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azzibuckets · 2 days ago

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worth the wait part one

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: happy pride! here's part one of a new series of pazzi enemies to fwb to lovers. feel free to let me know your thoughts, and live reacts are always greatly appreciated!

word count: 4.3k i believe

wtw masterlist

2018 - Minsk, Belarus

Clang.

The ball spins pathetically around the rim once, twice, before falling desolately to the side. Azzi fixes her eyes on the floor as she jogs to rebound it, refusing to meet the the stare of her coaches. It’s her fourth miss in a row, and usually she’s able to shake it off and focus on the next shot if it weren’t for the cocky, arrogant, blonde headed bitch—that shouldn’t be so good at basketball but somehow fucking is—snickering behind her.

“Fudd, I think you’re supposed to be aiming for the net,” the blonde in question says under her breath, glee written across her face before she dribbles the ball between her legs, steps back, and shoots it so cleanly that it falls through the net without disturbing a single thread.

Azzi grits her teeth, trying to resist the urge to chuck the basketball at Paige’s smirk. But not wanting to get benched by her coaches that are always droning on and on about sportsmanship and supportive team culture, she settles for a hard shoulder check instead, sending Paige wincing and grabbing her arm like the typical drama queen that she is.

Azzi rolls her eyes. Usually she’s all for teamwork and bonding and all that sappy crap, but she’s also never been on the same team with a girl whose sole intention seems to be pressing on every one of her nerves until she explodes. “Fuck you, Bueckers.”

“I mean, geez,” the blonde wiggles her eyebrows, her smirk widening from cheek to cheek. “Get in line.”

“I wouldn’t touch you even if you paid me a million dollars,” Azzi mutters, shuddering at the thought of even hugging her.

“I don’t know,” the older girl drawls. Her fingers graze across Azzi’s shoulder, sneaking under the cloth of her jersey to brush over the ridge of her muscle. “You feel pretty tense.” She trails her hand slowly down her arm. “If you ever need some stress relief, you know where to find me.”

“Don’t touch me,” Azzi snaps, jerking away. Paige only winks before jogging to catch up with the rest of the team as they break on the bleachers. Cheeks turning pink, Azzi groans and stomps away.

From day one, Paige has been like that: flirtatious, easy-going, charming. Everyone on the team had naturally gravitated towards her last season—that is, everyone but Azzi, if you don’t count the first week that they’d met. During tryouts, she’d been mildly intrigued by how a bone-skinny white chick was crossing over the most seasoned girls on the team, and when Paige had nodded coolly at her and they’d had a brief conversation, that intrigue had turned into interest. The way Paige had looked at her, had sidled closer and whispered a joke in her ear, had made Azzi feel seen on a team full of players so much older and experienced than she was. But to hell with that, Azzi thinks. Because since then, she'd gotten to know Paige for who she really is, and the older girl is nothing but a self-conceited asshole.

༉‧₊˚✧

“I don’t know,” Sam Brunelle says, taking a slow sip of her water. “I think she’s pretty hilarious.”

Azzi stabs a piece of broccoli with her fork. “She’s immature,” she corrects. “She makes fun of people and she can’t go one goddamn minute without making a stupid yo mama joke.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess she likes to have a lot of fun,” Sam relents. “But she keeps the team light-hearted. I think that’s pretty important.”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Azzi fumes. Paige has always been supportive of everyone else on the team, cheering them on from the bench or hyping them up after big games. Azzi, on the other hand, has never received the same treatment. Their history is a bitter war of sharp elbows and sneers; she can't even remember the last time Paige had said something remotely nice to her. “She leaves you alone, but she’s always messing with me.”

Sam, one of the oldest on the team and ever the wiser, tilts her head to study the dark haired girl carefully. “I think she’s always messing with you ‘cause you’re the only one that doesn’t like her.” She shrugs. “Maybe she cares about your opinion.” She leans in closer with a conspiratorial whisper. “Maybe she wants to be friends.” She utters the last word like a bad word, and Azzi rolls her eyes and throws a crumpled up napkin at her. Sam breaks out in laughter at the look of disgust on the younger girl’s face.

Azzi’s about to respond when she’s interrupted by a tray dropping loudly on their table. The devil herself plops down in one of the seats, stretching out her legs as if she hadn’t just rudely cut off their conversation. Then she has the nerve to blow out a long, tired sigh, as if she’s doing them a favor, gracing the two girls by just being there. Azzi’s jaw tightens in exasperation, but Sam is all sunshine and smiles. “Hey, P,” she grins, dapping Paige up.

Azzi glares down at her plate, trying to ignore Paige breathing heavily next to her. Maybe if she pretends that she doesn’t exist, the blonde will finally leave her alone.

But panting and breathing get louder and louder, and Azzi swears she can feel it hot on her cheek. Snapping her head, she turns face to face with Paige, who’s looking over her shoulder—way too close for comfort, has she ever heard of personal space?—with twisted lips and furrowed eyebrows. “Yo, that shit looks nasty,” Paige says, eyes trained on Azzi’s plate.

“Ugh, get away from me,” Azzi complains, roughly pushing her away. Her heartbeat, having quickened from their proximity, begins to slow down, but her body physically recoils. “And it’s called vegetables, Bueckers,” she adds flatly. “Maybe you should try eating healthy for once too.”

Paige sits back in her seat, clearly pleased from her knack of getting a ruse out of Azzi so easily. Pointing her fork at her pasta, she says, “Carbs,” then at at her corndog and says, “Protein,” and then at the dollop of ketchup on her plate and says, with an overly pleased smile, “Vegetables.”

Sam immediately cracks up as if Paige had made the funniest joke in the world. Azzi stomps on her foot under the table. “Your eating habits are gonna catch up to you one day,” Azzi sniffs, shoving the last of her broccoli into her mouth, hoping she can get the meal over with as quick as possible so she can hide in her room, away from annoying blondes that breathe too loud and give unwarranted, wrong opinions.

“Until then, I’ll still be breaking your ankles,” Paige grins, clearly referencing the moment in practice earlier that day where Azzi had tripped over her own feet in an attempt to defend Paige’s drive to the basket. She’d been so angered by the pure confidence on Paige’s face and the trash talk in her ear the entire scrimmage, that everything she’d learned about lateral footwork had flew out of her mind as she’d fallen on Paige and even fouled her in the process.

“God, you’re insufferable.” Azzi gives Paige the dirtiest look she can manage. “Who even invited you to sit with us?”

“What, I need an invite to bond with my teammates?” Paige leans over again, shoulder poking into Azzi's as she reaches over her to snatch the garlic bread from her plate. “You don’t mind, right? Since you got your veggies and all?” Before the younger girl can even blink, the garlic bread is stuffed inside her mouth, and Paige starts chewing loudly without breaking eye contact with Azzi. Sam snorts in disbelief.

“Oh my god!” Azzi stands up, cheeks reddening with anger. “Are you actually a child?” Pushing her chair back loudly, she leaves the dining room in a storm.

Sam winces. “Are you trying to kill her?”

“Not my fault she gets all hot and bothered just like that.” Paige wipes a crumb from her lip, napkin falling away to reveal a satisfied smile.

Sam shakes her head knowingly. “You like it.” She’s known both of the girls for more than a year now, and by now she’s used to the fact that they have their own dance. It’s weird, and they have a funky sort of chemistry that they’ll both probably refuse to ever address, but it makes for some good drama, Sam thinks.

Paige snorts. “No, I don’t. People that uptight need to loosen up every once in a while. It’s good for them.”

“It’s okay to admit that you like seeing her get flustered.” Sam nudges Paige’s arm, a twinkle in her eye. “For someone who claims to hate her, you talk about her an awful lot.”

“Nah, shut up Sam.” Paige stands up abruptly, moving to grab her finished plate.

“You want me to shut up?”

“Yes,” Paige grunts, pushing her chair in.

“So I guess you don’t want me to tell you about the room assignments?”

Paige freezes. Turning around slowly, she glares at the taller blonde. “What room assignments?”

Sam takes a piece of paper from her pocket. “Oh, nothing,” she says airily, waving it. “Just that you and Azzi are rooming together tonight.”

“What?” Paige grabs the paper from Sam, scanning it anxiously. True enough, it says Room 310 - Paige Bueckers, Azzi Fudd. “But I thought I was rooming with Hailey!”

Sam beams. “I guess the coaches changed their mind.”

“No.” Paige paces around, gripping the paper so tight it turns into a ball in her hand. “I can’t room with Fudd. She probably sleeps with a stick up her butt too!”

“She’s not that bad, P,” Sam defends. “You guys are more alike than you think.”

“I’m not bossy, or a party pooper, or incapable of having any fun,” Paige shoots back, offended that Sam would even liken her to someone who doesn't think yo mama jokes are funny. Because who doesn't think yo mama jokes are funny?

Sam shrugs. “I’m just saying. You guys have an awful lot of assumptions about each other. Maybe if you actually spent some time together, you’d change your mind a bit.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Paige scoffs, even though it makes total sense. But she’s never really been logical when it comes to Azzi, and she’s not about to start now. “Whatever. I’m gonna go check on the room and make sure she doesn’t have her hands all over everything already.”

Raising an eyebrow, Sam watches her go too.

When Paige reaches the room, she takes second to square her shoulders and catch her breath. Azzi has a way of makes her upset like no one else can, her heartbeat always skyrocketing and chest heaving after their arguments. But she needs to control herself, to uphold the facade of unbotheredness. Taking a deep breath to calm herself down, she slides her key card over the lock and opens the door with a swing.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Azzi’s jaw drops, the halfway folded shirt in her hand dropping on the bed.

“Surprise.” Paige smirks. “Hey, roomie.”

“Nuh uh.” Azzi massages her temples, panic embedded in the lines of her eyes. “This is not happening right now.”

“I know.” Paige closes the door with her foot and drags her suitcase and duffel bag in. “Too good to be true, huh?”

“I thought I was rooming with Sam!” Azzi says indignantly.

“And I thought me and Hailey were gonna be together,” Paige grumbles. “Trust me, I don’t wanna be here any more than you do.”

Azzi flops back on the bed, groaning, and Paige freezes when her shirt slides up to show the tan skin of her abs, muscles flexing as she reaches to grab a pillow. Swallowing hard, she forces her eyes away. Now was not a good time to be admiring the body of her sworn enemy, no matter how good she looked. “I can’t room with you,” Azzi repeats.

“Yeah, well.” Paige tosses her backpack on the armchair and starts unzipping her suitcase. “It is what it is.” She starts rummaging through her clothes, a pile of USA gear and Hopkins hoodies slowly starting to form next to her as she searches.

“What are you doing?” Azzi asks, stunned by how the blonde has managed to make a mess of their room in a mere two minutes.

“Deciding my fit for tomorrow.” Paige scrunches her eyebrows as she looks between two blue shirts, both exactly the same except one slightly darker in shade. “Gotta look good for the ladies.”

“Paige, you wear the same thing every day.” Azzi stuffs the pillow over her face in an effort to suffocate herself and end this nightmare. “The color and pattern doesn’t matter when it’s still shirts and sweats.”

“It’s cute that you pay so much attention to what I wear,” Paige says, “But I actually brought jeans and flannels this time. So yes, it does matter.”

“Whatever.” Azzi gets up and heads for the bathroom, kicking aside a neon green hoodie in her way. Paige yelps, reaching for the ugly piece of clothing and cradling it in her hands. “Don’t make a mess. I’m gonna take a shower, if you know what that is.”

Paige narrows her eyes, bringing the hoodie closer to her chest. “Don’t leave your products out, or I’mma use all of them.”

༉‧₊˚✧

Paige wakes up before her alarm clock. Sun streams in through the windows, casting a golden haze on everything in the room, including the girl asleep on the bed beside her. She’s snuggled into a pink blanket that she’d brought from home, lips slightly parted as quiet snores come from her mouth. She looks soft, vulnerable, her guard down in a way Paige has never seen before.

Her mouth goes dry for a second, and she doesn’t know why. Shaking her head at herself, Paige stares up at the ceiling. The team has film before breakfast, then a workout, followed by recovery, lunch, more film, evening practice, and team dinner. It’s a packed day, and Paige already feels the lethargic pull of sleep from just sitting in the warmth of her sheets. Forcing herself out of bed, she begins to get ready.

It’s ten minutes to nine, the time they’re supposed to meet, when Paige is about to head out the door. Azzi is still fast asleep, and for a second she considers being nice and shaking her awake. But then she remembers Azzi calling her insufferable yesterday, and snickering to herself, she leaves. That girl has never been late to a single workout; it would do her some good to be humbled every once in a while.

Their coach is drawing out a play on the whiteboard next to the TV when Azzi runs in, out of breath, curls a mess and eyes anxious. “I’m so sorry,” she pants. “I slept in.”

“Get in your seat, Fudd."

Azzi looks around the room frantically. The nearest empty seat is next to Paige, damn her, and she’s sure her already annoyed coach wouldn’t appreciate her wasting even more time searching for another seat, so she sidles over and sits down resentfully.

“Morning, sunshine,” Paige whispers from the corner of her mouth.

Azzi sniffs suddenly, smelling a whiff of something familiar. Eyes narrowing, she leans in closer and takes another inhale to be sure. “Is that my shampoo?” she whispers angrily.

“Coconut with a hint of hibiscus and honey?” Paige shrugs, trying to fight back her laughter. “Perhaps.”

“I told you not to touch my products!”

“And I told you that I’d use them if you left them out, so.” Paige continues sketching in her notebook, not bothering to even look over at Azzi.

“You don’t even have curly hair,” Azzi says scathingly.

“Oops,” Paige says, not looking very sorry at all. “Maybe I shouldn’t have used your conditioner too then.”

Azzi makes a mental note to pack away all her shower products later. Her roommate is actually deranged. “And why the fuck didn’t you wake me up?” she hisses.

“You were too deep in your beauty sleep.” Paige side eyes her. “Doesn’t seem like it worked, though,” she adds, knowing full well that she’s lying. Paige may be a hater, but she's still gay, and much to her chagrin, Azzi, despite frizzy hair and bags under her eyes, is admittedly pretty.

“I thought teammates were supposed to have each others’ backs,” Azzi grits out.

“I guess you have a point.” Paige shifts her notebook within eyesight of Azzi. “You can copy my notes.”

“Really?” Azzi, stunned by her sudden kindness, huddles in to squint at the paper. Her face falls when she realizes that the only thing on the sheet is a big dick, with even bigger balls. And hair.

“You’re an asshole,” Azzi says, slightly embarrassed that she'd thought Paige could even be capable of being nice for a single second.

“Not a dick?” Paige can’t help it. The opportunity was just too good to pass up.

Azzi doesn't speak to her for the rest of the day.

༉‧₊˚✧

They win their first game, blowing out Italy 86-48. Paige is giddy, having finished with a solid 12 points and 5 assists, and she��s riding that high until her dad deliver the bad news.

“We’re doing what?”

Bob pats Paige on the back. “We offered to take out the Fudds for dinner, our treat.”

“The Fudds?” Paige echoes incredulously. “As in, Azzi’s family?”

“That’s correct.” Bob nods. “We happened to sit next to her parents during the game and we were talking about how good you and Azzi click together.”

“On the court,” Paige specifies. “And only on the court. Basketball’s the only thing we ever agree on, and that’s being generous.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” her dad reprimands. “They’re nice people, Katie and Tim, and Azzi seems lovely. We’re going to dinner and we’re having a good time.” His tone leaves no room for disagreement, and Paige slumps down in her seat, defeated. “It’s an up-scale place, so go to your room and pick out something nice to wear. Meet us in an hour in the lobby.”

“Okay,” she mumbles begrudgingly.

The rest of the drive back to the hotel is silent as Paige stews in her thoughts. Sitting through dinner with Azzi seems hellish, and knowing her parents’ tendency to talk on and on, it’ll surely end up being a multi-hour affair. Maybe she can fake being sick and leave early. Paige brightens up at the idea, and spends the next fifteen minutes devising a plan to fully sell it.

Wanting to put off dinner as long as possible, Paige takes her time heading back to the room, choosing to take the stairs even though her legs are still tired and aching from the game. She’s barely opened the door to her room when Azzi’s scrambled up from the bed and saying, “I need to borrow something.”

“Borrow something?” Paige goes to the closet and begins to ruffle through her more formal tops, starting to put together her own outfit.

“I realized I forgot all my nice clothes at home,” Azzi says. “I only have sweats and shit.”

“Aw, weren’t you just making fun of me for—”

“Paige,” Azzi interrupts. “Now is not the time.”

Paige rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine.” She looks through her clothes again, this time with a wary eye. “I guess you can borrow this.” She throws a long black sleeve at Azzi.

“Bro, what is this?” Azzi gingerly picks up the piece of clothing with two fingers as if it’s poisonous. “You gave me your ugliest top!” she accuses.

“I didn’t!” Paige turns her back. “Beggars can’t be choosers anyways.”

“Can’t I have something, like, a little bit more interesting?” Azzi pushes past Paige, taking her spot in front of the closet to look for herself. “Like this,” she holds up a tiny crop top that’s more like a glorified sports bra, and Paige’s eyes widen.

“Hell no.” The older girl snatches it away from her. “We’re eating dinner with our parents, not going to a party.”

“There’s gonna be cute Belarusian guys at the restaurant, I know it,” Azzi complains. “I gotta look my best.”

Paige blinks. “I don’t know why you think that helps your case.”

“Well, what about this one?” Azzi points to another crop top, this one slightly less revealing. Paige is about to relent when she imagines Azzi showing up with even a sliver of abs and toned arms out. The thought of having to sit next to Azzi, with nowhere to escape, when she’s looking like that, makes her shiver, and she hates it.

“No,” Paige says firmly. “You’re shorter than me so it’s definitely gonna show way too much skin on you.”

“When the fuck did you turn into a nun?” Azzi grumbles.

Paige glares at her. “Look, either you borrow this one or you get nothing. It’s up to you.”

Protesting under her breath, Azzi grabs back the black long-sleeve and goes to the bathroom to change. Paige changes too and sits on the bed as she waits for the dark haired girl to finish up. When Azzi finally comes out, she stares at Paige dumbfoundedly. “You’re literally wearing a crop top and short shorts.”

“I can wear revealing shit,” Paige says. “You’re fifteen. It would be a crime if I enabled the baby of the team to walk around in clothes like this.”

“I’m not the baby of the team,” Azzi says, crossing her arms even though she knows she younger than most of her teammates by a full two years. “And fifteen is plenty big.”

“You are,” Paige argues back.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Harrumphing, Azzi gives up and leaves the room, forcing Paige to scramble to get her phone and purse in order to catch up. The doors of the elevator are about to meet when Paige hurriedly sticks her hand between them and pushes her way in. “Seriously?” she pants, looking pointedly at where Azzi’s finger had been frantically pushing the close button.

Azzi‘s mouth pulls into a tight line. “You coulda taken the stairs. Lord knows you need the conditioning.”

Paige scoffs, and the rest of the elevator ride down is silent, both of them bristling.

Their parents are running late, so they take a seat in the lobby to wait. Paige makes sure to leave an extra chair between them. Silence fills the air between them, heavy and pervasive, until Azzi suddenly asks, “Can I ask you a favor?”

“No.” Paige’s response is immediate. She'd already very generously let Azzi borrow her clothes. What else could the younger girl possibly need?

Azzi huffs and forges ahead anyways. “Look, my parents are super worried about me.”

“Why?” Paige questions reluctantly. She’s in no mood to entertain Azzi's request for a favor, but her curiosity wins out; why would Azzi of all people have parents worrying over her? Despite how much she dislikes the girl, she can admit that she’s unusually independent and capable. It's honestly half the reason why Paige resents her so much.

“Because…” Azzi crosses her arms, like she’s trying to make herself smaller. “I don’t know. They’re scared I’m not making any friends. Which is completely stupid, because I’m close to Sam and Jordan!” she says the last part defiantly, as if she’s trying to convince herself more than anything.

Paige stays quiet. To be truthful, it’s not a wrong observation. Azzi is more introverted and on the shyer side, and despite being one of the few returning girls from last season, she still hasn’t fully integrated into the team dynamic.

“And once they saw us play together, they got super excited. For whatever reason, they thought I made a new friend, and the fact that it was you—” Azzi cuts herself off, shaking her head in embarrassment.

Once again, the blonde is curious. “Why me?” she prods.

“I don’t know. They’ve seen you play a ton and they admire your work ethic, I guess.”

“They know what’s up,” Paige says approvingly with a solemn nod.

Azzi holds back from rolling her eyes. “Listen, can we just play it chill at dinner? We don’t have to pretend to be besties, but let’s just hold off on the arguing for a couple hours.” She rubs her palms against her thighs, almost as if she’s nervous, and her pants come away damp. “I just don’t wanna disappoint them.”

Paige opens her mouth, about to crack another joke, but then Azzi looks down, avoiding her eyes, still hunched over herself and looking like she’s trying to disappear, and something about how vulnerable the younger girl looks makes her heart twinge a little. So she plays it off by clearing her throat instead, and busies herself with looking at the receptionist, who’s actually quite pretty. “Yeah, whatever. That’s fine.”

The dark haired girl shifts next to her. Paige swears she sees a small smile flash across her face before it’s quickly controlled into a stony mask. “Thanks.”

༉‧₊˚✧

2017 - Colorado Springs, Colorado

1 year ago: training camp day one

“Nervous?”

Azzi’s eyes shoot towards the blonde next to her. It’s her first time actually looking at her face, and she realizes with a start that the girl is disarmingly pretty, golden wisps of hair escaping her Nike headband, and her eyes are a sharp, deep blue.

“No,” she lies. “I’m making this roster.”

“Nice.” The blonde grins at her, and it’s toothy and big, and it makes Azzi do a double take. “I am too.”

The rest of day one passes by quickly. Every so often, Azzi looks up from a drill and swears she sees blue eyes lingering on her before they quickly look away. She finds out from the yelling of the coaches that the blonde's name is Paige, and the name rolls around in her mind for longer than she can explain. Yet they don't talk again, merely exchanging high fives and mumbling "Good jobs" before they both end up using the bathroom before they head out of the gym for the day.

“You’re something, Fudd.” Paige wipes her hands with a paper towel as she leans coolly against the wall. “Where you from?”

“Virginia,” Azzi says, a little shyly. “You?”

“Minnesota.” Paige leans in closer, ever the charmer at fifteen years old. “But I’ve always wanted to go to the DMV.”

Azzi, flustered by how she can smell Paige's perfume, stammers out, “It’s pretty nice up there.”

“It’s nicer knowing I’ll have a pretty girl to show me around when I visit.” Azzi is fourteen, and this is the first time anyone has so blatantly flirted with her, and she’s kinda confused but she kinda likes it? Still, she's speechless, at an utter loss for words before Paige says, “Well, I guess I'll see you,” her hand brushing Azzi’s hip as she walks behind her to the door. Azzi puts a hand on the counter, steadying herself from the heated feeling of warm fingers against her bare skin.

“Yeah, see you,” Azzi breathes out, but when she looks behind her, the girl is lone gone.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #uconnwbb #wcbb #pazzi #paige x azzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #fic

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iluvbuckets · 1 day ago

Text

take it like a taker

paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary: you and paige are freaked tf out

warnings: a little plot but its still about sex, lots of dirty talk (i don't like quiet sex sue me), oral, strap! yay!, choking, praise, light degradation, whimpering, begging, overstimulation, lots of edging, crying, sub!paige (hehehe), she's kind of a brat but a whiny one, mentions of her being a munch, let me know if i missed anything lol

word count: 4.6k

notes: here's the pride special!! sorry it took so long! deadass don't think i have never written anything this fucking filthy ever in my 11 years of writing fanfics (that makes me sound old i just started way too young). happy pride month <3

✷✷✷

you saw the edits, the comments, the fanfiction. you read what her fans said about her, what they assumed–that she’s probably a player, dominant, takes the lead. she knew exactly what to say and how to say it every time, especially in bed. that she was the one giving, whispering praise in your ear as she touched you, slamming the strap into you, giving you head until you couldn’t take it anymore.

god, they couldn’t be more wrong.

and you loved it.

there was something so thrilling about the secrecy of it all. the stark contrast of the way she presented herself versus the way she really was behind closed doors. it made your possessive tendencies thrive. you were not only the only one who could hear her desperate begging for more, her loud moans when you hit the right spot, the whimpers when you touched her at all, the squirming when you whisper something dirty in her ear in public, the occasional brattiness when she was in a sour mood that she would absolutely be punished for, but you were the only one who even knew about it at all.

you let her play the part in public. you let her confidence ooze easily from her lips like it was second nature, without any argument. you let her lead conversations with ease. you let her put her hands on the small of your back to guide you, on your waist when you were talking to people, or on your thigh when you were sitting down together. you let her pick up checks when you went out to eat or went shopping, and open your doors like she was the one in charge.

she could do all these things when everyone was watching because it wouldn’t change that she would be on her knees for you, begging for you to touch her or to let her touch you, as soon as you got home. and there was no place she’d rather be.

“i want you to sit on my face,” she whispered, a hand covering her mouth so no one could try to read her lips.

you wanted to be shocked, you really did, but this was something paige always did when you two were in public, especially something that meant you couldn’t be home right away. she would say she thinks it’s funny to see you squirm with impatience, but you knew it was because she liked the aftermath. she liked how right when you would walk through the door, you would throw her against the wall and whisper something degrading in her ear because she just couldn’t wait.

especially tonight. while you two were getting ready and you were standing in front of the mirror trying to smooth out any wrinkles, she came up behind you to put her hands on your hips and press your bodies together. she muttered something in your ear about how she needed to fuck you right there, how she was throbbing and soaked just seeing you in that dress. how she wanted you to look in the mirror as she ate you out so you could see how pretty you looked. you debated giving her what she wanted, but you knew you couldn’t run late, because when paige gave you head, it was never quick. she was always begging for just one more, just let me see you come one more time.

well, you did kind of give her what she wanted. if dropping to your knees and eating her pussy until she was about to come, then pulling away, buttoning her pants back up, and telling her you better get going would count as what she wanted.

she patted your thigh lightly, then settled her fingers barely beneath the fabric of the dress you were wearing. you were at a somewhat fancy dinner with the dallas wings players, staff, and their significant others to celebrate the upcoming season–the regular season that started on friday, three days from then.

you already knew you were going to fuck her when you got home, despite anything she was doing to make sure you finished the job from earlier. she looked so damn good, how could you not? she let you curl her hair tonight in soft waves, and she picked out a black short-sleeve button up with a pair of nicer black cargo pants, and sneakers, of course. you loved it when she wore all black, and she knew that.

“now?” you ask quietly, reaching forward to take a sip of your water without even sparing her a glance.

she was being bratty like this on purpose, you knew it. she was probably still aching and wet in her pants, desperate for you to take her home and finish what you started. she had been shifting in her seat all night, constantly crossing and uncrossing her legs, trying to stay composed.

her eyes raked over you slowly, and not at all subtly, taking in the way you looked in that dress. it was black and fitted to your body, the neck low enough in a v to expose your cleavage. you had your straightened hair pushed behind your shoulders, too, meaning it was all on display. to anyone at the table, they probably thought she was spending extra time staring at your chest. maybe she did for a second, but she couldn’t help but let her eyes linger on the necklace dangling from your neck.

she had randomly gifted it to you when you moved to dallas. she had muttered something about how practice was going to run long that day, but then came home with a small bag from a jewelry store. it was a dainty gold chain, and it was supposed to be a name necklace with the name written in cursive, but she had decided to get five on it instead. it was the perfect mix of possession and privacy for you, and you loved it.

“mhm,” she hummed. then she leaned toward you to whisper in your ear again, “you taste better than anything on this menu.”

your head quickly whipped to the side to give her a look, so quickly that naylssa and dijonai–who were sitting across from you–noticed. she barely had time to move her head, so your noses brushed when you did so. you glanced at the two teammates across the table who had returned their attention back to whoever was talking.

“yeah?” you asked, raising your eyebrows at her, almost in a challenging way, but she didn’t react. she had a big, goofy grin like she was proud of what she was doing and your reaction. if you weren’t in public, you probably would’ve grabbed her by the throat.

she nodded smugly, her fingers squeezing your thigh slightly. “would do anything to fuck you right now.”

“keep running your mouth,” you warned, not even whispering. if any of her teammates heard you, they chose to ignore it. you couldn’t blame them, you probably looked like you were fighting.

“what are you gonna do about it?” she asks boldly, her grin never faltering. “because that’s not the only thing i’m gonna do w’it."

you leaned toward her slowly, your expression unreadable. “wait until we get home,” you whispered, making sure your lips touched her ear as your words spilled out.

she shuddered at the contact and her grin faltered slightly at the words, making you smirk. you placed a hand high on her thigh, squeezing tightly for a moment, almost as another warning. she clenched her thighs at the feeling, just happy to be touched by you even if it wasn’t exactly where she wanted it.

she didn’t dare to run her mouth anymore after that, knowing that it could jeopardize her ability to finally receive the orgasm she had been denied of earlier. you were a little disappointed by her obedience, though. you almost wanted her to keep going, so you didn’t feel bad about your intention to only give her one, maybe two, orgasms tonight after spending hours teasing her. that was something paige wasn’t used to. you were more into overstimulating her than edging her, loving the way she would whine beneath you because it just felt so good.

when you finally walked in the door to your apartment, you slipped off your shoes and walked down the hall to your bedroom without a word. she was stunned, standing there watching you go as she shut the door. usually in moments like this, you wouldn’t waste any time slamming her against the wall or the door, or maybe even pushing her down on the couch or onto her knees on the floor. she swallowed thickly, but followed you back anyway.

paige stood in the doorway, nervously fidgeting with her fingers. you moved around the room for a few seconds, pretending to look for something–pretending you didn’t see her. you quickly grabbed a hair tie from the dresser and turned to face her. her eyes shifted down to your hands then back up to your face, shooting you a questioning, but knowing look. she knew why you wanted the hair tie, just not why you were grabbing it right now.

you smiled innocently as you walked over to her, slow and deliberate, and stood in front of her. she didn’t break her eye contact with you as you did so. you reached your hands up to gather her hair into a messy low bun, making sure that it didn’t look too crazy or have too many bumps. then, you smoothed your hands over her shoulders, then her chest down to her stomach, allowing your fingers to fumble with the buttons from the bottom up.

“you’ve been such a brat tonight,” you said casually, slipping her shirt off her frame. “i don’t know if you deserve me sitting on your face, baby.”

her eyes widened at your words, her hands coming up to grab your waist as yours slipped under her sports bra. “no, i do. please, i’ll be good. promise.”

you laughed gently at her words, using your thumbs to rub circles around her nipples. she whimpered at your touch, leaning forward to chase your lips in a kiss. which you allowed her to. she kissed you with intense, heated passion that you’re not sure you’ve ever felt from her before. it was something so desperate, telling you she was so ready to come, you’re not even sure you wanted to tease her anymore. she fisted your dress where her hands were settled, trying to pull you closer.

paige shouldn’t have expected you to let her. she knows better than that. you pulled away, well as much as you could with the way she was gripping your dress. her eyes didn’t leave your lips, though, her lips parted and breathing ragged as she waited for you to lean back in. you contemplated taking her bra off, but you decided to lower your hands to her pants instead–where there was a waistband to a pair of nike pros sticking out. you traced over the words with your pointer finger, making her sigh from her nose.

“this for me?” you asked, tilting your head. the answer, you knew, was a mix between yes and no. yes, because she knew how hot you thought it was when you could see the logo poking out of her sweatpants, cargos, shorts, whatever. no, because she was more comfortable with them no matter what.

“everything i do is for you,” she replied quickly and breathlessly, like she didn’t even think before saying it–like an automatic response.

“is that right?” you chuckled, feeling your heart melt a little bit.

to reward her for saying something so sweet, you grabbed her wrists to gently pry her hands off your dress, which she did immediately without much of a fight. you sunk to your knees slowly, keeping your eyes trained on hers. her pupils were blown with lust as she watched you, one of her hands rising to rest on the doorframe next to her. you used both of your hands to hook in the waistband of her nike pros to swiftly pull them and her pants down in one smooth motion, but left her underwear on. she carefully stepped out of her pants, mindlessly kicking them into the hallway behind her.

you leaned forward to place kisses along the waistband of her underwear, sucking a hickey into the skin above it. her hips snapped forward against their will, the sensitivity from her denied orgasm really showing itself. you smiled mischievously, moving down to mouth over her clit that pulsing with desire through the fabric.

“fuck,” she breathed at the feeling. her unoccupied hand moved to rest on the back of your head, subconsciously pushing you closer. you considered mentioning it, punishing her for pushing you, but you decided that wasn’t as fun. “please, make me come. please, i’ve been waiting all night.”

you laughed against her, sending a vibration throughout her entire body that had her moaning softly, but you didn’t answer. it was too early to spoil the surprise. you traced your fingers over her entrance, feeling the wet spot. you had expected her to be wet, but not that wet. you almost pulled away to ask about it but she beat you to it. it was like she could read your mind.

“so wet for you,” she whined, “you look so damn good tonight. i can’t help it, wanna give you head so fucking bad. want you to sit on my face until i can’t breathe.”

“aw, paige,” you cooed, like you were going to give her sweet words of praise, pushing her underwear to the side, “you’re such a slut, you know that? you probably would’ve gotten on your knees right there under the table if i asked.”

you didn’t give her time to reply before your mouth was on her. the gasp that left her lips when you licked a flat stripe from her soaked entrance to her clit was so violent, you were surprised she didn’t cough afterwards. her fingers tangled in your hair, pulling harder than she probably meant to, but you didn’t mind. you actually loved it when she was so lost in the moment that she didn’t realize she was borderline ripping your hair out.

when you licked through her folds and over clit slowly, her hips jolted forward and she continued to try to grind it out, but you knew it probably wasn’t on purpose. she was always so sensitive anyway, and the denial from earlier definitely made it worse.

you wrapped your lips around her clit and sucked gently, using your tongue to trace circles around the bud after at a faster pace. her stomach would not stop flexing, almost sending her hunching over above you, but you didn’t let up.

“shit. oh, fuck,” she moaned, her eyes pinching shut at the feeling. she pressed her hips forward, chasing the orgasm building in her stomach. “‘m gonna come already. feels too good”

even though you appreciated the warning, you already knew–not that it was hard to tell. she was making such pretty sounds, though, it took some mild internal convincing to pull yourself away this time.

“no, no!” she cried out, her hand trying to push your head back where she wanted it. “goddammit, please don’t stop.”

“come on, baby. you didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” you asked innocently. you flicked her clit playfully causing her to flinch and her body to twitch. she threw her head back in frustration, trying not to groan out loud because she knew it would only prolong the release she is desperately waiting for.

you quickly jumped to your feet, leaning forward to crash your lips together again. she kissed you back hard, pouring every bit of anger and frustration she was feeling into it so hopefully you would get the point and finally give her what she wanted. without looking, you used both hands to shove her underwear down a little bit, and she got the hint. she hastily removed them without disconnecting your lips, throwing them behind you onto the floor somewhere. you pulled away, grabbing her wrist to pull her into the room. then spun her around so you could place your hands flat on her chest and push her onto the bed.

she propped herself up on her elbows, expecting to watch you put your mouth on her again or maybe even sit on her face finally, but you didn’t. instead, you hastily pulled off your dress and underwear. you ran your palms up her thighs gently while leaning over her body, still standing next to the bed, trying to be soothing and comforting as you decided what you wanted to do next. you couldn’t decide if you wanted to use your mouth, your fingers, your thigh–god, the possibilities were endless for making her squirm beneath you.

then, an idea popped into your head.

“can i use the strap on you?” you asked.

her eyebrows rose in surprise at your words. it wasn’t that either of you hated it per se, but it was something that was only brought out for special occasions, you would say. and on those rare occasions, you were usually the one receiving. still, she nodded slowly.

she stared as you bent down next to the bed to pull it out of the bottom drawer of the nightstand and strap on the harness. her pussy aching and dripping with desire, and she had an overwhelming urge to touch herself to try to relieve it. she didn’t, though; she wasn’t feeling quite as bratty anymore now that she’s had two orgasms ripped away from her and would probably have a few more ripped away if she kept it up too.

without wasting any time teasing, you touched the silicone to her entrance, covering it with her slick as lube. she whimpered at the feeling, leaning forward to watch. you grabbed one of her legs behind her knee to bend it, giving you a better angle as you pushed the tip in ever so slightly. her face contorted at the sudden stretch, pussy clenching, and you made sure to keep your eyes trained on her face to gauge her expressions. you almost had the urge to tell her to look you in the eyes, but it was so fucking hot that she wanted to watch, honestly.

“you okay?” you asked gently, brushing your fingers over her stomach.

“mhm,” she hummed, biting her bottom lip.

you slowly rolled your hips to bottom out in one motion. one of her hands flew to press against your stomach, not expecting you to go so fast.

