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dior-luxury · 2 months ago

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You Being Super Oblivious Of Them Flirting With You

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff/light romance - no prns .

- [𝐜𝐡.] 3rd years

- [𝐩:𝐬] slow burn . one-sided pinning (resolved) . light comedy . mild suggestiveness . teasing/banter . slight jealousy

Note: I sat down to write cute flirty headcanons and instead accidentally wrote all of these guys having a romantic breakdown in about their crush being so oblivious about the flirting. 💀 Then I thought they where good and just decided to go with that as the prompt!

Trey Clover

It had been going on for weeks.

Subtle, harmless gestures at first—sharing his homemade treats, seeking you out in the hallways between classes, and always making sure there was a spare seat beside him at Heartslabyul’s long, rose-lined table. You always took it. Smiling up at him, laughing at his jokes, even leaning against his shoulder sometimes when the evenings stretched long and drowsy under the golden canopy of dusk.

And yet.

You were completely, utterly oblivious.

“You’re really good at baking, Trey,” you complimented one day as he handed you a small, ribbon-tied box of matcha-flavored sweets, his personal recipe he never shared. You bit into one, eyes lighting up in delight. “I don’t know how someone like you is still single.”

Trey blinked.

“...Someone like me?”

“Yeah! Tall, dependable, cute smile—you’re like...dad boyfriend material.”

If he had been drinking tea, he might’ve choked.

Dad boyfriend material?!

Despite the polite, affable smile he wore, a faint twitch of disbelief rippled across his temple. Trey had dropped so many hints—letting you taste frosting off his finger in the kitchen, gently brushing your hair out of your eyes when you leaned too close to the oven, even calling you “sweetheart” under his breath when you dozed off during a study session.

And yet, here you were. Thinking he was some domestic teddy bear.

The final straw came during a Heartslabyul tea party, when you reached over to wipe a crumb from the corner of his mouth with your thumb, completely unaware of how red his ears turned.

“You’re always such a mess after eating cake,” you scolded gently.

“You do realize,” he said slowly, looking into your eyes with a rare, unreadable intensity, “that I only ever bring you the first slice.”

“Huh? I just thought I was lucky!” you grinned.

That did it.

He leaned in, lowering his voice as he caged you between the chair and the hedge behind. His gloved hand gently tipped your chin up. “I’ve been flirting with you for months,” he murmured. “How much more obvious do I have to be, shortcake?”

Your mouth dropped open. “Wha—wait, what?!”

Trey laughed softly, finally letting his forehead rest against yours, the tension melting into something warm, golden, and soft. “I swear, you’re sweeter than my tarts and twice as dense.”

Cater Diamond

“Okay, I give up,” Cater announced dramatically, collapsing face-down on the common room couch. “I’ve tried everything, and they still don’t get it.”

From behind his phone screen, he peeked at you sitting nearby, nose buried in a magazine, completely unaware of his suffering.

It had started as a game at first—light teasing, exaggerated winks, the occasional compliment laced with glittering charm.

“Looking good today, babe~” he’d say, snapping a selfie of the two of you while slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“Thanks, Cater! You look amazing too, as always!”

But you always said it like a friend. With zero hesitation, zero fluster, zero realization. You treated his affection like background noise—a quirk of his personality.

Even when he’d rested his head in your lap after a long day and looked up at you with dreamy, sleepy eyes and whispered, “You’d make a perfect boyfriend, y'know... if you’d let me,” you just chuckled and patted his hair.

“Aw, Cater, that’s sweet. You’d be a great boyfriend for someone, definitely.”

Someone.

SOMEONE.

He practically screamed into his pillow when he got back to his dorm that night.

Every day since then had been a desperate escalation. He started bringing you your favorite snacks, styling your hair for fun, sending you good morning texts with pet names like “sunshine” or “my star.” You responded with gifs. Gifs.

Finally, in a move of last-ditch desperation, he planned the boldest romantic gesture he could think of.

Cater rented out the photo booth in town, the one with the glitter backgrounds and soft lighting. He dragged you inside under the pretense of wanting “a bestie shoot,” and waited for the moment the countdown began.

Three…

Two…

One—

He turned, cupped your face, and kissed your cheek.

Click. Flash.

You blinked at him.

“Cater?? What was that for?”

He stared.

“No, seriously. Are you okay? Did you think I was sad or something? You can talk to me, y’know.”

Cater threw his hands up and groaned.

“You’re the one I like!! You! Not as a friend, not as a selfie buddy, not as a human pillow—I like you, you dense little cinnamon bun!”

Your eyes widened. “Wait. Are you flirting with me?”

He looked like he aged five years in five seconds.

“Yes. YES, BABE. That’s what the last four months were. Flirting. Full-throttle, heart-eyes, rom-com level flirting!”

“…Oh.”

A pause. Then, sheepishly:

“So… wanna take another photo? This time, maybe I kiss you on the lips?”

Cater blinked at your soft smile and the way your hand found his.

And just like that, every ounce of frustration melted into sparkly euphoria. “Oh my Seven,” he whispered with a grin. “Finally.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona was not a man known for patience. In fact, most of the time, he prided himself on getting what he wanted with the least amount of effort. He was sharp, cunning, and confident enough to know that most people would bend over backward just to get a sliver of his attention. So when he set his sights on you—you, with your soft laugh, bright eyes, and completely clueless smile—he assumed it would be easy.

It wasn’t.

It started small. He’d lounge in the botanical gardens where he knew you always came to study. He made sure to growl off anyone else who might sit nearby, leaving the two of you in your own little secluded corner. He'd toss you the occasional compliment, his voice lazy and low.

“Tch. That look suits you, herbivore. Finally got some style.”

You’d blink at him with that warm, clueless grin. “Oh? Thanks, Leona. My friend helped me pick this outfit.”

He resisted the urge to growl. Again.

Then he escalated. He’d sit closer—closer than anyone would consider “just friends.” He'd drop hints laced with suggestion, his eyes narrowing when you remained oblivious. He once even played with your hair, idly running his fingers through it while you yawned and continued taking notes on magical herbology.

It got to the point where Ruggie cornered you in the hallway, shaking his head in disbelief. “You seriously don’t get it? He’s basically marking his territory every time you’re near!”

“Huh? Leona? Nah, he’s just... touchy sometimes.”

Leona nearly tore his textbooks in half when he heard that.

The final straw came one warm afternoon when you plopped down beside him under the shade of a sprawling tree. You smiled and passed him a snack you'd made, and Leona, in a bold move of desperation and hunger for your attention, leaned down and bit into it directly from your hand, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

You just blinked and said, “You must’ve been really hungry!”

Leona threw himself backward into the grass with a groan, covering his eyes with his arm.

“Seven hells, you’re dense,” he muttered.

“Huh?”

He sat up again, eyes narrowed, voice husky. “Do I need to spell it out for you, herbivore? I’m not just hanging around you ‘cause I’m bored. I’m trying to get you to notice me.”

You tilted your head, confused. “But I do notice you…”

“No,” he growled, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly, tugging you closer. “Notice me. As in, I want you. You. Me. Together. You seriously didn’t get that?”

You froze. And then it hit you like a freight train. The closeness, the compliments, the touches, the possessiveness—

“Oh... OH.”

Leona smirked, fangs glinting in the sun. “Took you long enough.”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil was always graceful, always poised, always in control. He calculated every step, every glance, every smile. So naturally, when he decided to pursue you, he did it with the same precision he applied to a stage performance or a red-carpet event. Subtle glances, gentle compliments, a brush of his fingers across your shoulder. It was a slow-burning courtship that he expected would sweep you off your feet.

But instead?

Nothing.

Nothing but your charming smile and occasional, completely unbothered “Thank you, Vil!” or “You’re so sweet!” before skipping off to your next class.

He chalked it up to modesty at first. Maybe you were shy. Maybe you wanted to play hard to get. But by week three, when he sent you a handpicked bouquet of enchanted roses and you gave them to Professor Trein’s cat because “it matched her fur,” Vil nearly fainted on the spot.

So, he got bolder.

One afternoon, he strode into your dorm’s common room while you were curled up on a couch with a book. Wordlessly, he slipped beside you and sat right in your lap, settling as gracefully as ever, legs crossed, arm lazily draped around your shoulders.

You blinked. “Are you tired? You can sit here as long as you need.”

Vil’s eye twitched.

“Tired? No, darling, I wanted to sit somewhere comfortable and charming. Surely you understand the appeal.” He leaned in, his breath tickling your ear. “Or is my lap too forward for your delicate sensibilities?”

You laughed lightly. “Nope! You’re light. I didn’t even notice the weight. Kinda like a cat. A really fashionable one.”

Fashionable cat?!

Vil nearly stood up right then and there, scandalized. But no—he took a deep breath. Composure. Poise.

Until you reached up and started patting his head.

“You’re so pretty, Vil. I hope I can be as pretty as you one day.”

“…I’m not trying to be ‘pretty like you,’ I’m trying to be yours,” he hissed in exasperation, face dangerously close to yours.

You blinked again. “Wait… what?”

Vil’s patience finally snapped like a taut ribbon.

“For the love of all that is radiant—I have been flirting with you for months. I’ve complimented you, made time for you, bought you gifts, and now I am literally sitting on your lap! What more must I do? Wear a sign that says ‘I want to be yours’?”

You gaped at him.

“…I thought you were just naturally dramatic.”

Vil groaned, burying his face in your neck. “You’ll be the death of me.”

You awkwardly wrapped your arms around him, finally catching on. “Wait, so… you like me?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, expression softening ever so slightly. “I more than like you. But you, sweet potato, are so hopelessly dense.”

You laughed nervously, cheeks burning. “I’m really sorry… but, um… I like you too. I just didn’t think you’d like someone like me.”

Vil huffed, but a genuine smile curled on his lips. “Well, you’re mine now. And you’ll never be oblivious again, because I won’t give you the chance to miss it.”

Rook Hunt

To Rook, this was a challenge—a delicious, exquisite one.

He was well aware of how utterly unaware you were. The first time he realized, it was during archery club. He complimented the way your arms flexed as you pulled the bowstring, his tone sultry, his gaze locked on you like you were his prey.

You grinned and said, “Haha, thanks! I’ve been working out my shoulders. Good for posture!”

He tilted his head, lips curled in amusement. “Ah, ma colombe, you are truly a creature of mystery~”

But instead of giving up, Rook only doubled down. He started leaving flowers at your desk with poetic notes—sometimes with metaphors so thick they practically screamed “I am in love with you!”

You just thought it was a Rook thing.

“You’re so sweet! You write such beautiful stuff. Have you thought of joining the poetry club?”

Poetry club…?! Mon dieu, I am baring my soul!

He even tried the "accidental touch" method—fingers brushing yours when passing a book, hands lingering too long during sparring practice. Yet you never reacted with more than a casual smile and a “You okay?”

And Rook? He found it thrilling.

“This unawareness… this resistance… c’est magnifique!” he whispered one day, watching you from the balcony like a Shakespearean ghost. “You are like a doe in the forest, unaware of the eyes that follow you in reverent adoration…”

The final straw was when he kissed the back of your hand under the moonlight after walking you to your dorm. With an air of mystery and drama, he looked into your eyes and murmured, “Bonsoir, ma lumière…”

You giggled. “Wow, you really should join the drama club. That delivery was incredible.”

Rook clutched his chest like he’d been shot, but he was laughing too. Of course. Of course you didn’t get it.

But that just made him want you more.

“I shall make it my mission to pierce through the veil of innocence that blinds you, mon trésor,” he declared to the stars. “You will see me—not as a friend, not as a fellow student—but as the man who has adored you all this time.”

Idia Shroud

It was exhausting trying to flirt with someone who didn’t even realize you were the final boss in their dating sim.

Idia never considered himself bold—not IRL, anyway. Most of his romantic experience came from watching his OTPs go through slow-burn arcs in visual novels or tragic anime love stories. But when it came to you, he was trying. Like, genuinely. In his own glitchy, socially awkward way.

He’d wait outside your classroom “totally coincidentally” with his tablet in hand, acting like he wasn’t tracking your class schedule to the minute. He even upgraded Ortho’s AI recognition software just to find excuses to walk past you more often. He quoted romantic lines from his favorite games to you, hoping you’d get it—but every single time?

You’d just blink. Smile. Nod like he was being cute.

“Oh, that line was so poetic! Is that from a movie or something?”

“B-bro that’s from Stellar Lust IV! The confession scene where the star-crossed lovers reunite under a dying moon! Are you seriously not…? Nvm.”

One afternoon, he got bold. He invited you to his room. That alone should’ve been a confession—no one entered his sacred gaming lair unless they had maximum trust level.

He cleared off a place on the bed, installed RGB mood lighting, even had anime OSTs playing softly in the background. He hyped himself up for weeks for this. He was going to drop a flirt so obvious, even a level 1 NPC could read it.

“So, u-uh, you ever wonder what it’d be like to… y’know… date a genius tech prince who could hack into the city grid just to turn all the traffic lights green for you?”

You tilted your head. “That sounds dangerous… but also kind of cool? Is this part of your new game concept?”

He.exe stopped working.

The blue flames of his hair turned pink for half a second before sizzling back.

He mumbled something incoherent and turned back to his computer, pulling his hoodie so far over his head he looked like a turtle. “N-no, yeah, that was just… haha… worldbuilding...”

He’d keep trying though. One day, he’d craft a cutscene so perfect, even you couldn’t ignore the affection coded into every line.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus was not used to being ignored. Or overlooked. Or, heaven forbid—misunderstood. He was the Crown Prince of Briar Valley, the most feared and powerful student on campus. And yet, here he was, casting ancient spells to conjure glowing roses and coaxing fireflies into hearts over your tea cup—only for you to respond with:

“Wow, Malleus! You always make things so aesthetic!”

He blinked. "Aesthetic?"

“Yeah! Super vibey. You should be a party planner.”

He nearly short-circuited.

This had been happening for weeks. He’d memorized your schedule, just so he could “coincidentally” be where you were. He’d offer to walk you home under the stars, hoping for soft-spoken confessions—but you only asked him if he thought raccoons had hierarchies in their little trash kingdoms.

...You were enchanting. But you were driving him mad.

One day, after finding yet another love poem he’d slipped into your book returned with grammar corrections (you thought he was practicing his prose), he decided on something bold. Direct. Unmistakable.

“Child of man,” Malleus said one twilight evening as you both sat beneath a tree, “if I were to tell you that my heart beats differently in your presence, that the night air tastes sweeter when you laugh—what would you say?”

You tilted your head, thinking. “I’d say you have a really poetic way of saying you like hanging out.”

“I do not merely like hanging out,” he said slowly, brow twitching. “I wish to court you.”

You stared. “Like… on trial?”

“…Romantically.”

“Ohhhh.”

Silence.

“Wait, me?!”

Malleus closed his eyes and inhaled. Patience. He could wait a thousand years more. But hopefully not.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia Vanrouge had seen centuries of war, peace, love, loss—and yet nothing, nothing, had prepared him for the sheer unshakable obliviousness that was you.

It started innocently enough.

