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sixeyesonathiel · 2 days ago

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testing a whisker away au...

satoru didn’t mean to get himself into this mess.

he really didn’t. it was just a stupid mask. a stupid little thing some weird old man shoved into his hands after school, rambling about “understanding people better” and “second chances.” satoru had just wanted to shut the guy up, so he took it. that’s all it was supposed to be. something he’d forget about by the next morning, just another weird story to tell his friends.

except now he’s here. in your arms. as a cat.

it all started two weeks ago when you found him outside your apartment, soaked from the rain, tiny and shivering in his ridiculous little cat body. his usually snow-dusted fur was plastered to his thin frame, heavy and dripping, his bright cerulean eyes wide and frantic as his tail sagged, dragging pitifully along the wet pavement.

every step he took was slow and miserable, his tiny body trembling from the cold. he tried to run away. he really did. but you crouched and called out to him so gently, so sweetly, your voice soft like the first light of morning, hesitant but warm. “come here, little guy,” you had whispered, your hand outstretched, patient and steady, fingertips trembling just slightly in the cold.

he hesitated. his ears flattened. but the sound of your voice—soft, careful, kind—reached him in a place he didn’t know existed. his paws betrayed him. his feet dragged him forward.

and satoru—in a moment of catastrophic weakness—let himself be scooped into your arms.

worst mistake of his life.

(but maybe also the best.)

because now you’re feeding him. petting him. babying him. brushing his fur with delicate fingers that linger just behind his ears, scratching that one spot that makes his little cat body go embarrassingly limp, his paws twitching with each pass. satoru comes to you every night now as shiro, curling into your lap, pressing his face into your stomach as your hand combs through his fur in slow, absentminded strokes that leave him dangerously close to purring.

you talk to him. you smile at him. you let your guard down around him in a way you never do with human satoru.

it’s driving him absolutely insane.

in class, he plays the fool. the class clown. he’s loud and annoying and relentless, dragging his chair across the floor with a screech just to sit backward beside you. his arms drape lazily over the backrest, his grin crooked and stupidly bright, his messy white hair flopping over his forehead, never quite behaving, always slightly tousled like he’d run a hand through it too many times.

“g'morning, sunshine,” he chirps with that same sparkle in his cerulean eyes, his voice obnoxiously sweet, though a little too rehearsed to be natural.

“you’re in my light,” you murmur without sparing him a glance, flicking the corner of your notebook to flip the page as if his presence is nothing more than background noise. your fingers are steady, your expression unmoved.

satoru sprawls across your desk like he owns the space. “you mean your life,” he quips, lips curled, searching—desperate—for even the tiniest twitch of amusement.

you shove his forehead away with the blunt end of your eraser, your gaze steady and bored. “you’re genuinely not funny.”

his heart cracks in half, but his grin doesn’t falter. “ouch. that stings,” he mumbles dramatically, clutching his chest like you’ve mortally wounded him.

he tries again. every day, he tries again.

he imitates the teacher’s voice under his breath when you’re not looking, makes stupid hand puppets with the shadows on your desk, draws idiotic little comics of stick-figure students battling kaiju on your worksheets—each comic more elaborate than the last, some of them featuring a stick-figure version of him heroically saving a stick-figure version of you.

nothing.

not even a twitch.

he balances a pencil on his upper lip and crosses his eyes, wobbling slightly to keep it from falling. when the room falls silent, he waggles his brows at you like he’s performing for an audience of one.

nothing.

you don’t even glance his way.

“are you seriously this immune to me?” he groans, letting his head thunk against the desk beside your elbow, his hair a messy curtain over his eyes, the tips brushing the edge of your notebook. he cranes his neck to peek up at you, his lips pressed into a dramatic pout.

“completely,” you answer flatly, your pen idly tapping against your notebook’s margin as you sketch out a half-hearted doodle of what appears to be a cat.

his heart skips pathetically. it’s shiro. it’s him. it has to be. but you don’t know. you’re drawing him and you don’t know.

“but you secretly like me,” he prods, trying to keep the desperation from leaking into his voice, his grin lopsided, playful but hiding something quieter beneath it.

“i don’t,” you deadpan, tilting your chin toward the window, your gaze trailing after the drifting clouds as if they’re infinitely more worth your time.

but when he's shiro? oh, you practically melt.

it's like you transform into a completely different person when he's in that tiny, fluffy body. your touch, usually distant and dismissive in class, becomes soft and lingering, your fingers combing through his fur in slow, deliberate strokes that make his tail flick lazily. you cradle him to your chest like he's something precious, something irreplaceable, and he feels the quick, steady rhythm of your heartbeat against his ear.

sometimes you press your nose against the top of his head, nuzzling into the soft, snowy fur as if he's the only one who understands you. you murmur to him in quiet, sleepy tones, whispering little secrets that never leave the circle of your arms. he gets to see the way your eyelids flutter closed in peace, how the sharp edges of your expression soften until you are someone he has never been allowed to see in the daylight.

in class, you’re all cold glances and sharp replies, the walls around you built high and thick. you act like his presence is a nuisance, like you’re immune to his antics, like you could never spare him more than a flick of your pencil in irritation. but when he’s shiro, you giggle so easily, you hold him like he matters, you sigh like he’s your only source of comfort.

and he abuses it. oh, he abuses it shamelessly.

sometimes he deliberately bumps his little head against your chin or your cheek, rubbing against you with deliberate, exaggerated affection. he does it often, batting his head against your face until you have no choice but to giggle and scritch behind his ears.

“clingy little thing,” you murmur with a helpless smile, rubbing slow circles on his head as he bumps his nose against your jawline again, as if demanding more. he relishes it. he leans into it. he does it again and again just to feel you hold him tighter, to hear you sigh his name in that sweet, breathy way that drives him absolutely mad.

it's not just the way you hold him—it's the way you breathe around him. slow. steady. like the world stops spinning for a moment when it's just you and him.

“people are so exhausting,” you murmur one night, your voice barely above a whisper, your breath warm against his fur. the exhaustion drips from your words, weighing them down, but your fingers never stop their gentle tracing behind his ears, each pass coaxing a quiet, reluctant purr from his throat. “but you're different, shiro. i think you're the only one i can stand.”

he wants to scream. he wants to cry. he wants to bite the wall. he wants to shake you by the shoulders and tell you that he is right there. he is the one sitting beside you in class, making stupid jokes and drawing dumb comics on your worksheets. he is the one dragging his chair next to yours, pestering you until you threaten to staple his shirt to the desk. he is the same person. it's him. it's literally him. why do you like the cat but hate the boy? what kind of cruel joke is this?

“it's not fair,” he whines dramatically, burying his face into your chest, his tiny paws pressing at your shirt with pitiful little taps, his snowy fur fluffing up in frustration. his fluffy tail curls and uncurls, betraying his misery.

you don’t understand. you just giggle, scritching under his chin, your fingers dancing across his jaw in that spot that makes his ears twitch and his resolve crumble.

“aww, don't be grumpy, shiro,” you coo, your voice dripping with fondness, and your smile is so soft he thinks he'll die from it. “you know i love you.”

he lets out a pained meow, his tail flicking in miserable little swishes, his head pressing deeper into your shirt like he can bury himself there and never come out. you love him. you love him but not him. you love the cat, not the boy. he is a loser living a double life and he didn't even mean to. he just wanted to make you smile. just once. but now he’s made you laugh, made you open your heart, made you tell him things you would never dare to say to his face.

now he's addicted.

he finds himself pacing around the corners of your street at dusk, waiting for you to come home, just so he can follow you upstairs and hear you hum while you set out his food. he lingers in your room, curled up by your pillow long after you've fallen asleep, listening to the soft rhythm of your breathing. he comes back again and again, night after night, because he can't stop.

how is he supposed to go back from this? how is he supposed to act normal when you're pouring your heart out to shiro but telling satoru to choke?

#gojo satoru #gojo drabbles #gojo fluff #gojo crack #gojo x reader #gojo x reader fluff #gojo x reader crack #gojo x female reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #jjk fluff #jjk crack #jjk drabbles #jjk x reader

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ari-ana-bel-la · 3 days ago

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Can I just say your write amazingly. One of my top favourite writers. I was wondering if I can request a dad lando fic where reader is like 4 or 5 and when lando dose his drive to survive interview thing he takes his baby girl and the whole crew just love her. And she gets to snap the 🎬

Lights, Camera, Action!

The Netflix crew was already buzzing around the sleek, sunlit studio set when the door creaked open, and in walked Lando—hair a bit tousled, hoodie slightly rumpled, and one hand holding onto the tiny fingers of a girl no taller than his thigh.

She peeked in first, big eyes blinking at the brightness of the room, her other hand clutching a squishy pink bunny that had clearly seen better days.

“This her?” asked the producer, grinning as he pulled off his headset and came forward.

Lando nodded proudly, crouching down to her level. “Go on, love. Say hello.”

Yn blinked at the man, then mumbled, “Hullo…�� in a shy but unmistakably British accent that made three crew members audibly coo.

The producer beamed. “And what's your name, sweetheart?”

“Yn,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“Yn, that’s beautiful,” he said, genuinely charmed. “How old are you?”

She held up five tiny fingers. Lando chuckled, brushing a curl from her cheek.

“She just turned five last month,” he said. “And she’s very excited to help Daddy today. Aren’t you, bug?”

Yn nodded shyly but clung tighter to his hoodie.

“She’s a little shy at first,” Lando told them, smoothing down the back of her hair. “But she warms up fast. Just give her a few minutes and maybe a biscuit.”

The whole crew laughed at that, already softening under the spell of the little girl with the bunny and the shy smile.

The Drive to Survive crew had seen drivers in every emotional state: victorious, furious, hungover, nervous, indifferent. But this—this was something else entirely.

One of the assistants knelt beside Yn and held out a small tray of juice boxes and individually wrapped cookies.

“Would you like a snack while Daddy does his interview?” she asked gently.

Yn looked up at Lando, and he smiled reassuringly. “It’s alright, poppet. You can sit just over there and watch me if you want. Or hang with the nice lady.”

“Can I watch you?” she asked in a tiny voice.

Lando melted. He really did.

