinced yourself is yours. Jungkook.

The thought of him with her, the way he always turns to her in the café, makes your stomach twist. You wish she’d just disappear. So, that’s exactly what you’ll do.

•••

The café is quiet as you lock up for the night.

The faint hum of the city lingers in the distance, but it doesn't reach your small sanctuary.

It's been a month since the night with Jungkook, and though he hasn't been back to the café in days, the memory of him is enough to send a shiver through your body.

You've noticed changes-small ones at first. A nauseous unease in the mornings, a fatigue that you can't shake. Tonight, though, you can't ignore the obvious anymore. Your period is late

far too late.

When you get home, you head straight for the drawer where you hid the pregnancy test. It had been an impulsive purchase a few days ago, something you hadn't wanted to face until you

absolutely had to.

The bathroom feels impossibly quiet as you take the test, sitting on the edge of the tub and waiting for the results. Seconds stretch into an eternity. When the lines appear, bold and unmistakable, the air leaves your lungs.

Your mind races. The weight of the word sinks into your chest. It's him. Jungkook. That night.

The night when everything felt like it could finally belong to you. But now, this?

Panic bubbles inside you, but it's swallowed by something darker, more visceral.

Mina's face flashes in your mind, and it's as if the pregnancy test has turned her shadow into a living, breathing entity. She's always there, always hovering around the edges of your thoughts, a reminder of what you'll never truly have.

She broke up with Jungkook that night. You've pieced that much together. She left him, but her presence still looms over you.

It's her fault you feel this way. Her fault that Jungkook can't be entirely yours.

Before you realize it, you're out the door again, the pregnancy test left abandoned on the counter. The idea takes root in your mind with terrifying clarity.

Mina's address isn't hard to find. She used to post pictures from home-soft, curated glimpses of her perfect life.

The city streets blur as you drive. Your fingers tighten on the wheel as adrenaline floods your veins.

When you pull up to her house, the world feels unnervingly still. The house is modest but exudes her curated style, clean and pristine. A pang of rage surges through you.

You knock softly at first. When there's no response, you knock louder, your fist trembling against the wood. Finally, the door opens.

Mina stands there in a loose sweatshirt and leggings, her hair tied back, and her expression instantly hardens when she sees you.

“What are you doing here?” she says sharply, her voice cutting through the air.

You don't answer. You push past her, stepping into her living room without waiting for an invitation. She whirls around, glaring at you.

“Excuse me?” Mina snaps, her hands on her hips. "You can't just barge in here-"

But you're not listening. Your focus sharpens as you glance around the room, taking in the perfection of it all. Everything she's built, everything she's taken from you without even knowing it.

“You ruined him,” you say suddenly, your voice low and trembling.

Mina freezes, her brows furrowing. “What are you talking about?”

“You don't deserve him,” you continue, stepping closer. The words spill out, raw and jagged. You never did. You threw him away.”

Mina's eyes widen, and for the first time, there's a flicker of unease in her expression. “Are you insane?” she says, backing up slightly. “This has nothing to do with you.”

But it does. It has everything to do with you.

The knife is in your pocket, cold and heavy against your palm as you pull it out. Mina's eyes go wide, and she lets out a sharp gasp.

“Y/N, stop. What are vou doing?” she says, her voice trembling now, you see fear in her eyes, and that is so satisfying

“I'm taking back what's mine,” you whisper, stepping forward.

Mina screams as you lunge, but she's fast. Her nails rake across your arm as she tries to push you away, drawing blood. The knife slips from your grasp briefly, clattering to the floor, and the two of you struggle, crashing into the coffee table.

She fights harder than you expected. Her fists hit your sides, her nails digging into your skin.

But your rage is stronger, a blinding force that drives you forward.

Finally, you grab the knife again, plunging it into her chest. The scream chokes in her throat, her hands flailing weakly as you press the blade deeper.

The fight leaves her body, her eyes glazing over as she crumples to the floor.

You stand there, panting, your body trembling with adrenaline. Blood pools around her, staining the pristine floor, and it's then you notice the streaks of red on yor wn arms.

Her nails. She scratched you.

Your breath quickens as the reality sets in. You grab a dishcloth from the kitchen, wrapping it around your arm to staunch the bleeding.

You leave quickly, your mind racing. The blood you've left behind is a risk, but it's done now.

She's gone.

As you drive away, the silence in the car feels deafening. You glance at your bandaged arm, your chest heaving with a mix of fear and exhilaration.

It's over. She's gone.

But the faint, nagging thought of the blood you've left behind lingers in the back of your mind, a seed of doubt that you can't shake.

•••

The next day, Jungkook’s phone rings with the news. Mina’s body is found in at her home reported by the neighbors, discarded like a broken toy. The details of her murder are grisly—so much blood, so many signs of a struggle. But there’s something more. Something that gnaws at him,

He doesn’t know it yet, And Jungkook has no idea how close he is to the one thing he’s been hunting.

As he visits the scene of the crime, his heart heavy with guilt over his own sins, the truth starts to swirl around him, each clue pulling him closer to you. But you are always just one step ahead.

And you’re not finished yet.

•••

Jungkook stands at the edge of the crime scene, Mina’s home. Familiar home, his mind racing as he watches the forensic team finish their work. Mina’s body has been taken away, but something about the scene feels unfinished—unnerving. As the team packs up, the lingering sense of wrongness creeps into his chest.

He takes a few more steps into the room, his eyes scanning every inch.

The silence is heavy, thick with the smell of blood, and something else, something he can’t quite place. He feels like he’s being watched even though he’s the only one left. His gut instinct tells him there’s more to find, something hidden beneath the surface.

“Detective Jeon,” a voice calls out, pulling him from his thoughts. He turns to see Officer Lee, the junior detective, holding a small evidence bag.

“What is it?” Jungkook asks, his voice tight with impatience.

“Sir,” Lee continues, stepping closer. “We found something odd in the kitchen area, near the counter. It’s fresh blood, but it doesn’t match the scene at all. It’s… different.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “What do you mean, different?”

Lee’s face shifts, his expression nervous. “It’s not the same consistency as the blood we’ve been seeing from the victims. It seems… newer, almost as if it wasn’t part of the original violence.”

Jungkook’s heart skips a beat. The blood. It’s almost like the killer made a mistake. He follows Lee to the kitchen, where they find the dark stain on the floor. It’s small but unmistakable, a sharp contrast against the faded red of the rest of the scene.

He kneels down, his gloved fingers brushing the edges of the stain. The blood is darker than what they’ve seen from the victim, almost as though it’s been there for some time—but that doesn’t make sense. He knew Mina was killed just hours ago.

“Is this from the victim?” Jungkook asks, still focused on the stain.

“We don’t think so,” Lee replies, his tone uncertain. “It’s not consistent with the rest of the scene.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “It looks fresh.”

His instincts kick in. Something is off, and he knows it’s not just the stain. His gaze lingers on the blood. He needs to know more. If this is part of the same pattern, then they’re dealing with something entirely different.

“Send it to forensics,” he orders. “Get it tested immediately. I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Hours pass before Jungkook finds himself in the sterile white of the forensics lab, waiting as the technician works quickly to process the blood sample they’ve retrieved from the crime scene.

He stands by, his mind on edge, feeling the pull of the unknown tightening its grip. The room is quiet, save for the hum of machinery and the faint clicking of keyboards as the technician runs the test.

Finally, the technician hands Jungkook a printed report. Jungkook takes it with a calmness he doesn’t feel, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he scans the document.

The results are like a slap in the face.

The blood—this blood—belongs to a woman.

His chest tightens as he rereads the details. But it’s not just any woman. The test shows the presence of hormone levels consistent with early pregnancy.

A pregnant woman.

The words blur before his eyes. His mind struggles to make sense of it. Pregnant? How could it be?

This isn’t just some random woman who happened to get involved in the case. This is a pregnant woman. The kind of detail that changes everything.

He stares at the report in stunned silence. Mina’s murder doesn’t fit with any of the previous patterns, but this… this is a whole new level of complexity. And, despite his growing confusion, Jungkook can’t shake the nagging thought that the killer might be someone unexpected—someone who’s been hiding in plain sight.

Jungkook’s mind races as he pieces everything together. The fact that the blood belongs to a pregnant woman is huge. It feels like a lead that could take him in an entirely new direction, but there’s something else gnawing at him. A suspicion he can’t quite shake.

It’s the note he found on Mina’s body. The strange connection between the killings. Every victim has had a twisted background, all male, all with histories of violence or crime. But Mina… she was an exception. A woman. And she wasn’t involved in the same kind of criminal activity.

His gut is telling him something isn’t right. He’s seen this before—when his intuition is pushing him toward an answer, even when he doesn’t have all the pieces. And now, with this new revelation about the blood, that nagging feeling is only growing stronger.

Could the killer be a woman? Could the killer be pregnant? The thought unsettles him, but it makes sense. Perhaps this is the killer’s twist—targeting those who have wronged others, who’ve hurt people in the most vicious ways, while hiding behind a carefully crafted disguise.

As he stands there, staring at the test results, a chilling realization slowly begins to creep in. He hasn’t even begun to connect the dots. He hasn’t yet put it all together.

And the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes the one thing that’s been staring him in the face all along: someone close to him could be hiding this terrible secret.

But he doesn’t know who that is yet.

The blood. The pregnancy. The mysterious nature of Mina’s death—everything points to a killer who’s been hidden from view. Someone who’s not just playing a part in this sick game but is actively controlling the strings.

Jungkook takes one last look at the report in his hand. The piece of paper seems to burn with the weight of its revelation.

“Pregnant,” he mutters under his breath, the word tasting bitter in his mouth. “Who could it be?”

Jungkook’s thoughts are muddled. He hasn’t even considered the possibility that someone he knows could be involved. But the facts keep leading him in that direction.

With every passing second, the answer feels closer, yet farther away. All Jungkook knows for certain is that this case is far more complicated than he ever imagined.

And the killer is closer than he thinks.

•••

That night? he decides to visit his favorite coffee place again

The café is dimly lit, the warm golden glow of the overhead lights casting long shadows across the empty tables. It’s late—well past closing time for most places—but you’re still here. You’ve started staying later than usual, lingering in the quiet of your sanctuary, unable to go home to the lingering guilt of what you’ve done.

You’re wiping down the counter when the bell above the door chimes. The sound startles you, breaking through the silence. When you look up, it’s him.

Jungkook.

He’s standing in the doorway, his hair slightly disheveled, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. It’s been a month since that night, and he hasn’t been back since. Seeing him now feels like a punch to the chest, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

“Jungkook,” you say softly, your voice barely audible. “You’re here again after a long time..”

He offers a small, tired smile as he steps inside, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. “Hey,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “I know it’s late… but are you still making coffee?”

You nod quickly, trying to push down the rising emotions threatening to choke you. “Of course. For you? Always.”

He sits at his usual spot near the counter, leaning back in the chair as he watches you move around the machine. The silence between you is thick, weighted with everything unsaid.

As you hand him the cup, his fingers brush against yours. The contact is brief but electric, sending a shiver up your spine. He takes a sip, his eyes closing as he lets out a soft sigh.

“This is exactly what I needed,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You can’t hold it in anymore. The words burst from your lips before you can stop them. “I need to tell you something.”

He looks up at you, his brows furrowing slightly. “What is it?”

Your hands tremble as you grip the counter for support. You’ve been rehearsing this in your head for days, but now, with him sitting there, the reality of it feels overwhelming.

“I’m… I’m pregnant,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, his expression is unreadable. He sets the cup down slowly, staring at you like he’s trying to piece together what you just said.

“What?” he says finally, his voice low and filled with disbelief.

You swallow hard, nodding. “It’s yours, Jungkook. From that night.”

His breath hitches, and he leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “Pregnant,” he repeats, almost to himself. The weight of the revelation sinks in, his eyes flicking to your stomach before meeting your gaze again.

“That’s… that’s a lot to process,” he says finally, his tone careful.

“But.. promise that I won’t abandon you… I will take full responsibility.. don’t worry… I’m so sorry”

You’re about to say something—anything to break the tension—when his gaze drops to your arm. His brows knit together as he notices the faint, raw scratches peeking out from beneath your sleeve.

“What happened to your arm?” he asks, his tone shifting, more alert now.

Your heart skips a beat, panic rising in your chest. You pull your sleeve down instinctively, hiding the marks. “It’s nothing,” you say quickly, too quickly.

He doesn’t look convinced. His eyes narrow slightly as he studies you. “Those look fresh,” he says, his voice sharp. “Did someone hurt you?”

“No,” you say firmly, forcing a laugh. “I’m just clumsy, that’s all.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond immediately. He just watches you, his gaze searching, like he’s trying to read the truth in your expression.

“Y/N,” he says finally, his voice soft but insistent. “If something’s going on, you need to tell me.”

You shake your head, plastering on a smile that feels more like a mask. “It’s nothing, really. You don’t have to worry.”

But he doesn’t look convinced. His jaw tightens, and he leans forward slightly, his fingers drumming against the edge of the table.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low.

You nod quickly, avoiding his gaze. “I promise. Everything’s fine.”

He doesn’t press further, but the tension in the air is palpable. You can feel his eyes on you as you turn away, pretending to busy yourself with cleaning.

The rest of the conversation is stilted, awkward. He finishes his coffee quickly, his movements stiff and deliberate.

“I should go,” he says finally, standing up and sliding the cup toward you. “Thanks for the coffee.”

You nod, forcing a smile as you watch him leave. The door swings shut behind him, and the silence that follows is deafening.

You lean against the counter, your legs trembling beneath you. The scratches on your arm burn as if in reminder. You knew this moment would come, but now that it has, you feel the weight of everything crashing down around you.

He doesn’t suspect you—not yet. But the way he looked at you, the questions he asked… it’s only a matter of time.

•••

Jungkook sits at his desk in the dimly lit precinct, the case file for Mina’s murder spread out before him. His mind is a storm, every detail looping back to the one piece of evidence he can’t shake—the fresh blood at the crime scene, identified as belonging to a pregnant woman.

He had brushed it off at first, thinking maybe it was some unknown accomplice or a bizarre twist in the killer’s pattern. But now, after his late-night visit to the café, everything feels like it’s coming together in ways he wishes it wouldn’t.

His hands clench into fists as he remembers Y/N’s confession.

And then there were the scratches.