He’d toss a wink your way whenever he passed by in the hallway. He brought you little trinkets from the village during his off-campus ventures—flowers woven into chains, sweets with hearts drawn on the wrappers, one time even a hairpin shaped like a bat. You had smiled and thanked him with the kind of radiant purity that could blind a mortal man. And then you tucked the bat hairpin in your pencil case.

Your pencil case. Like he was a math worksheet and not a 700+ year old fae trying to court you.

Still, he found it endearing. You were cute in a way that made his ageless heart ache, and he loved a challenge. So he tried harder.

“You know,” he drawled one afternoon, leaning over your shoulder with a voice like velvet, “in my youth, a suitor might serenade their beloved beneath the moonlight.”

“That’s sweet,” you said, eyes on your textbook. “Did they ever get noise complaints?”

He blinked. “...Noise complaints?”

“Well, if it was late and they were singing outside someone’s window… I bet a lot of people weren’t exactly swooning.”

For a moment, Lilia just stared at you. And then he burst out laughing, so hard he had to wipe a tear from his eye.

“You are either brilliantly teasing me,” he chuckled, “or heartbreakingly naive.”

You smiled at him, not understanding in the slightest.

The final straw came when he invited you for a midnight flight—romantic, intimate, just the two of you soaring above the moon-drenched trees. You screamed with laughter and clung to him the entire way, yelling about how cool it was and how friends like him were the best.

“Friends,” Lilia repeated afterward, voice soft and low as you happily ate the little picnic he’d prepared.

You looked up. “Yeah. I’m lucky to have you.”

He sighed with a small, defeated smile, but his eyes were warm. “The luck,” he murmured, “is all mine, dear.”

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whosashan · 3 months ago

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Hugs Are Mandatory

PAIRING: clingy!lads men x gn!non-mc!reader

SYNOPSIS: Lately, your boyfriend had become impossibly dramatic—and hopelessly clingy. What's the reason for that?

A/N: I feel like my writing has really downgraded lately, so I felt like writing whatever I had in mind instead of doing a request ;p

Xavier

It wasn’t unusual for Xavier to cling to you, especially when he was sleepy—his heavy eyelids fluttering, the warmth of your scent lulling him into drowsiness as he melted into your embrace.

But lately? He had reached a whole new level of attachment. It was as if you were the very air he breathed, as though spending even a moment apart would drain him of life itself.

You were in the kitchen, making hot chocolate for your video game night, and yet—even now—he was right behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. The soft tickle of his breath against your skin sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Xavi…” You chuckled, the amusement in your tone obvious. “You could just wait on the couch, you know.”

“I’d much rather wait for you here,” he murmured, his voice honeyed and low, punctuated by a lingering kiss against your neck.

You exhaled, shaking your head in mock exasperation before turning to face him. His big, pleading eyes locked onto yours, his lower lip jutted out in a dramatic pout. And despite the sheer closeness between you, he still looked like he wanted more.

“What’s up with you and this sudden clinginess?” you asked, raising a curious brow, though your voice was tinged with amusement.

For a moment, he simply hummed, rubbing his cheek against yours like an oversized cat. You frowned. Now that you thought about it, Xavier did have some very cat-like tendencies.

But then… the silence stretched. Suspiciously so.

“Xavier.” Your tone sharpened slightly, prompting him to finally meet your gaze. That’s when you saw it—guilt. Clear as day. He looked like a scolded puppy.

“I… may have accidentally stained your favorite hoodie,” he admitted sheepishly. “With… curry.”

You blinked. Processing.

Then, in the calmest, most serious tone you could muster, you said, “Xavier, I suggest you start running.”

His eyes flickered with panic, scanning your face for any sign of mercy. There was none.

And so, he listened. He turned on his heel, ready to make his grand escape—but it was already too late. You leapt onto his back, tugging at his hair (just enough to make him suffer, not enough to really hurt him).

“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU BETRAYED ME LIKE THIS!” you howled, whining dramatically as you clung to him.

“OW! OW—HEY—OWWW!” He yelped, flailing helplessly under your relentless assault. “I’M SORRY!”

...

After an intense battle, you sat victorious, hair disheveled, while Xavier nursed his wounds—namely, the light bite marks on his arms and his sore neck.

“Keep going,” you instructed, arms crossed as you watched him scribble an apology letter, his wrist cramping from the thousand-word essay you’d demanded as retribution.

He groaned, rubbing his aching hand. “I swear my love for you is being tested right now.”

Guess his clinginess wasn’t entirely unprovoked, after all.

Zayne

You stared at your boyfriend, bewildered, as he clung to you with a desperate intensity—his face buried in your chest, arms wrapped around you like he feared you might vanish. Zayne had his moments, always loved keeping you close, but this? This was… unusual. And incredibly distracting, too, as you felt the warm brush of his breath against your skin while you tried, in vain, to focus on your book.

“Aww, babe, did something happen?” You set the book aside, fingers threading through his hair in slow, soothing strokes.

He let out a deep sigh, his grip tightening instead of answering. The silence was enough to make worry creep up your spine.

Gently, you cupped his cheeks and tilted his face up toward you, only to be met with those eyes—big, soft, and guilt-ridden. Damn those puppy eyes.

“Zayne…” You narrowed your gaze, testing the waters.

His response? To promptly bury his face back in your chest, as if hiding from the inevitable.

Your fingers stilled in his hair. “Spill.”

For a moment, he hesitated. Then, in a voice lower than usual—like he was about to confess a mortal sin—he muttered, “Darling… You do know how much I adore you, don’t you?”

Your brow arched. Suspicion bloomed.

And then, it clicked.

“No. You didn’t.” Your voice teetered on the edge of disbelief.

Zayne sighed. “…I’m afraid I did.”

The limited-edition chocolate. The one your friend had brought from abroad. The one you had been saving for a special occasion.

Oh. Oh, he was dead.

"Zayne," you began, tone deceptively calm, "as much as I love you, I feel like I’m about to kill you right now.”

Finally, he had the decency to sit up, meeting your gaze with an expression that was somehow both stoic and dramatically sorrowful.

“I apologize…” he murmured, as if this was some tragic accident. “I’m not even sure how it happened. One moment, it was in the pantry and then… gone.”

You inhaled sharply. “AGAIN?”

And now?

Zayne sat in front of you, watching—suffering—as you mercilessly devoured all his favorite sweets. Every last thing he was craving, even the rare, limited-edition ones he had been saving.

You held up a delicate macaron, twirling it between your fingers. His eyes lit up, lips parting instinctively, hope flickering in his expression.

“Oh, I bet you’d love a bite, huh?” you mused, bringing it just close enough to tease him.

His mouth barely opened before—poof!—the macaron disappeared. Straight into your mouth.

You smirked. “But traitors don’t deserve sweets.”

Zayne let out a betrayed sigh, slumping back dramatically. As if things weren’t bad enough, you had also sentenced him to the ultimate punishment: a one-week kiss ban.

And for a man who craved your affection like air, that? That was the cruelest torture of all.

Rafayel

Rafayel was clinging to you—as per usual. His body shifted restlessly as he tried to find the perfect spot on your lap, his head nestled against your thighs, his face nuzzling into them like a needy cat.

But something was… off.

Normally, he'd be whining about how comfy you were, or dramatically declaring that he could stay like this forever. But right now? He was unusually quiet. And that immediately set off alarms in your head.

"Raf," you murmured, brushing stray strands of hair from his face, fingers gently tracing his cheek. "Is something bothering you?"

He blinked up at you, and that was when you saw it.

The guilt.

His big, guilty eyes—a look you knew all too well—sent a shiver of suspicion down your spine.

And then, in a deep, tragic sigh, he began.

"Cutie…" He stroked your thighs, voice dripping with exaggerated sorrow. "Is your love unconditional? Would you still love me, even if I committed the worst of crimes?"

Your stomach dropped.

"Rafayel." His full name left your lips like a warning, making him tense. His expression somehow grew even guiltier.

"What did you do?" Your voice was calm—too calm. Your eye twitched slightly.

He hesitated. Then, finally, he exhaled and averted his gaze.

"I... I didn’t mean to," he mumbled. "It just kind of happened..."

Your arms folded. "Go on."

He swallowed.

"I—" He sighed again, looking at you like a man on death row. "I watched the new episode of Love Island without you."

Silence.

The betrayal.

Your breath caught in your throat. "You did what?!"

The sheer audacity. The disrespect. The ultimate relationship crime.

"How could you do this to me?!" you gasped, yanking your legs out from under him so fast that his head hit the couch with a dull thud.

"Ow—!" He winced, sitting up in a panic. His hands grasped yours in desperation. "Wait, don’t do anything drastic! I didn't mean—"

"It's too late now..." You freed your hands from his grip with a slow, deliberate motion.

He stilled.

You both knew what that meant.

...

"OW! Cutie, have mercy—!" Rafayel hissed, thrashing slightly beneath you.

You straddled him with a deadly smirk, tweezers in hand, plucking his body hair with ruthless precision. A sharp yank—his armpit. Another—his stomach. Then his leg. He flinched every time, eyes wild with regret.

"This is cruel!" he whined. "This is inhumane!"

"You did this to yourself." You gave him a faux-sympathetic smile, reaching for his arm next.

Another pluck. Another wince.

Rafayel groaned, flopping back dramatically. "Never again…" he muttered.

You leaned in, whispering in his ear with a wicked grin.

"That's what they all say."

Sylus

You sat comfortably on Sylus’s lap, his arms wrapped around you with a vice-like grip, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Cuddling like this was nothing new—Sylus lived for moments like these—but tonight, there was a different edge to it. A certain... desperation.

His fingers pressed into your back as if to mold you against him, his body tensed yet unwilling to let go.

“What’s got you squeezing me so tight, Sy?” you teased, dragging your fingers along his spine, relishing the way he shivered under your touch.

“Perhaps I just like having you close.” His voice was smooth—too smooth. Normally, the words would’ve made you melt, but there was something in his tone. A certain something you knew all too well.

You stilled. “...Did you do it again?”

The moment the words left your lips, his hold on you tightened.

“…Have I mentioned how absolutely stunning you look today?” He cooed, his lips brushing your skin. Classic. His go-to distraction tactic.

“Nice try,” you deadpanned. “Sylus. Did you, or did you not?”

He sighed, dramatically, like he was the victim here. “He was getting too touchy.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Sylus, you’re going to give the poor guy a heart attack!”

The guy—as in your coworker. The one Sylus had sworn up and down was too friendly with you. The one he had, on multiple occasions, subtly and not-so-subtly terrified to the brink of quitting.

“You don’t need that job,” he muttered, pressing his lips against your shoulder as if that would erase his sins.

You rolled your eyes. “You know what that means.”

He went silent.

You both knew what that meant.

...

"Must I really do this?” Sylus sighed, standing stiffly in front of your workplace like he was being sent to the gallows.

“Yes,” you said firmly. “You will apologize. Or no cuddles and kisses for a week.”

At that, his eye twitched. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would.” You smirked, sticking your tongue out at him, watching as his lips quirked into the smallest of smiles before he returned to his signature look of disgusted annoyance.

Just then, the door to the building swung open, and there he was—your coworker. Upon spotting you, he smiled… but then his gaze shifted.

And the second he laid eyes on Sylus?

He yelped and bolted in the opposite direction.

You blinked. “Did he just—”

You turned to Sylus. He was smirking. Smug. As. Hell.

“How am I supposed to ‘apologize’ now, sweetie?” he mused, feigning innocence, though the satisfied glint in his eyes betrayed him.

What a smug, infuriating bastard.

Caleb

Caleb was glued to you—more than usual. His arms wrapped around your waist like a lifeline, his face buried in your shoulder as he let out a deep, dramatic sigh. You barely moved an inch before he was pulling you back in, holding you tighter.

Now, Caleb was always affectionate, but this? This was next-level.

“…Okay, what did you do?” you asked suspiciously, stopping your fingers from running through his hair.

He stiffened.

“What?” He forced out a laugh, lifting his head to look at you with far too much innocence. “Can’t a guy just be madly in love with his gorgeous partner?”

You squinted.

“Caleb.”

“…Yes, my love?”

“What. Did. You. Do?”

He hesitated. His eyes darted to the side. Then—a guilty smile.

Your stomach dropped.

“I may have tripped and somehow landed on your bed, and somehow the diary was open, and somehow my eyes just happened to read the page about how much you love my arms—”

“CALEB.” You pushed him away (he immediately latched back on). “You read my diary?!”

“Hey, hey, don’t be mad!” He tightened his hold, nuzzling into your neck. “I love you even more now! You think I’m devastatingly handsome, and I quote—”

You groaned. “Caleb, you absolute menace—!”

“You wrote a whole paragraph about my voice, pipsqueak” He grinned, shameless. “I didn’t even know you paid attention to—”

“You’re dead to me.”

"Noooo!" He practically climbed into your lap, pulling your arms around him like you had to hold him. “You can’t be mad at me! I am your devastatingly handsome boyfriend, after all—”

"You know what this means." You cut him off, smirking.

"You’re my slave for a whole week."

Caleb gaped at you. “That’s cruel.”

"You deserve it."

"But—"

"You will be fetching me snacks, running my baths, giving me foot rubs, carrying my bag—"

“This is inhumane.”

"Oh, I’m not done." You grinned wickedly. "You will also cook me breakfast every morning, write me a love letter every night, carry me whenever I want, and—oh, this is my favorite part—you will officially be my personal hype man. If I so much as walk into a room, you will dramatically announce my presence and remind everyone that I’m the most beautiful person alive."

Caleb’s jaw dropped.

"You’re insane."

"You read my diary."

"...Fair."

"Oh, and one more thing," you added. "You're now on kiss restriction for three days."

His entire world shattered. "WHAT?!"

"That's right." You tapped his nose condescendingly. "No kisses. No cuddles unless I initiate them. No sweet-talking your way out of this, Mr. Snoops-Through-My-Diary."

He groaned, flopping back onto the couch. "I regret everything."

"You should." You smirked, patting his cheek.

But deep down, you knew Caleb was about to be the most over-the-top servant in history. And honestly? You were so ready for it.

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novelistwriter · 4 months ago

Text

Drowsy King

DP x DC Prompt

Danny was completely tired, his Ghost King duties, his schoolwork, and avoiding the GIW and his parents have completely exhausted him. He just wants to sleep, but he can't. Things need to be done,and he's the only one who can get them done. Jazz, Sam, and Tucker are looking forward to their futures, and he doesn't want to drag them into his problems more than he already has.

Clockwork, seeing the timeline unfold down a path that will cause the young Halfa to break down and fade away, steps in and proposes an idea that will surely help the young Halfa King with no strings attached (other than Danny gaining others that care for him, no matter what).

Clockwork will send Danny to a new dimension to sleep for as long as he wants whenever he wants. He will also return to his dimension at the time Danny tells Clockwork to bring him back.

Danny had been moved to the dimension Clockwork chose. The room he finds himself in is decorated with elegant yet simple looking decor, but he's not looking at the decor. He immediately flopped onto the bed (which was so very soft and comfortable) and immediately fell asleep, not knowing that he's in an underground chamber Clockwork made for him somewhere that isn't near any big settlements.