“‘Course you can. You’ve got the best seat in the house.”

He helped her into a small canvas director’s chair just off camera, close enough to him that he could sneak her smiles between questions. One of the sound guys handed her a set of child-sized headphones—not plugged into anything, just for fun—and Yn lit up like it was Christmas.

“All ready?” the producer called out, watching Lando settle into his seat with an amused look.

Lando looked to Yn, gave her a wink, then turned to the camera.

“Ready when you are.”

The interview started normally.

“How does it feel being one of the more experienced drivers now, after all these seasons?”

“Old,” Lando deadpanned, and the crew laughed. “I mean, I still get carded when I try to buy wine, but I’ve been here a while now. It’s weird.”

“And now you’re not just a driver—you’re a dad.”

Lando’s whole face changed. His shoulders relaxed, his eyes softened, and the smile that crept across his lips was involuntary and impossible to miss.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing to the side where Yn was swinging her legs, watching quietly. “I’m a dad. And it’s the best job I’ve ever had.”

“What’s it like, being a single parent and a full-time F1 driver?”

“Hard,” he admitted. “Like, really hard. I won’t pretend it’s easy. The schedule’s mental, the travel’s constant, and trying to make sure she has stability in all of that—it’s a lot.”

“But?”

“But I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” Lando said. “Not a second of it. That little girl is my heart walking around outside my body.”

Someone behind the camera whispered a soft “awww” and a few heads nodded.

“I try to take her with me as much as I can,” Lando continued. “Because I don’t want her to feel like I’m always gone. And she actually loves the paddock. She’s got uncles everywhere.”

The interviewer laughed. “Who’s her favorite uncle?”

Lando smirked. “Now that’s dangerous territory.”

“Come on, give us something.”

“She calls Carlos ‘Uncle Giggles,’ because he always makes her laugh. And Max taught her to say ‘chicane’ properly, which is weirdly adorable coming out of a five-year-old. But I think Charles is her favorite.”

He leaned in conspiratorially.

“He sneaks her gummy bears and lets her press buttons on the simulator when no one’s watching.”

During a short break in filming, Yn walked up to her dad and tugged on the hem of his hoodie.

“Can I sit with you now?”

Lando lifted her up effortlessly and sat her on his lap.

“She’s very well-behaved,” one of the crew members commented, watching her tuck herself comfortably into his arms.

“Yeah, I’m lucky,” Lando said. “She’s a bit shy, but she’s got a kind soul.”

“Do you like being on set, Yn?” someone asked her gently.

She looked up and nodded. “I like the big camera. And Daddy talks nice.”

Another wave of chuckles rippled through the crew.

“Think you could help us with something, Yn?” the producer asked.

Her eyes widened, curious. Lando looked intrigued too.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Well,” the producer said, holding up the old-school film clapper. “We usually let the talent snap the board before we roll. Think she’d like to do it?”

Lando looked down at his daughter. “What do you think, bug? Wanna help Daddy start the show?”

She considered it for a second, then nodded with an eager smile.

“Alright then!” Lando grinned and helped her down from his lap. “Go on, big moment now.”

The assistant handed Yn the clapper, and she held it in her small hands like it was a sacred treasure.

“Can you say ‘Scene One, Take Two’?” someone prompted.

She took a deep breath and in her clearest little voice said, “Scene One, Take Two!” Then she clapped the board shut with both hands.

Everyone applauded. Lando’s smile could’ve lit up the whole building.

“That was amazing,” the producer said, genuinely delighted. “You’ve got a future in film, miss.”

Yn giggled and ran back to Lando, who scooped her up with ease.

“She’s gonna be insufferable after this,” he joked, kissing the top of her head. “Hollywood’s gone straight to her head.”

Lando let Yn stay in his lap for the second half of the interview.

Her bunny rested on his thigh. She leaned against his chest, occasionally whispering questions into his hoodie like, “Why does the man ask so many questions?” and “Can we get ice cream after?”

“Yes,” Lando replied both times, the second one earning her a quick kiss on the temple.

The crew was utterly smitten. One of the camera operators whispered to the sound guy, “I’d watch an entire show just about him being a dad.”

The questions turned more personal toward the end.

“What do you hope she remembers when she’s older?”

Lando went quiet for a beat.

“I hope she remembers that I tried,” he said softly. “That I tried to give her everything. That even if I wasn’t always home, I was always hers. I hope she remembers feeling loved. Safe. Seen.”

There was a lump in the interviewer’s throat. He glanced at Yn, who was now playing with the strings of Lando’s hoodie, humming quietly to herself.

“You’ve made a beautiful little human.”

Lando smiled down at her. “Yeah. She’s everything.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-♡○♡

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cameronsbabydoll · 2 days ago

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BASIC TRAINING — CHAPTER TWO

WARNINGS — power imbalance, suggestive comments, physical touch (shoulder, hair, guiding), age gap tension, gaslighting-style manipulation, rafe being icky/possessive, grooming-adjacent behavior, internalized guilt

You weren’t supposed to be alone.

Your dad gave you rules. More than rules, really—an entire itinerary. You were supposed to read for your summer classes, organize his files, avoid the barracks, and “keep to the other officer’s kids if you need friends.”

Except the other officer’s kids are twenty-somethings with active duty assignments or civilian lives far from here. They don’t sit at mess. They don’t linger by the soda machine. They don’t stop and say hi.

But Rafe does.

You don’t know his name yet. Not officially.

You just know the way his eyes linger. How his shoulders stretch his t-shirt. How his dog tags swing low when he jogs past you in the mornings—shirtless, dripping with sweat, smirking when he catches you staring.

You hadn’t meant to stare.

But it’s hard not to.

He’s… tall. And mean-looking. He has a buzzcut that makes him look even meaner. You’re not really into tattoos, but he’s got one on his arm you keep thinking about. A snake winding around a dagger.

You’d only noticed because he caught you looking. Again.

And then he winked.

It’s been three days now since you arrived on base. Your dad is swamped. The heat is unrelenting. You’ve reread the same chapter of your textbook six times and still don’t understand what Plato’s Allegory of the Cave is even about.

So you get up early.

You walk the perimeter road.

You grab a Coca-Cola from the machine outside the barracks. Sit on the shaded curb. Watch the soldiers run drills in the distance, far enough away that you don’t feel weird about it.

That’s where he finds you.

“Didn’t peg you for the early morning type.”

His voice startles you.

You twist around fast, can already feel the pink rising in your cheeks. It’s him. The man from the jogs. The tattoos. The stare. He’s not in uniform this time. He’s in a white shirt and gray sweats, both clinging like they’ve earned the right to his body. You hate how that thought even forms.

“I—uh. I didn’t know anyone else came here this early,” you manage, gripping your drink tighter.

He smirks.

“And here I thought this base was crawling with rules.”

There’s a beat. “But I guess that only applies to the rest of us.”

You blink. “Huh?”

He crouches a little, elbows resting on his knees. Close, but not too close. His eyes flick to your soda.

“You know there’s coffee inside, right?”

You shrug. “I don’t really like coffee.”

“Right.” He squints like he’s just realized something. “Sugar rush, not caffeine.”

He says it like he knows something about you that you don’t.

Then: “Makes sense. You’re a sunshine type of girl.”

“A what?”

“You know,” he grins. “The kind that wakes up humming. Writes in a pink notebook. Says stuff like ‘golly.’”

He leans closer. “Am I wrong, sugar?”

You feel like your brain short circuits. You try to laugh, but it comes out awkward. “I don’t say ‘golly.’”

“Yet.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

He just keeps looking at you. His gaze feels heavier than it should. You shift in place. His eyes follow the movement, pausing too long at your knees before flicking back up to your face.

“I’m Rafe,” he says finally. “Staff Sergeant. Been here too long.”

You nod. “Nice to meet you.”

“You got a name, princess?”

You tell him.

He repeats it. Quietly. Like he’s tasting it.

It shouldn’t make your stomach flutter.

After that, he starts showing up more.

He always has a reason. Always casual. Always calculated.

You’ll be carrying a box of your dad’s reports—he takes it from your arms without asking.

You’ll be at the vending machine—he guides your hand to press the right button.

You’ll be reading alone—he sits just close enough that you can smell him: sweat, cologne, something like cedar and anger.

Every time he calls you princess or sugar, you go still.

He’s so much older. More experienced. Bigger. His voice is always low, like he knows you’ll lean in to hear it better. And you do. Every time.

One afternoon, he catches you by the printer in the admin hall, struggling to staple a stack of papers. Your dad asked you to file them, but the staple keeps jamming.

You hiss softly, shaking the thing out. That’s when a broad hand appears behind yours.

“Move,” he says. You do, startled.

He fixes it in seconds.

Then he looks down. You hadn’t realized how close he’s standing. You’re basically against the wall. His hand is still on your shoulder, firm.

“You gotta be careful with these,” he says, low. “They bite.”

“Yeah.. I-I noticed,” you whisper.

He leans in, his mouth next to your ear.

“You ever been bit before?”

You don’t answer.

Your cheeks are burning. Your eyes drop to the floor. You know he’s watching them water.

When he finally pulls back, he taps your chin once with his finger.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

You try to avoid him the next day.

But it doesn’t work.

You’re walking back from the mess hall, still chewing a bite of banana bread, when a shadow falls across the path in front of you.

It’s him.

You stop. So does your breath.

He raises an eyebrow.

“No ‘hi’ today?”

You look down. “I didn’t see you.”

He hums. “That’s a lie.”

He steps forward. You step back.

But it’s just one step. Then he sighs and hooks his fingers into your bag strap.

“Relax, sweetheart. I just wanna walk with you.”

You’re not sure why you let him.

But you do.

He walks slow. Leisurely. His hand brushing yours every few seconds, like he’s testing to see what you’ll do. You don’t pull away.

When you reach the main building, he tugs your strap again—just a little.

“I ever make you uncomfortable, you tell me.”

You blink. Look up at him.

“No,” you say. “You haven’t.”

That smile again.

The one that makes your chest feel weird.

“Good girl.”

You can’t stop thinking about that for the rest of the day.

Not the words. But the way he said them.

Low. Rough. Possessive. Like it meant something.

Like you meant something.