“you can take it,” you said, grabbing her wrist and lacing your fingers together. you pressed her hand above her head against the bed, making her lie all the way down. the arm that she was using to pop herself up was now moving so she could rest her hand on your hip lightly.

you rolled your hips again, pulling all the way out and slowly pushing back in. her eyes rolled to the back of her head at the feeling and a loud moan slipped from her lips before she could stop it. the sound made you smile, knowing that she was in pure bliss because of you. her mouth stayed parted, like she was making sounds, but nothing was coming out. your hips fell into a steady rhythm, not slow, but not fast either–just enough to let her feel all of it.

“fuck, paige,” you moaned. “you look so pretty like this. taking all of me like a good girl.”

her hips bucked slightly, a high-pitched moan ripping from her throat. you accidentally snapped your hips forward roughly from the sound, causing her to gasp, her free hand pressing against your stomach again. you released the grip your hand had on her leg, moving to use your thumb to circle her clit.

“oh my god,” she moaned, her hand that was resting on your hip flying to grip your bicep tightly. “shit, i’m–fuck.”

“i know,” you said softly, “tell me how good it feels.”

“i-i can’t–please, let me–” she interrupted herself with a moan, her pussy clenching tightly around the silicone to try to will her orgasm away that was quickly approaching. you pulled all the way out, watching the way she clenched around nothing as she cried out from frustration beneath you. “fuck! please, let me come. i’m begging for it, please. i want it so bad.”

“you asked for this, baby,” you chuckled. honestly, you did feel a little bad about it while watching her cry out, but not bad enough to stop.

“i’m sorry,” she said, looking up to meet your eyes through her lashes. “’m sorry. i’ll be so good for you. just–please, let me come.”

without warning, you slammed the silicone back into her. her legs clenched from the unexpected fullness, her hand that was intertwined with yours tightening with a death grip on your fingers, and her eyes pinched shut tightly as her head came forward.

“this is what you wanted, right?” you asked quietly, using the hand that was on her clit to grip her throat and push her head back against the bed.

her free hand loosened from your bicep to fall to your wrist, gripping it but not pulling it off. she would never admit it otherwise, but she loved it when you choked her like this. you didn’t do it very often, so she savored it when you did. despite your grip, she managed to nod at your words, not trusting herself to speak from how foggy her brain felt in pleasure.

you watched as tears slipped from her eyes when you sped up your thrusts, but she didn’t say anything. you weren’t even sure if she knew she was crying, either. her stomach and pussy clenched, and you almost had the urge to let her come because of her pure desperation. her orgasm was approaching much, much quicker than before, after the first three denied orgasms.

of course, you completely pulled out when her hips bucked up to chase her fourth. she cried out a choked sob, causing you to loosen the grip on her throat so she could breathe, and your other hand loosening on hers subconsciously. her hands flew to her face to cover it from her frustration as she sobbed.

“paige,” you said, gently caressing her sides with your hands. sure, you had made her cry during sex before, but never like this. “do you want to stop?”

“no,” she shook her head, voice muffled from her hands.

“are you sure?” you asked, not really convinced because of her crying.

“yes. please, keep going,” she said with an exasperated tone, “i want to come.”

nodding, not verbally replying, you took the harness off and haphazardly threw it to the side. you reached up to take her hands off her face, expecting her to fight you, but she didn’t. her face was streaked with tears, her mascara running down her cheeks. you leaned forward to place a soft kiss on her lips. then, you slotted your thigh between her legs, pressing her soaked, pulsing pussy against the muscle. without asking for permission, she started slowly grinding against it.

“you’re going to take what i give you,” you said against her mouth. she whimpered, already feeling herself wanting to unravel. “and you don’t get to come just because you want it.”

you moved your thigh away from her just slightly, making her grind against nothing but the air. she couldn’t even bring herself to say anything in complaint, just let out another violent sob at her fifth orgasm being taken away.

you leaned back so you were sitting on your heels, taking in the sight of her in front of you. she looked absolutely wrecked–cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, tear and mascara stains on her face, red marks where she was biting her bottom lip, god. you wondered how you had never thought of this before.

she reached forward to grab your hand and shove it where she wanted it, not even caring about the potential consequences. you didn’t touch her though, stiffening your arm before it could. “please, please, make me come. i’ve been so good at taking it all. i can’t take it anymore.”

you pretended to think about it for a moment, then knelt down between her legs. you almost considered being stubborn and not giving it to her, but at this point, she would probably come just from you touching her even slightly. she quite literally sobbed from relief while watching you do so, throwing her head back against the mattress. you let your breath fan over her for a second, and she clenched when she felt it.

when you finally flicked your tongue against her clit, her thighs clenched tightly around your head with an intense orgasm. she didn’t even make a sound as she gushed beneath you, her upper body hunching forward involuntarily. you continued to circle your tongue slowly against her clit though, working her through it. her hands clutched at the sheets until her knuckles turned white.

after about a minute when she started to come down, her entire body shaking, she realized you hadn’t stopped yet–but you didn’t intend to. her legs trembled around your head, stomach clenching and body jerking every few seconds as you continued to circle your tongue. her hands flew to your hair to scramble for purchase.

“wait, i’m–fuck, i can’t–” she said breathlessly with confusion dripping in her tone, tears slipping from her eyes again.

“isn’t this what you wanted?” you said against her, making sure she could feel the vibration. “you wanted to come, right? do it again.”

she blinked at you with her lips parted like her mind was blank, like her intense orgasm had wiped out any potential for a coherent thought. you increased the pace of your tongue, trying to work her back up to that edge for another one.

“i’m–goddamn, shit,” she babbled.

it didn’t take very long before she was coming again with a moan, grinding her hips against your face involuntarily. her back arched off the bed, eyes rolling into the back of her head at the feeling. you worked her through it for a few moments before pulling away from her, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

she was lying against the bed, her arms thrown lazily over her face, chest heaving like she had just run a marathon, legs shaking helplessly. you bent down to press a kiss against her stomach gently, which she didn’t react to, then laid down next to her.

“good?” you asked, throwing your arm over her stomach in a comforting manner.

she didn’t move her arms to answer. “yeah,” she breathed.

then, she spoke again. you don’t know why you weren’t expecting the words that came out of her mouth because it’s paige. she couldn’t do anything without returning the favor.

“are you going to sit on my face now?”

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fic #wcbb x reader #wlw smut #sub!paige bueckers

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jeeseth · 2 days ago

Text

# NEVER MINE — daniela avanzini x f!reader

ᝰ.ᐟ to make your ex jealous, you strike a deal with your long-time-not-so rival, daniela avanzini — fake date until prom. the plan is to post couple pics, flirt in public, and pretend you’re head-over-heels. easy right? except, she’s really good at pretending. a little too good.

˖⋆࿐໋ ( fakebf!dani x f!rᥱᥲdᥱr ) ── .✦ you might wanna tune in < boyfriend by ariana.g > ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

⟡﹒ tᥲgs ﹐ ﹅ ⟢ fluff? non-idol au, college au, fake dating au, enemies to lovers au, fakeboyfriend!daniela, mention of the other katseye members, mention of yunjin from lesserafim, mention of tattoos, jealousy?, kissing, LOTS of pda, lowkey suggestive if you squint your eyes, lowercase intended, mens dni, grammatical errors .

( ˶°ㅁ°) !! a/n - i’m clearly hooked on writing about katseye. THESE GIRLS ARE TAKING OVER MY LIFE HELLO?? but i’m not complaining obviously. ever since the sophia story blew up i HAD to write for another members and i hoped yall enjoy this! i use grammar checkers. english nawt my first language can you blame me? anyway enjoy :P

your ex is glowing. and you absolutely hates it.

like, unfairly glowing — instagram filter level, post-breakup confidence, ‘just got a new girlfriend’ type of glowing. she’s tagged in a post that makes your heart skip and your stomach turn. a soft photo. coffee cups on a windowsill, your ex’s hand intertwined with someone else’s.

"soft mornings with her 🤍"

ew. you blink at the screen. it’s not that you want her back. well not really. it’s just that she moved on so fast like you didn’t even leave a dent.

you’re halfway through doom-scrolling her profile when someone passes by your library table and nudges your charger off the edge. you lunge for it and absolutely miss it — and it clatters to the floor near a familiar pair of worn converse. oh boy. your stomach drops.

daniela avanzini.

she picks up the charger, holds it between two fingers like it might actually bite her, and places it silently back on the table without even glancing at you.

"um thanks," you mutter, barely making eye contact with daniela.

she hums and walks away. excuse me but what? she just hums? literally no words. no acknowledgment. no you’re welcome or anything. huh. classic.

daniela avanzini is everything you can’t stand. effortlessly cool, quiet. the kind of girl who rarely post on social media, doesn’t raise her hand in lectures, doesn’t care if professors mispronounce her name. and somehow, everyone still knows who she is. it’s like she’s carved out this unreachable space on campus where people talk about her like a myth.

you’ve only had a few classes with her, but in your head and you’d never say this out loud but, she’s your rival.

you always come in second. every time you get a test back, her name is right above yours. every time you answer a question in class, her bored "actually…" cuts through the room two minutes later and leaves yours in the dust. and the worst part? you’re pretty convinced that she doesn’t even know your name.

later that day, your ex passes you in the quad. she doesn’t look at you, but her new girlfriend does — with the same kind of polite pity people reserve for wet dogs and forgotten leftovers. yucks.

you turn around a little too quickly, almost trip over a freaking skateboard, and catch yourself on a bench. your roommate’s (lara) words from last night come screaming back.

"girl honestly? you need to make her jealous. like, get a hot girlfriend. someone unexpected. someone she’ll definitely hate seeing you with."

you laughed at that time but now, you’re still stinging from your ex’s perfect instagram life, you glance across the quad and see her again. daniela.

sitting under a tree, one headphone in, legs stretched out like she owns the earth beneath her. reading a book you know she won’t even annotate because she remembers everything. the only person your ex could never figure out and the only person you could never beat.

you don’t even realize it but you’re walking until you’re standing right in front of her, your heart pounding loudly like you’re about to make the worst decision of your life.

she looks up slowly and blinks once, doesn’t even take out her headphone.

"i need a favour." you say breathlessly. are you nervous? in front of your rival? daniela doesn’t answer so you press on.

"i told my ex I’m dating someone, and i kind of said it was you." you manage to say in one single breath. you pray to god that daniela won’t hear how fast your heart is beating from nervousness.

there’s a pause. you expect her to laugh, or roll her eyes, or walk away like this conversation never happened. but she just stares at you like a weirdo.

"okay." she mutters and it definitely caught you by surprise.

"wait- what?" you blinks in pure confusion and surprise.

"i’ll fake date you, only if you stop looking at me like you’re about to fight me in a parking lot." she shrugs and stands up from the grass. still doesn’t look directly into your eyes.

"why would you agree to this?" you asks, softer than intended.

she finally meets your eyes — and there’s the faintest twitch of a smirk at the corner of her mouth which makes you annoyed for some reasons.

"i’m bored."

and just like that, she walks away again, as if she didn’t just casually agree to change the entire trajectory of your college career.

you spend the next morning second-guessing every outfit in your closet and constantly telling yourself it’s not for her. it’s for the plan. the fake plan. the plan where you look convincingly in love so your ex gets jealous and maybe, for once, loses.

and definitely not because daniela avanzini is going to be walking next to you. definitely not because she looked you up and down yesterday and said "okay" like it didn’t mean anything. then suddenly your phone buzzes.

daniela

be outside in 10. you don’t need to dress up.

you stare at the message for a solid minute. you have so many questions. like how did she even get your number? but let’s put that aside because you are dressed up.

when you step outside, she’s already leaning against the bike rack, hoodie up, hands in her jacket pockets, looking like she hasn’t thought about anything once in her entire life. her eyes flick up when she sees you. then down. then back up. is she checking you out?

"you said i didn’t need to dress up," you say, trying to play it cool which lowkey doesn’t work.

"you didn’t. but you look good." daniela shrugs nonchalantly. you pretend that doesn’t make your chest do something weird.

"so how are we doing this?" you ask, sighing afterwards. "pda? couple walk? hand-holding?"

daniela looks at your hand for a beat. then, without a word, reaches over and laces her fingers through yours.

"we’ll walk," she says.

"that’s it?" you asks, dumbfounded.

"for now." she says and you swear you can see her smirking from the corner of your eyes.

the quad is too loud, too crowded. everyone’s outside. music from someone’s bluetooth speaker is bouncing off the walls, and you swear there’s a subtle shift in the air when you and daniela pass through. people notice and obviously they will whisper. a girl who you recognise from your chem lab literally nudges her friend and points.

"are they staring?" you whisper to daniela.

"mhm," daniela hums. like it’s nothing. like this is totally normal for her.

"okay. why are you so calm?"

"i’m always calm."

"i know and it’s annoying." you huffs before rolling your eyes mentally. you expect her to ignore you — like she usually does but she lets out a tiny laugh, low and quick.

"you’re funny when you’re panicking." daniela says quietly.

"i’m not panicking."

and then she squeezes your hand just slightly. not enough for anyone else to notice. just enough for you to feel it.

you’re passing the café when you suddenly hear it — your ex’s laugh. sharp. too loud. too familiar. you freeze up. and daniela notices. she follows your gaze. your ex is inside, tucked into a booth with her new girlfriend, all soft smiles and leaning in close. your throat tightens ever so slightly.

daniela shifts beside you. doesn’t say anything. just gently tugs your hand and keeps walking, guiding you away like it’s instinct.

"you wanna go in?" she asks quietly.

"no." you reply almost instantly.

"then keep your head up. don’t let her see you looking at her like she matters." daniela mutters softly but firmly. her words hit harder than you expect.

you stop outside your lecture hall a few minutes early. the crowd thins. people stop watching. technically, the act is over. but daniela doesn’t let go of your hand.

"you can let go now," you say as if you’re reminding her.

"i know." but she still doesn’t.

you glance over at daniela. she’s staring straight ahead, unreadable as always.

"that wasn’t horrible," you mumbles softly.

"high praise," she says, a tiny smirk ghosting her mouth.

then, daniela said something that almost makes you choke on your own saliva. she said it like it’s nothing.

"if you want to make her more jealous, i can kiss you next time."

"w-what?" you stutter, almost chokes upon hearing daniela’s words.

"i won’t do it unless you’re okay with it," daniela says, calm as ever. "but you looked like you were gonna disappear back there."

"that’s… actually really considerate." you said shakily. she looks at you then. really looks. and for the first time since this whole thing started, you can’t read her.

"see you later." she says, finally letting go of your hands. and she walks away without another word.

you stay there a moment too long, hand still warm, head still spinning from everything. this was your idea. this was supposed to be fake. so why does it feel like she’s playing the role a little too well?

it’s one of those rare days when the weather is nice and the sun hits the campus lawn just right — the kind of afternoon where students sprawl across the grass, half-studying, half-napping, pretending they’re not drowning in deadlines.

you’re at your usual spot as always — a bench tucked under a tree near the south building. it’s your unofficial recess place. far enough from the cafeteria noise, but close enough to eavesdrop on the chaos if you feel like it. you’ve got headphones in, open tabs on your laptop, snack in one hand and phone in the other. and you’re definitely not expecting some extra company. which is why, when someone drops their bag next to yours and sits down without saying anything, your heart jumps into your throat.

you yank one earbud out and glance to your side. daniela with her hood up, sleeves too long, bottle of water in her hand, thumb resting lightly on the cap. just sitting beside you. like this is totally normal.

"um hi???" you says, eloquent as ever.

"hi." daniela replies, tone so chill it sounds like she’s been here the whole time.

you stare at her for a second, waiting for the punchline. she doesn’t look at you. just leans back against the bench like it belongs to her. like you belong to her.

"do you usually sit here?" she asks after a moment, eyes still looking forward. "you’re always in this spot. i noticed."

"you noticed?" you blink upon hearing daniela’s words.

"yeah. you always snack during break. same brand of chips too." daniela says as she glances at the bag of chips in your hands.

you also look down at the bag in your hand. it’s the same one you eat basically every day. you didn’t think anyone paid attention. even you barely pay attention.

"i mean—yeah, i guess? i like this bench."

daniela hums and then opens her water and takes a slow sip. you want to ask her why she’s here, why she’s choosing to sit next to you now, with people literally walking by and noticing but you’re too scared that if you do, she’ll leave. so you just keep existing beside her.

twenty minutes pass. you’re still pretending to scroll through your notes, but you haven’t read a single sentence. and daniela? daniela is leaned back, legs stretched out, water bottle resting between her knees, like she’s never been more relaxed in her life.

a few students walk past and you hear one of them whisper, "wait, are they dating? like for real?" and your chest tightens when you heard that.

"people are talking." you mumble softly, not even dare looking up.

"let them." daniela replies, calm as anything.

"aren’t you worried they’ll think it’s real?" you asks and look over at daniela. and then she finally looks at you. lile really really looks.

"isn’t that the point?" daniela says nonchalantly. you open your mouth, then close it.

and then, just to completely ruin your brain she reaches over, takes a chip from your bag, pops it in her mouth, and smiles.

"these are good."

daniela stays until the bell rings and doesn’t move when it buzzes. doesn’t rush. just stands up slowly, throws her bag over her shoulder, and glances down at you.

"same spot tomorrow?" she asks causing you blink up at her in genuine surprise.

"um yeah sure." you mumbles softly.

she walks off like nothing happened. like this wasn’t weird. like she didn’t just publicly chill beside you for almost half an hour and steal your snacks like you’ve been doing this for weeks. and just before she disappears around the corner, she turns back and says something to you.

"bring extra chips yea?"

you sit there, staring after her, snack bag half-empty, heart half-lost. you’re in big trouble.

you’re not used to people watching you. at least not like this. not the way students glance in your direction when you walk into the quad now. not the way group chats whisper and spiral. not the way yunjin looks at you across the lawn like she just saw a ghost wearing her old hoodie.

daniela’s beside you again today. sitting under your tree like she owns the shade. legs stretched, hoodie sleeves half-covering her hands, thumb lazily scrolling through something on her phone. she doesn’t care that you’re being watched. doesn’t even pretend to. and you kind of like that.

"you’re quiet today." you say, nudging daniela’s knee.

"you’re talkative today." she glances up and smirks faintly at you. you smile despite yourself.

you’re sitting a little closer than yesterday. not on purpose. just gravity, maybe. hehe. the air’s warm. the quad’s buzzing. and you’re halfway through offering her another chip when you hear it. the sound that lowkey annoys you.

her laugh. you know that laugh. you freeze for a second, chip halfway to your mouth. then you glance up. yunjin.

ten feet away. hair tied back, sunglasses pushed up on her head, walking with that girl. her new girl. the one who took your place so fast you barely had time to breathe. and they’re headed toward the quad bench nearest yours. of course.

daniela must sense it. or maybe she just knows your body language too well already. well either way, she shifts closer, leans in slightly but not enough to make a scene, just enough for anyone watching to get the message. and then, she does it.

she reaches up and smooths a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. her fingers are gentle, her face unreadable. but her eyes? oh her eyes flicker just slightly toward where yunjin’s standing. you don’t even have time to process it before you hear footsteps stop.

"wow. so this is real huh?" yunjin says, her voice coated in sugar.

you blink and look up. she’s standing right in front of you and literally smiling tight. daniela doesn’t move. hence she doesn’t even look surprised at all.

"hey, didn’t think you’d move on this fast." yunjin mutters, her eyes dragging over daniela slowly.

"we’ve been talking for a while," daniela finally says, casually but yet dangerous. "just kept it quiet."

and clearly you almost choke from hearing that cause what the hell?

"didn’t think you were her type." yunjin says, eyes narrowing.

"good." daniela replies, still so calm it almost unnerves you. there’s a glint in her eyes—mischievous and unreadable.

"i don’t like being predictable anyway." daniela’s words hang in the air, cool and confident, leaving you unsure whether to be impressed or nervous. maybe both and then total silence.

yunjin’s jaw clenches. just a little. her hand tightens around her smoothie cup. and you really wonder if she’s about to throw it.

"well, good for you." yunjin says, and clearly its all bite now.

"thanks. we’re really happy." daniela says, giving yunjin a small smirk that surely pissed her off.

and then like she’s rehearsed this moment, daniela reaches over and rests her hand lightly on your knee. her thumb tracing lazy circles like it’s the most natural thing in the world. and your entire nervous system shuts down.

yunjin doesn’t say another word. she just turns and walks away, grip on her smoothie so tight you’re surprised it doesn’t explode. and when she’s out of earshot, you turn to daniela.

"okay. what the hell was that?"

"what?" daniela asks, shrugging like she did absolutely nothing afterwards.

"we’ve been talking for a while?’ daniela?!"

"sounded better than ‘we fake started dating yesterday.’" daniela smirks. well barely a smirk.

"you really don’t care if people believe this, huh?" you ask, staring at her, trying to read something. anything on her goddamn face.

daniela just shrugs, the corners of her mouth twitching like she’s fighting back a smirk. she leans back on her hands, glancing up at the sky.

"nah," she says. "but i care that she saw."

your heart skips a beat.

"that was evil."

"you smiled."

"i didn’t."

"you did."

you look away, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the grin forming. daniela is hella evil. but god. she’s too good at this.

you don’t plan to end up in her dorm. let’s say that it just happens. somehow, between daniela walking you halfway to class and you saying something dumb like "my phone’s about to die" and she just offers a casual

"you can charge it at mine."

like it’s nothing. like you are nothing. which, frankly, is a joke — because your heart is doing backflips and she’s acting like you just asked for a pen.

daniela’s room matches her energy: quiet, muted, somehow colder and warmer than you expect. the kind of space that doesn’t ask questions, just exists—still, steady. a hoodie is draped over the back of her chair, worn and faded. a cracked window lets in the soft hues of dusk, the breeze carrying in the scent of evening. a basketball is shoved carelessly under the desk, like she tossed it there without thinking.

you hesitate by the door, unsure if you should step in or stay put. she doesn’t say anything. doesn’t look up. just grabs your phone, plugs it in like it’s the most natural thing in the world, then tosses you a water bottle without missing a beat.

and here you are. you’re on her bed. the laptop rests between you, trail mix scattered in the space where your knees almost touch. there’s music playing—rnb, soft and slow. it hums in the background, setting a rhythm that neither of you really follow. but it fits.

you’re actually supposed to be working on your slides but oh well. your fingers hovering over the keyboard. daniela’s sketching something on a scrap of paper, focused, lines coming to life beneath her hand. she doesn’t explain what it is. doesn’t offer. you don’t ask.

but you keep stealing glances. and she keeps pretending not to notice. until she does. her eyes flick up, catching you mid-stare. you flinch, caught like a guilty secret. she doesn’t. she just raises an eyebrow at you, like really? your gaze drops immediately, heat crawling up your neck. the corner of her mouth twitches just barely but it’s there.

you end up there for hours and obviously you didn’t mean to. but she never tells you to leave. never acts like you’re taking up space. just lets you sit, lets you snack, lets you laugh at her handwriting and kick her ankle under the blanket when she says something sarcastic. and when you finally check your phone, it’s almost midnight. gosh.

"shit. i should go." you mutter as you eyes the time on your phone.

"you can stay."

"i mean, just to crash. if you want. i’ve got an extra hoodie. you look cold."

you don’t answer right away. and maybe that’s the answer in itself. dani gets up and throws you the hoodie. and she doesn’t even look at you while she does it. but when you slip it on, oversized and warm and still smelling like her shampoo, she says something that caught you off guard.

"looks good on you." daniela says like it’s nothing. but you’re starting to learn that when daniela says something like it’s nothing. it’s definitely something.

it’s ten minutes between lectures. your brain is foggy from note-taking, your fingers are cold from the library air, and your bag is slung too low on one shoulder. you barely hear anything as people file out around you. just chatter and sneaker-squeaks and someone dropping a water bottle that rolls past your feet.

you step into the hallway and as always, daniela’s already there leaning against the wall. arms crossed. earbuds in. one side of her hair tucked back. she’s looking at her phone but you can tell that she’s been waiting for you. and she doesn’t even look surprised when you walk up. just pulls one earbud out, glances up slow.

"hey." it’s so normal. so casual. like it’s a daily routine. maybe it’s becoming one.

"you’re early," you says softly, looking up at daniela.

"and you’re late." daniela says making you grin and bump her shoulder lightly.

"i was gonna say you missed me, but okay." you sighs dramatically causing daniela to snorts.

"i did."

"what?" you blink.

"what." but she’s smiling. just a little and just enough.

you don’t even remember how you ended up here. one minute, you were walking together after your last class and joking about something dumb, bumping shoulders. and the next, you were toeing off your shoes by her door, dropping your bag on her floor like this is routine. like you’ve done it a hundred times before. you haven’t. but it’s starting to feel like you could.

her dorm’s still the same. soft lighting that makes everything feel a little gentler. cracked window letting in the evening air. a half-zipped hoodie hanging from the corner of her bed, swaying slightly whenever you move. but this time, there’s no assignment. no project. no excuse. just you and her and the quiet space in between.

daniela’s in the desk chair, legs stretched out, socked feet crossed at the ankles. her head’s tilted slightly, like she’s listening to the soft music that hums low from her phone speaker—some mellow instrumental that doesn’t ask for attention, just fills the silence. but she keeps looking at you. not in a way that demands anything. just literally watching. like you’re something she’s trying to figure out, or maybe already has. and you keep pretending not to notice.

fiddling with the hem of your sleeve, suddenly very interested in the pattern on her blanket, the chipped nail on your thumb, anything that isn’t the heat rising in your cheeks under her gaze. but she doesn’t stop looking. and you don’t really want her to.

you really try to focus on something, anything. on your phone, but it’s hard when she’s just there. sitting like she owns the room. like the silence bends around her. like she knows you’re flustered and she likes it.

"you’re comfy," daniela says, breaking the silence.

"it’s your bed." you mumbles.

"yeah, but you’re still cute in it."

"excuse me?"

"just saying. you look good when you’re relaxed." dani shrugs, all casual. like she didn’t just lob a grenade into your chest.

"dani stop." you choke on your own breath and toss your phone onto the blanket.

"what?" she leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. eyes too steady. too smug and definitely too much.

"you’re blushing." she pauses.

"is it the ‘cute’ part or the ‘in my bed’ part that’s doing it for you?"

you stare at daniela. then you grab the nearest pillow and launch it right at her face. it hits with a soft whump and she bursts out laughing — the kind that makes her lean back in the chair, eyes squinting, mouth wide with actual joy. and how you wish it didn’t make your heart flip.

"you’re so annoying," you mumble, face hot, covering yourself with the blanket like it’ll undo the last thirty seconds.

"you didn’t deny it, though." she calls out, muffled through the pillow she’s now hugging to her chest. you groan and she just grins in satisfaction.

you’re half-asleep at your usual table. recess is loud and laughter echoing off walls, sneakers pounding pavement but it all feels distant, muffled by the fog in your head. your eyelids are heavy, textbook open in front of you but untouched.

daniela’s next to you. elbow propped on the table, cheek resting against her hand, posture lazy in that way only she can pull off. she’s quiet, letting you trace across the back of her other hand with your black pen. and she hasn’t said a word about it. just watches. barely blinking. her thumb twitches slightly when your finger accidentally brushes the inside of her wrist, but she doesn’t pull away.

you’re not even drawing anything good. just dumb little stars. uneven. shaky. some filled in, some not. you draw one right in the center of her hand. it’s a little crooked. off-balance. but who cares?

"that one’s you." you mumble, not really expecting her to hear.

"tilted?" dani gaze flicks up, one brow barely raised.

"shining." you correct, without looking up and she doesn’t respond but her hand stays still and so do you.

you forget about it. the next day slips by in pieces—notes you barely register, teachers talking like background noise, friends pulling you along through hallways you don’t fully remember walking. everything blurs.

until you’re halfway to your seat. and then you see her. daniela. already there with her hood up and sleeves rolled to her elbows like she always does when she’s tired or pretending she isn’t.

you stop mid-step. because on her hand right where you drew it yesterday is the star. your star. the tilted one. only now, it’s not in pen. it’s in ink. clean, sharp black lines. not smudged, not fading, permanent. your stomach drops.

"wait— you didn’t erase it?" you slide into the seat beside her, still staring.

"couldn’t." daniela shrugs like she doesn’t feel your panic.

"cause got it tattooed." daniela says that calmly and your throat dries.

"you’re joking."

"i’m not."

you blink. you wait for her to laugh, for the punchline but it just never comes.

"why would you—"

"because you drew it and because i didn’t want it to fade." daniela explains to you in a soft tone.

you don’t say anything. you’re so busy trying to process that you almost miss the way her hand finds yours under the table. her thumb brushes your knuckles and her voice drops.

"i like you, y/n." and then suddenly the world goes quiet.

like the air’s holding its breath with you. like everything else—the noise, the nerves, the chaos pauses just long enough to make room for her voice.

"not fake-like. not for the deal. not because it’s fun messing with you."

your heart’s hammering in your chest. your hand is shaking and dani notices so she holds it tighter.

"i like you for real. and i’m kinda hoping you like me back."

your eyes drop to the star on her skin. your star. on her. damn. what even is happening. and then they lift—to soft fabric and steady eyes and that stupid calm voice that’s always said more than it was supposed to.

"you’re actually insane," you whisper, breathless.

"is that a yes?"

you don’t answer her instead you just lean forward and kiss her quick, barely-there, more breath than touch. but it’s everything. and when you pull back, she’s already grinning like an idiot.

"so yes?"

"ugh, yes." you roll your eyes, heart still racing and cheeks burning.

you’re still close maybe a little too close. her hand’s still holding yours, thumb brushing soft over your knuckles like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you kissed her. you literally kissed her. and now she’s just sitting there, grinning like she just won something in life.

"you’re smiling way too much." you mumble, still a little breathless.

"am i?" daniela hums, tilting her head, her eyes flicking to your mouth again.

"you could kiss me again to make me stop."

"oh my god. you’re unbelievable." you mumbles as your face heats up at her words.

"and kissable." she adds helpfully. you throw your head back and groan, hand covering your face. dani’s laugh is low and smug and entirely too pleased with herself.

"daniela."

"what? you literally started it." she blinks innocently.

"you kissed me. on school property. during recess. and now i have expectations." you grab her sleeve and tug it over her face.

"you’re really insane."

"maybe. but you did draw a star on me and now it’s permanent. so i think we’re even."

you’re blushing. hard and you can feel it. she pulls her sleeve down just enough to look at you, voice quieter now softer but still teasing.

"just one more?" you look at her. she’s not pushing. not demanding. just there. waiting patiently.

you sighs as you lean in — not rushed, not dramatic. just a quiet, warm press of lips against hers again. longer this time, a little closer. her hand finds the side of your neck. your other one curls into the fabric of her hoodie. and when you pull back, her eyes flutter open, slow.

"okay," she whispers. "maybe two more."

"you’re such a pervert."

"yeah." daniela grins. "but i’m your pervert now."

you shove her away with a breathless laugh and she grabs your wrist, pulling you right back in.

#daniela avanzini #katseye #katseye x reader #katseye x female reader #daniela avanzini x reader #jeeseth #dew’s 🍈

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softlymellow · 1 day ago

Text

The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 13

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 5k !!!!??!?!?!?

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to SWTCW, some angst some fluff TW PHYSICAL/MILD SEXUAL HARRASSMENT

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

"Jealousy in Jedi robes."

The conversation went on, politics and more politics. The senators spoke amongst themselves while you shifted weight between your feet. Anakin did the same, though he had a rather hard look on his face, his Adam's apple bobbing every minute or so. Padme, Bail and Monian seemed quite eager to discuss the political agendas of the night.

You stayed quiet, letting the words pass you through one ear and out the other. It wasn’t until you felt Monian shifting closer to you, his face leaned in.

“You don’t wear silence well,” he said, low enough that only you could hear.

You gave him a side glance. “It’s the only thing I’m allowed to do lately,” you snorted.

He chuckled softly, “they should let you speak more often.” He brought his glass up to his well trimmed beard. “I’m rather keen on your thoughts on the shifting trades.”

Across the circle, Anakin spoke. “You never struck me as someone who was interested in politics.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, looking at him as if you were back in the training arena. “That’s because you were never listening.”

The air tightened. Padme blinked, her shoulders still.

Monian had a rather bemused expression, “the way I see it, a Commander would know plenty about politics,” he said lightly. “The Jedi are a separate body from the Senate. Different ideologies”

Anakin turned to look down at Monian directly, him being much taller than the Senator. “Real Jedi don’t abandon their lifelong principles so easily,” he said in a low tone.

“I must be in rare company. Her every move, every breath, says more than half this room’s senators combined.” Vale turns to you, his mouth curling. “I admire honesty. Especially when worn so…effortlessly.”

You didn’t look away from Monian.

Anakin didn’t either.

His mouth barely twitched and his arms were crossed. You knew that look. It was the kind before he would snap. Before he did something reckless.

But he didn’t speak.

His silence spoke a thousand words.

And for now, you smiled.

It wasn’t only Anakin that was silent but rather Bail and Padme too. Monian’s compliment lingered in the air for far longer than needed —entirely too public.

Bail cleared his throat, “Senator Vale,” he began, his voice measured. “You have always had a way with… words.”

Monian chuckled, “is it a sin to speak the truth?”

Padme tilted her head. “Sometimes moderation is needed,” she said gently, her eyes flickering to you for a second.” Before Padme could continue, another woman came up to her —presumably another senator– and whispered something in her ear.

Taking the opportunity, you shifted your stance so that Monian’s presence was no longer suffocating. Anakin’s eyes followed every movement made, his eyes sharp.

Padme nodded, brushing her hands down her gown to smooth it out as the lady finished talking to her.

“It’s nearly time,” Padme said to the circle. “If you will excuse me I have to get ready to say my speech. I’ve been asked to make a keynote address.”

“Good luck, Padme.” Bail encouraged a politely smiling Padme. Padme, nodded her head to Bail, and then to Vale, and then to you. She then turned around with Anakin trailing behind her.

The group began to disperse their ways as the main event had begun. The lights had dimmed slightly, indicating the start of policy talks and the never ending diplomatic speeches.

Monian stood beside you at the bar, murmuring something to the bartender who placed two clear drinks down between you.

“They only serve these at Republic events. Can’t let the Senators get too drunk.” He shrugged. “Ruins the image.”

You gave him a faint smile, taking the drink in your hands and bringing it slowly to your mouth. The smell of steriliser hit you in an instant and it began to sting you while it made its way down your throat. Immediately, you pulled it away, a scowl on your face.

“How could you drink this?” You cleared your throat, your hand rubbing your neck in disgust.

“I quite like the burn.” He smiled into the rim of his drink.

“Or the aesthetic.”

“You wound me,” Monian said as his hand dramatically clenched his chest, then taking another sip.

You didn’t respond. To be honest, you didn’t have to. Monian would always fill the silence, refusing to let it hold.

Sure enough, his commlink chirped. Monian sighed, a hand through his slick back chestnut hair. “They want me back at the platform. Padme is speaking soon.” And then he took another sip. “They want the crowd photogenic, I suppose.”

You snorted, leaning against the counter. Monian set down his glass beside you and began to adjust his blazer.

“How do I look?”

“Overconfident.”

Monian shot you a smirk and then, he reached out to you. And his hand rubbed your forearm lightly.

“Don’t disappear.” And with that, he pulled away and was gone.

You were alone feeling the burn of his touch on you. You shifted uncomfortably, your back against the bar.

You watched as he disappeared into the sea of politicians that turned their heads, ready to listen to Padme speak.

His touch sat on your skin and you couldn’t wipe it off in public.

Voice’s began to quiet down and laughs died off as Padme’s voice filtered through the speakers — clear, calm and rehearsed. The hall’s lighting had dimmed down with Padme being the center of attention.

You barely heard her though. You didn’t belong here. Even in the dark you couldn’t miss the glances that some people gave you when they thought you weren’t looking.

You shifted your weight, turning to face the orange lit bar, ready to down the rest of your drink and tune out when a shoulder brushed yours.

You flinched. Expecting to see Vale again. The discomfort still there.

But it wasn’t him.

It was Anakin.

“Anakin,” you muttered, startled. “You scared me.”

Looking up at him made your stomach twist. His hair was slightly tousled, like he had run a hand through them one too many times. And his scar under his eye just caught the warm lighting to make him look more rough.

“I wasn’t trying to.” He spoke in a low tone.

You didn’t say anything, only turning so your back was again pressed against the bar. Both you and Anakin watched Padme in her grace and political shine speak.

Anakin’s jaw clenched.

“He’s bold,” he finally said, turning his head to look at you.

“Who?” You asked innocently.

“Vale.”

You let the silence stretch just so he could feel it.

“He talks to you like he knows you.”

You turned to meet his eyes.

“You’re not exactly in a position to be jealous,” you added softly.

