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changbunnies · 11 months ago

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Lowkey, I Need You (To Move Out) 18+

♡ Pairing: Changbin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: friends with benefits, friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, angst, fluff, smut with plot, mutual pining but especially lots of pining from binnie

♡ Word Count: 12k

♡ Summary: Changbin has a problem– he’s in love with his friend with benefits. And not only is he in love with her, but she’s also his roommate. Torn on what to do, the only thing he knows for certain is that something has to change soon– but is he even brave enough to spark that change, and risk their friendship?

♡ Warnings: miscommunication, but it's resolved quickly!, bin is lil insecure but we're here to make it better !!, gets a bit emotional because truly this is a love letter to changbin and how much i adore him

♡ Smut Warnings: multiple smut scenes, switch!bin with a heavy sub lean, as usual changbin is an extremely soft and perfect lover, pet names (baby, bun, bunny, honey, sweet + good boy), oral (m + f rec), fingering (f rec), nipple play, begging, a tiny bit of edging, spit as lube, cock warming, unprotected piv, creampie, praise kink, body worship, face sitting

♡ Notes: this was written in response to the topic of binnie being excluded, because as a bin biased girlie it's my job to show out for him when he needs the extra love! i've been wanting to write a fwb for SO long and in true changbunnies fashion this turned out longer than i intended it to be but i just had so much fun writing it and giving binnie the attention he deserves, so i hope you enjoy it too !!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

What do you do when you realize you've fallen in love with your friend with benefits? And what do you do when said friend is also your roommate? The conclusion that Changbin has reached is simple: spiral.

Well, not that spiraling is an actual choice in this scenario– he can't stop it from happening despite how desperately he wants to. He knows you aren't looking for a relationship right now, that you like what you have together because it's casual and fun.

You swore off dating apps and relationships after having your heart broken one too many times, and the only reason you're friends with benefits with Changbin is because you trust him– a trust that he is loath to break by dropping the revelation that he's fallen in love with you.

You were away from your shared apartment for the past week and a half, on a trip back to your home town to visit family. It was exhausting, but fun enough when your parents weren't driving you up the wall by pestering you with questions about when you're going to start bringing a boyfriend back home with you, you told Changbin on the phone last night whilst packing to come back to the city.

He hated the way his heart sank to the pit of his stomach when he considered the fact that he'll never be the boyfriend going home with you to meet your family. And he wants to be, fucking hell, does he want to be yours.

He wants to tell you he loves you and have it mean something more than the platonic love between friends, to take you on dates and freely hold your hand when walking through the city streets together, to share a bed with you for more than just a fuck.

How many times has he wanted to pull you back to him when you start to get up from his bed? To reach out and beg you to stay when you start to get dressed? To knock on your door late at night and lay everything out on the line because the way it keeps him up at night is becoming unbearable?

Fuck, he can't keep dwelling on it– you've been on your way home since this morning, and you're due back any minute now. It'll be disastrous for Changbin if you walk through the door and realize something's off with him.

His heart twisted when he checked his phone and saw a new text, one excitedly telling him you're almost home and that you've missed him– but was it really him you missed, or just fucking him? He didn't know anymore, and he was afraid to find out.

Changbin jumps when he hears the lock to the front door click, taking a breath to calm his racing heart as he rises to his feet to help you with your luggage and welcome you back home.

He’s spent enough time spiraling over what to do this past week, he can’t afford to anymore; not if he wants to keep his sanity intact, anyways. He can do this– once you get settled, he can have a heart to heart with you, and everything will be fine. Even if it’s too much to confess his feelings, surely there’s a way to go about things where you’re both still happy, right?

Changbin did a lot around the apartment to make it perfect for you upon your return– cleaned and dusted every common room until they were spotless, made sure not a single dirty dish was left in the sink, emptied every trash can.. He even unclogged the drains and scrubbed the tub! He just wanted to make sure you didn’t have a single thing to do, that you could just relax and unwind in clean comfort after your trip.

But you don’t spare a single glance around the apartment once you enter– you look just at him, smiling as you kick the door closed behind you, and drop your luggage to the floor to squeeze him into a hug.

He blinks a moment in surprise at how quick the action is– he didn’t even have the chance to get a word out before you were on him. Still, he quickly returns the hug while trying his best to prevent the happy, almost relieved sigh you let out as you bury your head into his chest from giving him false hope.

“You really missed me this much?” Changbin asks with a small giggle– why is he even asking? So much for not giving himself false hope. He just blurted it out without thinking, really; but he can’t pretend the way you affirm it doesn’t make his heart swell.

It was the longest you’d ever been apart from Changbin since moving in together, and it put a lot of things into perspective. Like, you really did miss him, of course you did, he’s your friend! But there was something more– you don’t think you’d ever missed someone so fucking badly before.

Like, staying up all night because you can’t stop thinking about him type of ‘I miss you.’ Wanting to text him or call him at all hours of the day just to check up on him and ask what he’s been up to even though you’re supposed to be focusing on your family and reuniting with childhood friends.

You missed everything about him– his smile and cute laugh, the way he smells, his big arms wrapped around you and squeezing you close. You wanted to hear his voice again, and not through the grainy speaker of your phone, wanted to see him without your parent’s shitty old wifi connection lagging your call, and making him pixelated and blurry.

Changbin is your home, you realized; wherever he is is where you want to be. As long as he’s there, you’d have everything you need to be happy. Is that too sentimental of a feeling for just friends?

Yes, you know it is– and every time you felt it for him before, you shoved it down as deep you could, not ready to get your heart broken again just yet. Better to hold onto him for as long as you can, before he cuts things off to start dating again.

But of course, you can’t deny you also missed him in other, less than innocent ways. The squeak he lets out when you surprise him with a kiss, the cute way he blushes and giggles when you compliment him or call him his favorite pet name, the way he’ll easily drop to his knees for you the moment you tell him you need him.

He never cares what he’s in the middle of or what he needs to get done– if you tell him you want him, he’s ready for you, eager to please. Even if he loses sleep, if it makes him late for work, if it means the food on the stove is going to burn– none of it matters if you need his tongue on you. And you’ll reward him, you always do; with sweet words and touches that makes his heart feel like it’s going to beat out of his chest while his cock throbs.

“Missed you more than you know,” you say in a near whisper, pressing your lips to his like you’ve been eager to do since walking through the door. Changbin practically melts when you kiss him, as always; he just can’t help it– he’s forever going to be putty in your hands.

Was he right in his fear that you only missed him for the sex? Maybe, but he can’t even dwell on the idea anymore– not when the urgency in which you start touching him underneath his shirt while sliding your tongue in his mouth makes him weak at the knees.

Fuck it, maybe that is all you want him for these days, but he’d never stop giving you what you want. Use him over and over, run his heart into the ground when it’s done, what does it matter? At least in this moment he’s yours, even if it’s only temporary.

You grab Changbin by the waist and turn him around, pressing his back against the front door to the apartment. One of his feet very nearly gets caught up on your luggage on one of his steps back, but you kick it to the side, away from the two of you. His sound of surprise is muffled by your mouth on his, as is his gasp when your hands travel up to squeeze his pecs.

You can feel his body shudder when your thumbs brush over his nipples, letting out a whine when you pinch them between your fingers. He’s breathless by the time you pull away, watching you with that eager look in his eyes that makes you crazy for him. “B-Baby, what are you-” he tries to ask as you fall to your knees, though the last word dies in his throat when you look back up at him with a smile.

He still remembers the first time he slipped up and called you “baby.” You were on top of him, riding him so good that all he could do was babble on and on about how good it felt while gripping the bed sheets beneath him. “S-So good, oh my god, baby, it’s– you’re so good, feels so good,” he whimpered, whining loudly when you stopped moving to just look at him.

Changbin was going to ask why you stopped, beg you to please, please keep going, but then it hit him all at once– he called you ‘baby’ when it was never something either of you had done before. And instantly, he looked up at you utterly mortified with himself, ready to apologize over and over again for crossing the line in your friends with benefits relationship.

While the arrangement didn’t come with strict rules, such as no kissing for example, he still was concerned that it was a touch too far in the ‘romantic relationship’ direction. But to his surprise, and relief, you smiled at him, calling him sweet names in return after picking your pace back up. You continued to try out names, gauging his reaction carefully until you found the one that seemed to make him react the most.

And now here you are, looking up at him with his cock pulled out of his sweatpants and throbbing in your hands, calling him the name that turns his brain and body to jelly. “Want to show you how badly I missed you, bunny,” you told him before pressing a lingering kiss to his already leaking tip, his pre-cum smearing over your lips.

Thank fucking God you pressed him against the door, because if he didn’t have the support he’s pretty sure his legs would’ve given out. It’s not often that you’re the one on your knees for him, and the sight is so erotic it makes his brain feel like it’s going to melt out of his ears– not to mention the way you’re talking to him on top of it.

“So hard and leaky already,” you comment gleefully, sticking out your tongue to lick over his tip, “you missed me too, didn’t you, bun?”

“Y-Yeah, missed you, I missed you so much,” Changbin replies breathlessly, struggling to keep his hips still and not rut against your hands. He bites his lip, restraining the whimpers that threaten to endlessly spill when you open your mouth to take him in.

You don’t waste any time getting the corners of your mouth used to the stretch, or for Changbin to get used to the feeling after having gone without it for so long; you take him all at once, until his tip is touching the back of your throat and your nose is pressed against his pelvis.

His head falls back against the door as he squeezes his eyes shut, slapping his hand over his mouth to muffle the obscenely loud moan you draw out of him. Normally he pays no mind to his volume because he knows you prefer him loud, but he’d be beyond embarrassed if any neighbors walking the hall heard him just on the other side of the door.

You swallow around his length, and it takes effort to not gag given how thick and heavy he is, but you manage just fine. Breathing through your nose, you stroke his cock with your tongue whenever you need to give your throat a tiny break, sometimes pulling back to take a bigger breath and let more air into your lungs before sucking him into your mouth again.

Changbin cards his fingers through your hair, but doesn’t pull– just holds your head in an effort to ground himself. His thighs are trembling, and he’s seemingly given up on trying to be quiet, or is simply too far gone to care anymore, the hand he was using to cover his mouth now clenched into a fist at his side.

“W-Wait, wait, baby, please wait, don’t wanna cum yet,” he pleads as his stomach clenches, the twitching and throbbing of his cock growing more in intensity. He’s lifted his head from the door, looking down at you now and meeting your gaze as you blatantly ignore his request and continue to swallow him down your throat.

“Please, please, your pussy– want your pussy, honey, please,” he tries again, chest heaving as he begs, the fingers threaded through your hair now clenching into a fist as well, but still, he doesn’t pull you off him. That’s one of the things you like most about Changbin– he’s so strong that it’d be easy for him to make you do whatever he wants, but he doesn’t.

Even now, as desperate as he is to be inside your pussy, he’s obedient, first and foremost. How can you resist giving him what he wants when he’s so sweet, perfect and well behaved? You pull off him with a loud ‘pop,’ watching the way his cock throbs pathetically against his stomach as his impending orgasm begins to ebb away.

You expect him to take a longer moment to recover, but even with how breathless he is, he’s leaning down to pick you up from the floor. You can’t help but let out a squeal as you’re lifted from the ground– you know very well that Changbin is strong, but it always surprises you how effortlessly he can lift your weight. Excites you too, if you’re being completely honest.

He has you in a full princess carry, one arm supporting your back while the other is under your knees. You know he won’t drop you, but you wrap your arms around his neck anyway for the extra security. He shows his appreciation for you with so many kisses over your face that you can’t help but giggle, and he holds you tighter when his kisses cause you to squirm in his grasp.

“Don’t tickle me with kisses when I can’t escape you,” you half-heartedly complain, and he giggles with you, pressing one more to your nose before he starts walking away from the front door. “We’re going to your room,” he informs you, figuring that’s where you’d prefer to me after having been away from home.

Your luggage lies forgotten on the floor as he makes his way past the open kitchen and living room, and into the hallway leading to your rooms. Standing in front of your door, you lean in his grasp to twist the door knob, and he gently nudges the door open further with his foot. Your bedroom is just how you left it a week and a half ago, and Changbin sets you down on your bed carefully.

“Are you going to undress yourself for me?” you ask with an expectant tilt of your head, and he blushes ever so slightly as he shyly giggles and nods. It never fails to make him a little shy when you watch him undress like this, but he also takes pride in the way you look at him. Hungry, but somehow still tender and sweet.

He starts with his sweatpants and underwear, considering his cock is still out from when you pulled them down just enough to get it out. Kicking his feet out once they’ve fallen to the floor, his shirt is next, and he very quickly pulls it up and over his head. “My baby,” you coo at him after beckoning him closer, and it makes his head spin.

It’s the first time you’ve used a possessive term with him. Your baby.. Yes, whether you know it or not, he’s yours. Only yours.

“You’re so handsome, you know that?” you continue, smiling when the pink on his flushed cheeks deepens, “And sexy, and adorable, and lovable.” You love complimenting him– even before you were friends with benefits, you’d tell him sweet things whenever you could. It took him a long time to grow into himself and get comfortable and confident in his own skin, and he deserves the pride and joy he feels now.

Lovable is a new one, and he tries not to let it root itself inside his head– you certainly do love him, but just as a friend, he knows it. You’ve always been sweet to him, and he’s certain that your doting on him and sweet gestures increased only because of the slight change in your relationship, and no other reason.

Regardless, does the reason matter? You’re complimenting him earnestly, and that’s enough. Even if it’s said without romantic intent, you do mean it– and that’s all he needs, really.

“Help me out with my own clothes now, won’t you, sweet boy?” you ask, and he gives you an excited nod that makes you giggle again. You lift your back off the bed so he can help you with your top and bra, then lift your legs so he can help you out of your pants and underwear when you let your back fall against the bed again.

He kisses you the entire time he’s getting you out of your clothes, only breaking away when he has to. “Gonna get you ready for me,” he breathes out near the shell of your ear before planting a kiss there, and then trailing them down your neck. He slides his hand between your legs as he does, and you spread them apart for him to make his task easier for him.

You both know you can handle the sting from his cock stretching you out, sometimes you even crave it– but you can never deny his desire to be sweet to you. If he wants to stretch you out on his fingers first, you’ll let him do it every time.

“Oh, honey, you’re so wet,” he gasps as he runs his fingers between your folds. It shouldn’t be much of a surprise, really– you always get soaking wet when you and Changbin are being intimate. Still, it always surprises him as much as it did your first time together; he supposes there’s a part of him that still can’t believe you’re this physically attracted to him, even with how much you shower him with compliments.

Of course, if you knew he had that thought, you’d shower him with even more of them, until there wasn’t a single doubt left in his mind. He’s perfect, truly; there’ll never be anyone who can compare to Changbin.

You don’t need him to start slow or careful, but he does regardless, starting by pressing just one of his fingers to your hole before sliding it inside. He knows you can take more at once, would even enjoy the sting that would follow, but he wants to be good to you! When you’re full of him, so thick that you’re full to the point it’s almost too much, he wants it to be pure bliss.

Changbin pumps his finger in and out of you slowly, waiting until he’s certain you’re about to start whining for more before adding a second, and after just a little more he’s adding a third. He keeps his fingers still for just a moment, making sure you’re well adjusted before he starts to thrust them in and out in the way he knows you love.

And God, even though it’s you that’s getting fucked right now, he feels like he’s going a little crazy. He’s so addicted to the noises you make, the way your breathing starts to hitch and turn more shallow, how your eyes roll back when he hits that gummy spot inside you. You’re so fucking slick, and squeezing his fingers so tight that he can barely even think straight– not that he was entirely to begin with.

Is it just because it’s been over a week since the last time you were together? He never thought himself so insatiable or easily worked up, but fuck, you just unlock something in him. He’s had sex plenty of times before you started sleeping together, had plenty of fun experiences with different partners, but only you make me feel so.. needy.

“Binnie, baby, want your cock now, give it to me, please,” you whine, voice impossibly pretty and breathless. “Ah but– are you sure, baby? Don’t want me to make you cum first?” he asks as he slows down the motion of his fingers.

“We’ve both waited long enough, haven’t we?” you ask, rhetorical; it’s much more a statement than a question. You look at his cock, still leaking steadily and impossibly hard, and then look back to Changbin’s face. “Let’s cum together. That’s what I want,” you tell him, and you can’t help but notice the way his cock twitches from your words in your peripheral.

Of course, he can’t resist doing whatever you want– especially not when there’s a promise to cum together at the end. So he slips his fingers out of you, and before he can even ask what you’d like him to do, you’re putting your hands on his shoulders and guiding him to his back.

He falls to his back easily, swallowing as he watches you crawl on top of him. You’ve done it countless times at this point, but it never stops being sexy and exciting to watch. Your hands planted firmly on his chest, and your legs straddling his body, you move your hips back and forth, rubbing your pussy up and down his length to get it wet.

His tip rubbing against your clit feels so fucking good too, but that’s not why you’re doing this; so you quickly move on before you get carried away and end up grinding on him until you cum. Reaching your hand between your bodies, you grab his cock at the base and angle it where you need it.

Changbin watches with eager eyes and bated breath, his hands holding your hips for extra support. Even when you start to slowly sink down on him, and you’re both gasping and breathless from the pleasure, he’s careful to not squeeze you too hard. He’s always so tender and careful, even when doesn’t need to be, and you love him for it.

And true to what he hoped, there’s no sting when you’re fully sat on him, the stretch nothing but pleasurable for you. Because of this, it also means you don’t have to start slow– and so within just a few short moments, you’re bouncing on him rapidly, leaning down to kiss him as you do.

He has long since stopped being embarrassed about the noises you draw out of him, whimpering and moaning freely as the pleasure seeps into every pore of his body. Your tongue once again slips its way into his mouth, and he meets it eagerly with his own, happy to slide it around yours.

Bouncing on his cock, and kissing him like this, he can’t help but be reminded of the very first time you slept together. You had just freshly agreed to the friends with benefits arrangement, both of you lonely and in need of some intimacy, but being done with relationships for the time for your own reasons.

You took the lead, and it was the first time anyone ever had– he was so used to being the macho man in charge for his lovers, that he found it interesting and exciting that you wanted to be the one in control. You told him what to do, how to do it, praised him and guided him along, had him lay down while you crawled on top and did all the work for him after you were ready to take his cock.

And to his surprise, he instantly liked it– loved it, even. He never considered before then letting someone else have the leading role in bed, but after you started, it just felt natural. And when you leaned down and kissed him in that moment, when everything was so different for him and exciting, it felt like everything shifted, like the entire world titled on its axis.

Maybe he’s been in love with you since then, but only fully realized what he felt recently. Maybe he’s been in love since even further before, but didn’t have the tools then to put that feeling together, because the line between friend and lover can sometimes be blurry. Maybe he’s been a fool this entire time, and continues to be one now– because he knows what he feels now for certain, but is still too scared to admit it to you.

He’s thankful that your tongue in his mouth prevents him from speaking– because he’s certain if it wasn’t, he’d end up saying something he shouldn’t. It doesn’t stop him from having the thoughts internally, however.

“You’re so perfect, I love you, I love you so much, I need you, need you to need me, love you,” his brain is screaming as his orgasm approaches once more. The noises leaving him growing more in volume and desperation is enough of a warning for you on its own that he’s close, but you can feel him throbbing too, eager for release after how close he was to cumming earlier.

You reach your hand between your bodies once more, this time to rub your clit with your fingers. It makes your pace falter a bit, but Changbin is more than used to helping you in the last stretch like this. He helps you keep your pace with his hands, and thrusts up into you in time with the fall of your hips onto his.

“C-Cumming, oh, bunny, you’re making me cum,” you whimper, biting your lip and furrowing your brow as the circles you draw on your clit grow messy. You gasp when your orgasm hits you, your breath catching in your throat as your mouth hangs open in a silent cry. Changbin was already close, and the way you squeeze around him as you cum unravels him too.

His cum shoots inside you, hot and sticky, his entire body trembling as he whimpers and whines beneath you. He’s not sure when he closed his eyes, but when he opens them he sees you looking down at him with such a beautiful smile that he truly feels like he died and went to heaven– because fuck, you’re an angel.

Changbin reaches a hand up, tucks your messy, fallen strands of hair behind your ears, smiling when you coo and call him a “sweet boy,” again. You let your body fall against his chest, resting your head in the crook of his neck as you close your eyes and let out a content sigh. “Baby?” he questions, giggling a little when you mumble about being tired against his skin.

“We have to get you cleaned up,” he reminds you, though the way he strokes your back surely doesn’t give you any motivation to get off him. “And you need to go to the bathroom before you fall asleep!” he adds, and you hum an acknowledgment, but still make no effort to crawl off him. Instead, your body relaxes even further, and soon enough you’re not even responding to him talking to you anymore.

You’ve fallen asleep much quicker than Changbin would’ve ever expected; he’s sure you’re tired from the days you spent away and the trip back home, and the fact that you fucked him immediately upon getting home likely didn’t do you any favors in keeping the fatigue at bay.

But he’s still here in your bed, beneath you, your body warm and soft and entirely limp as serene snores leave you. He’s not sure if he should try to wiggle his way out from under you, or just stay like this and sleep together. He knows what he wants to do, but.. he’s never spent an entire night in your room, nor have you done so in his.

And all he can think about while he looks up at your ceiling with you in his arms is how much he loves you but can’t tell you.

Fuck. What does he do now?

It’s been days since Changbin has had the chance to speak with you, but whether or not that’s entirely a good thing remains to be seen– because even with the distance to sort himself out, his mind remains addled and plagued by the desire to be with you as a lover.

Thankfully, you haven’t noticed anything off with him– mostly because the distance since arriving back home was due to your own need to catch up on sleep, unpack your belongings, and get ready to go back to work and resume life as usual. Whenever you’re not sleeping, you’re busy, and that works for Changbin– or it was supposed to, anyways.

All he’s done the last few days is get back into his spiral. Confess his feelings or not, risk your friendship or keep everything to himself, move out before he loses his mind or stay until the day you decide you’re done.. He wishes there was a simple, easy answer. More than that, he wishes he could guarantee that you’d stay with him if he laid his feelings bare for you.

And he misses you. You’re only a room away across the hall, but he misses you. And he doesn’t fucking know what to do with himself anymore. He’s been trying to sleep for hours now, but all he can do is toss and turn and think about you, how bad he needs you– not just emotionally, but physically too. Because the moment he started thinking about you, it was only a matter of time before he began to reminisce about the sex you’ve had.

Is his brain fucking against him, or what? As if it wasn’t bad enough he was in a spiral over the possibility of you rejecting his feelings, now he can’t stop thinking about how pretty you looked after your shower this morning. He only saw you in passing, as he had to head out for work and you had to get back to catching up on the work emails that piled up in your inbox while you were away, but God..

If it wasn’t for the fact that you really needed to get your work done before going back to the office when the weekend’s over, he would’ve dropped to his knees right there in the middle of the hallway and eaten you out until you were begging him to stop (or forcing him to by pulling his hair.) He wouldn’t even have cared about his own job– Chan would forgive him, he always did.

And truly, this is agony. Worse than agony, it’s torture. He needs to go take a cold shower and calm the fuck down so he can start thinking rationally again– as rationally as he can manage to in his lovesick state, anyways. With a heavy sigh, he throws his blankets off himself and reaches for his glasses on his nightstand. After putting them on, he rises from his bed, hoping the shower will be enough of a reset to let him get some sleep.

Opening his door, he’s surprised to see you’re awake. Well, he can’t see you just yet from the hallway, but he can see that the lamp in the living room is turned on, and can faintly hear the tv playing lofi focus music. And even though he probably shouldn’t, he can’t resist walking over to check in on you.

He can hear you typing away on your laptop as he gets closer, and you look away from the screen and turn your head in his direction when you hear his footsteps over the softly playing music. “Oh, Binnie!” you smile at him, and it’s so genuine it makes his heart flutter. He’s so fucking screwed. “Couldn’t sleep?” you ask him, taking a small break from responding to emails to give him your attention.

“O-Oh, yeah, well I was trying to sleep, but..” he trails off when he sees you glancing down his body, to the painfully obvious erection straining against his shorts. “Had a problem?” you finish for him, and his face instantly flushes red. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve caught him with an erection, but it always makes him feel so perverted when it happens this way.

“I can help you,” you offer, shooting him that pretty smirk that always turns him into jello. Fuck, you’re a siren, and he’s helpless to resist you. But still, aren’t you busy? As much as he’s willing to fuck up his own work performance for you, he’d feel terrible if his neediness made your own work harder for you.

“I-I was going to shower and take care of it myself, but I saw you were awake and I just wanted to see what you were doing and.. Anyways, you don’t have to! Seriously, I know you’re busy! It’s okay, I don’t-” he babbles, and you giggle at him. He’s just so cute, especially when he’s trying his best to be considerate to you.

“C’mere. I can’t help you right this minute but good boys like you know how to be patient, right? You can sit pretty here until I’m done with my emails?” you ask, patting the spot next to you on the sofa. Shit, you always know just what to say to him.

He listens to your siren song, coming to where you beckon him to sit like the obedient boy you know him to be. “Take your cock out for me, baby,” you instruct, and again he listens, not a single ounce of hesitance as he slides his shorts down enough for his erection to spring free. He watches as you set your laptop on the coffee table and stand up, curious as to what you’re doing.

Changbin gulps when you slide your own shorts down your legs, as well as your panties, and fuck, he’s excited, but more than that he’s confused. He thought you told him he’d have to wait until you were done with your emails.. So why are you undressing already..?

Maybe this is to keep him hard and eager– make him sit there with a view of your bare pussy so that by the time you’re done, he’s desperate and begging for you. Maybe you want to test the limits of your “good boy,” see how riled up you can make him while you work until he snaps and bends you over the sofa, taking you as he pleases.

You stand in front of him with your back facing him, and though it’s a bit awkward and challenging, you reach behind and take his cock into your hand. “Spit on it, get it wet for me,” you tell him, and though his mind is still reeling from the unexpected development, he does as you ask.

You spread his saliva around his length as best you can with your fingers, and when you’re content, you carefully press his cock to your hole. It takes you a second to get the angle right thanks to the position, but once you’ve got it, you slowly start to sink down. Changbin gasps and whines, bewildered by what’s happening right now. “B-Baby, I- what- what are you doing? I thought- I don’t-”

“You’re still going to wait,” you tell him after you’ve fully sat in his lap, doing your best to keep your voice steady and firm despite how deliciously his cock is stretching out. “Be good for me, and stay still ‘til I’m done, okay? And then I’ll take care of you,” you tell him, and again he whines as he watches you lift your laptop from the coffee table and set it back in your lap.

It’s a little awkward to type like this, but you think the fun that’ll result from it is worth it. Changbin eagerly nods his head, but then he remembers that you can’t see him in this position, so he speaks the best he can. “Y-Yes, I’ll be good for you,” he says with a shaky breath, biting his lip when you squirm ever so slightly to get more comfortable.

You lean back into him, his chest pressing against your back, his face close enough to your neck and shoulder that you can feel his labored breaths tickling your skin. He hears a click on your touchpad, opening a new email he assumes, followed shortly by the sound of keys resuming as you respond to it.

Why is this so fucking hot? His dick is fully pressed inside you, and you’re not even paying attention to him– just continuing to type away on your laptop as if he’s not even losing his mind beneath you. Or should he say behind you? Both?

He bites his lip and closes his eyes, trying his best to keep staying still like you told him to, his hands clutching the sofa cushions to keep them from wandering without permission and distracting you from your work.

And God, he’s trying so hard to be quiet too, but it feels so impossible. The more you type away and click open new emails, the more he throbs. And the more he throbs, the more your pussy reacts by squeezing around him. And then he can’t help but whimper, his eyes rolling back when you adjust in his lap and cause the tiniest bit of friction.

Click, more typing. A few more clicks, more typing. Click, click, more typing. How long has it even been? Since the moment you sank down on him and started working, he feels like he’s lost all sense of time. All he knows is that your pussy has been squeezing him so good– and it’s so wet now too. Is it just as exciting for you as it is for him? Do you like it? Or is it how good he’s being for you that’s making you soak his cock?

“B-Baby, are you almost done? Please tell me you’re almost done,” Changbin whines, the desperation in his voice palpable. You chuckle as you click send on another email, wishing you could see his face right now– you’re sure he’s absolutely debauched. “Not quite,” you answer, and you can practically hear the pout in his whine.

Changbin is many things, but impatient and disobedient is not among the list. And he’s trying so, so hard to keep staying still, but he doesn’t think he can take it much longer. Honestly, you’re not sure if you can either– you’re quickly losing focus on your emails, and you’re fairly certain at least a handful of them were written less than professionally.

Still, you click open another one, trying not to react to the way he desperately whimpers. He can’t be bad, he can’t– so his only option is to keep sitting here, and take it. “You’re- you’re almost done now, right?” he asks after another few minutes of waiting– at least, it felt like that to him. For all he knew, in reality it could’ve been more like 30 seconds.

“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t wait anymore?” It’s a bit of a mean question, you know– especially since you already know the answer. But still, it’s fun to ask, and you love how whiny and breathy his voice has gotten in the time you’ve been sitting on his cock.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m really trying, I just- I-I’ve never wanted to fuck you so bad before, I’m going crazy,” he practically cries, and you’re sure that if you turned around, you’d see his plump lips formed into the cutest, most devastating pout. “But I’m- I’m good,” he continues after taking another shaky breath, “I won’t move, not unless you tell me to, I promise.”

Fuck it– you still have work, but who cares? Surely your boss will understand if you couldn’t get to every email right? You got through most of them, and that counts for something, doesn’t it? That’s the justification you give yourself anyways as you close your inbox.

“You want to fuck me, Binnie?” you ask him, and he eagerly nods just as he did before, remembering again at the last moment that you can’t see him. “Yes, yes! I really, really want to,” he replies, letting out a salacious moan when you start to lift off him. You shut your laptop and place it back on the coffee table before you turn around to look at Changbin.

Just as you expected, he looks deliciously debauched. Lips swollen and bitten red, face flushed, eyes sparkling with hope and desire as he looks up at you. “You’re right baby, you’re good. Such a good boy,” you coo at him, leaning down to kiss him sweetly. “How do you want me?” you ask him when you pull back, and his brain has to work overtime to stop itself from short circuiting from the question.