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ggukivrse · 1 day ago

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THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM | JJK

summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.

after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

warnings: swearing, they actually talk about their feelings :0, explicit sexual content, kissing, making out, hickeys, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (be smarter than them pls), a bit of banter, petnames (baby), they're really fucking cute in the end it makes me sick, let me know if i missed anything!

notes: idk if this counts as my first completed series buttt... i'm gonna act like it does. thank you so so much to all the love and support you guys have given me for the past two parts, i'm genuinely so beyond grateful for it all :<< hopefully, you guys enjoy this part too!!

ps. READ PART ONE HERE & PART TWO HERE!!

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

You open his chat window again like it’s muscle memory. Like your thumb don't know how to not betray you.

It’s not even about sending something. You’ve got no intention of doing that. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. But the screen is always open, staring back at you with that last unread message you sent almost a week ago — a throwaway meme you found on your lunch break. No reply. Not even a reaction.

And it hadn’t felt like a big deal in the moment. You sent it like always, light and dumb and nothing. But then the nothing kept going. No little gray typing bubble. No 'lol.' No double text. No late night 'you up?' Just this wall of silence.

You would’ve rather gotten a dry reply. Hell, even a thumbs up. Anything to prove that he saw you.

But now it’s been long enough that sending something new would feel desperate. Like you’re chasing him. Like you’re asking for something you’re not even supposed to want.

You lock your phone and throw it face down on your bed.

Then pick it back up five seconds later.

Then toss it again, harder, as if that’ll prove something.

You wish you were mad. You think you are mad — at least a little. But it’s a tangled kind of anger. One that knots itself up with embarrassment and sharp, bitter shame. You want to scream at him, yeah. But also at yourself.

Why did you let this happen?

Why did you let him blur the lines and kiss you like that and touch you like he meant it?

You were supposed to be smarter than this.

You lie back across your bed with one arm flung over your eyes. It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. It was just sex. Just two nights. Two insanely good, dangerously close, way-too-connected nights. But still — technically just sex.

Except it wasn’t.

Not when he remembered your favourite sauce order without asking. Not when he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear while you ranted about work.

And especially not when he went cold the second things felt too good.

That’s what keeps twisting the knife. That shift in him. Like someone flipped a switch and rewrote the script. One minute, he was holding you like you mattered. The next, you were stepping out of his bathroom and into a stranger’s apartment.

You haven’t heard his voice since.

You bite the inside of your cheek and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push down that lump of feeling before it rises too high.

It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re overthinking it.

Maybe he’s just going through something. Maybe he didn’t mean to shut you out. Maybe he thought you didn’t want to hear from him. Or maybe he’s just a fucking coward who got scared when the stakes changed.

But then, why didn’t you reach out?

Why didn’t you ask if he was okay, or tell him he was being weird, or demand an explanation like you’re owed one?

Because you’re afraid.

Because you don’t want the truth if the truth is that he regrets all of it.

Because deep down, you know this isn’t just a friendship anymore, and pretending it is would break you worse than silence.

Your phone buzzes once on the comforter beside you.

You freeze. Then sit up fast, breath catching halfway in your throat.

Your eyes are already scanning the screen before your brain can fully catch up.

Kook 🍜: hi

One word. Just hi. Like the last seven days didn’t happen. Like your stomach hasn’t been in knots trying to make sense of his silence. Like he didn’t vanish without warning after folding you into his sheets and leaving you to figure out what the hell it meant.

Your breath leaves you in one uneven exhale.

You blink at the message, your body locked in this strange stillness. Your thumb hovers, frozen. Part of you is tempted to stare at it until it disappears. Ignore it. Let him feel what it’s like to be the one left hanging. But your hands betray you again — just like they always do with him.

You: Radio silence for a week and all I get is a fucking hi? Wtf Jungkook

It’s not even what you really want to say, but it’s the closest thing you can manage that doesn’t sound like I missed you so much it made me sick or please don’t do this again.

Three dots appear.

Your heart squeezes like it’s caught in someone’s fist. And then the dots vanish.

Then come back.

Then vanish again.

You mutter, “Fucking say something,” to no one. It comes out too small, too desperate. You shut your eyes tight for a second like you can wring the feeling out of yourself by force.

A minute or so passes before his reply finally sends.

Kook 🍜: sorry. can i talk to you today?

You reread it so many times the text starts to lose meaning. Can I talk to you today?

You feel sick.

There’s no way you don’t know what this is. The phrasing. The tone. He wants to talk? What the fuck else could that mean, if not that he’s about to cut things off? That he’s going to hand you some polite little speech about how you’re great, but this can’t happen again. That he wants to stay friends and he doesn’t want to confuse things any more than he already has.

Or worse — he thinks you guys are better off cutting contact all together.

You bite down hard on your thumb, suddenly on the verge of tears and furious at yourself for it. You should’ve never let it get here. You should’ve drawn the line before the second time. Before the car. Before the party.

You should’ve been more careful with your heart.

But you’re here now. So far past the line you can’t even see it anymore.

You open your keyboard, then close it again. You want to ask what he wants to talk about. You want to demand answers over text so you don’t have to see his face when he says the words. But you know you won’t get anything that way.

You: Where?

Kook 🍜: i can come to yours

You sit there for a second, just breathing. You feel like you’re bracing for a crash that’s already midair.

You: What time?

Kook 🍜: i can be there in an hour?

You don’t answer. Not right away. You’re too busy staring at your reflection in the dark screen, wondering why your face looks so calm when your body feels like it’s trying to collapse in on itself.

You: Okay

You put the phone down carefully, like it might go off again, or explode, and turn your gaze to the ceiling. Every minute after this is going to stretch like it’s mocking you.

You don’t know if you’re getting closure or clarity. You don’t even know which one would hurt more.

But you know you won't cancel.

Because if this is going to end — if he’s going to say it — it has to be to your face. You need to see it.

You need to know for sure.

Jungkook is fucked.

Like, actually, cosmically, irreversibly fucked.

He stares at the elevator doors like they’re the gates to hell, and his own reflection in the brushed metal does him no favours. He looks tense. Jaw tight, shoulders hunched up high like he’s trying to fold himself into a more manageable version. Someone chill. Someone who isn’t about to shit himself over the thought of seeing you.

He rolls his shoulders back, shakes out his hands. Useless. He’s already sweating through his hoodie.

Every nerve in his body feels like it’s tuned an octave too high. Like if someone so much as breathes in his direction right now, he’ll either snap or confess something humiliating.

He wipes his palms on his jeans again. That’s the fourth time since the lobby.

The worst part is, he knows how he got here. He knows exactly when it happened, too — the moment the line moved.

It was your laugh. The tired kind, all cracked at the edges after that hellish Friday you had. You were curled up in his passenger seat, half out of it, feet tucked under you, and you’d looked over at him with that soft, worn-down smile.

And it just… hit him.

The weight of it. Of you.

He wanted to reach over and touch your face. Not to tease. Not to start something. Just to feel your skin under his fingers like it was allowed now.

And the second that thought formed — clear and blinding and way too tender — it was over. Game fucking over.

Because it wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

You’re his best friend. Have been for years. He knows how you take your coffee, how you organise your playlists by mood, how you chew on the inside of your cheek when you're anxious. You’re not just some girl he hooked up with at a party. You’re you.

And now, he’s standing in an elevator on the way to your apartment, trying not to think about how badly he messed it all up.

He hadn’t meant to ghost you. Not really. It was just — after that night, after the way you looked at him, all warm and trusting — he panicked. Full-body, brain-scrambling, total system failure. He couldn’t even look at you without feeling like he was seconds from saying something stupid like "Don’t sleep with anyone else, please," or "I think I’m in love with you."

So instead, he shut down. Did the one thing he always swore he wouldn’t do with you — he pulled away. Got weird. Avoided it. Avoided you.

And now you’re pissed.

Rightfully so.

He deserved that text you sent. Probably worse. You could’ve ignored him completely and he wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. You texted back and he’s clinging onto that like a lifeline. Because it means there’s still time. Still a chance to fix it — if he doesn’t blow it again.

He presses the heel of his hand to his chest like that might steady the erratic rhythm of his heart.

What the fuck is he even going to say?

Sorry for being an emotionally constipated idiot?

Sorry I ghosted you because I realised I’m in love with you and it short-circuited my whole fucking personality?

Sorry I thought I could fuck you and still keep pretending like you don’t mean more to me than anyone else?

The elevator dings.

Jungkook flinches like it slapped him, then scrubs a hand through his hair, lets out a tight breath, and steps through the doors before he can change his mind.

He’s here.

Fuck. He’s actually here.

Jungkook looks like he didn’t sleep last night. Hair messy, clothes a little wrinkled, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second before they dart away again. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket like he’s afraid of what they’ll do if left unsupervised.

You tell yourself not to feel relieved. Not to let it show. He didn’t cancel. He showed up. That shouldn’t mean as much as it does. It really, really shouldn’t.

But still — there’s something in your chest that unclenches when you see him standing there, real and present. Even if he does look like he’s about to apologise for burning down your house or something.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.

You step back from the door to let him in. Dry. Wordless. The move is automatic, but your body feels stiff with it, like your own muscles are annoyed on your behalf.

He hesitates before stepping inside, like he thinks the floor might swallow him up. You don't offer a smile. Don't even look at him once the door’s closed behind him.

You cross your arms and lean back against the edge of the kitchen counter, watching him with a blank expression that’s only half-real. The other half is tightly coiled under your skin — anger, sure, but under that, all the feelings you’ve been pretending not to have.

He does a slow, uncertain glance around your apartment like something might’ve changed since the last time he was here. But it hasn’t. It’s still your place. Same plants, same overhead light humming softly, same faint scent of laundry detergent that clings to the air.

He stands there awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It’s like he doesn’t know where to put his body.

You’ve never seen him like this before. Not around you. Jungkook’s always been comfortable here. The kind of comfortable that leaves shoes by the door without asking. The kind that opens your fridge like he owns a shelf. But right now, he looks like a stranger in someone else’s house.

You let the silence stretch out. You’re waiting for him to just speak, but he doesn’t

He doesn’t even try.