They’d looked raw, fresh—exactly like the kind of defensive wounds a victim might leave behind. He tries to dismiss the thought. It’s Y/N, he tells himself. Sweet, shy Y/N, who wouldn’t hurt a fly. But the evidence won’t let him go.

The blood. The scratches. Her sudden nervousness, the way she pulled her sleeve down, the way she avoided his eyes when he asked her about it.

Jungkook takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He doesn’t want to believe it—doesn’t even want to entertain the thought. But as an inspector, he knows he can’t ignore the signs.

He flips through the photos from the crime scene, his eyes lingering on the smear of blood leading away from Mina’s body. The forensic team had confirmed it didn’t belong to Mina, and it wasn’t old enough to have been left by anyone else.

It had to be the killer’s.

He leans back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. His mind races with conflicting thoughts—his duty to the case, his growing feelings for Y/N, and the sickening possibility that they might be connected in ways he can’t yet comprehend.

“Jeon,” his partner calls from across the room, breaking his train of thought. “Anything new?”

Jungkook shakes his head, snapping the file shut. “No,” he lies. “Still piecing it together.”

But inside, he knows he can’t ignore this.

The next night, Jungkook finds himself back at the café. It’s late again, and the streets are quiet, save for the occasional hum of a passing car. He tells himself he’s just here for coffee, to clear his head. But deep down, he knows that’s not true.

Y/N is behind the counter, her movements slower than usual, as if weighed down by something unseen. She startles when she sees him walk in, her eyes wide, but she quickly masks it with a smile.

“Back again?” she asks, her voice trembling slightly.

He nods, offering a small smile of his own. “Couldn’t stay away. You make the best coffee, remember?”

She laughs softly, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. He watches her closely as she moves, noticing the way she avoids his gaze, the way she keeps her sleeves tugged down over her wrists.

When she sets the cup in front of him, he doesn’t drink right away. Instead, he leans forward, resting his elbows on the counter.

“Y/N,” he says softly, his voice steady but probing.

She looks up at him, her smile faltering. “Yeah?”

“You never told me how you got those scratches,” he says, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

Her breath catches, and he sees the flicker of panic in her expression before she quickly masks it. “I told you,” she says lightly. “I’m clumsy.”

“Clumsy enough to leave marks like that?” he presses, his gaze unrelenting.

Her hands tremble slightly as she picks up a cloth and starts wiping down the counter. “Why are you asking?” she says, her tone defensive.

He leans back, his jaw tightening. “Just curious. You know, with everything going on… people getting hurt. Makes me worry.”

She doesn’t respond, her focus fixed on the counter. The tension between them is thick, the silence stretching uncomfortably.

“I’m fine,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

But Jungkook isn’t convinced. Every instinct in him is screaming that something is wrong, that she’s hiding something. And yet, despite everything, a part of him doesn’t want to believe it.

“Okay,” he says finally, his tone softening. “If you say so.”

But as he leaves the café that night, the weight of his suspicions feels heavier than ever. The blood, the scratches, her nervousness—it all lines up too perfectly to ignore.

Jungkook walks slowly back to his car, his mind swirling with thoughts he doesn’t want to entertain. He stops just short of the driver’s seat, leaning against the door and staring at the dark street ahead.

The Y/N he knows—the one he’s been drawn to, the one who seemed so kind, so unassuming—couldn’t possibly be capable of this. Could she?

He slams his fist lightly against the roof of the car, frustration boiling under his skin. He doesn’t want to doubt her. But the evidence doesn’t lie.

That same night, Jungkook decides to dive deeper into the case. He returns to the precinct and retrieves the forensic report on the blood found at Mina’s home. He’s read it before, but now, with fresh eyes, he scans the details again.

The report confirms it: the blood belongs to a pregnant woman. The realization sends a chill down his spine.

Jungkook rubs a hand over his face, exhaustion creeping in as he tries to piece it all together. The killer had left no other trace—no prints, no DNA—just this blood. It was careless, uncharacteristic of someone who had been so meticulous with the other murders.

Why now? he wonders.

The connection feels tenuous at best, but the scratches on Y/N’s arm flash in his mind again, and he can’t ignore the unease building in his chest.

“Jeon,” his partner calls from his desk, interrupting his thoughts. “You’re still here? Go home, man. You’ve been at this for weeks.”

Jungkook forces a nod, shutting the file and grabbing his coat. “Yeah, I’m going,” he mutters.

But he doesn’t go home.

Instead, he drives back to Mina’s house, parking a short distance away and stepping out into the cold night. The crime scene has long since been cleared, but he needs to see it again, needs to feel it.

The house looms dark and silent, a grim reminder of what had happened within its walls. He steps closer, his boots crunching against the gravel as he shines his flashlight across the ground.

And then he sees it—a faint stain on the walkway leading away from the house.

His heart pounds as he kneels down, pulling on gloves and carefully swabbing the dried blood. It’s faint but fresh enough to have gone unnoticed during the initial sweep.

He stands, staring at the swab in his hand. It could be nothing, a stray smear left behind by someone from the forensics team. But it could also be something.

Someone.

As he slips the evidence into a bag, his mind circles back to Y/N. The scratches. Her sudden announcement. The way she seemed so on edge, so unlike herself.

The thought makes his stomach twist painfully. He doesn’t want to believe it, but the pieces are falling into place, and the picture they’re forming is one he can’t ignore.

He gets back into his car, gripping the steering wheel tightly. His next steps are clear: have the blood tested again, cross-reference it, and get answers.

But for now, he sits in the dark, staring out at the empty street,

Caught between his duty as an inspector and the growing fear that the woman he’s falling for might be the one he’s been chasing all along.

•••

It’s been days since Jungkook swabbed the blood at Mina’s crime scene. Days of sleepless nights, staring at reports, running DNA tests, and trying to ignore the tightening noose of suspicion around Y/N.

The results came back that morning. The blood is a match. A match for the mysterious pregnant killer. A match for Y/N, You.

The words on the report burn into his mind, but he can’t bring himself to process them fully. Instead, he spends hours driving aimlessly through Seodaemun-gu, circling back to the café before stopping outside Y/N’s small apartment.

He’s not sure what he’s going to say, or do. The woman he’s fallen for—who is carrying his child—has killed at least eighteen people, including Mina. But the thought of turning you in feels like a betrayal he’s incapable of.

Jungkook climbs the steps to your door, his heart pounding so hard he’s sure you’ll hear it the moment he knocks.

The door opens almost immediately, and Y/N’s face lights up in surprise. “Jungkook,” you say softly, but there’s a tension in your voice, as if you’ve been expecting this moment.

He steps inside without asking, closing the door behind him. His eyes scan the room, searching for something—anything that might confirm what he already knows.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you say, your voice low. You move to the small kitchen, your movements stiff.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “We need to talk.”

You freeze, your back to him, her hand resting on the counter. “About what?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead stepping closer. “You already know what.”

Y/N turns to face him, Your expression guarded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jungkook.”

“Don’t,” he says, his tone sharper than he intends. He exhales slowly, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I know, Y/N. About Mina. About all of it.”

Your face pales, and for a moment, you doesn’t respond. Then you cross your arms, your gaze steady but wary. “You’re mistaken,” you say evenly.

“I’m not,” he replies. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out the forensic report, dropping it onto the table. “This is your blood. At Mina’s house. You were there.”

Y/N’s breath catches, and you looks down at the report, your hands trembling. “It’s not what you think,” you whisper,

“Then tell me what it is!” His voice rises, the frustration and desperation spilling out. “Because the evidence says you killed her, Y/N. It says you’ve killed all of them.”

She doesn’t deny it. Instead, she steps back, her hands gripping the edge of the counter as if to steady herself. “I did it,” she says quietly, her voice breaking. “But they deserved it, Jungkook. Every single one of them.”

He stares at her, the weight of her confession hitting him like a freight train. “Mina didn’t deserve it,” he says, his voice hollow.

Her eyes fill with tears, and she shakes her head. “She broke you, Jungkook. She hurt you. And I couldn’t—”

“That wasn’t your decision to make!” he shouts, his voice cracking with emotion. “You had no right!”

Silence falls between them, heavy and suffocating. Y/N’s tears spill over, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t try to defend herself further.

Jungkook rubs a hand over his face, his thoughts spiraling. He knows what he should do—what his duty demands. But when he looks at her, at the woman carrying his child, he feels nothing but agony.

“I’m pregnant,” she says suddenly, her voice trembling.

“I know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“SERIOUSLY YN What the fuck have you done? I fell in love with a psychotic killer. FUCK!”

She flinches at his tone, her tears falling harder. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she says, her voice cracking. “I just, I couldn’t let them keep hurting people. I couldn’t let her keep hurting you.”

Jungkook closes his eyes, her words tearing through him. When he finally looks at her again, his expression is unreadable. “Do you understand what you’ve done?” he asks, his voice quiet but laced with pain.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“You’ve destroyed everything,” he says, his voice breaking.

She sobs, collapsing into a chair. “I didn’t mean to destroy you, Jungkook. I—”

“You didn’t destroy me,” he cuts her off, his tone icy. “You destroyed us.”

The room falls silent again, the weight of his words suffocating them both.

Finally, he speaks, his voice hollow. “I can’t turn you in, Y/N. I should, but I can’t. Because I—” He stops himself, shaking his head as if to dispel the thought. “But I need you to know that what you’ve done… it’s unforgivable.”

She looks up at him, her tear-streaked face full of anguish. “Then what happens now?”

Jungkook stares at her for a long moment, his jaw clenched, his hands trembling. “I don’t know,” he says finally, his voice barely audible. “I don’t know.”

And with that, he turns and walks out, leaving her alone with her guilt and the devastating weight of what she’s done.

•••

He takes a lot of Days to think about what he’s gonna do next, the truth is that he’s fallen too deeply in love with you to turn you in especially since he found out that you’re pregnant and as fucked up as it sounds, but the way you confessed to him that you killed Mina because she had hurt him,

It switched something inside him.. no one has ever gone that far for him.

You’re expecting his child

He has to do something to save you. He cannot turn you in no matter what.

So he decides to do something, a week later.

Jungkook sits alone in his car, parked a block away from the station. The stack of case files sits on the passenger seat, the details of eighteen brutal murders outlined in gruesome detail. At the top of the stack is Mina’s file.

The weight of what he’s about to do crushes his chest, but he’s made his decision.

If you go down, you take his child with you. You take him with you.

He exhales sharply, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. He’s always been a by-the-book cop, but the moment he fell for Y/N, that part of him started to crumble. Now, he’s about to destroy what’s left of it.

He enters the station with confidence and a mask.

The precinct buzzes with energy as Jungkook walks in, the familiar hum of chatter and clacking keyboards filling the air. His partner, Detective Choi, greets him with a nod.

“Got something for me, Jeon?” Choi asks, leaning back in his chair.

Jungkook sets the files down on his desk, forcing a calm expression. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ve been looking into a lead.”

Choi raises an eyebrow. “A lead? We’ve been spinning our wheels on this for months. What kind of lead?”

Jungkook opens Mina’s file, pulling out the report he fabricated the night before. He had spent hours doctoring evidence, crafting a story that would absolve Y/N of suspicion.

“This,” he says, handing the report to Choi.

Choi scans the document, his expression shifting from skepticism to curiosity. “A drug connection?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook lies smoothly. “I traced the source of the drug found in all the victims to a trafficking ring operating out of Incheon. It’s messy, but I think one of their enforcers is responsible for the killings.”

Choi frowns, flipping through the pages. “An enforcer who kills eighteen people, including Mina, and just disappears?”

“That’s the thing,” Jungkook says, leaning in. “I think they’ve already been eliminated. Internal cleaning. It explains why the killings stopped after Mina’s case.”

It’s a bold lie, but Jungkook delivers it with conviction, weaving in just enough plausible details to make it stick. He knows Choi is sharp, but he also knows his partner is tired of this case. They all are.

Choi nods slowly, handing the report back. “It’s a stretch, but it tracks. You’re saying we close this case on the assumption the killer’s dead?”

Jungkook shrugs, feigning indifference. “Unless you’ve got a better lead, I don’t see another option. The evidence lines up. It’s messy, but it fits.”

Choi exhales heavily, rubbing his temples. “Fine. I’ll run it by the chief.”

•••

The reaction is mixed. Some detectives are relieved to put the case behind them, satisfied with Jungkook’s explanation. Others grumble about loose ends and unanswered questions, but no one presses too hard.

“Good work, Jeon,” the chief says, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve been on this for months. Go home. Get some rest.”

Jungkook forces a smile, nodding. “Thanks, chief.”

As he walks out of the precinct, he feels the weight of his actions settle over him. He’s betrayed his badge, his oath, and every victim in this case.

But he’s saved you.

But there’s still a lot of loose ends that he needs to tie up, especially to convince his department that the pregnant woman was a pawn.

He needs to do something really convincing, and soon because time is running out.

•••

After a lot of days later, you’re almost now almost two pregnant, Jungkook hasn’t visited you after that confrontation and you think that maybe he’s abandoned you and maybe he’s gonna arrest you but you’re ready to pay for your sins.

You know what you were getting into when you decided to do this and you don’t regret killing any one of them.

Especially not Mina

Only if you had any idea… about what is happening around you…

 The apartment is quiet when Jungkook arrives. The air feels thick with tension, the kind that comes from unsaid words, from everything that’s been building up for weeks, months even.

He’s been here before, countless times, but tonight feels different. It’s as if the weight of everything that’s happened has finally caught up to him. The lies. The murder. The twisted love you’ve both been hiding from.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table when he walks in, a cup of cold coffee in front of you, untouched. The dim light casts long shadows across your face,

making you look almost ethereal, but there’s a darkness in your eyes that he hasn’t seen before. He doesn’t know whether it’s the guilt or the truth that lingers between you both, but it’s there. It’s palpable.

You don’t stand up when he enters. You don’t even look at him at first. Instead, your fingers trace the rim of the cup absentmindedly, like you’re lost in thought, deciding what to say. Or maybe deciding if you should say anything at all.

“You’re here,” you say finally, your voice quiet, almost resigned. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

Jungkook closes the door behind him, his breath heavy. The sight of you is almost too much to bear.

He feels the pull, the urgency of everything that’s been building up since that night at the café. But there’s something else too. Something darker. The guilt. The secret he’s been keeping. The knowledge that he’s closing his eyes to the truth.