If you’re letting him pick, there’s one clear answer that’ll make him the happiest. “Lay down- on your back, please. Want to look at you, want you to look at me,” he says, and you smile at him as you lay back against the sofa, spreading your legs so Changbin can crawl between them. He kisses you as he takes his cock in his hand, pressing it against your hole before pulling away to look at you for approval.

“Go ahead, fuck me, bunny,” you encourage him sweetly. A shiver runs down the length of his spine as he starts to push back inside you, another obscene whine from deep in his throat leaving him when he’s fully inside. He leans down to kiss you again when he starts to fuck you earnestly, because that’s all he can think to do with his overwhelming wave of emotions.

He’s thrusting fast from the start, all the pent up desperation and need for you pouring out of him ceaselessly. Your eyes always stay on his, even when he hits your spot in the way that normally makes them close or roll back, and it makes him crazy how you’re catering to his desire to have you looking at him.

Your eyes are so pretty, so warm in the way they look at him. Everything about you is warm– your hands when they hold him, your body when it envelops him, your voice when you speak to him. The way you smile at him when he enters the room, the way you laugh at his stupid jokes, it’s warm, all of you is so, so warm. You’re home, you’re comfort, you’re bliss.

He feels like he’s unraveling in his entirety as he looks down at you, his pace quickly growing sloppy as his cock throbs. He can’t handle the way you’re looking up at him, can feel the tears threatening to well up in the corners of his eyes. He’s so overwhelmed by it all– by the pleasure, by the way you look lying beneath him, by how much he loves you.

“You’re so beautiful, oh my god,” he whines, every thought that’s been running through his mind falling from his lips as he squeezes you in his arms. He knows he should shut up, should bite his lip or slap his hand over his mouth before he says something he shouldn’t, but the words just keep pouring out of him.

“You’re so pretty, so fucking pretty, I can’t take it sometimes,” he continues, whimpering when you bring your fingers to your clit and start to squeeze around him tighter. “You- you make me so crazy, you’re perfect, so perfect, and- God, ‘m so close, love you so much, I love you,” he stutters, his eyes rolling back as he feels you start to cum with him. He presses his cock fully into you one last time, his cum spurting out in thick ropes until you’re full.

He’s panting, glasses fallen down to the tip of his nose, body trembling as he slowly starts to come down from the high. “Binnie,” you call him softly, and it’s not until he opens his eyes and looks at you again that what he said hits him like a ton of bricks.

He told you he loves you. While he was fucking you. He told you he loves you.

There’s no way to turn it out around as platonic in this scenario– it’s so fucking obvious how he meant it. To say he’s mortified is an understatement; and when he tries to speak, all that comes out are pathetic stutters, every explanation he wants to offer dying in his throat. Your eyes are watery as you look at him, and suddenly his throat feels impossibly dry, his hands clammy as he pulls out of you.

He fucked up so bad. He ruined everything, he knows he did– this isn’t how he wanted to tell you, he wasn’t even ready to tell you. And now you know, and you’re looking at him with so much concern he feels like he’s going to shatter. Not anger, not sadness, but care– a care entirely different from what he’s seen on you before.

It’s pity, isn’t it? You don’t share the sentiment and you pity him for blurting it out like that. “You love me?” you ask him, your voice soft but cautious, unsure. “I..” Changbin tries again, but honestly he just wants to cry. Every emotion, every word, lodged in his throat and stuck, but still he tries to explain himself. “I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean-”

You’ve always loved Changbin. Since the early days of your friendship, you’ve loved him. How could you not? You’d never met someone as sincere as him, his every action so affectionate and caring. A gentleman through and through, always making sure the people he loves are taken care of, always the first to offer a helping hand when someone is in need.

But you’d given up on the idea that you could have something more so long ago– and becoming friends with benefits with him told you that he didn’t love you romantically. He was the first to offer, and people don’t offer that arrangement if it risks their feelings getting exposed; so he didn’t love you that way, you were certain.

You told yourself you were okay with that. You were done with relationships, so tired of having your heart broken after pouring all of your love and faith into someone. And sure, you’d be heartbroken again when Changbin inevitably decides to move on, but at least it was a heartbreak you accepted would come, you’d be ready for it– that’s what you always told yourself.

But he loves you? Like, is in love with you? And he’s mistaking your surprise, your teary eyes, your struggle to wrap your head around the fact that he loves you as much as you love him as rejection. You can see it in the panic in his eyes, the way he stumbles over his words, the tremble in his voice– he thinks you don’t love him.

How could he ever think you don’t love him?

“Changbin, I-” you try again, and somehow the fact that you’re using his full name hurts worse; it's like a confirmation that you’re done with him, with this. It’s irrational, but the part of his brain that’s trying to talk sense into him is drowned out by the panic and fear of rejection, as if he can protect himself from the pain by accepting the fact that you don’t love him now before you say it out loud.

“I need- I need a minute, I’m so sorry,” he blurts out, because even though he knows it’s coming, he can’t bear to hear it yet. He scrambles up from the sofa, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill as he rushes back to his room. He falls to his bed, burying his face into his pillows and lets out a trembling breath.

Tomorrow.. He can’t avoid this, knows he needs to accept it sooner rather than later, but for this tiny moment, at least until tomorrow, he’s still yours.

Changbin isn’t avoiding you. At least, not on purpose– he just hasn’t gathered the courage to leave his room yet. He feels a bit like a hypocrite; he prides himself on his communication skills, and yet in the face of an honest conversation and acceptance of rejection, he flounders. Is he pathetic? You’d have every right to think so.

Are you going to move out now? Should he? No, he should stop beating around the bush and just talk to you. You’re not in love with him, but you do love him– and that’s supposed to be enough, he told himself so many times that it is.

You can work past this, can’t you? It has to be possible. He just doesn’t want to lose you, even if it breaks his heart he can take not having you romantically, is totally fine without the sex– but losing you as a friend? He can’t bear that.

He sighs, covering his face with his hands as he lies in his bed. He slept like shit, and he’s sure you didn’t fare much better– a thought that adds to the guilt he feels. But fuck, he needs to face this. The only thing that would be worse than losing you as a friend because being friends with benefits blew up in his face would be losing you because he was a spineless coward.

Changbin grabs his phone, checks the time– it’s still early in the morning, but you’re usually awake by now. With another sigh to steel himself for what’s to come, he gets up from his bed and faces his door. He takes a breath, another attempt to calm his nerves, and walks to his door, quickly twisting the knob and pulling it open.

“Oh!” you squeak in surprise, jumping where you stand before him. Changbin jumps too, with his own little shout of surprise coming out. How long were you standing outside of his door? Were you trying to work up the nerve to talk to him too? You blink at one another for a moment, and to Changbin’s relief, you’re the first to crack, letting out a little giggle.

He giggles too, and though it’s a bit awkward given what happened late last night, it’s a relief that you’re not mad at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Changbin explains through his giggles, and God, your smile is so cute. You cover your mouth as you try to stop giggling, eyes crinkling and sparkling as you look at him, “No, no! It’s my fault for standing outside your door like this.”

It eases him, feels more like the normal he’s used to with you– the normal he hopes and prays you can still share after this. “Can I come in?” you ask him, and of course he lets you, stepping to the side so you can enter his room. Your body language is still relaxed, but when you look at him again, your expression is serious.

Part of him worries that the lighthearted moment you just shared was a lapse in judgment on your part, and that you’re about to chew him out for running away last night– not that he wouldn’t deserve it if you did. But what you actually end up saying is a much stronger shock to his system. “Why do you think I don’t love you?”

“Wh-What? I-I.. I don’t-” Changbin stutters, blinking at you in utter shock, not even entirely sure how to respond.

“Because I do. I love you so much, Seo Changbin. The idea that you think I don’t hurts me,” you tell him, entirely sincere. That’s the part of his impromptu confession that kept you up at night, the part that upset you? Not that he loves you when he shouldn’t, or that your friendship might be ruined?

“If you think you’re not enough for me, you are– if you think you aren’t deserving of love, you are. Tell me what it is, so I can make sure you never question how much I love you again. Okay? I need you to promise me that.”

Changbin blinks, frozen, a million thoughts and emotions running through him. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t know the answer. There was such a big chunk of his life where he wasn’t happy with himself– the way he looked, the soft parts of his personality, his desires that felt so grandiose and impossible..

He thought he had to live to what other people expected him to be, that it was the only way they would love him. It took him years of effort, of stumbling and falling and getting back up to get where he is now. More confident in his body, in the way he walks through the world, in the love he pours into his family and friends.

But there’s that part of his old self that still lingers– a part that calls to him late at night, that makes him question if he’s allowed to be this happy. That reminds him it’s still there when he’s weak and unsure, that crawls up his spine whenever you smile at him, that won’t let him believe that you could love him.

Changbin isn’t the same lanky, insecure boy he was when he first met you, but maybe he is. He looks different than he did then, but maybe that part of him is still there, underneath the built up muscle and maturity. Maybe it always will be, maybe there’s no way to ever make it go away– but maybe he doesn’t need to.

He thinks of all the times you were there for him, from the very first day you met. How you always encouraged him to do what makes him happy, how you supported him through his every decision to better himself.

“I think you’re perfect the way you are, but if going to the gym would make you feel better about yourself, you should do it!” you told him when he brought up the topic of trying to bulk up and fill out his body. “You’re so adorable Binnie, seriously, how can you be so cute?” you grinned, pinching his cheeks the first time aegyo slipped out in front of you.

No matter which version of himself he showed you, you loved him. Each part, no matter how different and against expectations, you cared for. And even with all the work he put into himself, there was still the part of him that tried to change in his romantic and sexual relationships. Trying to live up to what he thought his partners wanted, trying to adapt himself to them.

But so effortlessly, you dismantled the expectations he put upon himself. All the times you called him sexy and adorable in the same breath, made him believe that he could be both at the same time– that he could be manly and intimidating, sweet and loving, sexy and cute all at once, and it was all still genuinely him, all worthy of love.

Maybe it’s impossible to shove insecurity completely aside; it’s likely that it’ll always linger. Even when it’s small, and tucked away, and very nearly forgotten, it’ll be there, waiting. And maybe that’s okay, because when you have someone who loves you as you are, who reassures you and listens to you and comforts you, it’ll start to fade back out as naturally as it came in.

“I don’t know why,” he answers honestly, his bottom lip starting to quiver. His best guess is that his fear of losing someone he loves so much expounded upon his underlying insecurities, made them flare to the point that he felt like he could drown in them.

“I just know that I love you. And I need you, and not like- not like that, I just- ..I never want to be without you,” he continues, refusing to get choked up by his emotions and let it stop him from saying what he needs to. “And I promise- I’ll tell you, anytime I’m unsure of myself, I’ll tell you.”

You step closer to him, reach up and cup his face in your hands, rub the tears that threaten to fall from the corners of his eyes with your thumbs. His heart skips a beat when you smile sweetly at him, when you lean towards him to press a soft kiss to his lips, to tell him you love him. “You said I was perfect,” you say as you kiss him again, and then again, “but so are you. You’re the loveliest person I’ve ever known.”

You press more kisses over his face, complimenting each feature as you go. His deep, dark eyes that can be so piercing or so soft depending on the situation. His full cheeks, so cute and endearing when they’re pink from a blush, but so handsome and complimentary to his face. His downturned smirk when something amuses him that can easily turn into a fully bright upturned smile when he’s happy, and makes his nose scrunch adorably.

“Honey,” he breathes in a soft whine, unsure of what to do with all the excess affection. You guide him back to his bed, crawling atop him when he falls back against it, continuing your trail of kisses down his neck. “You deserve this,” you tell him, smiling against his skin when you feel him squirm beneath you, “deserve it all, and more.”

Changbin brings one of his hands to the back of your neck when you pull back to look at him, bringing you back down to him so he can kiss you. He doesn’t want to hold back anymore, to try and hide how badly he needs you. He kisses you like a man starved, hungry and desperate. His desire is carnal, every inch of him aching for your attention.

Your hands sweep over his torso, finding the hem of his shirt and tugging at it. He gets the hint, and separates from you so you can take it off him. He watches you remove yours too, heart thumping in his chest as you reach behind you to unhook your bra. He tries to lean up to kiss you again when you’re finished, but you push him back down.

He whines at first, but quickly swallows it down when you smile at him in that pretty way that makes his stomach flare with butterflies, his cock twitching as it hardens beneath you. Your hands travel his body, compliments about each and every inch of him freely falling from your lips. His arms, thick and warm and comforting. His chest, so strong and beautifully sculpted. His stomach, soft and cute, as perfect as the rest of him.

You kiss him too– everywhere your fingers touch, your lips follow. Soft, tender, overwhelming– his heart is beating so fast and hard, all your words, touches, and kisses make his blood feel like molten lava, every inch of him unbearably hot. It chokes him up too, how sweet you’re being to him; you’ve doted on him plenty of times, but never like this.

You take one of his hands in yours next, bring it up to your lips to press achingly soft kisses to it. The palm first, and then his wrist, before you turn it over to kiss his knuckles. You kiss the tip of each of his fingers, and his breath hitches as he watches you, goosebumps erupting all over him when you gently put it down and pick up his other hand to repeat the actions.

You treat him with so much reverence, shower him with more love than he knows what to do with. He’s trembling with emotion, aching with desire, overwhelmed by how much he loves you, how beautiful you look. He’s going to cry– seriously, he doesn’t know how much more he can take before tears start spilling out of him.

“Honey, please-” Changbin whines, and to his relief, you pause to look at him. “Please, I- let me make you feel good, please? I want to, I- I want to show you how much I love you too,” he begs. You intended to take care of him, to shower him in affection until you inevitably made him cum, but you meant it when you said you can never deny him his desire to be sweet to you.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” you say, and you watch as he chews on his bottom lip, face heating up further as he considers what to say. He knows what he wants, he’s thought about it so many times– it’s just the admitting and asking for it part that makes him a little shy. Still, you treat him so well, and you always indulge him, so.. The only thing to do is just go for it.

“I want.. Want you to sit on my face. Please? Please, please sit on my face,” he begs, and God, that has to be the sexiest thing he’s ever begged for. It makes your stomach flip, and if your legs weren’t straddling him, you definitely would’ve clenched them together. Lifting yourself off him, you make quick work of the remainder of your clothes.

Changbin scoots down the bed, so your legs will have more room when you return to him, chucking his glasses away, not nearly enough care in him for where they land. He looks at you, with a devastatingly sweet and bashful smile, his arms reaching out to help you when you start to settle above him. Your knees on either side of his head, he wraps his arms around your thighs.

The latter half of his face is obscured by your body hovering over him, but looking down, you can see his eyes, sparkling with eager excitement as he keeps your gaze. You lower yourself just a little, nervous to sit your entire weight on his face and suffocate him, but Changbin doesn’t want you to hover, he wants you to sit.

So using the arms he has wrapped around you, he pulls you fully down to him. You gasp– partly because of the surprise, and partly from the feeling of his tongue meeting your pussy. He focuses on your hole first, lapping up all the slick that drips out of you before he drags his tongue up to your clit, licking in a long, fat stripe.

He wraps his lips around it, sucking and flicking it with his tongue until you're writhing above him before he alternates back to licking you up, bottom to top, drinking all you offer. You bury your fingers in his curly hair, and he moans when you tug on it. He squeezes your trembling thighs, letting out happy hums whenever you moan for him.

He sticks out his tongue and lays it flat for you when you start to roll your hips, letting you grind against his face and use him however you see fit to. You shiver when your clit bumps against his nose, your breaths becoming harsher as you drive yourself closer to release on his tongue.

“Oh bunny, you’re so good to me, so good, ‘m gonna cum for you,” you cry, voice whinier than you would’ve otherwise liked it to be, but the way Changbin whines eagerly in response tells you how much he loves it. A few more rolls of your hips, and you’re cumming, your thighs squeezing around his head as you keep a tight grip on his hair to keep yourself steady.

Changbin enthusiastically laps up your release, continuing until you're squirming and whining from the sensitivity. He loosens his hold on your thighs when you do, letting you lift your leg over his head and fall to the side of the bed a little ways away from him. Both of you are breathless, but Changbin is the first to recover, and when he does he sits up and crawls over to where you landed.

He grabs your face, gently, of course, and pulls you into a kiss. His face is slick with your essence, and you can taste yourself all over his lips and tongue. “You looked so pretty,” he tells you softly between kisses, “You’re so gorgeous when you cum for me.” He carefully spreads your legs and slots himself between them, sliding his tongue around yours as he does.

“Want to give you my cock now,” he breaths, pulling away just enough to look at you with those eager, pleading eyes that make you weak. “Want to keep making you feel good, want to- want to watch your eyes roll back when I make you cum again.”

“Sweet boy,” you coo, spreading your legs wider for him, offering yourself to him, “do it, baby. Give it to me.”

He kicks off the remainder of his clothes in record time, taking his cock in his hand and spreading the dribbling pre-cum over his length until it’s completely wet. You’re more than ready for him, but he’s as careful with you as always, pushing each inch inside slowly.

You reach out to him and pull him down to you, kissing him hard and sweet, drinking in the whimper he lets out when he’s fully inside you. His entire body is trembling, still worked up from all the attention you gave him and sensitive from fucking you just last night. There’s a part of him that still feels vulnerable too, but he’s safe with you, and he knows you always will be.

He loves you well, but you love him better; and he’ll spend every moment he has showing how much he appreciates you. He doesn’t need to prove his worth, doesn’t need to do anything apart from be himself– the love you’ve given him has shown him that. You understand him, better than anyone ever has.

You love him, you always have, long before who he is now, and will continue to long into the future. All he has to do to repay all you’ve given him is love you. Love you honestly, openly, freely– because he’s enough as he is.

When he starts to move his hips, you both moan, Changbin just the slightest bit louder than you. He tucks his arms under your shoulders and pulls you closer to him, chests touching as he steadily builds a faster pace. He’s squeezing you in his arms, whining in your ear about how good you feel around him.

He’s so high-strung and sensitive that he doesn’t think he’ll last long, but oh, is he going to try. But shit, he’s still so emotional too– he thought he would’ve recovered by now, but it keeps hitting him in waves. And when you kiss him, it makes him dizzy– not just with lust and desire, but with passion, adoration.

The way he looks down at you when he pulls away takes your breath away, so sentimental and loving. You take his face into one of your hands again, and it takes everything in him to not get choked up again. Your love is his greatest comfort, but it also makes him ache– because no one has ever loved him as sincerely as you do.

“Do you need to stop?” you ask him tenderly, once again wiping the tears from his eyes. His heart feels like it’s going to burst from all the emotion, but he quickly shakes his head, offering you a sincere smile, “N-No, no, I’m fine! I just- I really love you,” he admits, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips to show you he means it.

“And besides, I might go actually insane if I don’t fuck you, cause seriously, how are you so fucking sexy?” he follows up. “Oh, shut up,” you giggle, playfully slapping his arm. “This is supposed to be about you, you know? My sweet bunny and how perfect he is- maybe I need to remind you?”

Changbin curiously tilts his head at your words as you lock your legs around him and using what strength you have, and with the help of gravity and momentum, you force him to roll to his side, and then to his back. You smile down at him, your roles easily flipped, while he stares up at you, mystified and easily the most turned on he’s ever been.

“Oh-” is all he manages to utter, his cock throbbing furiously inside you. He could’ve easily fought it– he’s physically much stronger than you, after all. But he just loves when you force him into the positions you want, loves to be malleable and pliant for you.

You plant your hands firmly on his chest, bouncing on his cock fast, the sound of your thighs slapping together just barely louder than Changbin’s obscenely loud whimpers. “Oh God, ‘m gonna cum,” he whines desperately, too wound up and sensitive to resist it, his hands clutching at the bedsheets so hard his knuckles have turned white, “please, please, please, can I, please? Please, let me cum.”

“I love you so much, Binnie, want you to cum for me,” you tell him, bringing one of your hands to your clit so you can cum with him, the way he always loves to. It causes you to squeeze tighter, and he gasps, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he trembles. “Give it to me, baby, be a good boy and cum for me.”

He does just as you ask, a messy string of “I love you”s falling from his lips until he’s too far gone to keep talking, tears streaming down the sides of his face as his eyes roll to the back of his head, and then close. His noises are high-pitched and pornographic, his entire body shaking with the intensity of his cum spilling inside you.

His vision is blurry when he starts to blink open his eyes, but soon enough you come back into focus above him, looking down at him affectionately. He smiles at you, a goofy, sweet one that makes you giggle. He wraps his arms around you and drags you down to him, pressing kisses to your lips over and over again.

Changbin tells you everything he’s wanted to this entire time as he does; how beautiful you are, how much he loves you, how he can’t imagine his life without you in it. He blushes when you do the same, while once again making him promise he’ll tell you if doubt ever starts to creep up on him.

The journey to loving yourself isn’t easy; it’s a long winding road, uneven and easy to stumble on. But when he falls, you’ll be there to catch him. You’ll remind him how loved he is, the value he has simply in being, how he brightens every day you share just by existing.

You’ll always be here, growing older with him, supporting him as he continues to grow and change, each experience turning him into a newer version of himself. And in every change, in every season of his life, you’ll continue to love him. Always.

network tags: @ksmutsociety @skzstarnet

#ksmutsociety #skzstarnet #skz x reader #changbin x reader #skz smut #changbin smut #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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lilmisssona · 6 months ago

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𐙚 ˚A ' Chris ' Mas Mayhem 𐙚 ˚

𐙚 ˚Pairing - Bang Chan × Fem Reader

𐙚 ˚Plot - YN returns to Seoul after three years, leaving behind her boyfriend for a work project, and finally gets transferred back just before Christmas. Excited to reunite, she decides to move into her boyfriend’s place, only to discover it isn’t his house at all. To make matters worse, she learns her Christmas gifts have been going to the wrong address all along—leading to an unexpected twist.

𐙚 ˚Genre - Angst, Hurt, Healing,Comedy, Fluff

𐙚 ˚Warnings - Hurt, betrayal, breakup, neighbor au, non Idol au, healing, comfort, Strangers to lovers

𐙚 ˚Word count - 8.7 K 𐙚 ˚ Screenshot Count - 2

𐙚 ˚A/N - Ahh! I'm so excited to share the first episode of Staymas! Dive into this fun mix of Christmas gifts, neighborly banter, and the spark of something deeper. This is just Slight proofread. So apologies for any mistakes 🙂‍↕️

𐙚 ˚SKZ Masterlist 𐙚 ˚Staymas Masterlist

It was a quiet winter afternoon in Seoul. The capital city, once blanketed in snow just weeks ago, had now settled into the crisp, dry embrace of December air.

The crunch of the remaining snow under your boots brought you back to the present as you stepped out of the taxi. You were home. After three years of relentless overtime, endless meetings, and the nonstop pace of Tokyo, you were finally back in Seoul. Back to the city you had always called home.

Your overseas transfer to Tokyo had been your first project as a lead. While life in Tokyo matched the speed and intensity of Seoul, you missed your home; and, more than anything, you missed your boyfriend, Chris Han.

You had just started dating Chris four years ago after a chance meeting at a club. He had been everything you could hope for: caring, attentive, and loving.

But things took a turn when you mentioned your transfer, barely a year into your relationship. He resisted the idea vehemently, arguing that long-distance relationships never worked. But this was your dream project, and you were determined.

Reluctantly, he agreed, and you left with tears in your eyes, clinging to the hope that distance would strengthen your bond.

At first, it did. Video calls became your lifeline, and you were grateful for his support despite the miles between you. Each Christmas, you went out of your way to send him thoughtful gifts: hand-knit sweaters, heartfelt letters, and cookies you baked yourself. You imagined him opening them, smiling, and feeling less alone.

But as time passed, the calls became less frequent, and the distance began to weigh on you. Yet, your heart remained steadfast, filled with love for Chris. Now that you were back, you couldn't wait to celebrate your first Christmas together in years.

-----------------------------------------------------

Standing in front of the apartment building, you took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing nerves. You had gone to great lengths to make this moment a reality, even renting an apartment in the same building as his, though he had no idea yet. This was meant to be a surprise, something special that would bring you closer in a way he wouldn’t expect.

Unbeknownst to him, you'd taken the opportunity to secure a place in the very same building, arranging everything during a video call with the tenant. You had even wired some advance money to her, securing the apartment without him ever suspecting a thing.

The elevator doors opened on your desired floor, and you stepped out, the faint hum of the building filling the quiet space around you. The tenant, the one you had finalized everything with, was waiting for you to complete the paperwork.

She smiled warmly, gesturing for you to come inside. As you hesitated in the hallway, your eyes darted nervously around, scanning for any familiar faces. You didn’t want to risk your boyfriend finding out about your arrival just yet, so you made sure to move cautiously, stepping inside and out of sight, ready to finalize this surprise and begin a new chapter.

You signed the last documents, handed over the remaining deposit, and took the keys to your new home. The apartment, though sparse, felt cozy and warm, just as it had seemed in the calls. After a quick shower, you put on the sweater Chris had once gifted you, applied light makeup, and prepared for the moment you’d been waiting for.

Clutching a box of homemade chocolate chip cookies, your heart pounded as you approached apartment 504- Chris's place. Smoothing your scarf, you knocked on the door, excitement bubbling inside you.

You pictured the scene perfectly: Chris opening the door, stunned, before pulling you into his arms with a cheesy line like, "I can't believe you're mine forever now." The two of you would share cookies, cuddle, and watch movies like you used to. It was the perfect surprise.

But when the door opened, it wasn’t Chris who greeted you....

“Uh, hi?” The man at the door blinked at you, clearly confused. He was tall, with soft, dark hair that framed his strikingly sharp features. He looked effortlessly attractive, dressed in casual sweatpants and a hoodie, as if he’d just stepped out of a photoshoot.

You froze, your brain scrambling to make sense of the situation.

“Is Chris here?” you asked hesitantly.

The man tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah… Who’s asking?”

“I’m Y/N, his girlfriend,” you replied nervously. “He lives here, right? Apartment 504?”

The man blinked at you, his confusion deepening. “M-My girlfriend? Sorry, but… do I know you?”

Your stomach tightened in a knot as you stared at him. Maybe Chris Han hadn’t told his friends about your relationship. Or maybe this guy was some distant relative visiting. But wait, he said “My girlfriend?” That didn’t make any sense, you thought. Chris Han was your boyfriend, not this stranger standing in front of you with a perplexed look on his face.

The silence between you both was deafening as you locked eyes. You couldn’t help but admire his features again. This guy was effortlessly handsome in a way that felt almost unfair. His eyes glinted with amusement as he studied you just as you did him. His skin, with a warm golden undertone, glowed faintly in the soft light spilling from the apartment. His jawline was sharp and defined, like a sculptor’s dream, and his high cheekbones gave his face an almost regal quality.

The air hung thick, suffocating in its silence. Yet, you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him, just as he couldn’t from you. It felt like something needed to break the tension before you’d be trapped in this awkward loop forever.

“Yo, Chris?” a voice called from inside. “What’s got you so caught up?”

The stranger snapped out of his thoughts and suddenly burst into laughter. Embarrassed by the situation, you stepped back, ready to leave.

“Wait, wait,” he said, holding up a hand to stop you. “You think I’m your boyfriend?” He grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m not. I’m Chris Bang. And unless I’ve somehow gotten into a relationship I didn’t know about, I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”

Your cheeks burned red with embarrassment. “What?! But… this is apartment 504! Doesn’t Chris live here?”

“Yeah,” Chris Bang said, nodding. “That’s me. Chris Bang. Single. Not your boyfriend.”

The realization hit you like a freight train. “Oh my god,” you mumbled, backing away. “I… this is so...this is a mistake. I’m so sorry!”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Chris called after you, laughing as you turned to flee. “Don’t run away yet! I want to know how this happened. Did you just knock on the wrong door, or did your boyfriend ghost you and give you my address instead?”

You whipped back around, glaring at him. “He did not ghost me! I—” You froze in confusion. Wait. If this wasn’t Chris Han’s apartment, then where…?

Chris Bang watched as the realization painfully dawned on you. “Wait… are you the new neighbor who moved into apartment 404?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, your voice filled with regret. “Apparently, across from you.”

“Well, this is going to be fun,” Chris said, clearly enjoying your humiliation. Before you could respond, the elevator dinged down the hall, and a door opened just a floor above yours. Stepping out of apartment 604 was Chris Han—your boyfriend.

A wave of relief washed over your face. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach again as you watched him approach the elevator. “Babe!” you called out, waving, while simultaneously giving your new namesake neighbor an apology. Chris Bang just smiled and waved it off, closing the door behind him.

“Chris, babe!” you called again, louder this time. At the sound of your voice, Chris Han looked down, his eyes widening in surprise as they landed on you.

“Y/N?” Chris Han called out, his voice thick with confusion. His steps were hesitant as he descended the stairs toward you.

“Chris, babe, surprise!” Your smile widened as he stepped closer to you. You opened your arms, eager to embrace him, hoping he’d pull you into his warm, comforting hug. But he didn’t. Instead of the excitement you’d expected, his gaze remained distant—cold, even. “You’re here?” he asked, his voice stiff. “When did you come back?”

“Just this morning! I wanted to surprise you!” you chirped, trying to break the palpable tension. “And guess what? I even rented an apartment here. So we’re neighbors now!” You pointed toward your apartment door with a nervous smile. “Maybe just a floor apart,” you added, awkwardly scratching your head.

“You rented… an apartment? Here?” Chris’s voice was flat, lacking the warmth you had expected.

“Yeah,” you said softly, feeling your heart sink. “I missed you, Chris. Three years is a long time, and I thought… Well, I thought it was time for us to be close again.”

“And this thought occurred to you… after three years?” Chris’s gaze was sharp, colder than you had ever seen it, and it hit you like a physical blow to the chest.

“Well, the project finally wrapped up, and now I’m back...to you. Won’t you welcome me?” Though your voice lacked some of the earlier enthusiasm, there was still hope in your words.

“You know what? Let’s talk inside.” Chris sighed heavily. “It doesn’t feel right to say this in a public space.” Nodding, you followed him upstairs, your chest tightening with each step.