Eventually, your voice cuts through the air, a little too sharp. “Jungkook, you said you wanted to talk.”

His head snaps up like he forgot that was part of the deal. Like the fact that he came here at all already cost him everything he had in reserve.

“Yeah,” he says. His throat moves when he swallows. “I do.”

You raise your eyebrows, waiting.

He opens his mouth like he’s about to start, then closes it again. Shifts his stance. Rubs the back of his neck with one hand. You catch the way his eyes flick to the floor, then back to you, then away again.

You narrow your eyes. “Well?”

He breathes out a weak, almost bitter laugh and runs both hands down his thighs, like he’s physically trying to ground himself. “I don’t know how to do this,” he mutters.

You frown, arms still crossed tight across your chest. “What? Talk?”

You hate being like this towards him — you feel like a bitch. But it’s the only way that you can stop yourself from just spilling all of your thoughts and feelings to him.

“No, I—” He breaks off, jaw flexing. “No. I mean… say the right thing. Say any of it without sounding like an idiot.”

You blink, unimpressed. “So you came here without knowing what you were gonna say.”

He looks at you then. Fully. And for the first time since he walked in, you see the real wreckage behind his eyes. There’s nothing cool or casual about it. He’s unravelling in slow motion. Everything about him is quiet desperation wrapped in someone trying really hard not to fall apart.

“I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know what I wanted,” he says finally. “And then I figured it out, and that somehow made it worse.”

You stay silent.

He shifts closer, not by much — just a few inches. “I fucked up,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “I know I did. I know I disappeared. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care. I was just—” he stops, jaw tightening again. “I got scared.”

You scoff under your breath and look away.

“I’m serious,” he says, softer now. “It freaked me out. How fast it happened. How much it changed.”

You look back at him, jaw set. “What changed?”

He swallows again. Stiff. His voice cracks a little when he speaks next.

“You,” he says again. “How I feel about you. That changed.”

Your chest tightens.

You don’t react, not visibly. You keep your face still, unreadable, even though your brain is suddenly scrambling. You’ve been yanked in too many directions this past week. You’re not going to lean into hope just because he finally decided to speak.

So you say nothing. You just hold his gaze and wait.

Jungkook takes a breath, his shoulders rising with it, then falling in a slow, deliberate exhale. The nervousness is still there — but it’s settled into something quieter now.

“I kept trying to tell myself it didn’t mean anything,” he says. “That it was just— whatever. Two friends, getting carried away. We were drunk the first time, right? It was easy to lie to myself about that. Easy to say it didn’t have to go anywhere.”

His voice is calm, but there's tension underneath it.

“But the second time?” He pauses, tongue running along the inside of his cheek, eyes still locked on yours. “That wasn’t drunk. That wasn’t casual. That was me driving us across town just to make you feel better, because I can’t stand it when you’re not okay.”

You flinch — barely — but he sees it. You know he does.

“And then it was me kissing you like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t. You think I didn’t notice how different that felt? I’ve never kissed you like that before. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air between you.

You’re still standing by the counter, arms crossed, but now your grip has loosened. You hate how much this is getting to you, how badly you want to give in, how your chest aches just hearing him say the things you’d only let yourself think when the lights were off and your phone screen was dark.

Jungkook takes another step toward you.

“When I brought you back to mine that night… when you came out of the shower, and I saw you just standing there in my space, looking at me like I was safe…” His voice catches, but not in a way that makes him crumble — just enough to show the truth of it. “I freaked the fuck out.”

You blink at him, finally speaking. “Yeah. I noticed.”

He huffs out a breath that's almost a laugh, but not quite. “I didn’t mean to shut down. I didn’t even know what I was doing in the moment. I just— everything in me wanted to pull you close, and that’s when I realised I couldn’t keep doing this the way we were doing it. Not without losing my shit every time you left.”

Your throat feels tight, but you still ask, “So you decided to ghost me instead?”

That lands. His jaw flexes, and he nods once. “Yeah. I did. I thought if I gave it space, I could go back to being normal. Go back to just being your friend. But I couldn’t. I can’t.

“I don’t want to be just your friend anymore. Not because of the sex, not because it was good— which it was, but that’s not the point. It’s you. It’s always been you. I didn’t realise how much until I almost lost it completely.”

You swallow hard. Your arms are uncrossed now. Not folded in, not defensive — just hanging at your sides like you’re too stunned to remember what to do with them.

Jungkook steps in closer. Not touching you yet. But near enough that you can smell him — faint cologne, his laundry detergent, the scent you associate with your car windows fogging up.

“I missed you,” he says, and his voice turns softer. “Every day. And it scared the shit out of me, how badly I wanted to talk to you. Touch you. Just be around you. I wasn’t ready to admit it last week, and I was a coward for that. But I’m not running anymore.”

Silence again.

Except it doesn’t feel like the ones you’ve been drowning in for a week.

“I don’t know what you’re feeling,” he says, lower now, like the words might break if he’s too loud. “And I’m not assuming anything. But if you still want me around— really want me— just say the word. I’ll figure out the rest.”

You inhale slowly, try to even out your breathing, but your chest still feels like it’s barely holding together. Your heart’s doing that thing where it thuds too hard without speeding up.

You hate that you believe him. That you always would’ve. That no matter how angry you were, no matter how cold you tried to be when he walked in — you still wanted him to explain, to prove it wasn’t what your worst thoughts told you it was.

And now he has.

He’s standing in front of you with open hands, with the words you oh so desperately wanted to hear. And for a moment, you’re not sure what to do with that.

“I hate you,” you say quietly.

It’s not true. Not even close. But it’s the first thing that leaves your mouth.

Jungkook huffs out a dry laugh, eyes dropping to the floor. “Yeah,” he murmurs, nodding. “I figured.”

You shake your head once. “No. I mean it. I fucking hate you for this. For—” You break off, because your voice is shaking now. “For making me feel like I was crazy. For not even saying goodnight after… after everything.”

His face tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“You could’ve just told me,” you go on. “You could’ve said it was too much. That it got weird. That you needed time. Anything. But you disappeared. And I had to sit here wondering if I made it all up."

You pause, pressing your lips together.

“And I— I missed you too, you know,” you add, quieter this time.

His mouth opens like he might speak, but no sound comes out at first. Instead, he closes the space between you by half, slow and steady, like he’s afraid of pushing too far.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” you whisper, but your tone isn't mean. Not even close.

He laughs, soft and low. “Yeah. I know.

“You promise me you’re sure? Cause Jungkook, I will fucking cut off your dick if you pull this shit again.”

He smiles but doesn’t hesitate. “I promise. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You stare at him.

Long enough that the air between you stretches taut, thin as thread.

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you but still doesn’t know if he’s allowed. His jaw flexes, his chest rising and falling in uneven swells. You can tell he’s waiting — for a sign, for a go-ahead, for you.

And even though part of you still wants to be mad, still wants to make him sweat just a little longer, the rest of you aches. For his mouth. For his hands. For the solid, grounding weight of him.

So you move.

You step into the last inch of space between you and grab the front of his hoodie. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a year, but you don’t give him a chance to say anything.

You kiss him.

Not out of impulse. Not for show. You kiss him because you need to. Because your chest feels like it’s going to split open if you don’t.

At first, it’s quiet. Just lips pressed to lips — careful, slow. There’s a pause between each pass of your mouth over his, like you’re both trying to remember how this started. How you even got here.

But then he sighs against you — not loud, not dramatic, just a sound full of relief — and it unravels something.

His hands lift, hesitating for only half a second before they settle on your waist, fingers curling tight. You press closer, and his lips part beneath yours. The angle shifts. Your nose bumps his cheek. It’s not perfect, but it’s real, and when your tongue brushes his, everything tilts.

The sweetness melts fast.

He makes a sound low in his throat and drags you in like the distance is unbearable. Your hands slide up into his hair, fingers threading through the strands at the base of his neck, and the way he reacts — the little shiver he tries to swallow — sends heat straight down your spine.

You kiss him harder.

His body crowds yours until your back meets the wall. Not rough, not rushed. Just firm. His chest presses to yours, and you can feel the way his heart races. How your own pulse kicks up to match it.

The kiss deepens, turns messy at the edges. His teeth catch your bottom lip and your breath stutters, but you don’t pull back. You tilt your chin, chasing more, and the next time he kisses you, it’s hungrier. One of his hands slips to the small of your back, palm dragging slow and warm beneath your shirt. The skin-to-skin contact makes your whole body twitch.

You gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his hands tightening. His other arm slips around your waist completely, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly you’re not thinking anymore. You’re just feeling.

The tension that’s been bottling up between you two — the silence, the week of wondering, the ache of missing him so much it hurt — it all floods to the surface.

You fist your hands in his hoodie, yanking him impossibly closer. Your hips shift forward, just enough to brush him, and the sound he makes is sharp and involuntary, caught between a breath and a groan.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely pulling back. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged. “You’re driving me insane.”

You huff, lips brushing his. “That’s fair.”

Then he kisses you again. Rougher this time. Desperate in a way that makes your knees go soft.

He doesn’t stay at your mouth for long. His lips trail down — your jaw, your cheek, the shell of your ear. His breath is hot and uneven, and when he finds your neck, your whole body reacts. Your hands clutch at him, your back arches off the wall, and the soft sound that escapes your throat isn’t one you mean to make.

He feels it. Hears it. Answers it with a low, reverent sound that seems to vibrate straight through you.

His tongue traces the spot beneath your ear, slow and deliberate, and your eyes flutter shut.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your breath catching sharp in your throat. You pull back for a second before lowering your mouth to his neck, right where the collar of his hoodie dips. He lets out a small sound, hands flexing on your waist, when your lips press there.

You start slow. You can feel his pulse under your tongue, the way his chest rises against yours, unsteady and warm. Then you part your lips and suck gently at the spot just below his jaw. His whole body stutters, hips jerking against yours before he can stop it.

Your fingers trail down his chest, tugging his hoodie collar aside for better access. His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted.

You do it again, this time with enough pressure to leave a mark, and the sound of your mouth working against his skin is lewd.

He groans. It’s low and rough and barely held back, and the sound shoots straight between your legs. You feel him hardening now, undeniable through the fabric where he’s pressed against you.