“I had to,” he replies, his voice hoarse. His eyes move to you, scanning your face, trying to find the woman he once thought he understood, the one who wasn’t a murderer. But now, nothing seems as simple as it once did.

You finally look up, your eyes meeting his, and for a brief moment, he sees it. The crack in your facade. The vulnerability that you’ve been hiding. But it’s fleeting. Quickly masked by that cold, calculating expression he’s learned to fear.

“You did what you had to?” you echo, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “Funny. I didn’t know I was something you had to protect.”

Your stomach twists, guilt washing over you as you feel the weight of your words. The truth that he’s been avoiding hits you like a punch to the gut.

“I didn’t want to…,” he starts, his words faltering. “I didn’t want any of this. But I couldn’t let you go. Not after everything.”

You smile, but it’s not a smile at all. It’s a mask. A shield you’ve put up, but he sees through it. Just like he’s starting to see through everything you’ve done.

“Why didn’t you let me go, Jungkook?” you ask, standing slowly, your eyes never leaving his. You take a step toward him, the space between you narrowing with every heartbeat. “Because of your guilt? Or because you want me? Because you want us?”

Jungkook feels the heat rising in his chest, his body tense, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He wants to deny it, wants to tell you that it’s not like that, but the truth is too raw to ignore. He’s in too deep. He’s in love with you.

“I…” he hesitates, struggling with the words that seem impossible to say. “I don’t know what to believe anymore, Y/N. But I want you. More than anything.”

The words hang in the air between you both, thick with tension. You step closer, the space between you vanishing entirely. Your breath is warm against his skin as you raise a hand to his chest, tracing a line down to the hem of his shirt.

“Then why do you keep pretending like this is all just a mistake?” Your voice is soft now, a little breathless, but there’s something in it that makes his heart race even faster. “You know what I’ve done. You know the truth. So why are we still playing this game?”

His chest tightens as he stares into your eyes, the question echoing in his mind. Why are we still playing this game?

He’s already crossed too many lines, already made choices that can’t be undone. He’s in love with you, and that’s the only truth he can hold onto right now. But the guilt, the knowledge of what you’ve done—it’s suffocating him.

“I’m here because I don’t have a choice,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ve already made my choice. And it’s you.”

You look at him, your gaze calculating, but something flickers in your eyes. Relief? Or is it something darker? He can’t tell anymore.

“You don’t have to choose between me and the truth, Jungkook,” you say, stepping even closer until you’re inches apart. “The truth is… we belong together. In everything we’ve done. In everything we’ll do.”

The words send a shiver through him. There’s no going back now. He knows it. You know it.

His hands reach for you, pulling you into him, and your lips meet in a kiss that is desperate and consuming. He’s not thinking anymore. He’s not questioning. He’s just here, with you, drowning in everything that’s pulled you both together.

When you finally break apart, his breath is ragged, his chest heaving. Your hands rest on his shoulders, your eyes dark with something he can’t quite place.

“I’ll do anything for you,” he says, his voice hoarse, the words pouring out of him without thought.

“I know,” you reply softly, your fingers brushing against his neck. “And I’ll do anything for you too. But we have to be honest with each other now. No more lies.”

He nods, the weight of your words sinking into his bones. There’s no turning back now. “Jungkook.. you know it was a big skill investigation rate. How did you even convince your department to close the case tell me what did you do.”

He looks at you and smiles

He’s made his choice.

“Okay fine I will tell you.”

The investigation was closing in, and with each passing day, the walls seemed to close in tighter around Jungkook. The blood—so carefully planted at Mina’s crime scene—was becoming a ticking time bomb, and the pressure to keep Y/N safe weighed heavily on him. His heart hammered in his chest every time the case came up in discussion, and he knew he had to take drastic measures.

He needed to shut it all down. Permanently.

That’s when it hit him: a recently discovered body in a nearby district. A woman—pregnant, recently deceased, and conveniently found under suspicious circumstances. She wasn’t the killer, but to Jungkook, she might as well have been. He could use her to frame the entire investigation.

When Jungkook visited the morgue that night, the body lay still on the cold steel table, a haunting reminder of the fragile line between life and death. The woman had died under mysterious circumstances, no clear motive, no clear suspect. And with her pregnancy, she was the perfect pawn.

Jungkook’s mind raced as he walked around the body, his eyes lingering on her swollen belly, her pale face, the indistinct bruises on her skin that told a story he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know. He felt a sharp pang in his chest, the ghost of guilt flickering behind his thoughts. But there was no time for hesitation. He needed this body.

In his mind, he already had a plan.

He would stage the scene, make it look like this woman was the killer. He’d plant evidence that suggested the woman had been linked to Mina’s death—trace amounts of blood, a few fingerprints in the wrong places. A well-placed piece of clothing or object to tie her to the scene. It was risky, but it was the only way to close the case without implicating Y/N.

The morgue attendant, a sleepy-eyed man who didn’t seem to care much for the dead, handed him the body without question. Jungkook took a deep breath, making sure his hands didn’t shake. He carefully moved the body, knowing exactly what he needed to do.

Hours later, the police were called to a new crime scene. It was the same as always—an empty alleyway with the body of a woman found in a position that suggested something far darker than a random attack. The crime scene looked eerily similar to the previous murders, and that’s exactly what Jungkook had hoped for.

His mind worked quickly, placing the body of the pregnant woman at the scene as though she had been the one to kill Mina. The blood trail leading away from her. A few well-placed items. The evidence was there, but just subtle enough to make it believable.

The next day, Jungkook presented the findings to the department. His colleagues seemed to buy it without much question.

The body of the pregnant woman, found near the alley where Mina had been murdered, in her own home, was identified as the suspect. The evidence—though still sparse—was enough to back up the theory he had fabricated.

“I’ve spoken with forensics,” Jungkook said, standing tall as the room buzzed with suspicion. “The blood found near Mina’s body and the scene where this woman was found confirms our theory. This woman, whoever she was, was clearly involved. And she was pregnant, which explains her connection to the killer we’ve been hunting.”

The room fell silent, the officers looking at each other in confusion. But Jungkook pressed on, pushing the narrative with an authoritative tone.

“She was part of the criminal network, no doubt. This is why the killer used her. She was a pawn, an expendable figure, dragged into something much larger.”

“But with her death, we’ve finally identified her role. She’s the one we were after.”

Jungkook’s voice was steady, rehearsed, convincing. He wasn’t just presenting evidence; he was weaving the story.

One of the officers, a sharp-eyed veteran named Park, raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a skeptical look. “Are you sure, Jeon? This all seems… too neat. A little too perfect.”

Jungkook took a breath, pushing his doubts aside. “We have to tie it up. The evidence is there. It explains everything. And it leads us to believe that the killer is someone who knew how to manipulate the situation. A pregnant woman was used to distract us from the true killer.”

He met Park’s gaze, holding it long enough to send the message. There was no going back now. He had to make this work.

•••

After a lot of deliberation, and no further suspicions or clues, Jungkooks lie worked

But there were too many questions now. How far could he go before his lies caught up to him? Would the department ever suspect him, even if they’d closed the case?

And most importantly, how much longer could he keep this secret—his secret—hidden from everyone, especially from Y/N?

With the department’s approval, Jungkook walked away from the case, his mind heavy with the weight of the lies he’d told. But as whenever he looked at Y/N, the mother of his child, he knew that no matter what it took, he would do whatever it took to keep her from being discovered.

The announcement came in later that day: Case #178-C, the Seodaemun Serial Killings, officially closed.

The case was officially closed. The department was satisfied, the investigation wrapped up, and the media was ready to move on to the next headline. Jungkook, however, couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was unraveling. He had used the body of a pregnant woman, a victim in her own right, to save Y/N—and his own conscience.

And now you two, will be together forever, and it will be your own heaven where no one will ever disturb you both and your growing family.

Everything is fair in love and war after to all

And this was both.

The love stored in his heart and the war of his own conscious, and eventually the love for you and his heart lawn over the war in his conscious.

“So you see, yn? Start packing your bags. You’re moving in with me and we’re gonna get married and have a child and live happily ever after.”

He stares at you with a lot of love in his eyes, but there’s something darker and you recognize it because it’s such a familiar look

A look that you often saw in your own mirror.

You kiss him again and smile against his lips.

You will do anything for him and you know now that he will also do anything for you.

Everything was worth it.

He was always worth it.

And he knows for a fact that you’re always gonna be worth it

[hyunebunx]

˖˙ ᰋ ── hyunjin messes up and kkami helps him apologize

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff (might be the cutest thing i wrote recently)

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: this is definitely inspired by the new book i'm obsessing over right now so pls enjoy and let me know what you think!! <33

“Well, well, look who finally remembered he has a loving partner missing him at home.”

You hear Hyunjin sigh on the other end, sheepish, obviously expecting you’d cut him some slack for disappearing for days, like talking to him wasn’t the best part of your day. Touring was hard, and he’s been insanely busy from day one – you get it. That’s why, your tone’s more playful than intended, only being able to let the phone ring for two heartbeats before rushing to answer and let his velvety voice bring sunshine back into your dull life.

“Hello, the absolute love of my life I think about daily.” He clears his throat, brushing over your comment in hopes you’re not truly upset he hasn’t called in so long. Two days weren’t a big deal, but for clingy people like you and him, going 48 hours without hearing what the other has been up to was torture. It was just enough time for insecurity to creep in, feeding you lies upon lies about how he’d forgotten your relationship and was currently in the process of replacing you with someone else, someone better and more worthy of owning his heart.

Your heart flutters, a grin finding its way onto features despite your attempts at stopping it. “Hello, Hyunjin.”

“Who the fuck is Hyunjin?”

No longer able to keep the happiness at bay, you burst out laughing, the aggravation clear as day in the absence of his usual pet name. Hyunjin was your baby, nothing else. His name only ever left your pretty lips you couldn’t wait to press against his only when the situation called for seriousness.

Settling down, you ignore his displeased huffing. “The guy who hasn’t called me in a week. You might know him.”

You’re teasing. You both know it, just like he knows that behind your words, the only genuine thing is the longing and the wish to have him close again, missing the steady beat of his heart and his familiar warmth that usually lulled you to sleep, badly. Hyunjin has always been great at reading between the lines, figuring you out easily, like you were nothing more than an unchallenging puzzle he could solve with his eyes closed.

“A week? I know I messed up, love, but it’s only been two days. Not even, just about 45 hours.” You hear sheets rustling on the other end, helping you picture him lounging about in the hotel bed, hair most likely still damp from his previous shower. For once, the time difference was not absurd, allowing you to stare wistfully at the moon with certainty the other was doing the same, sharing stories of your love and trusting she’ll keep them safe.

“You counted?” You giggle, making yourself more comfortable on the couch, right next to Kkami who is sleeping soundly.

“I’ve been counting the hours until I can see you again the second I stepped outside our apartment.” He confesses, voice suddenly heavy with emotion before he gasps, ruining what could have been a sweet moment. “You’re telling me you haven’t?”

Of course, you have. Time seemed to go by incredibly slowly whenever he wasn’t near, the increasing distance causing his magnetic pull to grow weaker each day, but never diminishing, never losing its hold on you. That was impossible.

“No.” You lie blatantly, leaning back against the couch casually, one hand moving to slowly pet Kkami’s head whose slumber gave him the perfect excuse to ignore you.

“Liar.”

For the first time in your life, the fact that he knew you like the back of his hand was annoying.

“Don’t change the subject! You’re still not in the clear for forgetting about me for two whole days, Hyunjin.” You’re not actually mad, just feeling a little bit neglected. Hyunjin has never gone MIA like that, without even texting you brief updates throughout the day just so you’ll know he was still alive and kicking. Your boyfriend was thoughtful, sweet, and considerate – the radio silence you got for the past two days was very unlike him.

“I didn’t forget.” He counters, and you’re sure he’s shaking his head vehemently, denying all of your accusations. “I could never forget, not in this lifetime or any others.”

“Liar.” You mock him, making a face he can’t see and tease you about like he’d usually do. “You could have texted, at least. Let me know you’d be busy.”

“I’m sorry, love.” His voice is soft, apology genuine as can be when he doesn’t try to justify himself or find excuses. Hyunjin is aware that if the roles were reversed, he’d feel the same way you’re feeling right now, the anxiety and worry eating at him from the inside and leaving behind a restlessness he couldn’t shake off no matter how hard he tried to. And he does, to an extent. Not being able to contact you drove him on the brink of insanity, making him moodier and more difficult to work it, which was so unlike him.

“Can I talk to Kkami?” He adds, trying to make it up to you in his own, creative way you’ve come to love.

“What?” You can’t help but laugh, not sure you heard him right.

“Pass the phone to Kkami for a moment, please?”

Now you’re curious, wondering what that beautiful mind had in store for you this time. You’ve been dog-sitting Kkami since he left, sending him regular updates in hopes of brightening up his day and keeping the homesickness at bay. Your camera roll has been full of pictures and videos of Kkami - walking him, playing together and being cute just for Hyunjin’s delight. A small price to ensure your boyfriend’s everlasting happiness.

“Should I leave you two alone? Give you some privacy?”

He laughs, and you hear the sound of a bag zipping up. “Yes. This is just between us boys, sorry baby.”

Shaking your head with a smile, you do as he asks, lowering the phone close to Kkami’s ear like the pup could actually catch Hyunjin up on what’s been happening around the house since he left. At the sound of his owner’s voice, Kkami’s eyes open as his ears perk up, visibly excited to hear him after so long. With his tail waggling, Kkami listens attentively to whatever Hyunjin is telling him, sleep long forgotten as you start giggling next to him, not believing your eyes.

Kkami was not an affectionate dog, often biting or growling at your lover like he was sick of him. Hyunjin’s presence and fussing were a bore, the dog quickly growing tired of his excited nature, even though your boyfriend was the person he loved most in the world.

That’s exactly why, you’re taken aback when he sprints off the couch, running a lap around the living room before returning to jump at your feet, barking and licking the hand closest to him excitedly.

Dumbfounded, you bring the phone back to your ear laughing. “What did you say to him? He’s suddenly so happy to see me.”

“He’s groveling in my stead. I told him to show you how much I miss you.”

Your heart melts, and suddenly he’s all forgiven as tears well up in your eyes. “Hyun…”

“Actually, I asked him if he wanted a treat.” Your tears get absorbed right back as a laugh bubbles out of the both of you, with Kkami jumping into your lap to beg properly. “I guess he figured I wasn’t there to give him some, so now he expects them from you.”