-----------------------------------------------------

You stepped into Chris’s apartment, quickly glancing around. The place was neat, but it felt cold, uninviting. It wasn’t the home you had envisioned for the two of you. It looked more like a temporary crash pad than a place filled with warmth and love. There wasn’t a single Christmas decoration in sight, not even with Christmas Eve just two days away. The only decoration was a solitary string of fairy lights on a corner shelf.

“Oh, you didn’t decorate for Christmas?” you asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice. Chris shrugged. “Haven’t had the time. Last-minute work before the holidays has been crazy.”

“Maybe we can decorate it together?” you suggested, forcing a smile.

Chris let out a long, weary sigh before turning back to you. “Look, Y/N, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this, but it didn’t feel right to say it over the phone. Now that you’re here, I think it’s best we just move on.” He paused. “From us.”

You stared at him, stunned. “So… you’re breaking up with me? Two days before our anniversary? After three years of making it work long distance?” Your voice cracked with rage as you glared at him.

He hesitated again, his voice soft but sharp, like daggers to your heart. “Look, Y/N, I’m really sorry, but I think… maybe we’ve been holding on to something that’s not really there anymore. I’m sorry, but… this… us… it can’t work anymore.”

The ground beneath you shook violently as you absorbed the words spilling from Chris’s mouth. Everything you had planned, everything you had believed, crumbled in an instant. After a long stretch of silence, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding back.

Chris stared at you, uncertain, hesitant about what to say next.

"I thought you loved me..." you whispered, your voice trembling, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Chris stood before you, his gaze fixed on the floor, unable to meet your eyes. The silence between you was suffocating, each second stretching endlessly.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” he finally said, his voice low and thick with regret. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You stood there, frozen in place, the words echoing in your mind like a cruel mockery. The sting of betrayal tightened in your chest, making it hard to breathe. Your hands clenched at your sides as you fought back the tears threatening to spill.

Finally, a bitter laugh escaped your lips, cold and sharp like shattered glass. “Thank you, Chris. Thank you for ruining everything.” Your voice broke, and your chest ached from the weight of your own words. You took a shaky step back, your vision blurring.

You added, with venom laced in your tone, “Merry fucking Christmas.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked back toward your apartment. As you passed Chris Bang’s door, it suddenly opened, startling you. He looked at you with an expression mixed with concern and curiosity.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice softer this time.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you pushed past him and into your own apartment. The warmth that had once filled the space now felt distant, as if the walls were closing in on you. The contrast between how it had felt just an hour ago and the suffocating coldness now was striking. Closing the door behind you, you sank to the floor, beside the doorframe, tears streaming down your face.

----------------------------------------------------

December 24th

Two days later, it was Christmas Eve. You hadn’t yet moved on from that painful conversation with Chris. Determined to fix things, you decided to meet him later. One awkward conversation wasn’t going to be the end of everything. Maybe you could work through it. Maybe everything would be okay after this.

You hit send on the message, asking him to meet you at 8 in the evening at his favorite restaurant. He agreed, and you smiled at your phone, slipping it back into your pocket.

Since you were meeting him at 8,three hours after your shift ended, you decided to treat yourself to a little coffee at the cozy cafe beside your new apartment. It wasn’t long before you were settled inside, the warmth inside a welcome contrast to the biting winter wind outside. Ordering a cappuccino, you took a seat by the window, sipping your drink as you stared out at the wind-whipped scene.

Not long after, something caught your eye. Across the cafe, a familiar silhouette of a man and a woman sat at a table just a little farther away. You squinted, just to be sure.

And there he was—Chris Han—feeding an unknown woman a piece of cake. The woman, with long brown hair, blushed and laughed at something Chris must have said. They looked so comfortable with each other, so intimate, and Chris smiled at her with the same warmth he used to smile at you three years ago. And then they kissed.

Kissed ?!!

A sharp pang of betrayal struck your gut. Your mouth hung open in shock. Rage boiled inside you, and before you could stop it, your legs carried you over to their table.

"So this is why you decided to move on, huh?" you called, standing at the edge of their table.

"Y/N?!" Chris exclaimed, clearly caught off guard. "What are you doing here?"

"Me?" you scoffed. "Oh, I don’t know, maybe I’m just waiting to meet my boyfriend after his shift to fix things."

"And look what I find! He’s here all along, kissing and feeding cake to another woman, like the past three years meant nothing to you." Your voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Chris, who is this?" The woman looked awkwardly between the two of you.

Chris sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Y/N, now’s not the time."

"Not the time?" you trembled. "So, this is why you said ‘it’s not going to work,’ is it?"

"You were cheating on me all along, and now that I’m back, you’re too scared to admit it. So, you fake this 'it’s not going to work' nonsense!"

"This is the reason I told you long-distance doesn’t work for me, Y/N. But you didn’t listen to me back then!" Chris shot back.

"Our relationship meant nothing to you, did it? I was just a fool, believing our love was still alive!" you spat bitterly.

Chris sighed again, looking at you with something that resembled pity. "I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t want it to happen like this, but… I’ve moved on. " " I told you my answer remains the same"

"Unbelievable!" you blinked back tears, refusing to let him see you cry. "I hope she’s worth it," you said coldly, turning on your heel and storming out of the cafe.

You clung to your jacket as you waited for the elevator, feeling the weight of the evening pressing on you. It was uncomfortably cold in the lobby. Maybe it was because of what had just happened—that the warmth and hope you once carried for a fresh start had been snuffed out, leaving you broken and alone.

Just as you were about to step into the elevator, a voice called out, "Hey, wait for me!" You looked up to see Chris Bang rushing toward the elevator. Quickly, you wedged your hand between the doors to stop them from closing as he hopped in.

"Thank you," he panted, taking deep breaths to steady himself after running. You nodded, acknowledging him silently. You just wanted to be alone, but the elevator seemed to take forever to reach your floor. The tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill as you replayed everything that had happened. Was it your fault? Could you have prevented it? If you hadn’t taken on the new project, if you hadn’t been transferred… maybe this wouldn’t have happened...

These thoughts clouded your mind as the elevator slowly ascended. When it finally reached your floor, you stepped out, your head still in a daze.

"YN, is it?" Chris suddenly asked. You nodded, barely meeting his gaze.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

You realized you must look like a mess,your mascara smudged, your hair disheveled, your eyes red from holding back tears. You sighed and gave a shaky laugh. "Not really."

Chris tilted his head, his sharp features softening. "Wanna talk about it? I’ve got cookies, and I promise I don’t feed cake to random people in cafes." He smiled, his warmth surprising you.

You blinked, taken aback. How did he know? But he wasn’t teasing you. There was no smug grin or sarcastic quip, just sincerity.

"Cookies?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chris smiled, a soft, lopsided grin that felt genuine. "Yeah, cookies. And hot chocolate. The perfect cure for whatever mess you just walked away from."

----------------------------------------------------

If this had happened on any other day, you would’ve brushed him off and retreated to your apartment to cry in solitude. But something about the warmth in Chris's expression, the absence of judgment, just pure sincerity, made you pause and truly look at him. Maybe it was because it was Christmas Eve, or maybe it was the way his dark oceanic eyes and his sincere smile spread warmth inside you. You sighed, quickly wiping your eyes. "You know what? Sure. Why not."

You motioned for him to lead the way as he opened the door to his apartment. Reluctantly, you stepped inside after he gestured you in. Despite your lingering embarrassment, curiosity got the better of you as you glanced around.

The apartment was cozy, though not overly decorated. It was minimalist at best. A single gray couch sat in the living room, with two plush cushions resting on it. In front of it was a wooden coffee table with what looked like an empty mug of coffee. Yet there was a festive vibe in the room: small fairy lights twinkled around the window and shelves, and a medium-sized Christmas tree stood in the corner, neatly decorated with baubles and stockings. It felt inviting, almost like home.

You awkwardly sank into the gray couch and waited for him, as Chris disappeared behind the kitchen counter for a few moments, telling you to make yourself comfortable.

The scent of vanilla and chocolate soon filled your nostrils, making your stomach rumble. You hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast; the last-minute workload had kept you too busy. Save for a couple of sips of cappuccino at the café, you hadn’t had solid food all day. You hadn’t even realized how hungry you were until Chris placed a plate of cookies and a cup of hot chocolate in front of you. Your mouth watered at the sight.

"There you go, YN," Chris smiled, handing you the cup of hot chocolate he’d made. "Please, help yourself."

"Thank you," you muttered, taking a sip. The sweetness of the hot chocolate melted away the bitterness in your heart, filling you with warmth. “Hmm, it’s so good,” you sighed in satisfaction.

“It sure is,” Chris hummed, settling beside you on the couch.

"So..." Chris leaned back, studying you carefully. "If you’re comfortable sharing... is it boyfriend trouble, or...?"

"More like ex-boyfriend trouble now," you interjected, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt.

"Actually, we met four years ago. A year later, I had to leave Seoul for a project in Tokyo. I had to lead a new company project."

"He didn’t want to do long distance. It led to a lot of disagreements, but somehow, we agreed to give it a shot. But when I came back two days ago, he didn’t seem too happy about it." You paused. "He told me it wasn’t working anymore..." You looked away, trying to hide the tears that were threatening to fall. "I thought our love could withstand the distance, but I guess I was wrong."

"And today, you saw him with someone else, right?" Chris asked gently.

You whipped your head back toward him, stunned. "H..How’d you know?"

"It’s the only café in the neighborhood. I was there for my daily coffee and happened to witness it," he said, glancing at you with an apologetic look. "I’m sorry if I intruded on your space."

Your cheeks burned in embarrassment, but somehow, you still wanted to keep talking. "Yeah, that’s how I became single on Christmas Eve," you said wistfully, a small smile forming on your lips.

"That’s rough. I’m so sorry," Chris winced.

"Yeah, I was an idiot for holding onto it for three years," you said with a bittersweet smile. "Maybe I shouldn’t have taken the transfer. Maybe things would have been different. Maybe we wouldn’t have broken up..."

"YN," Chris said softly, turning you to face him. "Look at me."

You met his eyes, and he continued, "I know, for what it’s worth, that it’s not your fault. That Chris Han... he can go screw himself for letting go of someone like you."

His words caught you off guard. "Now, aren’t you going a little too far ahead of yourself?" you replied with a half-laugh, half-smile. "You barely know me, Mister. How can you say that?"

"I know for a fact, YN," he said, his voice calm and sincere. "I know how much you loved him, and how unappreciative he was. I know he didn’t care about you." "For what it’s worth, from my two cents as your new neighbor, I believe you deserve so much better. Way more, YN," Chris smiled at you.

"How do you know, for a 'fact'that I loved him?" you asked, half-smiling, half-curious.

"Because of all the love you poured into those gifts you sent..." he smirked.

"Gifts?" you asked, confused.

Chris nervously scratched his head, realizing he may have said more than he intended. You raised an eyebrow, and that’s when it clicked.

"Don’t tell me..." you gasped.

"Promise me you won’t be mad, YN?" Chris smiled sheepishly.

You gave him a stern look as he got up and pulled a cardboard box from the cupboard. Inside were neatly wrapped packages with handmade bows, festive papers, and labels that read: "To Chris, Merry Christmas Love, YN."

You stared at him, stunned. "Chris Bang! Why?" you glared at him. "You promised me you wouldn’t be mad!" he nervously chuckled.

"How can I not be mad when you’re literally stealing my ex’s gifts?" you protested. "For the past three years, you’ve been stealing them, and you didn’t even think to check if they were yours or not!"

He just silently stared at you, nonchalantly, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. His boyish grin didn’t help either. In fact, it made this bizarre turn even harder to comprehend.

"Let me get this straight," you said, holding onto the edge of the couch to steady yourself as you leaned back. "You’re telling me that for the past three years, you’ve been getting the Christmas presents I meant to send to my ex? And instead of, I don’t know, returning them, you just... kept them?"

Chris rubbed the back of his neck, his expression somewhere between amused and sheepish. "I mean, technically, yeah. But in my defense, your handwriting on the shipping label was pretty bad. It just said ‘Chris,’ no last name, and my address."

Your mouth hung open. "Now you’re blaming my handwriting for this?"

"Not entirely," he admitted, his grin widening. "I figured it out eventually, probably by the second gift. But by then... well, I didn’t have the heart to send them back. Plus, they were really thoughtful gifts. And I thought, hey, maybe the universe just wanted me to have them."

You gaped at him, caught between disbelief and reluctant amusement. "The universe wanted you to have my ex’s gifts?"

"Okay, when you put it like that, it sounds pretty creepy," he laughed lightly. "But come on....who wouldn’t keep the presents? It’s Christmas!"

"Unbelievable," you scoffed. "Maybe this is the reason Chris Han broke up with me... He didn’t get my special handmade gifts, thanks to a certain gift thief..."

Chris laughed, clearly enjoying your reaction. "Hey, don’t be too mad. You kind of made my Christmases a lot less lonely. I mean, who wouldn’t love surprise presents from a stranger? It’s like I had a secret admirer."

"I wasn’t your admirer, Chris," you snapped back, your face flushed with embarrassment.

"Well, technically, you were, even if you didn’t intend to," he chuckled. "But seriously, thank you for the gifts every year, YN. The handmade cookies, the blue scarf, the mugs, and that beautiful coat you sent really made me feel at home. I wore them all winter and used the mug every day."

"Don’t tell me you read the letters too..." you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

"I did, YN," he said softly. "And they just gave me a sense of fulfillment, a sense of not being alone... like someone was with me."

"Thank you for making my Christmases unintentionally," he added with a huge grin, his eyes shining. A smile so sincere it made your stomach do flips, and your cheeks turn a shade of red you couldn’t explain. What was happening to you? It was too early to be swooning over a guy you just met. Or maybe it was because his hand brushed against you for a second?

"And even if you think that gifting those things to Chris Han would’ve made things better," Chris continued, looking at you seriously, "I believe you’ve got a lot to learn before dating guys who cheat behind your back."

"Backstabbers will always be the same, YN. Even if you think they’ve changed, they won’t."

At his sincere confession, you looked at him, realizing he was right. Chris Han was an utter POS.

You laughed, genuinely, and even surprised yourself. "Oh, and I suppose you think you set the bar higher?"

He grinned, leaning back and resting his arm on the back of the couch. "I mean, I’ve been told I’m a decent neighbor."

You rolled your eyes. "Yep, a decent neighbor who steals other people’s gifts” you smirk

"Flattery won't save you, you know..." you laughed, your voice light but teasing.

"Wasn't trying to save myself either," he replied, leaning back casually against the couch with a carefree smile. "Just telling the truth."

You busied yourself nibbling on another cookie, pretending to focus on the snack while trying to ignore the warmth spreading across your cheeks. "Okay, Chris," you said, your lips quirking into a small but genuine smile, the playful banter making you feel oddly at ease.

Suddenly, an idea popped into your head, making your smile widen mischievously. "As an apology, why don't you bake me these delicious cookies and hot chocolate every day until New Year's?" you suggested, raising an eyebrow, your voice playful yet sincere.

"Sounds like a deal, YN," he replied with a grin, his eyes twinkling.

"But before that," you added, a hint of mischief in your voice, "how about you close your eyes for just a couple of seconds?" You could see the flicker of curiosity in his expression, and you couldn't help but smile.

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Now, if you're trying to kidnap or murder me, I can, you know..." you said, throwing a couple of playful air punches in the air as you chuckled, enjoying the light-hearted moment.

"Wasn't tryin' to do that, but thanks for telling me anyway," he laughed, shaking his head, clearly entertained by your antics.

Something soft was placed in your hand, and after a brief moment of waiting, you slowly opened your eyes. To your surprise, there was a small gift bag resting in your palm. You raised an eyebrow, your mind racing with confusion and curiosity.

"You're returning the wrong Chris' gifts?" you asked him, half-joking, half-puzzled.

A smirk curled onto his lips as he leaned forward slightly. "More like giving you one," he replied, his voice filled with a touch of mystery.

Just as you were about to respond, the clock in the room struck twelve with a soft chime, followed by the cheerful cuckoo bird popping out and singing its song. The atmosphere felt like it belonged in a holiday movie, warm and comforting.

"Merry Christmas, YN," Chris grinned at you, his smile wide and sincere.

"Merry Christmas, Chris," you replied with a smile that felt more real than anything you'd said in a while. It was a moment that you wanted to hold onto, even if it was fleeting.

"And what's this?" you asked, nodding toward the gift bag, still trying to figure out the meaning behind it.

"This?" He held it up between his hands, looking down at it with a gentle expression. "This one’s for you."

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you took a closer look at the bag. "For me? Why?" you asked, your voice laced with curiosity.

"I figured out two days ago that you're the one who's been sending me the gifts for the past three years..." He paused for a second, his eyes softening, as though the weight of the moment was sinking in.

"Consider it my way of saying thank you—for three years of accidentally making my Christmases a lot less lonely," he said, his tone sincere but tinged with something that made your heart ache slightly.

"Lonely?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the word lingering in the air. This was the second time he had mentioned his loneliness in the conversation, and it made you wonder about the deeper layers of his feelings.

For just a fraction of a second, his smile faltered, and you noticed his gaze shift as if lost in thought. The change was so brief, but you could tell there was something he wasn’t saying.

"Australia is my real home," he said quietly, his voice distant. "And I'm settled in Seoul now for work. I miss my family, my sister, my brother, and my dog, Berry, so much. Christmas is when I miss them the most, but it is what it is..." His words trailed off, and there was an unspoken weight behind them, something raw that he hadn’t fully expressed.

Your chest tightened unexpectedly. There was something in his tone, something guarded, like he didn't want to reveal too much. You didn’t press, giving him the space he needed, and the silence between you both was comforting, almost as if you both understood what the other was feeling.

Wanting to change the subject and give him a bit of relief, you spoke softly, "Okay, let’s see what you’ve got."

He handed over the bag, and as your fingers brushed briefly against his, you ignored the flicker of warmth that spread up your arm. You focused on the bag in your hands, pulling out the tissue paper with careful movements. When you revealed the contents, your breath caught in your throat: it was a beautiful bag in your favorite color - blush pink. The sight of it made your heart skip a beat.

"Chris, how do you know?" you asked in surprise, your voice a mix of awe and wonder.

He shrugged casually, his grin widening. "I may have done some detective work," he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "One of your letters mentioned the bag color," he added with a wink. "Thought it might mean something to you..."

You stared at the bag, your fingers gently brushing over the smooth, polished handle. It was a stunning blush pink crossbody bag, perfectly suited for going out to dinner nights or for the holidays. It was exactly the type of bag you’d been admiring for months, and yet, you’d never mentioned it to him.

Of all the gifts you’d sent in the past three years, none had ever felt this thoughtful or this personal. It was as if he truly understood you in a way you hadn't even realized.

"Wow," you murmured, your voice a little breathless. You looked up at him, your smile widening with genuine appreciation. "That’s... actually really beautiful and sweet."

A wide grin spread across his face as he leaned back a little, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Sweet enough to make up for the whole 'stealing your ex’s gifts’ thing?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with teasing amusement.

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. "Not even close," you said, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "But it’s a start."

As the night continued, you felt the weight in your chest slowly lighten. You weren't ready to move on yet, but sitting there, sharing cookies and banter with your neighbor Chris, felt like a step in the right direction. The conversation flowed effortlessly from there, transitioning from light teasing to stories about each other’s lives. Chris had a way of making you laugh, even when you felt like crying. By the time you left his apartment, you realized you were looking forward to seeing him again, something you hadn't expected just a few days ago.

------------------------------------------------------

The Next Day

You giggled at his texts, the warmth of his words making you feel unexpectedly lighter.

-----------------------------------------------------

The days following Christmas blurred into a whirlwind of family gatherings, catching up on work, and the bittersweet calm that often followed the holiday rush. Yet amidst the festive cheer and the soft lull of post-holiday routine, there was a lingering ache—the heartbreak Chris Han had left behind. It was a quiet, constant presence, one that refused to be ignored despite your attempts to distract yourself. Happy couples strolling hand in hand, cheerful holiday music playing in every store, and glowing lights in every window served as unwelcome reminders of what you had lost.

But then there was Chris Bang, your accidental neighbor and self-proclaimed Christmas gift stealer. Against all odds, he became the unintentional solace you hadn’t realized you needed. He had a knack for showing up at just the right time: bumping into you in the hallway with a witty comment about your landlord’s questionable taste in decorations or surprising you with coffee and cookies when your day felt particularly heavy. "Caffeine and cookies cure everything," he’d say with that mischievous grin that never failed to draw a reluctant smile from you.

One day, when you were especially weighed down by the sight of happy couples and the ache in your chest seemed heavier than ever, Chris knocked on your door, insisting you come with him to the fair. At first, you refused, wrapped in your own melancholy, but his persistence wore you down. And so, hours later, you found yourself laughing in the crisp winter air, your hands full of hot cocoa as Chris tried, and failed,repeatedly to win you a plush teddy bear from a claw machine. You teased him mercilessly for his lack of skill, and his mock frustration only made you laugh harder. The ache in your chest lightened, and for the first time in days, you felt like yourself again.

He never left your side, even as work got busier and the New Year dawned. Whether it was a simple message, a casual phone call, or a surprise invitation to take a walk in the park when the sun came out, he made sure to check in, offering little moments of comfort when you needed it most.

With time, you learned more about the man who had unexpectedly found his way into your life. He told you about growing up in Australia, how Seoul had never been part of his plan until his online friends Jisung and Changbin lured him here with the promise of his dream job as a music producer, so he moved across the world. How he had an impressive art collection from his best friend Hyunjin, an artist he was incredibly proud of, and how he’d used the holidays to stay in and unwind from a stressful year. He’d been surprisingly open, sharing details of his life that he usually kept close to his chest.

For your part, you had shared a lot with Chris, your work, your best friends (who were instantly curious about him), and how your parents had been gently pushing you to settle down, despite the fact that you were struggling to imagine your life on anyone else’s timeline. You were beginning to realize how much you enjoyed these quiet, meaningful conversations with him, especially considering how effortlessly everything seemed to flow. Even the things you thought might make you feel vulnerable, you found yourself talking about with surprising ease.

Chris, in turn, had opened up more about his family life. He talked about the playful dynamic he shared with his sister, how they loved to tease each other and how he cherished the annual trips back home to visit. He shared stories about his dog, Berry, whom he missed dearly. There were other little details too, how much he had been adapting to life in Seoul and the adjustment from his home in Australia. Each time he shared something new, you found yourself appreciating him more, and the more you learned about him, the deeper your connection seemed to grow.

You shared your hesitations, your dreams, and the small quirks that made you who you were. It felt natural, easy, even the things that had once felt like guarded secrets seemed safe with him.

And Chris listened, truly listened. He never rushed you or offered hollow reassurances. Instead, he met you where you were, matching your vulnerability with his own. Slowly but surely, the cracks in your heart began to mend, and in their place, something new and unexpected began to grow.

Each shared moment, each quiet laugh, and each tender look made you realize just how much Chris had come to mean to you. The heartbreak that had once defined your days began to fade, replaced by the warmth of his presence...

------------------------------------------------------

As December 2024 arrived, you found yourself surprised at how quickly the year had passed. It was as if time had slipped through your fingers, leaving you wondering how the months had gone by in a blur. Despite a rocky beginning to the year, one thing was clear, Chris Bang had been a steady and reassuring presence in your life, his bad jokes, comforting smile, and unassuming nature making 2024 a lot more bearable than 2023. And now, every time he spoke, you found yourself struck by how his voice, that familiar warmth, could make your heart flutter in a way you hadn’t expected. His smile, his presence,it was beginning to feel like something more than just a friendship, something you weren’t sure how to define yet.

So, when Chris invited you over for his Christmas Eve gathering, you decided to go all in. You wanted to make this night special, just as much for him as for you. You crocheted him a sweater, carefully stitching his initials into the fabric. You baked cookies, filling your kitchen with their delicious scent, and chose a red dress that made you feel both confident and beautiful. As the evening approached, your nerves kicked in, the anticipation of seeing him making your heart race.

When you finally arrived at his door, you knocked lightly, trying to calm the fluttering feeling in your chest. The door opened quickly, and to your surprise, it wasn’t Chris standing there. Instead, it was his friend Han Jisung, whom you’d met briefly a few months ago. His bright smile was instantly familiar, putting you at ease.

"Hey, YN!" Jisung greeted warmly. "Come on in!" he added, stepping aside to let you enter. You walked inside, immediately feeling the cozy Christmas atmosphere. The living room was stunning, with a large tree in the center, its lights twinkling softly against the backdrop of garlands and ornaments. It felt so festive, and for a moment, you forgot about the nerves that had plagued you moments ago.

Chris and his friends were in the middle of a lively conversation when you stepped into the room. But the moment Chris saw you, everything else seemed to fade away. He froze for just a moment, mid-sentence, his eyes wide as they locked onto you. The effect you had on him was immediate, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth in your chest.

You were standing there in your red gown, your hair styled in soft beachy waves that cascaded down to your shoulders. The sight of him standing there, visibly taken aback, made your cheeks flush with warmth. You couldn't help but smile shyly, and when you caught his gaze, his expression softened, his lips parting as if searching for words.

"Hyung!" someone called out, a playful voice that broke the moment. You turned to see a big, muscular guy, probably Changbin, giving Chris a teasing look. "A fly will enter if you don’t close your mouth."

Chris's face immediately turned a shade of red that matched your dress, and he shot a mock glare at Changbin. The others burst into laughter, but Chris quickly composed himself, a sheepish grin replacing his flustered look. "Welcome, YN," he said, his voice warm and inviting. He gestured for you to sit next to him on the couch, his eyes still lingering on you with a mixture of admiration and affection.

You nodded shyly and walked over to the couch, your heart racing as you sat beside him. But as soon as you did, the teasing began. The others couldn't resist. "Ooooooh!" they shouted in unison, their voices full of playful mischief.

You and Chris both erupted into giggles, trying to stifle your laughter. It was clear that no matter how much you both tried to pretend otherwise, the chemistry between you was undeniable. As the teasing continued, you both found comfort in the easy banter, laughing together until the weight of everything else seemed to disappear.

The night unfolded like a beautiful dream, with the flickering lights of the Christmas tree casting a soft glow over the cozy room. Laughter echoed through the space, mixing with the gentle hum of conversations and the clink of glasses. You were surrounded by the warmth of good friends, but there was something about the way Chris's presence seemed to fill every corner of the room, making everything feel just a little brighter. Of course, his ever-present humor kept the atmosphere light, and his jokes, though admittedly cheesy, had everyone laughing, including you.

"Do you know this man right here is a Christmas gift stealer?" you said, pointing toward Chris with a playful grin, recounting the story of how you met him to the group.

"No way!" Hyunjin exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise as he absorbed the details of the story.

“We thought you were the new neighbor, and that’s how he met you,” Changbin added with a teasing tone, looking at Chris as if he’d just discovered some hidden truth about him.

“I had better expectations of you, man,” Jisung laughed. “But you’re no different than the rest of us.”

Chris sighed dramatically, playing along with the teasing. “Hey, in my defense,” he said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “How was I supposed to know that gift wasn’t meant for me? It said ‘Dear Chris, love YN’ with my address on it. I thought the universe had decided to bless me with early Christmas gifts.”

The entire room erupted in laughter, some of the guys doubled over, clutching their stomachs. Chris sat back in his chair, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, his dimples making an appearance as his signature smile spread across his face.

“You guys act like I planned it,” Chris protested, though his playful tone made it clear he was enjoying the moment. “It’s not my fault the universe decided to shower me with gifts every Christmas.”

“Free gifts?” you raised an eyebrow, not letting him off the hook that easily. “You’re lucky I didn’t press charges for theft, Christopher Bang!”

The room burst into another wave of laughter, the sound so infectious it had you all grinning ear to ear. Chris shook his head, chuckling. “Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of defeat. “But those gifts were too nice to ignore. I figured I must have been extra good that year.”

Hyunjin leaned forward, a playful glint in his eyes. “Or maybe someone was really in love with you and you didn’t even know it.”

Chris’s cheeks immediately turned a shade of pink, and he hastily averted his gaze to the floor, mumbling something incoherent. The group caught on to his sudden shyness and burst out with a loud, collective “Ooooooh!”

“Wait a second,” Jisung interjected with a raised eyebrow, now eyeing Chris in mock disbelief. “So you’ve been using scarves, mugs, and all those gifts knowing full well they weren’t even yours?”

Chris’s grin widened mischievously. “Hey, they came with my name on them. Technically, they were mine.”

Changbin leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, looking at Chris as if he were a detective revealing a crucial piece of evidence. “You’re lucky YN didn’t track you down sooner. This could have turned into one of those true crime documentaries where the victim is the ‘mystery gift giver.’”

You shook your head, chuckling softly at the thought. “Trust me, I almost did. But now, I’m starting to think the universe had its reasons.”

For a moment, the laughter died down, and the room grew quieter as your eyes met Chris’s. There was something in his gaze, something softer than the playful teasing that had filled the air just moments before. The noise of the room seemed to fade, and all you could hear was the rhythmic beat of your own heart. His smile remained, but there was a depth to it now, a quiet understanding that seemed to bridge the gap between you. It felt like the world was holding its breath as you shared a moment that was just for the two of you.

As the clock inched closer to midnight, the lively chatter in the room began to fade, replaced by the soft hum of smaller conversations and the gentle melodies of Christmas tunes playing in the background. The festive atmosphere lingered, cozy and comforting, as the glow of the Christmas tree bathed the room in warm, golden light.

You found yourself nestled beside Chris on the couch, a glass of wine cradled in your hand. He seemed relaxed, his attention caught by a show playing softly on the TV. But your focus was elsewhere, on the small, carefully wrapped package resting in your lap.

Gathering your courage, you turned to him and gently nudged his arm. "Here," you said, offering him the gift with a shy smile.

Chris’s eyes sparkled with curiosity as he looked down at the neatly wrapped present in your hands. "For me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Or did you forget the right address again?"

You laughed, rolling your eyes at his teasing. “Shut up and open it!”

As the paper fell away, his face lit up with genuine delight. Nestled inside was a periwinkle sweater, his initials lovingly stitched into the fabric, alongside a neatly arranged box of homemade cookies. His grin widened as he looked between the gift and you, his eyes sparkling with warmth.

"You made this?" he asked, his voice soft with wonder.

You nodded, biting your lip nervously. "I did. Took me a while, but... I wanted it to be special."