“I’m not jealous.” He defended himself. The conversation between you two were quiet as Padme’s voice boomed across the hall, neither of you wanting to gain any attention.

You smiled into your glass. “Sure.”

Anakin’s robes brushed against your arm, sending a shiver to run down your spine.

“You shouldn’t let people like him touch you,” Anakin muttered. His eyes glanced down at your drink and then up at you. You felt the heat in his eyes. Like he was trying to decipher every one of your actions but failed to do so. If he looked at you long enough, maybe you’d crack. And it took every part of you to try and not.

You blinked once. “I wasn’t aware that it was any of your business.”

His jaw shifted. “I’m not saying that it is,” he looked away from you. “He gets real close for someone who only needs an escort.”

You scoffed and gave him a half laugh, setting your glass down behind you on the counter. “I could say the same thing about you, Skywalker.”

Anakin’s eyebrow rose at your tone. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t left Padme’s side at all tonight.” You shrugged.

“That’s my job.”

“Exactly.”

Anakin stayed silent and met your eyes. “It’s different. I mean what I said,” he muttered.

“About what?”

“Padme. There’s nothing on.”

You tilted your head, “Right. That’s why you answered her comms mid convo with me. That’s why you’re guarding her alone tonight.”

“I answered because it was protocol,” Anakin’s stare tensed. “And I’m guarding her because I was assigned to it. I didn’t volunteer to do this.”

You didn’t answer. He stepped a little closer to you.

“But Monian?” He continued, his voice dropping low and rough again. “He chooses to touch you—talk to you like that.”

“...and we must not allow wartime to cloud our judgement and values of the Republic that we all serve…” Padme’s voice rang out again. You pursed your lips, your hand tighter around the glass.

“I think you’re smarter than that,” he said, his figure towering over you. “To fall for his act. He’s not just an overly annoying Senator but he’s interested in the way you look.” Anakin averted his gaze away, as if he was shy to say something like that.

Shaking your head, you brought one hand up to stop him from continuing. “Okay, Anakin, that's enough. I didn’t ask you to lecture me on how I should act.”

Anakin didn’t blink.

“And we’re not together,” you said, coldly. “Unless you want to debrief me on something mission-related, I suggest you keep walking.”

His mouth hung open as if he wanted to say something else–but he didn’t.

He knew you were right.

“...You could’ve said something earlier,” he said quietly. “Back in the medbay. If you didn’t want me around.”

“I didn’t say that,” you replied. “Just stop trying to act like you still—have this claim on me.” Your voice grew.

You picked up your glass, bringing it back to your lips. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I think you’re better off tending to Senator Amidala.” Your gaze was locked onto Padme who began to descend from the stage, a roar of claps and cheers were made.

Anakin didn’t move.

He just stared at you.

Like he felt this ever growing desire to protect you and it ached him to see the way that you pushed him. No longer embracing his warmth like you did before.

Eventually, he turned away,

And walked back into the waves of cheering Senators.

He left like he had tension boiling under his skin. Your fingers curled tighter around the drink.

The applause began to fade and Senators began to shuffle around, Padme’s speech already dissolving into the night. It was all noise—the kind that would just pass through you.

You felt tired.

Maybe Anakin was just looking out for you but not after everything he has done. You didn’t know if you wanted to rekindle the relationship. It seemed that his methods to gain you back failed every single time. He wasn’t treating you like a friend anymore. He was just treating you as his enemy and now his pet.

You made a mental note to talk about this with Obi-wan.

The four of you were once inseparable —Ahsoka included. God you missed her. She would definitely be teasing you over being assigned a silly mission like this one.

And then footsteps broke your train of thought. Monian returned and slid beside you, a lopsided smile like he hadn’t just missed the verbal skirmish between you and Anakin. You fought the urge to groan and get away from him.

“Is he always that subtle?” He asked, watching the crowd.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you felt your stomach twist.

Monian leaned closer to you, “the Jedi.”

Your gaze flicked up to him. “You mean Skywalker?”

“If that’s what we’re calling him tonight.”

You sipped your drink, not wanting to respond.

“I always thought Jedi weren’t allowed to get…involved.” His tone changed to a more curious one. “That kind of closeness—it’s forbidden, isn’t it?”

You sharply turned to look at him. “He’s not involved.” You snapped.

“Could have fooled me.”

You sighed. Dreading the night and its problems. You just stared at the reflection of yourself in the glass.

“It’s not like that,” you said quietly.

“You didn’t deny it.”

Your jaw clenched.

“There is nothing, Senator Vale.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t want him to be.”

You scoffed, your head moving in a sharp moment to look at him. “Really? You ask a lot of questions for a Senator.”

Monian shrugged. “I don’t pry, but I want to understand.”

You gave him a long look.

“You want to understand the Jedi Code?” You asked.

“No,” he said. “I want to understand you.”

Staying silent, you began to bite the inside of your cheeks. There was no room between you two and you wanted to escape far away from him, from Anakin and from this event.

“Then don’t ask about my personal life. I’m here on duty.” You managed to come up with.

There was a pause between you two. It wasn’t heavy, but present. It was a lot quieter in comparison to the rest of the room.

And suddenly, a droid came up to the both of you. He was metallic in colour and just taller than you, holding a tray of appetizers.

“Excuse me,” the droid gave a small bow. “Would you like to try? It’s Nuna cuts glazed in Chandrian sweet-rose syrup.”

“Oh! Don’t mind if I do.” Monian Vale took a serving for himself and eagerly placed it in his mouth.

As it touched the tip of his tongue and then into his mouth, he suddenly groaned loudly in delight.

“Mhmmm.” He chewed on the meat. “You have got to try it, Commander.”

You shook your head ‘no’ to both the droid and him.

“Very well,” the droid said before walking in.

“Wow.” He brought his fist to his mouth, gulping down the meat.

You stayed silent and watched ahead, Senators taking a plate of their own and piling it with their own choices of food. You never really had the privilege of eating such luxurious food as a Jedi. It was sort of part of their code. Delicacies often lead to greed and gluttony.

You straightened your back.

Then Monian, softer.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” He said, his excitement for the food quietened down. “The things we don’t say. The things we pretend to not feel because it’s cleaner that way.”

You hummed in agreement.

“Since you’re not a Jedi anymore,” he continued, his voice lower. “What is stopping you? From anything you want.”

You couldn’t tell if he was genuinely asking, or if was still suggesting your relationship with Anakin, or if he was instituting the idea of you and a Senator.

You shuddered at the last thought.

“Who said I want anything?”

He smiled, slow and knowing. “Everyone wants something.”

“Okay, Senator…” You shifted away from him. “I think you’ve had too much to drink tonight.”

Monian then laughed, his fingers moving to scratch his beard. “I’ll be at the food table you sweet thing,” he said, stepping back. “If you need someone to talk to—who doesn’t wear a cloak.” Before you could respond, he brought his drink up high towards you and then walked away with a prideful smile.

You watched his back disappear once again in the crowds.

And finally you let yourself breathe. Not one that was relaxed. But rather the heavy, slow breath that hurts a little.

You stood still —straight— just as you had been trained, but your muscles felt weak.

Your eyes drifted to her again.

Padme.

Her gown shimmered as she moved. She had this sort of unmistakable Naboo elegance in every breath she took and every word she spoke. She belonged here. Her words held weight. She could smile and be heard.

You weren’t like that. You had scars. You were rough around the edges. You didn’t have a royal lineage that backed you.

And yet, it felt like he had chosen her. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was the loneliness. She was just a shadow he clung to when you were away. But either way, she was there, and you weren’t.

You didn’t feel glamorous. You weren’t supposed to. You were just a weapon hidden in silk. The kind of girl people could admire from afar but never stayed for.

You used to think that being loved by Anakin meant being understood.

But now? You weren’t sure he saw you clearly at all.

At one point, while Anakin stood by Padme, his arms behind his back like a soldier, his eyes flicked in your direction. But that’s all it was.

Eventually, the crowds began to shift again. Speeches ended. Plate sand glasses clinked. Conversations began to run loosely as the alcohol would settle in.

The music from the band began to slowly die, some Senators would sing along with a few off-key lyrics. Some passionate diplomats were still discussing trade routes, their flame never letting out.

You had made a few loops around the hall since then, you needed action but you weren’t going to get any here. Perhaps in your benefit, mend-gel still applied onto your wounds. Monian had tried to pull you into more conversations, but you had politely declined every time.

You made your way to one of the arching balconies, your hands gripping the railing, the cold biting at your skin.

Speeders floated by like sparks in the dark night.

You inhaled. Exhaled.

And for a moment. You wondered what it would be like to just jump. Not to die. Or to fall. But to vanish.

To disappear into someone —or something— that was never claimed by the Order, by Dev or by him.

Senators began to drift out in pairs behind you, laughter echoing faintly down the hallway.

It was time to leave. You turned away from the balcony and made your way to the lift, pressing a button and the doors hissed open. You stepped inside along with a couple unknown Senators. The lift buzzed and you felt your weight drop as it began to fly downwards.

An individual beside you cleared their throat while another kept giggling to themselves quietly, probably too tipsy.

Once you finally descended, the lift opened and you stepped onto the ground. Making your way out, your eyes scanned the courtyard until you spotted Monian.

Monian’s eyes met you just as fast and you offered him a courteous nod.

“I’ll walk with you,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you to get ambushed by another senator.”

You gave him a tight smile. “I think I can handle myself, Senator Vale.”

He waved his hand in front of you, “Oh, I don’t doubt that.” He began to walk with exaggerated grace of someone trying very hard to not look drunk. But his left step had the slightest drag, giving him away. “Sometimes…It’s not about handling. But being seen.” He leaned in closer to you, his lips curled in amusement.

“Uh huh…” You nodded, not interested in his antics.

You both began to walk down the path, Senators outside chatting amongst themselves, others bidding goodbye and some calling for their taxis. Laughter was heard into muffled distance

That was when he did it.

His arm slipped around your waist.

Tightly.

Casual.

Confident.

Like it belonged there.

Your body froze but your legs kept walking. His arm felt cold yet it burned around your waist. You tried shifting away, subtly but polite.

It was still there.

You brought your hand up to your belt, pretending to brush it off. Hoping he’d take the hint.

He didn’t.

Instead, his grip tightened around you.

“You really should learn to accept compliments, Commander,” he murmured. “And attention. You’ve earned it…” His lips near your temple.

“Senator.” You warned, your left hand met his hand around your waist, pushing him away but he didn’t budge.

“You’re crossing a line.” You hissed. Your voice barely a whisper but your eyes burned.

You caught the attention of a passing politician –just for a second. A woman dressed in a red dress that sat above her knees. Her gaze lingered. A frown. And moved on past you.

“Am I?” He slurred. Too pleased with himself.

“Let me go.” You snapped, your voice dangerously low. Your heartbeat quickened as you felt his thumb brush against the fabric of your waist, your ribs still in pain and now aching from the pressure of hands.

“Don’t be like that,” he said quietly, he was so close to you that you could feel his breath reek of alcohol. “People are watching.”

“I know they are, which is exactly why you should let go.”

He leaned in again and whispered in your ear.

“I’m doing you a favour,” he breathed. “Perhaps people will stop seeing you as a Jedi or a soldier. But as a woman.” He said to you as if he was doing you a favour.

You wanted to take your blaster from your belt and point it at him. But all you could do was stand there— your fingers gripping his own and struggling as he began to push you back. You cursed as he began to use his other hand.

“Take your hands off of her.”

The voice was loud.

You knew it the second you heard it.

Without warning, Anakin snarled and pushed Monian back. He stumbled over his feet, his grip finally free from you.

Monian paused and regained his balance. “Ah. Predictable.” He brushed off his clothes as if Anakin’s touch was dirty. “Jealousy in Jedi robes,” he mocked.

You stepped away from Monian and drew closer to Anakin. Your body screamed with relief with the broken contact but your jaw stayed set. You weren’t going to let Monian think that he had gotten to you.

Anakin stayed silent, his deathly stare never leaving Monian.

Monian raised both his hands in mock surrender. “Easy. No harm done.”

Anakin stepped forward with you by his left and Monian straight away.

He was there, like a wall. Towering over both you and Vale.

Anakin then turned his head just slightly towards you but he didn’t look at you.

“Go wait by the corner.”

You didn’t move. Your hands were still shaky from what had just happened but our eyes moved between both Anakin and Monian. But the way he said it felt more like a command rather than a request.

You nodded and inhaled, stepping around Vale, keeping your back straight and your chin high. You didn’t look back but you felt it. The Force rippled like waves.

“Touchy for a Jedi,” Monian casually said.

As soon as you were out of sight and you couldn’t see him, Anakin moved. Fast.

One hand shot out and gripped Monian by his collar, shoving him back against the marble wall. Monian froze, his breath hitching. Anakin;s face was inches from his face, his teeth clenched.

“You think this is a joke?” He seethed, low and brutal. “You think you can put your hands on her and walk away with a smirk?”

Anakin’s cloak fell slightly from his shoulder while his other arm pressed hard against Monian’s chest.

“I should break your nose.” Anakin spat.

Monian swallowed and gave him a glare of his own. “And here I believed Jedi weren’t supposed to get emotional.”

Anakin’s expression didn’t shift.

“Get angry and make threats.” Monian added, his words clinging to the only thing he had left. “I could report this. Chosen one or not, you land a hand on a Senator and the Council won’t be able to save you.”

Anakin’s grip tightened, his knuckles turning white underneath his gloves. “Report with what?” He hissed. “Your drink-stained shirt? Your slurred words? Or maybe–” his gaze flicked to the corner of his eyes “---the three Senators watching us now? The same ones who watched you touch her.”

Anakin didn’t budge his grip, just like how Monian didn’t let go of yours.

“They look concerned,” a bead of sweat finally slid down by Monian’s temple.

“Good.” He said. “I can answer to the Council once I’m done. Can you say the same for what you just did?”

Silence.

Anakin let his words hang in the air as Monian continued to struggle against him.

Then, Anakin abruptly let go, his hands fell back to his side and he stepped back. Monian clutched his shirt like he could straighten it and his pride at once. Anakin didn’t say another word. Not wanting to spend another second with trash like him.

He turned around and began to speed walk in your direction. To the only thing that had tethered him to the Temple in years.

You.

Anakin turned a corner and found you there standing alone by a window. The moons of Coruscant casting a night glow on your face. One of your hands continuously rubbed your forehead in anxiety.

Your eyes snapped up as you looked at Anakin.

“Did he do anything else before I got there?”

You exhaled and Anakin took a few more steps towards you, his eyes scanning your distraught face. “You shouldn’t have caused a scene.”

“Answer me.” His voice had more weight.

You tilted your head down. “I handled it.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You finally looked up at him, your arms tight at your sides. “What do you want me to say, Anakin? That you were right? That I was too stubborn to admit it?”

He stepped closer.

“I want to know if he did anything more.”

Your throat tightened, tears pricking at your eyes. “Why does it matter?”

His jaw clenched and fire burned in his eyes. “Because if he did–” He stopped himself from continuing.

“You would’ve killed him?”

He didn’t answer.

Because you both knew the truth.

His jaw twitched and his hands stayed clutched at your side. He was fighting himself.

Finally–

“If he had touched you again,” Anakin began, his voice low. “I wouldn’t have just embarrassed him.” Your lips parted to say something but you couldn’t. It was the truth. It was his honest truth and you knew he meant it.

You turned away, your arms brought up to your chest as you looked over at the city. The lights all blend into one.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you said quietly.

“Doing what?”

You sighed, “thank you, Anakin. Truely. But… Showing up like this–” your hand waved. “--Acting like you get to—” you stumbled over your words. “Like I belong to you still.”

Anakin took another step closer to you, enough to begin to feel his warmth.

“I don’t think you belong to me,” he said. “But I won’t let anyone treat you like you’re their property.”

Your heart thudded in your chest.

“I can take care of myself,” you whispered.

“I know that,” he said. “Believe me, Y/n. I do. But I’m not going to stop trying to protect you because you don’t want me to care.”

You breath caught.

“You shouldn’t care.” You murmured.

Anakin took another step closer to you, too close now. You fully turned to face him and was met with a look of concern in his eyes.

“I can’t.” His voice barely above a whisper. So soft that it felt dangerous.

The silence was deafening. It was both heavy and tense. Mixed with emotions you couldn’t ignore.

Your mouth opened but nothing came out.

His eyes stayed on yours, unblinking and sharp.

You couldn’t speak. Not when his hand was so close to your waist, like Anakin had to physically restrain himself from wanting to pull you close and burn the air between you.

But he didn’t. Because even now, he knew how close was too close.

And still…he moved. But barely.

Just a tilt of his head. A shift forward.

You weren’t breathing anymore. But you felt his warm exhale brushing on the corners of your mouth.

The space between you two had narrowed to only inches. It was close. Not close enough.

Anakin’s gaze flicked down —once— to your lips and then back up.

“You’re not shaking,” he said, his voice low. “Not like before.”

“Just barely,” you managed to breathe out.

It broke something in his face and mouth fell open like he might say your name but he didn’t.

“Tell me you don’t want me here,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Say it, and I’ll go.”

It wasn’t a demand. It was a plea.

You blinked at him. No words came out. They couldn’t. You wanted to but you couldn’t lie. Your body craved him, missed him. So you didn’t say anything.

His breath grew soft against your lips, both your bodies tethered to the floor. Neither of you moved forward. Not back either.

Your head didn’t dare move unless he did first. And Anakin did the same. As if both of you were testing the currents.

Then—

A quiet shift of the force.

A whisper of silk.

“General Skywalker.”

Anakin flinched and his breath hitched just slightly.

You turned to look at the voice. Padme stood, poised and unreadable. Her hands were clasped in front of her gown and her posture was too straight. Her eyes took in everything. Everything.

“Senator,” Anakin cleared his throat, stepping back half a step, as if he was caught in the middle of something forbidden. To which he was.

Padme’s gaze flickered to yours for a second and then back to Anakin.

“Forgive the interruption,” she said, “but the Chancellor’s office is requesting a report on this evening’s security presence. I was informed you were both still on assignment.”

Still on assignment.

Right.

Anakin’s jaw was tight, “understood.” He didn’t look at you and not at Padme either. His gaze was directed at the floor.

Padme nodded. “I’ll walk with General Skywalker.”

His breath hitched, barely. Anakin looked over to you. His eyes searched yours like he was waiting for you to stop him.

But you didn’t.

Your throat tightened.

And then—

“I’ll see you around,” he said softly. Like he wanted to promise you but didn’t know if he had the capacity to keep it.

Then, quieter, almost to himself, “...Goodnight."

Like nothing had happened.

He stepped back, he was forcing himself to. He didn’t want to leave but his own duty was pulling him away.

And he began to walk away, not before he glanced back at you, just once. His silhouette retreated into the night, Padme’s dress and his own robes brushed softly against each other.

You stood there alone.

What had just happened stung your skin and your soul.

It still burnt.

A/N: THIS WAS LONGGG YALLLLL i hope u guys like it as always hehe also when i put a gif of aotc anakin i hope it doesnt confuse u guys its set in the clone wars 💔this whole padme thing will be explained dw guys plz mwa

And not proof read guys there’s probably some mistakes 💔

LMK WHAT YALL THINK!

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if u want to be added or removed lmk! Pls if u want me to be untagged u can msg me privately don’t be shy I feel like a lot of the earlier tags had no idea the series would be this long 😭😭😭

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starconstruction · 2 days ago

Text

Dynamic Trio of Love

Yandere Chaewon + Yunjin x Male Reader (smut)

You've probably read this if you followed my old blog, feel free to reread or renote.

smut tag: oral (m/f), riding, threesome, generic smut things

Word Count: 4151

It was a normal day at the Seraphim University, a prestigious university with a ridiculously low acceptance rate. Multiple stories of knowledge, the buildings felt modern. Clean cut angular walls, painted a angelic white and the windows were a oppositional black.

This was the second year you taught here and given its status it paid good enough. The students were okay. For the most part none of them asked questions after school as they were only here so they wouldn't lose their trust funds. The easiest way to get into the school was just to be rich, but you taught them all the same.

"Quiet down class!" You said, hand ruffling through your hair. Loud conversations immediately fell quiet, giving you the stage. You pulled up the power point as you began the lecture.

"So then class why does Mr Gatz use diminutives?" You asked, gesturing towards the awaiting class. The entire class kept their hand down, you never knew if it was out of apathy or confusion. But there was always that one student.

Huh Yun-jin, an elegant student. One of the few who came here to learn, transferring from Korea to come here. She was always attentive, hastefully writing down every word you uttered. Asking every question she had and answering every you had.

"Yes Yunjin." You replied to her awaiting hand, she beamed a bright smile as she begun to speak. "Because of their relationship, Gatsby is his son and he is showing his condolences." Her tone was straight, she spoke prim and proper as she clicked her pen.

"Correct Yunjin, as always." You smiled, turning back to the board as the lecture went on. You wrote notes on the board, these English lessons were always silent. The students acted dead, except Yunjin.

The class wound down and the students frantically dashed out, like prisoners being freed from their cage. Except Yunjin, who lingered near her desk. "Sir, I have a question." She queried. Her arms crossed together as she looked down, she was always shy everytime you saw her. "Yes, Yunjin." You replied.

"Do you think I'm pretty sir?" Her question caught you off guard. Saliva caught in your throat, violent coughs ripping out. "What?! That is highly inappropriate!" You reprimanded her, she put herself on the table. Legs parting slowly giving you vision of her underwear, you gulped. Why was she doing this? "I mean look at me Sir, you could have me right here." She probed.

You looked at her, breath hitching as you truly took notice of her appearance. The way her hair was done up in a neat ponytail, the way her outfits complimented her curves, how smooth her legs were as they were cut off by the skirt that was much shorter than you realized.

You felt guilty, blood rushing to your shaft. Hands gripped the table as you clung onto the wood, Yunjin was smirking. Walking towards you with a seductive stance, she popped out her leg and highlighted her ass. Daring you to give in, she was in front of you now. "I can promise you professor, you won't regret it." She whispered in your ear, teeth finding your lobe. Scraping against it while she bit, eliciting a forced moan from your lips. Her hand found your erect shaft, covered by the fabric which painfully constricted you.

You may have made the first mistake, but you won't make the second. You pushed her off you, her eyes scowling as her treat was ripped away. "I will ignore your blatant inappropriate conduct but you must leave now." You uttered, mere inches from jumping her bones and pounding her into the ground.

"Fine, professor. But I will warn you, I always get what I want." She growled, grabbing her bag and storming out the room. You were shaking, thoughts of her body nestled in your brain.

You left your classroom, heading to the bathroom. Relieving yourself into a tissue before getting ready to go home for the night. What the hell just happened?

"Ugh! I was so close!" Yunjin yelled, draped over the side of the couch. Head hanging against the carpeted floor, she was in her professors home. The one that she wasn't trying to jump, Chaewon. "He was rock solid! We nearly had our blackmail chae" She continued, ranting incessantly.

Chaewon was much more composed than her friend, infact she was the one to come up with the plan to blackmail him. "God, it's okay Yunjin." Chaewon comforted, she was laid on the ground. Licking a cherry flavored lollipop, formulating their next plan to get him where they wanted.

"Unless you have another fantastic idea!" Yunjin shouted, taking out her frustration on an u expecting pillow. Launching it across the room. The two of them were madly in love, an unexplainable connection bound you three. "I actually do" Chaewon chimed, picking up her phone. "What if we just isolated him?" She fiddled with her device. "I mean, he lives a reclusive life as it is. We can make it work."

They discussed their plan for hours, talking until the sun set with only one goal. Y/N will be theirs.

The week following your altercation with Yunjin were weird, colleagues you got along with simply no longer interacted. If you went near them they would move, it was weird. Even weirder they looked terrified, everyone except one person. Chaewon.

Chaewon was a very good friend to you, both teaching English meant you spent considerable time researching how to teach lessons effectively. Spending time in the break rooms creating lessons together. She stayed put and was now the only person you had to talk to.

"Chae, I wanna ask you something." You said, hunched over your pot of instant noodles. Her body stiffened strangely while she readjusted her top, which clung to her slim body very well. "Everybody has been avoiding me recently, like overnight. Did I do something?" Chaewon sat and thought for a second, taking an extremely long sip of her instant coffee. "I heard a few rumors, but I didn't buy it." Rumors? Did Yunjin spread lies? "What were the rumors?" You asked.

The warmth from the room suddenly faded, Chaewon didn't speak for awhile. The silence was chilling, heart beating against your chest. "They said you assaulted a guy who your girlfriend cheated on you with." Chaewon said plainly, sipping more coffee. Your head recoiled in shock, girlfriend? You wish, assault? You'd never.

The bell chimed, indicating you two had to teach. Chaewon downed her drink and got up to leave. "See you Y/N, just know I'm here." You smiled, there's at least one friend for you.

You laid down in your room, something you were very proud with its decoration. Positively you and a manifestation of your interests. The events of the day played through your head again and again, was your reputation on the line over lies? You spent your afternoon texting people, being left on delivered. There was always Chaewon, maybe she was free.

You shot her a simple message, "wassup chaewon I'm just wondering if you wanted to hang out I can come to yours just feeling a bit shaken lmk" You felt a bit pathetic, surprised when the message was immediately met with a response.

"yea come over bring alcohol xx" Well that sounds like a pretty solid night, you grabbed whatever alcohol you had from your last party and headed over to Chaewon's house, you've never been there before, unnecessary paranoia filled your head.

You knocked on her door, lugging a needless amount of alcohol up the stairs. Chaewon welcomed you in, she looked much different to her usual attire in the workplace. A thin white shirt with a black Metallica logo, the fabric was way too small. Exposing her toned stomach, she clearly exercised much more you did. She was wearing black booty shorts and no socks, did you catch her asleep?

You two sat on her couch, her living room radiated the Chaewon you knew. A few cans of lemon sparkling water laid on the tables, the cheap scent of vanilla wafted through the air. She had quite a few trinkets, a realistic plane laid on the shelves. "Sorry for not cleaning up, wasn't expecting company." Chaewon said, legs crossed on her couch as she grabbed a bottom of beer from your bag. "Nice brand, Mr money bags."

You sighed as you joined her in drinking, the disgusting taste of beer going down your throat. "Big fan of planes ay?" You said. Pointing out the various little figures all across the room, giggling a bit as Chaewon followed your eyes. "Yeah, didn't you know I was originally going to be a flight attendant? Really wanted to anyway. Parents didn't want me to, assholes." She said, a hint of discontent and resentment as she recalled the past.

"Neat, probably more interesting than teaching English." You chimed back, Chaewon moved inwards towards you slightly, arm pressing against your leg. You felt a bit of a blush this close, her perfume was equally cheap but pleasant, a mixture of cinnamon and cigarettes.

" English is fun to teach!" Chaewon yelled out. "Just, I wonder how things would have gone." She took a deep swig, nearly downing half the bottle. She was a really good friend to have. You smiled as you two chatted for a bit.

"Want a smoke Y/N?" Chaewon asked, rummaging through her bag as she threw found a lighter. Adorned with a middle finger and a heart, it matched her perfectly. "I don't smoke." You dismissed her.

"Don't care, come stand by me then." She demanded. You two stood outside, the night's chill laid on you two. More so Chaewon, the frail outfit providing little resistance to nature. She was frantically shivering while taking a drag of her cigarette, guilt clawed you. She was nothing but nice to you, a friend who didn't abandon you.

"Take this chae, don't freeze to death on me now." Your hands tugged off your warm hoodie, Chaewon put it on. It hung lose around her, a size or two larger than her body. "Thank you." Chaewon whispered, taking another hit before smirking. "Just one?" Her cigarette held an inch from your face, if it'd make her happy.

You coughed violently as the overwhelming sensation to cough filled every fiber of your being in. Shoving the devil stick back towards her while she laughed. "Wimp." You two went back inside and talked for a long while, teaching, personal life, anything.

"I'm gonna use the bathroom, don't run off." Chaewon said, running up the stairs as you sat against her plush couch. Taking a sip of cider, much more palatable than those beers.

Her phone lit up. a singular message laid on her decorated phone, a black phonecase with various symbols and a key chain.

Yunjin (school one): you finished sharing the.... The text message cut off, you felt confused, staring at the screen while your mind reeled with possibilities. Shared what? You were taken out of your thoughts as loud steps came down the stairs. It wouldn't hurt to ask, just in a roundabout way.

You took a deep breath as Chaewon sat back down. Laying against your leg as you spoke, "You helping Yunjin with English? She stopped coming to my tutor sessions." You were worried you came off nervous, however it seemed like Chaewon didn't notice. "No, she doesn't come to mine. I guess she doesn't need it." Oh.

"So what did you share? Your phone lit up." You pushed forward, Chaewon's skin went devoid of color as she gulped. "Errr..." Her words caught in her throat. "It's not what you think." She continued.

"Then what is it Chaewon." You pried, getting poised to leave. "It's, you - okay. I may have started those rumors but I had a reason! Just hear me out!" You felt betrayed, a knife digging into your back. You got up to leave, walking towards the door. Chaewon's body connected with you, slamming your body into the wall invoking a large slamming noise. Chaewon was mere inches from your face, alcoholic breath catching in your nose as she held you against the wall.

"I had a reason! You were pulling away from me and Yunjin, rejecting her advances! Clearly you had someone else in mind, so we had to act!" She yelled, pressing deeper into your stomach as you gasped in pain. "Chaewon, you are fucking nuts.. Get off of me!" You two struggled against each other, arms pushing for dominance. "It had to be done! Stop struggling and we can just talk." Her leg slammed up against your crotch, knocking you down onto the ground as you writhed in pain. "Always so fucking difficult! We could have had a good night. I got all ready, wore my thinnest clothes the second you messaged me. But no, you have to be awkward." Chaewon rambled, now firmly on top of you as you attempted to push her off. Panting as oxygen left your body, she was way too strong. "I love you Y/N! So does Yunjin, just give in!" She yelled, taking your lips in a stolen kiss, the reeking taste of alcohol entering your mouth as she forcefully gnawed at you.

Prehaps you got lucky, perhaps she got tired. Either way you were thankful as a particularly strong shove got her off you, heart hammering against your chest as you slipped your shoes on half-haphazardly. Running as fast as you could back to your car. Chaewon was in your rear view mirror, a disturbing grin as you drove off. "THIS ISN'T OVER Y/N!"

The next two days didn't come easy, sleep a luxury too taxing for you. Every second you weren't distracted brought you back to that night, work was even harder. Chaewon being so close to you made you panic, quality of work slipping away as you struggled to teach.

You couldn't tell if it was your own delusions or if Yunjin was eyeing you up, her smile felt sadistic as she kept asking questions. Watching as you struggle to answer, the other students must have noticed you going mad.

You were at home, eyes closed as you fought for a singular second of sleep. The events replaying yet again, how close you were to an unexplainable horror. The gentle hum of YouTube did nothing to soothe you. Hands clawing the pillow as your heart raced, breathing heavy. You weren't going to be able to sleep like this.

Going outside wasn't going to calm you down, way too dark. Nobody would be able to save you. You opened the window, breathing in the cold fresh air. Your breathing calmed down as you relaxed. You'll be okay. You'll be okay.

You fell asleep for the first time in days.

A loud blaring noise rang out, the sound of your phone's alarm. In your tiredness you had set it to 7pm instead of 7am. God fucking damn it.

You walked downstairs, desperate for a cup of water to nurse your dry throat. Something felt wrong, the air felt colder than it should. It must be your nerves, you breathed out. Heading towards the kitchen.

The water went down your throat, soothing every dry muscle as it coated your mouth. You started to walk upstairs when your jaw dropped. Two shadowy figures were outside your door, a cacophonous noise of scratching metal and muffled talking. Your blood ran cold, rushing upstairs as water splashed on your arm.

Your bedroom provided no comfort now, the creaking of the front door alerted you. They were inside. You breathed erratically, vision blurring around the edges. Footsteps came up the stairs, you scanned around the room looking for anything to use. Nothing, you really shouldn't have cleaned recently.

The door opened and two figures came in, they didn't wear disguises. Chaewon and Yunjin were there in all your glory, faces shocked as you stared at them.

"Hello Y/N." Yunjin said, her hand was holding something. A knife. You gulped, they were going to kill you. "We were hoping you would be asleep. But we can improvise for you honey." Chaewon followed up, her voice sickeningly sweet. They got closer. "Get back! This is insane!" You cried out.

"Insane, maybe honey. But let's talk about this more when we are home, Yunjin." Chaewon commanded, Yunjin got close. Holding a knife against your throat, Chaewon got closer. A needle of a strange liquid in her hand. "Don't do this." You made one last plea, but they didn't listen. Jabbing the syringe into your body.

It didn't take long before the world went black, the last thing you saw was sinister smiles.

You woke up, eyes being greeted with a grey basement. Water damaged as the scent of mold filled your nose, you tried to move but the tape shackles locked you in place.

You sat there for who knows how long, bored and petrified of what was about to happen. A loud scuttering down the stairs filled you with new found fear, it was Yunjin, wearing a t-shirt way too big for her and shorts. Her hand was holding a familiar knife. "Morning honey, sleep well?" Her innocuous question made you recoil.

She smiled as she sat on your leg, putting the knife against your throat. "I asked you a question, let's not get off on the wrong foot." You panicked. "Yunjin, calm down.. I slept fine." You had to comply, the knife disappeared from your throat as you let out a sigh of relief. "Okay, good. You'll love it here. But one word of advice." Yunjin got closer, inches from your ear "we don't like to repeat ourselves." You gulped.

Chaewon came down the stairs next, holding a tray of scrambled eggs, toast and orange juice. You couldn't lie when you said it looked good, hunger panged in your stomach causing a burst of discomfort. "I brought you breakfast." She said.

You couldn't accept it, couldn't give in to their desires. "I'm not taking your food." You barked, Chaewon sighed as Yunjin frowned. "Look, I don't know what power you think you have. But I'm feeding you this food to you either way." She gathered some egg on a fork bringing it to your mouth. "Be a good boy so I don't have to force you." Chaewon pleaded, but her voice vowed danger if you didn't comply.

You accepted, opening your mouth slightly as she fed you. Smiling as you ate her cooking, "Good." She was honestly a good cook, but you wouldn't stroke their ego. Yunjin spoke "We can fix up the basement, if you are good we will be so nice. If not, well you'll see." The words filled you with fear as a piece of toast entered your mouth.

It has been a long time since they took you, there was no way to tell. They didn't give you a clock, you had roughly gathered a schedule. One of the two would come in and give you breakfast, then after a excruciating long time one of them would come again to talk to you.

You three had a lot of battles, defiant to their actions. You'd always regret it after. Chaewon was the much more brutal one, taking pleasure in your misery. You weren't going to forget when she snapped, dragging her knife through your flesh. Ignoring your pleading to stop, Yunjin was much calmer with her actions. Mostly getting enjoyment from teasing you.

They returned, the atmosphere felt different. They seemed almost playful, not in the same sadistic way as usual. "Hey Y/N, do you know what day it is?!" They said together, hands gesturing enthusiastically. You shook your head, "It's our one month anniversary!" Chaewon cheered, Yunjin carrying on like this was rehearsed. "So we all get a reward! You can get some entertainment! Me and chae get some dick, you wouldn't deprive us of that right?" She smiled. Your mind filled with thoughts, you should say no. But something about the way they looked was bringing you inwards.

"I wouldn't deny you.." You said quietly, they beamed. "Great! We need to prepare something so go shower or something."

The sanguine of their LEDs painted the room in a deep red. They had tied you back up leaving you naked, cock hardening as they stripped slowly. They were really putting on a show, Chaewon's hands pulled Yunjin's crop top off, delivering soft kisses to her stomach while Yunjin patted her head. Chaewon's teeth bit down on her skirt. Looking directly into her eyes as she trailed down her legs, revealing Yunjin's panties wet with need.

"Isn't she so perfect? Don't you just wanna fuck your ex-student's cunt?" Chaewon asked, quickly disposing of the undergarments. Yunjin's body now fully exposed, she looked divine. Entire body bathed in red but it did nothing to hide her beauty. Her skin was smooth and perfect from head to toe, her body begged for attention. Her breasts rock solid and pussy glistening. "God. I want to fuck her so hard." You whined, Chaewon smiled as a glint of mischief hit her eyes. "She offered it to you, don't you remember?" She teased, the catalyst of this entire event happening coming back to your head.

"Tell you what, you sit there like a good boy. Maybe you can have my seconds." Chaewon growled, mouth making contact with Yunjin's drooling cunt. Loud sucking noses could be heard as Chaewon treated her like a goddess, putting on a show as she feasted.

Chaewon had no desire to be slow, she had desire to be messy. Yunjin's juices covered her face as she got deep as possible. Yunjin was screaming, "Fuck.. Keep going Chae!" The scene in front of you was intense, bringing you to full hardness as your cock violently throbbed. Hands begging for freedom against the restraints. "She tastes so good Y/N, imagine if you said yes. We could have been doing this together." Chaewon said, taking a small breather for oxygen.