“You set me up.” You say, voice laced with playfulness as you stand up, scooping Kkami with one hand to fulfill his request. A true glutton, he’d never forgive you if you denied him his beloved snacks.

“Maybe. But my words had the desired effect.” His tone is softer now, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “You’re laughing.”

Yet, the joy didn’t reach its full potential, and never will with hundreds of miles between you. Happiness in its truest form found you in a handful of moments, and for most of them, Hyunjin was right by your side, fueling you with the love and devotion he held for you and you alone. He made you happy like nobody else, helping you see color even on the darkest days. Your beloved loved painting, that’s what he did, you just never thought he could bring forth his talent and make you see beauty in everything, guiding you to see the world through his eyes that always sparkled like he held the entire galaxy in them.

“Baby.”

Hyunjin gasps so loudly, almost like he is on the verge of bursting with happiness, matching Kkami’s energy to a T, ready to jump through the phone to feel your love and affection again.

“Can we facetime? I miss your beautiful face.” You add once Kkami is back on his own paws, devouring the stinky treat in your hand as you crouch to his level.

“Facetime? Love, I’ll literally catch the earliest flight and be there in record time! This little screen isn’t cutting it anymore, I need to see you with my own eyes before I get so desperate I start walking back just to be in your arms!”

And that is your cue to get on a plane first and finally visit your boyfriend before he keeps his word and ends up at your doorsteps with nothing but a duffle bag and a sob story about how much he missed you to justify his careless actions.

[solxamber]

Match Made in Madness - Floyd Leech x reader

Soulmates get updates of each other's lives through an overly enthusiastic dream narrator. What's worse is that your soulmate seems to be completely unhinged.

It all starts on another one of those nights—the weird dream where your soulmate’s day is narrated to you in the most ridiculous fashion imaginable. No names, no faces, just an over-the-top, enthusiastic narrator who acts like they’re introducing a daytime soap.

"Good evening, soulmate! Ready for another wild day? Well, buckle up, because your beloved got into a fight with a vending machine!"

You groan in your sleep, already bracing for what’s next. The narrator continues with gleeful energy:

"After losing said battle, your soulmate kicked the machine and declared, ‘I’ll have the last laugh, metal box!’ Later in the day, they spent 45 minutes trying to convince a bird to become their personal spy. Spoiler alert: the bird didn’t agree, but they’re not giving up anytime soon!"

When you wake up, you rub your eyes and mutter, "What the hell is my soulmate doing?" Clearly, the universe decided to match you with an absolute madman, and you’re starting to wonder if you’ll even survive meeting them.

The dreams continue for weeks, and the updates get progressively weirder. Whoever this person is, they have the chaotic energy of a tornado in a convenience store. One night, you get this gem:

"Exciting news! Today, your soulmate tried to see if they could juggle three eels at once. Spoiler: they couldn’t, but they did manage to send one flying into a professor’s lunch. Next on the agenda, they challenged the ocean to a race. The ocean won."

You’re so used to these bizarre updates by now that you don’t even flinch. Instead, you’re beginning to wonder why the universe thinks it’s funny to torture you with someone who clearly doesn’t have a firm grasp on reality.

And then one night, the narrator drops a bombshell:

"Your soulmate spent the entire afternoon wondering if there’s any way they could convince their twin brother to switch places with them on a date— Oh wait, forget I said that! That one’s classified!*"

What? Now, you’re officially on edge. Not only do they have a twin, but they’ve been thinking about dating? This is spiraling out of control.

You’re sitting at the Mostro Lounge, thinking about the increasingly unhinged dreams when you spot Floyd Leech across the room. Normally, you’d ignore him because, well, Floyd has a reputation, and it’s not exactly “outstanding member of society.”

But today, something feels off. You’ve heard a few things—people say he’s chaotic, unpredictable, and obsessed with “playing” with his victims. And suddenly, you can’t stop thinking about the dream where your soulmate tried to juggle eels.

Floyd catches your eye, and before you can look away, he’s making a beeline for your table. Oh no. Please no.

“Hey, Shrimpy,” he says with his usual, lazy grin, flopping down in the seat next to you like he owns the place. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Close enough.

You swallow hard. “Uh… just thinking.”

“Thinking, huh?” Floyd leans in, uncomfortably close. “What about?”

How are you supposed to say, I think you’re my soulmate, but I’m also convinced you’re a lunatic? Instead, you nervously laugh. “Oh, nothing. Just… dreams.”

“Dreams, huh?” Floyd’s eyes narrow, but he looks more interested than suspicious. “Like… those ones where some random guy is juggling eels?”

Your blood runs cold.

“Wait—how did you know about the eels?”

Floyd’s grin widens. “Oh? So it is you! I knew it!” He laughs, leaning back with a satisfied look, like he’s just solved the greatest mystery of his life. “Shrimpy, you’re hilarious! I’ve been having those dreams about you, too. You’re always doing weird stuff, like… rescuing ducks or tripping over your own feet.”

Your heart races. “Wait, so—you're my soulmate?”

“Duh,” Floyd says, rolling his eyes like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The universe has a sense of humor, doesn’t it?”

At first, you’re convinced this is a prank, a cruel joke. But the more you talk to Floyd, the more everything starts to click into place. He’s chaotic, sure. Completely unpredictable? Absolutely. But he’s also the same person who, according to your dreams, once wondered if seaweed could be used as a fashion statement. He’s also the guy who—oh right—challenged the ocean to a race.

And now that you’ve met him, you realize one important detail: he’s perfect.

Well, perfect in the most unhinged way possible.

A week later, you find yourself in an increasingly ridiculous situation—Floyd has somehow convinced you to help him “steal” a giant fish from the campus pond.

“Why are we doing this again?” you ask, holding the bucket as he dives headfirst into the water.

“Because,” Floyd says between splashes, “the fish looks like he’s having a bad day, so we’re gonna give him a makeover.”

You stare blankly at the pond. “You want to makeover a fish.”

Floyd pops back up, water dripping from his hair, with a grin that could melt glaciers. “Yeah! Why not?”

You don’t have a good answer for that, so you just shrug. This is my life now.

That night, you’re lying in bed, starting to doze off, when the dream narrator pops up again:

"Good evening, soulmate! Today, your other half tried to give a fish a new look. It didn’t work, but they still had fun! Also, they’ve been thinking about holding your hand."

You wake up with a groan, rubbing your face in disbelief. Of course, Floyd would think about something like that in the middle of a fish-stealing escapade. But there’s something undeniably sweet about it, too.

The next day, Floyd grabs your hand without warning as you’re walking through campus. “I had a dream about this,” he says casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You smile, squeezing his hand back. “So did I.”

Maybe the universe isn’t such a prankster after all.

Masterlist

[ha-rinrin]

Torn Between Fire and Ice

summary: In a world divided between Piltover’s rules and Zaun’s chaos, a forbidden connection grows.

wordcount: 9.7k

pairing: Jinx x fem!reader (Caitlyn’s little sister)

warning: smut

sequel

masterlist

Zaun always felt different at night. The sharp edges of the day softened, and the endless noise dulled to a hum. Neon lights flickered in the distance, casting a soft glow over the worn buildings. You couldn’t help but smile as you made your way through the familiar alley, anticipation buzzing in your chest.

Jinx had been waiting for you, perched atop a stack of crates, her legs swinging idly. When she spotted you, that wild grin spread across her face, but it wasn’t the mischievous one she wore when she was causing chaos—it was the softer one, reserved just for you.

“Hey, troublemaker,” you teased as you approached, your heart lifting at the sight of her.

She hopped down from the crates with ease, her electric-blue hair catching the light as she landed in front of you. “Says the girl sneaking down here in the dead of night,” she shot back, her grin widening. “Pretty sure you’re the troublemaker.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto your face. “Maybe. But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Jinx’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the reckless, wild girl you knew faded away, replaced by someone softer, someone who let you see the side of her that no one else did.

She took your hand, tugging you gently toward her little hideaway—a tucked-away rooftop with a perfect view of the city below. It was your secret spot, away from the dangers of the Undercity and the watchful eyes of Piltover. Up here, it felt like it was just the two of you, like the rest of the world didn’t matter.

You sat together on the ledge, your legs dangling over the edge as the city stretched out beneath you. The hum of Zaun echoed in the distance, but here, in this moment, it was quiet. Peaceful. For a while, neither of you said anything, content to be wrapped up in the stillness of the night, just the two of you.

But the peace you felt was fragile. The thoughts you had been pushing away slowly bubbled back to the surface.

“I’ve been thinking about Caitlyn.” you said softly, breaking the silence.

At the mention of her name, Jinx’s playful demeanor faltered. Her eyes flickered with something sharper, a flicker of unease. She knew exactly who Caitlyn was—Piltover’s top Enforcer, the one person who could ruin everything for both of you.

Jinx’s legs stopped swinging, her carefree smile fading slightly at the name. She looked over at you, eyes cautious. “What about her?”

You sighed. It was hard to even say it out loud, but the more time you spent with Jinx, the more the worry grew. “I’m afraid she’ll find out… about us.”

Jinx shifted, standing up from the ledge and running a hand through her electric-blue hair. She crossed her arms, her expression tightening. “So what if she does? You think she’s gonna march down here and drag you back?”

“No, it’s not just that,” you replied, standing as well. “She’s been keeping an eye on me, asking questions. If she catches on… I’m worried she’ll see you as a threat.”

Jinx snorted, a sharp, bitter sound. “She already does.” She turned away from you, pacing a little. “To her, I’m just some dangerous criminal. A problem that needs solving.”

The words hung in the air between you. You couldn’t deny the truth in them, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. “It’s not that simple, Jinx. She’s doing her job, but I’m scared of what she’ll do if she knows we’re together.”

Jinx stopped pacing, her fists clenching at her sides. “What, you think she’s gonna throw me in jail? Put a bullet in my head?”

“Jinx…” The thought of something happening to her made your chest tighten. “I don’t know what she’d do. She’s determined, and once she’s on a mission…”

Jinx’s jaw tensed, her eyes flashing with that wild energy she tried so hard to contain. “Let her come. I’m not afraid of her.”

You stepped forward, grabbing her hand, holding tight. “I don’t want you two fighting. I don’t want this to end in some kind of showdown.”

Her eyes softened at your touch, though the tension still crackled under her skin. “Then what do we do? You gonna stop seeing me?”

The question hung heavy between you, but you shook your head firmly. “No. I’m not giving you up.”

Jinx’s grip on your hand tightened, her voice lowering. “Good. Because I’m not letting anyone take you away. Not her. Not Piltover. No one.”

You rested your forehead against hers, the warmth of her hand grounding you. “We’ll figure it out,” you whispered. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” she murmured, her voice softer now. “We’ll make it work. No one else matters, not when it’s just us.”

The world outside, with all its dangers and complications, felt far away as you stood there together, holding onto each other in the quiet of the night.

Jinx lingered in your embrace, the tension in her body gradually easing as your fingers brushed against hers. For a moment, it was as if everything beyond this rooftop didn’t exist. The weight of the world fell away, leaving just the two of you, hidden from prying eyes and the chaos that always seemed to follow Jinx.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, her fingers gently tracing a path up your arm. “You’re too good for me, you know that?” she whispered, a hint of vulnerability seeping into her voice.

You shook your head, smiling softly. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Sure it is,” Jinx teased, but there was a flicker of something else beneath the surface—doubt, maybe. Fear. “You’re the shiny one, always doing the right thing, while I…” She trailed off, glancing out at the city below, her lips pulling into a crooked smirk. “I blow stuff up.”

“Hey.” You gently turned her face back toward you, your thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re not just that, Jinx. Not to me.”

She blinked, her eyes searching yours as if she was trying to figure out how you could possibly believe that. “You’re crazy, you know that?” she muttered, but the small smile she gave you was filled with affection.

“Maybe I am,” you teased back, your voice soft. “But I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care.”

Her grip on your hand tightened, and she leaned in, resting her head on your shoulder. “It’s just… what if we can’t keep this a secret forever?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “I know you want to, but… I don’t know what’s gonna happen if Piltover finds out.”

You could feel the uncertainty weighing on her, and it mirrored your own fears. There was a delicate balance between the life you had in Piltover and the dangerous world Jinx lived in. The fear of losing her, of something going wrong, gnawed at you constantly.

“We’ll take it one day at a time,” you said softly, wrapping your arms around her. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Jinx was silent for a moment, and then she let out a small sigh, melting further into your embrace. “You’re always so calm about everything,” she muttered. “I don’t get it.���

You laughed lightly, your fingers gently running through her blue strands. “I’m not as calm as you think.”

“Yeah, sure,” she grumbled, though you could hear the hint of amusement in her voice. She leaned back, looking at you with that familiar mischievous glint in her eyes. “I don’t deserve you, but I’m not letting you go.”

“You better not,” you replied, grinning.

Jinx pressed her forehead against yours again, her breath warm against your lips as she whispered, “You’re mine, and I don’t care what anyone says.”

The intensity in her voice made your heart skip a beat, and before you could respond, her lips were on yours, soft yet filled with a fierce determination. You kissed her back, savoring the way her arms tightened around you as if she was holding onto you for dear life.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes were softer, the wild edge gone for the moment. “Let’s stay here a little longer,” she murmured, leaning back into you.

You nodded, content to stay wrapped up in her warmth for as long as you could. The night stretched out before you, and while the world below was filled with danger and uncertainty, here, in this little bubble of peace, it felt like nothing could touch you.

For now, that was enough

You made your way back to the Kiramman mansion, the weight of the conversation with Jinx still lingering in your chest. As you entered the grand entrance hall, the silence felt almost suffocating. You had hoped to get back to your room undetected, to process everything in peace, but fate had other plans.

Before you could make it halfway up the staircase, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. You froze, already knowing who it was. Caitlyn.

“Where have you been?” Her voice was calm, but there was a certain edge to it, like a blade hidden in soft velvet.

You turned around to face her, trying to mask the nervousness rising in your chest. “Just out for a walk,” you said, your voice casual but your heart pounding in your ears.

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “A walk, huh? In the middle of the night?”

You shrugged, attempting to brush it off, but she wasn’t letting it go. Her piercing eyes studied you closely, searching for any hint of something she couldn’t quite place. “You’ve been acting... different lately,” she said slowly. “And I’m not blind. You’re slipping away.”