“All mine?” you whisper, your lips brushing over the new mark you’ve left.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “All yours.”

His voice is breathless. Wrecked. And so damn certain it knocks something loose in your chest.

You pull back just enough to look at him — really look. His pupils are blown, his lips swollen, a flush climbing high on his cheeks. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Like he would if you let him.

“I missed that mouth,” he mutters, hands gliding under your shirt again, palms broad and warm. “Missed everything.”

You kiss his throat in reply and drag your teeth across it until he swears under his breath.

His hips grind against you again, harder this time. You both feel it — the friction, the heat building between your bodies.

His arms shift beneath you and he lifts you clean off the ground in one smooth motion, hands strong under your thighs. A startled sound escapes your throat as your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, gripping him tight.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I want you so bad it’s actually stupid.”

You smile, drunk on the feel of him.

“Bedroom?” you murmur, tracing your lips over the new mark blooming against his skin.

He hums lowly, and shifts his grip on your thighs.

He carries you through the hallway and your lips never leave his skin for more than a second.

When he reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He steps inside and drops you onto the mattress in one fluid movement.

You barely get your bearings before he’s crawling over you, slotting his body between your legs, His mouth finds yours again, and you moan into it before you can stop yourself when his knee presses between your legs.

Your hips twitch, grinding down against the pressure, and he groans in response, the sound vibrating through your chest as his mouth moves with yours. His hand slips under your shirt again, this time bolder, fingers spanning across your ribs and inching higher until his knuckles brush the curve of your breast.

You gasp softly, and he pulls back just enough to murmur, “Off.”

You sit up just enough to grab the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head in one smooth pull, your hair mussed from the friction. He watches the fabric fall to the floor, then looks at you.

“You’re so fucking pretty," he breathes.

You roll your eyes automatically, even though your face is already burning. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he says, and his voice drops low. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His lips part and he kisses along your sternum — slow, wet presses of his mouth that trail up and then out, over the swell of one breast, then the other.

You inhale sharply when his mouth grazes the sensitive skin beside your nipple, and his eyes flick up at the sound, pupils blown. He kisses lower, then higher again, murmuring against your skin, “Can’t believe I went a week without this.”

The vibration of his voice right against your skin makes you arch, and he meets you halfway, grinding down slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what you’re chasing and wants to stretch it out just to watch you squirm.

Your hands curl into his shoulders, nails biting down just enough to make him grunt softly into your skin. He rolls his hips again, slow and heavy, and the pressure against your core has your breath catching in your throat.

“Koo,” you whine out.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips pink and wet, hair falling into his eyes. He grins, crooked and hot and deeply pleased with himself.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, and his voice is pure sin.

You glare, but your thighs shift open under him anyway.

“Please.”

He hums, satisfied, and starts working his way lower. Every kiss is wet and unhurried. Down your chest, across your stomach. His hands follow, smoothing over your ribs, down to your hips, dragging the waistband of your pants just slightly with them. His thumbs hook in the fabric, pausing right above your pelvis.

He looks up at you, smug and dark-eyed.

“Gonna let me take these off?”

He's so annoying you're gonna kill him. “Do I look like I’m stopping you?”

“No,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your navel, “but I like hearing you say it.”

You huff, fingers threading into his hair again. “Take them off, Kook.”

He eases them down slowly — too slowly — dragging the fabric down your legs while his mouth follows in a path of heat and pressure. He kisses your hipbone, your inner thigh, every patch of skin he uncovers like it’s something sacred. When your panties go next, he makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat — more reverent than smug this time.

You’re already wet, already aching, and from the way his eyes flicker as he takes you in, he fucking knows it.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re soaked. You missed me that much?”

You exhale hard, cheeks hot. “Shut up and do something about it.”

He grins again, slower this time. “Anything you want.”

His hands grip your thighs and spread them further apart, and before you can say another word, his mouth is on you.

The first swipe of his tongue is long, and delibirate. You jerk at the contact, a broken sound slipping from your lips, and he groans like he’s the one falling apart. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you in place, and does it again.

Every movement of his tongue is practiced and precise. He starts slow, almost gentle, licking through your folds with a kind of focus that makes your head spin. Your thighs threaten to close around his head, but he pushes them apart with ease, never breaking rhythm.

Your hands move to the back of his head, gripping tight. His tongue circles your clit once, then again, and the third time he sucks it between his lips. You try to stifle a moan, but it slips from your lips anyway.

He pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot on your skin.

“Keep making those sounds, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Wanna hear every fucking thing I do to you.”

He movements turn faster, his mouth messy and hot and relentless. You’re already close, the build-up sharp and climbing, and he can feel it. One of his hands slips lower, spreading you open further with his thumb, and his tongue drags in tighter circles.

You’re writhing, panting, toes curling into the sheets. Your fingers tug at his hair, your spine arching off the bed.

“Fuck— Kook—” you gasp, head thrown back.

He groans again, the sound vibrating straight through your pussy. He doubles down, mouth moving faster, and when your hips start to stutter, erratic and desperate, he presses his hand over your stomach, grounding you.

“You’re gonna come for me?” he murmurs against you, mouth slick with you. “Gonna let me taste it?”

You nod frantically, unable to speak, your whole body wound tight and ready to snap.

He presses his mouth against you again, lips sucking against your clit, and the feeling has you squirming with pleasure.

“Kook—” your voice breaks open as you come hard against his mouth.

He moans, but his movements don't stop.

Your body arches helplessly, heels digging into the bed, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other still tangled in his hair as you ride out the wave. You’re gasping, blinking hard, your heart trying to punch through your ribs.

Only when your legs start to tremble uncontrollably does he finally pull back.

His lips are slick and swollen, jaw damp, hair messy from where you’ve been gripping it. And he looks wrecked — eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide, like just being between your thighs has undone something in him.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then drags his lips slowly up your inner thigh, leaving lazy kisses in his wake.

You’re still catching your breath, staring at the ceiling like your soul just left your body, when he plants a final kiss on the inside of your knee and murmurs, “Yeah. I’m never ghosting you again.”

You let out a breathless laugh, too blissed out to be mad. “You better not.”

“After that?” he says, crawling back up your body, slow and unhurried. “I’d be clinically insane.”

He settles over you again, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, then another between your breasts, then finally your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, and when he groans against your lips, it sends a fresh jolt of heat straight through you.

His body is flush against yours, his clothed cock thick and heavy where it presses against your thigh. You let your hands trail down his chest slowly to tug at the denim loops of his jeans.

"Want these off," you mumble against his lips.

He smiles and presses one last kiss to your mouth before he leans back onto his knees. His hands go to his belt, and you watch the way his fingers fumble for just a second.

He gets the buckle undone, then the zipper, the sound louder than it should be in your quiet bedroom. You watch as he shucks them down, boxers and all, and your breath catches slightly at the sight of him — flushed and hard and achingly ready.

“Better?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, breath shallow, and he’s already crawling back over you. The heat of him sinks into your skin as his body settles between your thighs, bare now.

Your legs part without hesitation.

His weight, the press of his chest to yours, the familiar scent of him wrapped in something raw and new — it all hits at once, and your whole body shivers.

He’s warm everywhere. The kind of warmth that soaks into your bones and makes you ache for more.

His hands slide along your arms until they find yours where they’re resting above your head. He threads his fingers through yours and presses them gently into the pillow, pinning you there. His eyes search yours, and you feel the first brush of him between your legs, just the tip, teasing the edge of you.

He doesn’t move yet. Just rests there, eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and thick, like he’s hanging on by a thread.

You don’t answer — not with words. You just tilt your hips up, welcoming him in with nothing but a look.

He pushes in slow — painfully slow — each inch dragging fire across your nerves as your body stretches to take him. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, your fingers clenching around his. When he’s fully buried inside you, he stills completely.

“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel… unreal.”

You can’t speak — your body’s too full, too wrecked already — so you kiss him instead. Slow and sweet and a little desperate. Your hips rock up, seeking more.

He groans into your mouth, finally starting to move, and every thrust is so fucking deep. It’s not rushed or frantic. It’s him savouring you, like he wants to remember how this feels with every part of himself.

His hands stay tight around yours, anchoring you both to the bed, to each other.

The rhythm builds, a slow burn that spreads everywhere, and between kisses you catch the way he looks at you — like he’s seeing something he’s afraid to lose. Like there’s something he wants to say but can’t yet.

“You were supposed to beg,” you manage to murmur against his mouth, breathless. “Grovel a little.”

That crooked smile curls against your lips. “My bad, baby,” he murmurs. “You can make me beg next time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re gonna regret that.”

He shifts his hips, thrusting deeper, and your breath leaves you in a ragged gasp.

“You promise?”

The challenge in his voice is smug, but his eyes are dark and glassy, his control hanging by a thread. You whimper in response, thighs tightening around his waist, and he dips his head to your throat, dragging his lips along your pulse like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

He starts to move with more purpose now, making you feel every second of it. His cock grinds into that spot that makes your vision blur, and your whole body tenses, fingers squeezing his like a lifeline.

The moan you let out is shameless, high and wrecked, when he tilts his hips just right — again and again, like he’s carving his name into your body from the inside.

“Right there?” he murmurs, already knowing. His hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you — every reaction, every sound. “God, you’re so fucking wet. You always get like this for me?”

“Koo—” His name slips out broken, a warning and a plea wrapped in one.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice ragged, forehead pressed to yours. His thrusts get rougher now, faster, the rhythm losing polish but gaining intensity. “Let me have you, baby. Come again for me.”

The words send a bolt of heat straight to your core, your whole body winding tight. His mouth crashes against yours before you can respond, tongue tangling with yours, greedy and open and honest in all the ways his words still aren’t.

When he pulls back, he’s panting, “You feel like heaven, fuck.”

You can’t even process it — not now, not when his rhythm stutters and his hips slam harder, each thrust jolting a cry from your throat. Your legs are trembling, your grip bruising where it clings to him, and you can feel the knot in your stomach tighening.

“That’s it,” he groans, watching your face like it’s the only thing that matters. “Let go for me. Let me feel you.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, teeth catching on his skin as your orgasm crashes over you. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, and you cry out his name. His hand squeezes yours back, holding you through it.