Chaewon's fingers feverishly rubbed Yunjin's swollen clit, tongue fucking her hole as it spewed its sticky juice onto Chaewon's tongue." Fuck! Chaewon I'm gonna cum on that tongue!" Yunjin moaned, legs spasming as she came undone. A shared panting between the two as they battled for precious air.

"Awe, look how needy he is" Yunjin teased. You were leaking precum, shaft standing tall as you begged with your eyes. The room was hotter now, burning with passion between you three.

They got closer, dropping down to their knees as they came eye level to your cock. Eyeing it up like a stick of candy, Yunjin's lips took you in, her mouth warm and wet. Tongue licking up bitter precum as she went inch by inch, Yunjin was refined and elegant. Keeping the mess to a minimum as she sucked you off, a delectful contrast to Chaewon who sucked on your balls. Lathering you up with her saliva, the dual assault made you buck your hips and whine. "You two are so good.. Don't stop."

Your words made them try harder, Yunjin pressing you deep into her throat, gagging up sounds as she did her best. Chaewon licked your balls, the sensations driving you mad. You couldn't last longer like this. "Chae, Yunjin.. I'm bouta cum! Fuck!" You yelled, inches away from heaven as they pulled away. The sudden lack of pleasure caused great discomfort as they edged you.

"Not yet, keep it for later." You whined as Yunjin spoke. Chaewon stripped herself and revealed her smooth cunt, freshly shaved and equally as wet. "Who do you wanna fuck first? Your ex-student or your ex-colleague?" You were given an impossible choice, both looking irresistible. And you'd get to fuck both, so you spoke true to your heart. "Chaewon." You said and she smiled. "You flatter me baby." She removed the restraints, putting you on the soft bed.

"Enjoy this, my cunt is so tight." Chaewon gasped seductively, lips parting as she took you in. Her walls squeezed the life out of you as you two shared a moan, she bounced up and down with an intense vigor. Desperate to prove something, Yunjin didn't remain idle. Laying down next to your bouncing crotches. Her tongue reached out, sinful noises coming out as Yunjin's tongue licked both of you.

"Fuck, Y/N! THIS DICK IS SO GOOD!" Chaewon shouted like a eager hooker, finding solace in your hard length. The earlier foreplay had done a number on you, "I'm not going to last long Chaewon!" You let out a guttral moan. "It's okay! Cum in me!" You obliged, shooting creamy splurts into her body. Yunjin quick to get any that leaked out.

Chaewon got off. Letting you recover, Yunjin looked eager for your length. It was going to be a long long anniversary.

#le sserafim smut #yandere le sserafim #chaewon sumt #yunjin smut #chaewon yandere #yunjin yandere #kpop yandere #yandere kpop #kpop smut #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop x male reader #kpop x reader

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jinjoohaa · 4 hours ago

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Room for One more?

Pairing - JJK Men x reader

CW: This piece contains explicit sexual content, including dubcon BDSM dynamics, consensual free use, praise/degradation, group sex, voyeurism, oral, somnophilia, and dubcon-adjacent scenes. Please proceed with caution. 18+ only. MDNI.

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Chapter 19

You were walking down the hallway in the morning.

The faint sounds of footsteps echoed down the hallway.

“There she is.” Geto’s voice was like silk dipped in amusement, low and rich, threading through the quiet kitchen. He stepped in, shirtless, sweatpants hanging sinfully low on his hips. “Morning, sweetheart.”

You turned, eyes flicking over the way his damp hair clung to his temples, the lean muscle along his torso.

He barely even looked at Nanami when he said, “Come to the living room. You too, Nanamin.”

You followed, heart already thudding. When you entered the living room, your stomach twisted deliciously.

Gojo and Toji were already there—lazily spread across the couch like sin incarnate.

Gojo had on a loose white shirt, unbuttoned just enough to tease his collarbones. One arm was thrown over the back of the couch, legs parted like he owned the air between them.

Toji, beside him, wore nothing but dark joggers, his chest bare, arms heavy with muscle. He glanced at you once—and that alone made your knees feel weak.

“Ah, my baby,” Gojo said, voice syrupy. “Get in here, bunny. Wanna ask you something.”

He patted the space between him and Toji, and before you could sit down properly, he grabbed your hips and pulled you right between them. Toji didn’t even blink. His thigh pressed firmly against yours. Gojo’s hand immediately slid up your leg, dangerously close to the hem of your shirt.

You were acutely aware that you hadn’t bothered with shorts.

Gojo hummed. “No panties today either, huh? Naughty.”

Your face flamed. “I—I just woke up.”

“That’s fine, baby,” Geto murmured, now leaning against the back of the couch behind you, one hand brushing down the back of your neck. “You won’t be needing them anyway.”

Nanami stood stiff near the doorway, arms crossed, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Gojo smiled lazily. “We need to talk about something. You ready?”

You blinked. “I… sure?”

He tilted his head, leaned closer. “We’ve all been dancing around it. The tension. The teasing. The mess. But it’s time we stop pretending.”

Toji exhaled a curl of smoke from the cigarette tucked between his fingers. “We want to fuck you whenever we want.”

You froze.

Toji looked sideways at you, dead serious. “Morning. Noon. Night. If I see you walking around in one of those little shirts—if I hear you moan in your sleep—I’m going to fuck you. Right there. No hesitation.”

Your legs pressed together as a spark of heat bloomed deep in your belly. “T-That’s…”

"As if y'all not doing that already." Nanami scoffs.

"What's with the talk huh? "You"? What do you mean, golden boy? You fuck her too, actin' like a saint and all."

Nanami didn't say anything, just shook his head frustrated.

Gojo cut in, voice deceptively sweet. “We’re giving you a choice, baby. Say yes, and we’ll take care of everything. No more waiting. You’ll be ours. All of us.”

Geto leaned down, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “Ever heard of free use, baby? That pretty little mouth, those tits, that perfect pussy—always ready for us. Always wet. Always willing.”

You shivered. Nanami’s gaze darkened.

“We’ll still spoil you,” Gojo added, his fingers sliding beneath your shirt to stroke your lower back. “Still hold you when you cry. Still kiss you goodnight. But if we want your mouth under the table during dinner? You’re on your knees.”

Toji chuckled darkly. “You think I’m not gonna fuck your throat when you walk around humming like that in the mornings? You think Gojo won’t pull your little panties aside mid-conversation and slide his fingers in just to hear you stutter?”

“Can I say no… sometimes?” you asked, voice shaky.

Gojo cupped your face, kissed the corner of your mouth. “Of course. You can stop us anytime. One word and we pull back. But say yes now... and we’re yours. And you’re ours.”

The room pulsed.

Nanami finally spoke, his voice strained. “This is insane. You shouldn’t pressure her like this.”

Toji gave him a look. “She’s not some delicate doll, Nanami. Look at her.” His fingers brushed your bare thigh. “She’s soaking already.”

You whimpered when he pressed two fingers between your legs.

“Oh, fuck,” Gojo groaned. “She really is. Slippery and hot, just from the thought.”

Geto sank lower, kneeling besides you, his hands curling around your waist. “We’ll keep her stretched, stuffed, and so full of cum she won’t remember how it feels to be empty.”

You could barely breathe. Gojo leaned in, murmuring into your skin.

“Say yes, princess. Say it.”

You nodded once. “Yes…”

And that was all it took.

Toji pulled your shirt up, baring you completely to their hungry gazes. Gojo pushed you back into his chest, his hand sliding under your thighs to lift you and straddle his lap.

Geto’s lips ghosted down your spine, mouth dragging heat with every kiss.

Nanami stared, unmoving, until Gojo spoke, voice sharp.

“Nanami. Get over here.”

He didn’t move for a moment. Then he stepped forward.

“She needs all of us.” Toji muttered.

Nanami finally exhaled, kneeling in front of you. His hand reached up, brushing your cheek, gentle but firm. “May i, baby?”

You whispered, “Yes.”

He kissed you slow. Deep. With reverence.

Then Geto’s fingers slid between your thighs again, and your moan was swallowed in Nanami’s mouth.

Gojo’s voice was right by your ear. “That’s my girl. Let’s make a mess.”

You should’ve known the moment Gojo’s eyes lit up at the words "free use" that it wouldn’t be a simple arrangement. Not with him.

He wasn’t just using you—he was inventing ways to do it.

There wasn’t a day you weren’t spread, bent, licked, fucked, or made to sit pretty just for him. It didn’t even matter if he got off every time—half the time, it was just about teasing you with how wet and eager you got from nothing but his voice and those sinful, sweet lies he whispered like prayers.

It didn’t take long after the agreement for Gojo to establish himself as the most shameless user of it.

He wasn’t like Toji, who took you rough and fast, or Nanami, who kept it scheduled and efficient. Gojo was… playful. Cruel. Creative in a way that had your legs trembling all day, because you never knew when or how he’d act on it.

And he never asked twice.

You were sitting on his lap while having dinner. Toji was scarfing down grilled chicken. Nanami talked bills with Geto. No one batted an eye when Gojo tapped against your thigh and asked you to get under the table. You obeyed, ofcourse. When your knees hit the floor, he pushed your head between his legs.

“C’mon, bunny,” he whispered, lifting the tablecloth. “Don’t be shy. Everyone knows what’s going on. Might as well put that pretty mouth to work.”

You blushed as you stared up at him—smiling like a prince, eyes shining with mischief.

“I’ll feed you dessert after,” he cooed. “Promise.”

He kept his voice sweet even when he was being filthy, guiding your head down as he undid his pants and pulled his cock free, already hard and twitching.

"Open up, baby. Lick it for me," he whispered.

His cock already out, flushed pink and leaking as he hissed quietly from the contact of your mouth.

“Yeah, just like that… ohh—fuck, baby, your throat was made for me, huh?”

He didn’t move. Just let you do all the work, letting his hand curl in your hair lazily, fingers toying with you while he continued chatting with the others.

“Mm—Nanamin, pass the rice, yeah?” he said casually, even as your lips were stretched around him.

You whimpered around his length when he praised you, even while chewing food. “Atta girl. Gag on it, baby. I’ll cum right down your throat if you’re good.”

And he did. No warning. Just a soft grunt, one hand fisting in your hair as hot cum spilled into your mouth. He made you swallow every drop, then kissed your forehead and said, “You can come out now, bunny. I saved you some cake.”

Few hours later.

You were on the couch, scrolling on your phone, wearing nothing but a loose tank and panties. Gojo walked in, eating an ice pop, eyes lighting up the second he saw you.

“Oh?” he grinned. “Doing nothing, huh? Perfect.”

He didn’t even ask. He just walked over, lifted your legs, and pressed them to your chest, kneeling between them. Your panties disappeared in seconds.

“Let me just…” He reached down and spread you open with his fingers, licking his lips. “God, you’re already so wet. Were you waiting for me?”

You shook your head. “I wasn’t—”

“You were, though,” he cut in, slipping two fingers inside you without warning. “You’re always ready for me. That’s what I love about you, baby—so needy, and you don’t even know it.”

He started fingering you hard, fast, knuckles slapping wetly against your folds as he leaned in close, whispering:

“You want me to cum on your tummy? Or maybe inside your panties again, let it soak through while you walk around the house?”

You moaned, grinding down on his hand.

“You like that, huh?” he smirked. “You like being ruined just a little bit every day? You like being my filthy little free-use bunny?”

He kissed you hard when you came, then jerked off right there—painted your belly in white, then pulled your tank down over it.

Another time.

You were brushing your hair in the bathroom when Gojo slid in behind you and locked the door.

“Don’t move,” he said with a grin. “I wanna see something.”

You barely had time to gasp before he bent you over the sink and pulled your panties down with a snap. One hand pinned your wrists to the counter.

He kept eye contact with you in the mirror as he pulled his cock out and rubbed it slowly between your folds.

“Look how pretty you are like this,” he whispered. “Fucked-out face and messy hair. My favorite version of you.”

He didn’t fuck you. Not right away. He just rutted between your thighs, humping you like a needy boy, rubbing the head of his cock against your clit.

“You’d let me fuck you in front of the whole house, wouldn’t you?” he purred. “You’d let me ruin you on the kitchen table, or in front of Nanamin while he reads his paper.”

You whimpered, eyes locked on his in the mirror.

“Say it, baby,” he said, kissing your shoulder. “Say you’re mine.”

“I-I’m yours…”

“Say it louder.”

“I’m yours, Gojo—!”

He groaned, pulled out, and came all over your ass, panting like he’d just run a mile.

“God, I’m addicted to you,” he whispered. “My filthy little stress relief.”

He was becoming more insatiable.

On another lazy afternoon, Toji was asleep on the couch. Geto read a book across from him. Nanami was working at the table. Gojo walked in, plopped beside you, and grinned.

“Bunny. Legs up. Show me.”

You blinked. “Here—?”

He leaned close, voice low. “It’s fine, isn’t it? Don’t tell me you’re shy now.”

He didn’t even wait. He hiked your dress up and pushed your legs open wide, revealing your slick, swollen pussy.

“Ohh, that’s what I needed,” he moaned, reaching down to palm himself. “God, you’re dripping…”

He didn’t even touch you. He just jerked off, watching between your legs like it was porn, filthy groans escaping his lips.

“Rub your clit for me,” he begged, voice soft and sweet. “Please, bunny. Let me see how you play with my favorite pussy.”

You did it. And he came all over his own stomach while panting your name, then wiped himself off and winked.

“Best seat in the house.”

Later that night, you were curled up in bed when Gojo slipped in, shirtless and pouting.

“You let Nanamin cuddle you that night,” he whined. “No fair.”

You blinked. “W—when?…”

“Doesn't matter anymore. Let me cuddle you and hump you a little,” he whispered, already pulling you into his lap. “I’ll be good. I won’t even stick it in. Just wanna rub on your cute little pussy.”

He lifted your nightshirt, pulled his cock out, and started grinding against your folds, soft and slow.

“Just like this…” he whispered in your ear. “I missed you. I missed how you smell. How you feel. How you whimper when I kiss your neck.”

You were soaked within seconds. He licked your shoulder, breathed heavily behind you, humping slow and desperate.

“I love you, y’know?” he whispered, voice cracking. "So damn much, even if I’m a freak. Even if I use you a lot. You’re my favorite thing in the world.”

You clenched around nothing.

He came between your thighs and stayed there, nuzzling your hair.

Gojo made the agreement his playground. No shame. No limits. Just sweet, filthy worship that left you dripping, ruined, and never sure what he’d do next.

His attention was always on you. And you loved it.

It became a ritual, how he’d wake you.

"Morning, bunny," he’d purr, already under the covers, lips wrapped around your nipples while you were still half asleep. His hands would be between your thighs, prying them apart with practiced ease. "Mmm. You taste like dreams."

Sometimes, he wouldn’t even need to prep. He’d just use you while your body was still soft and pliant from sleep—grinding slow and teasing you awake with his cock in you until your body caught up and started clenching.

Other mornings, you’d open your eyes to find your hands tied with one of his shirts, your panties pushed aside while he rubbed the thick head of his cock along your slit lazily.

"Don’t worry, bunny," he'd whisper, "I'm not gonna fuck you yet. Just wanna feel you. That cute little cunt always hugs me so sweet in the morning—like it missed me overnight."

And god, did he make a show of not fucking you. He’d get you soaked, shaking, right at the edge, then smirk and say, “Oops. I’m late for breakfast. Later, baby.”

He’d leave you leaking into the sheets with a kiss on your forehead and a promise to “make it up to you”—which he always did.

Sometimes it wasn’t even about sex—it was about ownership.

Like the time he ordered you to sit in front of the mirror, legs open, while he drew little hearts on your inner thighs with red lipstick.

Or the time he slipped a vibrator into your panties, turned it on low, and sent you to bring water to Nanami, giggling as he watched from the couch.

“She’s got a surprise down there, Nanamin,” he teased.

Nanami rolled his eyes. “Then don’t leave her unsupervised.”

There were nights he couldn’t sleep without you.

You’d sneak off to bed early—exhausted from the day—only to wake up to Gojo crawling into bed fully clothed, breath hot, hands already down your shirt.

“Just need a little,” he murmured. “Just a taste. You’ll still sleep.”

He never let you sleep.

He’d eat you out lazily, sweetly, muttering filth against your thighs like, “Just need to hear you whimper a little, princess,” and “This little pussy misses me when I’m not around, doesn’t it?”

When you came too hard, legs shaking, he’d press kisses over your clit, whispering “Good girl” over and over like a prayer, jerking himself off with one hand until his cum splattered over your stomach.

“Clean-up cuddles after,” he’d say cheerfully. “You’re my little lullaby.”

Once, He made you kneel behind the couch once while the guys were watching a movie.

“You don’t even have to suck it, sweetheart. Just sit there and let me rub it on your face.”

You did.

He kept whispering the filthiest shit between kisses to your temple:

“This is what you’re for, baby. My little toy. My good girl, letting me make a mess all over her pretty cheeks.”

“You’d do anything I ask, wouldn’t you? You're mine, yeah?”

You nodded. Moaned. Cried when he pulled away too fast.

He laughed and said, “Needy little pet. Maybe I’ll just keep you in a leash next week.”

And when he really couldn’t control himself?

He’d wake you up at 3 a.m., straddling you with a soft “Baby…”

“C’mon. Just a taste. Just the tip, I swear. Please. I need it. I can’t sleep knowing you’re next door, all warm and soft and untouched.”

He’d fuck your thighs. Your tits. Your mouth. Whatever you’d give him. Whatever he could get.

And he’d praise you through every stroke like he was in love and possessed at the same time.

“My pretty little cumdump. I swear you were made just for me. You’re so good. So warm. Fuck, I love this body.”

And when he came?

He always made a mess. Always painted your body like he was signing his name. And always, always whispered:

“Just a little more tomorrow, yeah?”

You always said yes.

And Gojo? He always rewarded you. Sometimes with kisses. Sometimes with ruined panties. Sometimes with quickies in places he had no business fucking you—like the laundry room, the hallway, or the balcony.

to be continued in the next chapter. . . .

Comment down to get tagged for the upcoming chapters. Also I started a backup account in case something happens to my current one - just to be safe lol, So if y'all are interested, @jinjoohaa-blog do follow !

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hellfirebarnes · 2 days ago

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Slow-Burns - Part 1

PART 2 PART 3 PART 4

I split this up in several, shorter parts because I know the feeling when you want to read a fic but don't have the time or energy to get through a 10k+ words one. Also if you hate my writing you can just read part 1 and then leave it. Win-win I guess?

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

2.5K Words.

Fluff, ''normal'' violence and descriptions of injuries. For sure out of character stuff, but I am who I am. Your appearence is barely desribed what I can remember, I think your hair and a couple types what clothes you're wearing?

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

There was a quiet kind of chaos that followed you wherever you went. Not the destructive kind—no, that was more John Walker’s flavor—but the kind that stirred a room like a gust of wind through curtains.

You weren’t even officially a Thunderbolt, just a freelance S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who showed up whenever the mission required you. But if you asked anyone in the Tower, they’d say the team didn’t really feel like a team until you were in the room.

Well, everyone except Bucky Barnes, who would say nothing at all. Not out loud, anyway.

He was perched at the edge of the strategy room table now, arms crossed, jaw tight. Watching.

You were laughing at something Bob had said - again. He had practically glued himself to your side the moment you walked in, his frame hunching just slightly to hear you better. And you let him. You laughed, touched his arm, asked him questions.

Bucky didn’t blame Bob, not really. Who wouldn’t want your attention?

“Why don’t you just talk to her?” Yelena muttered under her breath from beside him.

Bucky blinked at her. “I talk to her.”

“You grunt at her. Sometimes nod. It’s tragic.”

“She’s always with someone else. I’m not interrupting that.”

“Oh no,” Yelena deadpanned. “Not the scary emotion man afraid of social interaction. How shocking.”

“Shut up.”

Across the room, you dodged John Walker’s attempt to toss a protein bar at your head and shot him a look.

“Really?” You said, “Are you twelve?”

“Just testing your reflexes, Agent,” John grinned. “That’s what we call combat preparedness.”

“Then maybe prepare not to get your ass handed to you next time I see you in the field.”

“Ouch. That one had some spice.”

“It’s called accuracy.”

Alexei’s voice boomed from the hallway as he entered mid-conversation. “Bah! All this fighting. You know what you need? A good man. Someone strong. Tall. Lots of biceps.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile lingered on your lips. “Not the matchmaking again.”

“I’m telling you! You are too stunning to be walking around without boyfriend. You need love! You need someone worthy.”

“And you’re offering who? Yourself?”

Alexei blinked. “Do not be ridiculous. I’m too old. Too broken. No, you need someone special. Maybe someone on this team…” He turned slowly—too slowly—toward Bucky.

Bucky froze like a deer in the middle of a sniper’s scope.

Your brows arched in amusement, and you looked Bucky’s way. Your eyes met and his heart did that thing again. The skipping, the stalling, the full-body malfunction. And you smiled. He looked away first.

“Don’t make it weird,” you said casually to Alexei, still grinning. “We’re all just coworkers here.”

“Some coworkers are good for kissing,” Alexei replied like it was obvious. “Is science.”

You snorted and shook your head, walking past Bob, who promptly shadowed you like a happy satellite.

“I’m stealing him for a strategy session,” you called over your shoulder.

“Strategy?” Bob asked excitedly, bounding after you.

“Yup. You’re going to help me map out weak points in that compound wall, remember?”

Bucky watched you go, still unmoving. Every second you were around, he felt like he was holding his breath. Not because he was afraid you’d say something cruel - no, you were never cruel. It was worse. You were kind. Inclusive. Thoughtful.

You invited him into conversations he didn’t know how to join. Remembered tiny things he’d said offhand and brought them up weeks later. You saw him - more than the metal arm or the haunted past or the thousand-yard stare. And Bucky Barnes didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

“She’s not gonna bite, Barnes,” John said beside him, cracking open a bottle of water. “Unless you want her to.”

Bucky glared at him.

“I’m just saying. You’ve been crushing for, what, three missions now? Ask her out before Bob proposes.”

“I’m not crushing,” Bucky muttered.

John snorted. “Yeah, okay. You keep brooding from the corner. That’ll win her over.”

Later that night, you were the last to leave the strategy room, lingering over the holographic map display. The others had filtered out, but you hadn’t seemed to notice - or maybe you had.

“You always stay late?” Bucky’s voice was rough behind you.

You turned, surprised. He rarely sought you out on his own. “Only when the company’s good.”

He hesitated at the door, then walked in.

“You okay?” You asked softly, tilting your head. “You’ve been quiet. Well, quieter than usual.”

He wanted to tell you everything. That he couldn’t sleep half the time because his mind wouldn’t stop replaying the way you laughed. That when you touched his arm in the field to steady him, his whole body went static. That you made him feel like he could still be someone worth a damn.

But instead, all he said was, “I’m fine.”

You gave him a look that said you didn’t buy it, but you didn’t push. “Well, if you ever want to talk… I’m around.”

He nodded. Said nothing more.

But you smiled anyway. Small, warm, real. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

“’ Night.”

He stayed behind long after you were gone, staring at the space you’d just occupied. And for the first time in a long time, he found himself hoping. Quietly, stubbornly, impossibly hoping.

The Thunderbolts rarely got downtime. So when Val booked them a mandatory “team-building weekend” at a secure retreat site somewhere in the Catskills and invited you along, everyone assumed it was a joke. It wasn’t.

“We don’t do bonding,” Yelena had said flatly while stuffing clothes into her duffel.

“Speak for yourself,” Alexei had grinned, holding up a board game called Russian Conquest: Family Edition.

Now, 24 hours into their wilderness exile, things had somehow developed into a campfire, bad chili, worse storytelling, and Bob draping himself across your lap like an oversized golden retriever in flannel.

“Bob, you are crushing my legs,” you groaned, trying to shift out from under him.

“But you’re warm,” he said dreamily, eyes half-closed. “And your energy is calm. Like a star. Or one of those… lava lamps.”

Across the fire, Bucky sat stiffly on a log, watching with a barely concealed scowl as Bob grinned at you with that infuriating, sunbeam-level adoration. You just laughed and gently pushed his head off your thigh.

John passed you a beer from the cooler. “That makes five people on this team who’d die for her. Six, if you count the way Barnes stares like she’s the last donut on Earth.”

Bucky kicked him under the log.

“Ow. You’re just mad I said it out loud.”

You glanced over, catching only the tail end of that exchange. “What are you whispering about, Walker? Trying to plan your next tactical failure?”

“I was thinking of asking Bob to move so I could rest my head on your lap next.”

“Try it and you lose your teeth.”

Alexei cackled from where he was roasting a suspicious-looking sausage over the fire. “She is fierce! I told you all, she needs a man who can handle her. Someone who doesn’t crumble when she glares.”

Yelena pointed a stick at him. “She doesn’t need a man, Dad. She has us. We are superior to all men. Especially you.”

You laughed again, easily, genuinely.

Bucky’s heart did the now-familiar stutter-step. It was unbearable, this thing you did. The way you effortlessly slipped into every space, made it lighter, warmer. Home-like. And still, he couldn’t say more than five coherent words to you unless he rehearsed them mentally first.

But tonight, it felt different.

It was the soft kind of night - one where the stars showed up, and the fire crackled like an old lullaby. And maybe it was the low-pressure setting. Or maybe it was the beer. Or maybe it was the fact that everyone else was slowly crashing for the night, and you had stayed behind at the firepit, legs tucked under you, hoodie sleeves bunched at your wrists.

Bucky walked over before he could talk himself out of it. “Mind if I sit?”

You looked up, surprised - but pleasantly so. “Course not.”

He sat, a little too upright, elbows on his knees. There was a beat of quiet. Not awkward. Just full.

You nudged his arm lightly with your shoulder. “You’ve been kind of quiet today.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Yeah, but today you’re, like… extra cryptid.”

He huffed out a laugh before he could stop it. “Cryptid, huh?”

“You absolutely lurk like one.”

Another pause. Your shoulder bumped his again.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” you added softly. “But I like it when you do.”

That stopped him cold. You didn’t say it like it was a big deal. But it was. To him, it was everything.

He swallowed. “I don’t always know what to say.”

“You don’t have to impress anyone, Bucky.”

“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” he said quietly.

You tilted your head. “Good. ‘Cause if you were, you’d be failing spectacularly.”

He blinked, and then your grin slipped out. Playful. Warm. He shook his head, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

There it was. The moment again. That impossible, bone-deep hope.

Before he could speak again, a voice echoed from behind you.

“Are we sleeping outside now?” Bob called from the cabin porch, where he stood wrapped in a blanket like a burrito. “Because I want in.”

“Go back to bed, Bob!” You yelled without turning.

“But I miss your gravity!”

Bucky gave a bewildered side look. “Do you always attract this much chaos?” he asked, smiling despite himself.

You shrugged. “Maybe. But it keeps things interesting.”

You stood then, stretching your arms overhead. The firelight kissed your face in amber tones.

“I’m heading in. Try not to brood so hard you fall into the fire.”

He watched you go, silent again.

But you paused at the cabin door, looked back, and gave him a smile that made the whole damn night bend inward. “Night, Bucky.” He didn’t respond fast enough, so you added one more thing before disappearing inside: “Next time I call you a cryptid, I expect a better comeback.”

He chuckled under his breath, alone now, fire crackling at his feet.

He was going to need help. Or a script. Or both.

You stood in the middle of the kitchen wearing a “Property of S.H.I.E.L.D.” T-shirt, sweatpants, and the kind of look that only appeared when one walked into a room and discovered exactly too much happening.

“What,” you said slowly, “is going on.”

Yelena was on the counter, holding a ladle like a weapon.

John was standing on a chair, aggressively flipping a pancake with a spatula in his non-dominant hand.

Alexei was arguing with the toaster.

And Bob—dear, wonderful Bob—was shirtless and wearing a pastel apron that said ‘Hot Stuff Coming Thru’, holding a blender overhead like it was Mjölnir.

“Breakfast battle royale,” Yelena said brightly - like that explained anything.

“What?” You repeated.

John jumped in. “We’re determining who gets cooking privileges for the rest of the month.”

“I voted for mortal combat,” Alexei growled, “but Walker insists on waffles.”

“Because waffles are democracy.”

“I made you a smoothie,” Bob interrupted, bounding over to you with a grin the size of Nebraska. “It has banana, peanut butter, and exactly 11 grams of love.”

You blinked at the pink plastic cup he handed you. “…Thanks, Bob.”

“You’re welcome. Please hydrate.”

Across the kitchen, Bucky hovered by the cabinets like a glitch in the Matrix. He wore a black hoodie and a wariness that only intensified as you laughed—again—at something Bob said about the molecular density of pancake batter.

You glanced his way. “Bucky, save me. I came in for coffee and now there’s smoothies and an apron situation.”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Nodded.

“Helpful,” you said with a grin, brushing past him to open the cabinet.

He nearly dropped the mug in his hand when your arm accidentally touched his.

It was unfair how effortlessly you undid him.

Bob leaned closer to Bucky and stage-whispered: “You should offer to make her toast.”

Bucky side-eyed him. “You think toast is gonna fix everything?”

“No. But it’s the start of a breakfast-based romance. Like in the movies.”

“…You watch romance movies?”

“All the time. I cry every time the dog comes back.”

Bucky didn’t respond. Mostly because you were laughing again - this time at Alexei accidentally flinging a waffle at John.

“You were in the army!” John yelled. “How do you have the reflexes of a brick?”

“I was trained for war, not toaster physics!”

Yelena caught the flying waffle midair with the ladle. “I win.”

You raised your smoothie. “To chaos. And carbohydrates.”

Yelena smirked. “To the only person on this team who’s not legally insane.”

“Jury’s still out,” John said. “She did willingly come back after the last mission.”

“I came back for the drama,” you said.

Everyone laughed. Except Bucky. He just watched you. And this time you looked right at him, mid-laugh, and the smile softened into something gentler. Less amused. More… curious. Like you saw him watching. And didn’t mind. He looked down at his coffee before he could combust.

“Someone save me from feelings,” he muttered.

“I can punch you,” Yelena offered sweetly.

“Appreciate it.”

Later that day, you sat on the floor of the rec room with Yelena and Ava, all three of you surrounded by mismatched nail polish bottles, junk food, and one confused Russian man who’d never witnessed a girls’ night and looked like he was trying to understand a new language.

“You paint your nails before mission?” Alexei asked, genuinely baffled. “What if the enemy sees glitter?”

“They’ll be blinded by the fabulous,” you said, wiggling your toes.

Yelena reached over and added a stripe of blue polish to your middle finger. “This is for when you inevitably flip someone off.”

Ava smirked. “Perfect aim.”

Alexei shook his head in wonder. “You women are terrifying. I love it.”

John walked by, raised a brow, and muttered, “Is this a cult?”

“No,” you said. “But you can’t sit with us.”

Bob appeared from nowhere and sat crisscrossed in the middle of the polish like a devoted disciple. “Paint mine next?”

You held up a glittery gold bottle. “Only if you promise to stop drinking three energy drinks before noon.”

“No promises,” he said, holding out his hands.

From the hallway, Bucky paused at the door, watching again.

Yelena noticed him, rolled her eyes, and lobbed a pack of sour gummy worms at his head. “Stop creeping and come join the estrogen.”

He caught it reflexively, but didn’t step forward.

You looked up then. “C’mon, Barnes. You can be our official taste tester. I think this one’s radioactive.” You held up a neon green nail polish.

His heart did that collapsing thing again. But he stepped into the room.

Just a few feet. Sat down near the wall, close enough to see the curve of your smile as you joked with Ava and Yelena, as Bob dramatically gasped when you gave him a sparkly gold thumbnail.

And as the laughter rolled on, something about the moment didn’t feel like watching from the outside anymore. It felt… almost like being part of it.

Even if his heart still beat too fast every time you looked at him.

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #james barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky fluff #james bucky buchanan barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes

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4linos · 20 hours ago

Text

between the lines 3.

lee minho x f!reader

synopsis: after a quiet and amicable separation, you and minho learn to navigate the subtle emotional terrain of co-parenting, discovering that the bonds between you aren’t entirely severed. when a new relationship enters the picture, old emotions come into play, forcing you to reassess what it means to truly move on.

warnings: angst, slow burn, mutual pining, jealousy, unresolved feelings, hurt/comfort.

wc: 12,585

[part 1, part 2]

Minho had been walking around with a storm sitting in his chest ever since that day.

The day he stood at your door like a fool, dressed in a shirt he hadn’t worn in over a year, holding flowers that felt heavier with each second that passed, only to have the door swing open and find you radiant, glowing and not alone. Jisung had been behind you, comfortably smug, and Minho had felt the shift in the air the moment your eyes met his.

That was the day he realized what it felt like to be on the outside of a life he used to belong to.

Since then, the world hadn’t really settled around him. He kept his head down at work, avoiding eye contact with people he normally didn’t care enough to avoid, especially Jisung. His thoughts twisted in knots, a toxic mix of guilt, regret, and something sharp like jealousy. He hadn’t even known he still could feel that kind of jealousy. But the image of Jisung standing behind you like he belonged there haunted him.

He didn’t go near your name. He didn’t bring up your daughter. He didn’t mention what happened that day to anyone, not even Chan or Changbin, who had been trying to gently pry the story from him for days.

And yet, despite every effort to keep his distance, there it was again Jisung’s voice, slicing through the low hum of office conversation like it always did: too loud, too casual, too damn confident.

Minho sat at his desk, pretending to review something on his monitor, eyes unmoving as Jisung leaned against a cubicle wall a few rows away. He wasn’t even being subtle, as if he wanted everyone to hear.

“So I think I’m gonna ask her,” Jisung said with a short laugh. “To be my girlfriend, officially. Maybe on a little trip, just us. It’s been casual but I want more, you know?”

Minho didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

“I mean, we haven’t even kissed yet, not even once,” Jisung went on. “But I’ve been trying to respect her pace, especially with the whole, you know, kid thing. She’s amazing though. She’s worth waiting for. But I’m getting real impatient.”

Chan, seated across from Minho, glanced over, likely aware of the simmering tension behind Minho’s controlled expression.

Minho’s jaw was clenched so tight it ached.

He hated this. Not just hearing about you like that, like you were someone else’s now, but hearing about you from him. From the same guy who once tried to argue over printer supplies his first week on the job. From someone who didn’t know what it meant to hold your hand through contractions, or stay up with a crying Hana at 3 a.m., or even remember that your favorite scent was vanilla and your favorite season was early autumn.

Minho could picture it, Jisung asking you to be his girlfriend on some beach or city getaway, Hana with you or not, and you saying yes because why wouldn’t you? He was safe, funny, attentive. Minho had no right to judge, no right to compete, and yet every muscle in his body was tight with the urge to do something.

But he didn’t.

He stayed still.

He didn’t storm over. Didn’t shove Jisung against a wall. Didn’t say she’s not yours to talk about like that. Because what right did he have anymore?

He swallowed his rage, even as it blistered in his chest, and he stared at the screen like he was made of stone.

If he’d said anything… it wouldn’t have been professional. And more than that, it might’ve pushed you further away than he already had.

But as Jisung kept talking, Minho made a quiet vow to himself:

If you really were going to move on with Jisung… it wasn’t going to happen without Minho telling you exactly how he felt first.

Even if it broke him.

Minho hadn’t even realized how tightly his hands were wrapped around the edge of his desk until his fingers started to ache.

It was like his body reacted before his mind could catch up, jaw locked so tight he could hear the tension in his ears, shoulders stiff, chest heavy with something he didn’t want to name. Rage, maybe. Or heartbreak. Or both. It was stupid. He knew that. He shouldn’t be reacting like this. He shouldn’t still be this affected. But hearing Jisung talk about you, his you, the you that used to fall asleep on Minho’s chest, that used to wear his shirts around the house, that used to light up at the tiniest, most mundane things like you were just some conquest he was hoping to claim, some check box on a romantic resume, it made Minho feel sick.

He didn’t even notice he’d been holding his breath until he heard a quiet voice beside him.

“Minho?”

He turned slowly, blinking himself out of whatever haze had fallen over him.

Chan was watching him with concern from the cubicle next to his, brow slightly furrowed, his tone gentle like he knew. And maybe he did. Chan had always been good at reading people. Too good sometimes.

“You alright?” he asked again.

Minho swallowed, loosening his grip on the desk, flexing his fingers to get the circulation back. He gave a stiff nod, not trusting himself to speak yet.

Chan leaned slightly closer, his voice even softer now. “You know, I’m still here if you need to talk. Doesn’t matter that it’s been a while. I get it, people need space sometimes. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Minho looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in what felt like months. Chan hadn’t changed much, still looked like the same dependable, steady friend who’d been there through the good years he worked with him.

It made something twist in Minho’s chest guilt, maybe, for pushing everyone away. Or maybe it was relief that not everyone had left.