Your stomach dropped. You hadn’t expected Caitlyn to catch on so quickly. “What do you mean by that?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Caitlyn took a step closer, eyes narrowing as she studied you. “You’ve been... distracted. You’re leaving the house at odd hours, and I know you’re not just wandering the city aimlessly.” Her voice dropped into something softer but no less serious. “What’s going on? You’ve been keeping secrets from me.”

You shifted uncomfortably, heart racing in your chest. The last thing you wanted was for her to find out about Jinx. “It’s nothing. Just... personal stuff.”

Caitlyn didn’t buy it. “Personal stuff? You can’t even tell me what’s going on? We’re sisters, you know. You don’t have to keep everything from me.”

You felt the pressure mounting, your mind scrambling for the right words. “It’s... it’s complicated, Caitlyn. You wouldn’t understand.”

Her eyes flickered with frustration, but she held herself back. “I don’t want to understand, I just want you to be honest with me. I’m worried about you.” Her voice softened, though the concern was still evident. “If you’re getting involved in something dangerous, I want to know.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. She was so close to the truth, and it terrified you. “I’m not getting involved in anything dangerous, okay?” you lied, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I’m just... trying to figure things out.”

Caitlyn’s gaze lingered on you, searching for the cracks in your facade. You could see the doubt in her eyes, but she didn’t push further. “Alright. But if something happens, you’ll tell me, right?”

You nodded, trying to force a reassuring smile. “I promise.”

The tension in the air didn’t entirely dissipate, but Caitlyn seemed to accept your answer, for now. “Fine. Just... be careful, okay?”

“I will,” you said softly, but in the back of your mind, a fear gnawed at you. The more you kept lying, the closer you were to everything unraveling.

As Caitlyn turned and walked away, you exhaled a shaky breath. You knew you couldn’t keep this secret for much longer, but for now, you’d do anything to protect Jinx from Caitlyn’s prying eyes.

You had just left your room, wanting a moment of space from the constant buzzing in your mind. The house was quieter than usual, the echoes of footsteps from other rooms distant in the silence of the night. You made your way down the hallway toward the staircase when you heard voices coming from Caitlyn’s room, low and urgent.

You stopped, instinctively pressing yourself against the wall, straining to listen. It was clear that Caitlyn and Vi, her girlfriend, were in the middle of something serious.

“You can’t keep doing this, Cait,” Vi’s voice carried through the door, rough around the edges. “Pushing her, I mean. You’re just gonna drive her away.”

You shifted slightly, heart starting to thud in your chest as you pressed your ear closer to the door, trying to hear more clearly.

“I can’t just sit back and watch her self-destruct, Vi!” Caitlyn's voice cracked with frustration, more vulnerable than you'd heard in a while. “Every time I think we’re getting somewhere, she pulls away, and I don’t know why. I can’t stand seeing her spiral like this.”

Vi’s response was softer, more measured. “I know, but you're doing more harm than good. You’re her sister, Cait. She needs you, but she also needs space. And right now? She’s not gonna give you that if she feels cornered.”

There was a pause, and you heard the shuffle of movement from inside. You couldn’t help but picture Caitlyn pacing, her worry turning into a tangled mess.

“I just… I don’t know what to do anymore.” Caitlyn’s voice softened, the raw emotion in it a stark contrast to her usual composed demeanor. “She’s been hiding something. I can feel it. She’s been sneaking around, and I don’t think it’s just the usual trouble. What if she’s involved in something… dangerous? What if she’s already in over her head?”

Vi sighed. “Maybe she’s involved in something, but don’t jump to conclusions, Cait. You don’t know the whole story. It’s not always as simple as we think it is. We can’t protect her by controlling everything she does.”

You swallowed, hearing the panic creeping into Caitlyn's voice. “I know. But if I can just get through to her, if I can get her to open up—”

“Then you need to back off, Cait. She’s not gonna open up if you keep trying to pry everything out of her.” Vi’s voice was steady, offering the kind of grounding Caitlyn probably needed right now. “She’ll come to you when she’s ready, but only if she feels safe. You have to let her make the choice.”

There was another pause. You could almost hear Caitlyn's thoughts racing. Her silence spoke volumes, and you knew she was struggling, torn between her protective instincts and her desire to respect your space.

“You know how stubborn she is,” Caitlyn finally murmured, her voice quieter now, almost defeated. “She won’t let me help her. I just… I can’t lose her, Vi.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. Caitlyn's fear wasn’t just for your safety—it was for her own place in your life. You felt that pang in your chest, a mixture of guilt and affection. She loved you. But could she ever accept everything about you? Could she accept Jinx?

“I get it,” Vi said, her voice softening as well. “But you can’t fix her by forcing her to change. If she feels like you’re pushing her into something she’s not ready for, she’s just gonna shut you out.”

The silence that followed felt heavy. You swallowed hard, barely breathing, afraid that any noise you made might give you away. You wanted to open the door, to step into the room and end this conversation before it spiraled further. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t let Caitlyn know everything just yet. Not until you figured it out yourself.

Finally, Caitlyn spoke again, her voice barely a whisper. “I just don’t want to lose her.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, the weight of her words making it harder to breathe. You knew she cared. But how could she ever understand? How could she accept what you’d gotten yourself tangled up in? How could she accept Jinx?

You turned away from the door, your heart pounding, and slowly made your way back down the hallway. Caitlyn’s words and Vi’s advice buzzed in your ears, a quiet reminder that no matter how much you wanted to protect your sister from the truth, the truth was already starting to slip through the cracks.

You sat on your bed, staring at the ceiling, the stillness of the mansion pressing in on you. 

That’s when you heard it—the softest sound, almost imperceptible. The window creaked open.

Before you could even turn, she was there.

Jinx, perched on the windowsill, her wild blue hair framing her face in the soft moonlight. She looked like a storm waiting to happen, electric energy crackling around her even in the stillness. She didn’t announce herself, didn’t need to—just slid in as if she owned the night.

Without a second thought, you shot to your feet and rushed over to her.

"Toots," she greeted you with a wicked grin, her eyes twinkling. "Miss me?"

You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t need to. You just grabbed her, pulling her into a tight hug, burying your face in her shoulder as if she was the only thing that could make the world feel okay again.

She didn’t mind, of course."Whoa there" she murmured, her voice low. She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you in even closer, her hands rubbing your back in slow, comforting circles. 

Your eyes widened for a moment, but you quickly glanced toward the door. Caitlyn’s room was only a few doors down. If she heard any noise, if she woke up… panic flooded your chest.

Jinx noticed the shift in your expression, her lips curling into a smirk. “What’s up, toots?” she whispered, voice playful yet low. She didn’t need to say more—her eyes sparkled with that familiar mischievous energy. “Scared she’ll hear us?”

You quickly nodded toward Caitlyn’s room. “She’s close… what if—what if she wakes up?”

Jinx tilted her head, the playful smirk still tugging at her lips. “She’s got her own thing, don’t worry. She won’t come barging in.”

You tried to calm yourself, but the dread still gnawed at you. Caitlyn was so close, and you couldn’t help but imagine her walking in, seeing you and Jinx, and everything unraveling. Your stomach churned at the thought.

Sensing the tension in your body, Jinx didn’t wait for an invitation. She crawled into bed dragging you beside her, her lithe body pressing up against yours as she wrapped her arms around you. She nestled into you, her cheek against yours as she whispered in your ear, her voice low and soothing, “Relax, toots. It’s just you and me. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into her embrace. Her scent was comforting, her touch grounding. The fear of Caitlyn hearing you slowly began to fade as Jinx’s presence filled the space. She could make the whole world seem small, as if it was just the two of you in that moment.

Jinx’s arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer. She pressed a soft kiss to your temple and whispered, “I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re not gonna lose me, promise.”

You felt your muscles relax under her touch, the weight of the world, and Caitlyn’s potential judgment, slipping away for just a moment. “Promise?” you murmured, still clinging to her.

Jinx hummed in contentment, her fingers softly stroking your back. “Promise.” Her voice was almost playful, but there was something deeper in it—a quiet certainty. “Now stop worrying, toots. You’re stuck with me.”

You buried your face against her shoulder, wrapping your arms around her in return. For now, nothing mattered except the warmth of her body next to yours, the steady rise and fall of her breath. 

Caitlyn’s room, the mansion’s walls, the fear—they all seemed a distant thing.

With Jinx here, you were safe. And in this moment, it was just the two of you

You woke up to the warmth of the bed, but the space beside you was cold. You blinked, groggy from sleep, and glanced around. No sign of Jinx.

For a moment, panic gripped your chest. Had she left without waking you? But then your eyes landed on the small piece of paper folded neatly on your pillow, the edges crinkled with the telltale signs of Jinx’s handwriting.

You picked it up, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. It was so her—scrawled across the paper in jagged, playful lettering:

"Hey, toots. Had to bail. Big plans. But I’ll be back. Promise. You can’t get rid of me that easily. Don’t miss me too much, alright?”

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. You read it over a few more times, your heart warming. But there was no time to linger. You had to get going. Jinx was already off doing her thing, and you had a million reasons to meet her at her hideout.

Just as you were about to step into the hallway, Caitlyn appeared. Her eyes caught yours, sharp and calculating.

"Going somewhere?" Her tone was casual, but you could hear the underlying suspicion in her voice.

You froze, unable to hide the tension in your body. "Just going for a walk," you muttered, but you could hear the lie hanging in the air.

Her gaze narrowed, clearly not buying it. "At this hour? Why are you disappearing. Avoiding me. What's really going on with you?"

A rush of frustration surged through you. You weren’t in the mood for this. Not now. "I’m fine," you shot back, your voice sharp. "I just need some space, Cait."

But Caitlyn wasn’t letting you off the hook. She stepped closer, her arms crossing over her chest. "Space? You’re acting like you’ve got something to hide. What is it? You’ve been distant, constantly avoiding me. Are you in some kind of gang or what?"

You could feel your chest tightening with every word she spoke. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. 

"I told you. I’m fine," you snapped, the words coming out with more bite than you intended.

Caitlyn’s eyes flashed with something hurt and frustrated. "No, you’re not fine! I know you, okay? You’ve been acting strange. Something’s wrong, and I’m not just gonna sit here and pretend it isn’t!"

You could feel the heat rising in your chest, the anger starting to boil over. "You don’t get it, Caitlyn!" you shot back, your voice rising with each word. "You don’t understand! I don’t need you to control me, okay? I can take care of myself."

Caitlyn's eyes widened, her jaw tightening. "I’m not trying to control you!" she shouted, her voice cracking with frustration. "I’m trying to help you! But if you keep pushing me away, how am I supposed to help?"

The argument was spiraling out of control, each word cutting deeper than the last. You could feel your heart pounding in your throat, a hot surge of anger making everything feel suffocating. You were done with this.

"Stop!" you yelled, voice shaking with emotion. "I don’t need you to fix everything! I just... I just need to do this on my own!"

You turned, fists clenched at your sides, not even sparing Caitlyn another glance. You were done. The tension, the secrets, the constant pressure—it was all too much.

Before she could say anything else, you marched toward the front door. Caitlyn’s voice rang out behind you, frantic. "Wait! Where are you going? We’re not done talking about this!"

But you couldn’t stay. You couldn’t listen to any more of her concerns. You couldn’t deal with her seeing you fall apart when you were so sure of one thing—Jinx was the only one who made sense to you. Jinx was the only one who understood.

You threw open the front door, not even bothering to look back as you stormed out. You didn’t care about the mansion, or the mansion’s rules, or Caitlyn's feelings right now. You needed space. You needed to find Jinx

The familiar creak of the door echoed through the hideout as you entered, your eyes adjusting to the dim, flickering lights. The place was as chaotic as ever—broken tech scattered around, wires crisscrossing like webs—but it felt like home, wild and untamed, just like her.

And there she was.

Jinx. She was perched on the edge of an overturned crate, blue hair glowing faintly in the dim light, eyes immediately locking onto you. Her grin was a mix of mischief and something deeper, something that made your chest tighten. She was trouble, always had been, but damn if it didn’t feel like you needed that trouble right now.

"Miss me, toots?" she asked, her voice dripping with playful confidence, as if she already knew the answer.

You barely heard the question. Without thinking, you crossed the room in quick, purposeful steps, the weight of everything outside—the argument with Caitlyn, the constant stress of trying to keep everything in balance—bearing down on you like a hundred-pound weight. All of it was exhausting. All of it was too much.

But Jinx?

Jinx was different.

She was already in front of you before you even realized it, her hands grabbing you by the waist and pulling you toward her with such force it made your breath hitch.

“You’re looking all wound up, toots. What’s got you so strung out?” she teased, her lips brushing against your ear. “Is it Caitlyn?” Her voice dropped lower, a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. “She doesn’t get it, does she? Doesn’t get you. Doesn’t get us.”

You froze for a second, but Jinx didn’t give you time to think. She was relentless, pulling you in closer, her body pressing against yours like she was trying to erase every ounce of tension. “Don’t worry about her,” she whispered, her fingers trailing along the hem of your shirt, lifting it up just enough to send a ripple of warmth through your skin. “That’s all behind us now.”

You inhaled sharply, the proximity to her sending your mind spinning. You needed this. Needed her. The thought of Caitlyn, of everything you’d left behind, seemed so far away in this moment. It wasn’t about Caitlyn anymore. It was about Jinx. 

Without a word, you pulled her closer, your arms winding around her, your face pressing into the wild, untamed mass of blue hair. “I’m so tired of all the drama,” you murmured against her, your fingers finding their way to the back of her neck. “I just want to forget about it all.”

Her hands slid down your sides, her touch featherlight at first, teasing. “Then forget,” she whispered, lips brushing against your ear. “I’m done with all that outside bullshit. No more stress, no more worries. It’s just you and me, toots. Let me take care of you.”

Your breath caught at the intensity of her words, and before you knew it, her lips were on yours. The kiss was soft at first, almost sweet, like she was savoring the moment. But the longer it lasted, the more it deepened, turning into something more desperate, more urgent. Her hands roamed, pushing you back against the nearest crate as she pinned you with her body, her touch sending sparks of heat straight to your core.

“You need to relax, toots,” she murmured against your lips, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye. “And I’m really good at making you forget everything.”

You didn’t hesitate this time, your hands slipping into her hair, pulling her back into you. She made the stress of Caitlyn and everything else vanish, just like that. All that mattered was her.