Cue someone of the Hero community in the DC world stumbling across Danny as he sleeps during one of his stays in their world just to sleep.

Some research was done on who the sleeping boy is by the Justice League, and then learning that the boy is a deity of all the deities (Clockwork implanting snippets of Danny's life, as Ghost King, across the many time periods of the DC world so he isn't too badly received by the inhabitants), which causes them to freak out a bit, as they learned that if he is woken up before he has gotten his rest, he will cause trouble (Again, Clockwork's doing, but the Time Ghost being a bit of a troll, as the most damage Danny would do is causing the area around his underground chamber to be in a permanent winter storm until he is fully rested, Clockwork even gave Danny some Titles that Danny will gain through the beliefs of the masses in the DC world, Benevolent King of the Dead, Intelligent Craftsman, Bringer of the Ice Age, Origin of Lazarus).

Of course, the Justice League couldn't keep the existence of Danny a secret, and now people have begun to leave offerings to the slumbering God. When Danny eventually wakes up from his slumber, he is surprised to see that there are many things left for him, mainly food, but he's not complaining. After eating most of the food left for him and sending the other stuff that isn't food to his Keep, he is sent back to his home dimension and goes about his life. The people of the DC world await his return, as Clockwork even left behind an explanation on why Danny won't be there at all times. "When the slumbering King awakes, he shall return to his duties of protecting his subjects and return to his chambers to slumber again when he accomplishes his goals"

And then a bad reveal happens. Danny is badly injured and is heading to the one place he knows that he will be safe. The dimension that Clockwork picked out for him to sleep in.

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcu #ghost king danny #dp crossover #dp x dc prompt

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moonstruckme · 8 months ago

Note

Hi!! Could you please write something for Spencer where r is used to men being like really loud and rough and all that (maybe bc of her father or smth) and just her getting used to how gentle Spencer is and almost thinking it’s too good to be true?

Thank you for requesting angel <3

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 905 words

It happens when you’re still half asleep. You fumble for your phone on Spencer’s nightstand, your alarm chiming, and knock a picture frame off instead. You’re fully awake by the time you hear the sound of glass shattering against the floor.

You mumble a curse. Spencer hums questioningly into his pillow.

You get down from the bed, managing to step over the glass, but you’re not thinking clearly enough. When you sink onto your knees, little shards prick the skin. You pick the frame up carefully. It’s a picture of Spencer and his mom. An old one, of her chasing a three or four-year-old Spencer around someone’s yard. They’re both laughing, her arms outstretched towards him and his face turning to look over his shoulder. It’s obviously a sentimental photo.

Your cursing intensifies, though you keep it internal now. You feel awful.

Spencer’s head appears over the edge of the bed as you’re scraping the glass into a pile. His eyes are half-open, expression still weighted with drowsiness.

“What happened?” he asks.

There’s no accusation in his tone, but you feel suddenly teary. You haven’t fought with Spencer yet, and you weren’t expecting to be yelled at first thing this morning. You suppose you’ve earned it, though.

“Spence, I’m so sorry.”

“What are you doing?”

“I—I knocked over your picture. The frame broke. I feel awful, I’ll get you a new one o—or I can replace the glass if the frame is important to you.”

“What?” Spencer blinks, brows furrowed as though he’s having trouble grasping this. “No, it’s—stop. Don’t do that.”

You still, looking up at him hesitantly with your hands cupped around the glass pile. “What do you want me to do?”

“You can’t clean glass up with your hands.” He shuffles his way out from under the covers, taking a big step over the class to stand behind you. His hands wrap around your elbows. “Get away from there.”

His tone conveys some upset, but not nearly as much as you were prepared for. And his grip on your arms is gentle. You can’t make sense of it.

You let him guide you into the bathroom, sitting up on the counter when he prompts you. Spencer takes your hands in his, looking them over and brushing his fingers lightly across your palms before determining there’s no glass in them. His eyes skim you over. When they land on your knees, his expression pinches.

“Why did you do this?” You expect him to grasp your knee roughly, but his fingers wrap around it with care, thumb rubbing over the soft underside as though to soothe you.

“I wasn’t thinking,” you say softly. “I feel so bad about the picture with your mom, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Spencer sounds surprised. His eyes flit up to yours, soft brown, curious. “I can get a new frame. You didn’t need to hurt yourself.”

“Well, I didn’t do it on purpose.” Your voice drops to a murmur as Spencer bends down, opening a drawer to take out first aid supplies.

He pulls each tiny piece of glass from your knees with heart-aching care. One hand stays on the back of whichever knee he’s working on, to steady him and to comfort you, and it’s a slow, attentive, tender process. Gradually, a realization seeps into you.

Spencer isn’t going to blow up at you. Maybe someday, but not about this, not over just anything. You’re not sure how you could have been so expectant of someone who’s been nothing but kind and gentle with you turning harsh and forceful at the first upset.

You don’t even wince as Spencer cleans up your knees. He’s careful to give you no reason to, every touch considerate and sweet. He straightens after smoothing bandages over the cuts, still holding your lower thighs in his hands.

“That wasn’t a very nice way to wake up,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, but you hold your arms out for a hug anyway.

Spencer’s happy to oblige you, his hips fitting between your legs and palms sliding across your back. He smells like sleep. You hook your chin over his shoulder, contentment filling your belly like warm honey.

“You seemed upset,” he murmurs, a question if you choose to answer it.

“I was nervous,” you admit. “I thought you’d be mad.”

“For knocking the frame over?”

“Mhm. I still feel really bad.”

Spencer draws a line between your shoulders. “Don’t feel bad. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

You hum. “You’re a lot less loud than most guys, do you know that?”

He pauses. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No.” You pull away from him, cradling his face in your hand. “I’m just not used to it, is all. I keep expecting you to yell at me, but that doesn’t seem like it’s really your thing.”

“I guess I don’t think of it as my thing,” Spencer agrees, mouth curving as he repeats your words. “My mom says I was always a quiet kid. I guess I just never thought yelling would get me anywhere.”

“Don’t start.” You grin, and his cheek dimples under your palm. “I like you like this.”

“Okay, I’ll try not to.” He tilts his face into your touch. His hands drop back to your knees, skimming down the unharmed sides next to the bandages. “And you shouldn’t get angry at yourself on my behalf anymore, either.”

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fear-is-truth · 6 months ago

Text

𐙚⋆˙j’s note: found this in the drafts lol. warning: mature content 18+ cockwarming﹒nsfw

waking up to the glorious feeling of your boyfriend’s cock snuggled deep inside of you, filling you to the brim.

you’re impossibly tired, head resting against rafe’s shoulder, eyes closed in protest of the morning light streaming through the windows. clinging to him like a koala bear to a tree, arms draped around his neck and legs locked around his waist. his bare chest is warm against your body, skin still carrying the faint scent of sex, sweat and cologne. one hand is firmly gripping your thigh to keep you supported, while the other is busy rummaging through the top drawer of the dresser, muttering under his breath about something he can’t find.

“rafe,” you mumble sleepily, lips muffled against his skin as you cling tighter. he lets out a low, raspy laugh, his morning voice impossibly sexy.

“you awake, clingy girl? thought you were still knocked out.” too tired to respond properly, you tighten your hold on him, legs squeezing his waist. he shifts slightly, adjusting you on his hip without pausing his search.

“what are you looking for?”

“my wallet,” he replies, glancing down at you. “unless you hid it somewhere.”

“didn’t hide anything,” you mumble, pressing a lazy kiss to his collarbone. “jus stay here with me.”

“princess, i’m literally inside you while i multitask,” he pulls open another drawer. his grip on your thigh tightens slightly as he makes sure you’re secure. as he does this, the angle of his cock inside you shifts; prompting a weak whimper to escape your lips. rafe sucks in a deep breath.

“what more do you want?” he chides, his tone laced with mock exasperation. a sudden twitch of his cock makes you both groan in unison.

“for you to stop moving,”

“princess, you can’t just hang on me all day,”

“yes, i can,” you insist, your words slurred with drowsiness. “you’re comfy.” rafe lets out a low chuckle, pausing his search to glance at you.

“you’re impossible, you know that? i’ve got shit to do.”

“you can do them with me right here,” you insist, clenching around him. his free hand finally snags his wallet from the drawer before sliding the drawer shut with his hip.

“so this is it, huh? i’m just your personal mode of transportation now?” rafe shakes his head, but his hold on you stays firm as he starts moving around the room, grabbing his phone and a hoodie.

“uh-huh,” you murmur, nuzzling into his neck as if to make your point. “and i’m not getting off, so don’t even try.”

“yeah, yeah,” he drawls, rolling his eyes as he adjusts his grip on your thigh.

“but if you fall asleep on me, i’m pulling out.”

“you wouldn’t dare,” you reply, cracking one eye open to glare at him.

“try me,” he teases, though the slight curve gracing his lips as he leans down to kiss you tell you he’s full of it.

#rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron blurb #rafe obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe smut #rafe x reader #bf!rafe #drew starkey #rafe cameron x you #drew starkey x reader

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whumpuary · 7 months ago

Text

Whumpuary 2025!

(edit in case anyone actually reads this, i messed up and put "i'm fine" in twice for day 25 and alt prompt, so either ignore that or you can use "do it" as an additional alt prompt)

these prompts came together through community submissions and then a voting form where people voted for their favorites, here are the top 53 prompts

i want to try a slightly new format where there are still only 15 days for creation prompts but with additional community prompts/questions. those are entirely voluntary but are here to possibly inspire some community interaction and trying new things

i'm excited to see some awesome creations in january!

go here for info/rules/tagging go here for faqs

(note: number 31 is not a creation prompt and therefore not required to complete the challenge, it's just colored black so the colors add up)

text version of the prompts and rules is under the cut

(image description note: there are 31 numbered prompts, on each odd number the text color is black and on even numbers the text color is white)

Whumpuary 2025

a whump-themed multi media creation event for january

create for at least one prompt from each odd/black number to complete the challenge community prompts (even/white) numbers are voluntary

main prompts

alt prompts

hiding impaled "i'm fine" rain betrayal hair pulling darkness falling (added later, not in the image: "do it")

rules & info

-any medium is allowed (art, writing, gifs, edits, ...) -prompts are open for interpretation (but the context does have to be whumpy) -create for at least one of three prompts on creation prompt days (black/odd numbers) to complete the challenge -if you're not aiming for completionist you can do however many prompts you want any way you want -community prompts (white/even numbers) are voluntary and don't count for completionist (but can be combined with creation prompts if applicable) -use alt prompts to replace main prompts you don't like some works posted on tumblr will be reblogged if tagged correctly -#whumpuary2025 -#whumpuaryno1 (number of the prompt(s)) -#sacrifice #head injury #"i'm fine" (the prompt(s) you're using) -any trigger/content warning tags -any additional tags (fandom, oc, other used tropes, ...)

#whumpuary #whumpuary2025 #whump #whump community #whumplr #whumpuary prompts #whumpuary2025 prompts

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silicon-puppy-pudding · 4 days ago

Text

Dpxdc prompt? Snippet? Idk?

I've had this scene stuck in my head for so long idk what to do with it so yall can have it.

~~~~~~~◇~~•~~◇~~~~~~{☆}~~~~~~◇~~•~~◇~~~~~~~

"We...may need to call on Phantom for this."

Batman grumbled at Constantine's remark. Up until now they hadn't had any issues with ghosts and he was hoping it would be longer before they needed to pull Phantom in for his expertise.

It had only been a month since King Phantom and his children came crashing into their dimension. Their ship had come out of a Lazarus green portal that spontaneously appeared in the lower atmosphere just outside of Gotham. Batman had called the League for potential backup and ended up surrounding the strange craft with Superman, Green Lantern, Martin Manhunter, and Zatanna for magical support.

They were not expecting a child, one no older then 6 or 7, with pearlescent white hair and striking green eyes to come tumbling out and crying for them to help her father.

Superman stood up from his place at the meeting room table with the grace of a man who didn't feel comfortable pestering an eldritch god of a man until it was absolutely necessary, "Are we sure this is a ghost? It could very well be something else-"

"Oh it's definitely a ghost," Constantine cut him off, taking a drag of his (against league policy) lit cigarette and blowing the smoke up at the ceiling, "There's no mistaken it. Even before Phantom's little 'crash course' on ghosts I coulda told ya that."

Batman looked over the blurry images on screen. They were of what looked to be two individuals riding a motorcycle at dangerous speeds through Metropolis. Superman had told them they hadn't hurt anyone directly but had caused a few minor crashes and were a general pain to interact with. Just like Phantom had told them, they couldn't be picked up clearly on any modern cameras and Superman hadn't had any luck capturing them. They simply slipped through a wall or disappeared around a block. It had been a week of this and Clark had finally given up and called for assistance.

"Isn't it like, 4am in Gotham?" Flash asked, leaning back in his chair, "Wouldn't he be asleep or something? Does he sleep?" The last bit he mostly asked to himself.

"Yes, he does," Batman answered, much to the confusion of Flash. "I'll make the call."

After a few rings the line picked up to a slightly slurred and staticky, "Hello?"

"Phantom, are you available at the moment. We think we may have...a ghost problem. In Metropolis."

A pause. Then a tired sigh came through the line, "Alright, give me 10 minutes." And the call ended.

Superman shifted uncomfortably, "It sounded like you woke him up." Of course he was listening. Batman glared at him, then turned to the rest of the gathered league, "He'll be here in 10 minutes."

About 6 minutes later a portal ripped itself open next to the window of the meeting room and out stepped Phantom, looking less drowsy then he sounded. Clinging to his back (to the League's surprise) was his oldest, Dante. And cradled in his arms, wrapped against his chest with his cape was his youngest, Eleonora, (they're only a month apart but Dante would throw a fit if he wasn't referred to as oldest sibling)

With a jaw cracking yawn Phantom stepped forward towards the meeting table, "Sorry, I hope it's alright I brought the kids." He started, running a hand through his daughter's hair, "Elly just had a nightmare and Dan didn't want to be left alone."

Over his shoulder, the little prince grumbled something about 'too quiet' and 'bad memories' and wasn't that mildly concerning.

"It's alright, you're majesty." Superman stood and gave Phantom a nervous smile. He didn't not trust the man but anything magical and/or supernatural tended to make even him nervous, "We know we called you quiet early and out of the blue... Sorry about waking you up,"

Phantom waved him off with another yawn, "Nah, it's fine, you didn't wake me. I was already up with Elly when you called." At her names mention, the little princess shifted and let out a small whimper. Phantom sighed and then a rumbling sound started up in his chest that sounded a lot like purring. At the noise, little Elly settled down again.

It was sweet, seeing this supposedly all powerful being just being a single father. A few days after the king was treated in the Watchtower's medical facility, they got a taste of what Phantom was capable of when a small armada of alien ships decided now was the best time to attack Earth.

The League had been gathered to discuss how to proceed when Phantom had stepped in and offered his assistance. "I owe you all for saving me," he had argued when they tried to refuse.

15 minutes

It took King Phantom 15 minutes (and 25 seconds) to have the aliens running with their tail between their legs. Debris from the lead ship unrecognizable.

"Alright, now what's this 'ghost problem' you need me for?" At that, the League (mostly Superman, considering it was in his city) explained the situation to their resident 'Ghost expert'.