Chris held up the sweater, admiring the intricate detail, before carefully setting it aside along with the cookies. His gaze returned to you, his smile softer now, almost reverent.

Chris carefully set the sweater and cookies aside, his attention fully on you. He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering, as if the room around you had faded away and there was only the two of you left in this quiet, intimate space. “YNnie,” he whispered, the nickname he had given you rolling off his tongue with such warmth that it sent a shiver down your spine, “I don’t think you realize how much you’ve changed my life this past year.”

You blinked, your heart suddenly racing in your chest, caught off guard by the weight of his words. “Me?”

Chris nodded, his hand moving gently to brush a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch tender and almost reverent. “When I met you, I thought it was just some funny coincidence, a mix-up that led to free gifts and good laughs. But you... you turned out to be so much more than that. You’re thoughtful, kind, ridiculously talented, and you've made this year brighter in ways I can’t even put into words. And I’m not just saying that because you bake the best cookies.”

You let out a soft laugh, a tear threatening to spill as his words wrapped around your heart. “You’re just saying that because I made you a sweater,” you teased, trying to deflect the overwhelming emotion building in your chest.

“No,” he said firmly, his eyes never leaving yours, his voice unwavering. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

The room felt smaller now, the Christmas lights casting their soft glow around you, wrapping you both in a bubble of warmth and intimacy. It was as if time had slowed down, and all that mattered was this moment, the two of you. His hand found yours, gently resting over it, his touch grounding you.

“You’ve made me laugh when I didn’t feel like laughing,” he continued, his voice rich with sincerity. “You’ve reminded me that life doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful. And every time I look at you, I’m reminded that maybe, just maybe, the universe finally got it right.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, tears threatening to spill as you absorbed the weight of his words. “Chris…”

Your cheeks burned as you gazed at him, unable to deny the depth of the feelings that had been quietly building between you over the past year. The way he had supported you, respected your space, and been there when you needed him, all without hesitation. How had you never realized before just how much he had changed your life? Maybe, just maybe, he was the one you had been waiting for all along.

When Chris leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur, you felt it,the certainty that the so-called mix-up, the mistake that had brought you into each other’s lives, was anything but coincidence. It was fate. A quiet, unspoken connection that had led you here, to this very moment.

Your breath hitched as the distance between you disappeared. Without hesitation, you closed your eyes, surrendering to the magnetic pull of his presence. His lips brushed against yours, featherlight at first,hesitant, almost as if asking for permission. When you didn’t pull away, the kiss deepened, unfolding with a slowness that spoke of intention and meaning. It was tender yet passionate, every movement deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every second.

His hand gently cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing delicate circles against your skin. The warmth of his touch grounded you, even as your heart threatened to soar. You melted into him, losing yourself in the quiet intimacy of the moment. For that brief, perfect moment, the world outside ceased to exist. Nothing else mattered,only him, only this.

When you finally broke apart, both breathless and overwhelmed, Chris rested his forehead gently against yours, his tender smile radiating warmth. “Merry Christmas, YNnie,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with affection, as though the words were meant for you and you alone.

“Merry Christmas, Chris,” you murmured in return, your voice trembling with emotion. Your heart felt impossibly full, and the heat in your cheeks lingered, a reminder of the moment you’d just shared.

As the world around you softened, wrapped in the glow of twinkling Christmas lights and the quiet hum of holiday melodies, you leaned into the comforting presence beside you. In that stillness, a profound realization settled over you. Sometimes, the most precious gifts in life aren’t the ones you meticulously plan or chase after. They’re the ones that catch you off guard...the ones that find you, that feel like fate wrapping itself around you in the most unexpected, beautiful way.

And tonight, that gift had come wrapped in a heart, a dimpled smile, and a name that had become your favorite sound....

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𐙚 ˚ENDNOTE - Everything Here is a work of fiction and my own imagination. This does not represent the real life characteristics of Stray Kids. Make sure to like, reblog comment, and follow me for new updates!

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tokkiwrites · 7 months ago

Text

𝚄𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚢 𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗. (4)

mom's fiancé! joel miller x f! reader • series masterlist

Summary: Your mom's new fiancé, Joel Miller, is the kind of man you could never shake out of your mind—rugged, rough, and embodiment of your long-buried fantasies. He's been your next-door neighbor for years, and the crush you harbored through your teenage years never really faded. Now, he's with your mom, and they're planning to get married. You should want her to be happy, but you can't ignore the tension growing between you and Joel. It's something that was never meant to happen. But as you uncover Joel's true motives for being with your mom, you realize maybe your feelings weren't one-sided after all. And maybe, despite everything, you’re the one he really wants.

Tags: stepcest kind of, age gap (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 40s), forbidden romance, emotional conflict, slow burn, sexual tension, complicated family dynamics, heartbreak, Joel being an emotionally complicated bastard, ANGST, cheating, infidelity, betrayal, talk about divorce, talk about not wanting a child, ANGSTTTT, (marjorie being a mean bitch but also a great plot device!), trauma!!! reader has daddy issues, but dont quote me on that.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ im baaack !! the second to last part is here!! how do we feel so far? IT'S GOING DOWN!! one more chapter, and we will find out if anyone will get a happy ending. who knows.. maybe we'll make a spinoff of this? anyway, this is 3.37k words, so the shortest of the bunch butbi didn't want to add unnecessary smut :') HOPE YOU LOVE IT! not proofread soo if you anything spelled wrong umm close your eyes.

“Glad you could make it,” Marjorie said, closing the door behind you. “I thought we could have a little chat.”

“What do you want? was it really necessary for us to come here?” Joel asked, his tone edged with irritation. "Wouldn't want more people to see us now, right?" She leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms. “I think you both know exactly what I want." You exchanged a worried glance with Joel, trying to gauge how serious she was. “What are youㅡ?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly. Marjorie pushed off the counter and walked towards you, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. “I want you to share him for a bit." she said bluntly, a cruel smile twisting her lips. “You’ve had your fun, but it’s time to let the grown-ups play too. Besides, it’s only fair, isn’t it? After all, we can't let your mom find out about you two..." Your heart sank. “You can’t be serious,” you said, laughing as disbelief washed over you. “Oh, I’m very serious. If you want to keep this little affair of yours a secret, you’ll have to comply with my terms. I’ll tell your mother everything if you don’t.”

“Why would you do this?” Joel’s voice was low, but you could hear the anger simmering beneath the surface. “Because it’s fun, Joel. Because I can. And because your little fling is just that—a fling. I want you back, and I’m not above playing dirty to get what I want.” You felt sick, caught in the middle of a game you never wanted to play. “This isn’t fair,” you whispered, feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Life’s not fair, sweetie,” Marjorie shot back. “You should know that by now.”

Joel stepped in front of you, a protective stance that made your heart swell and ache at the same time. “You don’t have to do this. You could just walk away, Marjorie. You’re better than this.” She laughed, a sound that was anything but lighthearted. “Better? Oh, darling, I’m far from better. I’m just getting started. So, that's the deal. You decide now.”

You felt the world around you spin as Marjorie’s words sunk into you like a bullet. “You’re a terrible friend,” you spat, rage and hurt flooding through you. “Your mother is the one who’s a bad friend,” Marjorie retorted, her eyes narrowing. “She knew how I felt about Joel. She knew we were together all those years ago. And yet, she had the audacity to marry him anyway.” Tears burned at your eyes as her words cut deep. “You’re just bitter because he moved on,” you accused.

“Bitter? Maybe. But I’m also vindictive. You’re standing in my way, and I don’t like it.” Joel’s hand squeezed yours tightly, and you could feel the tension. "Oh, so that's the only thing keeping you away? the fact that I am with him and not that he's your best friend's husband?"

"Didn't stop you, honey. And she's your mom." As Marjorie’s laughter echoed around the room, a twisted sense of triumph in her eyes, you felt the walls closing in on you. She was ready to play this game to the bitter end, and the stakes were too high. “Fine,” you said suddenly, surprising both Joel and yourself. “I’ll think about it.”

Marjorie’s expression turned sly. “Good. You have until tomorrow. Make your decision, and let me know. I’ll be waiting.”

On your way back home, the car ride was silent. You turned to Joel, his face a mask of frustration. "What now?" You finally speak up. “We’ll figure it out,” he promised, but the doubt lingered in his eyes. The gravity of the situation bore down more intensely than ever before.

When you got home, the air felt suffocating and so cold at the same time. Your mother had gone to bed early, and joel decided to spend the night at his apartment, closer to where he worksㅡ again. the stillness of the house was a stark contrast to the storm of emotions raging within you. You wanted to scream, cry, and run away from everything that was happening. But instead, you collapsed onto your bed, staring at the ceiling as the reality of your situation washed over you.

The next morning brought with it a sense of impending doom. You felt like you were walking on a tightrope, and the slightest misstep could send you tumbling into chaos. Your mother chatted about her plans for the day, seemingly oblivious to it allㅡ her daughter was fucking her husband. But you couldn’t focus on her words; all you could think about was Marjorie and the ultimatum she had laid before you.

As the day wore on, the burden of your decision weighed heavily on your chest. You knew you couldn’t keep Joel, your mom and Marjorie happy without sacrificing something monumental. The thought of losing Joel made your heart ache, but so did the thought of being betrayed by your own mother. Hours passed, and by the time your mother left for a gathering with her friends from work, you felt like a coiled spring, ready to snap. “I’ll be back late, sweetheart,” she called over her shoulder, and for a moment, you felt that flicker of guilt in your very sould again.

With the house empty, you sank into the couch, pulling out your phone and staring at it, waiting for Joel to text. The minutes turned into hours, and just as doubt began to creep in, your phone buzzed, a message from him lighting up the screen.

• Meet me at our spot?

Your heart raced, and you felt a surge of trepidation.

• I’ll be there.

You arrived at the secluded spot by the river, where the world felt far away. Joel was already waiting, leaning against his truck, the setting sun casting a warm glow on his rugged features. When he saw you, a relieved smile broke across his face. “Hey, you,” he said, pulling you into a tight embrace. You melted against him instantly, feeling the warmth and safety of his presence.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, pulling back to look into his eyes. “Marjorie is insane...”

but maybe so were you.

“Don’t worry about her,” he said, voice steady. “I won’t let her hurt you. We’ll figure this out together.” But even as he spoke, you could see the doubt flickering in his eyes. “She wants me to share you with her, Joel, what the actual fuck?" you whispered, the words feeling heavy and bitter on your tongue. “She can’t have you. You’re mine.” But then reality crashed in, and you felt the tears prick at your eyes. “What if she really tells mom?” you asked, desperation threading through your voice.

“Then we’ll deal with it. Together.” his hands were cupping your face, thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped. “I love you. You know that, right? No matter what happens, I’m not going anywhere, baby." but the words felt hollow. “What if this is all my fault?”

“It’s not,” he insisted, his grip firm, eyes fierce. “We’re not doing anything wrong. We love each other. That’s what matters. ain't nothin' wrong with lonving somebody."

yeah, your mom's husband.

You wanted to believe him, to let those words wash away the doubts, but all was a threat and it loomed large, an insidious whisper in the back of your mind, reminding you that love alone might not be enough to shield you from the consequences of your actions. "Mom wouldn’tㅡ she will not understand, Joel. She’ll be devastated.”

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” he said again, his voice firm, but you could sense the uncertainty lingering beneath the surface. “We can go to her together and explain it all. You’re everything to me, baby, you know that. this is just a lessonㅡ people will always try and come between us.” Just like you came between him and your mom.

You wanted to believe him, but fear clutched at your heart like a vice. “What if she gets angry and takes it out on you?” Even now, he was all you cared about. The thought was unbearable. “I can handle it,” he said, determination lighting his gaze. “No one is going to make me not love you, babygirl.”

Finally, you took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “I have to go home.” His expression shifted, disappointment mingling with concern. “Are you sure? We can stay a little longer—”

“I have to think. About everything.”

maybe love won't save it all.

The walk home felt like a thousand miles, each step heavy with dread. You replayed everything in your mind. was it really worth it? Was Joel worth it? Was your mom worth it?

the house was quiet, the only sound being the faint ticking of the clock in the hallway. You slipped inside, the darkness wrapping around you like a shroud, and paused for a moment to collect your thoughts. Suddenly, the silence was broken by the sound of the door opening. You froze, your heart racing as you turned to see your mother step inside, her face illuminated by the hallway light. She looked tired but happy, her laughter still lingering in the air as she made her way toward you.

“Oh, sweetheart! You’re back!” she exclaimed, pulling you into a warm embrace. You inhaled her familiar scent, a mixture of lavender and home, and felt a surge of guilt wash over you. “Hi, mom,” you said, your voice betraying the turmoil inside you. She smiled, but it faltered as she took a closer look at your expression. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I... it’s nothing,” you replied too quickly, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. Your mother’s brow furrowed in concern. “You can talk to me about anything, you know that, right, ladybug?” A lump formed in your throat, and you fought to keep the tears at bay. “Yeah, I know.”

This was it.

The moment where everything hung in the balance, teetering on the edge of no return. You knew what you had done was wrong—there was no denying it. No sugarcoating, no excuses. But as awful as your betrayal was, letting her find out from someone else, someone who wanted to hurt her for sport would be even worse. It would be cruel, cowardly, and the final twist of the knife. The only thing you could do now, the only thing that held even a shred of dignity or decency, was to take control of the narrative. To tell her the truth yourself. Not because it would fix anything—nothing could. but because it was the last way to show her respect. The last chance to do something for her that wasn’t tainted with deceit or manipulation.

You owed her that much. Even if she hated you forever, even if she never looked at you the same way again, it would come from you— not from Marjorie or anyone else who wanted to see her destroyed. You had already broken her heart, but you couldn’t let them shatter her spirit. Taking a deep breath, you steadied yourself. It felt impossible, like standing in front of a firing squad, but you had to do it. The power had to be yours. This was the only way to make sure she knew the truth wasn’t a weapon someone else could wield against her.

You looked at her. If you’re going to lose everything, at least lose it by owning what you did. Not by running away.

“Mom, can we talk?” The words rushed out before you could second-guess yourself. She turned, her expression now serious. “Of course, honey. What’s on your mind?” You hesitated. You wanted to tell her everything—about Joel, about Marjorie, about the love that was blossoming in the shadows. You had to. “Just... something.” You started biting your lip.

"Something?" she pressed, her voice calm but with an undercurrent of concern. She stepped closer, her eyes searching your face as if trying to read your thoughts. “What’s going on, sweetheart?” Your chest tightened, the truth pressing down on you like a boulder. “It’s about Joel,” you blurted out, unable to stop the words from spilling over. Her face stiffened at his name, her posture straightening. “What about Joel?” she asked, her tone sharper now. The air grew heavier with each passing second, the silence between you stretching like a chasm. "Did he do anything to you?" her worry was obvious.

"N-no..." You swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice. “We’ve... been seeing each other.” The words were heavy and raw. Her face shifted, confusion and disbelief warring for dominance. “What do you mean ‘seeing each other’?” she asked with a laugh, though you knew she understood exactly what you meant. “I mean we’ve been... together,” you admitted. Her face twisted. “Together?” she repeated, the word snapping like a whip. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not,” you said, tears welling in your eyes. “Mom, I love him.” Her laughter was harsh, bitter. “You love him? Joel? My husband? Your stepdad?” Her voice cracked with fury and pain.

You hated to hear that. You hadn’t realized quite yet who he was to you. "He's not my dad, momㅡ"

“How long has this been going on?” she interjects. “Since... before the wedding,” you confessed, and the words hit her like a physical blow. She staggered back, her hand flying to her chest. “Before the wedding?” she repeated, her voice trembling. “So you’ve been lying to me this entire time? Both of you?" Tears streaked her face, but they did nothing to soften the anger in her eyes. “How could you? How could heㅡ ?!” Her voice rose. "Is this some kind of sick fucking joke?" her voice cracking. "It's not a joke, Mom," you said, your voice trembling. "I didn't want this to happen, but it did. I—"

"Didn't want this to happen?" she cut you off, her eyes blazing. "You expect me to believe that? That it just... happened? His dick just fell into you, right? You betrayed me! My own daughter, with my fucking husband!" She threw her hands up, pacing the room like a caged animal, her anguish filling every corner. “You’ve destroyed everything—everything! How long have I been the fool, sitting at home, playing happy family while you... while you—”

“Stop it!” you shouted, your voice breaking. “You don’t understand—”

“I don’t understand?!” she snapped, whirling to face you. “You don’t think I understand betrayal? You don’t think I know what it feels like to be stabbed in the back by the two people who should love me the most?” Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breathing erratic. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you said desperately, tears spilling freely now. “But I love him, Mom. I love him.”

“You love him?” she echoed mockingly. “You love my husband? Do you even hear yourself? What kind of daughter—what kind of person does this?” The venom in her voice stung, but you couldn’t back down now. “I’m not proud of this,” you said, your voice quiet and steady. “But it’s the truth. I love him, and he loves me.” Your voice rises again. She stared at you in disbelief, her jaw tightening. “Loves you?” she spat, her tone dripping with scorn. “Is that what he told you? That he loves you? That this is some grand romance and not just another one of his selfish, disgusting whims?”

“Stop it,” you said quietly, but she pressed on, her anger building like a storm. “Do you even know him?” she hissed. “The real him? Or are you just blinded by whatever lies he’s been feeding you? He’s a liar, a manipulator, and now he’s turned my own goddamn daughter against me.”

“You don’t know anything about us!” you shot back, your voice rising to match hers. “You think you’re the only one who’s ever been hurt? The only one who’s ever felt unloved? You don’t understand—”

“I don’t understand?” she interrupted, her voice rising to a shout. “What don’t I understand? That you’re selfish? That you’re reckless? That you’ve thrown away everything we had for... for him?” The words hit you like a slap, but they also ignited something inside you. “You don’t get to stand there and pretend you’re some kind of victim!” you yelled. “You’re not perfect, Mom! You’re not blameless!” Her face twisted in rage and pain. “So now this is my fault?” she demanded. “You’re blaming me for your choices? For his choices? You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m not blaming you,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion, as you were sobbing. “But you don’t get to act like you’re innocent either. You’ve pushed people away your whole life, and now you’re acting surprised that someone finally—"

“Stop,” she said coldly, her voice low but dangerous. “Don’t you dare try to twist this around. Don’t you dare try to justify what you’ve done.” The room fell silent for a moment. Finally, she spoke again, her voice quieter but no less filled with anger. “I gave you everything,” she said, her voice shaky. “I sacrificed everything for you. And this is how you repay me?”

“I know you didn’t want me,” you suddenly snapped, the years of buried hurt rising to the surface. “I always heard you fighting with Dad, saying I was your biggest mistake! Isn't that why dad left?" Her eyes widened, stunned by the shift in the conversation. “What?” she said, her voice barely audible. “I know,” you repeated, the words spilling out like a dam breaking. “I heard it all. I wasn’t deaf, Mom. I was a kid but i wasn't fucking stupid! I knew you never wanted me.”

Her face hardened, a mixture of guilt and defiance flashing across her features. “Of course, I didn’t fucking want you!” she shouted, the admission slicing through the air. “I was twenty years old! I didn’t want a kid, and guess what? I can’t change that! I can’t just grab you and shove you back into my fucking uterus, can I? But i didn't abandon you, Iㅡ"

“I already knew that,” you whispered, your voice hollow. “You didn’t know,” she snapped, her eyes blazing. “You didn't know shit! You’re just trying to make me the bad guy so you can feel better about the awful, disgusting thing that you did.” The room seemed to pulse. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you said, tears streaming down your face. “But it did, and I can’t change it.” She shook her head, her hands trembling. “You have no idea what you’ve done,” she said, her voice breaking. “You’ve destroyed everything. Our family. My marriage. Everything.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, the words feeling inadequate even as they left your lips. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but I can’t help how I feel.”

“You’re just like him,” she spat. “Selfish. Just like your fucking dad."

taglist ⭐️ ㅡ @eviispunk @joeldjarin @whimsiwitchy @guelyury @untamedheart81 @dollyxzy @mybvalentine @am-3-thyst @klajmekk @cuteanimalmama @corinnedollete @vickie5446 @gabymalikk

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #pedro pascal angst

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writerofautumnnights · 3 months ago

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THE UNSPOKEN CONNECTION — JOBE BELLIGHAM

☆ pairing: jobe bellingham x fem!oc

☆ trope: age gap - language barrier - opposites attract

resume: Sarah moves to Manchester for a language exchange program, struggling with her English and hoping to find inspiration for her writing. When she unexpectedly crosses paths with Jobe, a 19-year-old football star, sparks fly—but the age gap and language barrier make things complicated.

can a connection built on misunderstandings and awkward moments turn into something real, or will their differences keep them apart?

as well as the translator, let's meet the lovebirds!

Sarah Lima ࣪⭑

👩🏽‍💻 sarah is a 27-year-old who’s navigating her twenties, still figuring out what she truly wants. She’s currently on a language exchange in the UK to improve her English and hopefully find a path that resonates with her—writing or maybe even arts. She's a bit of a dreamer, loves watching romantic comedies, and has a deep connection to her family, especially her dad. Sarah's not your typical fan, but she has a soft spot for football and knows Jobe Bellingham as the younger brother of one of the most famous players. She’s fun, energetic, and constantly curious about the world. But, deep down, she's trying to find her place.

Jobe Bellingham ⭑

⚽️ the 19-year-old football sensation, is making a name for himself at Sunderland. Known for his skills on the field and his ability to stay cool under pressure, Jobe’s also a man of mystery, keeping his private life behind closed doors. He’s a bit of a perfectionist, always pushing to be better but often battling his own insecurities. Despite his fame, he’s trying to navigate life in the shadow of his brother's success. Jobe’s charming, confident, but a little guarded when it comes to love. His heart’s not ready to settle, but maybe meeting someone like Sarah could change that.

Their worlds collide when Sarah, in a twist of fate, ends up in Sunderland. Sparks fly—though neither is sure they’re ready for what comes next. What starts as a chance encounter quickly turns into something neither of them expected, and as their relationship evolves, they’ll both have to face their insecurities and open up in ways they never thought would happen.

✧༚ ˎˊ˗ info about The Unspoken Connection !

series warnings: language, a bit of angst, awkward flirting, football fan culture, hints of romance, some miscommunication (because who doesn’t love a good misunderstanding?), mentions of social media and fandom, a touch of drama, and possibly a slow burn (just a little!). Definitely a "will they, won’t they" situation.

inspo: this idea is inspired by the unpredictable twists life throws your way—meeting someone who feels like you’ve known them forever, but also like they’re a stranger. Add a little football obsession, quirky fandom moments, and some serious self-discovery, and you've got yourself a fun ride. Also, the song Love Language by Kehlani was a major inspiration, setting the tone for the connection between the characters!

keara’s imessage: Hey y’all! First time I’m posting about my original characters on here, I’m so excited 🤩. I promise not all the lyrics will be directly related to the plot, but I’m all about the energy and vibe—so expect that to set the tone for the story. The vibe? Some awkward moments, a little too much social media lurking, and some football player drama (you know the kind). I'll keep the humor flowing and hope you’ll enjoy the ride. I don’t have a set schedule yet, but stay tuned for more chapters and updates—let’s dive in!

This content may include some adult or sexual themes. If you're underage, please be mindful and skip this one. Thanks for understanding!

P.S.: Please excuse any mistakes in the writing, English isn't my first language. Hope it’s still fun to read!

taglist: since I don’t have a solid audience yet, let me know if you’d like to be tagged in our future fics!

dividers by @cafekitsune

pictures from pinterest and twitter

faceclaim: @/amaka.ae on ig!

THE UNSPOKEN CONNECTIONS ! ✨ smut**

1. FIRST ENCOUNTER ✅

2. LOST IN TRANSLATION ✅

3. IN THE MOMENT ✅

4. GETTING CLOSER ✅**

5. CONFUSION

coming soon!

6. SELF-REFLECTION

coming soon!

7. THE SEPARATION

coming soon!

8. THE REALIZATION

coming soon!

9. TAKING A CHANCE

coming soon!

10. HAPPY ENDING

coming soon!

last update: april 26, 2025

keara 💋

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ovrour · 9 months ago

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𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑' ─── christopher o. sturniolo

# 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 . . . christopher o. sturniolo x ex!gf reader

# 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 . . . chris cant let you go even when he knows he has too.

# 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐘 . . . angst

# 𝐀𝐍 . . . theres a big ass plot twist

# 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 . . . Lover, you should’ve come over by Jeff Buckley

It had been a year. A year since Chris’ world came crashing down. A year since he lost everything. He lost you. It hit him hard, he would’ve never seen the breakup coming. He didn’t know why it happened. Why he had to lose his beautiful girl. Chris wasn’t sure if he could even call you that anymore. You weren’t together, and you hadn’t been for a year. But, he was never going to stop calling you his girl. You were each other's everything. And he missed having you as his everything.

Chris couldn’t get over, he hadn’t gotten over it. He never will. Chris knew he had to let you go but, he wouldn’t. Currently, Chris was sitting in your favorite restaurant, the one he first took you to when he asked to be your boyfriend. He felt like it was the only place where he could feel happy knowing that he had the chance to have been with you. But now, it felt like nothing. Nothing without seeing your enticing eyes, or delicate smile. It was stupid really. Stupid of him to still miss you even after a year.

Chris is pulled out of his thoughts when he hears a ringing noise. It’s Matt calling him. “Hey, We’re about to film a video. Are you down?” Matt spoke over the phone. “Yeah, I’ll start getting ready.” “Alright. We’ll be there in 20.”

Chris then hung up the phone and left for his room. By the time he was done, Matt had just pulled into the driveway, honked letting Chris know he was home. Chris rushed out the door putting his shoes on. He rushed into the car, closing the door behind him, finally putting on his shoes, he was out of breath. “Hey, you okay? You look upset.” Nick asked him. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just thinking.” Chris replied.

In all reality it wasn’t just thinking. He was thinking about his girl. The girl he had met when he was fresh into middle school, the one who he had fallen in love with. He felt so alone now that his girl was gone, he had no one to go talk to about his day, how filming went, or how much fun he had going out with his brothers.

“Are you sure you're just thinking? Or are you thinking about y/n?” Matt hinted. Chris just looked at him and sighed. “Chris, it’s time to let her go. It’s been a year. She’s probably moved on already.” Nick stated. “I know okay? But, I can’t let go of someone I loved for so long.” Chris commented, tears starting to swell in this eyes. “Hey, don’t cry. It’s gonna be okay. It takes time to get over someone you’ve loved for so long.” Matt chimed in.

“Look, we’re gonna get some food, record a video and then we can go home okay? And maybe you can ask her mom about how well she’s doing. I know you’ve been wanting to text her.” All three of them stopped by McDonald’s and picked up some food before they found a spot to record. They answered a few questions, laughed together, and just chatted.

After they finished recording they went back home. Chris thought about you the whole time there. He couldn’t stop talking or thinking about you. He felt so bad because he hadn’t reached out to you in months. The last time he talked to you was to wish you a happy birthday. So, when he got home that was the first thing he did. But, when he did, he didn’t expect the messages to turn green. He knows you hadn’t blocked him, or at least he didn’t think so. If you did, he didn’t want to think about it.

“Chris, what’re you doing?” Nick asked, standing behind him. “I'm trying to text y/n but my messages are turning green.” He replied. “Are you sure she hasn't blocked you?” Matt inserted. “No, i don't think so. i dont think she has a reason to.”

“well, you should ask her mom, see if she’s okay.”

“yeah, i’ll text her right now.”

Chris then texted your mom, asking her if you were okay. She didn't reply at first, so he waited and waited and waited. To keep his mind off things, he did a couple chores. took a shower, got dressed, and ate some food. That's when he feels a vibration. it was y/n’s mom. He opened the message and his heart dropped.

it felt like the world had gotten slower. Everything went quiet, it was like it was just him, alone, left in the world. Chris couldn't hear the twins calling for him. Chris didn't expect to receive the message that he did. Finally, Chris calms down and hears Nick yelling for him.

“Chris, are you okay? I heard something fall.” Nick questioned. Chris didn’t say anything, he just looked at him. “Chris?” Matt blurted out.

“She's dead.”

“Who’s dead?” Chris didn't reply. “Chris, who the fuck is dead.” Matt stated. “Y/n. She’s dead.” Chris replied, typing on his phone. Tears start swelling in his eyes. “No. She's not dead. We just talked to her last month.” Nick cried. “How did she die?” “She was murdered.” Chris responded.

“I cant believe we didn’t check up on her. We were so busy.”

“Her poor soul. She was such a beautiful person. I hope her mom is okay.”

“Yeah. I hope that she's okay. I can't imagine how hard it is for her.”

Chris stood up, walked out the door, and just stood there. He looked up to the moon and said “I'm so sorry I couldn't check up on you more. I'm so sorry.” He sat down and just cried. His girl was gone. His girl was sent from heaven. Now she was in heaven, resting not having to suffer anymore. He was never going to forget you. And ‘till this day, he tells everyone about you, and about how much of an amazing person you were. He wants people to know that you weren’t just a girl to him. you were his best friend. You were always going to be his best friend. He’ll always remember you as…

his girl sent from heaven.

©️ ovrour

taglist: @flouvela @sturniolosarethebest @missmimii @bernardsbendystraws @042502 @soupuurr @luvs4matt

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tinytennisskirt · 11 months ago

Note

Your 'rumours' fic was so adorable!!! I'd love to see some childhood bestfriends with Art from you, like reader just following him around like a puppy since childhood and at first he doesn't know how what to do with her but then she starts to grow on him,

UGH, what's it feel like to be loved???

-🍃

More Than Anything

Summary: ^above^ with a twist of angst and a few changed plot points. Art and his childhood best friend navigate the forces that pull them apart. Whatever he does, she does. He’s not sure what else is more natural than being her best friend. And no matter what she’s told, that will never change.

Warnings: fluff! drinking, mean Patrick, mentions of weed, mentions of sex, one mention of the risk of being roofied (nobody is roofied), a little ANGST. And a kiss.

Little Art Donaldson was having a day at the park when he met a little girl. It was you and there was much to babble about when there were so many things to do at the park and you, in a tiny voice, said you’d never been to the park before. Art took you by the little hand and you willingly followed as he showed you every single section that there was, even the swings.