Jinx pulled you toward the couch getting on top of you, her fingers grazing under your clothes with a slow, teasing touch. She was in control now. She always had been, but tonight, it was like she was finally pushing all of your worries aside. She leaned in, her lips brushing against your neck as her hands slid lower, finding the sensitive spots she knew would make you melt.

“Let me take care of you,” she whispered, her breath hot against your skin. “You deserve this. No more bullshit. Just me. Just us.”

It felt like the world outside didn’t exist anymore. No more Caitlyn. No more stress. Just Jinx, her hands, her lips, her body against yours, making everything else fade away.

The room was thick with the heat of your shared space, the world outside slipping away like a distant memory. The only thing that mattered, the only thing you could focus on, was Jinx—her lips, her hands, the way she made you feel as if nothing else existed.

Her hands slid under your shirt, fingers grazing against your skin with a deliberate slowness that made your breath catch. Her fingers circled your nipples, pinching them under your bra. She was being playful, teasing, as if she knew exactly what it would take to undo you. And god, it was working. Every touch sent waves of warmth radiating through your body.

You moaned softly, your head tipping back as her lips kissed a trail down your neck. The sound of her voice, low and mischievous, echoed in your mind, but all you could do was hold onto her, feeling her pull you closer, needing her in a way that was raw and unfiltered.

“Relax, toots,” she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear. “You don’t need to think. Just feel.”

She tugged at your shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion before her hands were back on you, tracing the curve of your back and waist, sending shivers down your spine.

You ran your hands down her arms, pulling her even closer, feeling the press of her body against yours. You needed this, needed her, more than you could put into words. The tension you’d been holding onto—everything from Caitlyn’s confrontation to the constant weight of your own responsibilities—melted away with every kiss, every caress.

“You’re mine tonight,” she muttered, her voice a mixture of mischief and desire. She pulled away just enough to look at you, her eyes dark with promise. “No more drama. No more distractions. Just us.”

The intensity of her gaze made your heart race. Her lips found yours again, harder now, more urgent, as if she couldn’t wait another second. And you didn’t want her to. You wanted this. You wanted her.

Her hands moved faster now, working quickly to undress you. The fabric was quickly discarded, and her fingertips grazed over every inch of exposed skin as she kissed you deeply. You could feel her pulse racing under her fingertips, the way her body reacted to you just as much as yours did to her.

When she pulled back for a moment, panting lightly, she let her fingers trail down your body, stopping just above your waistband. “Tell me you want this,” she whispered, her voice thick with need. “Tell me you want me.”

You gasped at the intensity in her voice, your hands moving to her waist to pull her closer again. “I want you,” you breathed, the words feeling almost too simple for what was building between you two. “I need you, Jinx. Don’t stop.”

Her grin grew wider at that, the playful spark in her eyes never fading. She leaned in to kiss you again, and this time, there was no holding back. The kiss was all heat and hunger, the kind of kiss that made you forget everything except the electric connection between you.

Jinx’s hands were on you again, moving with purpose. She kissed you harder, more desperate. “That’s right,” she murmured, her lips never leaving your skin. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”

And you did. You let go of everything—the stress, the drama, the fight. All you cared about was her, the way she made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered. The way she made you forget everything that wasn’t this moment.

She kissed her way down your body, her lips leaving a trail of fire on your skin as she made her way to the waistband of your pants. You could feel the anticipation building inside you, the need for her becoming unbearable.

Her fingers dipped lower, pushing the waistband of your pants down along with your underwear, and you gasped as the cool air hit your skin. The contrast between the warmth of her hands and the sudden chill made every nerve in your body stand at attention.

Her smirk deepened as she leaned down, eyes dark with mischief and something much more primal. With a quick motion, she slid her hand down your body, her fingertips grazing over your sensitive skin. You barely had time to react before she thrust her fingers in you, quick and confident, making you gasp in surprise.

"Just relax, toots," she murmured, her lips brushing against your clit as her smirk never wavered. "I’m gonna make you feel good."

The sudden intrusion was sharp, but there was something about the way she moved that had you melting into her touch, your body arching up to meet her. Every nerve seemed to be on fire as she worked you, teasing you just enough to leave you begging for more. Her smirk told you everything you needed to know—this was her moment, and you were hers.

She set a rhythm, slow at first, watching you closely as you squirmed beneath her, unable to hide the way her touch unraveled you. She leaned down to kiss you right were you needed her, tongue sliding against your clit, you moaned, the feeling making you see stars. 

“You like that, don’t you?” she breathed against your clit, her pace picking up, more urgent now. “I could do this all night.”

You moaned, breathless from the sensation, your hands gripping her hair, needing her closer. "Don’t stop," you whispered, voice trembling.

And she didn’t. Jinx’s fingers worked with a relentless intensity, thrusting deeper, faster, at the same time her tongue was restless, sucking, flicking, you name her smirk only grew more wicked the louder you moaned. She knew what she was doing. She knew the effect she had on you. And God, you were desperate for it. For her.

The intensity of Jinx’s movements made your heart race, each shift of her body pushing you closer to the edge. She knew exactly what she was doing—her touch was confident, assured, like she was claiming something that was already hers.

You could feel her smirk against your skin, the way her lips curved into that playful, dangerous smile that made everything about her feel like a rush of adrenaline. Every flick of her tongue and every thrust of her fingers pushed you closer to the edge, but it wasn’t just the pleasure that had you unraveling. 

And then, it happened. Jinx’s fingers found just the right spot inside you, pressing in deep with a precision that stole the breath from your lungs. The way she touched you—exactly where you needed it—made your entire body jerk in response, a sharp gasp escaping your lips.

It was as if the world narrowed down to that one spot, to the feeling of her fingers curling inside, hitting a place that made your legs tremble and your pulse spike. The pleasure was overwhelming, pulling you under in a way that left you breathless and dizzy, your body reacting to her touch with instinctive urgency. She felt you shudder, the way your walls tightened around her fingers, and her smirk only grew, that mischievous gleam in her eyes darkening with each desperate movement.

“Found your sweet spot, huh?” she purred, her voice low, thick with satisfaction. She didn’t stop, her fingers continuing to work you with an expert rhythm, knowing exactly how to draw out every inch of pleasure.

Her eyes never left yours, studying the way your body responded, the way you melted against her. “Don’t try to hide it,” she whispered, her fingers pressing harder, deeper, hitting that same spot again and again, pushing you closer to the edge.

Your head tipped back, a soft moan escaping you as she coaxed the pleasure from you with relentless skill. You could feel yourself coming undone, everything inside you tightening as she took you to the brink. The pressure was unbearable, but it was the good kind—the kind you couldn’t pull away from even if you wanted to.

Jinx’s fingers never slowed, working you with a steady, practiced rhythm that had you gasping for air. Every time she pressed deeper, hitting that perfect spot, your body reacted like it was on fire. It was almost too much, but you couldn’t pull away. Not when she was giving you this—showing you just how much control she had over every part of you.

Her smirk didn’t fade. In fact, it seemed to grow with every reaction she got from you. The way you shuddered, the way you clenched around her, it only made her want to push further, to make you unravel completely.

"Look at you," she murmured, her voice a velvet whisper against your skin as her lips pressed against your neck. "Can’t even breathe, huh? You’re mine. Don’t forget that."

You couldn’t even muster the strength to argue. The words tangled in your throat, choked out by the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. Every movement of her fingers, every flick of her tongue,every suck on your clit, was a blow to your restraint. You were quickly losing yourself in her touch, the pleasure swirling inside you, coiling tighter with every second.

Her lips found your clit again, deep and urgent making out with it, as if she couldn’t get enough of you. She was everywhere—her scent, her touch, the feel of her pressing against you, pushing you further into the abyss of heat and desire.

"Do you feel that?" she breathed against your pussy, her fingers circling inside you with a teasing slowness, making you whimper in frustration. "You like the way I touch you, don’t you?"

Her voice was a low, seductive whisper, just close enough to drive you wild but not close enough to keep you from chasing after her. She had you completely under her spell, and you could feel it in the way your body reacted to her every move, every subtle shift.

The tension inside you was unbearable now. You were so close. You couldn’t stop the desperate need that was rising inside you, the way your body craved release, craving her touch more than anything else.

"Jinx..." you gasped, your hands gripping her hair as you tried to ground yourself, to hold on. But it was slipping away—slipping fast, and you didn’t want to stop it.

She responded with a deep, almost growling laugh, her fingers never stopping their relentless pace. 

You needed her, wanted her in a way that went beyond what you thought you were capable of. Her words, her touch, everything about her was pulling you under, breaking down every barrier, every thought that stood between you and the release you so desperately needed.

With a final thrust of her fingers, a quick flick of her tongue, she pushed you over the edge. It hit you like a tidal wave, crashing through every part of you. Your whole body trembled, your back arched off the bed as the pleasure flooded you in waves, leaving you breathless and dizzy.

Jinx’s smirk softened, her fingers slowing as she kissed you in the lips, this time tender, soothing. “Told you I’d take care of you,” she whispered, her voice low and filled with satisfaction.

You couldn’t respond immediately, still reeling from the intensity of it all, but the weight of her presence, her hands gently caressing your body, made everything feel right. She wasn’t just a force of chaos in your life—she was the storm and the calm, all in one.

"You’re perfect," she murmured, pulling you close and letting you rest against her chest, both of you still tangled in the aftermath.

The room was quiet now, except for the sound of your breaths coming back to normal. You didn’t need to say anything else—Jinx had always known exactly what you needed, when you needed it.

And you both lay there in the aftermath, bodies entwined, feeling the warmth of each other’s presence, the only thing that mattered in that moment.

The room was still as Jinx pulled you close, her arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that contrasted the wildness of the moment. She kissed the top of your head gently, her lips lingering there as she breathed you in, as if memorizing the feel of you in her arms.

"Hey," she whispered, her voice softer now, the playful edge gone. "You okay?"

You nodded against her chest, feeling the steady beat of her heart under your cheek. Her skin was warm, her touch soothing as she ran her fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp gently. It was grounding, calming, the contrast to everything that had come before.

"You were incredible," she added, her voice full of admiration, her thumb brushing along your jawline. "I mean it. You’re... amazing."

You looked up at her, meeting her gaze, and smiled softly, still trying to catch your breath. "You too," you murmured, your voice hoarse but sincere. "You never fail to impress me "

Her lips curved into a small smile, her eyes softened as she kissed your forehead, her touch tender as it lingered on your skin. “Good,” she whispered, her voice low but full of warmth. “Just... don’t forget that you’re mine. You hear me?”

You could hear the need in her voice, the way she craved that reassurance, and you knew it wasn’t just about the physical. She wanted to know you were here, with her, for her.

"I’m yours," you whispered back, your hand resting on her chest, feeling the rhythm of her heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

Jinx’s expression softened, and she pulled you closer, curling her body around yours as if she never wanted to let go. The room grew quieter, filled only with the sound of your shared breaths, the soft hum of connection. She was still holding you tightly, but there was a gentleness now, a peace in the way she held you as if she were making sure you were okay, that you felt safe.

"You did so good," she murmured again, pressing a light kiss to your lips. "Just... rest, yeah? I’m here."

You closed your eyes, the weight of everything melting away in her embrace. There was no need for words now. Just the warmth of her body next to yours, the calm after the storm, and the quiet knowing that you were both in this together.

And for a while, nothing else mattered

The mansion felt empty, the stillness wrapping around you as you stepped through the door. The fire crackled in the corner, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Caitlyn and Vi sat in the living room, both tense, eyes fixed on you as you walked in. Vi didn’t speak, but her presence was enough—silent support, waiting for Caitlyn to take charge.

As soon as Caitlyn saw you, her eyes narrowed, and she stood up. “Where the hell have you been?” Her voice was sharp, more demanding than concerned.

You let out a short breath, avoiding eye contact. “Out,” you muttered, shrugging off your jacket, your pulse already picking up. You didn’t need this right now.

“Out?” Caitlyn's voice rose, frustration building. “You’ve been vanishing for days. Coming back late at night, like everything’s normal. What’s going on?”

You stared at her for a long moment, your chest tightening. You weren’t ready to explain, not like this. “What’s going on?” You laughed, though it was harsh, bitter. “You don’t know anything. You don’t have any idea what’s really happening.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flashed with disbelief, taking a step forward. “Then why don’t you enlighten me? Because right now, it looks like you’ve lost your damn mind. Running around, hiding away—what is this?”

You could feel your temper rising, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Cait. You don’t get to tell me how to live my life.”

Her expression darkened, her fists clenching at her sides. “I don’t need to tell you, but I’m damn well going to ask,” she snapped. “Because this—this is not you. You’re acting like you don’t care, like it doesn’t matter. I’m not gonna sit back and watch you destroy yourself without asking why.”

“I’m not destroying anything,” you shot back, your voice low but intense. “I’m protecting what matters. You don’t understand any of it.”

Caitlyn took a deep breath, trying to rein herself in, but her frustration was palpable. “Protecting what, exactly? Yourself? You think running away from everyone, shutting people out, is gonna fix anything? That’s not how it works.”

You felt the heat rising in your veins, every word coming out faster, more defensive. “You think I don’t know that? You think I want to be like this?” You paced, the anger seeping through every step. “I’m doing what I need to do. You have no idea what’s at stake.”

“Then make me understand,” Caitlyn demanded, her voice quieter now, though it carried an edge of urgency. “Because right now, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m worried about you. You’re shutting everyone out, and I don’t know if I can just stand by and let you destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying anything,” you repeated, the words feeling heavy, almost too much to say aloud. “You don’t get to dictate what I do, Cait. Not now, not ever.”

The room seemed to grow colder, tension hanging in the air like a thick fog. Vi shifted on the couch, but she didn’t say anything—just waiting, silent but present.

You could feel Caitlyn’s gaze on you, her concern still there, but you didn’t want it. Not now. “I don’t need your help,” you muttered, your voice cold. “I don’t need anyone’s help. So just... back off.”

There was a long silence between you, Caitlyn’s eyes searching yours for any sign of the person she used to know. But you were too far gone, too protective of your own choices, your own reasons. You didn’t owe her an explanation. You didn’t owe anyone one.

Without saying another word, you turned toward the stairs, brushing past Caitlyn and Vi without a second glance. You didn’t care if they understood. You didn’t care if they were pissed.