“I’m fine,” Minho muttered, his voice hoarse.

Chan didn’t push. He just nodded. “Okay. But if you need a break from… whatever this is,” he tilted his head subtly in Jisung’s direction, “I was gonna hit that ramen place after work. Come with. First round’s on me.”

Minho hesitated.

His first instinct was to decline. That’s what he’d been doing for a while now, closing himself off, burying everything, convincing himself that it was easier to sit in the silence of his own making. But after everything lately after the flowers, after seeing Jisung in your doorway, after hearing him talk like you were his, it felt like the weight on his back was finally too much to carry alone.

“…Alright,” he said quietly. “Yeah. Okay.”

Chan gave him a small smile. Nothing pushy. Just understanding. “Cool. After five, then.”

Minho nodded and turned back to his screen, but the tension in his shoulders had eased just enough.

He still didn’t know what he was going to do. He still didn’t know how he was going to face you, or if he even could. But maybe talking to someone again, someone who knew what it used to be like might help him figure out what came next.

Because pretending like it didn’t hurt wasn’t working anymore.

Chan didn’t even ask, he just showed up at the front of the building, passenger-side window already rolled down, calling Minho’s name out like they’d done this a hundred times before.

“Get in, loser. We’re going to talk about feelings,” he grinned. Minho rolled his eyes but felt the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth, something like amusement, or maybe gratitude.

He climbed in, grateful that Chan insisted on driving. It gave him one less thing to think about, one less responsibility to shoulder for just a little while.

When they got to the ramen place, it was warm inside, filled with the soft hum of casual conversation, clinking bowls, the occasional hiss from the kitchen. It was quiet enough to talk, but noisy enough to let Minho breathe a little like the world wasn’t staring directly at him for once.

Chan talked first, about nothing in particular. The weather, their idiot coworkers, a story about Changbin getting caught sleeping at his desk again. He didn’t let the silence settle, didn’t let anything get heavy too quickly, and Minho was thankful for that. He didn’t think he had the strength to drag himself into a conversation about his heart right away.

He laughed once, maybe twice, dry, quiet, but it was more than he’d done in days.

They placed their orders. Chan let Minho sit in his head for a moment before gently nudging the conversation in the direction he’d probably planned from the moment he invited him.

“So,” Chan started, playing with his chopsticks, “you gonna tell me what’s actually going on or do I need to drag it out of you over spicy broth and cold beer?”

Minho didn’t answer at first. His jaw tightened again. His eyes stayed focused on the table.

“Minho.”

He looked up, met Chan’s eyes and found no judgment there. Just concern. Familiarity. Patience.

He sighed and leaned back in the booth.

“It’s her,” he said quietly.

Chan nodded once. No need to ask who.

“I figured.” He took a sip of water, gave Minho time. “You still love her?”

That question hit harder than Minho expected. He didn’t even have to think. “Yeah,” he said softly. “So much.”

“And she’s with Jisung now?”

Minho hesitated before nodding again. “Not officially. I don’t think. But… it’s getting there. He’s going to ask her soon. I overheard him talking about it.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

That made Minho look up, scoffing slightly. “How do you think?”

“Alright, alright,” Chan held up his hands, not to tease but to ground him. “Just checking.”

There was a long pause.

“I saw her,” Minho said after a moment, voice low. “A few days ago. Brought flowers. It was our anniversary. Stupid, I know.”

Chan blinked, genuinely taken aback. “You remembered?”

“Of course I remembered.”

“And?”

“She opened the door with Jisung behind her. They had just… spent the morning together, I guess. He was all smug about it. And I felt like a fucking idiot standing there with flowers like I still mattered.”

Chan’s expression softened. “You do still matter. You’re Hana’s dad. You were her person for a long time. I don’t think that just disappears.”

“She didn’t even remember the date,” Minho whispered. “At least it didn’t seem like it.”

Silence passed between them again before Chan leaned forward, his voice lower now, more serious.

“Minho, if you want her back, really want her back then you need to stop waiting for the universe to hand her to you. You need to show her. Not just with flowers or old memories, but with who you are now. With how much you’ve grown, how much you still care. She’s not going to read your mind. Especially if she thinks you’ve moved on, or worse if she thinks she was the only one who ever held on.”

Minho stared down at the table. The food had arrived, steam curling up between them, but he didn’t touch it.

“I’m scared, Chan.”

“I know,” Chan said gently. “But if you don’t fight for what matters, someone else will. And you’ll lose more than just a girl. You’ll lose a family.”

Those words stayed with Minho long after they left the restaurant, long after Chan dropped him off with a pat on the shoulder and a quiet, “You’re not alone, man.”

Your mind hadn’t stopped racing since the moment you closed the door on Minho.

It had been days, and still, that moment kept looping in your head like a scene from a movie you weren’t ready to stop watching: Minho standing there, hands full of flowers, one giant bouquet meant for you, and a single delicate rose, no doubt for Hana. His expression shifting from hopeful to hollow the second he caught sight of Jisung behind you. That familiar, automatic way your lips had parted to say thank you before he turned, muttering something about how ridiculous he felt for even showing up.

And then he walked away.

That was the part that stuck with you the most. The silence he left behind.

You hadn’t reached out. Part of you wanted to, desperately. But you didn’t know what you’d say. I’m sorry I forgot felt empty. I didn’t expect you to remember felt worse. You weren’t even sure why you forgot. Maybe you’d trained yourself to. Maybe the date had started to feel like a memory that belonged to someone else. A version of you and Minho that lived in a different chapter, one you weren’t sure you had permission to revisit.

You were going to see him in a few days for Hana’s weekend pick-up. The thought of how awkward it might be made your stomach twist. Would he ignore it? Pretend it never happened? Would you? Could you?

You were still thinking about it that morning as you knelt in front of the couch, carefully working your fingers through Hana’s freshly washed curls, gently tying them into neat puffs as she munched on apple slices and watched a cartoon. You’d gotten so lost in the rhythmic process section, detangle, smooth, tie, that the knock on the door startled you.

You stood, quickly wiping your hands on your sweatpants. “Hana, finish your snack, baby. I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, eyes still locked on the screen.

You walked toward the door, pulling it open and blinked.

Jisung stood there, holding up a pink pastry box and grinning. “Donuts,” he said simply, tilting it slightly like he was presenting a rare treasure. “They’re from that tiny corner store near my place. I’ve had them once. Life-changing.”

Your initial shock melted into a soft laugh. “You and your spontaneous visits,” you said fondly, stepping aside slightly, but not far enough to invite him in.

“I like surprising you,” he said, shrugging as he looked past you, toward the living room. “I figured we could have coffee and sugar before I run off to work again.”

You smiled, but hesitated. “I would invite you in, but… Hana’s here.”

He paused. His smile faltered just slightly, but not in offense, more in understanding. “Ah. Of course.”

Then, gently, like he was testing the edge of something fragile, he asked, “Is it too soon to meet her? I mean. Just a… ‘This is Jisung, Mommy’s friend who brings donuts’ kind of thing.”

You didn’t answer right away. The question hung between you, heavier than it should’ve been. Not because you didn’t trust Jisung, he’d been nothing but kind, respectful, and patient, but because it made everything real. It made what was happening real. You were moving forward. Introducing someone new into a part of your life that had, up until now, been protected.

And there was still the ghost of Minho standing on your doorstep, holding flowers, blinking back heartbreak.

Jisung noticed the shift in your eyes. He opened his mouth to backpedal. “Hey, it’s okay. Forget I asked. I didn’t mean to push or make it weird—”

But then Hana’s voice came from the living room, innocent and sweet. “Mommy, my show is over!”

You turned your head toward the sound and made a decision in the space of a breath.

You looked back at him and nodded.

“Okay,” you said. “You can meet her.”

Jisung lit up immediately, almost disbelieving. “Really?”

“As a friend,” you added firmly, still trying to convince yourself that this was fine.

“Of course,” he said quickly, “just a friend.”

You stepped aside, and he followed you in, the pink donut box in his hands and gratitude in his smile.

Still, your heart beat fast, not from nerves about Jisung meeting Hana, but from the echo of something else. Something you couldn’t name yet.

Something that hadn’t left since the flowers. Since the rose. Since the look in Minho’s eyes.

Jisung stepped in through the doorway like he was bracing for impact, carefully toeing off his sneakers and clutching the pink donut box like it was a peace offering or maybe armor. He looked around, eyes scanning the room until they landed on Hana.

She came running from the living room, socked feet slipping slightly against the floor as she called out to you with purpose: “Mommy! My show is over, I need a new one!”

You crouched instinctively to her level, brushing her hair from her cheek. “Okay, baby, I’ll be there in a second.”

That’s when she noticed him.

Jisung stood still, offering the warmest smile he could muster, and gave a small wave like he was approaching a frightened animal. “Hi,” he said gently.

But Hana didn’t return the wave. She didn’t even move. Her expression was unreadable, mouth a flat line as her eyes flicked from him to you, then back again. Slowly, cautiously, she shuffled behind your legs, peeking around the curve of your hip.

It surprised you. She was normally so open with people, even strangers. Sweet, talkative, curious. But now, she was silent. And still.

You looked down at her and rubbed her back reassuringly.

Jisung cleared his throat softly and crouched slightly, pulling one of the donuts from the box. It was pink-frosted with rainbow sprinkles, undeniably the “fun” one. He held it out to her like an olive branch.

“I brought these just for you,” he said with a smile. “This one has sprinkles. Sprinkles make everything better, right?”

Hana looked up at you again. Her brows furrowed into a frown, her fingers curling slightly against your leg.

You gave her a soft nod. “It’s okay, baby. You can take it. Say thank you.”

Still unsure, she stepped forward, grabbed the donut without saying a word, and immediately scampered off back toward the couch. She didn’t even take a bite just sat, holding it like she didn’t quite trust it yet, picking at a few of the sprinkles like they were puzzle pieces.

Jisung let out a long, breathy exhale like he’d been holding it in the whole time.

You glanced at him, shaking your head with a small apologetic smile. “Sorry. She’s usually not this shy.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Honestly? That went way better than I expected.”

You laughed gently, leading him toward the kitchen. “Come on, let’s get some plates. And milk, donuts need milk.”

“Totally agree,” he nodded, following you, the pink box resting on the counter as he opened it to point out his favorite. “This one, the chocolate glaze with the maple drizzle, game changer. Trust me.”

You smiled at how specific he was, reaching into the cabinet to grab three cups while he pulled napkins from the holder and arranged the donuts like it was some kind of tasting menu.

But even while the two of you moved in easy rhythm talking, laughing, light chatter, you kept one ear tuned toward the living room.

You peeked over the counter. Hana was sitting back down, now with a new cartoon playing, one you assumed she’d managed to turn on herself with the remote. She wasn’t eating the donut, just plucking off the sprinkles and lining them up along the edge of her plate.

Something about it tugged at your chest.

“Hey, Hana,” you called softly, “come get your cup of milk, baby.”

She looked over, then slid off the couch, padding her way into the kitchen on quiet feet. Her small hands wrapped around the cup you handed her, and she looked up at you for a second before turning back around to return to the living room.

“Thank you,” you said gently, prompting her.

She paused. Then mumbled, “Thank you,” so softly it barely passed her lips.

Jisung smiled. “She’s really cute.”

You nodded, but your smile faltered slightly.

Something about the way she looked at him, like he was unfamiliar, like he didn’t belong lingered with you. You didn’t expect instant affection. You knew that. But still.

You glanced over at her again. She was sipping her milk now, still peeling tiny bits off the donut and inspecting them like they might tell her something.

Jisung leaned against the counter, watching you with soft eyes. “Thanks for letting me meet her. Even if I was downgraded to ‘mommy’s friend with donuts.’ I’ll take it.”

You smiled again, but it was quieter this time. “Yeah,” you murmured, “of course.”

But your mind wasn’t fully there anymore.

Because as sweet as this morning was… you couldn’t stop hearing the unspoken silence in Hana’s small voice.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, even while Jisung told you about maple-glazed donuts and a new show he’d recently started watching, you couldn’t stop wondering if Hana was waiting for a different face to show up at the door. One with flowers in one hand… and a single rose in the other.

You and Jisung sat across from each other at your small kitchen table, each with a donut in hand and mugs of milk between you.

Every now and then Hana would glance back at the two of you, not suspicious, just observing. Still quiet.

Jisung followed your gaze and smiled softly. “She’s really smart. She doesn’t miss anything, huh?”

You nodded. “Nope. Not a thing.”

He sipped from his mug, then set it down, suddenly quieter. You could sense the change before he even spoke, the way his eyes didn’t quite meet yours, how he seemed to be working something out in his head. He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair.

“So…” he started, tone casual, too casual, “I actually came by for more than just donuts.”

That caught your attention. You sat a little straighter, setting your half-eaten donut down on the napkin. “Yeah?”

He finally met your eyes then, nervous energy buzzing just under the surface. “I was wondering… if you’d be around this weekend. If Hana’s gonna be with your ex.”

He said the word ex like it was a mild annoyance in his throat no name, just a placeholder. Minho.

You nodded slowly, uncertain. “Yeah, she’s supposed to be with him this weekend. Why?”

Jisung gave a little exhale, then leaned his elbows onto the table, lacing his fingers together. “I was thinking maybe you and I could get away for a few days. Just a weekend trip. Nothing fancy or anything, there’s this cabin a few hours outside the city. I’ve been a few times before, and it’s really quiet, peaceful. I figured… maybe you could use a break.”

You blinked. A cabin trip. Just the two of you?

“I’d take care of everything,” he added quickly, maybe sensing your hesitation. “The food, the drive, the plans. You wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. I thought it’d be nice for us to have some time away… uninterrupted.”

There was a pause. Not a long one. But just long enough for your stomach to twist with something warm and uneasy.

He was nervous. He hadn’t said so, but you knew him well enough now to recognize when something was important to him. And even though he hadn’t spelled it out yet, even though he hadn’t said what the cabin trip meant to him, why he wanted you alone with him for a weekend, your heart knew. Something about the way he looked at you, hopeful and a little too still, gave it away.

He was planning something. Something big. Something meaningful. Something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, your eyes drifted again to Hana. Her cup of milk sat untouched on the floor beside her as she stacked the rainbow sprinkles into little piles like tiny colorful coins. She glanced up and met your eyes, blinking slowly, then returned to her sprinkles.

“I’ll… think about it,” you said carefully, not quite smiling. “It sounds nice, but I just need to check on a few things.”

“Of course,” Jisung said quickly, brushing off the awkward beat with another one of his easy smiles. “No pressure. Just wanted to ask before the weekend snuck up on us.”

You nodded, but your thoughts weren’t with the cabin. They were drifting.

Back to all the almosts, the what-ifs, and the impossible decisions you’d been balancing between your heart and your mind.

Jisung reached for another donut, trying to fill the silence. You offered him a quiet thank-you as you sipped your milk, but your gaze once again found its way back to Hana, your little girl with sprinkles on her lap and a frown on her face you couldn’t quite read.

And that was when you realized: no matter what your answer would be about the cabin… you weren’t going to be able to give it lightly.

Minho had woken up already tangled in his thoughts, that familiar, heavy storm cloud settled over him before his feet even hit the floor.

So when Chan approached him at his desk, Minho barely looked up. He didn’t mean to sound cold when he said, “Not now. I’m really not in the mood.” But Chan didn’t walk away.

“It’s about Y/N and Jisung,” Chan said quietly.

Minho’s head snapped up.

His whole body stiffened as the haze of his irritation shifted into something sharper. “What about them?”

Chan glanced around to make sure no one was nearby, Jisung had the annoying habit of popping up like a stray cat when you least expected it. He leaned down, voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Jisung told me they’re going on a trip this weekend. Like, a cabin trip. Just the two of them.”

Minho's heart dropped into his stomach.

Chan kept going. “He said he’s planning to ask her to be his girlfriend there. Some big romantic thing. It’s happening soon. Like, this weekend.”

Minho blinked, his mind going blank for a second. Then it filled with a low hum of panic.

“It’s Wednesday,” he said, voice barely above a breath. He could already see it, Jisung grinning like a fool with his smug confidence, setting the scene perfectly, saying all the right things. You smiling, maybe surprised, maybe even touched. Saying yes.

“Yeah,” Chan nodded. “And if you don’t do something about it now, Minho, he’s going to get there first. You’re running out of time.”

Minho sat back in his chair, the pressure building in his chest. “What the hell do I do, Chan? She hasn’t said anything to me. I didn’t even know they were going away.”

Chan studied him, clearly trying to think quickly. “Hana’s staying with you this weekend, right?”

Minho nodded.

“Okay. That’s your in. Say something came up. That you can’t take Hana. That you have to work or—” Chan waved his hand vaguely. “I don’t know—make something up. She can’t go if she has Hana. At least it buys you time.”

Minho hesitated. It felt… wrong. Like sabotage. Like something a desperate guy would do.

But he was desperate.

Chan put a hand on his shoulder. “Look, I know it’s not the most honest thing in the world, but do you really want to sit around and wait for her to come back with a boyfriend? If you’re going to fight for her, then fight, Minho.”

Minho exhaled slowly, wrestling with the knot in his stomach. He didn’t respond right away, but Chan seemed to know he’d gotten through to him.

“Whatever you do,” Chan said, voice softer now, “don’t wait. You’ll regret it if you do.”

Just then, someone called out for Chan across the office. He gave Minho a final nod and turned to go, his footsteps already fading as Minho sat frozen at his desk.

Jisung. Cabin trip. This weekend. Girlfriend.

Minho ran a hand down his face and leaned back, eyes unfocused, heart thudding in his chest like a slow drum of panic.

He needed to act.

But this time, it couldn’t just be jealousy driving him.

It had to be love. The kind that mattered more than pride or bitterness. The kind that didn’t want to stop you from being happy, but wanted to be the one who made you happy.

So as Minho sat there, staring blankly at his screen, he began to plan. Not just how to keep you from going, but how to show you that what you had with him wasn’t just a memory worth mourning…

It was a future worth choosing.

Minho was halfway home when his phone buzzed in the passenger seat. The sky outside was a hazy, fading blue, streetlights flickering to life one by one as the city settled into its quiet, humming dusk. He didn’t recognize the number at first, he had your contact saved under your full name, something formal and almost defensive, something he never changed after the breakup because changing it to anything softer felt too dangerous.

But he knew it was you.

He didn’t hesitate to answer. He never did.

“Hey,” he said, quietly. Warily. The same way someone opens a letter they’re afraid to read.

Your voice came on the other end, soft and cautious. “Hey, Minho.”

It was the first time you’d spoken since your anniversary. It had only been a week, but it felt like a lifetime had passed. Since then, the silence between you had stretched long and heavy, filled with the weight of all the things neither of you had said.

“I just—I wanted to ask if there was any way you could pick up Hana a little earlier this Friday?” you said carefully, like you were trying not to make it sound like a big deal. Like it was just another scheduling thing.

But Minho already knew what this was.

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter with one hand, even though he was already parked outside his apartment building. The other rested on his thigh, tapping anxiously against his jeans.

You never asked for early pickups unless you had a good reason. You knew the routine. Knew he left work and drove straight to you, always arriving just after five, never late. And he never said no. No matter how inconvenient or last-minute or chaotic it made his day, he always worked around your requests. For Hana. For you. He never wanted to make things harder.

But today, today was different.

Today, he already knew the reason behind the ask, and it made his chest burn.

He let the silence stretch just a little longer before responding, voice low. “Why?”

You hesitated. Not long. Just long enough for him to hear you scrambling. “I just have… plans. Something came up.”

“Something,” he repeated, not bothering to hide the skepticism in his tone. “What kind of something?”

“Minho,” you said, gently. Like you knew what he was doing. Like you knew he was testing you.

He stared at the empty seat beside him, jaw clenched, emotions churning. He could’ve called you out. Could’ve said what he knew, what he’d heard from Chan that you were planning to go away with Jisung. That this weekend was the weekend. That your “something” wasn’t vague at all.

But he didn’t say it.

Because he didn’t want to hear you lie. And he didn’t want to hear the truth either.

So he exhaled and said, simply, “I can’t. I’m busy.”

There was a pause on your end. He imagined you blinking in surprise. You weren’t used to him saying no, not when it came to Hana. And not like this.

“Oh,” you said finally. “Okay.”

You didn’t press, but he could hear the disappointment in your voice. It was subtle, but it was there. That quiet frustration, like something had shifted between you and you didn’t know why.

He felt it too.

“I’ll see you at the usual time,” he said, softer this time. “Five.”

You didn’t argue. “Yeah. Okay.”

You both sat there on the line for a beat longer, as if waiting for the other to say something else. Something more. But nothing came. Just the sound of breath and distance and words unspoken.

“Goodnight, Minho.”

“Goodnight.”

When he hung up, he stared at the dashboard for a long while, guilt crawling up the back of his neck like heat. But he didn’t move. Didn’t call back.

Because the truth was, he wasn’t busy.

He had no plans on Friday. No obligations. No excuse.

Except the one that lived in his heart:

He wasn’t ready to watch you go away with someone else. He wasn’t ready to let you slip through his fingers again. Not without trying.

And maybe that made him selfish.

But this time, he wasn’t going to stand on your doorstep holding flowers.

This time, he was going to fight.

Thursday.

Minho barely slept. His thoughts ran circles through his head, bouncing between guilt, longing, and a creeping desperation he hadn’t felt since the night he packed up his things and left your shared apartment. Since then, he’d been careful, too careful, maybe, never pushing, never begging, always giving you the space you asked for, hoping silently that the time apart would eventually lead back to something familiar. Something whole.

But now, time was running out.

He could feel it like pressure behind his ribs.

He hadn’t been able to think of a single thing since your call the day before. He’d laid awake, staring at the ceiling of his apartment, arms crossed behind his head, thinking of every possible excuse to keep you from going on that trip with Jisung. Every scenario sounded ridiculous, selfish, or would put Hana in the middle and that was something he refused to do.

So now, Thursday morning, he sat at his desk at work, jaw tight, eyes unfocused on the screen in front of him. His fingers tapped restlessly on the woodgrain, and he barely even noticed when Chan came up beside him with two cold drinks from the office break room.

Chan placed one by his hand without saying anything at first, then took a long sip of his own before finally asking, “Anything yet?”

Minho blinked. “What?”

“A plan,” Chan clarified. “To stop it.”

Minho sighed, shaking his head slowly as he leaned back in his chair. “No. Nothing that doesn’t make me look like a complete idiot or a jealous ex who can’t let go.”

Chan raised a brow. “You are a jealous ex who can’t let go.”

Minho scoffed quietly, not in disagreement, but because he didn’t have the energy to argue.

Chan set his drink down and leaned one arm against Minho’s desk, lowering his voice. “Alright. What if you stop thinking about it like it’s about Jisung, or Hana, or even that weekend? What if it’s about you?”

Minho turned his head slowly, giving him a confused look.

Chan explained, “You’re not trying to sabotage their trip, right? You’re trying to remind her what she means to you. Why you loved each other in the first place. Why she maybe still does. So make it about that.”

Minho frowned, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “I don’t know what that would even look like…”

Chan shrugged. “You said you haven’t really talked since the anniversary, right? Why not use that? Say you didn’t feel right leaving it the way it was. That you want to talk. Just the two of you. No distractions. No Hana, no Jisung. Just… honesty.”

Minho stared at him for a long moment, heart thudding. It was the simplest thing. Honest. Straightforward. Real.

And terrifying.

But it stuck with him.

He stood up abruptly, grabbing his blazer off the back of his chair and collecting his things in a flurry of motion.

Chan blinked in surprise. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to her,” Minho said, slinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder, determination hardening his voice. “Can you cover for me if anyone asks?”

Chan smiled slowly, standing upright. “Go.”

As Minho made his way out of the office, the cold drink still sweating on his desk, Chan called after him just loud enough to be heard over the hum of the office:

“And don’t say anything stupid.”

Minho didn’t answer. He was already halfway to the elevator, heart pounding, pulse racing, his fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel of his next move.

He didn’t know what he was going to say when he got to you.

Only that it had to be said now. Before it really was too late.

Minho drove with white-knuckled hands gripping the steering wheel, the radio silent, the streets outside blurring past him in streaks of dull grey. His heart was pounding louder than his thoughts, louder even than the doubt telling him this was a terrible idea. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be showing up unannounced. But the image of you laughing with someone else had rooted itself so deeply in his chest that he couldn’t breathe until he said something. Until he did something.

He didn’t even remember parking the car. All he knew was that he was suddenly at your doorstep, standing there like a fool, his pulse drumming like war inside his ears. He knocked, harder than he meant to, and louder than he ever had before.

You opened the door moments later, eyebrows drawing together in a mix of confusion and mild shock. You glanced behind you, as if checking to see if anyone else was home, and then back at him. Your voice was hesitant.

“Minho? What are you doing here? Hana’s still at school.”

He didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t. The words were swelling in his throat and tangling in his nerves, but if he waited any longer, he’d lose his chance.

“I know. I’m not here about Hana.” His voice cracked slightly. “I just—please. I need five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You didn’t move. He could tell you were wary, maybe even annoyed, but something in his face must’ve given him away because after a pause, you stepped aside and let him in.

He stood in your living room, awkward and tense, the silence too familiar, too full of memories. Then, before he could stop himself, he said it:

“I love you.” He took a breath. “No—I never stopped loving you.”

You blinked, stunned. He kept going before you could say anything.

“I tried. I tried so hard to move on, to respect the fact that we both agreed to end things. But it’s never gone away. And I know I messed everything up, and I know you’re seeing someone now, but I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t kill me every time I see you with him.”

You were still silent, and that scared him more than anything.

“That day,” he said, quieter now, “our anniversary… I came by with flowers. I know I shouldn’t have, but I just— I thought maybe we could talk. And I saw him. Walking out of your place. With that smug smile. And I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. I couldn’t even breathe. I haven’t stopped regretting everything since.”

You sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, your arms crossed loosely over your chest, watching him. Letting him unravel. He kept going, voice trembling in places.

“I keep replaying everything in my head. what I could’ve done differently, what I should’ve said. And maybe it’s selfish of me, showing up like this, but I had to say something before it’s too late. Before you go on that trip with him.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “How do you know about that trip?”

He hesitated. His expression twisted into a guilty frown. “I… I didn’t mean to find out. I work with Jisung.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You never told me that.”

“I know. I didn’t want to seem like the jealous ex. Even though I am. But it’s not just that. It’s not just about being jealous. It’s about the fact that I still love you. That I never stopped loving you. Even when we broke up, even when it made sense. I never stopped.”

You exhaled sharply and stood up. Your voice was tight when you finally spoke.

“So now you want to be with me? Now that I’m seeing someone else?”

He flinched at your tone. “It’s not like that. I mean, it looks like that, but I swear this isn’t some reaction. I didn’t plan this because I saw you with someone new. I’ve felt this way for so long. I just… I was afraid to tell you.”

You shook your head. “You were afraid, so you stayed silent, and now that I’m starting to move on, you show up and ask me not to go on a trip with someone who’s actually been there for me?”

“I know how it sounds. But if, if there’s even one part of you that feels the same way, that misses what we had, that still wonders ‘what if’ please. Just tell me. I’ll do anything. I’ll wait. Just don’t tell me it’s really over.”

Silence fell again. The kind of silence that carried weight. History. Pain.

You were looking at him like you didn’t know whether to break down or scream. And he stood there, exposed, vulnerable, every wall he’d ever built crumbled at your feet, hoping, desperately that maybe, just maybe, there was still something left to rebuild from.

Your silence was deafening.

Minho stood there, his breath held hostage in his chest, heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape. He didn’t need you to say anything, he could already feel it in the way your eyes dropped to the floor, in the way your mouth pressed into a thin, unreadable line. In his gut, he feared he knew what was coming.

That he was too late.

That you'd already fallen for Jisung, and this trip, this weekend getaway he’d found out about through whispers in the office wasn't just a casual thing. It was a beginning. A line being drawn in the sand between what used to be and what would never be again. A new chapter where he no longer belonged.

He felt sick. And helpless. And like the ground beneath him was shifting just enough to knock him off balance.

But then, softly, so softly, it was your voice that broke the silence.

“I’m not going on that trip.”

Minho blinked, his entire body freezing like the air had been sucked out of the room. He looked at you, eyes wide, unsure if he’d misheard or hallucinated out of desperation.

You looked up at him slowly, your expression hard to read, somewhere between vulnerable and guarded, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I was going to, but… something didn’t feel right. I knew Jisung was going to ask me to be his girlfriend while we were away. I could feel it. He’s been hinting at it for weeks.”

Minho didn’t breathe.

You gave a small, dry laugh humorless, tired. “And I couldn’t say yes. Not because he’s a bad guy, he’s not. He’s… good. Kind. Consistent. But I’m not ready. Not yet, at least.”

He swallowed, still not trusting himself to speak, afraid that if he said anything too soon, he’d break the moment. But your words were unraveling something tightly wound inside of him. Slowly, piece by piece.

You exhaled, and for the first time, your voice cracked just slightly.

“That’s actually why I asked if you could pick Hana up early this week. I wanted to talk to Jisung before it was too late. Before he asked, and I had to hurt him by saying no.”

Minho’s heart twisted first in relief, so sharp it nearly dropped him to his knees. And then in something else. Something heavier.

Guilt.

He hadn’t known that. He’d assumed. Feared the worst. Convinced himself that he’d lost you for good when he saw Jisung leave your place. He’d let jealousy cloud everything. But now, now he realized something else.

There was still a door open.

Even if it was barely cracked, even if it wasn’t a promise, there was still a chance.

He let out a shaky breath and sat down, not trusting his legs anymore.

You were standing across the room, arms loosely crossed, but your walls were down, more than he’d seen in a long time. You looked at him, and for the first time, there wasn’t anger in your eyes. Just weariness. And something else. Something close to longing.

“I never wanted us to end like we did,” you said softly. “But we were tired. And we were hurting each other without meaning to. I thought breaking up was the right thing. That it would give us room to breathe. To figure ourselves out. And maybe it did, but…”

You hesitated, and he leaned forward slightly, drawn to your words like gravity.

“…I never stopped wondering if we’d find our way back.”

His breath caught.

That’s when it hit him. Really hit him.

He might still have a chance.

Not because you were lonely. Not because Jisung didn’t measure up. But because a piece of you was still holding onto what you and Minho once had. Because maybe, just maybe, you were still holding space in your heart for him.

And it was that sliver of hope that finally let him speak again, voice trembling but sure.

“If there’s a way back… I’ll find it. I’ll do the work. I’ll wait, if that’s what you need. Just tell me there’s a chance.”

You didn’t answer right away. You looked at him for a long, long moment, and then you walked over and sat beside him on the couch, close enough to feel his warmth, but not close enough to touch.

“Right now,” you said quietly, “I don’t have all the answers. But I know I want to figure them out. Not with anyone else. With you.”

Minho looked at you with something almost childlike in his expression, hope, tentative and aching. His voice was soft, but steady, when he asked, “Do you think… if I really try this time—if I show up better, if I really communicate the way I should’ve back then… do you think we could try again?”

His eyes searched yours, not demanding a promise, but asking for permission to hope.

You didn’t answer right away. The question hung in the room like a fragile thread, waiting to be either pulled gently forward or snapped. You could feel the weight of the past pressing against the moment, the mistakes, the miscommunications, the nights you cried alone while pretending it didn’t hurt.

But this was different. He was different. There was something raw about the way he looked at you now, something stripped down and sincere, like he’d peeled away everything that had gotten in the way before.

You let out a small breath and gave a short, slow nod.

Minho’s reaction was immediate, a wide, relieved smile blooming across his face, and for a moment, he looked younger, lighter. Like the years of regret he carried had been momentarily lifted.

But before he could get too far ahead, you raised a hand, not to stop him but to anchor the moment.

“It has to be slow,” you said firmly. “Really slow, Minho. I’m not jumping into anything. I’ve got Hana to think about. I’ve got myself to think about. We can’t go back to what we were, we have to start fresh. New pace. New rules.”

He nodded quickly, almost eagerly. “Yeah. Yeah, I get that. I want that. I don’t want to repeat what we had. I want to build something better.”

And then, gently, cautiously, he reached for you.

His arms wrapped around you with such care it made your chest ache. He didn’t pull you into him, he welcomed you, waited for you to meet him halfway. And you didn’t hesitate. You stepped into his embrace and let yourself melt into the warmth of his chest, burying your face there. His familiar scent, his heartbeat against your ear, it all came back in a rush.

He rested his cheek lightly on your hair and exhaled a shaky breath, just about to whisper something, how much he missed this, missed you, how often he’d dreamed of this exact moment, when your phone vibrated loudly between you.

You let out a small sigh and pulled away, checking the screen.

“It’s time to pick up Hana,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as reality crept gently back in.

Minho laughed, the sound light and real. “Of course it is,” he said, standing up and reaching for his jacket. “I’ll go. I don’t want to ruin this moment for you. I want you to sit with it. Let it settle.”

He made his way to the door, pausing before he stepped out.

“But don’t forget,” he said, pointing at you with a small, mock-serious smile. “I’m going to try. Seriously this time. I’m not letting you slip through my fingers again.”

You gave him a long look, soft and bittersweet. “I know. And I need to talk to Jisung. Tonight.”

He nodded slowly. The name didn’t sting the same way anymore. Not now, not after what you’d said. But still, a flicker of anxiety crossed his face before he caught himself.

Then, after a beat, he asked, half-joking, half-not, “You’re not gonna change your mind, right?”

You laughed under your breath, tilting your head at him. “Minho…”

He narrowed his eyes, squinting like he was trying to read your mind. “That wasn’t a no.”

You smiled, eyes twinkling just slightly. “I promise.”

He held your gaze a second longer, letting that promise soak in. Then he smiled, for real this time, wide and hopeful and full of something that had been missing for a long, long time.

And then he was gone, jogging down the steps to his car, probably already picturing Hana’s excited little face when she saw you at pickup.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, holding the weight of everything you’d just said. Everything you still had to do. Tonight, you would talk to Jisung. You owed him that much. And you owed yourself the honesty you’d been avoiding.

But in your chest, something had shifted.

Not a return to the past, but a beginning.

Careful. Slow. But real.

And it was enough. for now.

Minho had barely stepped through the front door when the weight of the conversation he’d just had hit him fully. His body was buzzing, not from nerves anymore, but from something gentler. A release. A strange blend of relief, exhaustion, and the quiet hum of hope. His hands were still jittery from the adrenaline, fingers twitching slightly as he tossed his keys into the bowl by the door and leaned against the wall, exhaling deeply.

Then his phone rang.

He glanced down to see Chan lighting up the screen.

Of course.

He picked up, not bothering to mask the rawness in his voice. “Hey.”

“Yo,” Chan greeted, already sounding like he knew something had shifted. “Bad time?”

Minho shook his head, even though Chan couldn’t see. “No, no. I just got home… from talking to her.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end, then a burst of excitement.

“No way—you actually did it?” Chan's voice lit up with the kind of joy that only came from someone who had been there for the ugliest parts of your story.

Minho let out a long, deep sigh, almost a laugh—part disbelief, part release. “Yeah… I did.”

“And?!” Chan pressed. “How did it go?”

Minho smiled softly, sinking down onto the couch like his bones had finally loosened. “It went… better than I thought. She’s not going on the trip. With Jisung, I mean. She said she’s not ready. But she didn’t say no to me. She said we could try. Slowly. That we could maybe… start again.”

He trailed off, overwhelmed by the way it sounded out loud.

Chan let out a cheer through the phone. “Minho, that’s huge! That’s amazing, man. I’m really happy for you.”

“Yeah,” Minho whispered, his voice unexpectedly thick. “Me too.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the low hum of the connection between them. Then Chan’s voice turned gentle, sincere.

“I’m proud of you, you know that? You actually faced it this time. You didn’t just bury it or run from it like you did last time.”

Minho went quiet. The smile lingered, but it faded at the edges, mellowed by memory.

“Yeah…” he murmured. “I remember.”

He had run. From everyone. Especially from Chan and Changbin.

When the breakup first started looming, those cold arguments late at night, the silence that followed them Minho had pulled away, piece by piece. And when the final conversation had happened, when it was real, when he saw his bags by the door and your voice broke as you said goodbye, something inside him had shut down entirely.

He stopped going out with the others after work. Stopped answering texts. He started coming in late, leaving early. And when he was at work, he wore a mask so thick not even Chan, who’d known him since his very first day could break through.

He hadn’t known how to talk about the pain. How to say that losing you felt like losing oxygen. So instead, he retreated.

Chan must’ve felt the shift in the silence because he spoke again, this time quieter.

“Hey… I know you remember how bad it got. You pulled away so hard we barely knew how to help. Me, Changbin, everyone. And we were worried. You wouldn’t even let us try.”

“I know,” Minho said, voice low. “I thought if I let anyone see how bad I was doing, it’d make it real. That it would make me weak. So I just… disappeared.”