Art, young, when met with lunch, he dropped his sandwich in the sand. He cried- the meat and lettuce all covered in grains and small pieces of sticks wasn’t a big issue but for a kid, it was quite upsetting to not have a lunch anymore.

You were more little, two years younger than Art, but you knew just what to do. Picnic lunch with your family nearby, stood next to him and asked if he wanted to come have some food with your family. You didn’t know you couldn’t just invite crying kids to eat with you. You were just too young, too pure.

He said yes, obviously. His dad was somewhere nearby on his phone, business call. Didn’t notice Art was sitting at your picnic bench eating fried chicken and watermelon with you and your parents.

Your mom was a sweet woman, so of course she’d never say no to a starved child. Art’s father found him no problem. He wasn’t a bad man either- not angry. In fact he sat down to eat with them and by the end of the meal they’d set up a time to come by and play another day.

From that day on, your parents befriended and you and Art became best friends. Self-proclaimed. Art didn’t know how to play anything but video games and baseball and he slowly got more into tennis, which he tried to show you. You weren’t that good at anything he did, but still, you would play together in the sandbox, run around each other’s yard. It felt like an endless summer with you two. If one of you was out and playing, so was the other. Usually more revolving around what Art did. It was simple, easy, fun. Anywhere Art would go, you were there too. It helped each other’s parents get a little peace every now and then or let them hang out as adults.

You maintained your personality, just as sweet as candy but with a boyish love for adventure, as your mom would say. That boyish side definitely came from Art. Where he was, you were, no matter what. Even if it was up a steep hill, even if it was the river nearby, even if it was the ant hill and you both got a million bug bites. Every scrape you shared, every bruise you compared in the backyard on the tire swing, every scrape from your bikes. Everything was shared.

You were a little in love with him. Even from a young age, the moment you could think boys were cute, you thought Art was the most adorable. It was platonic love, of course. The capacity to truly love wasn’t there, just pending…

And you and Art grew up together. You pursued different hobbies but still found the time, even with school. It was easy the first few years, you were only in kindergarten and then it was elementary. Apparently once you hit grade three you’re not supposed to hang out with anyone younger. Art wasn’t sure what to do, but he spent lunch recess with his friends and first and last recess with you anyway.

One thing was for sure. It was that you would follow him around like you didn’t know any other way, when he was nearby. You’d do whatever he did, even if he invited his other friends. A lot of the neighbourhood kids assumed he was your annoying sister, even when Art said you weren’t. You were just a little girl who liked to stick around.

That was how it was all elementary school until Art was in grade nine and you were still in seventh. The dynamic changed- he was still playing tennis, still seeing you, but more when your parents would see each other. Otherwise Art was with Patrick.

You knew Patrick well. He was around and so were you. Sometimes Patrick was nice, sometimes he wasn’t, but he was just a kid. You’d call Art sometimes and Patrick would pick up and just say “he’s busy!” And hang up. You had other friends but knowing someone pretty much your whole life, having a small itty bitty tiny crush your whole life, and having them turned away by a new crowd was a little hard. He still found time.

Art didn’t know what to do with you when he went to high school. It was weird you were still so young to him.

“Art,” you said. You were finally in high school and found him in the hall. “I can’t find the math classroom, I was wondering-“

“Take a left at the corner and it’s right there. Good luck, I’ll see you later, gotta go!” It sucked, but it was fine. If you had the chance, you’d tag along, still sporting the same following attitude. You went where he did.

Art was cute, yeah, but when he graduated you thought less. Sure you’d follow him wherever, but you had wanted to go to Stanford much longer than he had. Screw him and his two years on you, he was already enrolled. And he moved away.

You barely had a life when he was gone. It was all stupid. He called you every few days and of course you picked up the second your phone rang but it was still stupid. You’d call him whenever you liked which was much more often- and sometimes he’d pick up, other times he wouldn’t.

You and Art hung out a few days before college started. You walked through the city around Stanford, talking in the park. His choice of location. “It’s good to be in the same area as you again,” he said. You smiled as the wind blew your hair around your face, warm. “I don’t have to call now.”

“You didn’t like the phone calls?” You asked.

“No, I loved them, don’t get me wrong, they’re effective. You have no idea how good it was to hear your voice when I missed home.”

Your smile turned into a grin, he matched it. “Now what do we do when we both miss home?” You asked. He laughed and bumped against your shoulder.

“I’ll just call your mom,” he said. You both laughed at his immature humour. It was good to be back with him, he was right.

“Uh huh and I’ll call your dad, no hesitation,” you teased. He shoved you a little so you stumbled a few steps off the path. “I’m sure he’d love to hear all about you and your adventures with marijuana.” You poked him in the ribs as you regained your position on the path. He grinned his crooked grin, the one you knew so well.

“I’d just have to tell your mom that you actually have had your first kiss and you aren’t her perfect little princess anymore.” He said.

“She’d never believe you,” you pretended to judge him, eyes narrowed. “She’d die, she’s so Catholic, Art, she’s sooo Catholic.” You fake groaned and he laughed. It was good to know that even though the distance made things feel odd, the dynamic somewhat returned when you were together again.

“She is so Catholic, but I’m sure she’d be fine with it, come on…” He ruffled your hair up and you gasped.

“Art- my hair took like an hour to braid- and she would die, I’m sure of it. On the spot. Unless you want her to die, I suggest you keep that secret.”

“And you keep your secret about the weed?”

“Deal.”

“Deal.” He repeated, pulling you into a quick hug, smile on his face. He’d missed you. He let you go. But his phone buzzed, it was Patrick, who he said he’d meet. He lost track of time with you. “Shit, Y/N. I made plans to play pool with a friend. I have to run, but I’ll see you soon, okay?” He was already stepping back. You were going to ask where he played pool, you were going to ask who with, just curious, but he was already on the run. It was fine.

Your first day at Stanford, 18 years old, you found yourself in his exact residency building, just on the girls end. It was convenient. Your parents had just left. You had your hair up in a claw clip as you set all your pictures up in the room, covered and made the bed. Your roommate was really nice already, sharing a bag of chips and telling you she brought a mini fridge you could both use. You had a feeling you’d love it there. Stanford was the dream.

You were bringing another box in when Art passed you. “Art!” you said, dropping your box. Art turned, confused.

“Y/N?” He said. He knew you were here just not in his building. He pulled you into a quick hug. “You got a room in this residence? You didn’t even tell me.” He let go.

“I didn’t know which you were in, I didn’t even think it might be the same,” you giggled. He smiled. You looked at the box you dropped. Art kept walking down the hallway, you left all your things to follow. “How are you?” You asked, walking just a bit behind him.

“I’m good! I just was out for lunch,” He said. “Uh- come, I’ll show you my room.” He didn’t expect you to follow him the way you did, but it was always okay. “It’s great you’re here. I would hang out but there’s a party tonight, the frat throws one every year for newcomers.”

You weren’t a party person. “Are you going?”

“I think so yeah, me and a few of my friends. You remember Patrick.” You were glad you hadn’t seen Patrick in a few years, honestly. “He’s over right now in my room, actually. You can say hi.”

“Perfect,” you said, following him up the steps and through the boys-side lounge. “Can I go with you?”

He nodded, swallowing. He knew you didn’t go to parties, he was planning on seeing you tomorrow night. “Uh… yeah. Yes. I don’t see why not, you’ve been to parties right?” He pretended like he didn’t know.

“No,” you replied.

“Okay, well you’ve been drunk at least.”

“No,” you answered. You might have if you’d been around while Art started his late-highschool-early-college drinking era. “Is that bad? Should I have?”

“Not necessarily,” Art chuckled. You were exactly the sweet girl he knew. “Means it’ll happen faster. I have drinks you can have if you want them. This is my room-“ he opened the door to the dorm room and it wasn’t much. Pretty normal, some tennis posters, some video game stuff lying around and Patrick in a spinning computer chair with headphones on. “Patrick.” Art said, hitting his friend in the back of the head.

You looked around, eyes everywhere, then on Patrick as he spun around. His eyes widened and he looked at Art, then you. Art spoke up as Patrick took his headphones off, “You remember Y/N.”

It had been a while since you and Patrick had seen each other. As annoying as he used to be, he was much taller. More hair, more muscle, taller. He wasn’t bad looking, you noted. You didn’t know Patrick was noting the same, just a little more male-oriented in his ways of thinking. “Holy shit, hi.” Patrick said.

“Hey,” you replied, smiling. You could let bygones be bygones. Everyone here was an adult now. “How are you?”

“I’m good, how are you?” Patrick asked.

You were surprised he seemed civil. “I’m good, thank you.” Your smile turned into a grin. “It’s good to see you both.”

“You’ll be back here at seven, hm?” Art squeezed your upper arm gently. He turned to Patrick, “She’s coming with us tonight.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes at you. “Is she even eighteen?” He spoke like you weren’t there- that was the Patrick you remembered.

“Yes, she’s eighteen. And she’s with us, so she’s fine.” He turned back to you. “You go get settled in, we’ll see you later.” He dismissed you- you would have stayed if he didn’t say so.

You waved and said goodbye and the hours passed. You unpacked and got ready, putting on something cute. Your roommate was going too, said she would see you there. At ten past seven, you knocked on Art’s dorm room door.

Patrick opened the door, “It’s her,” he called to Art, looking you dead in the eyes. “You look terrifying with eyeliner.” He remarked with a smile.

You laughed. “Thanks.”

Art rushed out of the bathroom, buttoning up his open shirt. “No, you look great.” He rushed past, then turned a bit to look again. “You look really nice actually. Wow.“

You smiled and shrugged. He finished the buttons and grabbed a can from a case under his bed. “Drink this, you’ll like it.” He cracked it open for you and everything.

“Thank you- what’s the rush?”

Patrick shook his head, sipping from his own can. “No rush, he’s just fast.”

You took a sip, it wasn’t great but it was bearable. You scrunched your nose. Art walked by you again, putting his socks and shoes on. “Rules, Y/N.” He said. “Just in case, okay?”

You nodded. “Rules?”

“Rules,” he repeated. “Don’t drink anything anyone offers you, no matter what it looks like. Don’t take any pills or drugs. Don’t leave with anyone without telling me first.” He said. It was a lot more serious than the rules he’d made up for his own version of tag when you were kids. Time was an odd thing…

“Okay,” you agreed. Art stopped in front of you and stole a sip from your drink before raising his eyebrows and grinning.

“You could just put her on a leash,” Patrick chimed in. You cocked your head to the side and shook it slowly at Patrick. Patrick spun in the chair, “Or if she’s anything like she used to be, you won’t need to.”

What was that supposed to mean?

Things progressed and you went to meet some of Art’s friends to drink more before heading over and you enjoyed tagging along. Art let you choose the music in his car and his friends approved of it enough. Some guys, two girls, you. Art.

Two low percentage drinks made you fuzzy. You weren’t even there yet. You weren’t sure what was expected, but it was odd. You clung to Art’s side the whole time, not physically, but you were near.

Eventually you got to the party and it was loud and crowded and easy to lose people in the hoards. Art slipped away somewhere and you didn’t know what to do, so you finished a third can and you were feeling it for sure. It was weird, strange, loopy, almost. You sat on the stairs, just people-watching. Playing it safe instead of mingling. It was fine.

A while passed, though it didn’t feel like it. Patrick was the one to find you, “Have you been here the whole time?” He asked over the music.

“Yeah,” you replied.

“Maybe Art should have put you on a leash,” he chuckled.

You were drunk enough to ask, “What does that even mean?” You stole his drink and he let you, taking a swig and handing it back like drinking was normal, casual. It was not.

“You know how when you used to follow him around all the time? Like a lost puppy?” He laughed like it was something you’d known, like it was obvious. “Everywhere we would go, you were just trailing behind. As kids we couldn’t even go outside without you following us. I knew you were really you when you came here because now you’re gorgeous- which I hate- but you’re still you, following us to this party.”

Part of that was meant to be nice. You could tell Patrick was drunk as well the way he told the truth so easily. But what he said had the ability to sink in and hurt, burning into you like acid. That’s how Patrick, the practical extension of Art- viewed you? Just some sad girl who followed Art around forever?

It stung to hear. “What?” You asked again. As if you didn’t hear. As if your eyes didn’t gloss over. You had no idea. Did you just not pick up on the fact you weren’t wanted there?

“You’re still you. I should have known when you were still calling him all the time from home. Calling and calling and calling. You still follow Art around like you have that schoolgirl crush on him or something, fuck you’re even here at Stanford, he just cannot get rid of you. I never got why you liked him so much, but yeah, you practically invited yourself here with us. It’s not bad to see you, but you know, it’s college. Be your own person.”

It stung, it dug deeper. You blinked back tears, but you knew Patrick didn’t notice at all whatsoever. You looked at your hangs, feeling the embarrassment and shame in your fingertips. “I’m sorry.” You said. You wished you were saying it to Art.

“Hm?” Patrick didn’t hear you. But you stood up and nodded, repeating yourself to him.

“I’m sorry,” you said more firmly. He heard you for sure, his head turned as you walked by, pushing past people and disappearing into the crowd again. You walked out the door and went back to your dorm. There was no point in staying. You’d be your own person, you weren’t one for parties.

You thought about it the whole way. Had you invited yourself and not noticed? You remembered asking. Patrick wasn’t even there when you asked, for fucks sake. You knew Patrick was drunk, but drunk words = sober thoughts, you’d heard. Patrick was mean, that was for sure. You wondered if it even phased him.

You fought tears, rethinking your childhood with Art. How much of it did he want? How much of it was your parents? You took off your party clothes and slipped into the most comfortable t-shirt and shorts and took off your makeup. You sat in your new bed, knees to your chest and just thought, endlessly, over everything.

You knew you and Art wouldn’t be super close forever, obviously you weren’t naive, but he was always the most familiar thing. New places were always explored with him, new things were always tried with him, anything new was always perceived from Art’s side. Even without him there for a while, it was still something you valued. You didn’t realize maybe you’d been clinging. Had you been clinging? Or was he just a close friend? What was the difference?

You let some of your tears fall down your face. You were in school now, it was new, it was supposed to be fun. And you would be your own person this time, you guessed. You fell asleep with the lights on.

The next day you rolled over and looked at six missed calls from Art. He probably wondered if you got home fine or if you broke one of his rules. You didn’t read anything he sent, you just typed out

‘I got home safe’.

And left it at that. It was easiest. You rolled over and out of bed, into an outfit and asked your roommate if she wanted to get coffee with you. She was easily and instantly a great friend. Coffee turned into going to the thrift stores and talking and talking and talking. You knew each other’s life stories by the end of the day.

You had another missed call from Art around 3pm. You’d call him tomorrow, you thought, before Patrick’s voice chimed back into your head. You decided against it. Classes started tomorrow anyway.

The next day, classes were amazing. You had made tons of friends and assembled what felt like the beginnings of a friend group. After class everyone hit the cafeteria for super salty chicken tenders. Everything Patrick said still hurt, but it was good to have the distraction. Other friends. Ones who you were sure wanted you around regardless, even if it meant staying close by.

“Someone came by here for you,” Your roommate told you when you got home. “Said his name was Art?”

“A friend of mine,” you said. How sure were you of that? “Did he say anything?”

“No, just swung by and asked if you were here. I told him you were out and that I didn’t know when you’d be back.” She said. You eyed the dual schedules of yours and hers hanging up above her desk and the both of you smiled. “Just in case.”

You talked the night away again. She was a great listening ear as you confessed the whole thing to her. She was very sweet about it and gave you one of her ice cream sandwiches.

The next day you were laughing and leaving class and Art found you. You didn’t run, hide, you just looked at him. “Hey,” he started. “You haven’t been answering my calls or texts I thought maybe you’d died.” He shrugged sheepishly.

“I’ve just been busy,” you said. It was somewhat true- you’d busied yourself to be a different person, your own person. “Why, what’s up?”

“Nothing, I just-“ Art stopped himself. “You left early and you didn’t tell me.”

“The party?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Patrick said he saw you. Where were you?”

“I was on the stairs before I left. And then I went straight home and right to bed.” You told him honestly. “I’m sorry.” At least now you got to tell him you were sorry. “Look, I have another class in ten across campus, I have to go.”

“I’ll walk you,” he said.

You had to take a deep breath. All you saw in his offer was pity. Obligations. “My friends are waiting on me, I’m sorry. Thanks though.” You dismissed him.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” he said. He wasn’t used to whatever version of you this was. You were sweet, you were kind, you were always willing to stick around if he needed you. You would always hang back if he was tying his shoelaces, but you wouldn’t even walk with him. “See you around.”

“Bye, Art!” You called from ahead. Part of you felt terrible. It wasn’t normal to do what you just did, but it was essential. How would you be someone uninfluenced if you couldn’t break the habit?

A few more days passed. Art would call every now and then. You would never pick up. You were busy. It was the least contact you’d had with him in your entire life- by choice, at least. Camping and vacations never counted. Your roommate said he’d been by twice more.

Another party came up. A Friday night- you, your roommate, your class friends all wanted to go. It still wasn’t your thing but why couldn’t it be? Reinvention.

No pregaming, just one drink in hand at the party you were talking with your friends in the corner, laughing, having fun. There was a guy in your new friend group that had been showing interest, or at least that’s what your friend said, backed up by your roommate. He was cute but he was your height, not taller. He was nice but said a few things that had made you cringe. You were trying to get into the college era vibe by flirting back but it was all empty.

You had no idea how to flirt with someone who wasn’t picking up on simple hints, but you stood with him, talking to him against the wall, closer than your other friends were.

You felt a hand on your lower back, turning to face Art. His hand raised itself to your upper arm, “Thought you didn’t like parties?” He said. No hello, no hi, no greeting.

“I’m giving it another chance,” you replied. “The first one wasn’t great.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Can we talk?” He asked. Your roommate stepped in and removed Art’s hand from your arm. It fell to his side. He looked at you, eyes meeting yours in the flashing lights of the party. You’d put off your friendship enough to allow maybe a conversation. He wanted to talk, he’d been wanting to talk, not sure about what but you nodded. “Somewhere quieter?” He suggested, gesturing for you to follow him. You stepped a few steps in the direction you started before realizing you were following him. You tapped his arm.

“This way,” you said. And you changed direction and headed up the stairs. Every room was occupied. You had no idea where you were going, so you turned to two doors in the hall and found yourself on the frat balcony. Greek letters hung just above your head height. Art closed the door behind you both, muting the inside noise. And he just looked at you, hands in his pockets, eyes soft, summer breeze in the air.

You blinked off his gaze, feeling judged, but he knew you were sober aside from a sip or two. Unaffected. “You’ve been busy,” he started. “I called again a few times, was wondering if you wanted to come with me and Patrick to see a showing of Back To The Future in the campus park this weekend.”

You smiled a little to yourself. Back to The Future was a shared favourite between you and Art. Your expression softened. “I’m not too busy…” you said. “But you’re inviting me?”

“Of course I’m inviting you, I haven’t seen you in a week and a half.” He said it like it was the biggest drop of common sense. “I want you to come with us.”

You shook your head, looking at your feet. You didn’t speak. Art spoke instead, “What happened at the first party? I know something happened, I can assume something happened. I lost you and I never found you and the next day you’re different. You’re not you.”

You weren’t you because you weren’t trailing after him on an invisible leash? You sighed heavily, “I don’t know.”

“You do know. I know you. You know. And we tell each other everything, but you’ve gone radio silent.”

You looked over the balcony, at the trees and the way their leaves rustled in the light wind. You folded your arms over your chest, unknowing of how to answer. He spoke again in your silence, “I’ve missed you.” He said.

You looked at him, “Missed me?”

He shrugged, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I? When I missed you before I could just call and you’d answer and now I can’t see you when you’re in the same building as me. I’m used to you being around. It’s different when you’re not.”

Your lip quivered like you wanted to cry and you felt burning behind your eyes, but no tears surfaced, just remembering how you felt when Patrick said what he said. You couldn’t let that go. “I just wasn’t at your heels,” you said.

“Hm?” Art stepped forward.

“Like a lost puppy,” you continued. “I’ve been trying to be my own person. Do things without you, without being on your tail at all times.”

He looked like that hurt him. How would that have hurt him? “What?” He asked it like you said something wild and crazy.

“I didn’t want to be some sad girl who follows you around anymore. I know you have priorities, I know you have friends here that you’ve known and connected with and I think you should be allowed your space… from me.” You said. Part of that was gushing and for the first time you realized that staying away from him had only partially been for you. It was an act of sentiment toward him to allow him to enjoy himself without you as a ball and chain.

Art looked like someone punched him in the stomach for a moment as he processed what you said. He changed expressions to concern, then to disbelief and then he just looked sad. “How did you come to that conclusion? Y/N… What? Space? From you? Like I didn’t go through two years of it already, seeing you only at Christmas and Easter?”

“You have great friends here and you see them all the time and you go out and you go to parties and I just tagged along that night, didn’t I? You were going to the party with your friends and I asked to go with you and you-“

“I said yes!” He said, voice a little louder. Trying to get it across. “I said yes. I didn’t think you would even want to go.”

“I want to be where you are. Or I wanted to be where you were, I missed you. I didn’t mean to invite myself. You could have said no.”

“I wanted you there!” He replied.

“Are you sure? You lost me pretty fast.”

“I spent the rest of the night looking for you! I haven’t spoken to three people from that night because I disregarded their existence looking for you, ruined their nights. I wondered if maybe you got roofied or you were fucking some guy in a bathroom- I-“ He ran his hands through his curls. “You didn’t message me until the next morning, I was still out there looking for you when you messaged me.”

Your lips parted and your mouth suddenly felt very dry. A little breath slipped out, a hush. You looked at him and he looked at you, his eyes soft and kind and sweet and just like the ones of the boy who dropped his sandwich in the sandbox. Art shook his head, stepping closer to you, stepping back and standing his ground closer to you. He looked up at the sky, “I love you and I care about you and I do fucking miss you.” He said. “More than anything. I’ve been losing my mind the past week.”

“I didn’t know,” you said.

“I called and came by your dorm,” he replied. “So this is the part where you tell me what the fuck I did to make you think you were someone I didn’t want around.” He was firm, but you could see the pain in his expression.

You swallowed hard, wondering what he would think. “Patrick, um…” you started but talking about it made you want to cry. You tried to get rid of the lump in your throat. “He found me and he said a few things about me being the same little girl who followed you around everywhere when I wasn’t wanted.” Your voice almost broke but you saved yourself, though you couldn’t stop your eyes from starting to tear up.

“Patrick said that?”

“He’s the one who made the lost puppy comparison. I’m not mad at him or anything, he was drunk, but he talked about me calling you all the time, how it all adds up to the same schoolgirl crush and how you can’t get rid of me and you’re the reason I’m here at Stanford and…” you trailed off because it choked you out. “It’s okay, it just made me rethink a lot of things. He said I need to be my own person.”

“You are your own person, what the fuck? Made you think that you needed to give me space? He was able to make you believe that I wanted to get rid of you? After being friends with you for seventeen years of my life?” He questioned it but you knew he wasn’t actually questioning you. It was rhetorical, you knew the answers. “I swear to god, I’ve never given so much as a notion that I don’t want you around other than I couldn’t want you around because you were either too far or just not invited. If I had it my way you’d be invited to everything, I would never not want you around.”

He grabbed you by both of your shoulders, squeezing but resting gentle. You sighed, “But I have followed you around like a lost puppy.” You said, blinking back threateningly hot tears.

“You’re not a lost puppy. Do you think I don’t feel like I’m dragging you around sometimes?”

“You’ve never dragged me anywhere,” you said. You smiled just a little and he couldn’t help but do the same. “I like being around you.”

“I like having you around. I’ve never thought of you as any sort of dog at my heels or whatever the fuck it is you or Patrick said.” He squeezed your arms again, sliding his hands up to the back of your neck, under your hair, bracing you. “You are everything to me, I don’t care where you are, if you’re behind me or in front of me, beside me, just with or around me, it’s the safest, most familiar thing I know. You can go anywhere you want but you chose to stick around me when you were only three and it was the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He confessed. You sighed, this time, just out of the peace his words brought.

“I mean at first I didn’t know what to do with a little girl who was depending on me to teach her how to make stick forts and weird knots and how to climb hills but we’ve figured everything out together. And I don’t want that to stop. Fuck Patrick, honestly. You over him, you over anyone, anything, any day of the week, I’m sorry. I’m not that sorry”

You didn’t know what else to do or how to reply. Every word he said kicked Patrick’s take on you to the curb. Everything Patrick had thought about you was disproven, thrown, ripped to shreds. Your heart beat fast, heavily, thudding against the inside of your ribs. You breathed out hard, hoping that maybe it would expel some of the emotion that was overloading. Art’s hands had moved slowly up the back of your neck, unnoticed as he confessed everything and now they rested just at your jaw, thumbs by your ears. This moment of yours before the breath only lasted seconds but felt like eternity. You could have cried, sobbed, even, with the amount of emotion that instantly overcame your body but you didn’t cry or scream it out, there was nothing more fitting than how Art closed the gap between the two of you with a kiss.

His hands at your jaw, yours grabbed onto his sides like it was natural. Like you’d done it a million times. As he kissed you with slightly chapped lips pressed firmly to your own, you found that there was some release, some weight gone. Some ghost butterfly danced around your stomach and your head and the kiss was not long, but not short either, but it was needed and the kiss itself was telling of that. All of your emotion washed out like the tide and came back slowly, regular, calm, known.

You pulled away at the same time, mutually. “I love you too.” You said quietly. He grinned that crooked grin you knew too well and suddenly you were laughing about it. About something, about everything. He kissed you again, of course, harder, laughing through it, his hands around your waist and your arms around his neck and this second kiss turned itself into a hug. An embrace, tighter than the usual ones. He buried his face in your neck as you expressed everything you’d needed to in all of your seventeen years as best friends. He apologized for any distance, any fault in the way he prioritized you, and any time he may have taken you for granted. Being without you was harder than he could have imagined.

And nothing ever changed how either of you felt about each other again. Though… Art started following you around a bit more from that point on, but who wouldn’t want that?

A/N: Thank you for the request! I hope this is somewhat to your liking, though I followed your prompt a bit loosely with the pacing. Always feel free to request! That goes for everyone

- masterlist

#art donaldson #challengers #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig #art x reader #challengers fic #challengers x reader #art donaldson fic #art donaldson fluff #bestfriend!artdonaldson #best friend! art donaldson #childhood best friend! art x reader #art x childhoodbestfriend!reader #challengers x y/n #challengers fluff

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blog-name-idk · 1 year ago

Text

The Plot Twist | 05

Written by @blog-name-idk and @eserethriddle

Summary: Once upon a time you would have jumped at the chance to live the idol girlfriend life. The cameras, the action, the whirlwind romance. But what was once a dream has now become your worst nightmare, and you fully intend to fight the universe as it repeatedly conspires to set you up with your seven perfectly good soulmates from Bangtan Sonyeondan.

In which we punt Y/N into all the fanfiction tropes and you do your feral best to subvert the love story.

Because nani the fuck, you are The Plot Twist.

Pairing: OT7 X Fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, crack, humor, idol!AU, light angst, slow burn, romantic comedy, just a fun silly old time

Rating: 18+

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Chapter 5: "It's fine! South Korea has universal healthcare coverage!"

Of three things you are absolutely certain. First, soulmates exist. Second, the universe – and you don't know how potent its power may be – runs on some sort of karmic imbalance. And third, you are unconditionally, and irrevocably, fucked.

It is raining.

In a rare, extremely odd fit of forethought, you actually have an umbrella in your bag. Normally, you would scoff at weather predictions and dare the clouds to do their worst. But today, you found yourself grabbing your umbrella before leaving for your commute, and the skies that have darkened into an ominous, storm-like gray after your work shift do not phase you at all.

Today, your undoing lies in a different kind of disaster preparedness.

Hard water pelts down almost as if it is herding you, and you hurry from the assault of the rippling sky to the awning of a closed coffee shop to grab your umbrella. Expletives spew from your lips as you dig through your messy bag. You're so focused that you barely register someone also taking refuge from the sudden storm – a man wearing a mask and a bucket hat, but is shivering through a wet, black long sleeved t-shirt that's sticking to what looks like a very toned body.

Not that that's the type of thing you typically notice or anything.

"Found you!" you screech excitedly as you pull out your umbrella and brandish it at the sky. The man beside you flinches, like you're about to attack him, and you give him a disdainful look.

"S-sorry," he mutters, the brim of his hat still hiding his eyes. "I thought you meant something else."

Something else? Is he on the run from the mob, or fleeing the national military? The incredibility of either prospect nearly makes you snicker, but whatever, you need to get home before the storm gets –

BOOM!

– worse.

The thunderclap makes both of you jump, and you wince at the realization that the rain is coming down even harder. Unforgiving sheets of water pour down, and you can barely see even a few feet past the awning. Maybe you can get an Uber instead…

You pull out your phone to see no bars. No data, no phone signal, nothing. The guy next to you is shivering even more violently now, and you internally sigh. You can't just ignore him, not when helplessness is wafting off him in tenebrous waves.

"Do you have a ride coming?" you ask reluctantly, wishing you had been raised to be more selfish. Your mother does whatever the hell she wants, why hasn't she taught you the same? Though, to be fair, she probably would have been able to get the rain to stop by glaring. Perhaps someday, in your final form, you'll be just as powerful.

The man wilts and shakes his head, and you’re alarmed when you hear a sniffle. Shit, you are not equipped to handle a crying man. You're not even equipped to handle your own emotions.

"I – I left rehearsal because I had a fight with my hyung," the guy begins to share, morosely wiping his face with a wet hand that only leaves more moisture behind. His voice quivers, and despite your misgivings, the piteous sight of him tugs at your heartstrings. "And now I'm lost. I only have my phone, and it’s useless right now."

You start to feel a little sympathy for someone who's clearly been having a bad day. You're about to offer to share your umbrella to the nearest train station when he finally looks straight at you, meeting your eyes for the first time.

The patch of skin behind your ear suddenly tingles and–

Oh.

The rain falls, lightning cracks, and your stomach drops in time with the crash of thunder that follows. Yet you can barely hear it over the sudden pounding of your heartbeat.

"Do you… Could you… If it's not too much trouble, could I walk with you to the train station?" Jeon Jungkook pleads, large doe-eyes gazing brilliantly at you from half of an unmistakable face.