~~~~~~~◇~~•~~◇~~~~~~{☆}~~~~~~◇~~•~~◇~~~~~~~

And that's it, idk where this was going but now it's out of my brain

And my hands

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #ghost king danny #Danny had to stabilize both Elly and Dan at some point so they're little now #and his kids #maybe possibile Spirit Halloween ship idk #kinda obsessed with big scary men being soft to their kids

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deadghosy · 1 year ago

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Since your stuck I decided to help you out with the power of creativity!

How would characters of Hazbin Hotel react to Swan/Duck reader it's branching from penguin reader with how she got stuck in hell for a while

The power mainly focuses on them flying and wind magic ect!

REMINDER: REQUESTS ARE CLOSED‼️

HAZBIN HOTEL X DUCK! READER

Warning: yandere themes.

prompt: a common mistake made your life eventual as people started to fawn over you

You were supposed to be in heaven…BUT NOOOO, they sent you to hell because they mistook you for someone else. They could’ve just said they were full like a night club…

So now you are in a pond swimming around peacefully. But there’s always a man with a hat and an apple cane that comes to see you literally everyday. You don’t know who he is, but he got attached badly. He would bring bread and show you rubber ducks with an awkward smile.

You just go over to him and eat the bread. You never learned how to talk since birth since your mother abused you. Being jealous of your pure soul and natural beauty. She always told you to shush. Making the sour taste in your mouth sting to never talk.

Eventually the man introduced himself as Lucifer, that’s when it hit you that this man was the first fallen angel, and king of hell. He must have seen your eyes widen in shock. “You can understand me?” He asked you as he scratched under your beak making you lean in his touch. You nodded as he smiles showing his sharp teeth.

“That’s even bettter.” He said

Two days after that, you were literally sleeping when you woke up to feel two hands pick you up, it was Lucifer who cooed at your drowsy face as he takes you to a hotel. Were you finally getting a place to stay instead of outside?

“Listen, my daughter has a dream…to redeem sinners…I wanna believe in her, but our people chose to make hell this way.” He says with a somber look. He took you inside to see basically a female version of Lucifer but more cheery looking as she gasped at you. “Dad? Is that the duck you’ve been talking about?! Aww they’re soooo cute!” She says as she holds you.

And that’s your story of how now you are basically part of the hotel’s family.

I imagine you just getting prince/princess treatment everyday from the hotel and Lucifer himself as he literally trims your duck fur as you just sit there on a fancy ass pillow.

I headcannon that angel dust buys you shades a lot because your yellow/white feathers is so majestic, he just had to make you even more bad ass.

Angel dust loves how high headed you are, not letting anyone tear you down even with a word. He admires you, so he wants you to admire him as well.

I headcannon for you to deadass have an attitude when bothered. Literally Alastor wanted to see what was so special about you. And so he woke you up from your beauty sleep making you go haywire on him.

You pecked him as he tried to hit you, possibly trying to injure you only to injure himself as he came out pissed off with a smile. He definitely spit out a feather as you quacked out a laugh as if this shit was looney tunes.

Charlie always rants to you about her days and how her and vaggie’s relationship is going. Charlie was notified by her father that you can understand her. She doubted it at first, but when you actually nodded she gasped shocked with stars in her eyes.

You and Charlie grew close…to the point she was almost like her father. Constantly checking up on you, feeding you. Watching you. You tried to push it off…but it was kinda unsettling.

You could obviously fly, which you do around the hotel to spread your wings. But when you fly you have a glowing yellow light around you.

I can see you just chilling at the bar as residents come in and out as you just get petted as husk grumbles a little and also pets you. Husk was immediately enchanted by your soft duck feathers

You love to make small tornados at sinners who cause trouble in the hotel. You are the hotel’s duck, so you must at least protect the guests at least.

Vaggie is the one to always make sure to research what ducks eat before making sure you can eat them. She likes how you make everyone feel fuzzy and warm inside. Even her.

You damn well hated that you died into a duck body..but it felt nice knowing that you couldn’t just live the possible human or at least whatever you are. Demon or angel. You could possibly be in a pond sleeping and eating bread all damn day.

I imagine Sir Pentious had put a top hat on you that’s similar like the ones his egg boiz wear. So he loves to have you around when he builds things.

You doze off like this and it’s so cute to the point they will record and take a picture of you. (If you don’t wanna click link, it’s a duck nodding its head off until it goes limp since the duck is tired)

I headcannon Alastor to hate you at first and want to cook you for duck stew, but then he falls in love with how entertaining and smart you are. You technically aren’t just a mere duck.

I can see you just making small hurricanes in your bath tub when niffty has to wash you. You once accidentally splashed her. But she chuckled splashing you.

A sinner once tried to take you from the hotel’s pond that Lucifer made for you only be found 30 secs later taking you.

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TOUCHING MY DUCKLING?!” Lucifer yells angrily at the sinner who got knocked flat on their ass. His demon form was coming out as fire spits out his mouth when he huffed.

You did a comedic side eye at Lucifer who was acting possessive as hell itself. You didn’t even know what to do as this man kept holding you like a pet duck you seen fat white men do in the streets.

The sinner didn’t live after that.

I can see husk just petting you softly and then eventually just falling asleep on your body. Like his head is on your body as you just watch hell tv as he snores. Oddly comfortable in your soft feathers.

You literally waddle around the hotel wearing a cute scarf with your favorite color. Alastor oddly knitted it for you like a old grandma to their grandchild 😭

I imagine you just side eyeing Lucifer as he suddenly had the urge to read more information about ducks and how their eggs look. So imagine how Lucifer would act if you pregnant. But the thing is, you rather die then be in pain in birth.

Lucifer makes you a lot of blue things to remind you of a pond since that was the place you chill in a lot. It was to the poke Charlie and Lucifer nodded to make you a pond in the backside of the hotel. It’s your little chill haven.

You felt pissy one day because your feathers were molting..so the wind outside was heavy cause your feathers were just falling and you hated it. You felt insecure but the crew felt your feelings and started to cheer you up. Soon or later, your new feathers came back quickly.

The Vee’s had definitely notice your presence since you first came here. I mean who the hell looks like a damn duck down here with pure beautiful feathers that remind them of so called heaven.

I can see the Vee’s and you having the relationship where it’s basically like team rocket and pikachu type troupe. 😭 they always fail trying to kidnap you because you literally put out ducks that look like you and they fall for it, EVERY SINGLE TIME-

I headcannon you have a ribbon your favorite color wrapped around your neck like a bow or collar with your name on it❤️

Vox had literally set his drone to spy on you as he watches with a sick grin at how adorable and elegant you looked just swimming in your sweet pond and how you just outsmart Alastor.

Imagine how badass you are to suddenly turn big in size because the hotel was being threatened. So you literally grew in a size of the hotel building and flapped your wings to fly them bitches to who knows nowhere.

If you were on the same branch, you would definitely be the older sister of penguin! Reader if it was lore type shit 😭 you don’t play no games about your emotions as you are always observing

LOL IMAGINE YOU WADDLING TO GO TO THE BATHROOM LIKE A HUMAN AND THE EGG BOIZ JUST FOLLOW AFTER YOU AS IF YOU WERE THEIR MOTHER-

The Vee’s definitely sneak on you by Vox’s drone that swarms around your pond without your knowledge.

Velvette literally sends you nice outfits your size. Literally cute outfits where the holes are for your wings so you can fly and look drippy as hell.

See I could definitely imagine you sneaking out the hotel to just get hooked up with your new outfit stylist which is Velvette now.

Vox

Imagine how cold the state duck! Reader has (hear me out, edit audio type shit starts playing-)

I can see you just swimming and Lucifer takes a picture of you, admiring your beauty in place as you just flock around your damn pond. “That’s my baby….” He says wiping a dramatic tear from his eyes.

Valentino. Now I won’t say he would be obsessed romantically but more platonically as he would love for you to be part of his life as his pet only. Like an actual pet he would take care of.

I headcannon Alastor actually tried to feed you some bread…and you accepted it making Alastor smile wildly at how you trusted him getting close to you for one.

Lmao you literally did some Wingardium Leviosa ass shit on someone because you didn’t like how they looked at you 😭

You literally are so coddled and spoiled…it was to the point you would be walking or more like waddling down the damn streets alone and people would aw at your beauty and gracious. It’s overwhelming, but at least you know people won’t fuck with you.

But people just never learnt to keep their hands off of a beautiful creature.

Once Adam got sent down to find an angel that was suppose to be in heaven. He didn’t except for you to be a fuckin duck. So he laughed and took you up with ease as you quacked furiously, trying to get at least someone’s attention.

It was too late as Lucifer sees you get flown up into the heaven portal. Lucifer dropped the tray of lemonade in shock to see his beloved flying into the portal. Lucifer felt his heart squeeze knowing that the bastard knew he couldn’t get into heaven.

Lucifer quickly spout out his wings and fly sharply towards adam’s fading figure. Adam snickers seeing Lucifer’s anger in his glowing red eyes. He turned around and waved you around to taunt Lucifer as you had a “I don’t have time for this…” face. Literally you pecked Adam’s face and hands making Adam spazz out and throw you at Lucifer’s face.

“FINE! TAKE YOUR DUMB ASS DUCK!” Adam yells as he flies off grumbling about making you into duck stew

So Lucifer was happy with a derpy expression and calmed down holding you. He got even more protective as he makes sure you are watched 24/7. He wanted to give you freedom…but after that stunt Adam did. He’s not letting anyone touch you without his permission. Of course his daughter can though!

But what if Adam had succeeded in his capture of you, things would be most likely how it was in hell….just more clean and healthy.

St. Peter definitely greeted you with a warm smile as you didn’t….you didn’t like how he just sassed you and let you fall to hell. So of course it was rocky, but soon or later you two got along since he brides you with bread. He soon gets obsessed with how you get so trusting over things. He uses that to his advantages.

Sera greets you with open arms, literally as she picks you up. Cooing at your pure yellow/white feathers that matches the aesthetic of heaven. You match perfectly here as your angel form is two pair of wings. Your normal duck wings and angel wings. You are the most beautiful angel she ever met and laid eyes on as she shows you around heaven. Every part and area of it. This shall be your new home.

Emily won’t be a crazyyy person over you. As I can see her being a light hearted person who doesn’t love bomb you in a manipulative manner but only wants to be your friend in a loving way. She finds you amazing at how smart and caring you are towards her as you visit her and she visits you back. She brings you every bread know to man and heaven as she noticed you like bread. You and her are clearly amazing friends to each other.

The Angels adore your every movement as if you were also a god/godesss. You were confused at this attention. It was way more overwhelming when you were in hell with the others. Just like how the penguin! Reader was, you made a social media account and half of heaven followed you. It was an insane amount of followers that you didn’t mean to have. But the angels love to greet you as you fly/walk by. With you being so graceful here, who wouldn’t say you belonged here.

Adam most definitely is possessive and always manipulates you into thinking he is superior. He forces himself to be your caretaker, he literally makes you stay in his place all day and all time watched over. He feels the need to control your very bidding and movement as this dickhead degrades you to make you feel useless. It sometimes works, but sometimes doesn’t.

Lute is a controlling person who sees your intelligence as a threat as she wants to break you into her clasp. She’s the second most controlling than Adam. But she’s an overwhelming controlling as she wants you you to see her as your protector and person you can be dependent on at all times. She wants you to be able to tell her everything you know so she can just please you.

Adam finds it amusing at how you got use it heaven so quick despite this new attention. You literally sit on his lap napping as he lounges on the couch. Basically watching sports or whatever.

You can’t help but think, “why am I even surprised.”

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rafesteddy · 2 months ago

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+18 -> smut | getting your nails done + rafe enjoying the way you leave scratches on his back/shamelessly showing them off in the locker room

𝓱𝓸𝓬𝓴𝓮𝔂!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝔁 𝔀𝓪𝓰!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

c/w: jealousy, ownership, swearing, pet names, scratching, marking, sucking fingers, fingering, massage, sexting, exchanging nudes, *cross-posted on my NHL account*

1.7K

⋆｡ °✩⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨୧⋆ ｡˚ ⋆✩° ｡⋆ at the nail salon

You look up at the TV, watching as the camera pans across the ice, and then, as expected, the focus shifts to Rafe. He steps off the ice, his damp fringe falling across his forehead as he bites and slides off his glove, breathing heavily.

The stunning reporter steps forward with her microphone, her smile practically gleaming under the bright arena lights. “You’re going for the big win tonight. How’s the energy in the locker room?” Her voice is sticky-sweet. She tilts her head when she looks at him, her interest in the handsome Defenseman bleeding through her thin veil of professionalism.

Rafe, to his credit, is polite but unmoved. “Energy’s good,” he says, his tone cool, efficient. “We’re focused.”

“And if you guys pull off the win, any big plans to celebrate?” Her lashes flutter as her body angles toward him more, hoping for a little extra charm.

Rafe gives her a small, polite smile. “The usual,” he says simply.

The reporter blinks, clearly hoping for more. “Well there’s a lot to do in Vegas. The usual? Do you have something you usually do when you’re here?” She prompts, laughing lightly.“Just hanging out with my girl.”

⋆｡ °✩⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨୧⋆ ｡˚ ⋆✩° ｡⋆ back at the hotel

Rafe had just finished showering, his hair curling at the ends as he walks over, already reaching for your hands. “Lemme see,” he murmurs, taking your fingers in his own. He turns them over, inspecting your fresh set like it’s the prettiest thing in the world. “Pink? I love it.”

“It’s the color–”

“Of my tip?” He chuckles, putting two and two together.

“How did you know that?” You tease as you run your hands down his strong chest.

“Well I’ve looked at it a few times, princess,” he rasps, letting out a breathy chuckle.

“Approved?”

“Definitely,” he mumbles, and like clockwork, he starts rolling out his neck and his shoulders, wincing in pain. You raise your brow at him, trying not to laugh at his predictability.

“Yeah, baby?”

Rafe just shrugs, feigning innocence. “You know how it goes,” he says through a boyish smile.

“Mhmm…” You hum, reaching for the hem of his shirt, helping him out of it as always.

Rafe’s skin is still warm from the shower, his tight muscles melting already from the slightest touch from you. As soon as he hits the hotel bed he lets out a deep, contented sigh, lazily sprawling out on his stomach.

His beautiful blue eyes follow you as you crawl onto the bed; his smile spreads wider as you move closer and closer until you’re climbing on, running your fingers down his strong back, watching as goosebumps spread across his dewy skin. Rafe shivers, letting out a groan that sends heat coursing through you.

“Fuck, baby,” he moans at the slightest touch.

“You’re so easy,” you tease, dragging my nails over his broad shoulders before pressing them into the tight knots you knew you’d find.

“Shittt,” he chuckles, exhaling sharply as you nail that perfect spot, working out the tension. “Feels so fucking good, pretty,” he mutters, voice muffled against the plush comforter.