“You weren’t weak,” Chan said firmly. “You were hurting. And we got that. We just wished you’d let us in. Even just a little.”

There was a long pause before Minho responded.

“I hated how broken I was. I didn’t even recognize myself. I felt like I’d failed at everything, being a partner, a father, a friend. And I didn’t want you or Changbin to see me like that. I couldn’t even look at myself.”

Chan didn’t respond right away. When he did, his tone was soft but unwavering.

“Well, now you’re facing it. And you’re doing better than you think. Just don’t forget that we’re still here. This time, if it gets hard again and it will, because that’s life, don’t shut us out. Let us be there. Let us show up for you, Minho. You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

Minho blinked quickly, swallowing the sudden knot in his throat.

“I won’t,” he said quietly. “I promise.”

Chan smiled through the phone. “Good. That’s all we ask.”

Minho leaned back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The air in the room felt lighter somehow. Less suffocating. He’d spent so long locking parts of himself away, trying to manage everything in silence, convincing himself that vulnerability made him burdensome. But this? This conversation, this simple, grounding reminder that he had people, real people, in his corner?

It meant everything.

“Thanks, Chan. For not giving up on me,” Minho said, voice steady again. “Even when I disappeared.”

“You’re my brother, Minho. I never would.”

And with that, the call ended, and Minho sat there, phone resting on his chest, a quiet smile tugging at his lips, not just because he might get another chance with you…

…but because, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone.

The sun had started its slow descent by the time you finally sat down. For most of the afternoon, you’d been pacing back and forth across the living room, phone in hand, trying to figure out how to say everything you needed to say without causing more hurt than necessary.

Hana was in her room, humming softly to herself as she played with her toys, completely unaware of the weight sitting in your chest like a stone.

You’d thought about sending a long text. Maybe laying everything out in writing so you could control the tone, avoid awkward silences, or tears, or worse, disappointment. But that felt too impersonal, too cold. He didn’t deserve that. Jisung had been nothing but kind. Steady. Patient.

You considered asking him to come over, but that didn’t feel right either. You didn’t want to give him false hope, or make him drive all the way here just to leave with a fractured heart.

So you sat there for a long moment, fingers hovering over his name in your call log.

And then, finally, you pressed it.

The phone rang twice before he picked up, voice bright and warm.

“Hey,” he said, clearly smiling. “I was just about to text you. Are you packed yet? I managed to get off work early tomorrow so we can head out a bit sooner. I figured we could beat traffic and maybe grab dinner somewhere up there. Oh and don’t forget to pack something warm, okay? It’s going to be colder than we thought.”

You closed your eyes. That part hurt the most, his excitement. His thoughtfulness. The way he was planning this trip with care, imagining moments the two of you would never actually share.

“Jisung,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “Can we… talk for a minute?”

There was a pause. Not long, but enough to let you know he sensed the shift. When he spoke again, his voice was more cautious.

“Yeah. Sure. What’s going on?”

You swallowed hard, gathering your thoughts before beginning. And then, slowly, carefully, you laid it all out, the truth.

You told him how you weren’t going on the trip. How you'd realized you weren’t ready for a relationship, not with anyone. How the timing wasn’t right. And then, gently, you told him about Minho.

You tried to explain it without excuses, without painting Jisung as a placeholder or Minho as a hero. You were honest, clear that your heart still hadn’t fully healed from everything you’d been through, and being with someone else without facing that part of yourself wasn’t fair. Not to you. Not to him.

He didn’t say anything at first. There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and you hated how your heart twisted waiting for him to respond.

When he finally did, his voice was quiet, but not cold.

“So… it’s because of him.”

You didn’t deny it. “Partly. But not just because of him. I think I’ve been trying to convince myself that I was ready, and I wasn’t. You were wonderful, Jisung. You were everything someone should want. And that’s what makes this so hard.”

He let out a breath almost a laugh, but not quite. “I mean, I kinda had a feeling. He always felt like the elephant in the room. I never wanted to admit it, but... yeah. I knew you weren’t fully in it.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to lead you on. I never meant for it to go this far.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “You’re not a bad person. You just… weren’t ready. That’s not your fault.”

“I’ll pay you back for the trip,” you said quickly, guilt tightening in your chest. “The reservation, the gas, the—”

“No,” he interrupted, firm but kind. “Don’t do that. Seriously. I’m still going. I think I need the break more than ever now.” He let out a small chuckle. “Maybe I’ll sit in the hot tub and re-evaluate my life or something.”

You laughed, despite yourself, a bittersweet sound. “Well… I hope it gives you what you need.”

He was quiet again, but this time, the silence didn’t feel heavy.

“Just… promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t disappear, okay?” His voice was soft, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t heard before. “I know it didn’t work out romantically, but I really care about you. And Hana. Even if she barely talks to me and kind of looks at me like I’m invading her space every time I show up.”

You smiled at that. “She’s just… protective. She’s still adjusting to all of this. But she doesn’t dislike you, I swear.”

“Well, I’m still convinced she plotted against me at least once,” he joked, a touch of humor returning to his tone. “But seriously, I want to stay in your life. As a friend. If that’s okay.”

“It’s more than okay,” you said sincerely. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

“I’m trying,” he said with a sigh. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck, though.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“I’ll be okay,” he added after a pause. “Eventually. Just… don’t feel guilty for doing what’s right for you, okay?”

You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Okay.”

“Alright,” he said, more upbeat now. “Well, I guess I’ll go pack for my sad solo mountain retreat.”

“Don’t forget warm clothes,” you teased softly.

He laughed. “You got it. Talk soon?”

“Yeah. Talk soon.”

And just like that, the call ended.

You sat there for a moment, phone still in hand, staring at the blank screen. There was a strange peace in the quiet now. You had dreaded that conversation all day, but Jisung had met it with more grace than you thought possible.

It didn’t make it easy.

But it made it right.

The silence after the call ended was louder than anything.

You set the phone down slowly, hands resting in your lap, fingers tracing the outline of each other as if trying to soothe the restlessness still lingering in your chest. The conversation had gone as well as it possibly could, and yet, something inside you ached, not with regret, but with the quiet exhaustion that comes from being honest.

Honesty wasn’t always clean. Sometimes it felt like unraveling.

The sun had dipped below the horizon now, casting the room in that early evening blue-gray stillness. The kind of light that makes everything look softer but heavier too like the house was holding its breath with you.

You didn’t cry. You thought maybe you would, but instead, you just… sat. Still. Letting it all settle.

Then, without warning, the sound of quick little footsteps broke through the stillness.

“Mommy!”

Hana came bursting into the living room, her tiny arms full of a stuffed animal, hair a little messy from rolling around on the carpet in her room. She launched herself into your lap like a small, bright comet, all warmth and movement, wrapping her arms tightly around your waist and snuggling her cheek into your chest.

You smiled down at her, startled but comforted, brushing her hair gently away from her face.

“Hey, baby,” you whispered, voice catching slightly. “Everything okay?”

She nodded quickly, still holding you. “I just wanted to hug you. You were being quiet.”

That simple observation, spoken so innocently, made your throat tighten. Children had this uncanny way of seeing right through you. You held her closer, letting her weight press into you like a grounding force.

“I needed that,” you murmured, kissing the top of her head. “Thank you.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at you with wide, curious eyes. “When can I see Daddy again?”

You paused, shifting slightly so you could look her in the eyes.

“This weekend, remember?” you said softly. “You’re going to spend the night at his place.”

She smiled at that, clearly excited. But then her expression shifted into something a little more thoughtful, more serious.

“I wish we could all spend the night together,” she said.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean, baby?”

She rested her chin on your shoulder, her voice muffled but sure. “Like before. When Daddy was still here. I liked it when we were all together.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, breathing through the pang in your chest.

“I know,” you whispered. “I liked it too.”

She was quiet for a moment, and you wondered if maybe she sensed the unspoken things adults tried to keep hidden. She was small, but she was observant, always had been. It was in the way she watched people, the way she listened even when no one thought she was paying attention.

You pulled her closer again, tucking her head beneath your chin. Her little hands clutched your shirt, and the rhythm of her breathing began to slow as she relaxed in your arms.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to her. “But I promise I’ll always be here. No matter what.”

She didn’t respond in words, just gave a sleepy nod, like that was enough for her.

And maybe, for now, it was enough for you too.

Because in that small, honest moment, just you and her wrapped in the quiet hum of love that had never wavered, you remembered why you were trying so hard to get it right this time. Why slow was okay. Why healing mattered more than rushing into answers.

You didn’t have everything figured out. The road ahead was still uncertain. But right here, in this stillness, in the warmth of your daughter’s arms, you felt something you hadn’t in a long time.

Peace.

It was a crisp Friday evening when Minho pulled up outside your place.

He sat in the car for a moment after parking, hands gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him steady. He wasn’t sure what to expect. He was here for Hana, yes, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t thinking about you just as much.

A part of him had been convincing himself that nothing would be said. That maybe you’d keep things simple, just hand off Hana with a polite smile, exchange a few logistical notes, and send them on their way. And he’d understand if that were the case. You had no obligation to talk more. Not after the emotional chaos of the last few days.

Still, some quiet part of him,

buried under nerves and realism,

hoped you'd say something.

Anything.

He barely had time to finish the thought before the door opened, and there you were.

You stepped outside, Hana bounding ahead of you, her backpack bouncing behind her as she ran up to Minho with bright eyes and a cheerful “Daddy!”

Minho smiled, crouching down to hug her tightly, brushing her hair back as he greeted her. That moment was easy, effortless, natural. But his eyes flicked up to you as he rose to stand, his heart climbing to his throat.

You looked calm. But he knew you well enough to recognize the thoughtful set of your mouth, the way you held your arms loosely at your sides like you were steadying yourself from within.

You approached slowly, and for a moment, it was quiet, just the sound of birds somewhere overhead and Hana chatting to herself as she climbed into the backseat of Minho’s car.

Then you spoke.

“I talked to Jisung.”

Minho blinked. His body went still, and he didn’t know what he expected you to say next, only that he hadn’t expected you to say anything.

You held his gaze as you continued, your voice calm but honest. “I told him everything. About not going on the trip. About not being ready. About… you.”

Minho’s breath caught in his chest. “You did?”

You nodded. “I owed him the truth. He was kind. He didn’t deserve anything less.”

He swallowed, eyes searching yours for something, hesitation, regret, anger. But there wasn’t any. Just quiet strength. The kind of clarity that comes from doing something hard and knowing it was right.

“I told him I wasn’t ready to be in a relationship,” you went on, voice softening. “Because I’m still figuring things out. Because there’s still a part of me that’s trying to make sense of everything that happened. But I also told him I couldn’t ignore how I felt when you came to the door the other day. That I hadn’t been able to ignore it for a while now.”

Minho didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there, the wind brushing gently through his hair, his lips parting slightly like he was afraid to exhale too hard and ruin the moment.

“And…” you hesitated slightly. “If we do try again, it has to be slow. For me. For Hana. For both of us.”

Minho nodded immediately, almost too fast. “Yes. Of course. That’s all I want. I mean, not all, but… I’m not expecting things to be like they were. I just… I want a chance to do it right this time. At your pace.”

You gave him a small, cautious smile. “That’s good. Because I don’t want to repeat the past. I want something different. Healthier.”

Minho stepped a little closer, not touching you, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence again. Familiar. Not suffocating like it used to be when things were hard. Just… grounding.

“I’m going to show up this time,” he said quietly. “Not just when it’s easy. Not just for the sweet moments. I’ll be there for the hard ones too. Even if I don’t always know what to say.”

You nodded, your voice almost a whisper. “That’s all I need.”

For a beat, you both stood there in the morning light, not rushing anything. Letting the quiet say the things your hearts didn’t quite know how to put into words yet.

Then Hana’s voice piped up from the car, calling for her dad to put on her favorite music. You both laughed, light and easy, like old times. Minho turned, heading to the driver’s side, but before he climbed in, he looked back at you.

“I’ll text you tonight,” he said.

You nodded, smiling again. “Okay.”

And he got into the car, pulling away slowly, glancing in the rearview mirror one more time to catch your silhouette on the doorstep, soft, thoughtful, strong.

And just like that, something had shifted. Not everything. Not instantly.

But enough.

Enough to begin.

Nearly two years had passed since that early spring morning, since the front door opened on a fragile, hopeful beginning.

There had never been a dramatic reunion, no grand announcement to friends or family. No social media posts or loud proclamations. Just quiet, intentional love. It had started with conversations. Long ones. Painful ones. Healing ones. Sometimes they were over late dinners after Hana had gone to bed, sometimes whispered while folding laundry or brushing teeth. It hadn’t been perfect. There were setbacks. But through it all, you kept choosing each other, quietly, steadily.

You hadn’t planned to fall back into the rhythm of being a family. But slowly, almost without realizing it, you did.

Minho started spending more time at your place, first for Hana. That was the excuse. He’d come to drop her off and she’d beg him to stay just a little longer. One night, she asked for a bedtime story. “One more, Daddy.” He’d read it with a smile in his voice, her little head resting against his chest, and when you’d peeked in the room, you’d found them both curled up on her bed, eyes heavy with sleep. That night, he stayed on the couch, claiming it was too late to drive home, though it wasn’t even 10 p.m.

You didn’t say anything. Neither of you did. Not when it happened again. Or the next time. Until one day, you realized you had his toothbrush in your bathroom. A drawer with his t-shirts. His cologne on your shelf. And you didn’t remember when it all officially changed, only that it had. And you were happy. The quiet kind of happy that feels like home.

Now, nearly two years later, the house was fuller.

The soft sound of children’s morning cartoons hummed in the background while you stood behind Hana, gently parting her hair into sections. Her legs dangled off the kitchen stool, kicking lightly with excitement.

“Mommy,” she asked for the fourth time that week, “is the baby coming soon?”

You smiled, one hand resting unconsciously on your belly as you twisted her braid. “Not that soon, sweetheart. A few more months.”

Hana let out a dramatic sigh, the kind only a six-year-old could manage. “But I already made space in my room!”

You laughed, gently tugging her braid loose and starting again. “That’s for later, remember? The baby will sleep in our room for a while.”

“But I can still help, right? Like with diapers and bottles and what if the baby cries at night?”

“Then we’ll all help,” you said softly. “That’s what family does.”

Before she could fire off another question, footsteps padded into the room Minho, fully dressed for work, adjusting his watch as he walked in with that still-sleepy look he never really lost in the mornings.

“There you are,” he murmured, eyes locking with yours first. His voice dipped gently, his concern immediate but unspoken. “Why’d you leave bed so early?”

You gave him a tired smile, one hand resting on the curve of your growing belly. “I couldn’t sleep again. Got too frustrated tossing and turning.”

He crossed the room in two steps and leaned in to kiss your lips, his hand automatically reaching for your belly with a tenderness that still made your breath catch. “Next time, wake me up, okay?” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead now. “Even if it’s just to complain. I’d rather be tired with you than sleep through it alone.”

You nodded, your eyes warm, and he turned to Hana, who squealed with delight as he tickled her side.

“Good morning, princess.”

“Daddy! Stop!” she laughed, squirming away with a wide grin. He ruffled her hair playfully before kissing the top of her head.

You turned back to the kitchen, checking the time. “Will you be home for dinner tonight?”

A question that once felt like a gamble. A question you used to ask even when you knew the answer would be “I’ll see,” delivered with the kind of distracted vagueness that always left your chest a little hollow.

But now? Now, Minho didn’t even blink.

“Yeah,” he said, looking back at you as he adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “I’ll be home.”

You didn’t say anything in return. You just smiled. And that was enough.

Minho bent down again, kissed you once more, slower this time, more present then turned to Hana. “Be good for Mommy, yeah?”

She saluted him with exaggerated seriousness, and he laughed.

And then he was out the door.

You stood there for a moment, your hands resting on your belly, watching as Hana inspected her braid in the mirror on the wall.

There was peace in the routine. A softness that hadn’t existed in the beginning. A stillness that came not from perfection, but from the choice day after day to love each other better than before.

And as your daughter grinned at her reflection and the baby inside you fluttered with a kick, you whispered quietly to yourself:

“We’re okay.”

And you were.

More than okay.

You were whole.

[a/n: surprise!! it’s my birthday tomorrow but i wanted to give you guys a little gift. (: final part of BTL.]

masterlist.

❌proofread

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..] [ BTL taglist @christasmind @tsunderelino @staytinyarmy @luvhannies @leeknowno @ravengxbss @fairylix]

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huntingcupid · 1 day ago

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PROMISES WITH LARA RAJ

would we be lovers or would we be friends would we mind if we stayed or went separate ways would we have said what we wanted to say what if we said we would see through the endwould we be lovers or would we be friends would we mind if we stayed or went separate ways would we have said what we wanted to say what if we said we would see through the end

⌗ LARA — fem!reader, angst, fluff, breakup, swearing, lovers to strangers to lovers again, good ending, etc...

⌗ CUPID — I'm removing the sypnosis part, sigh its spoiling too much

what if?

the question that always was in your mind, one that kept plaguing your dreams and daily thoughts — something you couldn't help but think about

what if she kept her promises, what if you didn't doubt her, what if you two didn't end — what if she deserves another chance?

you didn't like how it ended, i mean who did?, lara was never that sad ever, you've never seen the girl sob as loud as the night you told her you wanted to end it, you've never seen lara beg and plead yet there she was holding your hands as she tried to stop you from slipping away her face flushed from tears

it hurt — it hurt how you couldn't bring yourself to love her the same anymore, that you couldn't hug her and reassure her, cause you knew it was bound to happen

lara had been different the past few weeks, from being colder to straight up being a bitch to you, constantly snappy and mean — something was wrong and you wanted to know what, what is making her this weird

and against your better judgment, you snoop through her phone, that night lara was taking a shower, you steal her phone from her bag, and open it using your password since you two shared that — nothing out of the ordinary was in it, just plain old texts and pictures, you sighed feeling relief

well until it popped up, a text from manon, manon is lara's ex, the one she said hurt her the most, your heart drops — you open the conversation only to see an exchange of messages for a good 4 days now, multiple ones of them being sweet

you didn't want to say lara was cheating, but why would she hide this, and why is she talking to her again, you swipe and swipe to see more, the bathroom door unlocks and there stood lara her face pale when she saw what your holding

“baby, what are you-” you cut off the girl, “why the fuck are you talking to manon, lara” you grit your teeth feeling your blood boil, “it's not what it looks like!” lara retorts, you slap the girl, feeling the burn of your tears fall to your cheeks — “it is lara, get the fuck out of here! now!” you scream pushing her away as she tries to hug you, her face wet with tears

lara begged endlessly as you threw her bag out of your house, all her things packed away, “please y/n, i love you!” lara screams, yet you try your best to not hear it, feeling betrayed and hurt, you look at her a last time before slamming the door

lara rung your number more than a hundred times that night, messages spammed as she begged you, begged to let her explain and let her back in, yet you were too hurt to even consider it

the first morning without lara was foreign, without a warm body that's hugging you it felt cold, no one to hum soft tunes while you cook breakfast, or no one to hug you from behind as you clean the dishes

it was all new, again — the house felt empty, so did your heart, so empty — lara left her favorite hoodie on the sofa and you grabbed it already her scent wafted through the air, you hug the hoodie wearing it even just to feel better

you stare at your house which used to be filled with memories and joy, now just a painful reminder of what you and lara used to be, what was trashed last night

you went about your day, going out for a walk and buying from a local bakery — it felt like a fever dream the day passed like a bubble, fragile and quick — you felt down, nothing made you joyous at all, yet you still pushed through the day

and for the next few weeks you did this like a routine, despite the feeling of weirdness and boredom, especially pain — today was no different it has been 2 weeks, and you just finished your shift, you walk home and enjoy some matcha latte

you push open the house door only to find lara inside, a glass of water in one hand as she looked like she just finished sobbing, secretly you felt relieved that she was there yet still hurt nonetheless — lara looks up and sees you, she runs up to you hugging you tightly

“y/n, can we speak please?” lara asks looking at you with sparks in her eyes, you itch to return the hug and kiss her cheeks yet you stopped only offering a cold nod, you two sat on your bed

lara looked around the room seemingly not used to see it so empty or at least without her things — you sigh placing your bag on the floor as you remove your coat

“speak” you said to the girl, lara bit her lip and slowly pulled her phone out, “i wasn't cheating, manon was going through something and i know i should've not kept it secret, but i did, and I'm sorry for that” lara follows, you nod as she shows proof that nothing really happened despite what you've thought

“I'm sorry my love, i know i should've been honest, i should've kept my promise to not be secretive, please give me another chance” lara pleads her warm hands atop of yours looking into your eyes, searching for hope — anything really

“lara, I'm not saying i forgive you, but i would love for you to work for it, show me you've changed, no more broken promises” you look at her, lara smiles one that felt genuine and for once in a long time you felt happy, “ill do anything y/n” lara responds only kissing your hands

and she did everything all right, lara started with sending you breakfast every morning with a little note, monday it was a latte and some waffles, tuesday it was croissants and hot chocolate — till friday, which was mango juice and strawberry cake — you smile internally feeling like a teenager falling in love all over again

wednesday lara takes you out for a walk — by the park, she buys you ice cream and some balloon that was pink — you look over at the girl who seemed very determined, and when you weren't looking lara would take candid pictures, and save it in a special album

saturday — lara had texted you if she can sleepover and have a movie date, you sent her back a thumbs up and time of arrival, on the clock 8pm lara knocks on your door

you open the door only to see lara in a bear onesie — you couldn't help but giggle and obviously have cuteness aggression — lara looks at you pouting but quickly takes out something from her bag, a matching pink onesie, “let's match?” lara asks enthusiastically

now you lay in your bed wearing the matching set, lara besides you the popcorn bowl in the middle, lara insisted on horror, landing on tarot — you were so focused on what was gonna happen that lara actually decided to scare you

“boo!” lara screams gripping your arms, “shit!” you scream back earning a laugh from the girl as you look at her in playful annoyance — the movie continued and the next thing you knew laras head falls on your lap, she's asleep

with the movie long forgotten you brush the girls hair, taking a moment to admire the woman — you pull up the covers placing lara's head on your chest as you inhaled the fragrance of her shampoo

“goodnight my love” you whisper turning off the tv and kissing the top of the womans head, arms wrapped around her waist, “did you just kiss me?!” lara geeks out, you roll your eyes and just kept quiet even when the girl below you was actually flustered out of her mind

“goodnight too, my love!” lara excitedly says, snuggling more into you, her body fit right onto you, like a puzzle piece

wc: 1.3k word / req by 🌧 anon mwamwa

#katseye #wlw #fem!reader #katseye x reader #kpop #gg fics #lara raj #lara katseye #lara rajagopalan #katseye lara

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e1ysianvisions · 2 days ago

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Cowboy Like Me

Pairing: Cowboy!Tommy Miller x fem!reader

Summary: You've finished your final year of college and summer is about to begin, but you've got no home to go to. So, your friend Sarah invites you to stay at her family ranch back in Texas. That's where you meet Tommy Miller. He's handsome, charming and your best friend's uncle.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, MDNI, Age gape (unspecified but reader is in her 20s while Tommy is in his 30s), No outbreak AU, Grief, Mentions of loss (reader's mother), Pet names, Praise, Jealous Tommy, Unprotected piv sex, Fingering, Hand job, alchahol consumption, cowboy hat rule (iykyk), duel POV

Word count: 3.9k

You knew you were in trouble the moment you first saw him in the airport. Tousled curls, freckles, and dark circles. And the smile that graced his lips when you and Sarah approached… just magnetic.

“Uncle Tommy!” Sarah squealed, rushing to fling her arms around the man.

“Hey kiddo,” He mumbled, squeezing her tight. “It’s good to have you home.”

You stood awkwardly behind Sarah, your arms wrapped around your torso as you watched the interaction.

“And you must be our new ranch hand,” He joked over Sarah’s head, Sarah playfully slapped his arm in response.

“She’s our guest.” Tommy only laughed, and you didn’t know whether it was due to your tiredness from your flight, but it was the loveliest sound you’d heard all day.

“‘Course,” He peels the girl in his arms away and took a step towards you, “Tommy Miller.” He introduces himself.

“I know.”

“Been talkin’ ‘bout me?” He turned to Sarah.

“All good things.” She reassured, holding back a laugh. The man glared at her before shaking his head. Sarah talks about her family a lot, she’s close with them. And from what you’ve heard, or been warned, her uncle Tommy is a real charmer.

You tell him your name, and he echoes your response of “I know.”, and you put your hand out for a polite handshake. Tommy ignores that and pulls you into a hug instead. You leant into the embrace, he smelled of soap, coffee and something else, something masculine, something uniquely him. Tommy gives you a final squeeze before announcing, “Welcome to the family, sweetheart. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Hey!” Sarah laughs, playfully squinting her eyes at her uncle.

“C’mon lets get your shit and get outta here.”

The ride from the airport was quiet, mostly. Sarah fell asleep almost instantly, finally succumbing from the tiredness she’d been fighting all day. Leaving you and Tommy in a silence that was awkward but not entirely uncomfortable. You talked about your course, what you wanted to do now that you’ve graduated, you said you weren’t sure. In truth you hadn’t been sure of anything, not since your mom died.

“You’re young. You've got time.” Was what Tommy said, smiling at you through the mirror.

Later on that first day you all sit around a dining table for dinner, you sit next to Sarah and across from Tommy, and Tommy’s words from earlier ring in your ears, “Welcome to the family, sweetheart.” And for a second it almost feels like you're a part of one, passing condiments and engaging in conversation. Sarah is now fully awake and excitedly recalling everything she’s done since last being home. You find it unexpectedly easy to be around them, especially Tommy, who makes the effort to make you feel included. You feel a familiar, painful, emotion swell in your throat. You take a gulp of water.

“Thankyou for dinner, and for letting me stay here for a while.” You say when everyone’s finished with their food.

Joel smiles at you. “No need to thank us, kid. You’re welcome here as long as you need.” You smile back at him.

After dinner you’re helping Sarah with washing the dishes when Joel comes out to the kitchen with a groan. You and Sarah both turn your heads to look at the man.

“Tommy forgot to take these,” Joel says, holding up folded bedding. Sarah shakes her head as Joel goes to put his jacket on.

You wipe your hands on a towel. “I’ll take it over.” You say, stepping towards him.

“Sure? He’s just in the barn, I’ll be back in no time.” You gently pry the linens from him.

“I don’t mind, it’s the least I could do.” You say with a smile. “The barn, yeah?”

When you walk inside the barn, you find Tommy polishing a saddle. His brows furrowed as he concentrated on the task at hand. You allowed yourself to enjoy the view of his arms as he buffs the tan leather.

“Hey,” You say in a small voice. Tommy looks up, eyes dragging up your frame, smiling when he reaches your eyes.

“Hey there.” He replies, standing up. And for a moment, just a moment, you feel as though you’re drowning in his brown eyes and the honey-like drawl of his voice.

You clear your throat. “Joel said you forgot these.” You say, handing him the clean sheets.

“Yeah, s’pose I did.” He said taking them off your hands and walking to a back room. You don’t know why you follow him, but you do. The room is pretty small, a few storage boxes, a desk and a pallet of crates with a mattress on top. “You sleep here?” You ask.

He looks over his shoulder as he places the folded sheet on top of the mattress. “Not usually. But we needed somewhere to put ya.”

A sense of guilt gnaws at your gut. “I took your room?”

“Didn’t take it,” He said, turning to face you. “I offered it.” He took a step towards you.

“Sorry I’m putting you out.”

Tommy just shakes his head and flashes you another one of his charming smiles. “S’fine, sweetheart.” You look to the ground, Tommy puts a finger under your chin, making you look at him. “Really. S’fine. Don’t worry ‘bout me.” You can’t help but flush at his southern charm. God, you are in such trouble.

He then walks out the room, you suppose to continue the task he was doing before you showed up. And you should go and leave him to it, but then one of the horses peaks its head out and you help but stop where you’re standing and look.

“I’ve never seen a horse in real life before.” You whisper, mostly to yourself, but Tommy hears.

“Really?” You turn to face him and his eyebrow quirks up.

“Really.” You confirm.

“Alright then, c’mon.” Tommy nods his head, gesturing for you to follow him to the stable. The horse pokes his head out further and Tommy insensitively reaches his hand out.

“His name’s Bandit, he's mine.” Tommy tells you, the low timbre of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Gimme your hand.” You don’t think twice about obeying him. You reach your hand up and Tommy guides it to the horse. Tommy’s larger hand on top of yours as you feel Bandit’s velvet-like dark coat. The horses nuzzles into your touch, causing you to smile wide. You turn to see Tommy smiling just as wide, watching you.

“He likes ya,” He starts. “He’s a good judge of character. And like his rider he can appreciate a beautiful woman.” He whispers that last part in your ear, the shivers from before turning into waves of excitement. “I’ll teach ya to ride ‘em, if you want?”

“I’d like that.” Your gaze moves from his brown eyes to his lips, and when they reach his eyes again his pupils are blown wide.

Tommy clears his throat.“It’s getting late,” He says, removing his hand from yours, and moving away from your side, your body missing the warmth he provided.

“Yeah, should head back. I’m getting tired.” You say, turning to face Tommy before you walk out.

“Enjoy sleeping in my bed.” He says with a wink. Oh god, you really are in trouble if you have to live with a man who makes you feel so… makes you feel. And when you climbed into bed that night all that played in your mind was the playful glint in Tommy’s eyes as he said those five words. And you did. The sheets spelled like fresh linen but if you imagined hard enough you swore you could smell Tommy’s soap and coffee scent.

Tommy had said that line to make you flustered, he noticed throughout the day you blushed awful easy ‘round him. But he didn’t expect it to keep him up instead. The vision of you in his bed, in his sheets. Tommy knew you were off-limits, being Sarah’s friend and all. She would never forgive him if he made a move on you. And his brother… God he’d be so angry he couldn’t keep it in his goodman pants for once. It just made the thought of you all the sweeter, a forbidden fruit to admire, and admire only. But still, it didn't mean he couldn’t make you flustered, if only to see you flushed and biting your lip. Because that’s all he’ll allow himself to indulge in.

You liked Tommy from the first time you saw him at the airport, but you felt especially drawn to him after that first evening. Consciously seeking him out in every room you entered, asking after him, walking over to the barn to sit and drink coffee with him in the mornings. And he didn’t seem to push away your attention, which was nice. And the way he looked at you with such intensity made you feel wanted.

You took Tommy up on those riding lessons. Bandit was a gentle, steady horse. But as soon as Tommy’s hands gripped your hips to place you in the saddle, you lost all focus. The way he touched you felt natural. Like his hands were molded specifically for the curve of your hips. And the praises he’d give when you’d got something right. “Atta girl, that’s it,” “Doing so well f’me,” “You can do it, sweetheart, that’s it,” God, it’s a surprise you haven’t fallen off the damn horse with him talking to you like that.

It’s been a couple days since your latest riding lesson and you’re getting all dressed up for a garden party the Miller’s were hosting to celebrate Sarah’s graduation. You wore a simple white dress, a denim jacket for the chilly night air and some boots Sarah gave you once she realised you did not have the right foot wear for a ranch. You ruined your white sneakers helping with mucking out the horses your first week at the ranch.

Once you left the house your senses were immediately filled with the smell of meat on the grill.

There was a tent-like thing providing some shelter incase of rain and you made your way underneath where people were dancing to the music blasting from the speakers.

In between eating and drinking Sarah introduced you to her friends and the other people attending the party, other ranchers, business owners from town and a ranch hand that was way too charming for his own good. His name is Brody or something.

As the sun begins to set, the music slows down and couples begin to dance. Sarah goes and dances with her dad, leaving you to be a wallflower. That is until Tommy comes up to you, asking you to dance.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” You confess.

“I don’t mind takin’ the lead,” He teases. You flush, though you blame it on the alcohol in your system. It definitely has nothing to do with the panty-dropping smile he just flashed you. Nope. Not at all.

“I’m not so sure,” You mumble.

“C’mon, just one dance. Nothing dangerous.” Everything to do with Tommy Miller is dangerous, you’ve concluded. But you decide to humour him, anyhow, taking his hand and giggling as he leads you to the designated dance floor.

Tommy slides one hand on your hip while guiding one of your arms to his shoulder, before taking your spare hand in his. “See, just a dance. Nothin’ dangerous.”

“I think with you, Tommy, dancing is a dangerous game.” He flashes you another one of those panty-dropping smiles and if it weren’t for Tommy’s firm hold of you, your knees would’ve buckled beneath you for sure.

The song ended and one dance turned into two, two turned into three, and after four dances the two of you grabbed some more beers and left the tent. The two of you ended up sitting in the bed of his truck, talking, laughing, drinking. You end up taking off his cowboy hat at one point and putting it on your own head. You tip it slightly, and adding a drawl to your voice you say, “Look. I’m a cowboy like you.”

Tommy laughs at you. “That right, hm.”

“Mhm.”

Tommy licks his lips and leans in slightly. “Y’know we have a little rule ‘round here when it comes to takin’ a cowboy’s hat.”

“Really.” You muse, bringing your beer bottle to your lips.

“You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.” You nearly spit out your beer. “I’ll let ya off this time, not knowing and all.”

“Maybe I did know,” You reply after a moment of silence. Tommy shakes his head. “Brody told me all ‘bout it earlier.” You tease, finishing off the last of your beer. Brody didn’t but after a couple weeks of Tommy teasing you, you’re enjoying giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“You stay the fuck away from that boy, you hear me? Already told Sarah that too.”

You give Tommy an innocent look, enjoying the look on his face too much. “Why?”

“‘Cause he’s a good for nothing piece of shit, that’s why. He acts all charmin’ but I know how he treats women. Don’t want’ya brokenhearted.”

You look at him for a moment. “You looking out for me, Tommy Miller?”

“Always.” He replied.

You put the hat back on Tommy’s head, a little lopsided, but on. “Alright. No riding tonight, I guess.” You sigh.

Tommy laughs. “You’re trouble, girl.”

By the end of the evening your and Tommy’s conversation took a more serious turn.

“This has been a lovely evening. I’m sure Sarah’s feeling very loved by you two, what an amazing way to celebrate her achievements.” You can’t help the slight pang of jealousy stabbing your heart, you're happy Sarah has a family who loves her so fiercely. You just wished you had your people to celebrate these milestones with still.

“You too.” Tommy replied. You look at him puzzled. “It’s been for you too.” He nudged your shoulder. “You graduated too.” You feel yourself begin to tear up.

“We’ve not known ya very long, but we’re celebrating you, and your achievements, just as much as Sarah’s.” The alcohol in your system is not helping with your emotional state at this very moment.

“I don’t know what to say, thank you.” You try to blink away the tears but one falls.

Tommy gives you a look, his dark eyes full of emotions you can’t name. He brings a hand up to your cheek, wiping away your tears.

“C’mon let’s get you to bed, been a long day.” With that he walks you to your room. You opened the door, and you don’t know whether or not it was due to the alcohol in your system or all the emotions you’re feeling, but you turned back to Tommy and kissed him. A soft peck on the lips that can’t have lasted more than a second or two.

“Thank you.” You whisper against his lips. Tommy shakes his head and goes to argue but you silence him by putting your lips on his once again. This time you grew a little bolder with it. You snaked your hands up his arms and tangled them in his curls, moaning into the kiss when his hands landed on your hips.

When you broke apart and you looked into his eyes, Tommy looked at you as if you’d just given him the stars. An overwhelming feeling bloomed in your chest.

“Goodnight Tommy.” You said, turning to go into your room.

“Goodnight, Sweetheart.” That should’ve been it, you should’ve walked into your room. But you hesitated before crossing the threshold.

Tommy should have stopped you. Wasn’t right on his part to let you come onto him in that state, drunk and emotional. But he was only human. Your soft lips, the taste of beer and cherry lip gloss as he explored your mouth. And the way you seemed to lean into his touch… he was only so strong. And he’d had a few to drink himself. His lips crashed into yours once again as he pushed you into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. The two of you kissed each other with such hunger, hands exploring each other's bodies. This would be a good way to get you out of his system, he thought, before all this sexual tension caused him to do something stupid... well something more stupid. Besides, you both can blame the alcohol in the morning.

Tommy’s hands gripped the fabric of your dress. “Off, now.” He commanded. You watched his gaze dance across your body as you let the fabric pool around your ankles. He stares at you, pupils blown wide and with such intensity it leaves you breathless. You pull him in by his big, silver belt buckle. “Your turn.” You say, keeping eye contact as you undo the belt. All the while Tommy starts unbuttoning his dress shirt. It’s an intimate moment and the world outside these four walls fades away. You continue to strip him until the both of you are in your underwear.

Your lips are attacking each other once more as you fall into the bed, cowboy hat long gone somewhere on the floor, Tommy’s lips move to explore your jaw, neck and when he reaches your chest he unclasps your bra in one swift, practiced motion.