This… is why you felt like bringing an umbrella today? Because of the universe and its cosmic–fucking–intervention?

The man across you fidgets, growing self-conscious as he waits for your answer. For a few long seconds, all you can do is stare numbly at him.

Are you going to have to assume every man you run into these days is one of your soulmates? How is this even possible?

You reach your decision in less than a minute.

Dejectedly, you hold out your umbrella wordlessly to Jungkook, and his face lights up. His smile does something unspeakable to your heart that you refuse to acknowledge. His expression scrunches – cutely, to your dismay – in confusion when you just hand him the umbrella. You shove a few crumpled bills from your back pocket into his free hand, careful not to touch his skin, and he looks completely baffled.

"For the train fare," you manage to choke out, already backing away into the unforgiving rain. It's coming down so hard the pelting drops almost hurt, but this is infinitely preferable to whatever the fuck the alternative is.

"What…? No! You don't have to – I just wanted to share – "

"It's fine!" you call over your shoulder, already twenty meters away and sopping wet in the opposite way to what the universe was probably trying to contrive. "Just get home safe! I'm sure your hyung is worried!"

With that you're off, leaving a very confused and equally charmed idol behind. Jungkook stares after the strange, kind girl, wondering why it feels like you're running away.

Pondering, he scratches the tattoo behind his ear.

He’s just about to run after you, but then his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he opens it in surprise to see a wall of text messages.

How odd. The signal bars are full now.

At the influx of messages from his hyungs, his argument with Jimin at the rehearsal studio floods back into his mind, and Jungkook sniffles again and dials the familiar number.

"What do you want?" answers a grumbling Jimin, filling Jungkook's chest with guilt.

"Hyung, I'm so sorry!" Jungkook cries, blubbering in earnest now, the familiar voice opening the floodgates until his tears almost match the tempest around him.

"Don't call me!" his hyung scolds, clearly still angry. And yet, he picked up the call when he could have just ignored him. Jungkook hears Jimin sigh, the sound static and long. "Fine. Where are you?"

"I don't know," Jungkook whimpers as another crack of lightning cleaves the air. Thunder follows soon after, and he hopes that you're okay, wherever you've gone.

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?!” Jimin demands, suddenly all love, all worry. "Tell me where you are and I'll come get you."

Ah… warmth. This is what his team has taught him: brotherhood, love, and family. To be angry, to piss each other off, but in the end be willing to drop everything to help one another.

Something the stranger had done despite having no need to.

"I don't know where I am," Jungkook replies, already feeling a little better. "But I'll take a taxi home. S-someone gave me some money."

"Come safely. I'll wait outside for you."

Before Jungkook can protest, Jimin hangs up. The maknae can't help but smile despite how stressful the day has been. Between his team members and the kindness of the girl from earlier, his chest feels warm and fuzzy, driving away the cold and the gloom of the gray skies and icy rain.

He just wishes he had gotten your name.

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Fuck.

You wake with a head full of cotton and a nose more clogged than a toilet at an American WacDonald's. Feeling like death, you drag yourself out of bed to the bathroom, force yourself into a scalding hot shower that – for a blessed moment – clears your sinuses. You get ready for work, and by the time you're ready, you at least look put together, though inside you're already wishing you could crawl back under your covers.

Any other time, you might have taken a day off to not inflict your coworkers with your germs, but today is that stupid executive meeting and you can't afford to miss it.

You pop some cold medicine into your mouth, mask up, and get to work early, because despite your utter lack of care when it comes to your personal life, you are a demon in the office.

"[Y/n]!" calls Mijoo, one of your favorite administrative assistants. It's for that reason and that reason alone that you pull your head away from your screen to give her a smile she probably can't see through the cloth of your mask.

"Hey," you greet, clearing your throat and relieved you haven't hit the "uncontrollable cough" stage of your cold yet. "What's going on?"

"Soonyoung is freaking out about something again," she replies quietly, casting her eyes over to the corner office where your Senior Vice-President resides.

You're not sure if he ever actually leaves the building.

You sigh. This is a big project, one that is being presented to the company execs, and you really need everything to go perfectly. It's a good thing you got here early.

"When I finish here, I'll go talk to him," you say reluctantly, making Mijoo shoot you a smile of relief.

After you've confirmed that everything should as expected, you push off your desk, letting your chair roll backwards. Then you slip your feet back into your heels, stand, and give a lazy stretch of your limbs before heading to put out the fire, rolling your shoulders as you do so.

Through the glass surrounding the door, you can see your VP frowning at his computer screen, gray brows knit in some sort of frustration. You knock twice, and he looks up, still frowning. It vanishes as soon as he realizes it's you, and with a grin he beckons you inside.

"[Y/n]! Thank goodness," he said in a relieved voice, already angling his monitor so that you can see. "I can't get VLOOKUP to work!"

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something you shouldn't, instead ambling over to help the dinosaur who is (hopefully) planning on retiring soon. Why is someone so high up even messing with spreadsheets, anyway? You barely have time to do any hands-on work at this point, and all you manage is your own team.

"It's tricky," you agree fondly, humoring him not because you have to, but because he kind of reminds you of your grandpa. "Here, let me help."

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Your next meeting also has an unusually high number of execs, and you frown as you recall the vague wording of the invite. You settle in a chair next to your work friend slash rival Jaesung, who looks just as confused as you feel.

"Any idea what this 'very important meeting' is about?" you whisper in his direction, and he shakes his head.

"No clue, but there are rumors that there's something big coming up," he whispers back. The two of you are unable to speculate any further, however, as your CEO appears. What the hell?

By the time the meeting ends, you are torn between laughing and crying hysterically. The execs have announced the planned launch of a top secret flagship product, one that the company is expecting massive returns on due to a collaboration with – because this is your life now – motherfucking BTS.

And then VP Soonyoung stands, looks at you and Jaesung proudly, and says that as two of his best people, you will be spearheading the marketing and sales efforts. He adds, with an elderly jovial laugh, “Both of you will even get the chance to meet them, so go get your autograph plaques ready!”

As if you needed to be disincentivized!

"You’re so lucky!" wails Mijoo as you sit in your cube, where you have been staring woodenly at your computer screen for over five minutes now. She thinks you're in joyful shock, and maybe, it definitely is shock. The electric chair kind.

It's bad enough that you had to spend an entire wonderful excruciating evening with Hoba – Hoseok – and he is now aware of your existence, even if he hasn't realized you're soulmates. But now this?

You mull over filing for your immediate resignation, which only adds to your headache. Eventually, you conclude that your time and compensation package from Samsong are just too good, too unbeatable, and… you’ve grown as a professional here. People respect you, value you for you, and you absolutely love working with your personally curated team.

The problem is the universe keeps testing your limits. Executive meetings? Easy. Flagship product development? Doable with the right people. But passionate, self-consuming cosmic schemes involving the world’s biggest boy band in the guise of soulmateship?

You’d rather get hit by a car.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The universe hates me.

That is your last thought as you hear the squeal of tires on pavement and the frantic honks of a car horn before you're suddenly staring up at the sky, pain flaring throughout your entire body.

A man gets out of the black Hyundai Palisade with tinted windows, and you suddenly wish that you had been truly run over with no hope of recovery. Of course it's Kim fucking Namjoon of BTS, and he's looking at you in a mixture of panic and concern that makes your heart flutter despite your best efforts.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" he asks, to which part of your brain thinks, What a fucking idiot of course I'm not. The other half stupidly admires the broad set of his shoulders, the strange mixture of grace and clumsiness as he stumbles over to your battered body.

Wait.

You return to your senses, and begin to push yourself back up to your feet.

"Yep, totally fine!" you insist through gritted teeth, ignoring the way one of your legs is twisted awkwardly, and the flare of agony that permeates your body when you're able to bring yourself upright. "It was my fault anyway!"

It wasn't, but you're not going to stick around to let this play out.

You begin to limp away as fast as your contorted ankle allows, ignoring the flabbergasted expression on Namjoon's handsome face.

"I – can I at least pay for your medical bills?" he asks as he takes a tentative step after you. You hobble faster despite the burning pain in your legs.

"It's fine!" you call behind you, getting a regrettable glimpse of his beautiful, worried eyes. "South Korea has universal healthcare coverage!"

Unfortunately, you can only wobble so fast until the physically fit, able-bodied man catches up to you. By this point, your vision is fuzzing with strange dotted lights and your body doesn't feel quite real anymore. Namjoon's hand touches your shoulder, and you turn around to tell him off. Instead, you feel your legs buckle and strong arms catch you before everything goes black.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"You keep appearing in unexpected places, and often." Jimin swallows, his heart beginning to race. "Your skin is always covered up. You don't eat or drink anything when I'm around."

He takes a deep breath, knowing you're just a step behind him.

"How old are you?"

You hesitate – just barely – before you reply.

"Twenty-five."

"... How long have you been twenty-five?"

"A few months."

A few months. A few months since he's moved into your apartment complex. A few months since the strange not-quite-ennui and melancholy has begun plaguing him. A few months since you have turned of age to manifest your soulmate connection.

"I know what you are."

He feels your body tense behind him, and a thrill runs down his spine. When you speak, he can feel your breath on his neck.

"Say it."

“Soulma–”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Kim Namjoon looks anxiously at the nurse checking your vitals as you lay prone on the hospital bed, wishing he could do more to help.

"I think – I think she might have hit her head," he offers, for the tenth time, thinking about the way you had tried to run away on what the nurse is reasonably certain is a badly sprained ankle. The nurse gives him a tight smile, because one does not simply roll their eyes at the leader of Bangtan Sonyeondan, no matter how many times he's said the same thing.

"We'll check for it," the nurse promises, soothing the tall man. For the time being.

Namjoon chews on his lip as he gazes at you, wondering what your story is, what kind of past would drive you to such strange lengths.

For some reason, he itches to hold your hand, but that would be completely inappropriate from a total stranger. Especially when it could cause dating rumors if anyone gets a glimpse or a picture. His manager is already going to kill him for chasing down an injured girl in broad daylight.

His eyes keep getting drawn back to your face, peaceful in sleep and – dare he say it – quite pretty. Very pretty. Beautiful, even. And you had felt so soft and nice in his arms, warm and –

"Sir, please stay seated while I finish here," comes the nurse's tired voice, and Namjoon realizes he's gotten up and has an arm outstretched to stroke your cheek.

"Uh, sorry," he stutters, face burning as he sits back down. What the hell is wrong with him? Why does he feel drawn to this very strange, very lovely girl?

A soft groan tears Namjoon out of his spiraling thoughts, and his gaze shoots to your form as your eyelids flutter open.

"Wha – " you ask blearily, waking up from the weirdest parody dream of the world’s best vampire movie ever. Shifting in your bed, pain contorts your face and you let out a hiss. "Ow!"

Namjoon rushes over, and your mouth drops open when you realize who he is. Before you can react, he's holding your hand in his, and he staggers as something in the universe fundamentally shifts. By your gasp, you're experiencing a similar sensation, and you yank your hand out of his grip before he can get his bearings.

"Your leg seems severely strained," the nurse explains, blissfully unaware of the way the world is tumbling around the both of you. "We'll need to do x-rays to make sure it’s not broken."

"I'll… get a wheelchair…" Namjoon says, in a daze, desperate to be of help even as his mind races to understand what is going on. He stumbles outside of the room, desperately hoping that a moment alone will help him get his thoughts in order and help him find the right questions to ask.

Apparently these are questions he won't receive answers to any time soon, because by the time he's back, the room is empty. The nurse follows after him, and looks around in confusion.

"Where'd she go?" the nurse asks, and Namjoon wishes he knew the answer. Who are you? Why are you so hellbent on getting away from him?

And why does holding your hand feel like home?

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

That was too close. Too fucking close.

You pull yourself onto the bus by the railing, ignoring the driver's confused, concerned expression as he takes in your hospital gown and the way you're wincing in pain. You swipe your card, only vaguely aware that everyone behind you can see your rump through the poorly tied flaps of the gown.

It's fine. Your dignity is unimportant compared to the bulletproof boy scout you just dodged.

You drag yourself to a handicapped seat – if there's ever a time you can confidently sit in one, it's now – and fall into it, finding an angle for your leg that gives some sort of relief.

Despite the pain, it's the warm feeling in your hand you can't stop thinking about.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Kim Namjoon is at a loss.

Despite searching the entire hospital, the mysterious girl was nowhere to be found, vanishing from the premises as if she were never there. Still, out of personal guilt and liability, Namjoon lingered, offering to settle the missing girl’s hospital expenses, but the charge nurse expertly dismissed his generosity once it became apparent that he did not know you at all. He couldn’t even give them your name, or any proof of relation, and the rest of the staff quickly became tight-lipped around him.

Even Kim Namjoon, the illustrious 148 IQ leader of BTS, can’t argue against health privacy laws.

Since leaving his phone number with the charge nurse – his final, desperate effort – Namjoon has been staring at his phone, waiting for any news about you… news that simply never comes.

That same evening, he walks into the band’s shared dormitory with aplomb.

Single-minded, he heads straight for the living room and picks up the remote control off of the coffee table.

The flatscreen TV goes dark, and Kim Taehyung complains, “Hyung, no! What gives!”

Jungkook cries in offense, shooting up from the sofa, “My vampire baseball scene!”

Namjoon deigns them both with a long-suffering look. “We need to talk, so call the team.”

His assertive voice, usually reserved for critical matters and scolding, makes Taehyung and Jungkook abandon their emotional support movie in favor of gathering the rest of the group.

One by one, the boys pile into the living room from separate parts of the apartment at Namjoon’s behest. Most of them are sporting rumpled clothes and bedheads, save for Jimin, who looked ready to leave for his own place.

Namjoon announces, “There’s something I want to discuss. A… possibility.” He clears his throat. “A girl.”

"That's what you interrupted our movie for?" Taehyung asks, indignant. "A crush?"

Hoseok lets out an immediate sigh of relief. “Is that it?” And then he pauses, scratching at his nape, “Well, me too, I guess.”

Jimin’s eyes brighten. “No way, hyungs! Me too!”

When Jin, Jungkook, and Taehyung concede that they've also had a run-in with a very memorable girl recently, a new suspicion blooms in the back of Namjoon's mind.

Could they be talking about the same girl?

Though unlikely, he decides to ask, “Did any of you manage to get her name?”

Jin nods, seriously. “G0d$l@yeR_69.”

Namjoon shoots him another long-suffering look.

Hoseok stays silent, if only because his memories of you are one of the few non-idol centered things he still holds onto. Besides, his girl can’t possibly be their girl, too. The odds of that happening would be astronomical.

It's not so wrong to want to keep one aspect of his life to himself… right?

“Sorry, I… I didn’t get her name,” Jimin lies, for the same reason Hoseok keeps quiet. Besides, even if Jin is interested in you, Jimin's your neighbor! He should get first dibs! He's not going to give up your name so his handsome, charismatic hyung can find you and woo you before Jimin even has a chance to try.

"What's this important meeting about?" asks Min Yoongi, walking into the room with a mug of coffee in hand.

"A girl," Jungkook replies, somewhat dreamily, remembering the guardian angel that saved him that rainy day. Yoongi rolls his eyes and immediately turns around to leave despite Namjoon's protests. He has more important things to do than sit around gossiping, especially since he has a meeting with Samsong tomorrow about their new collaboration.

There's a hubbub behind him, a thump, and a curse from the ungainly leader as Namjoon's prized George Nakashima coffee table claims yet another victim. Yoongi's toe throbs, and he sighs.

"There's a first-aid kit in my room." He calls over his shoulder as he goes. "Knock yourselves out."

Far away, in a clinic near your apartment where your ankle is being put into a brace, you sneeze.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Masterlist | Next

#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #ot7 x reader #bts soulmate au #soulmate au #eserethriddle #reveri #fruit party 🥭🍒

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presleyhearted · 7 months ago

Text

Plot Twist! | a One Shot

pairing: 70s!elvis x female reader

genre: humor, angst, fluff.

summary: After ranting to your best friend about the most cruel break up of your life, you fall asleep. You awaken in the presence of 1970s Elvis Presley himself. You vent out to him about your messed up love life, because well, this must be a dream anyways. He can't actually be real, right? Right?!

word count: 5.3k

author's note: Hello darlings! It's been a while. This year has been one of the hardest years of my life, and so it was hard to come back to writing. But this concept has been in my head for a while. I thought it might be an interesting, sorta lighthearted fun concept. I hope you enjoy it! please comment. all feedback is appreciated. I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors, I wrote this out quite fast <3

warnings: cussing, a cruel breakup, tears.

“I’m like the main fucking character to a romcom, except there is no good guy!” You laughed humorlessly, taking a spoonful from the tub of strawberry ice cream in your hand.

Your best friend looks at you with sympathy. You should apologize for bursting through her apartment a mere twenty minutes ago. But your best friend being who she is, knowing you since you guys were practically in diapers, knows that there has to be something major going on. There has to be a reason. And she was right, it only took her simply asking you ‘What happened?’ that made you burst into a puddle of tears and your knees give out on her carpeted living room floor.

Your boyfriend of two years broke up with you - over text. And not only that, he also took back the necklace that he got you as an anniversary gift. It should’ve been a blissful Saturday morning. But waking up in your bed and finding the spot empty next to you, to then receiving a text from him. Starting the cliche line of ‘it’s me, not you.’ and ending it with ‘It was a bet. I’m sorry.’ To then a follow-up text of how he took off the necklace around your neck, with no sense of remorse whatsoever.

The realization of it all didn’t hit you all at once. First, it was a wave of shock. Eventually, that shock was like the key to unlocking a myriad of emotions that felt like life had slapped you right in the face. It is crazy how much a heartbroken heart can render you physically drained. You didn’t even know how you managed to drive to your best friend’s house. You were moving, but you didn’t feel anything of what was happening was real.

And so here you are, tears practically painting your face as your best friend consoles you for what you think must be the hundredth time.

“That asshole! I’m gonna throw hands, I swear Y/N.” Your best friend said, face in a fit of anger once you spilled the entire story to her.

“I am such an idiot!” You sobbed, grabbing a tissue from the box beside you. You could barely taste the flavor of the ice cream anymore. It feels as though all the energy has been drained out of you.

You were in no condition to drive home, so your best friend set up the guest bedroom which you were so grateful for. Even speaking seemed like such a task. You set your phone down on the nightstand, as you lied down on the bed with the covers over your body. Unfortunately, you feel that your mind won’t stay quiet. Sighing in frustration, you grabbed your phone off the nightstand and shuffled your ‘calming music’ playlist.

It appears to be proven effective, as the voice of Elvis Presley lulls you into the land of dreams.

“E, I don’t-”

“I got this, Jerry. Go.”

Voices lead you to stir awake and when you do, you are wide awake.

Because who wouldn’t when the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll himself is staring at you?

You let out a giggle, “Okay, hi, Elvis.”

This dream is a product of your exhausted and heartbroken brain. Really, you had nothing to complain about. It is a blissful dream to escape from the nightmare of your reality.

Elvis is amused. Well, he was also confused. But amusement seemed to triumph over his emotions. He just finished his second show of the night, and usually, he would invite some people back to his suite to hang around for a while. But tonight, he didn’t have the energy to do so. Walking back to his suite with Red and Jerry beside him, they didn’t expect to find a woman right in front of his hotel room door. Eyes closed. Your chest was rising and falling. Alive. So they concluded that you were in a deep sleep. Now, Elvis has come across all sorts of encounters with fans, he is not immune to being surprised every now and again. But this was definitely not a familiar situation for him. He saw your face - your cheeks appeared to be stained with tears. Elvis’ heart ached at the sight. You were beautiful and just. . . sad. There was no other way to word it.

Elvis was not the most reasonable person in the world. But he doesn’t why, or how, but he has this gut instinct that you were perfectly harmless. That you needed saving. He can’t just shake you awake and tell you to run off. He’s not that kind of guy.

Red and Jerry approached and were about to ask him if they should be calling security. But Elvis shook his head and told them to stay quiet about this and to not tell anyone a word. Red and Jerry shared a look and warned Elvis that he did not know you. That you might be ‘a crazy fan.’ They were just doing their job after all. But Elvis was determined and carried you into his suite. Red walks off and Jerry, being brave enough, tries to reason with him again - but Elvis does not sway his choice. With a sigh, Jerry walked off and closed the door.

Elvis placed you gently on his bed and whilst in the midst of taking off your shoes, he felt your body move. You were waking up. He just hoped that he would have a chance to defend himself, hoped that he doesn’t scare you. Fan or not, he knows that any logical person would be terrified waking up on the bed of a man that they don’t personally know. But he wouldn’t hurt you. Once he makes sure that you are okay, and in good condition, he has no objection to you going on your way.

Which leads you to this moment. With him staring down at you, his eyes meeting yours for the very first time. His head tilts to the side once he hears you giggle and hear your voice, his lips pulling into an amused smile. Oh, so you are a fan.

But then he doesn’t fail to notice the puffiness of your eyes, the cruel gift of a woman who has cried her heart out. Elvis’ eyebrows furrow in concern and he tuck a loose strand of hair behind your head, softly asking, “What’s your name, honey?”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N, do you remember what happened?”

“Unfortunately. I mean, my heart still feels it. Or whatever is left of it, I guess. I must be terribly heartbroken to have you show up in my dreams like this. It’s like someone took a knife and pierced it right through my heart and twisted it. It was probably my own fault, really. I was the one who fell first. Scratch that, I was the only one who fell. Since, you know, the whole thing was a bet.” You tried to laugh as if it was the funniest joke in the room. But it ended up sounding more like something between a pained cry and a forceful attempt to be comedic about a devastating situation.

Elvis was confused. It was obvious that you were incredibly unhappy about something, but your sentences were going by like a bolt of lightning. He couldn’t keep up.

You sat up and looked at your surroundings, “Is this your room? Like your hotel room?” You asked all of a sudden.

Elvis was a little thrown aback by your question, as he was still in the process of trying to make sense of what you were saying. He nodded, “Yeah, how-“

You flung the covers off your body and walked slowly, taking in your surroundings. He went from kneeling beside the bed to standing up and observing you. He was prepared to catch you, having a feeling that your knees might give out all of a sudden. You were in a fragile state and he couldn’t help but feel an immense protectiveness over you.

“Hmm. So this is what my brain with broken heart conjure up as Elvis Presley’s hotel room.” You find yourself rushing over to the floor-to-ceiling wide window, “Gosh, even Las Vegas looks so detailed. I must be some kinda designer when my life is falling apart. Huh.”

“You an architect, honey?” Elvis scratched the back of his neck, still insanely confused as the minutes go by.

You giggled, “No. But my mind seems to be.” You winked at him.

He chuckled at your quick switch in the mood.

You then wander away from the window and practically run over to him, his eyes widen, thinking that you are going to jump onto him. You merely giggled at his reaction. Once you stood right in front of him, inches away from his face, you tilted your head and said, “You are so tall. Sit.” Before he could have a chance to utter any response, you placed your hands on his shoulders pushing him to sit down on the bed.

“Okay, honey, calm down.” He chuckled at your forwardness, putting his hands up in defense.

“Oh my gosh, you even sound exactly like him!” You exclaimed happily, clapping your hands.

“Like who?”

“Like Elvis, you silly goose!” You rolled your eyes playfully, “My mind is not much sometimes. But sometimes, it does its thing. And this is one of those.”

Elvis let out a loud laugh, unable to resist it. His head was thrown back, a kinda laugh that echoed off the walls.

“Darlin’, you just made my night.”

“Hmm, what shall I call you then? Whilst this therapeutic dream lasts. Oh! Maybe. . . dream Elvis? Mind Elvis? I mean, I know time is not really a thing in dreams. So, I don’t really know how long it lasts. But, I mean, I guess my subconscious mind knows me too much - the only way to heal from being heartbroken is by designing Elvis, who is literally the love of my life - in such good detail. I ain’t complaining, but I am just in awe. Oh, I do love my mind sometimes.” You sighed dreamily, cupping his cheeks in your hands.

Then it clicked. It clicked in Elvis’ mind. You thought that you were dreaming. That this is a dream. You were heartbroken over someone, and thus, thought that you were dreaming this all up. It explained a whole lot. Your switch in emotions, your mood switches. All a product of broken heart. Heck, he couldn’t even find any reasonable excuse for why someone would break your heart. It was incomprehensible to him. You are beautiful and had such a unique character, something captivating. Who would dare shatter such a precious being? Elvis thought.

“Gosh, you are insanely good-looking.” You said, hands still cupping his cheeks. Elvis didn’t make the move to remove your hands from him. Instead, he rather found your touch comforting in a way. There was that gentleness in it.

“I mean, the resemblance is uncanny.” You removed your hands from his face, an action that let him sigh in dismay.

Elvis couldn’t take it anymore. No matter how cute you were being. He had to correct you. He was prepared for the realization that would ensue - the chaos of it all.

“This is no dream, honey.” Elvis shook his head, smiling kindly at you. Trying to gauge your reaction to the words he just let out.

You simply giggled. “Yeah, right.”

You didn’t believe him. Heck, you really thought you were in the land of dreams.

“You don’t believe me, sweetheart?” He bit his bottom lip, curiously looking at you.

“I know you are trying to trick me, mind of mine. But I am not that heartbroken. Not too heartbroken to believe that you brought Elvis back. So, no, you can’t be real. Elvis is gone. You are a product of my imagination. “ You sighed, with a sad smile on your lips as tears started to pool in your eyes again.

Elvis freezes at your words. Sure, he has met so many fans over the years since his fame catapulted in the world. Met some pretty interesting characters and heard all sorts of crazy stories. But this? With that expression on your face and that sheer pain in your voice, once you said those words - believing that he was gone off the face of the earth? No, Elvis has not encountered this. Not ever.

“Nothin’ like that, darlin.’ I’m right ‘ere with ya, ain’t I?” His thumb strokes away a tear that rolled down your cheeks, as his hands find yours. His thumb gently caresses the back of your hand.

You nodded, “Can I- , can I hug you?” A blush crept into your cheeks, a shy side to you showing itself.

“Of course, c’mere.” He opens his arms wide, which you gladly accept and practically sink into his arms. It was comforting and strong.

Your heard was buried in the crook of his neck, and you noticed sweat glistening on his neck and hair.

You hummed, “So soft. Almost like the real one.”

You still believed he was your imagination. Elvis sighed. He knows that the hug was supposed to be a comfort for you since you requested it. But he felt he needed it as much you did, if not more. He felt your hands comb through his hair, still sticking to his skin from the performance he just finished.

“Even the sweat. You must’ve just finished a show, hm?” You asked, finding yourself playing along with this dreamland. This dream scenario that your brain put together, a temporary break from your reality. Might as well play into it.

Elvis found himself growing hot in embarrassment, “I-uh, yeah, s-sorry, honey. I didn’t get a chance to change when I found ya.”

You put your head up to look him in the eye, “I don’t care. It’s sexy.”

Elvis raised his eyebrow in disbelief at your comment and looked away with a blush creeping up his cheeks. You were proving to be the most fascinating person he has ever met as minute by minute goes by.

“Oh, uh, actually honey - lemme change.”

You nodded, untangling yourself from him and getting up from his lap. Yep, you didn’t realize you were on his lap when you pulled yourself in for a hug.

“Okay.”

“Don’t go anywhere.” He said, before disappearing into the bathroom of the suite. You found yourself wandering around the room again, inspecting the entire setup. The telephone is hooked onto the wall. The TV screen. Some books piled in the corner. To name a few things.

Elvis quickly returns and is now changed into a simple pair of blue silk pajamas. It suits him, you think. Seeing him look so relaxed and comfortable. And just like that, Elvis lies back down on the bed and proceeds to ask what you were heartbroken about. You giggled at the scenario. Other people have diaries they rant to or speak to themselves while they drive. But you? You have Elvis Presley - well, your imagination’s Elvis - lying down gazing at you like you are the most important person in the world. And the thing is, he really did listen. Responding every now and again and nodding his head or shaking his head. Even the switch in his facial expressions - from disbelief to pure anger as the story of your relationship with Carl unraveled. He listened to, you so intently, as if you held the secrets of the universe. You were pacing back and forth as you told the story. He saw you walk through the thousand emotions - pain, regret. Frustration, and last but not least - anger. All throughout this, yes Elvis listened to you and offered his comments, but he couldn’t help but find himself completely enamored by you. Your hair was down and it flip back and forth as you paced, your eyes so striking and expressive. Impossible not to be entranced. You were beautiful and even from your state of emotional hurt, the way you articulated your words - sure, it was frantic, but it was intelligence-coated. He loved hearing you talk.

Eventually, Elvis asked if you were hungry. In the blink of an eye, there was knock on the door and two soda cans and two hamburgers were delivered. You sat across from him on the bed, letting out a moan as you took a bite out of the burger. A sound that Elvis found himself wanting to replay.

“Heartbreak is so fuckin’ exhausting, thanks for the food.” You said after you both finished eating and were sat next to one another with your backs against the headboard.

“Say, never heard a woman cuss as much as ya!”

You grinned at his reaction and shrugged, unbothered.

“Hey! This is my dream, so just go with it, Presley.” You pouted at him.

Elvis cannot help but find the action adorable, and shake his head at your belief that this is still all a dream.

“I’m gonna need you to repeat somethin’, honey,” Elvis said eyebrows furrowed.

“Hmm?”

“Are you in college?” He asked.

“No, why do you ask?”

He seemed even more confused at your response, “ Just ‘cus you said this guy called it quits over textbook? I can’t make no sense of it, sweetheart.”

You cannot help but burst out into laughter at his question. My god, your imagination of Elvis, is proving to be insanely detailed. Like even with questions like this, as if you were actually in the 1970s. The years when texting was not a thing. Of course, he would be confused. But unbeknownst to you, this was not a dream and you were in fact actually in the 1970s and it was in fact THE actual Elvis Presley asking you this very question.

“Well, in 2024, you know - the future - there is a thing called a text message. Hold on! My phone must be here somewhere, I can better explain it to you that way.” You shot up from your sitting position, and look around the room. With luck, you find your phone on the carpeted floor underneath the bed.

“Aha! Found it.”

You hold it up and return to your position beside Elvis, with your back against the headboard.

“The hell is that small brick doin’ under my bed?” His blue eyes were wide, looking at you like you’ve gone mad.