You let your finger drift into his damp hair, scratching your manicured fingers against his scalp. “Fuck me,” he groans, turning his heavy head slightly, eyes half-lidded. “I love when you get your nails done,” he murmurs, voice drowsy, utterly relaxed beneath your touch as he lets out a little yawn.

You smile as you twirl your fingers through his hair. “Yeah, baby?”

“Fuck yeah,” he sighs, letting his heavy eyes fall closed. “Shit, princess, they’re kinda sharp. You should keep ‘em like this forever.”

Leaning down to press a kiss to the back of his neck, feeling his slow, leveled pulse thump under your lips. “I’ll think about it.”

Rafe hums in reply, already halfway asleep, completely at peace. “Gotta keep me up, princess,” he huffs. “I’m gonna pass the fuck out.”

You press your nails a little harder into his back, making his muscles tense for a second before he softens into the mattress. “Too much?” You ask, pausing slightly.

“No–No, keep goin’,” he murmurs, voice rough with contentment. “S’perfect.”

You smile as you watch the faint red marks appear where your nails drug down, the contrast between his skin and the marks leaving you oddly satisfied. Your mind drifts for a moment as you glance up at the TV, watching some highlights from the last King’s game, before the camera throws back to the reporter from this morning.

The interview from earlier plays again on mute—and the way she’s leaning in is just a little too much; the way she practically preened when Rafe gave her the slightest smile boiling your blood.

Would she try again after the game tonight? Probably.

“Fuck,” Rafe hisses as you find yourself so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t realize how hard you had dug into his skin until it had already happened.

“Oh, shit–” You gasp, but Rafe just laughs, shifting slightly underneath you as he cranks his neck a little more to look back at you.

“Don’t stop,” he assures, his voice dazed out but amused nonetheless.

You chuckle and shake your head, letting your nails trail more deliberately over his tight skin. Your pointer finger traces from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, following the place where CAMERON usually sits on gameday.

You scratch your nails into his skin–digging your initials in–watching as they shift red. Rafe lets out a deep, knowing laugh, his voice vibrating through his chest. “I know what you’re doing, baby,” he bullies.

You giggle breathily, leaning down until your lips brush against the shell of his ear, tits pressed against him. “I got a little jealous today,” you admit.

“Really?” He drags out the word, completely aware.

“Yeah,” you whisper against his hot skin, trailing soft kisses down his neck. Your fingers continue to work the muscles in his shoulders, kneading out the tension as your mouth moves lower. You hit the perfect spot, sitting right above where you know the collar of his sweater will sit.

He doesn’t stop you, instead slithering his hand behind his back, slipping under the band of your shorts and panties, finding your clit.

You suck down on his neck as he rolls his fingers on top of your sex, groaning when he feels just how wet you are; knowing this close to the game time, he’ll have to wait to sink his thick dick deep, but he loves to tease.

“Roll over,” you whisper, watching as Rafe obeys without hesitation. His fingers find you fast, slipping your little shorts to the side this time. Rafe dips the tip of his thick finger in your soaked hole, his pretty blue eyes rolling back at the feeling of your body, so warm and wet.

You tilt in, pressing your lips to his, slow and deep, savoring how he quickly wraps his other arm around you, pulling you in.

He sighs against your lips, his fingers pushing deep, soaking his digits with your essence. “I don’t know why I do this to myself,” he chuckles as he continues to torment himself with the thought of ruining you before his game.

“All night long?”

“All night long, princess.”

You pull back, resting your hands on his firm chest. Rafe looks up at you as you trace your fingers higher, circling the hickey forming on his neck.

“You know,” he starts, his voice low and rough, “you always tease me for liking to mark you up…”

“Because you do,” you giggle breathily as you watch a smirk spread on his kiss-swollen lips.

“Yeah, I do. And now you’re over here claiming me like you’re all kinds of territorial or somethin’.”

“I am,” you smile.

Rafe chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “I love it when you wear my jersey,” he murmurs, one hand drifting up your back again. “You think it’s just because I like how you look in it, but nah… I love marking you, too. Anyway, I can.”

His fingers slid down your arm, slow and deliberate, before reaching your hand. He lifts your hand, pressing soft kisses on your fingers, slipping your middle and ring fingers in his mouth as he looks up at you.

“I’m gonna put a ring on this finger on day,” he murmurs, his voice warm and confident. “Mark you up some more.”

⋆｡ °✩⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨୧⋆ ｡˚ ⋆✩° ｡⋆ after the game

Rafe steps closer to his stall, pulling off his jersey, aware–more than usual—as the cameras linger. He peels off his compression shirt, dragging it over his head slowly and deliberately. The cool air hits his skin as he drops the fabric to the bench beside him before turning around fast–thin, perfect lines left behind by your nails shamelessly shown.

He runs his fingers through his hair, smiling at something someone said before tossing a wink their way; one of the players in the locker room no doubt saying some shit about it already. The second the red light on the camera cuts and the reporter and crew leaves, the chirping starts.

“Jesus, Rafey,” one of the guys laughs. “You get in a fight we didn’t see?”

Another voice chimes in, laughing. “Nah, those aren’t from the game, boys.”

Rafe rolls his eyes, reaching for a towel as another teammate whistles low. “And the hickey?”

“Enough, Rafe,” mumbles smugly.

“Blushing like a slut, bud.”

The dressing room erupts in laughter and groans, somewhere between teasing and outright jealousy.

“Settle down, aight?” Rafe laughs.

“The placement—someone sending a message?” Kelce adds as he gives him a knowing glance. Rafe smiles, shaking his head as he wipes his face, trying to hide it. “He fuckin’ loves it—”

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Rafe mutters, but he doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t even bother because Kelce’s right. He fuckin’ loves it.

#hockey!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #hockey!rafe #rafe blurb 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹#my library ᝰ.ᐟ #rafe cameron #rafe #rafe smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader

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rosierin · 20 days ago

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clearing up the air | suna, atsumu

synopsis; (y/n) and suna have a chat about the time they almost hooked up. meanwhile, unbeknownst to them, atsumu is spiralling over it and decides to confront (y/n).

a/n; this fic is told from two povs: (y/n)'s and atsumu's

a part two of just a kiss (it wasn't)

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

Honestly? (y/n) couldn't quite get over it.

Not that it was a massive deal. Telling the twins about her kiss with Suna wasn't worth all the fuss. It happened years ago, tucked away in a quiet part of her memory. Not forgotten, but simply... left to be. To exist and occasionally reminisce when nostalgia came to pay her mind a visit.

She hadn't given them the full story. Just enough to shock, to start a conversation full of playful teasing and knowing glances. She didn't go into detail. Didn't need to. The lack-of left the implications hanging heavily in the air. And she liked it that way, liked that it still somewhat remained Suna and hers little secret.

Speaking of... she had barely spoken to the latter all evening. After their revelation, the four of them had gone back to watching another movie. An action this time, as opposed to the flowery romance that had prompted the conversation in the first place. Eventually, Osamu had started yawning, which set off a sleepy chain reaction. One yawn, then another—until they were all moving in slow, drowsy sync. As if someone had cast a spell over the apartment.

They’d scattered shortly after. Osamu and Suna had disappeared into the shared bathroom, while she’d ended up in a domestic tug-of-war with Atsumu over her ensuite. He’d insisted the other one was too cramped, which—in his defence—was true. But (y/n) knew better. He just liked lingering. Especially if it meant squeezing a few extra minutes into his evening to pester her.

After that, everyone returned to their room. (Y/n) lit a candle in hers, tucked herself under the bedsheets and reached over to her bedside table to grab her current book. She read in peace for an hour until she found herself craving something warm to drink.

She glanced over to her side. Her clock read 1:38am.

But it was never too late for a tea, was it?

With that, she slipped on her slippers and padded down the stairs.

She kept her footfalls silent, careful not to wake. But also because anything louder felt like it might break the spell that had settled over the apartment. Things tended to feel softer at this hour, and (y/n) found a unique kind of comfort simply living in it.

Outside, the occasional whoosh of a car passed by, headlights slicing through the blinds. Somewhere in the walls, electricity hummed faintly, almost like a lullaby.

She expected mostly darkness, maybe the glow of the fridge light, but paused when she noticed the kitchen was already lit.

At this time, it could only be one person.

“Boo,” she said, more in greeting than to startle.

Suna, of course, didn't flinch. It was impossible to sneak up on Suna.

As expected, he was slouching over the kitchen table, scrolling through TikTok. His hoodie swallowed his frame despite the broadness of his shoulders. His hood was pulled up, allowing only a few stray stands of chestnut hair to peek under the fabric.

He looked like a real night-dweller.

"Sup," he greeted. Then glanced up when she brushed a hand lightly over his shoulder in passing. "Finished reading?"

She gave him a soft hum in confirmation as she made her way to the cupboard, rummaging through the rows of tea boxes. There were far too many. Most opened and half-used, but that was part of the fun. She lifted one teabag to her nose, then another, weighing them like little mood testers.

“Fancied a bev,” she said, half to herself. "You want one?"

She heard the creak of the chair behind her, followed by a strained grunt as Suna stretched his arms.

"Go on, then," he sighed, followed by the gentle creak of him resettling in his chair. "What're you making?"

She hummed, still considering. “Dunno yet. Probably a tea, but I haven't made my mind up. Not feeling floral but not feeling minty either."

He let out a quiet huff that could qualify as a chuckle.

She was rambling, as she often did. But one thing about Suna is that he never made her little musings feel silly. If anything, he embraced them—encouraged them like he enjoyed it.

“High stakes," he joked.

“Always,” she said solemnly.

After more deliberation than strictly necessary, she plucked a green tea for herself and another blend for him—something mellow she knew he wouldn’t complain about. She dropped them into their mugs and popped the kettle on.

“I've decided on green,” she declared.

Suna mock-gasped. “Green tea at night is crazy work.”

She snorted, leaning back against the counter as the water began to boil. He wasn't wrong, but eh—a bit of caffeine after midnight never hurt anybody. They were Uni students after all.

“I know,” she sighed. “What a lunatic."

Suna played along. “Can’t take this girl anywhere.”

She spluttered a laugh, about to retort something equally as millennial when the kettle clicked off behind her. She spun around and poured the water slowly, letting the tea steep, watching the colours swirl like lazy clouds.

She handed Suna his mug and slid into the chair across from him, cradling her mug between both palms, letting the warmth seep into her fingers.

“How’s your assignment coming along?" She asked with a careful sip. "You said it was due soon, right? What's it on?”

Suna set his phone down and slumped his cheek into his palm. “Mhmm. I’m doing it on dark triad traits in romantic relationships.”

(Y/n) blinked owlishly. “Dark what?”

Suna went on with the diligence and calm of a true psych student. “It's stuff like narcissism, machiavellianism, psychopathy. I’m writing about how those traits show up in relationships. You know—manipulation, emotional detachment... that kind of thing.”

She let out a long breath. “Jesus.”

“It’s not all serial killer-y,” he added, stretching his legs under the table. “Basically, it's a study about people who don’t realize they’re being emotionally coercive. Micro-manipulations. Strategic affection. Withholding. Playing victim.”

Her spine tingled.

Suna looked eerily relaxed in contrast. “You’d be surprised how common it is.”

She stared at him, eyes slightly wide. “You psych students are kinda scary.”

He huffed a laugh. “We get that a lot."

“Do you ever notice yourself doing any of those things?" (Y/n) blurted. "Y’know… emotionally manipulating people and stuff?”

He gave her a dry look over the rim of his mug. “I don't think so. But if I did, I wouldn't tell you, would I? Kinda defeats the purpose of manipulation."

"Or—or you're just saying that and you're actually manipulating me right now as we speak." She tapped the side of her skull. "Reverse psychology."

Suna's indifference was well-practiced, mug halfway to his lips. “Maybe I am." Sip. "You’d never know.”

(Y/n) stared at him, waiting for a twitch of a smirk, a glint of mischief. He said things like that often—cryptic, close to the bone, half-truths dressed as jokes. And most people never knew what to make of them. She supposed that's what made them click.

He liked being unreadable. It gave him control over what parts of himself people were allowed to see. A wall of dry humour, deflection, and unnerving calm.

But Suna wasn’t cruel. He never had been.

He might’ve kept people at arm’s length, but he wasn’t cold. And certainly not manipulative—not in the way he was teasing about. Not in the way that hurt people.

“You can’t fool me,” she said lightly.

She could've sworn a muscle feathered in his jaw. A flicker of hesitation, like maybe he was going to say something. Or like he was thinking something he shouldn’t. It passed so quickly she must've imagined it.

Tilting her head, she rested her cheek in her palm, her gaze turning fond. “When you graduate, are you gonna psychoanalyse me too?”

He hummed. “I might already have.”

Her brow quirked at that. “For real?"

“Mmhm.” A pause. Then, like he was biting back a grin—“Want me to diagnose your situationship with Atsumu, or is that too much of a sensitive topic?”

She gave a scandalised gasp and swatted the air between them, grinning through her embarrassment. “That's mean!"

He chuckled. "Sorry, sorry."

She huffed and let the moment settle. Then, after a beat, her voice came out almost wistful.

“Dr. Suna, huh? Imagine that. Can't believe little aloof Rintarou's gonna become a doctor.”

He snorted. “That's if I graduate."

“You will," she said with certainty. “But what about volleyball? You're still gonna prioritise that, right?"

Suna nodded, tapping a thumb against his mug. “Yeah. Psych’s just the backup plan.”

“After this assignment, I’ve got a paper on emotional suppression to finish up. A whole lotta jargon, basically. Cognitive avoidance strategies and whatever."

A whole lotta jargon, indeed.

“I’m going to politely nod and pretend I understood everything you just said," she mused. Then she did just that—gave a gentle, thoughtful nod.

Suna huffed through his nose. “It's not as complicated as it sounds."

"Then you must just be using big words to show off."

"You got me," he shrugged. He glanced down at his mug, gave it a small swirl, then looked back up at her. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, just a little.

“And what about you, Miss Author?” He jutted his chin in her direction. “Written any novels yet?”

She rolled her eyes with a sigh. “That’s not how my course works. We don’t actually write books or anything.”

“I’m surprised,” he said, eyes gleaming. “With all that smut you read.”

She gasped.

How dare he.

He was talking about that damn romantasy book she was reading a few days ago.

“It’s not even that smutty,” she defended, partly already resigned.

She would never win this argument.

“It’s actually really plot-heavy!" She continued anyway. "Talks about war, trauma, sacrifice—serious stuff! Not that you guys ever believe me.”

Indeed, the teasing had been merciless ever since Atsumu caught her reading it in the kitchen, then dramatically read a passage aloud to further stretch her humiliation. The twins wouldn't stop bringing it up. Suna was quieter about his judgment, but he still gave her that look every time she pulled it out in public.

Thankfully, tonight, he showed mercy.

He masked a yawn into his shoulder as he said: “If you say so.”

“I do say so,” she muttered, glaring.

He snickered.