Your walls grip him tight, and he groans loud against your skin, hips faltering. “Fuck— shit—”

He thrusts once more before spilling into you with a broken sound, voice rasping your name like a prayer.

His whole body shudders as he comes, arms locked tight around you like he needs you to stay exactly where you are — here, under him, around him, real. His forehead drops to your shoulder, damp curls brushing your skin as he exhales, long and shaky.

Neither of you move right away. The air between you is thick with heat and breath and a comforting silence.

Eventually though, he shifts just enough to press a kiss to your collarbone. Then another, softer.

His hand slides along your waist, fingertips brushing lazy patterns into your skin. You hum under your breath — not a word, just a sound — and he responds by kissing your shoulder again.

Your legs are still tangled together. His body still half-draped over yours. There’s a mess between your thighs and sweat clinging to your skin, and you should probably say something, anything — but there’s something sweet about the silence now. It’s soft. Unspoken. Peaceful, in a weirdly intimate way.

He shifts again, easing out of you with a quiet groan, and you wince a little at the loss.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, running a hand gently over your thigh like an apology.

“It’s fine,” you breathe, eyes closed, chest still rising and falling too fast.

He doesn’t go far. Just rolls to the side, still close enough that his leg stays pressed against yours, and reaches for the blanket to pull it up over you both. He tugs you into his chest like second nature, burying his nose in your hair, his hand stroking absently up and down your arm.

“You good?” he asks softly, lips brushing your temple.

“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “You?”

He pauses. Then he nods against your skin. “Yeah. More than.”

You lay there like that for a while, heartbeats evening out. He’s still drawing shapes on your skin — fingertips slow, mindless — and you smile to yourself, warmth blooming low in your stomach.

“So,” you murmur eventually, voice still hoarse. “What now? We high-five and call it a night?”

He huffs a laugh into your hair. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to a high-five.”

You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “Cocky.”

“Confident,” he corrects, grinning. “But really—” He shifts a little so he can see your face, one hand reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “If we’re doing this, I wanna do it right.”

You blink, caught off-guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Do what right?”

He raises an eyebrow, like it should be obvious. “Us.”

There’s a pause. You look at him, and he looks at you, and it’s terrifying and sweet all at once.

“I really like you,” he says, quieter this time. “And I’m not just saying that because I just got laid.” He cracks a small smile. “Though, to be fair, that was mind-blowing.”

You snort. “So humble.”

“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your nose with his. “I’ll take you out. I’ll plan dumb dates. I’ll be obnoxiously charming and show up with flowers. I’ll be— like— a gentleman, or whatever.”

You give him a look. “You should’ve done all that before you fucked me.”

His grin spreads. “Yeah, well. Guess I got the order wrong. You gonna hold that against me?”

“Maybe,” you say, lips twitching.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, fingers brushing your cheek. “You’ll see. I’ll be so romantic it’ll make you want to punch me.”

“I already want to punch you.”

“And yet,” he says smugly, pulling you closer, “you’re still in my bed.”

“This is my bed, dumbass.”

He pauses. “Okay, fair. But I am naked in it. With you.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face won’t go away. His arm tightens around your waist, and you let yourself relax into it — into him. For once, it doesn’t feel like something to second-guess.

He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

You tuck your face into his neck and sigh. “You better bring the good flowers. Like the ones that don’t die in two days.”

“Oh, so now you’re picky?”

“You said dates and flowers. I’m holding you to it.”

“Noted,” he says, fingers threading into your hair. “I’m gonna be so disgustingly good to you.”

You laugh softly into his skin.

And he just holds you tighter.

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

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mooningningg · 1 day ago

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notes, this was a cute requst ty anon!

★ Roommate!Sukuna sees you in a bikini for the first time.

There’s sand in your sandals, sunscreen in your eyes, and Sukuna complaining already.

“Who the fuck likes the beach?” he grumbles, kicking at the sand like it personally offended him. “It’s hot. It’s loud. It smells like fish."

You roll your eyes and spread your towel. “You sound like a 75-year-old man.”

He glares at you over his sunglasses. “You sound like a sunburn waiting to happen.”

You ignore him, dropping your cover-up and adjusting the bikini straps.

Sukuna freezes.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

He did not sign up for this.

You bend over to fix your bag — and he catches a flash of your ass. Bikini bottoms. Tiny. Pink. His soul briefly ascends.

He immediately looks away like you pulled a gun on him.

“What the hell are you wearing?” he barks, voice cracking slightly.

You blink. “A bathing suit?”

“That’s not a bathing suit. That’s floss.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not being—” he cuts off, eyes darting back and instantly looking away again. “You’re the one out here butt naked, acting like this is your OnlyFans launch party.”

You squint. “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird,” he hisses, adjusting his position on the towel like he’s uncomfortable. Which he is. In multiple ways.

You sigh and sit beside him, smearing sunscreen on your arms.

He watches you from the corner of his eye — mouth dry, sunglasses hiding how they’re nearly glued to your collarbone.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You nudge him with a grin. “Wanna do my back?”

“I’d rather get hit by a boat.”

You pout. “C’mon. I’ll get sunburned.”

He takes the bottle with a grunt, muttering the whole time. “Stupid beach. Stupid bikini. Dumbass roommate with her dumb shiny skin and her hot little waist—fuckin’ hell.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Shut up.”

His fingers graze your back and he has to swallow the groan threatening his throat. You're warm. You're soft. You smell like coconut.

This is fine. This is normal.

He finishes in record time and throws the bottle like it insulted his family. Then lays back and covers his face with his towel like he’s being punished by God.

You giggle. “You’re acting so strange.”

He mutters something like, “I’m gonna fucking drown myself.”

You stretch beside him, and he peeks over the towel — only to see you adjusting your top again. Your chest. Bouncing.

He jerks his head back with a thud on the sand. “FUCK.”

“Are you okay?”

“Peachy.”

You reach into the cooler and hand him a popsicle. “Here. Chill out.”

He glares at you.

Then at the popsicle.

Then back at your lips.

He takes it and bites it like it owes him money.

“You’re not even fun,” you say. “I brought you out here to relax.”

“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he growls. “This is torture.”

You raise a brow. “So go home.”

He scoffs. “And leave you here? Half-naked? In public? Where other people can see you?”

“…Is that a problem?”

He looks you dead in the eye. “Yes. It’s a fuckin’ problem.”

“Why?”

“Because I—because it—fuck off.”

You blink, confused. “Are you blushing?”

He points the popsicle at you accusingly. “Don’t flatter yourself, porn star.”

“You’ve been acting so weird since I took off my cover-up.”

“Yeah, because you came out here dressed like a Sports Illustrated midlife crisis!”

You burst out laughing, which only makes him scowl harder. His sunglasses are fogged up. He’s fidgeting. His ears are red.

“You’re such a loser,” you grin.

He snarls, “Say that again and I’ll drown you.”

“Aw, are you flustered?”

“I'm annoyed,” he snaps, but his voice breaks on the end and he knows he's losing.

You lean back, smug. “You like me in this bikini, huh?”

Sukuna doesn't respond.

He just bites his popsicle again with unnecessary violence, eyes glued to the ocean, and mutters:

“…I'm gonna build a sandcastle and bury myself in it.”

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh. @beaniesayshi @levifiance @rinofcike @fushiguroooozzz @gojoscumslut @bellsoftheball @kunascutie.

#jjk #jjk x you #roommate jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #sukuna #roommate sukuna #sukuna fluff #sukuna scenario #sukuna imagines #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna drabbles #sukuna ff

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vampmira · 21 hours ago

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open up what you got in your mind to me. [pt.2 – saja boys.]

they've never met someone like you — a mortal who almost knew them .. better than they knew themselves. for the boys, it's annoyingly intriguing. for the girls, it's comforting.

paring(s): huntrix & saja boys x demon expert!gn!reader

warning(s:) EVERYTHING IN HERE IS A PART TWO TO THIS !! some movie changes, probably effected lore that makes no sense for the sake of the narrative, a little angst at the beginning

request | tags: @blueberrysquire @akariis4snowball @j0ykill

a/n: this is part 2 !! i had sooo many ideas for huntrix that i had to make another part for the saja boys so that it wasn't so long . this part isn't as good but i liked it so ☆☆☆

that night huntrix defeated gwima was a blur. all you remember was the zombie mob of fans, half of the fight, and the use of your aura vision to raise the saja boys above the honmoon before it glimmered in gold. jinu, who gave his newly found soul for rumi, was practically reincarnated through her sword – standing in front of her post-concert, arms open for her to fall into with tears from the both of them. everyone else? well, they felt lost.

the saja boys weren't sure what to do anymore. jinu was overjoyed, of course, but the boys knew nothing more beyond gwima and their mission. they didn't care much about music, nor their fans – which huntrix still couldn't wrap their minds around – and it's not like they had secret human hobbies. they never had time for that. until now.

post-gwima, they stayed in an apartment near the huntrix penthouse, trying to figure out their new lives. for the most part, they spent most of their time under your watch – to make sure they didn't go cause chaos – but also .. under your study.

you were weird to them

they weren't used to someone other than them.. knowing them

their capabilities, their knowledge, their origins.

actually jinu found your extensive understanding of what he is to be kind of comforting

he noticed how you never really drooled over them

you'd stare, sure, but in the same way an art critic would stare at a painted blue canvas with a smeared red dot in the middle

he felt like that red dot – unexplained but you somehow understood

when he told you about his past, it was a lot for him – talking about his cruel choice

but you.. didn't judge him.

in fact, you wrote it down in your notebook immediately, the one you never let the boys get too close to

he accepted you into his life when he entertained your interest in his history

unlike him, however, the other boys were uninterested

at first anyway

thank jinu for getting them to talk to you btw

it took a little bit of convincing – telling them that you wanted to give them something more than just gwima

even though they didn't want it ...