You were done trying to explain yourself to them. of making up lies and poor excuses.

It was the day after the fight, and everything still felt like it was on the edge of breaking. You could still hear Caitlyn’s words echoing in your head, the hurt in her voice cutting through you like a knife. The argument had been brutal—words thrown like weapons, accusations you couldn't escape. You didn’t want to confront Caitlyn. Hell, you didn’t even want to deal with any of it, but the more you thought about it, the more you realized you were being pulled in two directions. One part of you was holding onto what was familiar—what was safe. The other part was ready to burn it all down just to feel something real.

That something real was Jinx.

You'd spent the night restless, your thoughts a whirlwind of guilt, frustration, and the constant pull toward the chaos she brought. So here you were now, slipping through the winding alleys of Zaun, where the grime and industrial decay hid you from the world. 

You'd barely registered how you ended up here—at the alleyway where Jinx always seemed to show up at the right moment. The dim glow of a flickering neon sign illuminated the darkness ahead, and you knew she was there. Jinx’s world didn’t follow rules. Everything she did was messy, raw, and chaotic, but that was where you wanted to be right now.

You turned the corner, your pulse racing. And there she was, hanging upside down from a rusty fire escape, laughing to herself as she spun around, her wild blue hair catching the light like a comet streaking across the night. She looked alive—reckless, untamed—and the sight made something inside you settle, as if you’d found your anchor in the madness.

When she saw you, her eyes lit up like fireworks. “You came!” she squealed, flipping down from the fire escape and immediately running toward you. She didn’t stop when she reached you—she wrapped her arms around you in a tight, playful hug, her body pressing against yours as if she couldn’t wait to be close.

“Of course I did,” you replied, smiling softly as you hugged her back. It was a relief to feel her warmth, her energy. “You okay?”

Jinx pulled back just enough to look at you, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Me? I’m okay, just like most of the time. But you…” She tilted her head, her fingers brushing against your arm. “You look like you’ve been thinking too much again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing in your chest. “Maybe a little.”

“Then stop thinking,” she said, voice soft yet playful, her eyes searching yours. “Let me fix that.”

Before you could say anything else, Jinx leaned in, her lips meeting yours in a soft, tender kiss. It was gentle at first, almost hesitant—like she was testing the waters, giving you a moment of comfort. Her lips moved slowly, sweetly, as her hand cupped the side of your face, her thumb brushing lightly over your cheek.

Your heart fluttered at the softness, the way she was taking her time, and for a moment, it was just you and her, wrapped in something sweet and simple. But then, as if a switch had flipped, the sweetness gave way to something deeper.

Jinx’s fingers tightened slightly on your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss grew hungrier, more intense. You responded without thinking, parting your lips as her tongue slid against yours, coaxing you into a messier, wilder dance. The fire in her kiss ignited something inside you, something raw and reckless that matched the chaos she brought into your life.

You let out a breathless laugh against her mouth, and Jinx took it as an invitation, deepening the kiss with a mischievous grin. Her hands tangled in your hair as she pulled you even closer, her kiss growing more insistent, more passionate. It was as if the world around you had fallen away, leaving just the two of you in this whirlwind of heat and desire.

Jinx’s hands found your waist again, her fingers digging in as she pressed her body tighter against yours. Her lips parted, coaxing yours open as her tongue teased you in a way that was both playful and intense. Every inch of you seemed to burn where she touched, where she kissed, and all the tension from before melted away into this one moment of pure chaos and need.

You responded in kind, your hands tracing the curve of her back, pulling her against you until there was no space left between your bodies. She let out a soft sigh, pressing you into the wall beside her as she kissed you with an intensity that made your knees weak.

It felt like everything outside of this moment didn’t matter. The guilt, the confusion, Caitlyn’s hurt—nothing compared to the way Jinx made you feel. Alive. Wanted. Like you could forget everything else and just exist in this space with her.

But then the harsh sound of footsteps interrupted the perfect storm of chaos you’d created.

"What the hell is this?"

Caitlyn.

Jinx stood still for a moment, taking in Caitlyn’s reaction before a slow smirk spread across her face. “Well, well, if it isn’t big sis,” she purred, clearly enjoying the tension in the air. “Guess the cat’s outta the bag now, huh?”

“Cait…” you started, stepping away from Jinx, but the damage was already done.

Caitlyn’s gaze flickered between you and Jinx, her face a mix of disbelief and anger. “Is this what you’ve been sneaking off to Zaun for? To be with her?” she spat, her voice full of accusation. “You know what she is, what she does, and you still—"

“Whoa, hold up,” Jinx interrupted, taking a casual step forward, placing herself between you and Caitlyn. “Let’s get one thing straight. It’s not like she’s committed some huge crime—unless kissing me and having sex with me is suddenly illegal.” Her grin widened, her eyes sparkling with mischievous glee. 

Caitlyn’s face contorted with fury as she shot a cold look at Jinx. “You think this is a joke, don’t you?” she snapped. “You’re a ticking time bomb, Jinx. A dangerous, reckless maniac with nothing but destruction in your wake. She’s nothing but another one of your toys to break.”

The words hit like a knife. Jinx froze, the grin dropping from her face as Caitlyn’s harsh accusations settled between you all.

Your heart clenched at the sight of the hurt that flickered across Jinx’s features, even though she tried to hide it. You couldn’t let it go on. “Cait, stop!” you interrupted, stepping forward, your voice stronger now as you positioned yourself beside Jinx. “She’s not your enemy.”

Caitlyn’s eyes darted toward you, disbelief mixing with the anger. “She’s using you! Can’t you see it? She’ll destroy you like she destroys everything she touches.”

“I love her,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through Caitlyn’s accusations.

Caitlyn blinked, her eyes searching yours for something—anything that could explain why you were making this choice. But there was nothing. Her gaze hardened, turning cold. “You love her?” she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of hurt, rage, and heartbreak.

“I do,” you said firmly, not backing down.

For a moment, Caitlyn stood frozen, processing the words, the weight of them sinking in. Then, her lips curled into a bitter, angry sneer. “You’re choosing her over me? After everything I’ve done for you?” She shook her head, disbelieving. “You’ve gone too far this time.”

Jinx scoffed, crossing her arms, unfazed by the venom in Caitlyn’s tone. “ Jinx stepped forward again, a little of her old spark returning. “Oh, come on. You don’t own her, Caitlyn. She’s here because she wants to be.”

Caitlyn's jaw clenched. "You're dangerous. You're going to get her killed. She deserves better than you."

Jinx’s grin twisted into something darker, her gaze not leaving Caitlyn’s. “She’s with me because she wants to be, I didn’t drag her here kicking and screaming,” she said, each word punctuated with a dangerous edge. “And if you think you can just waltz in and control her, you’ve got another thing coming.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Caitlyn’s anger burned in her eyes, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something else—fear, maybe, or desperation. But then, Caitlyn took a step back, her face contorting with a mixture of hurt and frustration. “If you think I’m going to just stand by and watch you drag her down with you,” she spat, “you’re wrong.”

Her voice dropped, the edge of it becoming cold and hard. “I’ll make sure the Enforcers know what you’ve done. I’ll see you locked away in Stillwater before I let you drag my sister down with you”. The threat landed with a chilling weight. Jinx didn’t flinch, but her expression shifted. There was no hesitation in her eyes. “You think the Enforcers are gonna stop me? You think they’re gonna “save” her from me?” Her voice was low and dangerous now, the spark of mischief fading for a moment, replaced by something darker. “You really don’t know who you’re messing with.”

Caitlyn’s lips curled into a tight smile, her voice trembling with fury. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you from tearing my sister apart.”

Jinx’s laugh was sharp, unbothered. “You’re already too late for that.” She took a step forward, closing the gap between her and Caitlyn. “She’s mine now.”

The words were final, like a declaration that sealed the fate of everything in the room. Caitlyn’s eyes hardened, her shoulders tensing as if preparing for something more. But then, she turned on her heel, her back stiff and her fists clenched at her sides.

“Don’t think this is over,” Caitlyn hissed, her voice dripping with menace. “You’ll regret this.”

She turned on her heel, disappearing into the darkness of the alley, leaving only the sound of her footsteps to echo in the tense silence that followed.

Jinx let out a long breath, her shoulders sagging slightly as the confrontation with Caitlyn came to an end. 

The silence that followed was heavy, but Jinx’s hand found yours, her touch gentle despite the tension. She turned to you, her voice low and vulnerable. “Hey… you okay?”

You nodded, your chest tight from the confrontation. “I’m okay,” you whispered, squeezing her hand. “And I’m with you.”

Jinx’s eyes softened, her usual bravado replaced by something more tender as she leaned in, cupping your cheek gently. “I’ve got you,” she murmured, brushing a soft kiss against your forehead. “You’re not alone in this.”

You leaned into her touch, finding comfort in her presence, the intensity of the moment fading into something warmer. "I know," you whispered back. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Jinx’s smile widened, her hand still cradling your face as she kissed your forehead again. “Good,” she whispered. “Because neither am I.”

Jinx’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, her purple eyes searching yours as a small, teasing smile crept back onto her lips. “You love me, huh?” she asked quietly, her voice a mix of playful disbelief and genuine curiosity.

You felt your cheeks flush at the question, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you smiled softly, nodding. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I do.”

Jinx’s smirk softened into something warmer, more real. She leaned in closer, her forehead gently resting against yours as she let out a quiet chuckle. “Damn,” she murmured. “I never thought I’d hear someone say that to me.”

You couldn’t help but smile wider at her vulnerability, reaching up to cup her face in your hands. “Get used to it,” you said, your voice soft but sure. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Jinx closed her eyes for a moment, taking in your words like they were something precious. When she opened them again, they were filled with a kind of warmth that made your heart ache in the best way. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she whispered, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

For a moment, everything else faded away—Caitlyn’s harsh words, the tension, the world around you. It was just the two of you, wrapped in a quiet moment of sweetness, a rare peace in the chaos of it all.

And as Jinx pulled back slightly, her fingers still intertwined with yours, she grinned. “Guess I’m stuck with you now, huh?”

You laughed softly, nodding. “Guess so.”

“Good,” Jinx murmured, her voice full of affection. “Because I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[starryeyedwolves]

On Purpose

The worst part about living with chronic pain, Remus thought as he tried not to scream at a piece of lint on the carpet, wasn’t the pain.

It was the being perceived.

And right now, he was being perceived by a very beautiful, very loud, very not supposed to be here Sirius Black.

“You didn’t answer your texts,” Sirius said, standing in the doorway like a rockstar who’d stumbled into the wrong green room but stayed because there was free champagne. His motorcycle helmet hung from one tattooed hand, black curls wild and a bit sweaty.

“That tends to happen when I throw my phone under the couch out of spite,” Remus said, not looking up from where he was half-folded on the floor, an arm brace beside him and a heating pad nowhere near the socket.

Sirius blinked. “Do I want to know?”

Remus squinted up at him. “My shoulder tried to secede from the union. I decided to pretend the couch was Switzerland.”

Sirius grinned. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m disabled, actually,” Remus snapped, immediately regretting it. But Sirius just raised an eyebrow, unbothered.

“I know,” Sirius said softly. “You also didn’t answer my texts for four days. So I assumed either death, abduction, or, more realistically, a spiral of Netflix and apathy.”

Remus grimaced. “It was a mild spiral.”

“You watched five seasons of Hell’s Kitchen, Remus.”

“…I stand by that.”

Sirius crossed the room, tossing his helmet onto Remus’ ancient armchair. “Get up. We’re making pasta.”

“I can’t get up, hence…” Remus gestured vaguely at the brace, the heating pad, the general aura of despair.

Sirius knelt beside him without a word, scooping up the brace with practiced hands. “Do you want help?”

Remus hesitated. The line between “want” and “need” had always been blurry. But Sirius never made him feel like a burden—just a very sarcastic houseplant with medical accessories.

“Yes,” he muttered.

Sirius nodded and helped him up with the kind of gentle ease that made Remus feel seen, not exposed. “I brought garlic bread,” he said as they shuffled toward the kitchen. “And James.”

Remus froze. “What?”

“James is in the car. He insisted. He has theories.”

“About my pain?”

“About why you ghosted me for four days,” Sirius said cheerfully. “One involves aliens.”

Remus sighed. “James Potter is a human migraine.”

“And yet, you adore him,” Sirius said, smirking as he slid the brace into place with a practiced twist.

Remus didn’t say it out loud, but Sirius wasn’t wrong.

The kitchen was small, dimly lit, and currently filled with the scent of garlic, basil, and tomato.

James had let himself in and was setting up a Bluetooth speaker like he lived there. Which, to be fair, he nearly had during uni. Peter was texting in the corner with a cat on his lap—Remus’ cat, who betrayed him instantly and fully the moment food arrived.

“I’ve solved your mystery,” James announced, holding up his phone. “Remus hasn’t been abducted. He’s just deeply, tragically in love with you, Padfoot.”

Peter didn’t look up. “We knew that in 2018, mate.”

“Shut up,” Remus groaned, already regretting not faking a coma.

Sirius beamed. “I knew I felt eyes on my ass.”

Remus gave him a look. “That was the cat.”

“You named the cat Virginia Woolf. You don’t get to talk.”

Virginia purred smugly.

They cooked like idiots. Burnt one batch of garlic bread, turned the pasta water into a volcano, and used enough parmesan to offend an entire Italian village. But Sirius was relaxed, sleeves rolled up, tattoos peeking from under flour-dusted skin, talking to Remus like they hadn’t been orbiting each other for years.

Like he knew.

And maybe he did.

Remus leaned against the counter, shoulder aching but tolerable now. “You didn’t have to come over.”

Sirius didn’t glance up. “You didn’t have to answer the phone either, but here we are.”

“I mean it. You don’t have to—”

“Moony.” Sirius looked up. “Stop. I wanted to. And I’ll keep showing up, even when you don’t ask.”

Remus swallowed.

There it was again.

Being perceived.

But this time, it wasn’t unbearable.

It was Sirius, seeing him with all his broken pieces, and not flinching.

That night, after everyone left and the dishes were mostly done and Remus was curled up on the couch with Virginia on his chest, Sirius hovered by the door.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Define ‘okay,’” Remus replied.

Sirius gave him a look.

“I’m better now,” Remus added. “Less pain. Less… apocalypse.”

Sirius hesitated. “I could stay. If you want.”

Remus blinked. “Like… stay?”