Then, veering the conversation back to their previous topic: "Anyway. Writing's going fine. Kind of. I spent, like, three hours rewriting a single paragraph today.”

Suna's eyebrows rose. She shook her head before he could ask.

“Don’t. The plot’s there, I think. But I keep second-guessing everything I write. I'm not quite happy with it yet."

"You want me to proof read it?"

She took that into consideration. Psychology involved a lot of writing, and she'd read Suna's essays before. He was as articulate as any psych major. Always pertinent and acute.

Maybe she should have him proof read.

“Maybe,” she said thoughtfully. “Lemme finish up a first draft, then I'll send it to you—if that's okay.” A smile tugged at her lips. “Thanks, Dr. Suna.”

He raised his mug in lazy salute. “Anytime, Miss Author.”

(Y/n) huffed a laugh through her nose, bringing her tea to her lips. It had started to cool, the steam and conversation fading in tandem.

She let herself settle into the quiet. Let her gaze drift the way one does when the night is late and the body begins to slow. Her eyes moved without much direction, skimming the edge of the table, the tiny scuff on the cupboard door, the soft dip in Suna’s hoodie where it folded at his chest.

Then, without meaning to, her eyes fell to his hands.

He was still holding his mug, fingers curled loosely around the ceramic. His rings caught the faint kitchen light—the slim silver band on his index, the slightly thicker one wrapped around his middle. He never took them off, not even when they got ready for bed earlier.

He hadn’t planned on sleeping soon then, she realised. Not if the rings were still on.

Something about the sight made her stomach dip.

Déjà vu.

That had been the catalyst, hadn't it? The way she’d stared at his hands that night. On New Year’s. The way her cheeks had burned at the thought of them on her skin. The way he’d noticed and showed her, exactly what it felt like.

Heat bloomed in her face before she could stop it.

She looked away sharply, and took a long sip of tea she definitely didn’t need. Her brain scrambled for something to say, anything to think about. But when she peeked over the rim of her mug, she found Suna already looking at her.

“This feels familiar,” he teased.

(Y/n) froze, then cleared her throat, dragging her eyes toward the window like she hadn’t heard him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His voice sounded all too knowing. “Uh-huh. You don’t?”

“Nope. Not a clue,” she said, doe-eyed and innocent as she took a long, obnoxious slurp of her drink. “Must be confusing me with someone else.”

Suna mirrored her without hesitation, elbows on the table, mug in hand, lips curving as he sipped. “Nah. I don’t think so.” He leaned back just slightly. “I distinctly remember.”

One word stood out from his sentence. “Distinctly, hmm?”

“Hmm?" he echoed playfully. “What? Did you think I’d forget?”

“I mean…” she hesitated, trailing a finger along the rim of her mug. “Maybe not forget. But I didn’t think you’d distinctly remember."

Suna gave a little shrug. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a good time.”

Her lips immediately twitched upward. “Oh?” But Suna leaned forward just enough to burst her bubble.

“So did you if I remember correctly.”

That earned him a withering look.

Somehow, she had a feeling he'd led her right into that one. Now she was remembering it all far too vividly—the way his fingers had felt, his lips on hers, the way she’d gasped his name and dug her nails into his skin.

He grinned at her embarrassment with that impish, self-satisfied look he wore so well, and tilted his head like he was watching something delightful unfold.

“Still gets to you after all these years?” he cooed. “That’s adorable.”

She groaned and waved him off. Any attempts at schooling him were whisked away by the flustered grin that had settled on her face.

"Yeah, well. We can’t all be as nonchalant as you.”

“No.” He said coolly. “It’d be boring if you were.”

"You like that I’m ‘chalant’?”

“Uh-huh. Means I don’t need to try so hard since you'll do all the yapping for me.” His words weren't unkind, but she scoffed at him anyway.

"So basically you like me because it’s convenient?”

That earned a flicker of something softer in his eyes. He shook his head slowly, like she’d missed the point. “No. I just like hearing you talk.”

She didn't even try to hide the warm, cheesy smile blooming on her face. Compliments from Suna always hit harder than they should.

"That's sweet."

He let out a quiet, almost wry huff—like her affection had landed a little clumsily. For a second, she thought he might roll his eyes or say something to undercut it, but was pleasantly surprised when he simply smiled into his mug instead.

(Y/n) let out a quiet sigh, pondering. “Can’t believe the twins know now.”

He set his mug down with a clink. “You brought it up.”

“I know, I know.” She waved a hand as if batting away her own impulsive decision.

“What made you tell 'em anyway?” The look he gave her was more curious than accusatory.

She paused. Considered it.

“I honestly don’t know,” she said with a laugh. “Just wanted to see their reaction, I guess.”

“You mean Atsumu’s reaction.”

She shot him a look, narrowing her eyes into a playful glare, lips twisting into a mock sneer. He smirked, utterly unrepentant, one brow raised like he’d been waiting for her to admit it.

Okay, so maybe she did want to bait Atsumu.

Besides, she'd kept this secret hidden for years. It was bound to come out eventually. She just happened to describe the memory with just enough detail to keep him reeling.

Petty, yes. A little sadistic? Also yes. But he was a grown man. He'd get over it. It didn't seem to bother Suna, either.

“Do you mind that they know?”

He shrugged. “Nah.” Then paused, chuckling to himself—a sound easy and fond. She figured he was probably remembering the conversation again. “Can’t believe you had the balls to tell ’em. Did you see Atsumu’s face?”

(Y/n) snorted, instantly picturing it—the mix of confusion and barely-contained emotion twisting across his features. Like he didn’t know what exactly he should be feeling.

“Yeah,” she said through a giggle. “He looked pretty… perplexed.”

Suna leaned back slightly in his chair with an air of mischief. “You think he would’ve handled it better if it had been Osamu?”

Her eyes went wide. “Absolutely not,” she said, shaking her head. “He would’ve lost his goddamn mind.”

She thought that would’ve made him laugh. And for a moment, he looked tempted to. But his gaze drifted—unfocused. Gone just the tiniest bit faraway.

She wondered if it was for the same reason as her. If he found himself replaying the memory from time to time.

What did he make of it?

She had never mustered up the courage to ask him.

She found herself watching the way his thumb swept over his mug again, absent and rhythmic.

That night had been quiet, too.

Mostly.

She shifted, glancing down at her tea, at the way her fingers curled around it. “Hey…” she said softly.

Suna looked up.

“Do you…” She hesitated. Then blinked through it, smiled a little to herself. “Do you still think about that night? Sometimes?”

Her tone suggested that she meant it in a positive light. That if he thought about it, it wasn't in regret, but out of reminiscence.

She dipped her gaze.

She felt a bit presumptuous for asking. A bit awkward for bringing it up after so many years. But it had just slipped out—soft and curious and maybe a little self-conscious. Because sometimes she wondered if it had mattered only to her. If, unlike her, he’d moved on the second it ended.

When she lifted her eyes again, her doubts had already began to fade.

“Yeah,” he said, looking a little amused. “I do."

(Y/n) flushed. It was her own fault for asking. But just because she expected an answer didn’t mean she was ready for how it landed.

So he thought about it too...

Her heart gave a traitorous flutter.

“Sometimes,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

And then, curiously—he looked away.

Suna, who had always been big on eye contact. Who could hold a stare without a flinch. He wasn't shy, surely. But (y/n) wondered if it perhaps something close...

The thought made her feel giddy in a way she wasn’t used to. Like maybe she hadn’t been the only one feeling a little exposed after all.

To say a weight had been lifted off her chest felt silly, but that's how she felt. Kind of like when something's stuck in your shoe, and you ignore it for ages because stopping to fix it seems like too much effort. Until you finally do, and realise just how uncomfortable it was the whole time.

"Me too," she murmured. Then, echoing his words from earlier: "Sometimes."

Funny how a few words could do that—clear the air. How years of something unspoken could soften with a single, quiet admission.

Easy silence settled over them. Occasionally filled in with light chatter—nothing important.

Eventually, Suna let out a yawn, muffled into the back of his hand. “Alright,” he said, pushing his chair back with a soft scrape. “I’m off.”

(Y/n) nodded, draining the dregs of her tea. “Okay.”

He stood slowly, stretching his arms overhead, and for some reason, she rose too. She stepped toward him without thinking. Not because the moment called for it. But simply because she felt like it.

Her arms slipped around him in a gentle hug.

Suna didn’t hesitate. He wrapped one arm around her waist, and pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head. She warmed at the feeling of his lips on the crown of her head, her eyes slipping shut like she could fall asleep there. He smelled nice—like warmth and stillness all at once.

She felt Suna shift slightly, one hand adjusting at her back. For a moment, she thought he would pull away. But instead, it felt like he was angling his head.

Curious, she copied him.

Standing in the doorway, faintly backlit by the light spilling out of the kitchen, was Atsumu.

Her expression lit up instantly. “Oh, hey ’Tsum.”

He looked a little surprised. Not tense. Just tired, maybe. A little rumpled from sleep, as though he'd been tossing and turning in his sheets. She couldn’t quite read his expression.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked, still half-tucked into Suna’s hoodie.

“Too hot upstairs,” he replied, voice easy, but his smile was a little strained.

The way he stood there, lingering in the doorway like the kitchen was suddenly too full, made her self-conscious. She thought of stepping back from the hug, hands still hovering at Suna’s waist—but he beat her to it.

He let out a small yawn and rolled his shoulders. “I’m gonna sleep.”

She nodded, offering a small smile. “Night night, Rin.”

He hardly spared her a glance as he moved past her, bidding her a quiet goodnight.

She watched as he retreated from the kitchen, and for a second, she could've sworn she saw him cast Atsumu a look. Not dirty—too brief for that. But pointed enough in its subtly that it made her tense.

(Y/n) refrained from rolling her eyes, already having a pretty good idea of what was really bothering Atsumu tonight. His silence had nothing to do with the heat.

She braced herself for the inevitable conversation.

Atsumu’s a simple guy. Or at least he used to be.

He liked winning. Liked things that made sense. Set, spike, score. Say what you mean, mean what you say. Eat when you're hungry, sleep when you're tired, move on when shit doesn’t go your way.

But lately—lately, his brain wouldn’t shut up. He’d lie in bed thinking about things that didn’t matter. Things that shouldn’t matter.

It was funny because before meeting (y/n), or more specifically, before moving in with (y/n), he never overthought. He saw things for what they were. Didn't overcomplicated things that weren't worth his time. And things were rarely worth his time.

(Y/n) wasn't one of those things.

And tonight was one of those nights where sleep felt impossible.

He kept thinking about that damn conversation. Kept replaying the way (y/n) and Suna looked at each other like they were having a mind-to-mind conversation Atsumu wasn't privy to.

He hated it.

Hated that he was even thinking about it.

Hated that he cared.

Feelings were dumb. Complicated. Slippery little bastards that refused to stay where they were supposed to. And no matter how many times he told himself it was none of his business, the thought still looped like a broken record.

Atsumu lay in bed, one arm slung over his forehead, staring at the ceiling with eyes much too wide for the hour. His window was cracked open, letting in a breeze that did jack shit to cool the restless heat under his skin.

The sheets were twisted around his legs, clinging to his bare chest. His pillow felt lumpy. And honestly? He felt overstimulated. The sound of traffic whirled in the distance, and from the hallway came the softest rustle. Probably Suna heading to the kitchen. Or maybe it was (y/n), grabbing water before bed.

The thought made his jaw tighten.

There it was again—his heart and brain teaming up to make him spiral. Why couldn't he stop thinking about that stupid conversation from earlier tonight? It wasn't even that deep. And yet... here he was.

He could still picture it perfectly—Suna in his usual spot in the armchair. 'Samu on one end of the couch, Atsumu on the other. (Y/n) sat snugly between them, eyes fixed on the corny rom-com playing on the TV, trying not to smile as she told them about that New Year’s Eve.

Like it was no big deal.

Like she hadn’t just said something that knocked the wind out of him.

“I've kissed Rin before," she'd said.

"She's leaving out the best part," Suna added.

Prick.

Well. Not really. Atsumu couldn't blame him for it.

"We didn't get that far."

What did that even mean?

They didn’t have actually sex—sure. Fine. Whatever. He got that. He wasn't stupid. And yeah—so what they almost had sex. No big deal. He could live with that. He could accept that.

…Sort of.

But almost left a lot of room.

Almost was intimate.

Almost was hands under clothes and mouths on each other's neck.

Almost meant something happened.

And it's not that he wanted to know exactly what.

But why?

Why hadn't they gone all the way?

And more importantly—would she do it again?

All questions he knew he shouldn't ask.

They were private, and certainly none of his business. But the urge to confront her was overwhelming.

He’d said nothing at the time. Donned a mask of indifference that he knew wasn't fooling anyone.

Not that he was trying to fool anyone.

He just genuinely didn't know what the fuck to say to that.

Congratulations? Or condolences—since they didn't go through with it.

He didn't want to seem eager at the time by bombarding them with questions—but maybe he should have.

Because now he was alone, left with this thoughts?

It was eating at him.

Because if anyone knew how close (y/n) and Suna were, it was him.

He spent all of high school with them, and now they lived together.

He knew the way they talked. Moved. Read each other like damn books. The way they could sit in silence and still have full conversations with a single look. The private little jokes. The comfort. The history.

Like sun and moon. Earth and wind. Hot and cold.

Never one without the other.

Always there for each other.

Despite what (y/n) said—the way she'd tried to play it off as teenage recklessness and curiosity—Atsumu knew better. That night they almost hooked up wasn’t some random accident.

It was inevitable.

Question was—was it really just a fling? Or were feelings involved?

And if there were... Did they still fester?

Suddenly, all her little interactions with Suna felt like red flags waving in his face.

Atsumu turned over with a groan, burying his face into the pillow.

He tried not to picture it. He really fucking did. But his brain didn’t know how to simply let things go.

It painted it in detail.

Her on Suna’s bed. Flushed. Lips kiss-swollen. That sleepy, vulnerable look she always got when her guard was down.

Her fingers in Suna’s hair. Her breath catching. Her thighs parting. Her voice whispering—

No.

Fuck.

He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, chest rising too fast.

It shouldn’t bother him.

He told himself that a hundred times.

(Y/n) wasn’t his girlfriend. They weren’t dating. Hell—half the time they were just barely toeing the line between friends and whatever the hell it was they were now.

But it still burned.

What did Suna make of that night?

Suna, who kept his cool no matter what. Who probably knew exactly what Atsumu was thinking and never said a word.

What did it all mean to him?

To make him feel even more insane, nobody seemed fazed at all.

They'd finished the movie and started another one like nothing had been said. Like it was barely even a lore drop in the first place. Just some harmless bit of trivia from her past.

Past, Atsumu told himself. It had happened years ago.

It hadn't fazed his brother.

Hadn’t fazed Suna—though with him it was always hard to tell.

And if it fazed (y/n), she did a damn good job hiding it.

She didn’t bring it up again. Didn’t elaborate. Just breezed through the evening with that soft, effortless calm she always had. Like it meant nothing. Like it hadn’t stayed buried under Atsumu’s skin like a splinter—sharp and raw and impossible to ignore.