You chuckled, “Elvis, no. it’s my phone.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and pointed at the telephone hooked onto his wall just next to the TV, “Nah, honey, that over there is a phone.”

You shook his head, “Look, I’ll show you. “ You tap it and the lock screen lights up, with the photo of Elvis from the ‘68 Comeback Special as your lock screen. You type in your passcode and unlock your phone. You spend the next ten minutes going through the various apps on your phone, and then lastly, your text messages - actually in disbelief yourself on how your dream is so clear. Then you showed him your contact list and the fact that you can call without the phone being connected to a cord.

Elvis was in pure amazement and disbelief. Like a child opening their Christmas gift. You really are different because heck, you are from the future! There is no way.

He had your phone in his hand as he read through the break-up text sent by your boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend.

“That damn son of a bitch,” Elvis muttered under his breath, which you caught on very clearly.

Elvis kept his control, he was so close to throwing your phone at the wall after reading that cruel text message from your ex. He couldn’t believe that someone could say such cruel words, how could he say this to you? So sweet, kind, and beautiful? It made no sense to him, and if he was right in front of Elvis now, he wouldn’t have any chance, for Elvis really would’ve punched him square in the face. No excuses.

You shrugged, seemingly numb to it all now, you ran through all the emotions so many times now. Now, nothing is left. Exhaustion yes and a sense of relief.

You take the phone away from him and shuffle your playlist on Apple Music before playing the phone on the nightstand. Elvis is not surprised when it’s his voice that floats through your phone, for you showed him Apple Music and explained it to him.

“He’s all in the past now, “ You sighed, “It’s my fault. I was such an idiot.” You were lying down on the bed now. Eyes closed as your hand was covering your eyes.

“Honey, no, none of that. “ He wraps his hand around your arm, to stop you from hiding.

“He did you wrong. Not you. “ Elvis said softly, you opened your eyes to look at him. You found him now lying down as well, his body facing yours. You turned to face him.

Before you could register your actions, you lifted your hands up and felt your fingers traced over his facial features. First his eyebrows, nose, cheeks, and lips. Elvis found himself sighing and closing his eyes to your touch.

“You were too precious for the world, Elvis. I hate how it all happened to you the way it did, you deserved better. So much better.” You said, voice quieter now, and there was that look in your eyes again - sadness for him.

You spoke in the past tense, that was something that Elvis caught on very quickly.

He chuckled, trying to break out of being serious, “I’m still here, honey.”

You nodded, “Sure.”

Your response unsettled him. He shook his head and decided to change the topic of conversation, “How’d you become a fan of mine? 2024 sounds far from here. . . people remember me? ” He asked.

You smiled and Elvis felt like giving you anything and everything right there. Anything you want. A simple smile and he was a goner.

“Of course, you are remembered. People still love you and celebrate you. How did I become your fan? Well, I listened to your music since I was a kid and it was a comfort for me. Still is. I found you so true, sincere, and unlike anyone else. You are quite easy to love, Elvis.” You said, voice so soft. Elvis felt a blush creep up his cheeks at your statement.

“Y-You beli- believe that, darlin’?” He stuttered, a glimpse of that shy boy inside of him pouring out.

“I do.”

You chuckled all of a sudden, “I actually believed that I would somehow marry you. Well, before I found out that no such thing was possible. You were gone way before my time. When I started learning more about you. Through the books and some documentaries, I think that was when I felt my heart shatter for the first time. You were my first heart break, Elvis.” You sighed deeply. A sad smile across your lips, and those tears pooling in your eyes again but you managed to blink back the tears.

Elvis felt his heart ache at the sight before him, he took your hands in his and gently caressed it.

“Why?”

You shook your head, “You didn’t deserve any of it. You had all these people around you, but I felt none of them really tried to pull you out of it all. Your heart is so pure and you just wanted to make people happy. But what about you? Who is looking out for you, asking you, and making sure that you are okay? And the Colonel being who he is. That sad excuse for a human being. It infuriated me. He used you. Treated you like an object. I thought, if I was alive in your time, of course, I would love to see you perform as much as the next fan does. But first and foremost, you are a human being before you are an entertainer. It’s okay to step out of it for a while and prioritize yourself first. You belong to no one but yourself. Only yourself. You had so much passion, so much potential, so much life left to live. You should’ve done what you wanted. Not what anyone else said. Should’ve made the movies you wanted. Toured the world like you did, but of course, the Colonel didn’t want you traveling abroad, because he wouldn’t step foot back into the US. I, just, I was so angry and sad once I found out about the entire thing. You are Elvis Presley, but, sometimes you can take the mask off, you know? Just be the you before the world defined who you should be.” You finished speaking, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden for speaking so much.

Your gaze met his and tears were running down his cheeks. He was biting his bottom lip, as he shook his head. The more words came out of your mouth, the more he couldn’t help but squeeze your hand tighter. There was passion and honesty in your voice, there was no denying it. He has encountered fans, but he never encountered someone who practically urged him to step away from his image if he wanted to. Who wanted him to do what he wanted, regardless of what anyone thought. Who wanted him to feel okay. Who cares about his well-being.

Who saw behind it all? Behind the image. You, who validated his emotions, and saw that being grateful and being tired can co-exist.

You saw the humanity in him.

The long silence made you believe that you said far too much, and so you began to profusely apologise, “I’m sorry. I sa-”

“Darlin’, please, can I kiss you?” He interrupts, and your eyes widen.

You nodded, words unable to be formed. His lips are so soft once they meet yours, and the kiss was not rushed or blazing with hunger. It was sweet and gentle and the tears that were rolling down his cheeks were melding into the kiss. He has never come across anyone like you before. He broke up apart from the kiss and before you could say anything, he buried his face in your neck - his body practically on top of you. You wrapped one arm around his and the other was gently brushing through his hair.

“No one. . . no one ever asked me. “ He said, his voice choked up in a sob, “Only cared about Elvis the entertainer. Not me. Never had someone care ‘bout me this much. I-” He broke into sobs, body shaking, “It gets lonesome.”

His arms wrapped themselves around your body, holding you tighter and tighter. The position and the warmth of his body and his emotional state - you sighed deeply and did not make any move to break away. This dream appears to be proving to be healing to you and this imaginary Elvis. So much so, that it almost doesn’t feel like a dream anymore.

You remove your hand from his hair and Elvis’ head turns to you, feeling the sudden lost of contact.

“Honey, whatchu doing?”

You pinch yourself. First your arm and then your waist. It’s the number one go-to so you can tell if you are dreaming or not.

“I’m still here,” You whispered in disbelief, your eyes searched for a clock in the room. That’s the next thing that people do. In dreams, the time on the clock does not exist. You will not be able to read the time, at least that’s what the internet says. You find a clock hanging right above the TV. It reads the time : 4:05AM. You read it perfectly.

Your heart speeds up crazily. Suddenly, it all adds up but you cannot bring yourself to believe how it can all be real. There is no way.

“But that’s impossible,” You mutter to yourself in shock.

Elvis hears you, “Somethin’ wrong, Y/N?”

“No, no. I-I was just. . . . this is real, isn’t it?” You sighed, “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

Elvis, even with eyes puffy from crying, found himself chuckling. He smirked, “Give me ya hand.”

He takes your hand in his, unbuttons the first button of his pajama top, and places your hand right on top of his chest. Where his heart is. You can feel his heartbeat through the palm of your hand and feel yourself breathing even more deeply now.

“Feel that?”

You nodded, “Oh, shit. Holy shit! I rambled so much on how much I love you and you are actually YOU! Oh, the universe must hate me. I made an absolute fool of myself in front of my crush. This is so so embarrassing. I-I’m so sorry, Mr Presley. Forgot me. I-I’ll go now, I’ll find a way to get home. This was NOT the plot twist that I saw happening at all.” You gently removed him from you to sit up, your heart hammering so fast.

Elvis did not like the lost of contact at all. Did not like you distancing yourself all of a sudden. You were adorably embarrassed, but the mention of you leaving was the red alert in his brain. No, he can’t allow you to leave him. No. He quickly grabbed hold of your hands, “Honey, breathe. Please, breathe. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He said softly, but voice firm.

“I- Mr Presley, you must understand. I don’t know how and why this happened. But please, you can go back to your life, before I came crashing it-”

“Thank God you crashed it, sweetheart.” His words made you freeze.

“I wasn’t meant to. I’m literally messing up the past, this is dangerous. I have to go.”

“Okay, I’ll go with ya.” Elvis said as if it was the most natural and simple thing in the world to do.

You shook your head, “You can’t, you belong in your time. Here.” You sighed.

“Then stay. Please, honey. “ He pleads.

“If i stay, I’ll be making more of a mess-”

“On who’s rules?”

“I-”

“You ain’t messing anythin’, sweetheart. You. . . you are doing me the opposite.” He said softly, bring your hand to his lips and planting a kiss.

“Mr Presley-”

“None of that, Y/N. You been callin’ me Elvis this whole time. “ He raised an eyebrow at you.

You groaned in frustration, “Before I found out that you were real! I openly said I wanted to marry you. This wins as the most embarrassing and most reckless moment of my entire life. I swear.”

Elvis smirked, “You are so cute, honey.”

“Elvis-”

“Stay with me. I need you, please.”

You look at him and his beautiful blue eyes staring at you in hope and apprehension at your response, “Stop doing that!”

His lopsided grin appears, “Doin’ what?”

“That look! Your eyes!”

Elvis sighed dramatically, “I’m not doin’ nothin’, honey.”

Practically puppy dog eyes.

You sighed. He isn’t taking no for an answer. You basically already broke like several rules of time travel. There is no going back now.

You think for a moment. There are a hundred reasons why this is a bad idea. You don’t need to be a scientist to know that going back in time and changing the course of events will change the future. It’s just logical. And Elvis? He was one, if not the most, central figure in American history. But, the fan in you, the one who would sometimes to be wishfully thinking that you could go back in time and save him. This is it. You didn’t think that the universe would actually play this move on you. So, with that in mind, you breathed and let out your response.

“Okay, I’ll stay with you.”

Elvis breaks out into a smile of relief.

This is THE plot twist of your life.

#elvis fic #elvis presley #fluff #angst #comedy #humor #elvis fanfic #elvis x reader #one shot #Elvis fanfiction

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allurer23 · 28 days ago

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TURN THE PAGE TO US

Where every chapter begins with a glance, and every page turns toward something more.

Welcome to Dream University — a place where nothing goes as planned, and every unexpected twist pulls hearts closer. Rivalries turn into something softer, chaos becomes a shared story, and every late night, every stolen glance, writes a new chapter. Here, the more the story turns, the more beautiful it becomes. So, turn the page with us, because this is where we learn that sometimes, love is the plot twist worth waiting for.

Status: Ongoing

Author: @allurer23

1. YOU ANNOTATED MY SOUL

In Focus: Mark Lee x Reader

Trope: Academic rivals to lovers

Warnings: Slow burn, witty banter, smut

Synopsis: You and Mark Lee: two English Lit majors, one department, zero peace. You can quote The Waste Land by heart, and so can he—but your shared talent for verse usually ends in verbal warfare. Forced to co-lead a competitive research project, Mark’s infuriating intelligence and maddening focus drive you up the wall. Yet, rivalry softens into playful banter, and late study sessions stretch longer than expected. Turns out, the line between rivalry and something softer is written in pencil—easily erased, effortlessly rewritten.

Status: Completed Part 1 Part 2

2. COLOR ME STUPID

In Focus: Art Major Renjun × Fashion major Reader

Trope: Accidental chaos / unlikely muse

Warnings: Light humor, accidental mess, fluff

Synopsis: Renjun sees beauty in everything—sunsets, spilled coffee, even a crumpled pizza box. The art room is his sanctuary until you accidentally turn his masterpiece into a modern art tragedy. Guilt pushes you to help fix the chaos, and between color debates and midnight ramen runs, you discover that maybe you’re not just each other’s mess... but each other’s muse.

Status: Ongoing Part 1

3. YOU'RE TOO NICE, IT'S SUSPICIOUS

In Focus: Jeno x Psychology major Reader

Trope: Slow burn / mystery crush

Warnings: Slow burn, light mystery, soft romance

Synopsis: Jeno’s the campus heartthrob who smiles like he’s hiding footnotes in a love story only he knows. You’re a psychology major who reads people like open books—except him. After a cafe mix-up, you decide to crack his mystery. Study sessions, late-night jogs, and awkward silences follow, but beneath his cool exterior lies something real. Love might be the experiment neither of you expected.

Status: Ongoing (Coming soon)

4. DON’T SMILE AT ME LIKE THAT

In Focus: Na Jaemin x Reader

Trope: Slow burn / softening the player

Warnings: Slow burn, fluff, mistaken reputation

Synopsis: Jaemin’s a photography major with a camera in hand and a smile that starts more rumors than the gossip accounts. He’s charm and chaos wrapped in perfect lighting. You’re a communications and modeling student—sharp, focused, and wildly uninterested. You hate his smile more than missed deadlines—too pretty, too practiced, and way too effective. But when you’re forced to work together, his lens keeps finding the parts of you no one else sees.

And the boy you pegged as a walking flirt?

He starts looking at you like he’s finally found his favorite shot.

Gross.

But also… butterflies. Reluctant, annoying butterflies.

Status: Ongoing (Coming soon)

5. CAN’T DEBUG THIS: YOU’RE THE GLITCH IN MY CODE

In Focus: Gamer Lee Haechan × Philosophy major Reader

Trope: Enemies to Lovers / Forced Proximity/ Slow burn

Warnings: witty banter, light angst, fluff

Synopsis: Haechan is the campus menace — gamer, flirt, and the reason half the professors have headaches. You’re a philosophy major who drinks matcha, reads Aristotle for fun, and could argue a tree into therapy. You guys are arch-rivals on the radio club, where their weekly segment is basically an intellectual slap-fight.

But when your thesis file corrupts (don’t ask), he’s your only hope to recover it. Forced into a truce, close proximity makes every insult flirtier, every argument crackle with electricity. You hate him. You really do.

So why does your heart glitch every time he winks?

Status: Ongoing (Coming soon)

6. MY BASKETBALL WAS ALWAYS IN YOUR BACKSTAGE

In Focus: Basketball Captain Zhong Chenle × Theatre major Reader

Trope: Childhood friends to lovers

Warnings: Slow burn, nostalgia, soft romance

Synopsis: Chenle, a basketball lover and business whiz who’s all about strategies and his dog—feelings? Hard pass. You’re a theatre enthusiast who lives for the stage, analyzes screenplays like sacred texts, and once cried during a Pixar trailer.

Thrown together for a campus festival, old familiarity turns into something deeper. Between rehearsals and set building, quiet moments spark new feelings—proof that some homes are worth falling for, again.

You gave him his first basketball, and he gave you your first crush. Years later, you reconnect, and it feels the same—but also very, very different. Like… kiss-me-in-the-wings different.

Status: Ongoing (Coming soon)

7. STEP 1: DON’T LOOK — STEP 2: OH GOD, SHE’S LOOKING

In Focus: Dancer Park Jisung × Performing Arts Reader

Tropes: Opposites attract, slow burn, dance partners, unspoken feelings, shy guy x outgoing girl

Warnings: Fluff, slow-burn romance, mild angst, teasing, mutual awkwardness

Synopsis: Jisung’s the quiet dance prodigy who speaks fluent footwork but stumbles over words. You’re the extroverted firecracker who lights up every room—and basically his exact opposite. Paired up for the semester showcase, your clashing energies spark more than just moves. He likes her but he won't tell her. She makes him nervous, really nervous. What he doesn’t know? She’s totally into him and not great at hiding it. Sometimes, the best moves happen when you stop thinking and just feel.

Status: Ongoing (Coming soon)

Coming Soon to Tumblr

Bookmark it. Reblog it. Scream about it.

We were just classmates. Just rivals. Just friends.

We were just—

…falling.

Author’s Note:

Totally fake, 100% fiction. No NCT Dream members were involved—they aren’t even aware of my existence. Just me and my wild imagination running the show!

This is purely for fun and creative vibes—no shade or real-life drama intended.

If you spot anything that feels too real, it’s just coincidence (or maybe I’m a secret psychic, who knows?).

Please enjoy the story with an open heart and zero expectations of reality.

Everything’s still in progress—I’m working on each one with love and way too many snacks. Posts coming soon, so stay tuned!

Also, English isn’t my first language, so if you spot any hiccups, let’s pretend it’s poetic license.

I’m new here on Tumblr, so if you’ve got tips, tricks, or just want to yell about fictional boys with me—I’m all ears and soft heart.

Thanks for stopping by—you’re already cooler than my browser history.

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the-tmnt-ficfinder · 8 months ago

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Ficfinder finds: Times Five

Rottmnt Fanfic Summary: "You," Donnie breathed as Mikey looked just as lost as the rest of them, "I found out what that staff did. I know what happened to you. What you are." Leo blinked at the weird accusation, "Wha? Oh, Dee, I told you to throw that thing out." "Yeah! You did!" Donnie bit out. "Donnie," Raph started to move forward, "What's-" "So, then, who are you?" Donnie snarled. Leo smiled, "I'm Leo." "Which. Part." Donnie began, stomping towards him until Mikey jumped in the way. Or, Leo gets struck by a mystic beam that splits him into five parts of himself; literally. And they don't seem interested in coming back together

Times Five: Appraisal and Ratings

(Don't know what fanfic "Appraisal and Ratings" means? Check out my explanation on my Main Masterpost! Looking for a different fanfic to read? Head on over to my Fanfic List Masterpost!)

Disclaimer: This fanfic is completed and is written by @pickledcarrotsandradish, so go give them some love and support!!

The fanfic ratings are not based on quality, favoritism, or how good I think it is, but rather, how intense a subject may be. Like a movie review, or the tags on Ao3, letting the readers know what to expect.

Plot: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Plot is five out of five!! The plot for this fic is highly entertaining, and interesting!! It contains some really well placed plot twists, and some fun little changes to the classic 'split up into various personalities' trope that I really enjoyed seeing!! Excellent story indeed!!"

Suspense/Mystery: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Suspense/Mystery is four out of five!! The suspense and mystery for this story is honestly quite surprising!! As I stated earlier, this story has some really good, quite unexpected plot twists!! Every time you think you've got it figured out, a new plot twist swoops in, making you rethink it all!"

Angst/Hurt: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Angst/Hurt is four out of five!! The angst and hurt in this fic is much more on the emotional side. While there are a few physical angsty moments, the focus is mainly on emotional angsts as this fic is quite literally about five different versions of Leo all with various emotions."

Fluff/Comfort: 💛💛💛🖤🖤

"Fluff/Comfort is three out of five!! Times Five has a good and fair amount of comfort in it. A good riveting plot, and plenty of sad or dramatic bits, with a healthy dose of comfort to balance it all out!!"

Emotions Conveyed: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Emotions Conveyed is four out of five!! Its the plot twists that really get you in this fic!! Every time you get comfortable, a plot twist comes along, and yanks you right up!! This fic also has some really good emotional scenes!!"

Drama/Tension Level: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Drama/Tension Level is four out of five!! There's a lot of tension and drama between Leo and his brothers in this fic, which makes total sense. It ranges from lighthearted banter, to life changing conversations all throughout the fic!"

Triggers: 💛💛🖤🖤🖤

"Triggers are two out of five!! Times Five is not super triggering, though it does have triggers in it. Unresolved trauma, plenty of strong emotions, unintentional self-harm, panic, etc. Keep in mind, its not super intense, but it is there."

Legibility (Reading): 💛💛💛💛💛

"Legibility (Reading) is five out of five!! Times Five runs on the slightly shorter side, making it a highly riveting, short story!! Very enjoyable to read!! Its very vanilla, with no crazy texts, or images either."

Legibility (Audio): 💛💛💛💛💛

"Legibility (Audio) is five out of five! Once again, very vanilla, very very enjoyable. I listened to each one of these chapters in audio book format, and they all were great!!"

Length: 💛💛🖤🖤🖤

"Length is two out of five!! Times Five is completed, has a chapter count of 14 chapters, and a word count of 46k words total!!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Times Five: Chapter List

(Chapters will be added as I rate and appraise them ^^)

(Yet to be added)

#tmntficfinder #ficfinder #tmnt fanfiction #rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt #rottmnt fanfic #rottmnt post invasion #ficfinder finds times five #times five #leo centric fic

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frenchkisstheabyss · 1 year ago

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୨୧ ʝαɯႦɾҽαƙҽɾ (ƚɯσ) ୨୧

୨୧ Pairings: rich boy!yunho x chubby!fem!reader, rich boy!choi san x chubby!fem!reader, rich boy!hongjoong x chubby!fem!reader, rich boy!seonghwa x chubby!fem!reader

୨୧ Genre: graduate school au/angst/smut/a lil bit of fluff emerging

୨୧ Summary: It was never your intention to infiltrate one of the most exclusive social circles at your new university, seducing rich boys to get who and what you want. Wait, no, it was.

But your actions have consequences and, when the one who brought you into this turns out to be more devious than you expected, are you prepared to face them?

୨୧ Word Count: 1.6k-ish

୨୧ Warnings: you're the villain, yunho's the villain, you truly all are in your own ways for this series, sugar baby origins, heavy angst, backstabbing, a fight breaks out, punching (not you), blood, drinking, yunho's a player, manipulation, strong language, mutual masturbation (f & m), fingering, creampie (in a sense), slight vaginal penetration (for teasing purposes), gagging (panties in mouth), cum eating, jealousy, soft dom reader vibes, pet names (pretty girl, baby, babe, good boy), oral sex (f receiving).

୨୧ A/N: This is part two in a series. You can find part one here. This entry focuses more on your relationship with Yunho, the dynamics within the boys' friend group, and why you're here at all. The next entry will be San focused with the focus shifting to Hongjoong last because every game needs a boss battle, ya know?

Watching Jeong Yunho tongue down a girl at the bar, you can’t help but wonder, “Can she taste me on his lips?” Or is she too drunk to tell that his breath still smells like pussy? It’s not that you’re territorial when it comes to him. That couldn’t be further from the truth. But his little attempt at trying to make it happen? It’s cute.

He can kiss her all he wants. Whisper in her ear how pretty she is. Tell her how he’s had a crush on her since he saw her walking across campus the other day. She’ll fall for those puppy dog eyes the way they all do. Fast forward 48 hours and she’ll be blowing up his phone wondering why he hasn’t called her back.

Only he won’t answer because he’ll be at your place again, same as he was tonight, his mouth too stuffed with your panties to get out more than a few broken syllables. Yunho’s never prettier than when he’s on his knees between your legs, stroking himself inches from your exposed core. “You wanna fuck me, Yunie? Hmm?” you tease, spreading yourself open for him.

It’s pure gold to watch the panic on his face when he can’t figure out where to look. Your angelic face? Your supple tits? Your clit coated in his precum? That’s when you know he’s close and start to play with yourself just to get inside his head. “Please let me feel you” is what he’d beg if he could speak. He’s done it before when his mouth wasn’t as full. But tonight he can only “Hhnhh, hmm, hmph” as he presses his tip to your slit, each whip of his wrist growing pathetically sloppier.

“Go ahead, Yunie baby. Be a good boy and cum on me.” Eternally the tease, you sink down onto him blessing the head of his cock with the fainest stretching of your slit. It works like magic and he’s shivering, decorating your pussy in a thick glaze of cum. His eyes never leave you, refusing to miss a minute of you fucking his cum into your core with your fingers until you’re unraveling beneath him.

“We can’t have sex.” That was the rule he made when he pulled you into this twisted plot against his so-called friends. It turns out he’d find it much harder to stick to than you would. Oh, the fun you’ve had torturing him since. He thought himself immune to the very charms he sought to exploit for his own gain. Now he’s spending two nights a week masturbating with you in your bed and cleaning you up with his tongue. Always his tongue.

So, the question remains, “Can she taste me on his lips? Can she taste us on his lips? Or are they always too drunk to notice?”

“Another drink, gorgeous?” San asks, rising to go grab himself another. Looking up at him from your chair, you’re immediately taken by the handsome dimpled smile on his face. Jeong Yunho, who? Is that a singer or something? “I’d love another drink. Thank you. Just let me grab my wallet.” Hongjoong jumps into action, reaching across the table before you can lift a finger. He takes your hand with such grace that you feel like some kind of princess.

“Don’t insult us, pretty girl. You don’t pay.”

“You guys that’s really sweet but I can’t—”

San squats down to eye level, sweeping your empty glass into his hand. “You heard the man. You don’t pay, pretty girl. You get me?” He winks at you, playfully pinching your chin. “I get you, Sannie. Thank you” you sigh, twirling your hair around your finger. As San makes his way over to the bar, your attention shifts seamlessly to Hongjoong. “Thank you too, Joongie, for everything. You’ve been so good to me since I got here.” Hongjoong grins, biting his bottom lip. You poke your tits out when you say good, your voice taking on a sultry tone.

“You’ve been so ‘fuck me with your tongue til I’m gushing’ good to me, Kim Hongjoong.”

He swallows hard, fighting to keep his composure in the crowded bar, “Don’t mention it. Any friend of Yunho’s is a friend of mine. Gotta take care of you, right?” “What about Yunho?” Yunho questions, abruptly shattering the sexual tension brewing between you and Hongjoong. Yunho picks up his beer, drinking down what’s left as he pulls up a chair. “I was just saying,” Hongjoong continues, “That she’s your friend and the three of us have to, you know, take care of her.”

Yunho gives you a cutting glance, knowing very well what that consists of. You shoot one right back at him that says this isn’t a game he wants to play. Quickly changing the subject, Yunho scans the bar, “There are usually three of you. Where’s Seonghwa? I thought you guys traveled in packs or something.” Hongjoong laughs off the comment, having grown accustomed to the slight digs that Yunho makes towards them.

Before Seonghwa there was Hongjoong, San, and Yunho. They were the ultimate trio, spending all of their time together and raising all sorts of hell. Enter Park Seonghwa, the hyper organized, ultra proper son of some famous attorney. Hongjoong spoke two words to him and that was it. He graduated to main cast member, relegating Yunho to the tortuous role of side character but not for much longer.

“Seonghwa’s actually—”

“What did you do?” Seonghwa shouts, charging into the bar and heading straight in San’s direction. Whatever he’s upset about, it’s enough to blind him with enough rage that his fist’s cracking into San’s face before the other boys can intervene. San stumbles backward, a hand over his face to check for blood. Hongjoong runs to block Seonghwa before a full on fight breaks out. He pats him on the shoulders, doing what he can to calm him down while Yunho checks on San.

“Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Someone came into my apartment and they—my project—my laptop—everything’s deleted and I can’t get that back. I can’t—” Seonghwa tries to catch his breath but explaining himself only makes him angrier, the tightness in his chest growing unbearable.

“Hwa, he wouldn’t do that. You know San.”

“Do I? You two are the only ones with keys to my apartment. I know you wouldn’t but him?”

Yunho gathers a bunch of tissues in his hand, holding them under the crimson river cascading down San’s face. “You think I broke into your house to delete your work?” San laughs, unphased by the hit, “You really are fucking full of yourself. Why should I give a shit what you’re doing?”

“Because you’re jealous of me. You’ve always been jealous of me!”

“Jealous? Of you? You’re joking.”

Pulling another handful of tissue from a napkin holder, Yunho tries to play peacemaker, “Can you guys not do this? We’re all friends.” “Friends?” San scoffs, “You don’t even like him!” Hongjoong approaches San, his patience running thin, “You’re talking too much now.” San sprinkles the floor with bloody napkins, his face stained red. “I’m not your lap dog, Joong. You can tell them what to do but not me.”

This entire time you haven’t moved. You can’t. Yunho had mentioned, when your panties finally vacated the space between his cheeks, that you might want to focus your affections on San tonight. Something was happening. He refused to tell you what though and now you know why. You would’ve never let him do something like this.

You were only supposed to hook up with them, maybe make them a bit jealous of each other. Jealous enough to give Yunho the chance to snake his way back into Hongjoong’s good graces. But this? Tomorrow marks two weeks on the dot since you’ve started working the front desk at one of Seonghwa’s fathers’ offices. Since then you’ve found yourself spending a lot of time with him, learning more about him than what’s in his pants.

Seonghwa's someone who takes pride in his work, the medical research he wants to pursue is important to him. This recent project was something special, monumental even. He promised he’d show you all of it when he finished and you actually found yourself excited for the day it’d happen simply because he was too. How could Yunho do something so cruel? How could he take it all away?

“Could you give me a ride home?” San asks, snatching his jacket from the back of the chair, “You can drive my car, I just—I can’t focus on the road right now.” “I—uh—sure, of course” you stutter, tossing on your coat and collecting your things. San gives you the keys to his Lamborghini, holding your hand as he guides you towards the door.

Passing Seonghwa you try to look at him, silently check to see if he’s okay, but it doesn’t even seem like he knows you’re there. The crisp night air hits you, easing the rising nausea as the reality of what you’ve done—what you’re doing—sets in. “Hey, babe, you okay?” San asks, his arm around your waist. Even with a bloody face, he’s still irresistibly cute.

You cup his cheek, examining the cut on his nose, “Why don’t we get you home so I can fix you up?” “Fix me up? You my nurse now? Gonna make me all better?” Make him all better? That’s laughable. You exist in his life—at this school—for the sole purpose of making things worse and, even with your heart breaking, you aren’t sure there’s any way to stop it.

So you lie, “Of course. That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”

#ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez x female reader #yunho x reader #yunho x you #yunho smut #seonghwa x you #choi san x you #ateez angst #ateez smut #hongjoong x you #ateez au #seonghwa x reader #choi san x reader #hongjoong x reader #chubby reader #yunho angst #plus size reader

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kiss-me-muchoo · 2 years ago

Text

𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲 || 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one || part two: with a broken heart

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ When Miguel fell so hard for an anomaly that ended up being another one of his canon events; a soulmate.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ fluff, angst?, reader is a hot Hispanic sunshine, plot twist at the end, age gap? (How old is Miguel?, like 28, early 30's?, reader is like 20 not specified) I'm 19, so in my head reader is 20, fuck it <3.

𝐀𝐍_ hellooo, this is my Ist fic for this fandom, I've been trying to hide this crush for weeks, I can't anymore.