REGARDLESS they hang out around the penthouse

because they're no longer saja boys (uninterested and unsupported by any demon staff anymore)

they really had nothing to do but mildly annoy your personal space

including being the center of your attention when the girls are out

mira gave you one rule, "living room and bathroom. only." and you've succeeded so far. abby and romance were talking by the large scale windows, mystery was playing some game with baby (and obviously winning), and jinu sat in the middle of the couch, watching whatever movie rumi put on for him. you sat beside him, sketching in your one and only personal researcher book. your pencil drew out what you felt like was the final line in mystery's hair ... before you huffed, erasing it, and trying again.

that was... until the littlest demon startled you.

"mystery, they're drawing you." bored of his game, baby peered over your shoulder, only passively curious and really wanting to mess with you. heads turned at your exposure to the room, especially jinu, who looked over your other shoulder at the sketch you did of him earlier.

"you're.. sketching us?" the direct ask made you a bit nervous, especially being under so many eyes. (kind of. mystery was more just.. generally facing your direction.) "'weakness.. chest?' are you taking notes on us?" you stood up, nearly defensive, turning around to face the couch trio.

"if it weren't for your old friends, i wouldn't have to write it all down again." the boys went quiet, remembering the origin of your knowledge and powers. "i'm just.. tired of keeping it all inside. i need to get it out somewhere."

romance, true to his name, leaned over your shoulder, putting you both in a proximity much closer than you've ever had to experience before.

"then why don't we do something.. a little more fun .. to help you get it all out?"

normally sentences like that from him sound way more suggestive than he means them to be

but this time he came up with an actual solution to release your closed up, ready-to-pop-out-of-your-skin knowledge

they gave you a one way trip to infodump station ! an interview !

they wanted to learn more about you anyways

their fellow demons down below were the ones to wipe out your ancestors

not them

and they make sure you know it too

but they can't help but feel .. a little, tiny bit bad that you're now just a living library

a time capsule, holding onto so much information that you're about to burst 24/7

they had never met a researcher honestly

you intrigued them as much as they did for you

how much did you really know ?? did you know anything or is all this antsy behavior a ploy to make it look like you knew everything when you really knew nothing ??

their disguises were perfectly created to make every little fan fall for their attractiveness the second they looked at the boys

but you never drooled at them or had your eyes pop out of your head

you just always... stared. processing. tracing mindfully.

they didn't know what you were really abut. but they were about to find out. and really test your persona.

romance sat relaced in a chair as you circled him, pencil taking note of everything you noticed. how his markings were sharp, not rounded like rivers, how his skin was cooled, not burning hot. all things you already knew, but you found small comfort in knowing not much changed. you took a deep breath around his hair, nose scrunching up. he smiled, taking your cheek in his hand.

"new cologne." his voice was smooth, gentle. traditionally alluring. "just for you. do you like it?" he turned up his flirtatiousness, pulling you in closely, testing the waters of your focus.. before you turned away to start writing, completely uneffected.

"so many generations and you guys still smell like flames.." you mumbled to yourself.

"would you rather we smell like bubblegum?" baby tried to sass you, but you were too focused on the sharpness of his teeth to care. you stepped towards him, eyes widened.

"can demons still tear apart brick with the force of their canines?" you asked, rather close to his face. for a moment, he almost felt like the flustered one.

"yes..? no? i-i don't know." he crossed his arms, childishly. "i don't go around biting bricks." you jot it down still as you move towards abby. he's deeply relaxed, leaning back on the couch, comfortable shirt riding up to expose his famously toned abs. your eyes trail off of your notebook and they think.. they've got you.

"like what you see?" he teases. "you can touch them, you know." a bold move that brings you closer, nails tracing his skin. they're almost disappointed that abby is the one who stole your attention.. before they realize you're attention isn't stolen at all. you're drawing his markings with careful detail.

"where did yours come from? rumi's started forming on her arm when she was a kid, but they haven't reached her stomach yet. they grow with time, right? how old would that make you then..?" you dissolve into mutters they can barely decipher. "oh!! mystery!" he almost jumps behind the couch when you race over to him, making jinu laugh from the sidelines of their attempts to flirt with you. "i've never seen a demon sparkle! that's new.. is that just you? or is there a whole subspecies of sparkling demons? or is it your human disguise..?" your questions nearly overwhelm him, enough to make him forget how he's supposed to flirt with you, but romance pulls you away, whispering in your ear.

"it's not just him." he smiles, hand on your shoulder. "you're sparkling, too, sweetheart." if anyone could fluster anyone, it'd be him, even if it takes two rounds. his thumb runs against your chin. "you look so cute in this lighting, like a rose."

"speaking of which, what's the flora like down there? are there any? do they eat demons or are they like.. regular flowers? we knew more of demons than of gwima's realm. did they smell? i bet they might have.. would it be nostalgic or torturing?"

the boys share a look, and sigh. you went off into high speed muttering again.

you really were everything you said

uninterested in their flirts and more in knowledge

that almost made them like you more..

in the following times after the interview, they greeted you a bit more casually – sometimes cheerfully, asking if you had any new drawings or trivia you wanted to get off your chest

how did you . tame them !? does the whole hard to get thing actually work !?

it confused the girls wildly

but to see them adjusting to being here through someone who actually understood them instead of lying around, empty and lost, was a pick-me-up in the mornings

one morning, after being delivered a coffee, handsigned by the boys, you felt something click in your head, a sensation you had never felt before, and reached to put it in your notebook immediately

"demons, when properly befriended, like to be understood. they brought me coffee. do demons like coffee??"

#requests #dividers by enchanthings #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters #jinu x reader #mystery x reader #romance x reader #abby x reader #baby x reader #saja boys x reader #x male reader #x female reader #x gender neutral reader

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undyingdecay · 2 days ago

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Hey I realized an ask I sent in a while back was kinda long and would like to shorten it so you can better work your magic in it! So here's a shortened version: perv!Bob making you keep his cum inside you all day because he just wants himself to be with you any way he can... NO other reasons...

see — bob’s not slick. he thinks he’s being subtle when his hand slides down between your thighs after he’s already fucked you through the mattress for what feels like the third time that night, his fingers lazily pushing his own cum back inside you when it threatens to leak out. like he’s helping. like he’s doing you a favor. and the look he gives you when you tense around him, the soft, breathy “oh god” he lets out — it’s so transparently needy it makes your stomach flip.

its never enough for him

not the fucking, not the come-drunk haze in your eyes when he pulls out, not the wrecked little noises you make when he fingers it back into you after, mumbling something about “don’t waste it, baby, s’meant to stay there.”

he’s obsessive. clingy in ways he won’t admit out loud, but you see it in how his eyes follow you around a room, in the way his fingers ghost over the waistband of your panties hours after, already thinking about how he could stuff you full again if he asked the right way. always thinking about you carrying some part of him with you.

he gets weird about it after sex, too. clings a little tighter, murmurs nonsense against your shoulder about how good you feel, how perfect you are, about how he doesn’t ever wanna leave. and you should’ve known it was coming the second he whispered, voice rough and sticky-sweet, “can you—can you keep it in for me, baby? just for a little while? please?”

it’s not like you didn’t expect it — he gets like this sometimes. possessive in a soft, almost pathetic way. desperate to leave something of himself behind. not because he wants kids (you’d made that clear early on and he swears he’s fine with it, says it doesn’t matter) — but because he’s obsessive. because he wants you so full of him you feel him for hours after he’s gone. because he likes the idea of you sitting at work, shifting in your chair, thighs sticky and aching and his cum still clinging to your insides.

and he’d text you about it too, the perv. sweet, sappy little messages like “thinking about you. miss you already.” ollowed by something filthier, like “jus' wanna keep filling you up please?”

when you get home it’s worse. he’s all over you, nosing at your neck, whining about how much he missed you, how he’s been thinking about you all day. his hand sneaks under your skirt without so much as a greeting, his fingers gliding through the mess between your thighs like it belongs there — and he gets so fucking hard at how much of him’s still left inside you. it makes his breath hitch, his voice go tight when he mutters “you’re s' pretty, y’know that? s’perfect. s’fucking perfect.”

and you tease him about it, of course you do — tell him he’s a sick little perv, that you oughta make him clean you up with his tongue, and the way he whimpers at that, pupils blown wide, cock leaking against his stomach, it’s almost embarrassing. almost.

he loves the idea of it though — of you walking around with him still buried deep inside you. like it’s proof. like it makes you his in a way words or rings or promises never could. and he’ll ask too, between ragged breaths and sloppy kisses: “don’t want kids, know you don’t, but—fuck—could pretend, yeah? just for a sec, just for me?”

and you let him.

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yan-randomfandom · 2 days ago

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Heyyy! I was wondering if you could do yandere saja boys x reader where the reader hangs out with a guy and they get very jealous

Yandere!Saja Boys x GN!Reader

a/n; the day im satisfied with writing a yan!saja boys and/or yan!huntrix one shot is the day i'll retire because this is still lacking 💔

warnings; uncomfortable, stalking, possessive behavior, more spotlight on Abby! no Jinu here, sry!

— 🌇

That's weird.

You're not anywhere in your house. You haven't responded to their messages yet.

"Think they finally had enough of us?" Baby mutters, looking through your snack drawer—nothing of interest—before closing it harsher than intended. The loud bang echoes in the empty kitchen.

Abby narrows his eyes as he looks through the window. The sun is going to set soon. "That can't be right. Maybe they went to buy something."

"Without telling us?" Mystery growls, his fingers fidgeting together. Well, it's not like you need to tell them every action you'll do. He's not even sure himself why he's so irritated.

After all, they were already planning to take your soul after the whole thing is over. But now that he's thinking of it again, the idea doesn't feel so good anymore...

The front door suddenly squeals open. All of them turn, expecting you, but instead meet Romance's face.

"Don't look so disappointed," Romance scoffs with an eyebrow raise. "I found the human. Come on."

— 🫧

First, they felt relief, then anger, then sadness, then nothing.

They found you alone, as Romance said you were, but then you started laughing. Your gentle laughter stopped them from getting any closer. A smile curls on your lips as your eyes consistently follow something.

"What?" Romance mutters, confusion scrunching his face. They can't see well from this angle—but they can't move either without being seen.

"I told you it's slippery," you snicker, walking over and extending your hand. Ah. So you weren't alone. "Come on. I'll help you up, I guess."