He hated that he wanted to ask about it. Hated that his pride wouldn't let him.

Until now. Where his brain was loud and his impulses louder.

He'd heard someone go downstairs earlier. With a bit of luck, it was (y/n). And if tonight was the right time, she'd still be down there— blissfully unaware of question burning hot on his tongue.

With a decisive inhale, Atsumu tossed the covers off himself and grabbed a t-shirt before padding downstairs through the dark. Enough fucking around. He turned the corner and—

There.

From the base of the stairs he could already see the light pouring from the kitchen. Somebody was in there. Hopefully (y/n). He strode across the living room with a unreasonable tightness in his chest and paused.

She was there—which was great, he supposed.

Only she wasn't alone.

And was currently hugging her best friend.

Suna noticed him first.

"Didn't think you'd still be up."

Lie. Suna was a night owl. What Atsumu had meant to say was I didn't expect you to be in the kitchen (with her), but he couldn't say that without sounding like a bitter motherfucker.

Suna hummed something non committal as (y/n) spun around, finally noticing his presence.

"Oh, hey 'Tsum." The genuine fondness in her voice made it impossible for him not to smile back. "Couldn't sleep either?"

"Nah. Too hot upstairs."

She pulled away from the hug at last, but all Atsumu could focus on was the way her hands were still loosely hanging off his waist. Probably a subconscious thing, but still. The urge to yank either of them back to a more comfortable distance was too tempting.

Not to mention how Suna just... let her.

After knowing them for so long, Atsumu had started to notice these kinds of things. The way they gravitated toward each other. The casual touches. How (y/n) always seemed to initiate them: quick hugs, a hand on his arm, her head on his shoulder—but Suna never pushed her away.

Part of Atsumu wondered if all best friends were like this. Maybe it was normal. Maybe he was just overreacting. Or maybe it only bothered him because (y/n) was a girl. And Suna wasn’t.

Probably. He couldn’t imagine getting pissy over (y/n) being touchy with another girl. That wouldn’t mean anything.

Then again... the man she was hugging wasn't just anyone.

It was Suna. The same Suna who had her moaning his name that one night on New Year's Eve and—

"I'm gonna sleep," Suna said with a yawn. (Y/n) nodded and quietly bid him goodnight, her tone far more relaxed than Atsumu's as he too, muttered a quick 'g'night'.

When Suna stepped back from the hug, Atsumu could’ve sworn he saw his hand brush against hers. Maybe it was nothing. Could've been a trick of the light. Maybe he was seeing things again—wanting to see things.

His chest constricted. He swallowed. Felt stupid all over again.

Suna’s eyes met his briefly on the way out. He probably didn't mean anything by it, but Atsumu couldn't help but feel like they'd just had a silent conversation of their own. A glance that said he knew. Whether that was something to be concerned about, he didn't let on.

But Atsumu said nothing. Just stood there as Suna slinked past him without a word, suddenly unsure of where to put all the heat curling under his skin.

And then it was just the two of them.

(Y/n) leaned against the kitchen table, arms crossed loosely, hip cocked just slightly to the side.

Atsumu walked over to the fridge. Pulled open the door.

He didn’t even want anything—wasn’t thirsty, wasn’t hungry—but he couldn’t just stand there. He felt pathetic enough already. His shoulders and jaw tense from his brief interaction with Suna. He needed a distraction. For now, a water bottle would do. Maybe it would help cool his head.

“You okay?”

He could feel her eyes on his back. “Yeah.”

He took a swig. Let the coolness run down his throat. The chill of the water didn’t cool the prickle crawling up his spine.

She was still looking at him. He could tell without even turning.

If only his poker face was as good as Suna’s.

He shut the fridge with his hip and said, “Why’re ya starin’ at me, sweetheart?” The words came out smooth. His best impression of unfazed. He even added a lazy half-grin as he finally turned to face her.

Her lack of reaction was jarring.

No quips, no smile, not even an eyeroll.

Instead, she looked at him with that strange sort of gentleness she reserved for when she knew something hurt. A look so paradoxical in its softness that cut through him like a blade.

“Is it about earlier?”

Lie. Lie. Fake it till you make it.

“What do you mean?”

“Atsumu.” His name—just his name—landed like a full stop. No room to wriggle. No space to run. No excuses.

She had that tone again. The one that made people listen. The one that turned heads in rooms even when she wasn’t trying.

“I saw the way you looked at Rin on the way out,” she added. He hoped his face didn't betray how much her noticing rattled him. “It’s bothering you, isn’t it?”

His mouth opened, but no words came. Now what?

It was ironic. He’d come down here to talk to her. Only he expected to broach the subject in his own way. He was supposed to lead the dance. But now she’d cut right to the chase and he suddenly felt stripped bare. Cornered.

Thing is, she wasn’t even trying to trap him. She wasn’t that type of person. She just saw through him, like she always did. A habit so nasty and blessed at the same time it made him feel like glass. Transparent. Easily shaped under the right kind of heat. But just as easily shattered if she ever dared to press too hard.

He looked away, jaw ticking. Twisted the cap back onto the bottle just to keep his hands moving. “Botherin’s a strong word,” he said finally. “S’more like�� curious.”

If she caught the piss-poor attempt at his indifference, she didn't make it obvious. Didn’t call him out on the dodge. Didn’t tease. Didn’t scoff. Just waited—patient as a saint. “Curious about what, exactly?”

Her voice wasn’t unkind. Just open. Like she was actually willing to have this conversation.

He scratched his jaw, hesitating with the words caught somewhere in his throat. He couldn't keep this up. The longer he drew this out, the more awkward it'd become.

Ask her, said a small part of his brain. Just make it sound casual.

“That night with Suna," he gritted. “What exactly happened?”

(Y/n) blinked, not from surprise.

“Oh.”

Oh, indeed.

Why on God's green earth did he phrase it like that?!

'What exactly happened', sounded like he wanted details.

Like he wanted her to describe the night.

A grating feeling clawed his chest—shame, probably—but (y/n) went on before he could dwell on it.

"Well, it's like I said. We kissed and we got a little carried away and...yeah. That's it."

He thought about how to proceed. Maybe he could still make this work.

“Right, but…” he bit back his frustration. Words were never his forte. In this moment, he hated himself for it. “When ya say 'carried away' was it because—"

She cut him off before he could finish.

“Tsumu.”

Heat crept up his neck.

"What? I just mean—"

(Y/n) looked like she was about to laugh.

"Why are you so curious?" She asked. "Don't tell me that's what's been keeping you up tonight."

Her smile was like kindling to the heat already rising in his chest—crawling up his neck, his ears.

He should've just stayed in bed.

"No, no..."

(Y/n) giggled.

Oh, who was he kidding?

"Fine. So what, it might have been on my mind."

She crossed her arms, smiling coyly. Her eyebrow rose expectantly.

He quickly clarified. "But not for the reason yer thinkin'! It's not like I wanna know exactly what happened that night... I mean—I've thought about it. But it's none of my business, and I ain't some kinda creep—"

"Wait, wait, wait—pause, Tsumu." His rambling was cut short. A small blessing, he realised. Because he truly had no idea where his speech would've gone had she let him continue.

"Since I know you secretly wanna know, but are too embarrassed to ask me—I'll tell you what happened that night."

A brief pause. Then: "I won't tell you exactly what we did, but I can tell you what we didn't do, if that helps."

...

Huh.

Well—that's not really what he came down here to ask.

It ran deeper than just hearing the details of their almost-hook-up. But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about it. And since she was offering...

He crossed his arms as he leaned against the counter. (Y/n) mirrored him across the room, her back against the opposite surface, shifting a little as if she was getting ready to tell a story.

"We didn't have sex," she started firmly.

"Uh-huh".

"He didn't go down on me."

Nod.

"I didn't go down on him."

Another nod—this time, biting back a smirk.

He let the words sink in… until his brows drew together.

"Wait, so what did he actually do?"

This time, (y/n) looked embarrassed.

Atsumu cocked a brow, waiting.

She dropped her gaze to his hands.

Seconds passed.

His fingers twitched as it hit him.

"Is that all??"

A blush swept across her face, making Atsumu's grow amused in response.

God—how cute was she, looking flustered over something as plain as a little finger action?

Her expression grew indignant as his grin broadened.

"What do you mean, 'is that all'?! It was a big deal to me, okay!"

He couldn’t help himself. “Was it yer first time?”

The question seemed to have caught her off guard.

"So what if it was?" She grumbled, her lips jutting into the most adorable pout. And Lord help him—it took an unhealthy amount of self-restraint not to cross the room and kiss her dumb.

"So how come ya stopped? Sunarin not meet yer standards?"

"Sunarin met more than my standards."

The frown on her face bugged him more than it should have.

Of course she was going to defend him. They were childhood best friends. Like night and day, his brain echoed.

The fact that she’d almost given her first time to him was a sour reminder of their closeness. Not to mention, an opening for him to actually get the answers he looked for.

"Did'ja not want it to happen?"

He half expected her to snap at him. To shut it down the conversation right then and there.

But she didn’t.

She just tilted her head slightly, brows drawing together in thought. Even hummed a little, as if replaying the memory.

“...Yes,” she said slowly. “But also, no.”

Atsumu stared.

That's not exactly the answer he was waiting for. Hell—he didn't even know what answer he was waiting for. But it sure as hell wasn't that.

Vague. She was being far too vague.

(Y/n) sighed, as if reading his thoughts.

“It’s complicated, Tsumu. I did want it. We’d known each other for years, and I trusted him. But then—” she paused, her voice dipping softer—“I dunno. Maybe I just wasn't ready."

The silence that followed said there was more to that story. More weight than she was letting on.

He watched as she drifted over to the sink, two empty mugs in hand.

“I felt bad for Rin though. At least I did back then.”

She began rinsing out the mugs. Atsumu frowned, not quite following. “He didn't get much out of it. If it weren’t for me, he’d have gone through with it.”

She turned away just in time to miss the involuntary clench in his jaw.

Atsumu exhaled slowly as something hot and bitter flared low in his gut. Not rage. But something definitely petty.

Of course Suna would’ve gone through with it.

He was a guy. They were alone. And (y/n)’s skin would’ve been warm beneath his hands, her voice a breathy hush in the dark—

He cut the thought off with a sharp breath through his nose. Tried to master it. Shove it down.

He couldn’t be mad at Suna.

They were eighteen. Teenagers.

And if Atsumu'd had a childhood best friend like her—someone pretty and kind who laughed at all his jokes—he probably would’ve done the same.

And it wasn’t like Suna forced anything, either. He stopped when she did. Respected the line. He’d done everything right.

Still, that flicker stayed.

He was in Hyogo at the time. With his parents. With 'Samu.

Not with a cute childhood sweetheart.

Not with (y/n).

But what if the circumstances had been different?

He allowed himself to wonder—just for a second—what might’ve happened if they’d switched places. If it had been him beside her on New Year’s Eve. If she’d have let him explore her like that. Or if the only reason she ever let it happen was because it was Suna.

He stomped the thought down.

No.

It wasn’t his memory.

And it wasn't fair to assume. Wasn't fair to get so riled up about something so important to her. He'd said so much already. Probably crossed a boundary or two that would most definitely eat at him later.

But (y/n) was kind enough to talk about it anyway. Because she knew it was bothering him. Because (y/n) was sweet and treated him with so much damn care he didn't know what to do with it all.

Pathetic, his brain hissed.

He was still lost in his own head when (y/n) let out a giggle. The sound rousing him back to the present, as soft and lovely as a wind chime stirred by a summer breeze.

“Atsumuu,” she sang. "You're zoning out."

His eyes snapped to her.

She was drying her hands, watching him with a half-smile—amused and fond. "You okay, Tsum?"

"Uh-huh. Yeah. Just thinkin'."

“Still about me and Rin?” Her tone turned gently reproachful. “That’s a bit…”

Weird, she was probably about to say.

If only she knew the images that had been clawing through his brain all night.

A pang of guilt shot through him.

"Sorry."

Sorry for acting weird. Sorry for prying. Sorry for making you uncomfortable. Sorry for being lame.

She waved him off, as if shooing away his thoughts.

“You’re alright. I get it. You just learned some juicy gossip and wanted the details." She flashed him a grin. "I won’t shame you for it.”

He clenched his jaw.

That wasn't it. That wasn't even why he came here.

He came here to talk about feelings. Not gossip like he was one of her girl friends.

And yet... despite that, he felt something in his chest unclench at her words. Like he could breathe again. Like he could act normal and not beat himself up as much as he wanted to.

He returned her smile with a lopsided one of his own. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

(Y/n) turned toward the dish rack, stretching for a plate. “Might as well finish the washing up while I’m here.”

Atsumu watched as she rose onto her toes, brows drawn in mild frustration as she tried to slide the plate onto the top shelf.

Reaching around her with ease, he grabbed the plate and slid it into the cupboard. His chest brushed lightly against her back, lips curving into a smirk.

She gave him a look over her shoulder. “Show-off.”

“S'just genetics."

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the drying rack for another dish, and he stayed there, leaned lazily against the counter beside her. Close enough to feel the warmth of her arm every time she moved.

He let the moment settle. Let it feel… easy.

He sucked in a breath. Now would be the idea time.

He spoke before he could talk himself out of it.

“If Suna made a move on ya now..." He started, voice carefully neutral. "Would ya do it again?"

A few seconds went by. Though for Atsumu, they might as well have been hours.

He hated this. The silence between words. The pause. The short instant in which the urge to take everything back was devastating.

(Y/n) let out a spluttered laugh like she couldn’t believe what he’d just said.

“No way! Are you mad? We’re just friends!” she said with a grin. “Plus, I doubt Rin would ever even consider it. Don't be silly."

She laughed again, like the idea was absurd. Her amusement flickered through the air like sunlight.

Had he been a fool for worrying, after all?

“Was just askin’," he shrugged. "And ya can't be sure. Men are unpredictable."

“True. But I know Rin."

“Bet ya thought that too, until he kissed ya."

He felt a flicker of satisfaction as she bristled at his words. There was no denying that.

"That's not the point," she chided, bumping him with her elbow. “I mean, it’s Rin. He’s practically like a…” She trailed off.

Atsumu caught the pause. Felt it like a twitch behind his ribs.

“…brother,” she finished.

Ah.

That explained the pause.

Atsumu raised his brows, already smiling.

“Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart,” he drawled, “but siblings don’t usually…”

He lifted a hand to make a slow curling motion with his fingers.

Her eyes widened as she caught the gesture.

"Stop that!" She gasped, smacking his hand away. A blush bloomed across her cheeks.

He grinned, triumphant.

“Just sayin’.”

“Well, obviously,” she huffed, trying to appear serious. “But you know what I mean. We don’t see each other like that.”

She turned back to the dishes with a final shake of her head, a flustered smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

He was tempted to leave it at that. His main concern had been snuffed out—(y/n) and Suna were ancient history.

But a lingering curiosity remained.

"So... back then—it was all just for fun? No feelings involved?"

He could've sworn her movements slowed for a moment, her hands halting mid-wipe on a plate. The act felt a lot like he'd just stepped on a landmine, or perhaps like he'd just placed one down.