♪ ♫ 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙒𝙊𝙍𝙎𝙏 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙈𝙞𝙜𝙪𝙚𝙡 𝙈𝙤𝙟𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙖.

<3,𝙄𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙭 (+fics)

_________________

[ 2 months before the events of SPIDERMAN: ATSV]...

Nothing is perfect; nothing can be that special. But somehow, you ended up being that, or at least almost.

Because this is how everything starts; you were stressing out for college sophomore year finals when in the middle of your room, a portal opened and absorbed you.

Sounds incredibly ridiculous and cringe... Right?. Well, it's about to get worse.

The portal only left you there, hanging between random universes. There you are seeing how your shoes fly away and your hair is tangling like crazy, and out of nowhere, a spider that seemed like it was made of silver bit you. And seconds later, you were back at home stressing over the finals.

Yeah, you didn't think it would be a problem, only that it increased your phobia of spiders. Later, you accepted that Los Angeles would have an arachnid vigilante.

Yeah, Los Angeles. No shit, you wouldn't fly to save New York in your universe just to fit the stereotype. Besides, they already had one. One who died and then the most significant and original anomaly, Miles Morales.

That's for later, by the way.

You had your suspicions of the existence of the multiverse but no curiosity. You only cared about your sacred home and, to be more specific, your friends and family.

So it goes; you were a spider-woman with sassy webs and fantastic hair, saving people from the crime on Skid Row, abusive elites in Downtown, corruption in Glendale, etc etc.

Your family didn't knew about it, nor friends. Social media gave you a cool but weird surname; Aragmatica.

So you had everything; no pressure from being the spider-woman Aragmatica, wonderful friends, and family. A transcription remote job and a firm college pathway to be a writer and teacher. Though, you would be lying if you said you didn't want to meet the Spiderman from New York. Your abilities were barely used, so the news about your existence were remotely passed by. That's why you were completely fine with it, you had everything.

Except for one thing; love.

You didn't have anyone to hold, anyone who made you laugh. Someone who made you feel the scarlet blush and raced heartbeats. Thus, Why would you care for that? You were so young and you didn't need that commitment yet.

Finally, your official transcript from that year was carefully sealed in an envelope. Summer break was yours, starting with a good ballet class.

Your spider senses weren't fully developed because you never saw 4 pair of eyes watching you.

The class was fun, though. All the music was from the most famous plays, and having the opportunity to wear a tutu was always accepted.

You didn't care coming out of the building wearing it after the friendly teacher gifted you the fluffy piece of clothing.

You also didn't care to sing slightly aloud as you walked towards your car.

And that's when 4 individuals interfered with your way; Peter B. Parker, Hobie Brown, and Gwen Stacy.

"Uh... nice cosplays. But the Comic-Con is more to the south. In San Diego..." They looked at each other. Only the older guy stepped further, laughing.

"Oh, you're funny. There's also one in my universe, but it's celebrated in Coney Island and-" only that Gwen pinched him. The older man frowned.

"She's leaving, Peter," Gwen said.

"Hey! Wait!" Peter stopped you from closing your car door, and you looked more confused than ever.

"Dude, back off. There must be kids near us. You don't want to do this..." Hobie giggled. He had remained leaning against a mailbox during the whole interaction.

"What? No-, I-. We need to talk to you... we're also spider people" Rolling your eyes, you just rested your head on the steering wheel.

"Yeah, your suits are too good to be a cosplay. I like your pointe shoes though" Gwen blushed but said thank you for your flattery.

"I'm Peter B. Parker. The guy with the cool outfit that's Hobie Brown. And the girl with the pointe shoes you liked is Gwen Stacy" They looked lovely. Hobie and Gwen, probably your age, but you were running late for dinner. You had to drop the transcript for validation in early registration for admissions to transfer.

You didn't have time for this "Have you heard of the Avengers initiative?" Type of moment.

The best you could do was politely turn them down. But they were already inside your car.

"Hey!. Okay, if this is some spider intervention, I don't have time to travel between universes and that stuff" Hobie started playing your radio. Again, you rolled your eyes.

"This is good music, girl. Nice.." he said, making you smile a little. He seemed nicer.

"Thanks, but." Then Gwen interrupted you.

"You could be dangerous or cause a massive disaster for canon. You are a rare case between spiders" For the first time, you were quiet. Maybe that omen was this, that not everything could be perfect.

"You felt it...." Peter said because your silence was loud enough to tell him.

"You knew about us then?"

"The multiverse and variations are not a thrill in this universe, but I wasn't expecting this on a random Friday afternoon. Besides that, Why don’t you go and ask the famous Spiderman from this earth? " you explained and questioned. They all exchanged looks, which makes you grow curious, but you ignore it of course.

"That Spiderman is not our problem right now. Our boss wants to meet you. We need to know what type of anomaly you are" They all heard you sighing. You had too many questions but also tired, so you wouldn't be annoyingly asking them millions of questions.

"Okay." Peter shrugged in disbelief.

"That's it?. No questions?" Gwen passed you a blue band, probably to travel between universes.

"Not energetic nor annoying. Miguel will like her," Hobie stated, comfortable in the passenger seat.

"Just don't smile too much, avoid questions, and you'll be fine" Humming in agreement, you waited.

A portal of bright colors and blinding flashes appeared seconds later from your car's windshield. It was different from what you expected. In the movies looked easier.

"Okay, here we go..." Peter announced. And with fast blood pressure, you followed them.

It was a prolonged free fall and the twists in your stomach were getting painfully evident. What seemed to last a minutes was actually a second, and you had no time to land properly.

The first thing you felt was the urge to complain on the ground. Laying on your stomach, with your hair in a now disheveled bun.

Everyone turned to look at you, finally noticing you were wearing a tutu and leotard in grey and black colors.

"Lost your hoodie?" Gwen asked, being the first to start giggling, followed by the others.

"Could any of you have alerted me to prepare for this type of landing?" You asked no one in particular. Then you analyzed Gwen's question.

"MY hoodie!. Damnit, it was new!" And that's how you lost 75 dollars. But soon, you stopped thinking about the new tour merch you lost.

It was a bright earth, futuristic and agitated. And as soon as you entered the giant building, you noticed it was full of spider people.

From any size to any color, but... no one was similar to you. Well, you didn't have a suit yet, but... you couldn't feel a spider sense with anyone. Well, you could, since the place was full of spiders people, but there's an specific tingle that lets you know when you share similar abilities or DNA with other spiders.

"Surprised?" Gwen asked, walking by your side.

"Well. I'd rather say disturbed," she giggled.

"You're unlike any spider I've met," the blonde added.

"Oh please, I can't be that special." Bored or not, you were missing dinner. Your family would be worried if you didn't come back past midnight. Hopefully, your first interaction with another universe will be quick.

"Oh, but you are. That's why you're here..." said a new voice. When you turned, you were even more confused.

A pregnant spider-woman?. Could you feel any weirder?.

"Uhh- Hi...I'm y/n, this is the weirdest day of my life" She nodded laughing. Her yellow glasses were very cool, you liked her look in general.

"We know that. But let's go, Miguel needs to see you..." and officially, that was the beginning of everything.

The HQ was futuristic, wide and full of people. Everything was so weird that edged being ridiculous. Until, the group of spiders lead you to a dark room. Full of technology and chemistry stuff.

For the first time, you felt a tingle when he finally faced you; Miguel O'Hara. And to be honest, his broad and tall figure intimidated you.

He said you were a bizarre anomaly. You were the only spider person who had been bitten between universes. Meaning that you were an accident. While there must be variants of you, none of them were spiders, nobody was like you.

Unconsciously, your own canon was building up as every day passed, like a plague. Any of your actions were vital for everyone. One bad movement and everything could go to hell.

He offered you a place in the group to keep order among universes. Suspicious, but seemed honest at the same time.

"I appreciate the offer, but I have a degree to finish. And I got enrolled for summer ballet classes..." you said, ambling towards the exit. The man sighed, not ready to deal with another extroverted spider like most of his coworkers.

"No. You need to be a responsible spiderwoman and do what you're expected to do," the man said, intimidating you more as he towered you. Beside getting lost in his amazing hair, intriguing brown eyes and sharp jaw, your thoughts were running. Maybe you were being selfish. Most of the people in the room had lost a lot and you hadn't. This was the least you could do.

"You just said I'm an accident. There are no expectations from me. I can't break canon. I'm making my own, What could go wrong?..." you dared to say, avoiding looking into his brown eyes.

"You want to find out?" a little closer, and you would touch his chest. Besides, the tingle was back. Miguel also felt it, but he called it on you being angered by this new phase you would enter.

You knew he was going to be hard to deal with from now on. But deep inside, you liked the feeling he had planted on your stomach.

"No.." you admitted. Slightly afraid of losing what you had. He smiled but for less than a second.

"That's what I thought" After that, it was history.

Two months. And things were... okay.

You made a great friendship with Peter and Hobie. Something inside you was stopping you from trusting Gwen at all.

Then, Jessica was good but slightly challenging. Even Pavitr was good.

And then, there was Miguel.

Fucking Miguel O'Hara. He was dead serious every time. Still, you refused to show he could intimidate you.

Like right now, or... at any moment, whatever.

"He's going to kill you..." Lyla whispered, moving in circles around you.

"He won't if someone doesn't tell him" she frowned.

"He's going to kill us both, y/n," she almost yelled. Following you to the briefing of a new case.

"He can't kill you, Lyla. Be serious..." you stated, shrugging.

"I don't want to know..."

"Me neither. So just shush..." The room was almost empty. Only Peter, Hobie, and Jessica were inside.

The sound of the door captured everyone's attention

"Shoot" you said, looking at Miguel who sighed. After that, he stopped talking.

"You're late..." Of course, he would remark on your irresponsibility.

"I had a dentist appointment. What can I say?" he rolled his eyes and indicated you sit down.

"Sorry, I won't come late again would be fine" Miguel scolded you, and then kept giving instructions.

Earth-238, neon venom, evacuated civilians, blah blah blah. The mission would be easy, and you'd be leaving the room.

"Okay, everyone... gone, now" Jess finalizes.

"Not you, y/n..." Miguel's voice caught you off guard. When you turned around, Lyla was still whispering to him.

"Bitch..." you whispered.

"Hey, I'll wait for you," Hobie said, indicating that he would wait outside the room.

You nodded at him, smiling as he left.

"Why did you send the evidence of last week's mission to Jessica instead of me?" He asked, arms crossed.

"She's also my boss," you admitted, avoiding his judgemental brows and gaze.

"I'm in charge. She's second in command. So?..." you pinched the bridge of your nose, anxiety creeping over.

"I-.." It was useless; you had to be honest.

"Because uh-, I didn't want you to see the anomaly recording" he was right. He knew you would be afraid of his reaction. Something inside switched to be softer.

"I almost fail to save that girl. It was an accident, but... I can't control this new ability. And I want to do a good job" Your anxiety was evident. Miguel had to suppress a smile.

"You have a big responsibility on your shoulders. The power to retain or doom canon" a lecture was coming. And you wished he wore his mask because you could see his whole features. Making it prone to capture any negativity from him.

"And that's why you must be on missions with me, not Jessica. I'm training you, not her" To be honest, you were surprised.

"You make me nervous all the time. I'm afraid I'll make something stupid on any of these days, and you'll send me home. My life is so boring..." He kind of chuckled, and it made you beyond surprised.

"I thought you were working on the English degree and summer ballet classes."

"You remember it?" Could your heart beat any faster?. His eyes were deep-fixed on yours, and it was killing you in a good way.

"Please stop giving me that look. I'm gonna piss myself off from nervousness."

"Don't think too much about it. You're doing good, kid" The pat on your shoulder made you explode.

Right there, you knew it was over. You had a crush on Miguel O'Hara.

Was it possible to see everything in pink shades and heart sprinkles? That's how you were looking at every universe. You were starting your lover era.

"PETER! PETER!" You yelled, running towards the man, heading out of the cafeteria. Most spider people on the headquarters looked at you, but you didn't care.

"Woah, calm down, girl," he said with a smile.

"I need to tell you something" he couldn't describe your excitement but happily took your hand when you pushed him inside an empty conference room.

"I have a crush on Miguel," you said with an evident blush.

"YOU WHAT?" He asked yelling.

"I know, I know. But... he's so sweet to me. He said I shouldn't be nervous about him and that I was doing good. He remembers my career and that I'm doing ballet classes. Oh, and today he opened the door for me TWICE!" You explain excited, pinching your suit. It was half synthetic and half like the one from Miguel. In navy colors and silver details. You loved your suit.

"This is insane. Are you insane, y/n?. We're talking about Miguel. Our grumpy and snarky boss that gets stressed over the tiniest detail and doesn't know how to smile" You nodded, rolling your eyes.

"It's not like he's the love of my life or destiny, Peter. It's just a crush...." you tried to convince yourself.

"No, no, no. I disapprove of this. Isn't he a little older for you?" You sighed.

"Oh, c'mon. MJ is younger than you, Mr. No age gap"

"This is serious, y/n. I've known Miguel for a long time. You know what happened to him. I don't think he's emotionally ready for this" he was right. But you were confident that this crush wouldn't be a big issue.

"I know. The least I want to do is hurt him. But once again, it's just a crush, Peter," you started coming out of the room. And, like a big coincidence, Miguel was walking through the hallway with Lyla talking to him.

"Hey, is it okay if I go to your office at lunchtime?" you asked the broad man once he was walking near you. He had his mask, that if you stared too long, it was a severe and scary gaze, but he nodded once. Neither you nor Peter noticed Miguel was actually looking at you. Causing him to feel a weird pricking.

"Sure," with that, he left with the female AI giving you a bad look.

"What?" Peter asked in disbelief once again.

"See? Nothing to worry about, love," you said.

...

In your Hispanic household, dinner was very important. And the one you missed two months ago was an issue that your family hardly let go.

"Don't be so late, corazón." your grandma told you from the kitchen. You entered the room being greeted by the smell of mole and ponche.

"With this food waiting for me, I will return in a second, abuelita," she giggled as you kissed her cheek.

"I'm just going for a stretch. And maybe a flan for dinner" Your favorite part of the day was starting. So happily, you left the house. AirPods on with your favorite music blasting through them, and it felt like heaven.

Swinging from palms to buildings and watching the crowds of the traffic of LA. Until you were in the Fashion District Downtown. You stopped at your favorite rooftop to see the last minutes of the West Coast sunset.

And it was beautiful. Orange, pink, yellow, purple, blue, and black. Like a firework evaporated in the sky.

The air feels perfect for taking a long breath, and you feel thankful for having a good day.

"Hey." you nearly fell from the building, but a well-known bright red web caught you in time.

When you turned around, you had Miguel watching you.

"Miguel?. What are you doing here?" The surprise and shock were eating you alive. Maybe an emergency happened, or he would get you banned from the Spider Society. Who knows?

"Just checking on you..." lately, he had been more close to you. Giving you a hand on missions, being willing to have more extended conversations, and softer pieces of advice.

"Why?" You ask, arching a brow.

"Last week, you were a little slow." he hears you giggling, and as he walks closer, he sees you hanging your toes on the edge. He sees your hair freely fly as you laugh. Cute, he thinks.

"I was on my period. We're good now..." he thanked, wearing the mask because his cheeks were burning.

"Don't be silly, Miguel. It's... normal," you said after he stood there quietly.

"Come, seat with me.." he obeyed, establishing some distance with you, but not too much.

Then he deactivated his mask, and you confirmed that his hair always looked gorgeous.

"Your universe is interesting," he said finally.

"We are very fixed; little surprises us. And capitalism is leading us to ruin, but yes... it's interesting" Miguel wasn't expecting that answer but smiled. Only because you didn't catch it.

"You are spending too much time with Hobie," you laughed, nodding.

"Yeah, I'll take that.." This time, you noticed his smile. And you wanted to keep the moment a little longer.

"Can we talk?"

"We are talking, y/n..." he let out a brief chuckle again.

"No, I know, but, like seriously...I'm afraid. Of hurting someone in the process of creating a disaster with this thing of being an anomaly" For weeks, you tried to avoid the thoughts of insecurity. But this was a good moment because Miguel had been training you, and he was the right and worst person to talk about this.

"And it frustrates me that I don't completely understand at all what am I..." you said, covering your face, letting all the intrusive thoughts out. Because even on a good day, anxiety could sneak in.

"Being a spider person means being afraid of many things. There's never complete peace. We live alert day by day. Keep in mind that you'll constantly worry, but it's part of the job. You don't sign for it; it just hits you" his words were profound. Enough to soothe some of your panic.

"I wish I could be straight to the point like you..." Miguel was urged to touch your hand or strands of hair that brushed his forearm. But he resisted, only looking at your profile.

"No. It's good to be honest and worry too."

"And you're something bigger than an anomaly. You're special" Maybe his tone made everything sound softer.

"Well, I don't feel special," you admitted.

"I feel like an accident. Not meant to be here, but nothing else to do."

"You don't need to feel it. I just see it..." when you turned to look at him, it was his soft look that made you realize, you were falling in love with him.

As your smile grew, Miguel completely ignored any thought of fear. He was just feeling, letting his heart warm and reciprocate your smile.

"You have to come and have dinner with my family and me," you blurted excitedly, changing the subject.

"No."

"SI!."

"Por Dios. No, y/n!" He said, rolling his eyes.

"They're not annoying or nosy, I promise," you pleaded. He knew there was no problem because your family thought you were in a new program in college. That was your lie to disguise your time with him and the team. Either way, Hispanic families could be nosy when a girl arrived home with a man.

"Please, as a thank you for listening to my bullshit. Por favor, ándale. Di que si..." he couldn't say no. He didn't want to reject you.

"Está bien, pues....'

He smiled again, watching you celebrate as you started balancing between buildings. Soon he followed you, happy to feel the way he was doing, and completely ignoring what he preached to keep canon safe.

...

The shock on everyone's faces only increased the more you talked.

Pavitr, Gwen, Hobie, and Peter had their mouths open.

"And then, we went to get a flan for dinner. A kid asked for a selfie with us, and it was so silly," you narrated.

"When we arrived home, he was so sweet. Only speaking Spanish, and he told mi abuelita I was doing great in job" Peter decided it was time to cover his mouth with one hand. Soon, everyone followed, keeping their shock.

"Dad was slightly judgmental but soon changed his mind because Miguel accepted a beer from him."

"Oh, and we spent hours in my room" That was enough for Peter.

"WHAT?... EXCUSE ME?"

"NO, PETER!. Jesus... we spent hours in my room because I was explaining to him some of my analysis from literature classes" The color returned to his face.

Nodded understanding, and everyone else laughed.

"I can't believe this. I simply can't..." Pavitr confessed.

"Love can come in strange ways..."

"Who's talking of love, Pavitr?" Hobie asked playfully.

"Well.." you whispered.

"What else?" Gwen almost jumped, needing to know more. You were starting to like her more. So you started narrating the flashback.

Once again, both of you were back on a rooftop. It was almost 2:00am.

"I-, I liked this..." Miguel managed to say. Looking down at you, trying to regain his neutral and serious tone and look. But after spending hours with you, it seemed impossible.

"Me too. You were so caring, and thank you for being so comprehensive" Your excitement match your words, not that Miguel cared. But he realized you had jumped and grabbed both of his hands. And before you pulled away, he was caressing your knuckles.

"It was nothing..."

"Are you coming tomorrow?" He asked, ignoring the way he always tells everyone he doesn't like touching or any type of contact.

"I think I stopped being a half-time employee some time ago..." he nodded, smiling.

"True."

Hands were still holding. And none of you wanted to break the touch.

"Till tomorrow then..." you said, sad to break the touch but happy for everything that happened that night.

And with that, you saw Miguel opening a portal, and you left.

"NO - FUCKING - WAY!" Gwen yelled.

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming while drunk?"

"No, Peter. I can't drink yet" he snorted as if he had heard something incredible. Gwen couldn't stop looking lost, taking time to digest the information, Pavitr too, and Hobie was... being Hobie.

"Dude looks nice with her. I heard him laugh the other day," Hobie stated.

"Me too. And he canceled a meeting to go and train her," Pavitr added.

"He's, like, the last person I imagined you would say you had a date with."

"It wasn't a date..." you said.

"IT WASN'T A DATE?. Girl, he had dinner with your family, listened to your boring old books for hours, and held your hands for... five or eight minutes?"

"Okay. maybe it unconsciously turned into a date." They all nodded in agreement.

"Oh, my god... Was it a date?"

Peter sighed as he watched you laugh with Hobie. Soon went straight towards Miguel's lair. The man greeted him with a silent wave, before returning to look at all of the recordings and screens playing them.

".. y/n is very happy. Did you two have fun last night?" He asked Miguel once stepped further.

"I'm not discussing this with you," the broad man approached to say.

Peter loved you like family. He wanted you to be happy and safe.

He trusted Miguel after knowing each other. But he wasn't sure if you two had a bright future. After all, Peter saw how Miguel changed so much after losing Gabriella.

"I don't want to discuss this with you either."

"So?"

"Look, she's like family. You are like family too. I want her to be happy. And you too, man. But... I want you to think... Is it correct?" Miguel stopped looking at the screens.

"We can't lose her. And I don't want to see another era of pain and collapse" It hit him.

What was he thinking? Letting all of his feelings take over him. He couldn't be in love; it wasn't meant for him.

Your canon was unsure, delicate. And his... was doomed. He imagined having to see you gone, and he wasn't ready to find out. He wasn't ready to go through that pain again. And he didn't want to see you in pain.

"Just think... because maybe it's meant to be, but-"

"No. You're right..." Miguel accepted.

Peter grew quiet.

"After y/n leaves tonight. Call the others, except Hobie..." Peter nodded unsure, wondering what was Miguel plotting.

Miguel made a decision. Losing you was going to save both of you. Or so he thought.

...

Weird.

The cafeteria was quiet.

Then a piece of your suit ripped off.

And spider-cat was absent!!!

Then, you didn't see Miguel the day before. When you asked Lyla, she said he was swamped with his job, so you would not make him stressed. Plus, having some space after spending the night together would be great.

"Hey!" You called Hobie when he sat next to you on a bench. He was used to visiting you in your universe. He liked the food and how the people complained about something new daily.

"Something feels weird," he blurted, tilting his head.

"RIGHT?. I thought I was the only one" he nodded and sighed. That was also weird; Hobie never hesitated to spit the words out.

"What?"

"Yesterday. After you left, Peter called everyone except for me. It seemed weird that just as you left, he called everyone to get a lecture from Miguel," Another weird thing. Why you and Hobie would be excluded? Well, he rarely followed rules, but he was always included in briefings.

"Miguel stopped wasting his time with me, But a meeting without you?" Maybe it wasn't anything. Perhaps a simple meeting. There had been some occasions where you had not been present.

"Do you wanna go out and ignore why we were excluded?" you asked playfully. He nodded with a cocky smile.

"Hell yeah..." Both of you left in seconds.

Spending time with Spider-punk was always fun. Hobie made you remember things like; fuck it, just do it.

But for the first hour, you didn't find anyone. Even when the headquarters of the Spider Society were big, you thought it would have been easier.

By the evening, you find yourself eating an empanada, thinking of Miguel. Accepting you started missing him.

"Guys!.." Gwen called you and Hobie, appearing from an elevator that had opened.

"Don't ask anything yet..." you nodded to him.

"We were busy being scolded by Miguel. But there's a new mission we need to go to. And he wants us all, let's go..." Hobie and you exchanged looks, not buying Gwen's words.

You got too carried away, forming possible explanations for her weird behavior. Why you hadn't seen your friends the day before?. And why you and Hobie were excluded from the last meeting?.

When you follow Gwen, you didn't even look at Pavitr taking Hobie away.

As soon as you entered the room, Jessica, Peter, and Miguel were inside.

"Where's Hobie?" Miguel asked. You also turn confused, because he was right behind you.

"He was right here..." Gwen mumbled, looking around, making Miguel sigh tired.

He didn't look at you for the first minutes of the debriefing. The more he ignored your presence, the more your questions emerged.

"Everyone get ready... except for y/n," he announced with his neutral and cold face.

"Why?"

"You're going home."

"WHAT?" you screamed.

At the end of the day, Miguel wasn't ready for this. But he was doing his best, even if it meant lying to you.

"Your canon is changing, constantly glitching. We can't risk anything happening. I'm sending you home..." he explained like nothing.

"No, please. I'm not a danger. If it was something bad, it would've happened already" he kept looking straight at the doors, not even moving.

It hurt you that he was still unsure of you, especially after everything he said in your home.

"It's for the best."

"Can we talk... In private?" You whispered, taking his forearm. He slowly moved away, making you feel the pain grow.

"There's nothing to talk about"

"Oh really?. I think we do. What about the other day?"

"It wasn't a coincidence that you appeared after someone tried opening portals in your earth," you gasped in shock.

"I did recruit you for the sake of the Spider Society. I needed to know you were not a threat."

"You said I was special" he managed to hear you whisper. And it was tearing him.

"You are. But a potential danger too. Which is why l'm sending you home.." you shake your head, fighting the tears rapidly forming in your eyes.

"All of you knew about this?" You asked, looking at Peter, Gwen, and Jessica.

The pregnant woman bowed her head while Gwen looked like she wanted to say something but couldn't.

"We do this because we care for and want to protect you..."

"Really? This is not what friends do. All you do is lie and lie to me!" you said with a broken voice.

"I'm sorry," Miguel admitted looking down.

"GOD, STOP LYING" you yelled.

"Tell me I meant nothing to you. Or admit you might be scared of the possibility of falling in love with me..."

"There is no love in this equation. You have made all of this in your head." he broke you. You swore you heard your heart decreasing its heartbeats.

"For one minute, I thought you... felt the same, that you cared" As he stood there quietly, you started crying.

To everyone's shock, it was the first time they saw you crying. Gwen tried to reach you, but you stepped back, moving away from all of them.

At the same time, Pavitr and Hobie entered the room.

"Something weird happened. You might want to see this, boss," Pavitr announced.

"It was dope..." Hobie admitted leaning on the door frame. But stood quiet after watching you crying.

The moment turned uneasy, debating whether to go or stay with you.

"Please, let's go, and then we'll talk with tranquility about this," Peter told you. Giving a look that he wasn't happy with seeing you cry.

Slowly, you followed them. Ignoring Miguel's look.

Then you thought, What was the point of following them? If they would send you home after that?.

Anger wasn't a good feeling, but it was blinding you. All the fantastic facade they sold of being good friends. The months Miguel lied to you. He could have done it differently. But he even dared to agree to have dinner with your family.

He held your hands and made you believe there was a chance. He made you believe you weren't dangerous, that you could be in control of your fate.

So you stopped following them and turned to the lower plant of the building, deciding to that you would choose what you wanted, not what they thought it was correct.

Meanwhile, the rest of the group watched how all of the canon was held together. Until your specific web was expanded.

Your web was tiny, like a baby's. It glitched a lot, but when Miguel entered with the others, he noticed the glitch was even more aggressive than ever.

There were only two canon moments; you getting bit and joining the Spider Society. But there were new ones forming. And from the shiny dot, a new line grew.

"What the hell?" Peter asked in disbelief.

"This isn't possible..." Jess whispered.

Lyla was following your web and paying attention. Until she saw the first new canon event. You would lose your best friend, and the time was quickly coming. Gwen lowered her head, lamenting for what you would suffer, just like her.

But then, your thread started moving and growing until it was connected to another one: Miguel's.

And from that connection, a new canon event was officially established.

You and Miguel together.

"Holy sh-" Gwen almost said but couldn't finish the sentence.

"Does this mean..." Jessica started.

"She's part of your canon," Peter confirmed.

Miguel was in shock; his eyes remained on what the model displayed. Your masked figured siding his. You were really meant for him. He hadn't need to worry about it ending in disaster. Still, it didn't soothe him.

"Uh-boss? Our pretty little y/n started a countdown to return home and temporarily block the entrance to her earth," Lyla announced, appearing beside Miguel.

He turned to look at her, worried.

"What?"

"I tried stopping her, but I believe she's growing her cosmic powers?" the day couldn't get more complicated for Spider-Man 2099.

"Cosmic powers?" Peter asked, running after Miguel, who started heading towards the exit.

Lyla, crossed her arms looking at everyone starting running. She couldn't admit it to anyone. That if your issue wasn't fixed, something darker could happen.

The Al couldn't throw salt in Miguel's wound.

"Jessica, send help. Lyla, stop her," he demanded. Jessica nodded, and Lyla disappeared.

"There's no spider with cosmic powers. But y/n was a bit between universes. So maybe she has some of them or..."

"Peter shut up!. I just can't lose her!" If you were Miguel's destiny, he would do things right. And he regretted setting up all of the secret meetings and lies.

He rushed to get to you faster than anyone. He wasn't even sure the blocking earth thing worked.

Maybe he was exaggerating, but he was willing to set the alarms so everyone would try to stop him.

If he had waited a day, none of this would've happened. But he had understood once that things happened for a reason; canon.

So as fast as he was running, something inside told him it was already late.

Peter and Gwen followed close to him, ready to find you prepared to leave.

The panic finally settled when they entered the dark room, and you were already behind the colorful barrier.

"NO!. Please, y/n" You turned to hear Miguel's voice calling you.

Your look was empty, but the anger was there. He kept calling for you, but you didn't say a word.

All of you wanted was to leave. Sleep and forget you were a spiderwoman. Ease the pain of your broken heart. And accept that no matter if you were the only variant of yourself in all the universes, you were meant to choose your own destiny.

You bolted, when he had you face to face, you were gone.

Confused, you appeared on a random street in Downtown LA. Your suit was ripped, your hair was a mess, and the tears didn't seem to stop. A wave of cold air hit you, making you shiver and hug yourself.

Feeling broken and in shock, you found yourself stepping on a broken glass bottle. Your left foot instantly started bleeding, making you fall to your knees.

That's when you no longer held the tears; you just let all the sobs take over.

You shouldn't have accepted to join the Spider Society; you shouldn't have pushed your crush for Miguel.

I hate this. I hate this. God, I hate this...

With no more strength, you stood up. And tottering, you started walking towards home.

It was okay; it would be okay.

________________________

Cringe in general? Maybe… part two?

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara angst #spiderman 2099 #atsv #peter b parker #miguel o’hara imagine #accross the spiderverse #miguel o’hara

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