“Not in a weird way,” Sirius said quickly. “Just… hang out. Watch something awful. Make sure you don’t throw your phone into another abyss.”

Remus considered it.

Then patted the couch beside him.

Sirius grinned and dropped his bag, slipping off his boots. He settled beside Remus carefully, their shoulders brushing.

Virginia stretched dramatically between them.

“I’m not good at this,” Remus murmured after a while.

“At what?”

“Letting people in. Asking for help.”

Sirius didn’t look away from the screen. “Good thing I already broke in.”

Remus laughed, quietly.

They sat there for a long time, the flicker of some terrible sitcom lighting their faces, silence easy between them.

And for once, being seen didn’t feel like a burden.

Sirius had never been good at sitting still. He liked movement—liked the hum of an engine under him, the buzz of a crowd, the rhythm of his own restlessness.

But right now, pressed shoulder to shoulder with Remus on a secondhand couch that smelled like lavender he didn’t want to move at all.

Remus’ hair was mussed. Virginia was purring on his chest like a tiny engine. And something in the air felt raw and good and a little dangerous.

Because Sirius had seen Remus Lupin vulnerable before—post-surgery, post-breakup, post-epic-migraine-that-laid-him-out-for-three-days.

But this was different.

This was soft.

Unarmored.

And Sirius was not okay about it.

He watched as Remus drifted—eyelids half-shut, pain visible only in the way his hand twitched occasionally near his brace. He always tried so damn hard not to let people see. Like it was a moral failing, being in pain. Being tired.

Sirius wanted to punch every person that had ever made him feel that way.

“Still awake?” Remus murmured, eyes fluttering open, voice low and rasped.

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “Too wired. Adrenaline. Garlic bread. Cat.”

Remus’ mouth quirked. “She did try to smother you earlier. Consider it a warning.”

“I’d die a noble death,” Sirius replied solemnly, scratching behind Virginia’s ear. “Tell my story.”

“Here lies Sirius Black. Mauled by an overeducated feline while pining pathetically for a sarcastic literature professor with chronic joint issues.”

“Catchy.”

Remus blinked slowly, his smile turning softer. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I want to stay,” Sirius said immediately.

He could tell Remus was gearing up to argue, so he cut him off with the quiet truth.

“I like being around you, Moony. Even when you’re cranky and sore and smell faintly of eucalyptus oil. You’re still you. That’s the bit I like.”

Remus looked at him, then. Really looked.

Not a glance.

A seeing.

And Sirius let him. Let himself be perceived too, for once—tired, anxious, hungry for something he hadn’t named out loud yet.

Remus’ voice, when it came, was quiet. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make me feel like I’m not broken.”

Sirius’ throat closed.

He leaned forward, carefully, slowly—just enough for their foreheads to touch, not quite a kiss, not quite platonic either.

“You’re not broken, Remus,” he whispered. “You’re just real.”

Remus closed his eyes. And for a moment, everything felt very still.

Later, they ended up horizontal. Not in the fun, R-rated way Sirius would usually be hoping for—but wrapped under a threadbare blanket, Virginia curled at their feet, some absolute garbage show droning in the background.

Sirius couldn’t sleep.

His mind kept running.

Not about the usual—his job, his family, the existential dread of aging—but about how peaceful Remus looked when the pain eased. About the fact that he had shown up, and Remus had let him in.

And Sirius wanted that. Wanted in. For real.

Not just the “occasional pasta and banter” level. The hard stuff too.

The days when Remus couldn’t get out of bed. The weeks when the pain flared and he shut everyone out. The dark spirals he never quite admitted to.

Sirius wanted in on all of it.

Which was terrifying.

Because Sirius didn’t do long-term. He was chaos, and people liked him in small doses. Fun, funny, charming Sirius. Not the version that stayed up at 3 a.m. reading disability blogs so he’d stop asking stupid questions. Not the version that wondered if he could find a heating pad that didn’t suck.

But Remus made him want to be better.

Not different.

Just better.

“Hey,” he whispered in the dark. “You awake?”

Remus shifted slightly. “Mmhmm.”

“I like you,” Sirius blurted. “Like… a lot.”

Remus huffed a quiet laugh. “Is this your idea of a seduction? Because it’s very NPR at midnight.”

Sirius chuckled. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are. That’s why it’s terrifying.”

Sirius turned to face him. “What if we tried it?”

“Tried what?”

“This. You. Me. Us.”

Remus was quiet for a long beat.

Then: “You sure? I’m… a lot.”

“So am I.”

“Yeah, but you come with leather jackets and Instagram thirst traps. I come with joint instability and a pharmacy in my kitchen.”

Sirius leaned in, eyes soft. “Then we’ll make room for both.”

Remus looked at him like no one ever had—like he wanted to believe it, like he almost did.

“Okay,” he whispered.

And Sirius smiled.

Because for the first time in a long time, the world wasn’t ending.

It was just beginning.

There were good days.

Days where Remus made it through an entire morning lecture without having to pop a shoulder back into place like a goddamn haunted action figure. Days when his joints played nice, his head stayed clear, and he didn’t have to put on the smiling “No really, I’m fine” mask he usually wore around students.

Today was not one of those days.

Today was the kind of day where just breathing felt like a chore. Where the soft ache in his back had graduated into a sharp throb that made putting on socks feel like an Olympic event. Where his knee had decided to dislocate while he was brushing his teeth, and he ended up sitting on the bathroom floor with a mouth full of toothpaste and a deep, dull resentment of gravity.

He hadn’t texted Sirius.

Not yet.

Not because he didn’t want to—but because he did.

Because Sirius had that look when Remus was hurting. The one that said he wanted to fix everything and couldn’t. And Remus hated being the problem someone couldn’t solve.

So he stayed on the couch, curled up like a comma, watching reruns of Taskmaster with the volume low and Virginia sleeping traitorously on his bad hip.

The front door clicked.

He’d forgotten Sirius had a key.

“Moons?” came the soft voice, a little muffled, like Sirius had a grocery bag in his mouth.

Remus didn’t answer.

Sirius appeared in the doorway, wearing joggers, an oversized hoodie, and the worried expression that came standard whenever Remus was quiet for too long.

“I brought oranges. And those crisps you like that taste like regret and vinegar.”

Remus made a noise that might’ve been a laugh. Might’ve been a sigh.

Sirius set the bag down and crossed the room without ceremony. “Where are we at, pain-wise?”

“Seven,” Remus said. “Maybe an eight if I sneeze.”

“Mobility?”

“On strike.”

Sirius nodded. “Right then. Cuddle triage.”

Remus blinked. “What?”

“Tri-age, Remus. Three stages of care.” Sirius held up a finger. “Stage one: reposition the invalid.”

“I will smother you with this cat.”

Sirius ignored him, sliding onto the couch and gently shifting Remus’ legs across his lap. His hands moved with practiced care, adjusting the throw pillow, rubbing a thumb behind Remus’ knee.

“Stage two,” Sirius said, “is soup. Which I did not bring, because you hate canned soup, and I cannot cook soup. I did, however, bring crisps and those stupid gummy peaches that rot your teeth.”

Remus softened despite himself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And stage three…” Sirius leaned down, kissed the top of Remus’ head, just above his temple. “...is the most important. Which is reminding you that you don’t have to hide on days like this.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Remus lied, immediately and unconvincingly.

“Right. You were doing highly visible floor yoga with a dislocated knee and depression snacks.”

Remus chuckled, quietly. His body still hurt, but it was different with Sirius here. The pain didn’t shrink, but it didn’t swallow him whole either.

“Do you regret this?” he asked suddenly, the words escaping before he could filter them. “Being with me. Like this.”

Sirius didn’t answer right away.

He just took Remus’ hand, running his thumb over the knuckles—gentle, reverent.

“I chose this,” Sirius said finally, voice soft but steady. “Every part of it. I want the good days and the crap ones and the days when you can’t move, and the days you make fun of my Spotify playlists.”

“They’re criminal, Sirius. You have Limp Bizkit and Phoebe Bridgers on the same playlist.”

“Eclectic taste, baby.”

Remus smiled. Tired. Honest.

“Do you remember,” Sirius continued, “that day in March when you couldn’t leave bed, and you let me sit with you for like, six hours while we watched Great British Bake Off and bullied Paul Hollywood?”

“Yes.”

“That was one of the best days I’ve ever had.”

Remus blinked at him.

“I’m not with you despite the hard days,” Sirius said, leaning down again. “I’m with you through them. On purpose.”

There it was again.

Being seen.

Being chosen.

And this time, Remus let himself believe it.

That night, Sirius cooked pasta while Remus supervised from the couch like a very opinionated monarch. They ate curled up under a shared blanket, Virginia curled between them, the room filled with the smell of garlic and the quiet sounds of two people who had finally, finally stopped running.

When Sirius dozed off, Remus watched him sleep.

He thought: I never thought I’d get this.

He thought: I want this forever.

And he didn’t feel broken at all.

He felt loved.

He felt home.

[al-1-na]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟔 ~ 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥

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𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: nerd!Rafe x it girl!Reader

𝐂𝐖: explicit sexual content (18+), size kink, praise, slight inexperience

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Literally just Rafe secretly having a size kink and it shows when tutoring turns into more:)

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭; 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭; 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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You’re halfway through rereading the same paragraph for the fifth time when your phone buzzes.

Rafe: I’m outside.

You sigh in relief, toss your highlighter aside, and grab your hoodie. This biology project is going to be the death of you. The school counselor had warned you last week — your grade was one step away from tanking your entire GPA. That’s when she mentioned Rafe Cameron. Smart. Quiet. Top of the class. Total nobody, from what you knew.

Except… that wasn’t exactly true.

You’d recognized him the second you saw him for the first time.

Tall. Pale. Slick, to the side gelled brown hair, glasses slipping down his nose, always scribbling notes too fast for anyone to copy. His eyes were intense, like he was always solving some silent problem no one else could see. He was awkward, yeah — but not unattractive. Not even a little.

You find him sitting in his car, hands gripping the wheel like he’s thinking about driving away. When you knock gently on the window, he jumps a little — then unlocks the door.

“You okay?” you ask, sliding into the passenger seat.

“Yeah.” His voice is soft. Rougher than you expected. “You ready?”

You nod. “Please. If I have to look at another spreadsheet alone I might throw my laptop out the window.”

He just chuckles at that — quiet, but real.

His house is silent when you arrive — big and cold in that way Figure Eight homes always are. His parents are out of town, something he mentions in a clipped tone as he leads you into the living room. That’s why you decided to learn at his place to have some quiet.

You pull your books out on the floor and sit cross-legged in front of the coffee table, he kneels beside you, adjusting his glasses.

You don’t realize you’re staring until he clears his throat.

“What?” he says, voice low.

“You don’t look like the kind of guy who tutors.”

“What kind of guy do I look like?”

You blink. “Honestly? Hot professor.”

His ears flush. “I… uh… okay.”

You grin, teasing. “Don’t pretend you don’t know you’re cute.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t.”

There’s a beat of silence, charged. You clear your throat, flipping open your book. “Okay, genius. Let’s talk cells.”

He nods, but his voice is lower now. “Right.”

The tutoring goes well — until it doesn’t.

Somewhere between human cells and animal ones, you let your head fall onto your crossed arms and groan. “I’m never gonna get this.”

“You are getting it,” Rafe insists.

You glance up at him from under your lashes. “You’re really patient.”

He smiles. “You’re really pretty.” he says without thinking about it.

Your heart stutters.

You sit up slowly. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Yeah and I think…” His voice is quiet but rough now, breathier. “I think everyone wants you. But they don’t deserve you.”

Your pulse kicks into overdrive. “Why not?”

“Because they don’t see you. They just want to say they had you. They don’t care about your brain or the way you fidget when you’re stuck or how hard you try when no one’s looking.”

You swallow hard. “And you do?”

He nods, gaze locked on your lips. “I notice everything about you.”

You lean in, tentative. “Then do the thing no one else deserves to do.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

The moment his mouth touches yours, something snaps. It’s not shy, not careful — it’s hungry. He grabs your waist, pulling you into his lap like he’s been dying to do it for years.

You gasp into his mouth as he deepens the kiss, tongue slipping past your lips, hands roaming under your hoodie.

“Rafe—”

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he murmurs. “Don’t want to go slow. I’ll stop if you want me to.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

His eyes darken — deep and primal.

He lifts you like you weigh nothing, carrying you to the couch, laying you down gently. His hands trail under your shirt, thumbs brushing your ribs, your hips.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers. “So small.”

You whimper as he peels your hoodie over your head, followed by your shirt. His breath catches at the sight of your bra.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” he says, almost to himself.

You reach for his glasses, sliding them off carefully. He watches you, mesmerized.

He’s kissing your neck, your chest, trailing his mouth down your body with reverence.

When he tugs your leggings down, his breath catches. “No panties?”

You bite your lip. “I didn’t think you’d notice. Who would have know that something like this happens.”

He growls softly, eyes fixed between your thighs.

When he finally undresses and pushes into you, you gasp — overwhelmed by the stretch, by the sheer fullness of it. His brows furrow, jaw tight.

“Too much?” he pants.

You shake your head, nails digging into his back. “No. Just— big.”

He moans at that, lowering his weight onto you, hips rolling deeper. “You’re so small,” he breathes, one hand sliding down your stomach. “Look.”

You glance down and see it — the bulge in your lower belly every time he thrusts in.

“Oh my God—”

“I can see myself inside you,” he growls, pressing down gently. “That’s so hot. You’re taking all of me like the good girl you are.”

You’re moaning now, head thrown back, body arching under him. He’s relentless — but never rough. Just deep. Intimate. Intoxicating.

He leans down, kissing your temple as you whimper.

“You’re mine now, y’know that right?” he whispers.

“I’m yours,” you breathe. “I’m all yours.”

His rhythm falters, and the moment your walls clench around him, you feel him spill inside you with a strangled groan, burying his face in your neck.

You lay there afterward, tangled in his arms, his fingers stroking your back like he can’t believe you’re real.

“I didn’t think you’d ever notice me,” he whispers.

You smile into his chest. “I’ve always noticed you, Rafe.”

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐨 𝐢’𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰!!! :)

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @notkiaralol @rcsbabydoll @cokewithcameron @psychocitylights @favzcarpentr @alwaysherother @mavericksice @daryldixon83 @luvinqaidan @43hughes @k4yr14 @asher-420s-blog