Meanwhile, (y/n) appeared to be thinking how to navigate around it.

"Something like that."

Something about the way she said it made his stomach twist.

She sounded... bittersweet.

Atsumu figured there must be a reason why she was dodging the question. And for someone as vocal about her feelings as (y/n), it must be something significant. Something perhaps too raw to tell.

Suddenly, everything began falling into place.

She was the one who’d stopped it that night.

She was the one who’d said it didn’t feel right.

Perhaps now he understood why.

It wasn’t just nerves. Or timing. Or being eighteen and reckless.

It was because she’d felt more than she was given. Because while one of them had been acting on love, the other had just been acting on desire.

She’d been in love with Suna.

And Suna hadn’t loved her back.

The thought sat heavy in his chest. Not because he blamed either of them—but because it explained so much. Why she was so sure nothing would ever happen again. Why she said they were just friends now and really, truly meant it.

Atsumu didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to reach out. Say something comforting. But what could he say that wouldn’t sound shallow? What could he offer that wouldn’t feel like salt?

For a while, he simply let the silence be. Let it stretch for a while as she quietly worked through her chores.

Then, softly, he pushed off the counter.

“…Wanna hand with the rest of the dishes?”

She looked up, blinking. Her eyes met his and softened—grateful for the pivot, maybe.

“Sure,” she said, smiling faintly as she passed him a dish towel. “You dry.”

The quiet turned companionable again.

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art-by-jas · 2 months ago

Text

Sleepyhead

John Carter x Reader

Summary: Your and Carter's new relationship has not allowed for much intimacy, but one morning, he decides it is time to make the most of his day off.

TAGS: Established Relationship, Kissing, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Attempts at Dirty Talk, but it just comes out sweet.

WC: 2.7k

A/N: I am on episode 21 of season 1; The obsession with him isn't going away also; the end of episode 20 made me actually cry over how cute his dancing is. My asks are always open if you have any suggestions or prompts you'd like me to see me try.

The morning light gradually seeps through the curtains, bathing the walls in a soothing yellow glow. You pry open an eye to find Carter already awake, gazing up at the ceiling. With a deep stretch, you extend your arms overhead and push your legs off the bed.

John turns to look at you, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a small smile. "Morning, sleepyhead," he teases, his voice still raspy from sleep.

You grin and rub your eyes, feeling surprisingly well-rested. Turning to face you, he props himself up on one elbow. "How'd you sleep?" he asks, his gaze sweeping over your tousled hair and sleepy features.

"Pretty good," you reply, your voice still thick with drowsiness. "Though I did have some interesting dreams..." You feel heat rise to your cheeks.

A smirk plays at his lips as he raises an eyebrow. "Oh, really? What kind of dreams?" he asks, his tone slightly teasing, clearly guessing he had something to do with them.

Your new relationship with Carter was still in its early stages. Despite the limited time available between your busy schedules, you had only recently begun enjoying the occasional makeout sessions. As his smirk gives way to a pleased smile, he reaches out to tenderly brush a strand of hair from your face.

His fingertips dance across your skin as he murmurs, "Don't be embarrassed. You're always on my mind."

Your pulse quickens at his admission, and you can't conceal the surprise that colors your response, "Really?"

He chuckles and nods, his unwavering gaze fixed on yours. "All the time," he repeats, his fingers tracing featherlight patterns along your face and neck. In a low, gruff voice, he confesses, "You're always on my mind, you know. Even when I'm working or trying to sleep, I can't stop thinking about you."

Your breath catches as his words send a shiver through you. He leans in, his face just inches from yours. "It drives me crazy," he whispers, his dark eyes smoldering with desire. Gently, he brushes his thumb along your lower lip, the touch electrifying your body. "I can't focus, can't concentrate. The only thing I can think about is you..." His gaze locks onto yours, thumb still tracing your lip as he pauses.

With sudden urgency, he closes the gap between you. His lips crash into yours, the kiss desperate and intense. You melt into him, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. He kisses you deeply, his tongue slipping into your mouth as he presses you back against the pillows. Your tongues tangle, the kiss growing more passionate by the moment. A low moan escapes him as his hands roam your body, his hips pressing firmly against yours.

Your breath catches as his lips trail down your throat, coming in short gasps. "I-I think about you all the time too..." you manage to say between moans.

He pulls back slightly, gazing into your eyes. "Yeah?" he asks, his expression a mix of arousal and tenderness. His voice is rough with desire. "What do you think about?"

His velvety voice soothes you, your body yearns for his touch. "Everything," you whisper breathlessly. "Your smile, your laugh, your hands..." You trail off, heat rising to your cheeks as you realize how desperately you crave him.

A smug grin spreads across his lips. "My hands, hmm?" he purrs, flexing his fingers and lightly dragging them down your side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Your body shivers at his touch, hyper-aware of his every movement. You hum softly, eyes fluttering shut as his fingertips brush against your hip. He trails open-mouthed kisses up your jawline, his hands roaming over your body and slipping beneath your shirt to trace lazy patterns on your skin.

Leaning in close, his hot breath caresses your ear. "Can I try something?" he whispers, his voice low and rough.

You shiver at the sound, your body already anticipating his touch. "What...what do you want to try?" you ask, heart racing.

Placing soft kisses along your neck, his lips graze your skin as he mumbles his request. "I want to...go down on you," he breathes. "Is that alright?"

Your cheeks flush at his words, your body already warming with anticipation. "I,uh-I...yeah...yeah, that's fine..." you manage to stutter out, your voice breathy and unsteady.

He grins against your skin, clearly pleased by your response. "Good," he mutters. "I've been thinking about this for a while." Lowering his head, his lips trail down your collarbone and across your chest. Pausing for a moment, he captures your lips in a slow, sensual kiss, his tongue dancing with yours as he savors the moment. Then, he breaks away, his mouth moving lower. As Carter slowly kisses his way down your body, you can't help but feel a twinge of nerves. With gentle movements, he helps to remove your top.

Sensing your unease, Carter soothingly rubs your thigh, his touch calming your nerves. "Relax," he whispers in a soothing tone. "I won't do anything you're uncomfortable with, okay?" You take a deep breath and nod, trying to surrender to the sensations he's igniting within you.

Carter continues his sensual exploration, his lips and tongue leaving a scorching path down to your hipbone. He teases the edge of your sleep shorts, his hot breath caressing your stomach. Sliding his hand under the fabric, his knuckles brush against your skin.

You shiver at his touch, your body growing more eager. Looking up at you with dark, desire-filled eyes, he pauses. "Is this okay?" he asks.

You nod, offering a faint smile. "Yes," you rasp, your voice tight with anticipation. He smiles and slides his hand into your shorts. His touch is gentle as he cups you through your underwear. You gasp, breath catching, as he begins to stroke - steady, measured movements that set your body ablaze.

His eyes lock onto yours. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, desire thick in his voice.

You'd experienced this kind of pleasure before, but something felt different this time - more intimate, more intense. Perhaps it was his unwavering gaze that drank in your every reaction or his touch that ignited a thousand nerves. Whatever the reason, this was unlike anything you'd felt before.

His fingers slid beneath your shorts, tugging them downward with a gentle insistence. As the fabric slipped away, he let out a small, ragged breath, his hungry eyes fixed on the newly exposed skin of your thighs. The shorts fall to the floor, and his hands roam freely over your bare legs, sending electric currents pulsing through your body. The barely contained lust in his eyes made your heart race and your core ache with need.

He gently parts your legs, his touch tender as he kneels between them, large hands caressing your inner thighs. Leaning down, his lips brush the sensitive skin just above your knee, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses as he moves higher.

As he nears your core, your body trembles, breath coming in short gasps. He worships your skin, tongue swirling over the delicate flesh of your inner thigh, driving you wild with need.

He pauses, lips hovering just above your pussy, gaze on you, silently seeking confirmation. You nod, unable to speak, body desperate for his touch. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes drifting closed as he commits your scent to memory. Mouthing you through your underwear, his tongue traces the outline of your most sensitive areas in slow, tantalizing circles, each one stoking the flames of your arousal. With one hand, he trails feather-light caresses along your hip. He nuzzles his face against you, his nose pressing through the wet fabric. The heat of his breath seeps through the cotton, igniting your body with yearning.

"Oh god," you moan, your voice ragged with need, "That feels so good."

His eyes, darker than you've ever seen, lock onto yours as his lips curl into a small smile. He can tell how much you're relishing his touch, how it's driving you wild.

He pauses, his lips hovering just millimeters from your skin, his gaze fixed intently on yours. With a low, rough whisper, he says, "If you think this feels good, it's about to feel incredible once I get these off of you." He hooks his fingers under the elastic of your underwear, slowly, tantalizingly, rolling them down your legs and tossing them to the side.

He pauses to drink in the sight of your unclothed body, his eyes tracing every curve as if trying to etch the image into his memory. "You're beautiful," he murmurs, his hands gliding reverently up your thighs.

Even amidst the haze of passion, you summon a teasing lilt. "I believe you've mentioned that already," you gasp breathlessly.

He chuckles softly. "That doesn't make it any less true," he mumbles, his lips grazing your hip. "You're gorgeous." Without hesitation, he presses his lips to your most pussy, his tongue darting out to savor you. A low moan escapes your lips as your back arches off the bed, his touch both gentle and firm as he explores your folds.

He moans against you, his own arousal evident in his movements - his touch growing more urgent, more insistent. You feel his fingers digging into your skin, his grip leaving faint marks as he worships your body with his tongue. He takes his time, savoring every inch of you, his lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to build the pleasure until it was nearly unbearable. You feel his gaze upon you, his eyes dark with desire.

You notice his hips moving rhythmically against the bed, almost subconsciously, as if he can't control himself. The realization hits you. You ask, your voice a mix of awe and curiosity, "Are you getting off on eating me out?"

His eyes meet yours, revealing a blend of embarrassment and arousal. Seemingly surprised that you've noticed, the flush on his cheeks betrays his pleasure. He pulls away for a moment, his glistening lips, and nods in acknowledgment. "Y-yeah," he stutters out, his voice rough with desire. "It's, um, really hot.”

A wave of arousal washed over you, an uncontrollable desire growing in the pit of your stomach. You can tell he was enjoying this just as much as you were, his desire fueling his every move.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," you respond with a shaky but genuine smile. He returns a warm smile and resumes his ministrations, his tongue working overtime. His tongue starts to get sloppy, no longer as precise as before, as if he’s struggling to keep himself in check; all his attention is focused on the feeling of you.

He pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, his gaze locking onto yours, "Can I...use my fingers too?" He asks, his voice rough with arousal.

You're unable to speak, your body trembling with need. You simply nod your agreement. He gives you a small smile and runs his fingers through your dampness, positioning himself to use both his fingers and tongue.

He pauses, drawing away as he struggles to form words through the lustful haze. "You have no idea how long I've been thinking about this - tasting you, touching you. I even touch myself at the thought of you. You drive me crazy."

Your shiver at his raw, needy words, your arousal growing stronger. The vivid image he's painting becomes more vivid in your mind.

"Tasting you is even better than I imagined," he whispers, his lips returning to your skin as he resumes his ministrations, his fingers working alongside his tongue.

Your words come out in a breathy gasp, your body trembling under his touch. "I never knew it could feel like this," you manage to stutter, your voice tight with pleasure.

"You like that, huh?" he asks, his tone almost teasing as he looks up at you from between your legs. He punctuates the question with a sharper thrust of his fingers, brushing against that sensitive bundle of nerves. You let out a strangled cry, your eyes rolling back as pleasure washes over you, your body arching towards him.

"Oh god, that feels so good. Don't stop," you breathe out.

He chuckles softly, the sound sending pleasant vibrations through you. "Don't worry, I have no intention of stopping anytime soon," he chuckles, his lips brushing your thigh. John resumes his attentions, his fingers and tongue working in perfect harmony. His movements grow more intense with each passing moment. You can feel the pressure building inside you, coiled tightly like a spring ready to release. You teeter on the edge, your body tense with anticipation.

"I'm... I'm so close," you gasp out between ragged breaths.

"Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "I want to feel you come all over my face."

The words combined with the mounting pressure, push you over the edge. You cry out, your body arching as waves of pleasure crash over you. "Y-yes, John, O-Oh…. Fucccccck…" you gasp, trembling beneath him.

He works you through your climax, his fingers and tongue gently coaxing you over the edge. His touch grows softer and gentler as the last waves of pleasure subside. With a soft smile, he looks up at you.

He pulls back, his face glistening with your essence. His eyes are hooded, a smug expression on his face as he licks his lips.

"That was...amazing," you gasp, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. He grins and moves up beside you, draping his arm lazily across your stomach.

"You taste incredible," he rasps, his voice thick with desire. Leaning in, he captures your lips in a messy kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth to mingle with yours. The familiar flavor on his lips only stokes the heat within you.

He murmurs softly, his voice pleased, "I'm glad you enjoyed it." Leaning in, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder, his eyes on yours. You can see the hunger and smoldering desire in his them, realizing this is far from over.

"I'm not done with you yet," he says, his voice growing huskier as his hands slide up your thighs. You laugh softly, your body still recovering from the intensity. "I think I need a minute or two to catch my breath," you say, jokingly swatting at him.

He chuckles, grinning, clearly amused by your need for a break. "Don't worry, I'm in no rush," he says, his hand idly tracing patterns on your thigh. "I have the whole day off, we have all the time in the world."

At his words, you can feel your body starting to warm up again, the thought of having all day to explore each other making a heat pool in your stomach. For now, you're content to simply lie in his arms, savoring the aftermath of your shared pleasure.

He wraps his arms around you, drawing you closer against his body. The room is filled with a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of your still-ragged breathing from your earlier exertion.

He nuzzles his face into your neck, his stubble rubbing against your sensitive skin, and you shiver lightly in his embrace. He chuckles softly, his grip on you tightening. "I could get used to this," he murmurs.

You laugh softly, your heart swelling at his words. "Oh yeah? You could get used to spending all day in bed with me?" he chuckles, his warm breath caressing your neck.

"Is that a challenge?" he teases, his hand tracing lazy patterns across your bare back. "Because I accept."

You shiver at his touch, the heat of his body against yours stirring a new wave of desire within you, your skin still sensitive from your earlier climax.

"Careful what you wish for," you tease, lightly nipping at the skin of his collarbone.

He let out a guttural groan as your teeth grazed his skin, his hold on you tightening as he leaned in to capture your lips in a tender kiss. "I'm always careful," he murmured against your lips, his warm, enticing breath caressing your skin. "And I stand by my decision."

You smiled into the kiss, your hand sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulder. "Well, then I guess we have our plans for the day," you said playfully, pulling away to give him a mischievous smirk.

He returned your smirk with a wolfish grin, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "That we do," he purred, his hand tracing the curve of your hip. "And I plan on making the most of every single second of it."

MASTERLIST

#ER #ER Series #John Carter #john truman carter iii #John Carter x Reader #Reader Insert #Emergency #John Truman Carter x Reader #Noah Wyle #The Pitt #fanfiction

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