“Fuck,” He mumbles, leaning into to suck on your nipple. Your back arches, pushing into him as you tug the curls at the nape of his neck. His hands slowly slide up your thigh. Pushing them open before moving your panties to the side. Tommy groans at the feeling of you.

“You’re so wet, sweetheart.” You gasp as you feel his fingers move between your slick folds.

“S’all for me.” His brown eyes bore into yours with such passion it compels you to look away, flustered. Tommy uses his free hand to grab your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Look at me as I’m fucking you with my fingers, honey, or you don’t get my cock.”

You moaned as he dipped his first finger inside of you. Tommy’s hand moves to clamp over your mouth almost as quickly.

“Quiet, sweet girl,” He whispers in your ear, “Know from experience these walls are thin,” You don’t have time to ask him what that means when he’s knuckle deep, massaging that sweet spot inside you.

You writhed beneath him as his thick fingers began opening you up, his thumb toying with your clit. Your hips moved in rhythm with his fingers.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl.” He praises. You clawed at his shoulders, urging him to move faster as you grow closer and closer to your peak. And when you finally cum, you cum hard. Moaning into his palm as Tommy coaxes you through, singing praises into your ear.

“That’s a good girl.” You hear Tommy whisper as you come down from your high, he kisses that spot behind your ear, finally removing the hand on your mouth. You grab ahold of his face, bringing him in for a kiss. Nails scratching his back as he presses into you. You feel him, he’s hard and dripping and wanting. It makes you feel good, knowing you’re the cause of it.

Tommy removes himself from the kiss, finally sliding your underwear down your legs, before he stands up to rid himself of his. He’s big, bigger than anything you’ve taken before. When Tommy crawls back on top of you, “You’re so fucking beautiful,” He muses, using his calloused hands to spread your thighs, kneeling between them. Then he’s thrusting between your slick fold, coating his cock with your wetness. You whimper when the head brushes your sensitive clit.

“Wait,” You breathe out before he enters you. You move him so that he’s on his back, you straddle him and take his cock in your hand. “The rule was I ride the cowboy, right.” You smirk, going to place a chaste kiss on his plush lips, pumping his thick length in your fist.

“You need to wear the hat, sweetheart.” He groans. You fish the hat from off the floor placing it on your head. Tommy flashes you one of his lopsided, boyish grins and you can feel yourself getting wetter and needier by the second. Tommy has made a real mess of you.

“You gonna ride me or what, cowgirl.” He murmurs against your lips, taking a hold of your hips, guiding you to sit on his dick. Using that same, steady grip he uses in your riding lessons. You kiss him hard as he stretches you out, muffling all your moans with his lips. As you begin to move, his hands digging into you impossibly tighter. Tommy’s head tilts back, cursing through gritted teeth. The feeling of you gripping him is almost overwhelming. You use this opportunity to attack his neck, your hands exploring his big shoulders, his chest and his soft tummy.

As you get closer to your second orgasm, the more your body begins to ache. Tommy’s hips meet yours in every thrust and one of his hands came down to where your bodies joined to play with your sensitive clit. You came for a second time, biting into Tommy’s shoulder as you fucked yourself on his cock.

As you were coming down, Tommy rolled you onto your back as he started fucking you hard into the matress, chasing his own high. The hat is once again discarded, in truth you had no idea when or where it went, the only thing you can think of is Tommy. His scent filling your lungs, his lips on your flushed skin, his cock filling your pussy perfectly.

When he’s close and his thrusts start to become sloppier he pulls out, fucks his fists before coming on your stomach. You welcome the weight of him as he collapses on top of you. The two of you catch your breath as your fingers draw patterns on his back.

“Shit, sweetheart.” Is all Tommy can manage to say through laboured breaths.

“Good?” You ask.

“I’m in fucking heavan.” He mumbles nuzzling into your chest.

Once the two of you caught your breath, Tommy went to fetch a damp towel to clean you up. When he was done he started to collect his clothes. You sat up and reached for his arm.“Tommy.” You whisper. He gives you a half-smile. “Sorry, sweetheart, but I gotta go if we don’t wanna get caught.” You know deep down that he’s right, but it still stings. You tug at his arm. “Stay,” You plead. “Just until I fall asleep. Please.”

Tommy knows he shouldn’t give in, he’s already done that too much tonight. But you’re looking at him with big, hopeful eyes and he knows he can’t say no to you. And so he stays, until you fall asleep. And a bit longer after that. Probably too long. But he likes it too much, you in his arms, in his bed, the gentle rise and fall of your chest and you dream. Tommy’s dreaming too, of the two of you meeting under different circumstances. One where you’re not Sarah’s best friend and off-limits. One where he can openly want you.

~~~

Ahh this is my first time writing on here, I hope you enjoyed it!

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03jyh23 · 1 day ago

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🌷⌇one step at a time finding our way back part 14; a choi jongho mini-series

ex-boyfriend! idol! jongho x ex-girlfriend! single-mom! reader

│ series masterlist│ next │

│synopsis: five years have passed since jongho last saw you. your lives have taken drastically different paths, with jongho achieving fame and you focusing on raising your daughter, nari, in quiet anonymity. when jongho discovers he has a daughter, he's determined to be a part of her life.

│genre: a slice of life, romance, fluff, some angst

│trigger warnings: mild emotional distress, discussion of custody/legal matters, light public judgment/prejudice

│words: 7.4k

│reminder: what you're about to read is purely fiction, so let's keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

if you haven't already, please check out the special chapter Discovering Us posted last week! i hope you'll enjoy today's update—as we're approaching the end of the series, don't hesitate to drop me an inbox with your thoughts! anything else you'd love to read before we wrap up?

as always,

love, mon ♡

│taglist: │ @seventeenthingsblr │@DALSUWAHA │

│ @ateez-atiny380 │ @yoonshiiu │ @sndeoki │ @bomi-ja │

│ @vixensss │ @all-fandoms-rise │ @finnydraws │

│ @jonghosbrainrot │ @ateezswonderland │ @stayatinykatsy

│@chickenscoups │ @ana-stasssiaaa │ @starryunho │

│ @originalcupcakenacho │ @ultrapinkvoidbouquet │

│ @sweetinsaniiity│ @jennifermakmur│ @mitchii │

│ @hannah-97 │ @hyuckiesgf │ @treehouse-mouse │

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│@lveegsoi │

│ if you wish to be tagged let me know here! ♡

A soft sliver of morning light crept through the curtains, casting golden patterns across the walls. Jongho stirred awake to the sensation of a small hand pressed against his cheek and a tiny foot wedged firmly into his side.

Blinking his eyes open, he found Nari sprawled across the bed like a little starfish, her hair a tangled mess of soft waves, and her bunny clutched tightly in one arm. Her face was peaceful, her breathing steady — the kind of calm only deep, dream-filled sleep could bring.

He couldn't help but smile, his chest warm and full as he watched her for a moment.

With gentle movements, careful not to disturb her slumber, he disentangled himself from the bedsheets and her tiny limbs. The morning sun painted her features in soft gold, making her look almost ethereal, so much like you, yet with unmistakable traces of him in the curve of her nose and cheekbones. These quiet moments made his heart swell with an overwhelming love, a feeling so profound it almost took his breath away. Jongho reached for his phone, smiling when he saw a good morning message from you.

The message was simple but made his heart skip:

"Miss you both already. Hope my favorite people slept well♡."

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard as he considered his response. After a moment, he typed:

"We miss you too. Had a little midnight adventure with princess—she needed Woo. But she's sleeping like an angel now."

He attached a quick photo he'd taken earlier—Nari curled up peacefully with her bunny, her dark hair fanned out on the pillow.

Your reply came instantly:

"She looks so precious! ♡ Just like her daddy."

Jongho felt warmth spread across his cheeks, grateful no one was around to see his embarrassingly wide smile. Before he could respond, another message from you appeared:

"Speaking of sleep... did you get any rest after our... conversation last night?"

He bit back a groan, memories of your teasing voice and the sound of water flooding back.

"Eventually," he typed, adding a smirking emoji. "Though someone made it very difficult."

A soft knock at his door interrupted his thoughts.

"Jongho?" Wooyoung's voice came softly, tinged with concern. "It's almost time for Nari's preschool—San made pancakes if you two want some." His voice lowered as his eyes landed on Nari's sleeping form, "Sorry, I didn't realize she was still sleeping. We'll keep some food warm for you, but you might want to start getting ready soon."

"Oh shit, you're right," he whispered, sitting up slowly. "Thanks hyung," Jongho called back softly. "I'll wake her up and we'll be there in a second."

"Better hurry, you don't want to be late to preschool," Wooyoung teased through the door.

Jongho turned his attention back to Nari, gently brushing her hair away from her face. "Princess," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Time to wake up, sweetheart." He leaned over and brushed a stray lock of hair from Nari's face. "Hey, sleepyhead," he said gently, tracing little circles on her arm. "It's time to wake up. There's a whole day waiting for us."

Nari scrunched her nose adorably, hugging Woo closer to her chest as she slowly blinked her eyes open. "Daddy?" Nari's eyes fluttered open slowly, still heavy with sleep. She blinked up at him, a tiny yawn escaping her lips.

"Good morning, baby," he smiled, kissing the top of her head gently. "Uncle Wooyoung and Uncle San made us breakfast. How does that sound?"

A sleepy smile spread across her face as she rubbed her eyes with her tiny fist. "Pancakes?" she asked hopefully.

"Mmhmm," Jongho chuckled, helping her sit up. "But we'd better hurry before Uncle Wooyoung eats them all."

That got Nari moving a bit faster, her eyes brightening at the promise of breakfast. She carefully tucked Woo under her arm and reached up for Jongho, still a bit wobbly with sleep. "Can I have strawberries too?" she asked, her voice sweet and hopeful as Jongho scooped her up.

"Of course, princess," he smiled, booping her nose gently. He adjusted her in his arms, making sure she was secure as they headed toward the kitchen.

The kitchen was filled with the warm, sweet scent of pancakes and freshly brewed coffee when Jongho carried Nari in on his hip. The morning sun slanted in through the blinds, casting golden stripes across the counter, catching in the steam rising from the stovetop. Despite the homey ambiance, the air was thick, too still, like the moment before a storm breaks.

San stood at the stove, stiff as a board, his jaw clenched as he flipped a pancake with far more concentration than necessary. His back was rigid, like he was standing at attention rather than making breakfast. The pancake landed in the pan with a hiss, and for a second too long, he didn't move. Only when the edges started to smoke did he blink and quickly flip it—burnt.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath.

Across the room, Wooyoung busied himself with the table, but the way he arranged the cutlery—symmetrical, deliberate, like setting traps—betrayed his nerves. He was quiet, far too quiet for a morning where he would usually be humming or dramatically narrating the coffee pouring.

"Look who's finally awake!" Wooyoung beamed as he spotted Nari. She immediately squirmed out of Jongho's arms and ran to Wooyoung, wrapping her tiny arms around his legs. He scooped her up in a quick hug before helping her into her chair. "And just in time—the pancakes are… perfect." His pause on the last word was almost imperceptible. Almost.

San's shoulders jumped, reacting to the compliment like a reflex. He turned, flashing a small, uncertain smile that didn't reach his eyes. "There are strawberries too," he said, and when his gaze met Wooyoung's for the briefest second, something passed between them—unspoken, sharp—and then it was gone.

Nari bounced excitedly in her seat as San placed a plate of golden pancakes in front of her, "Thank you, Uncle San!" she chirped, already reaching for her fork.

Jongho watched his daughter's pure delight, but couldn't help noticing the way San's smile faltered slightly as he stepped back from the table. The tension between his hyungs was palpable, hanging in the air like static before a thunderstorm. Even as Wooyoung fussed over Nari, making sure her napkin was properly placed, his movements seemed calculated, careful not to brush against San who hovered nearby.

"Can I have strawberries?" Nari asked sweetly, unaware of the tension hovering above her head. When Wooyoung reached for the bowl of strawberries at the same time as San, their fingers brushed for half a breath before both jerked away as if stung.

"I'll get them," Jongho said smoothly, already crossing the room, his curiosity piqued. "You two are going to break a dish with all this dodging."

"Thanks," they said at once, then both froze and looked in opposite directions.

Nari, meanwhile, had taken a firm stand on syrup usage and was now in the middle of drowning her pancakes with it.

"Whoa there, princess!" Jongho quickly reached over to steady the syrup bottle before the pancakes became completely submerged. "Let's save some for next time, okay?" He exchanged an amused glance with Wooyoung and San, the moment of lightness briefly cutting through the strange tension between them.

"These look amazing, San," Jongho said innocently, handing Nari a napkin. "You must've been up early to make them. Very early."

San blinked, and for a split second, his expression cracked. He glanced at Wooyoung—just a flicker—and quickly down at his plate.

"Not that early," he muttered, cheeks flushed.

"I dunno," Jongho mused, sitting across from them, his tone light but calculated. "You two have that 'didn’t sleep much' look." He took a sip of his coffee. "A bit flushed. Bit twitchy."

San stiffened so sharply that his fork scraped his plate. Across from him, Wooyoung blinked, jaw tensing like he was bracing for impact.

And then, with perfect, unknowing timing, Nari lifted her head and beamed. "I always sleep best when Mommy hugs me," she declared proudly, drizzling syrup with great care over her last piece of pancake. "Last night, Daddy hugged me and I slept so well! Maybe Uncle Wooyoung should hug Uncle San too—then he won't look so tired."

The silence that followed was instant and excruciating.

Wooyoung made a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a wheeze. San's hand slipped on his glass, nearly tipping over his coffee. Jongho pressed his lips together, trying—and failing—to hide the smirk that curved at the edges. In that moment, watching the crimson spread across both his hyungs' faces, Jongho couldn't help but wonder if his daughter had some sort of supernatural ability to cut straight through adult pretenses. Her innocent suggestion hung in the air like a perfectly thrown dart, landing exactly where the tension was thickest.

Wooyoung cleared his throat and gave Nari a wobbly smile. "You might be right, sweetheart," he said gently, cheeks pink. "Hugs do help sometimes."

San, suddenly very interested in the syrup bottle, didn't look up. His ears, however, were bright red.

Jongho raised his eyebrows, deadpan. "I mean, who wouldn't sleep like a baby while cuddling?"

Wooyoung dropped his fork. Again. The metallic clink echoed in the heavy silence, while San just covered his face with one hand and muttered something unintelligible.

"Uncle Wooyoung, why is your face all red? Are you sick?"

Wooyoung choked mid-sip of coffee, eyes wide. Across from him, San stiffened and stared at his plate as though it could swallow him whole.

"I'm not—" Wooyoung coughed. "It's just hot in here, sweetie."

San didn't say a word, but Jongho caught the way he rubbed the back of his neck, fingers lingering there like a nervous tic.

Wooyoung pretended to clear a crumb that didn't exist. "So. Pancakes."

"Pancakes," San echoed dully.

"Best breakfast ever," Nari declared, holding up her fork like a trophy. "I want pancakes every day."

"I think Uncle San might burn the kitchen down if we did," Jongho muttered under his breath. Wooyoung finally laughed, soft and strained. San caught Jongho's eye and shot him a look that could have melted steel. But before he could respond, Nari piped up again, completely oblivious to the tension around her.

"Can I have more strawberries?" she asked, holding up her empty plate with hopeful eyes. The request broke through the thick atmosphere like a ray of sunshine, drawing genuine smiles from all three adults. San quickly reached for the bowl of strawberries and placed some on her plate.

The clink of forks against plates had softened into the ambient hum of a morning trying too hard to feel normal. Wooyoung sat quietly, elbows resting on the edge of the table, eyes distant. Across from him, San shifted in his seat, his leg bouncing under the table with jittery energy. He hadn't finished his pancakes. In fact, he'd barely touched them beyond the one half-hearted bite he'd taken while Nari chattered about the dream she had involving a castle made of pillows and a dragon.

The tension had grown legs—long, spindly, invisible ones—and was pacing circles around the table.

"I should go," San said abruptly, voice slicing through the stillness. He stood, pushing his chair back with a screech that made Wooyoung flinch. "I've got a workout."

He made for the counter, grabbing his water bottle with too much purpose, as if movement alone might outrun whatever unspoken thing was still coiling tight inside his chest.

Jongho, seated cross-legged on one of the kitchen chairs with his coffee cradled lazily between his hands, arched a brow. "You're seriously heading to the gym after eating, what, half a pancake?"

San didn't turn around. "I'll have a protein shake."

Jongho scoffed. "A protein shake?" he echoed, the corner of his mouth lifting. "What are you, a walking fitness cliché now? Are you planning to deadlift your feelings?" It was meant as a joke—sharp, teasing, but with the lightness of sibling camaraderie. It didn't land. San's shoulders remained locked, his eyes were hidden from view, but his stillness was telling. He was unraveling, one tightly wound thread at a time.

Wooyoung looked up then, frowning. His voice came gently but urgently, laced with concern. "San, that's not enough. At least finish something solid. Your blood sugar—"

"I said I'm fine," San snapped. The words, though not loud, were brittle. Too brittle. They shattered against the walls and ricocheted through the kitchen like a warning bell. Silence bloomed in their wake. Thick. Cold. Startling in its weight.

Wooyoung's lips parted, startled, then slowly pressed together again. His hands dropped from the table to his lap, fingers curling into his palms. His eyes, usually so expressive, dulled into something unreadable.

San realized it too late. The sharpness of his own voice echoed in his ears, louder now in hindsight, uglier. He turned back, guilt immediately softening the lines of his face.

"I didn't mean that," he said quickly, voice low. "I just... I really need to move. Clear my head."

Wooyoung nodded once, not looking at him. "Right. Yeah." His tone was paper-thin.

Jongho watched all of this unfold with the silent awareness of someone too perceptive for his own good. His usual smirk had faded, replaced by something quieter, more measured, as he reached out to wipe syrup from Nari's chin.

San stood near the door now, looking more like a silhouette than a person—half there, half somewhere else. He looked at Nari, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "Bye-bye, princess, I'll see you really soon!"

"Okay!" She said brightly, licking strawberry juice off her thumb.

The door shut behind him with a soft finality, and the air felt immediately cooler. Wooyoung sat unmoving, the silence pressing in around him like static.

Jongho set his mug down slowly, breaking the quiet. "Well," he said, voice casual but deliberate, "that went well."

Wooyoung didn't answer. But Jongho saw it—the way his hyung's jaw clenched ever so slightly. The way he blinked a second too long. The way his fingers trembled, just once, before curling around the mug again like it might steady him. He stood suddenly, the chair legs scraping harshly against the floor, and began to clear the table with a forcefulness that bordered on frantic. Plates clinked together too loudly. The syrup bottle nearly toppled when he grabbed it. The butter knife made a dull metallic thunk as it hit the sink.

"Alright, Jongho —go help Nari get dressed, yeah? Preschool starts in, like, thirty minutes and you still haven't brushed her hair and her backpack's not ready, right?" His words came in a breathless tumble, disjointed, a little too high-pitched. Nari blinked up at him from her chair, mouth sticky with syrup, clearly confused by the sudden shift in energy. "You need to hurry. She'll be late for preschool." His movements were quick, almost frantic, as he stacked dishes with shaking hands. "Where are her shoes? You should— you should get going, right? The traffic might be—"

"Wooyoung hyung—"

"I'm fine," Wooyoung cut in quickly, already turning away to scrub the plates like they'd insulted him. "I just want things done. We have a schedule, right?" The faucet roared as he cranked it on too hard, spraying water over the counter. He didn't seem to notice.

The front door creaked open behind him, and Wooyoung startled visibly. He turned too fast, dish towel clenched tightly in one hand.

"Wooyoung," Hongjoong's voice cut through the kitchen as he appeared in the doorway, concern etched across his features. "I just passed San on the stairs. He practically walked right through me—didn't even hear me calling his name. What happened?"

Wooyoung's hands stilled on the dish towel, his knuckles white from gripping it too tightly. He stared at the doorway, mouth opening and closing like he was trying to find words that wouldn't come.

"I—" He cleared his throat and waved a hand vaguely. "Nothing. He went to the gym. Like always."

Hongjoong's gaze didn't budge. "Did he?"

Wooyoung busied himself with stacking cups, but his movements were jerky now, uncoordinated. "You know how he gets. All protein shakes and reps when he's—" He faltered. "—when he's in his head."

"I asked what happened," Hongjoong said, voice low but firm. "Not where he went."

Something in Wooyoung's breath hitched.

Jongho stood quietly, cradling Nari in his arms as he stepped away from the tense air of the kitchen. He didn't need to hear more. Whatever had happened between Wooyoung and San—it was written in the awkward silences, the sidelong glances, the tremble in Wooyoung's voice—wasn't meant for Nari's little ears.

Without a word, he carried Nari down the hallway, her small arms looping lazily around his neck, her cheek resting against his shoulder.

The bathroom door creaked open on soft hinges. Jongho flicked on the light and set Nari down carefully on the edge of the sink. Her round face was a sticky canvas of syrup smudges and strawberry streaks, her cheeks kissed pink from excitement and sugar.

"Well, someone clearly won the syrup war this morning," Jongho teased as he dampened a washcloth with warm water. Nari giggled, kicking her heels against the cabinet as she watched herself in the mirror.

"Hold still, princess," he murmured with practiced patience, gently dabbing away the mess. She squirmed dramatically, scrunching her nose and pulling faces at her reflection. "Hey now," Jongho chuckled, adjusting her chin with a gentle thumb. "You're lucky you're cute."

With her face clean, he handed her the toothbrush. She squeezed a comically large blob of toothpaste onto the bristles—nearly the size of her whole toothbrush.

"Whoa, whoa, Nari. You're brushing, not frosting a cake," he said with a laugh, wiping off the excess.

She brushed enthusiastically for exactly seven seconds before becoming distracted.

"Brush your teeth," Jongho reminded, gently guiding her hand. "And don't swallow it." Nari gave a vague grunt of acknowledgment before sloshing water in her rainbow cup and spitting dramatically into the sink.

Back in Jongho's bedroom, the morning light had grown warmer, filtering through the curtains in golden rays. Nari bounced on her toes as Jongho unzipped her backpack and pulled out the clothes you had packed yesterday. Each item was neatly folded.

"Alright," Jongho said, holding up options like a fashion consultant. "What's the outfit of the day? We've got comfy leggings, your blue shorts, or... drumroll..." He unfurled the yellow dress. "Your floral power move."

"The yellow dress!" Nari crowed, pointing as if she were commanding an army. "With the flowers!"

Jongho raised an eyebrow. "You sure? What if we hit the park after school? Dresses are hard to climb in."

She crossed her arms, tiny chin tilting in protest. "I'll be careful!"

He sighed, already defeated by the sheer willpower packed into her pint-sized frame. "Okay, okay. But we're packing your leggings just in case. Deal?"

"Deal!"

As she stepped into the outfit, humming to herself, Jongho knelt to help her with the buttons. His movements were gentle, steady. The quiet intimacy of the moment softened the edges of his thoughts—muting whatever storm was brewing in the rest of the house.

"Daddy," Nari chirped, hands on her hips now, hair a wild storm cloud of curls and sleep. "Can you do my hair pretty? Like Mommy does?"

"You mean the braids?"

Nari nodded enthusiastically. "Like the two ones on the sides."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Princess, Daddy's fingers are better with guitar strings than tiny hair elastics…"

She gave him that look. The big eyes, round as moons. Lips pushed out in a pleading pout. It was his kryptonite. "Please?" she whispered, and that was it.

He tapped the rug beside him. "Come here then. Sit still. No guarantees it'll be fancy."

She beamed and plopped down cross-legged. Jongho gathered the brush and the tiny floral hair ties, crouching behind her. He started brushing, gently at first, then tugging just slightly as he tried to part her hair into even halves. It was like trying to divide a cloud with a ruler.

"Ow," she whined, even though he was barely touching her.

"Drama," he muttered under his breath, gaining a soft giggle from Nari. His hands fumbled with the part. The hair kept slipping, one side fluffier than the other. He tried twisting it into a decent braid but ended up with something more like a sad rope.

"Okay, no, that's not right," he mumbled to himself, unraveling it. Another attempt. Worse.

"Daaaddy," Nari sang-songed in complaint, beginning to sway like she was about to bolt.

"Don't move, I swear—" Jongho exhaled, sitting back on his heels in defeat, brush dangling from his fingers. "This is a trap," he muttered, half to himself. "Hair's a trap."

Nari looked over her shoulder, brow furrowed. "Can I just wear a hat?"

"No," he sighed. "No shortcuts. A Choi never quits!"

Then, desperate, Jongho stood and strode to the doorway, voice pitched louder now. "Hyung? Little help here?"

A few seconds later, hurried footsteps padded down the hallway. Hongjoong appeared first, curious, followed by Wooyoung, who was still clutching a dish towel in one hand. They both paused in the doorway at the sight: Nari sitting patiently on the floor like a princess awaiting her court maidens, Jongho with the hairbrush held out in surrender.

"What's the emergency?" Hongjoong asked, eyebrows raised.

"Hair," Jongho said flatly. "I tried. I failed. We're both emotionally scarred."

Wooyoung grinned, already walking over. "Hand her over. You can't just dive into braiding without level-two clearance. This is elite-tier babysitting."

Jongho stepped back with exaggerated relief. "Thank God."

Nari looked up at Wooyoung with a delighted squeal. "Uncle Woo! Do you know how to make the pretty ones?"

"Of course I do," he said, kneeling in front of her with practiced ease. "You want the twin braids with the little twist in front, right?" She nodded so fast her curls bounced like springs.

As Wooyoung got to work, gently brushing and sectioning her hair like it was second nature, Jongho leaned against the doorway, watching the scene unfold. Hongjoong hovered nearby, arms crossed, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "She's got you wrapped around her little finger," he murmured to Jongho.

"Don't I know it," Jongho muttered, crossing his arms. They both watched as Wooyoung hummed softly, deft fingers braiding and tying, and Nari swayed happily, absolutely glowing. By the time Wooyoung tied off the second braid with a matching yellow ribbon, Nari looked like a sunflower in full bloom. She clapped her hands, delighted with herself in the mirror Jongho held up.

"Perfect!" she declared. "You're the best, Uncle Woo."

"Don't tell your daddy that," Wooyoung whispered conspiratorially, flicking one of her ribbons. "He tried, you know."

"He did!" Nari said cheerfully, "But he made my hair all lumpy."

"Brutal," Jongho muttered, gathering her backpack with exaggerated offense. "I did my best."

They moved to the hallway by the front door, amid the soft clatter of shoes, zippers, and bags being readied.

"You've got your snack, your extra sweater, and your crayons," Jongho said, kneeling to double-knot her laces. "Anything else?"

"My hugs," Nari said immediately, flinging her arms around his neck.

Jongho squeezed her close, eyes briefly fluttering shut. "That's the most important thing."

Wooyoung stood by the doorframe. He'd grown quiet since finishing her hair, looking distant, his mind caught in the morning's kitchen tension and San's sharp words. His eyes darted down the hallway, as if expecting someone to appear. No one did.

"You okay?" Jongho asked under his breath as he straightened, slinging Nari's backpack onto one shoulder. He didn't need to specify who he meant.

Wooyoung nodded too quickly. "Yeah. Just... still waking up, I guess."

Hongjoong appeared behind him just then, slipping on his own shoes with quiet efficiency. "I'll leave with you guys, I need to catch up on some work," then leaned down to tap Nari's nose. "You ready to impress your teachers with that hair?"

She beamed. "They're gonna say I'm a flower fairy."

Wooyoung chuckled softly, stepping back as the three of them moved toward the front door. Nari bounded ahead, her voice echoing in bursts of sugar-rush excitement. Jongho lingered, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the vacant tension still clinging to Wooyoung's frame. "I'll call you later," Jongho said, gentle but firm.

Wooyoung just nodded again, lips pressed tight. He turned away before the door closed, retreating to the kitchen with sharp, silent movements. The space felt too quiet now that Nari's laughter had faded away.

In the hallway outside, as Nari skipped toward the elevator, Jongho leaned toward Hongjoong and murmured: "Something happened between them."

Hongjoong didn't respond right away. He just looked ahead, jaw tight. "I know."

The way down to the parking lot, Jongho carried Nari in his arms, her backpack swinging gently against his side. Hongjoong walked alongside them, keys jingling in his hand. The morning air was crisp, carrying the metallic scent of the underground garage.

"Have a good day, little princess," Hongjoong said, ruffling Nari's hair carefully to avoid disturbing Wooyoung's handiwork. He gave a small wave before heading toward his own car.

Jongho opened the back door with a practiced motion, lifting Nari into the car seat like a delicate treasure. "Arms up," he murmured, and she obeyed instantly. He buckled her in, then checked the straps twice, tugging gently at the chest clip before leaning in close. "Let's keep this our little secret, okay?" he whispered conspiratorially, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Nari blinked at him with wide, innocent amusement. "What secret?" she whispered back, delighted.

"That we're running just a tiny bit late," Jongho said, holding a finger to his lips.

Her giggle was instant, bright as bells. "Okay, Daddy," she agreed solemnly, clutching her backpack. "Can we listen to music now?"

Sliding into the driver's seat, Jongho was already calculating the fastest route through mid-morning traffic. "Of course, princess," he said as he turned the key, the engine humming to life. "Any special requests?"

"Say My Name!" she chirped, bouncing a little. "Pleeeease?"

Jongho chuckled, tapping through the car's screen until the familiar opening synth kicked in. "You've got good taste," he muttered with a grin. As the beat filled the car, he caught her reflection in the rearview mirror—head bobbing, lips already forming the lyrics like muscle memory. The sound of her small voice blending with the music, sharp and sweet and uncannily on pitch, tugged something loose in his chest.

She was a natural. Just like… him.

The car sped down the familiar route, the city blurring past in streaks of gold and steel. But time seemed to slow, suspended in that brief pocket of joy. Jongho found himself singing along without thinking, harmonizing on the chorus with the kind of ease that only came from loving something—someone—with your whole soul.

Finally pulling up to the preschool, he parked with a practiced ease, but the moment he shut off the engine, the air between him and Nari seemed to pulse with anticipation. The rush was over, but a new kind of tension was beginning to brew. He turned to look at her in the rearview mirror. "Ready to show off your yellow dress?" She nodded enthusiastically, her tiny fists clenching the straps of her glitter-splashed backpack.

Jongho stepped out and circled the car, opening the back door and crouching down beside her. He unbuckled her gently, lifting her out with a quiet grunt before setting her down and checking the fit of her backpack over her small shoulders. "Too tight?" he asked.

She shook her head, braids bouncing. "It's perfect, Daddy."

He smiled—there was something deeply grounding in that word, no matter how new it still felt on her tongue. Together, they made their way toward the preschool entrance, where a teacher stood by the glass double doors with a clipboard in hand.

The woman smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Good morning," she said, polite but measured. Her gaze slid over Nari before settling on Jongho with subtle scrutiny. "Can I help you?"

"I'm here to drop off Nari," Jongho replied smoothly, offering her a small nod. "First day for me, though—her mom usually does drop-off."

The teacher's smile faltered slightly as she glanced down at her clipboard, flipping a page. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't see your name listed as one of Nari's authorized caregivers. In situations like this, I'm required to contact her legal guardian before allowing the child to stay."

"Oh—right." Jongho's smile dimmed. He scratched the back of his neck, caught off guard. "I'm Choi Jongho. I'm Nari’s father. It's just that… yeah, this is my first time doing drop-off, but—"

"I understand," the teacher said, her voice taking on a firmer edge. "But our records show Nari's mother as a single parent. There's no father listed on the official documentation."

The air shifted.

Jongho felt it like a cold rush over the back of his neck. He hadn't expected this—not here, not like this, in broad daylight, with Nari gripping his hand. His throat tightened as a dozen quiet insecurities clawed their way to the surface.

"I am her father," he said quietly, then louder. "Just—look at her. She's not scared. She's not confused. She knows me."

As if on cue, Nari beamed up at the teacher, arms circling Jongho's leg in a tight hug. "This is my daddy!" she chirped proudly. "He sings with ATEEZ, and we listened to 'Say My Name', and Daddy was singing with me!"

Jongho gave a breathless laugh, but the teacher remained hesitant, her brow furrowing deeper. "I'm truly sorry. I don't doubt your care for her, but without legal verification or a direct call from her mother, I can't allow her to stay. It's policy. We take child safety very seriously."

He nodded, even as frustration prickled behind his eyes. He didn't want to cause a scene—not in front of Nari. Not on a day that had started with such promise. With shaking fingers, he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and unlocked it, already searching for your contact. "I'll call her mom," he said. His voice was quiet but steady. "She'll clear this up."

The teacher gave a small nod, her posture still guarded. "That would be best."

Jongho turned slightly away from the door, pressing the phone to his ear. As the line rang, his eyes drifted down to Nari. She was crouching beside the school's flowerbed, tracing shapes in the dirt with the toe of her sneaker, completely unaware of the storm that had suddenly settled over her father's shoulders. It wasn't rejection—not exactly—but it was the kind of reminder that scraped deep: how new he was in all of this. How the systems of the world hadn't caught up to the reality of their bond.

Finally, your voice came through the speaker, laced with early morning concern.

"Hello?"

"Hey," Jongho began, his voice low but even, "Sorry to call out of the blue. We're at Nari's preschool, and there's a bit of a situation. They're asking for verification before they can let her inside. They need to hear from you directly... to confirm that I'm her dad."

There was the sound of rustling on your end, perhaps sheets or a robe. But your reply was immediate, laced with clarity and no hesitation.

"Of course. Hand me over. Put me on speaker—I'll take care of it." Relief coiled in his chest as he nodded and thumbed on the speakerphone, angling the device toward the teacher. Her eyes flicked down to it as your voice filtered into the cool morning air.

"Good morning," the teacher said, adopting the careful cadence of professional concern. "This is teacher Kim. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I do need to verify Mr. Choi's authorization directly with a legal guardian."

"Good morning, Miss Kim," you answered smoothly, your tone warm but assertive. "I understand completely. Mr. Choi has my full permission to drop off and pick up Nari anytime."

Miss Kim nodded, though her mouth remained tight. "Thank you, ma'am. For security and record-keeping purposes, we will need you to come in to update our files in person. Nari may attend class today, but we can't allow ongoing access until the documentation is formally corrected. I hope you understand—it's strictly protocol, for the safety of all the children." There was a small pause. Jongho didn't miss the way the teacher's gaze lingered on him—measured, polite, but laced with just enough implication to make his grip on the phone tighten.

Miss Kim added, "If possible, we'd prefer you come right away. Mr. Choi will wait here with us until then, just to be safe."

Jongho's jaw flexed. He didn't say a word. He didn't trust himself to—not when his heart was already pulsing with a cocktail of embarrassment and protectiveness. Beside him, Nari's little hand gripped the side of his jeans, her small fingers curling into the fabric. She was quiet now, sensing the tension like only children could. Jongho glanced down and gave her a reassuring smile, gently resting his hand atop her head.

On the other end of the line, your voice came through again, lower now, steady and composed. "Understood. I'll be there in fifteen minutes." There was a pause. Then your voice softened, meant just for him. "Jongho… don't let this shake you. It's just bureaucracy catching up to reality. This part will get fixed, I promise."

His throat felt thick. He swallowed hard before answering, voice low. "Thanks." The call ended with a soft click, and the morning seemed unnaturally quiet for a beat. Jongho lowered the phone and slipped it into his pocket, keeping his face impassive. The teacher gave a courteous nod but remained by the door, clearly still in compliance mode. So Jongho crouched down, tugging Nari gently into a hug. Her head rested against his shoulder immediately, warm and trusting. And despite the awkwardness clinging to the moment like smoke, he knew one thing with startling clarity: no policy, no paperwork, no institutional delay could dull the certainty in her tiny voice when she said, 'This is my daddy.'

Miss Kim gently took Nari’s small hand, guiding her toward the entrance of the preschool. Her grip was firm but kind, professional yet warm, as if trying to ease the girl into the routine despite the unusual tension in the air. Jongho stood back, watching silently as they moved slowly toward the building. But just before crossing the threshold, Nari paused. She looked back over her shoulder, her big eyes searching for Jongho. He was already sitting on a bench near the entrance, his posture slightly slumped, the weight of the morning pressing on him in quiet waves. The sunlight caught the faint crease between his brows—a crease that hadn't been there the day before.

Nari's small feet picked up speed. Suddenly, she tugged free from Miss Kim's hand and jogged toward Jongho, her voice ringing bright and clear. "Daddy!"

Jongho's head snapped up, surprise flickering across his face as he caught sight of her running straight into his arms. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face against him.

"I love you, Daddy." The words hit him softer than any reassurance, warmer than any comfort he had dared hope for this morning. He closed his eyes, drawing her close, holding her as if to shield them both from the world outside. Nari's warmth seeped into him, a tiny but fierce light amid his growing sadness.

He tightened his embrace, whispering gently into her hair, "I love you too, princess." After a long moment, Nari pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, her own wide and full of trust. Without another word, she released him and turned, jogging lightly back to Miss Kim's side, her hand slipping easily back into the teacher's grasp. Jongho watched her go, the ache in his chest swelling but softened by that brief connection. He remained seated, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the grain of the wooden bench beneath him as his mind spiraled. The joy of their morning together - the singing, the laughter, the simple pleasure of taking his daughter to school - now felt tainted by this reminder of his absence from her early years. The teacher's caution was understandable, of course. But it still stung — the reminder that on paper, he wasn't officially part of Nari's life. He pulled out his phone to check the time, knowing you would arrive soon to sort out this situation, but his thoughts kept drifting to all the other 'first times' that still lay ahead of him as Nari's father.

The soft patter of hurried footsteps drew Jongho's gaze upward just in time to see you approaching, your stride purposeful yet calm. The determination etched on your face softened as your eyes locked with his, melting away the weight that had been pressing down on his chest all morning. Before he could fully process it, you bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips — quick, but filled with an unspoken promise. The sudden contact startled him, a jolt of warmth spreading through the knot of anxiety inside him. His eyes widened, cheeks flushing a subtle pink.

"I... uh..." he stammered, clearly caught off guard by the public display of affection.

You couldn't help but laugh softly at his reaction. "Is the mighty Choi Jongho getting shy on me?" you teased, your eyes twinkling with mischief.

He ducked his head slightly, a small smile playing at his lips despite his embarrassment. "You just... surprised me, that's all."

"You're cute when you're flustered, you know that?" You said, your voice warm as you extended your hand to help him rise from the bench. "Let's go get all the responsible parent things done properly." The faint curve of your smile was a beacon amid the storm, an unshakable reassurance that this was just a small hurdle on the path you were walking together. He grasped your hand, the tension that had gripped his muscles loosening with the firm squeeze of your fingers. In that simple touch, he found a quiet strength — a reminder that he wasn't alone.

You led the way toward the front office, your steps sure and steady, your presence an anchor in the swirl of his thoughts. Every stride you took side by side whispered the truth Jongho needed to hold onto: We're in this. Together.

Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed softly, casting a clinical glow over the stacks of forms and files. You moved efficiently, flipping through the paperwork, filling in details, signing here and there, all to officially recognize Jongho as Nari's father and authorized guardian.

Jongho's hand trembled slightly as he signed each document, the ink from his pen staining the paper like a fragile promise—each stroke anchoring him more deeply in this new reality. You caught the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders tightened as the weight of what this meant settled on him.

Miss Kim, who had been wary and distant earlier, now offered a tight, professional smile. "Everything appears to be in order. Of course, no further issues should arise."

But then, almost as an afterthought—her tone sharpening—she added, "It's just... unusual, I suppose, for a father to suddenly appear after so long. We've known Nari since she started here. She's always been a well-adjusted child with only her mother."

Jongho's posture stiffened, a flicker of hurt crossing his face. His jaw twitched involuntarily. Before he could respond, you stepped forward, your voice cool but resolute.

"Miss Kim," you said evenly, unwavering, "I appreciate your concern for Nari's well-being. But our family matters are private. Jongho is a devoted father. He has always had her best interests at heart."

Miss Kim's polite facade faltered; her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes briefly darting away. The judgment in her posture was unmistakable.

"Frankly, I'd appreciate it if personal opinions stayed out of professional matters. The only unusual thing here is a school administrator making assumptions about a family dynamic she doesn't fully understand. Nari has two loving parents doing their best. That should be the only thing that matters."

A flush rose to Miss Kim's cheeks, her gaze dropping to the papers on her desk as she shuffled them awkwardly. "I… of course. You're right. My apologies."

She stamped the final form with a little too much force. "Everything is finalized. You're all set."

Without another word, you turned to Jongho, catching the quiet, almost vulnerable way he looked at you—surprise, gratitude, maybe a flicker of awe shining through the fatigue. The unspoken thanks in his eyes warmed your chest.

As you left the office together, his hand found yours, squeezing it firmly but gently—a silent thank you for standing up for him and for your family.

"Will you be able to pick her up later?" you asked, glancing at your watch. "I have that late meeting today."

"Of course," Jongho answered without hesitation, the resolve in his voice comforting. "I'll see you after work?" He hesitated, a shadow of nervousness passing over his features before he spoke again. "Actually… would you like to go out for dinner tonight? Just the two of us? I' sure Wooyoung wouldn't mind staying with Nari."

Your smile blossomed effortlessly. "Are you asking me on a proper date, Choi Jongho?"

"I am," he said, shy but sincere. "We've done everything a little backwards, haven't we? Maybe it's time for a real first date."

"I'd love that," you replied, squeezing his hand. "And don't worry about this morning. It's all part of the journey, right?"

"Right," he agreed, visibly relaxing. "I'll pick you up at seven?"

You nodded, ''Seven is great. And, oh… Here," you said, pulling out your spare keys and holding them out to him. "You'll need these after picking up Nari. And maybe… pack some of her things for your place. She should feel at home in both."

Jongho stared at the keys like they were a treasure, his fingers closing gently around them. "Are you sure?" His voice was soft, touched with awe.

"Of course I'm sure," you said, brushing a hand lightly over his arm. "You're her dad. It's about time."

He nodded slowly, still holding the keys as if trying to absorb their weight. "Thank you," he said simply, but the depth in his eyes said more than words ever could.

"Seven o'clock," you reminded him with a playful wink as you moved toward your car, the keys jingling in your hand. "Don't be late for our first proper date!"

"Hey, wait—about those two houses!" Jongho called out suddenly, jogging a few steps to catch up, urgency threading through his voice.

You paused, turning with a raised brow. "What about them?"

"Nari having things at both places—that's great," he said hurriedly, stepping closer, "but I was thinking—"

"Nari will be spending time at your place now, too. She needs to feel comfortable wherever she is, Jongho. So she needs her things at both our homes," you said matter-of-factly, fingers drumming lightly against the car door. "Or… you could take her shopping for what she needs there. She'd love that."

"That's not exactly what I mean," Jongho muttered, frustration creeping into his voice. He ran a hand through his hair, shifting uneasily.

"I'm in a rush! Bye! Don't forget—seven o'clock!" you called cheerfully through the window as the engine hummed to life.

He stood watching your car disappear around the corner, the words he longed to say caught between his lips.

What I meant was… I want her to have one home. With both of us.

But the moment slipped away like, leaving him with a heavy sigh as he pulled out his phone and headed to his own car. There would be time—soon, he hoped—to say what really mattered.

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│

#jongho x reader #jonhgo x you #jongho x y/n #jongho series #jongho fanfiction #jongho fanfic #ateez #finding our way back series #jongho fluff #choi jongho #jongho #jongho ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez x female reader #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez fanfic #ateez au #ateez x you

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lillithxnoel · 3 days ago

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Outside of the personal WIP, it was an old D&D Character named Girl performed with the worst cockney accent that no one needs to remember. A Tragic McTragedy, co-created alongside the DM for that game through randomization mechanics, for a more gritty, horror based campaign setting.

She was the daughter of a common street whore, and was cast out near quick as she’d been taken in. Her part of (Forgotten Starting Town) was not a fair one, and names were lost faster than they were assigned. So she remained Girl, and was afforded only the safety and luxury she could manage for herself.

Which was to say none.

The odds were stacked against her young. She couldn’t read, on paper she wasn’t very smart, and small as she was, she was too quick to fight. But as tends to happen to the desperate and hungry, she learned ways to get what she needed. She may not have been strong, but she was on her feet and more so with her fingers.

As tends to happen, she answered an add for Job That Doesn’t Matter along with a few other Misfits That Made Up The Party, and sails were hoisted to begin the journey over the Ocean They Never Made it Across. Magic and tomfoolery intervened, whipping up an unnatural tempest. The squall wrecked the ship and conveniently dumped Girl and her companions on a far away beach, where they met the single surliest gentleman you can imagine. A dark figure settled atop what appeared as a horse, through metal plating obscured the creatures face beyond the faintest notion of eyes, found the shipwrecked scattering of fools checkered across his shores and saw a chance to make an opportunity of a mess.

The man was a Lord of some variety, because of-course-the-fuck he was, and a wrecked husk of a town lay within his borders in need of refurbishing. In the midst of defending his borders from both sides, he lacked both the time and the resources to spare towards their rebuilding efforts- because of course there was a war. (Isn’t there always?)

Lodgings within the town were secured and the most basic of introductions facilitated. The newcomers would help fix the town, or be ousted by the locals for their uselessness.

All of these details, mind, were handled with the barest of words to Girl. An oversight, she was sure- until she saw fit to interject her two cents into the conversation, only to be met with long and stony silence. This particular Lord, he confessed to the son of a nobleman who’d been among the survivors, didn’t see fit to ‘discuss affairs of business and infrastructure with a woman’ but ‘wouldn’t turn her away if her menfolk allowed her free reign.’

She lunged, but also among the crew of survivors stood a blacksmith, hardened from a lifetime of work and a strength score of 17 against her whopping 10. He snatched her mid-rush towards the surly lord. One who scoffed as a golden light shimmered across otherwise chocolate-brown eyes.

And that was how the players (but not the characters) realized Girl had been about to pick a fight with a dragon.

She still picked a fight with him later, anyway.

I loved that character, I looked forward to the several hours each week in her skin, in her head. She had been created as a mundane human, more dexterity monkey than the typical Sorceress that I play. She was a much angrier character, a chip on her shoulder from day one and too much volume and fire to even hear the shite she was spewing.

Quite a bit happened to Girl and her companions, and when they campaign died unfinished, she’d been bitten by a werewolf (super handy in combat when you wanna throw a mutherfucker off you) and they were just breaking into the Vampire Queen’s dungeon to free a friend and steal a priceless magical artifact.

She was a lot of fun to play, and she’s absolutely going to find a home in my original works- not sure if I’m gonna give her a name or not though.

Gah, I miss gaming.

What is your favourite character you've ever created? And why are they your favourite?

#d&d #pathfinder #original character #roleplaying character

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crowfish-brainrot · 2 days ago

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That Damned Perfume Part 2

One of the first 5* cards I got was Rafayel's Your Fragrance and it's lived in my head, rent-free, ever since. I forgot about the other 4*, Dangerously Close where you seem to be AT that exhibition where he's a sassy lil monster. Then it's implied that he gifts you the same perfume in the 4* Card Fragrant Dream. The first part explored what happened after he found you in the bathroom. This one will explore what his grumpy lil bratty behavior earned him. Then we'll get into how my brat-ass MC would use the gift of the perfume to her advantage. Part 2 of 3

Warnings for all parts: MDNI. Smut! Porn with Feelings. Biting, scent-marking, breeding kink with no consequences, two dicked Rafayel, brat!MC brat!Rafayel but everyone is a switch here, primal urges/dynamics, f reader, MC has hazy memories of a life before with Rafayel. Might be a little ooc because ya girl is still getting back into fanfic. Unedited. You get this raw (just like our fishie!)

The dress was a mistake.

After he found you in the bathroom, Rafayel pouted until you promised to wear the dress he picked out for you for this event. You were going to wear your bodyguard outfit -- all black, sleek lines, with more than enough places to hide your weapons -- but he insisted that the perfume lingered on those clothes, and it was really best if you changed. You gave in, if only to not waste time on something that didn't matter.

The downside?

He ripped your panties off, so you were bare under the dress.

Sheer lilac lace covered your shoulders and most of your chest. The neckline was not too low, but tantalizing. The lace met a deep plum fabric at the neckline, and the rest of the dress clung to your body like a second skin. It hit your mid-thigh, the length teetering on the line of classy and daring. Even without enough time to properly do your hair or fix your smudged makeup, you caught a glimpse of yourself on the way out. As with everything, Rafayel's taste was impeccable, and you looked hot.

You wondered if it would've been better to wear your other clothes, based on his attitude that lingered the whole night. In the car, he honked every fifteen seconds you were stuck in traffic and sped like a demon through any opening. His aloof expression he always wore in public settled on his face the moment he stepped out of the car, and you watched him literally turn up his nose at those admiring his art. None of this was unusual for him, not really, but something about his attitude seemed sharper than usual. Shorter.

Rafayel clung to you more than usual, too. His hand settled on your waist. Respectful, but undoubtedly possessive. On alert, you tried to keep your body positioned in front of his, but he always managed to reverse your position before you realized it. Despite his firm hold, he didn’t look at you often. The few times he did, his stare burned into your skin. He made countless sour looks when he thought no one was looking, and you rolled your eyes.

“Good boy my ass,” you thought.

The evening carried a strange energy all around. A few conversations felt a little too specific, a little too close to a memory, to be normal. Rafayel’s attitude that cycled between possessive and distant. The strange tension that lingered in the air after he bit his tongue instead of saying what he wanted to. It sent a pang of something -- an emotion you didn't know how to name -- through you when he deflected. As usual. You let it slide, though. You always did.

You weren’t too surprised when you found him sulking in a corner, desperate to leave. Though, even that proved to be a complicated task since someone slashed his tires, a taxi would take a solid hour to get through the traffic, and he didn’t know how to ride a bike. You drove the bike, but he was distracting, warm, and you ended up crashing into a grassy field.

Yeah. The dress was a mistake. He landed on top of you, catching himself on his arms. At least you weren’t crushed and didn’t give a show to the cars driving by.

With bruised knees and egos, you walked his pouty ass back home. Between the weird energy and his extra dose of attitude, you worried how much of his behavior tonight was based on his displeasure about being at the event, or how much came from the lingering effects of that damned perfume.

You walked inside behind him and locked the door, something he always forgot to do unless he was trying to hide from Thomas. Rafayel took his jacket off, then his tie, and then he all but fell on his couch, all without turning on a light.

“Are you alright?” You settled on the couch beside him, tucking your knees up under you.

“I’m better now,” he said as he closed his eyes. “It’s exhausting being around that many people.”

His hand found yours in the darkness and you squeezed it. Tension eased out of his shoulders, and you sat there with him, letting the night hold you both in the warm silence.

When his eyes opened, he smiled at you. “Having you on my arm made it easier.”

“Really?” you asked, raising your eyebrow. “I would’ve never guessed with how grumpy you were and how little you looked at me.”

He blushed, and he turned his face away to hide it. You giggled, loving the little flustered look on his face. He was so cute when he got all flustered, and you found yourself trying to imagine all the ways you'd make him blush.

“I still feel…tense,” he said. “The way you look in that dress, your scent…”

His words trailed off as he shuddered, his hand squeezing around yours in some sort of restraint.

“You’re the one who insisted I wear the dress,” you teased. You stood up and twirled in front of him, slow and deliberate. His gaze locked onto you, burning into your skin.

His hands landed on your hips, stilling you between his spread legs. He looked up at you with the same, needy, soft expression that got you into this mess of an evening. “I regret it. You look too beautiful, and if I admired you for too long, I worried I wouldn’t be able to help myself. Everyone else got to drink you in all night.”

“We're the only ones here now. Look as much as you'd like.” You cupped his cheek, and he nuzzled into your palm like your touch was his only solace. Your heart clenched. He was obviously struggling, but you didn’t know how to fix it. So, you held his face in your hands and let him hold your hips in the silence that stretched between you.

“There’s so much I want to admire,” he whispered. “So much I want to commit to memory.”

“Like what?”

He shuddered out a breath, and when his eyes met yours, you saw the moment he withdrew. “It doesn’t matter.”

You turned his head, forcing him to look at you. “Rafayel.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for the answer? I planned this so differently. None of this is right and—”

“Rafayel,” you called his name again, your voice soft but sure. He looked up at you, his expression so soft and open, you couldn't help but close the distance. You straddled his lap, and his breath hitched. You kissed him. Once. Feather light.

His arms wrapped around you immediately. One hand tangled in your hair and the other settled on your hip, keeping you close. He kissed you like you were the air in his lungs. Consuming, ravenous. You melted into the kiss, into him. Every brush of his lips sent little sparks rushing through your blood, pooling your desire low in your stomach as your fingers tangled into his hair. You pulled him closer and rocked your body into his. Parting to breathe, you stared at one another in the dark living room. Gasping and dazed, the air between you went charged with something like electricity.

“Tell me what’s bothering you,” you said.

He curled his body around yours and inhaled deeply at the crook of your neck. You ran your fingers through his hair, giving him time to find the words.

“That perfume is more like a potion to Lemurians,” he said. “It makes my mind foggy, and my instincts more prominent. I’m less able to hold back on my baser instincts.”

“The scent is still bothering you?” you asked.

“You took the edge off, but like I told you, cutie, what I need would take all night. Most of tomorrow, too.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That long?”

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You make it sound like a challenge.”

“Would it help, if I took care of you like you took care of me earlier?” you asked, your voice teasing but soft.

He pressed a hard kiss into the side of your neck and shuddered. “You don’t have to. It will pass, I just need to wait it out.”

“That’s not an answer to my question, Raf.”

He cursed again, in Lumerian this time, and the sound made your pussy clench around air. He inhaled another deep breath of your scent. “It would help. A little.”

“May I suck your cock?” you asked. “You weren’t exactly good tonight, but you tried your best and that deserves a reward, doesn’t it?”

Rafayel kissed you, hard, hungry, and desperate. When he pulled away, his voice was little more than a whisper. “Please.”

You returned the kiss, only to move down from his lips, to his jaw, to his neck. Your fingers made quick work of his shirt, pushing it open as you continued to trail kisses down his body. You nipped at his skin, sucking on the spot between his neck and collar bone before you moved down to his chest, marking him there too as you sank down to the floor between his legs. You kissed along his abs, to the buckle of his pants.

His hands white-knuckle gripped the couch and soft, breathless moans left him the further you went. Each time you nipped at him, he whimpered, his hips brushing upward in search of friction.

You undid his belt, then slowly pulled out his cock. You wondered if you were out of your mind earlier because in the bathroom earlier it felt even more massive than the beast before you. Your mind raced. Did his cock change with his form, too?

Unsure, you focused on the beautiful cock before you. It was just as pretty as the rest of him, the tip flushed the same red as his cheeks. Long and thick, it was more than enough to stretch you out, and your mouth watered at the thought of taking him inside you.

You stoked him twice, then you brought Rafayel’s cock to your mouth. You licked him from base to tip, then swirled your tongue around the head. He choked above you, clearly trying to maintain control, and you simply couldn’t allow that.

Mouth wide open, you swallowed his cock halfway down in one smooth motion. His thighs tensed under your palms, and his head rolled to rest on the back of the couch. One hand stoked what you couldn’t fit as you hollowed out your cheeks. Slowly, you worked him deeper into your mouth, savoring the taste and feel of him.

Each inch you sucked him down forced another sweet whine from his lips. The sound drove you forward, especially since he kept his hands at his sides, trying to contain himself. You pushed forward until the tip of his cock brushed against your throat.

His fragmented self control melted away the moment his cock slipped into your throat. His hips lifted and a single hand came to push the back of your head down, not hard, but just enough to guide you. You complied, breathing through your nose as you took him as deep as you could.

You gagged with each pulse of his hips, and the sound drove him faster. You let your jaw hang open, your tongue flat, letting him chase his pleasure with your mouth. He moved like a man possessed, fucking your throat fast and deep.

"You feel so good, cutie. So, so, so good." Rafayel's head was thrown back against the couch, but his hooded purple-pink eyes stared into yours. Focused on your face, as if the sight of you on your knees was something sacred. Silver moonlight backlit his form, casting a halo over his amethyst hair. His cheeks and chest were flushed a deep pink. Marks from your lips peppered his neck and bare chest, the white fabric of his shirt seemed to highlight the planes of his body. He looked at you as if you were a sacred thing, but if there was a holy vision in the room, it was him. Rafayel was so beautiful like this it hurt to look at him, yet he was a needy, whimpering mess because of you.

Moaning around his pulsing cock, you increased your fervor. Sharp gags filled the air in between your firm sucks. The pace you set was rapid, but steady. His moans grew louder the longer you worked him, each noise was a gift. Part garbled praise, part needy noises, you lost yourself to the music he made for you.

You slipped a hand between your spread thighs to play with your clit. His ethereal beauty and the desperate cries he made for you made it impossible to resist the pulse between your legs. Slick arousal coated your fingers and stuck to your skin. Circling your clit in the same pattern you bobbed your head on his cock, you couldn't help but moan.

“Yeah, just like that, cutie. Keep it up and I’ll come,” Rafayel groaned. Part warning, part demand.

You kept your pace steady, sucking him deep and hard. He melted your mind earlier, ruined your ability to think. Now it was your turn to do the same to him. Your fist twisted as you sucked, adding more pressure the needier you became for the taste of his come. Your eyes watered from the strain of taking his cock so deeply into your throat, but your eyes never left his.

His unfocused gaze landed on yours and his cock throbbed in your throat. “You’re so pretty like this. So beautiful I—”

You cut off his words when you took his cock all the way to the base. You gagged, and Rafayel was lost. His hips stuttered and he came down your throat with a shout of your name. You swallowed every drop, sucking until he had nothing left to give. His fingers traced through your hair as he came down from the high. Your lips left his softening cock with a pop, and he immediately lifted you into his arms.

He wrapped himself around you, then murmured something in Lumerian that sounded almost like a prayer. You didn’t understand the words, but your heart warmed under your breast as you curled around his body in turn.

He lifted the dress off you in one smooth motion. Your bra came next, and then he wrapped you back in his arms, keeping you skin-to-skin as he murmured the same phrase in Lumerian again and again. Whatever he said was reverent, and you melted in his arms, savoring the closeness of the moment.

Rafayel’s lips found your neck and he bit down. Hard. You gasped and arched backward, giving him just enough room to snake a hand between your bodies. Two fingers slipped inside you, and you clung to him for support.

Your head swam, and the bite on your neck only made you wetter. You were already close when he came, and his fingers pushed you rapidly to the edge. How he knew every spot to hit to make you shatter numbed your mind. He played you to perfection, and it wasn't long until you were making desperate sounds of your own.

You came with a cry of his name, and Rafayel groaned into your neck. You gushed over his fingers, your release covering his hand, thighs, and the couch. He released the bite and kissed over it, soothing the tender skin as he slowly worked you through your orgasm.

He slowly slipped his fingers out of you, then he laid down on the couch, keeping you with him. Skin-to-skin. You nuzzled into his chest and he sighed, content.

“That helped, thank you cutie.” He kissed your head, and it was your turn to blush.

“Do you need more?” you asked.

Rafayel chuckled. “When it comes to you? Always. But, I’m feeling better. I want to do something better than desperate couch sex for our first time together.”

"The desperate oral you gave me on your vanity was hot," you hummed. "Not what I imagined, but I'm not complaining."

“Me either,” he said. "I've wanted you for a long time, but you deserve to not be rushed, and I can't promise that when my instincts are like this. I want to give you the best, and I can only do that when I'm not fighting that damned perfume for control of myself."

“Next time, I promise not to try on any new scents before I come over”, you giggled.

“Next time, I’m keeping you in bed and all to myself.”

"Deal." You nuzzled into his chest, content. You couldn't wait for what came next, but for now, you savored in the feel of his skin against yours, and his steady breath and heartbeat under your ear. In his arms, you were at peace.

I swear I didn’t mean to make this three parts but I couldn’t leave out the other memory that seemed to go with this lol sequence of events. They will actually fuck next time I promise. I just think Raf would want it to be special for his bride, the one who holds his heart. So, he’s holding back a little bit but it’ll be so worth it!! I also think he needs to like prep some things if MC is gonna take both of his cocks so like…ya know. In my head, the last thing he said in Lemurian was “my beautiful bride”, but obviously MC wouldn’t know that. Part three should come soon!!

#love and deepspace #l&ds #l&ds rafayel #l&ds x reader #l&ds smut #lads rafayel #lads x reader #lads #lads smut #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel x mc #rafayel x you

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uss-butterscotch · 1 day ago

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Eddie almost becomes a 4th of July finger loss statistic and runs into a pair of sailors in the ER

cw: medical terminology, references to canon-typical gore

Eddie can feel his uncle’s glare from the seat next to him. He’s resolutely ignoring it and also attempting to ignore the pulsing pain in his hand, which he’s currently pressing a damp kitchen towel to.

Wayne, apparently, isn’t having it. “You know how many people blow their fingers off on this day every year, boy?” He says slowly.

Eddie presses his lips together. When he can’t hold his thoughts back anymore he half-whispers, “Last time I checked, all my fingers were still attached to my body.”

“They better continue to be that way by tomorrow morning.” Wayne huffs and leans back in his chair. Arms crossed tight over his chest.

They sit in silence for about 5 minutes before the doors to the emergency room practically fly open. The sudden movement draws Eddie’s eye.

He’s met with possibly the last thing he expects. The first thing he registers is that two of the people who just entered appear to be dressed like cartoon sailors, and that one of the sailors also appears to have been recently hit by a car, then the car reversed, and ran him over again.

The second thing he realizes is that the roadkill sailor is the one and only Steve Harrington. Not only is he Steve Harrington, he’s Steve Harrington, clearly on drugs.

“Hopper, we told you,” Harrington attempts to sound convincing while teetering precariously with every step, “we feel fine. I don’t even think this is as bad as last time. Nobody even… smashed anything into my head.”

The other sailor, whom Eddie has just identified as Robin Buckley, band kid and on Eddie’s short list of suspected fellow freaks.

“Nope!” Robin giggles, “just ripped a few fingernails out.” She wiggles her own fingers in front of Hopper’s face, which at the moment is locked in a simultaneously horrified and exasperated expression.

Now that attention has been called to it, and all of Robin’s fingers seem intact, Eddie sneaks a glance at Harrington’s hands, the left one of which appears to have bandages that are becoming soaked through with blood on the index and middle fingers.

“Maybe nothing got smashed into you, but Wheeler mentioned something about you smashing a certain commandeered vehicle into a certain Camaro.” Hopper leans in and speaks in a growl Eddie assumes he thinks passes for whispering, while directing Harrington and Buckley into matching plastic chairs to the one Eddie is currently occupying.

He gapes at them and blinks a few times before turning to see what his uncle thinks of this whole scene. He finds Wayne watching the newcomers with a slight squint to his eyes and a slight raise to his right eyebrow. A clear sign that he is equal parts concerned, Eddie would assume for the obvious poor condition of at least one of the teens, and intrigued, but not intrigued enough to risk intervening and complicating his already very mentally taxing evening.

Before he can do anything about any part of this scenario, a nurse calls Eddie’s name and in a blink he’s being led into the next stage of the hell of his own making. At first it’s several minutes of answering questions, nurses looking very intently at the half burn/half gash in his hand, and antiseptic. Finally he’s left alone for a few moments while they let the topical numbing cream set in.

There are two other beds in the section he’s been taken to. One of them is currently occupied by an older man, accompanied by a younger woman in a plastic chair next to him. Both of them appear to be fast asleep. The other bed is empty. Or at least, it is until there’s a commotion from the hallway, and the sailors are being ushered in Eddies direction, toward the bed next to his. Eddie catches bits of the conversation that leads to the two-high-teenagers-for-one deal he’s about to get.

Robin’s almost frantic voice, “No! They can’t separate us! Last time we got split up-“

“It’ll be fine, Rob, these guys are probably American.” Steve cuts her off nonsensically. Eddie kind of wishes he was on whatever stuff Steve was right now.

“Considering what you’ve tried to explain so far, I don’t know how much better that is.” Robin says, giggling again.

Steve clumsily grabs her hand with his right one, reaching across is own body awkwardly to get to her, and missing on the first attempt. “You also need to get looked at, little miss ‘ask me tomorrow’.”

Robin cringes at him, “Ok now I will leave you alone so you don’t call me ‘little miss’ again.”

Eddie watches the nurses lead Robin further down the hallway, and Steve to the bed next to his own. They’re left alone briefly after Steve gets settled and the nurse has rushed off to find a doctor.

The other teen stares almost blankly at him for a long moment before he exclaims suddenly, startling Eddie, “Munson! From Biology! That’s why you seem familiar.”

“Harrington,” Eddie replies, “you are aware we shared more classes than the one Biology period, right?”

Harrington blinks slowly with the eye that isn’t swollen shut. “No, actually, I dunno if you noticed, but I was sort of an asshole in high school, so…” he wobbles his head back and forth, “I kind of only remember that time you passed out when we dissected that cow eye.”

“Ah,” Eddie rolls his eyes and nods, “so you were an asshole in high school, but you’re not anymore. Got it.” He’s really going over the top with the sarcasm, but Harrington doesn’t seem to catch on.

“Yup. Earlier Robin said that I really was, but I’m not anymore, and she’s usually right about most things, even though it’s super annoying when she is right, because she won’t shut up about it, and she remembers stuff, like how many times I’m wrong and what I’m wrong about and what I ate for breakfast in Mrs. Click’s class and-“

He’s cut off by the nurse from before returning. “Sorry for making you wait, hon, it’s a real circus here tonight. While we wait for the doctor, I’m gonna get you set up with some fluids. The EMTs said you were pretty dehydrated.”

When she brandishes the needle in preparation for placing the IV, Eddie notices all the color that isn’t bruising drain from Harrington’s face. He tries to subtly scoot away from her, but the movement is a little too rushed to come from anywhere but a sense of panic.

“O-oh, no that’s, I’m okay, no-no thanks.” He stutters out, his breath coming in quick and shallow now.

“Oh, hon, it’s okay to be afraid of needles,” the nurse says sweetly, “just look away and take deep breaths, and it’ll be over in a pinch.”

Harrington winces at that. “I-I’m really- it’s- I’m fine, you don’t-“

He stops abruptly when what sounds like a screamed “No!”echoes from down the hallway. It takes half a second longer for Eddie to place the voice as Robin Buckley’s than it apparently takes Steve, because Eddie blinks and Harrington’s off the bed and rushing toward the voice with a half-shouted “Robin!”

The nurse, it seems, is just as stunned as Eddie, and it’s a few seconds before she’s racing after him down the hallway.

It isn’t until his stitches are almost halfway done that Harrington returns, now closely followed by Chief Hopper, and lead gingerly by the elbow by the nurse. The IV situation appears to have been solved, as he is now rolling a drip bag on a stand with his free hand.

Once Harrington is returned to his bed, Hopper leans over him slightly in what Eddie recognizes as his attempt to be intimidating. “Now listen closely, Harrington. You are going to stay right there in this bed, and do whatever Annette here asks you to do until I get back. Do I make myself clear?”

Steve stares at him open mouthed for a moment, before he starts giggling. “Huh, Mike’s right, you do have a little vein that pops out right…” he reaches up to try and poke Hopper in the forehead.

Before Hopper smacks his hand away, Eddie notices a thick band of bruising around Harrington’s wrist, adding to the already massive pile of questions he has about whatever series of events led to those two landing themselves here.

Steve is still giggling when Hopper stands back up, dragging a hand down his face. “Look. Just stay put for 20 minutes. Someone still has to call your damn parents.”

“Good luck with that,” Harrington says wearily to Hopper’s back as he retreats back toward the waiting room.

With all the commotion, Eddie almost forgets he’s currently getting his hand sewn back together. A distraction he’s secretly grateful for, since he was starting to get a little light headed thinking about it.

“Well, Eddie, that should be it,” the doctor says, patting the fresh bandage gently, “I’ll get someone to take care of your discharge papers and you’ll be on your way.”

Eddie gives a thumbs up with the hand that did not get nearly exploded several hours ago. As the doctor leaves, Eddie realizes he is once again left alone with Harrington. He can only handle about two minutes of the silence before he blurts out. “Ok, man, I’m dying to know. What the hell happened to you? You look like you rolled down a rocky cliffside for like a day straight.”

Harrington chuckles, “I feel like that.” He doesn’t say anything for a long moment before he apparently realizes Eddie asked him a question. “Oh, uh, the mall burned down.”

“Starcourt? The brand new mall?”

Harrington nods. “Yup.” He pops the p.

“Wh-” Eddie blinks at him in disbelief, “and you and Buckley..?”

“We were there, yeah.” He says it so nonchalantly Eddie almost thinks he’s messing with him.

“Right…” Eddie starts, not sure where he’s going before one of the questions swirling around his brain tumbles out of his mouth “so the mall was burning down and someone ripped your finger nails off?”

Harrington sits up straight, “How did you-?”

“I was in the waiting room when you came in,” Eddie answers in a rush, “overheard you and Buckley.”

“Oh.” Harrington says, then blinks slowly a few times and Eddie can almost hear him thinking. “Umm, no that happened… before the fire.” He finally says, frustratingly vague.

“Right, and the…” Eddie gestures vaguely to his own face in leu of actually asking.

Harrington hums. “Uhh, I think… falling debris…” he nods to himself, “yeah, you know, chunks of burning mall.” He mimes something falling from the sky and makes a cartoon explosion sound. Eddie’s not totally inclined to believe him, especially since he just noticed the finger shaped bruising on Harringtons arms.

“You think?” He presses.

Harrington huffs, almost like a kid throwing a tantrum. “Look man, I’m like super ultra concussed and on some kind of mystery drugs so my memory is like…” he flaps a hand around for a second, then lands on a thumbs down, “at the moment.”

Eddie nods. “Right, yeah, sorry.” Eddie puts his uninjured hand up in surrender, “Just, my curious nature, man.”

Steve shrugs, then winces. “Okay, my turn.” He points to Eddie’s bandaged hand, “What happened there?”

“Awesome firework experiment gone wrong.” Eddie says, deliberately not elaborating. It’s apparently enough for Steve who nods knowingly.

Another silence settles over the room, this time less awkward, but Eddie still feels the need to break it. “Okay this is my last question for real.” Harrington sighs, but motions for him to go on. “The outfit?”

He squints at Eddie for a moment. “Did you ever like, actually go to the mall?”

“Once. And it confirmed my suspicions that the whole thing was a capitalist nightmare that I in no way belonged within a thousand foot radius of.” Eddie proclaiming proudly.

Steve looked at him like he was speaking Spanish. “Um, sure. Yeah. That’s probably true.” He picks at some of the blood that has dried on the collar of his shirt. “Robin and I work, or, I guess worked, now that it doesn’t exist anymore, but, anyway it’s this ice cream place, and it’s like, ocean themed for some reason, so… sailors.”

The mood seems to have shifted slightly. Harrington’s no longer looking at him, instead focusing on his shoes, which also appear to be smudged with blood. No trace of the half smile that had been lingering from his random fits of giggles. With the way he’s fidgeting, it almost seems like he’s nervous.

Eddie decides the best way out of this is to pretend like he doesn’t notice and hope he can get the vibe back on track. “That sounds like the most ridiculous business I’ve ever heard of.”

Steve lets out a halfhearted chuckle. “Yeah, it was pretty stupid.”

They are both saved from trying to come up with a new direction for the conversation to go by the entrance of Robin Buckley, who is toting her own rolling stand of IV fluid with her.

“Dingus!” She calls, and Eddie notes the way Harrington relaxes slightly at seeing her. “I’m completely healthy!”

Steve mimes clapping and Robin bows dramatically. “I… am not.”

Robin taps his knee. “I could have probably told you that.” Her gaze scans the room, then catches on him. “Hey, you’re the guy that runs the D&D group, right?”

“In the flesh,” Eddie says, spreading his arms wide.

Robin cringes again. “Ew, don’t say flesh. I’ve had too much flesh for one day.”

Steve nods next to her. “He blew up his hand with fireworks.”

Robin gasps, “Really?” She turns to Steve, “I totally thought we were gonna do that, but” she holds out her hands, and while they themselves seem fine, Eddie notices the bruising on her wrists that match Harrington’s, “all my fingers. Intact.”

“That makes one of us,” he smirks and makes eye contact with Eddie.

“Did you know that on the Fourth of July, over 30% of hospital visits are related to injuries from fireworks” Robin says unprompted.

“Why would I know that.” Steve says flatly, “Why do you know that?”

Robin shrugs, “I read.”

It’s then that a nurse comes back to get Eddie out of there. As he goes, Steve waves a goodbye to him that he awkwardly returns. As he leaves them behind he hears Robin ask, “Did Johnathan Byers cut open a girl’s leg, or was that the drugs?”

He shakes his head as he returns to the waiting room, resigned to never have answers to his mountain of questions.

#un-fake-kills Hopper for this because i like hom and want him here #*raises hand* i think it’s funny if Eddie is squeamish with his whole metal aesthetic he’s got going on #idk if they were dissecting cow eyes in the 80s but I dissected like 3 cow eyes in the course of my high school career #i took a lot of science classes and they make you dissect a lot of stuff #anyway #apologies to those of you who were expecting an update of the other fic thos one simply possessed me #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #jim hopper #stranger things #and another thing!#i think they should have committed to the bit and taken some of Steve’s fingernails away from him #and im not afraid to say it!

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