"Thanks," a voice replies, matching your energy, causing all of the boys to glance at each other. They watch as a hand takes yours. "I guess."

The person gets up—a man. Not a demon, but a human. Standing too close to you and still holding your hand. Or maybe it was just a normal distance, and time felt like forever watching you touch that thing—but, oh, Gwi-Ma. They feel like boiling their human forms.

You finally let go of him, using your hand to fish your phone out of your pocket. A frown snakes across your lips after a while. "Oh, no."

"Oh no?" your friend asks, tilting his head. "Is something wrong?"

You begin chewing your bottom lip, looking around. "No, uh, not really. But I have to go now. Nice catching up with you, man!"

"Aw, really?" he says, glancing at his phone. "Oh. It is pretty late. Isn't your apartment like right over there? I can—"

"There you are!"

You and your friend turn your heads, both of your eyes widening for entirely different reasons.

Abby approaches you with a charming smile, settling an arm over your shoulders. He hums as he takes a good, innocent look at your companion. "Who's this?"

"Saja— Abs—Abby? From Saja Boys?! Uh, I mean— Hi! So nice to meet you!" An unexpected blush blooms over your friend's face. He glances at you with nervousness and fascination before bowing his head.

Your friend shows off a crooked grin. He's a big fan already; he told you moments ago how he had Soda Pop on loop. You huff and remove Abby's arm from your shoulder, barely able to hold your flinch at the way he looked offended.

You gaze at Abby in anticipation.

Abby immediately gets the hint and masks himself. "Oh, a fan! Thank you for your support!"

They took a picture, Abby did his autograph, all the while giving him fanservice with his abs. Your friend giggles cheerfully as they shake their hands goodbye. You didn't miss the way Abby wiped his hand on his shirt when your friend wasn't looking.

"Take care!" you call to him, waving a hand before turning to a blank-faced Abby.

He stares at you humorlessly.

You blink, avoiding his eyes. "Uh, hey. Sorry about... not replying. I ran out of—"

Abby chuckles, smiles like he wasn't just judging your entire being, and shakes his head. He returns to draping his arm around your shoulder protectively. "No need to explain. We're glad you're safe. Let's go home."

Your brows furrow as Abby guides your walk. We're? We?

It's an obvious thing that once a member is involved, all of them are. Just... where are the others? Abby is the only one here.

You stray your eyes, landing on a window.

In the dim reflection, three pairs of glowing, golden eyes point at you in the distance. Ah. There they are. Watching, waiting.

Ugh. You look away. Jinu's never this level of creepy. He's not present again, as always.

You don't notice Abby nodding his head curtly next to you.

— need .. need to include more horrors..... ngl I'm stuck between funny or horrific yan!saja boys ,,

— also if you're wondering why Jinu isn't here, I just prefer not to include him in general! yeah my bad, in my other fics he's just kinda hanging around

— why's it so hard for me to write yandere (says the yandere blog)

#yandere #x reader #yandere kpop demon hunters #yandere kpdh #yandere kpop demon hunters x reader #yandere saja boys x reader #yandere kpdh x reader #abby saja x reader

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kefiteria · 3 days ago

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Hi! May i order a cup of overblot boys x fem reader who’s obsessed with cheese? I just had the most cheesiest bread and Oh God it tastes like heaven!! Perhaps reader keeps a lot of stock of cheese especially cheese string for light snacks (open her bag and you’ll see at least five cheese string inside her plastic container because this is exactly what i did) ^___^ Perhaps you can add a scenario when one day reader ran out of cheese AND the market/cafeteria ran out of them as well—she’s upset and sad and didn’t want to talk to anybody and only reply to their questions with short amounts of words (girly just becomes an alpha sigma skibidi toilet) 🙏🏻 can you make it headcanon as well if you don’t mind? Or like their reaction to reader’s obsession with cheese. THANK UU and btw i love your writing!! Have a wonderful day aheaddd

String Cheese and Emotional Damage

pairing: Overblot Boys x Fem!Reader

summary: You're dangerously obsessed with cheese—especially cheese strings. The Overblot boys react to your dairy-fueled habits, from snacking mid-lecture to emotional meltdowns when the cheese runs out. Chaos, fluff, and lactose-fueled affection ensue🧀

a/n : Apologies for the late upload 😔 Thank you for loving my writing!! I appreciate it alot🩵 As I'm writing this, unfortunately, I am not living the dairy dream — I’m living the dairy delusion. I can’t afford cheese, so writing this fic was like describing heaven with only postcards. I had to research cheese like I was prepping for a dairy-themed final exam 🧀📖 This entire fic was powered by sheer imagination, unholy craving, and one blurry childhood memory of a fake cheese I once ate AHAHAHHAA! i also added a variety of cheese heree~

🃏Riddle Roseheart

When he first saw you pull out a snack-sized aged cheddar block mid-lecture and bite into it like an apple, he stopped in his tracks.

“Is that—what are you—are you eating cheddar in alchemy class??”

“Aged 18 months. Sharp, with nutty undertones. Pairs well with existential dread.”

He tries to ban all “non-approved dairy” during House study sessions. It backfires. You counter with a cheese tasting board labeled ‘Revolutionary Forms of Calcium.’

Riddle now begrudgingly lets you eat Grana Padano during meetings—only because your stress-chewing actually helps you concentrate.

Cheese Crisis Day:

You stop talking and currently sitting in a chair facing the wall like a haunted doll.

“Is she okay?” someone whispers.

“She hasn’t spoken since the cheese strings ran out.”

Riddle panics and raids Mostro Lounge for a wedge of manchego. He kneels dramatically.

“Please. Say something. I have imported Spanish sheep’s cheese.”

🦁 Leona Kingscholar

Thinks your obsession is weird until he tries a slice of your double cream brie on a warm croissant. He immediately stops judging.

You teach him the art of pulling cheese strings dramatically, like sword unsheathing. It becomes your bonding ritual.

Casually steals your smoked gouda during naptime. “This one’s got a nice campfire kick.” he admits, lying in your lap.

Cheese Crisis Day:

“They took… everything.” You’re curled up in the sandpit of the botanical garden, hoodie over your head, muttering like a war widow.

Leona raises a brow in pure confusion. “You’re acting like someone died.”

You glance up with eyes hollow. “They did. Her name was Mozzarella.”

He exhales slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose like dealing with a dramatic housecat.

Next thing you know, he’s gone for 40 minutes.

You’re still pouting under the tree when he returns, tossing a small wrapped parcel into your lap. Inside: buffalo mozzarella, fresh basil, and roasted tomato slices on warm grilled flatbread.

“I had to go to that overpriced café near the main gate for this.” he grumbles. “Paid actual madol. Be grateful.”

You gasp softly. “You… you bought me cheese?”

“Tch. Don’t make it weird.” He looks away, ears twitching only for those keen eyes to catch.

So you just take one bite and make a noise so happy he immediately shoves his hands in his pockets and pretends he can’t hear you.

🪙 Azul Ashengrotto

Sees your obsession and immediately tries to franchise it.

“A limited-edition ‘Seven Cheeses of the Coral Sea’ platter at Mostro Lounge, perhaps?”

You enthusiastically pitch in with names. Azul instantly regrets encouraging you.

Learns to identify cheese by scent just to keep up. “That’s Gruyère. Alpine. Melts with dignity.”

Tries to seduce you with a wheel of Comté, and it works. You called him “my dairy deity” once and he hasn’t recovered.

Cheese Crisis Day:

“I have no reason to swim forward.” You stare at the aquarium glass, unmoving in stillness like Mola Mola on the ocean surface...

Azul sends Floyd to hunt down contraband Taleggio from a merchant ship. Returns to you with a platter and a wine pairing suggestion.

“Come back to me, mon fromage perdu.”

🐍 Jamil Viper

Absolutely offended when you tried to sprinkle feta on his biryani.

“You do not cheese-spam centuries of cultural tradition.”

“But it’s tangy…”

Eventually accepts it—especially after you bake him spicy cheese-stuffed flatbread with paneer and harissa. He’s suspicious, but he eats five.

Starts lowkey enjoying sharp flavors like aged provolone, even though he insists, “It’s only because it pairs well with mint tea.”

Cheese Crisis Day:

“Everything I loved has melted away.” You sit in the kitchen pantry with a ladle and a thousand-yard stare.

“Okay, you need to calm down—”

He makes labneh from scratch with goat’s milk and herbs.

“...You made cheese for me?”

“Yes. And if you cry, I’ll revoke your cheese privileges.”

👑 Vil Schoenheit

Was mortified the first time he saw you gnawing on a Kraft cheese stick in the mirror hallway.

“Processed plastic. In public. With confidence?”

“Self-love comes in cheddar.”

Eventually starts guiding you through “refined” cheeses:

Boursin with rosemary for stress

Parmigiano-Reggiano slivers for skincare-approved calcium

And truffle goat cheese because “you deserve elegance, even in lactose.”

Begins preparing you little curated cheese boxes. You kiss his cheek after one and he nearly drops his Magicam ring light.

Cheese Crisis Day:

“No Brie. No more cheese strings. No life.” You show up to Pomefiore rehearsal in a hoodie and shades like a tragic celebrity.

Vil dramatically announces a cheese fund and hosts a “Fromage for the Soul” gala. You cry over a brie tartlet. (also extra cheese strings in the pantry)

👾Idia Shroud

Thinks your obsession is literally adorable and chaotic. “She’s like if a ratatouille girlbossed too close to the sun.”

Posts memes of you labeled: [Cheddar Gremlin at 2am]

(attached with no text, followed by)

“This is you.”

Gets emotionally attached to babybel minis because you like to “unwrap them dramatically like little dairy presents.”

Customizes your game avatars with cheese accessories. Creates a cheese-powered dating sim prototype featuring you and 37 different cheeses.

Cheese Crisis Day:

You go offline for 24 hours. Don’t log in. Don’t reply.

“Oh god. She’s reached maximum dairy despair.”

Idia codes a message into your favorite rhythm game that says:

“Please return. I made you an emotional support emmental.”

Sends a care package of 12 cheese plushies and one actual gruyère wedge via drone.

🐉 MALLEUS DRACONIA

Intrigued. “Cheese…string?”

You peel one in front of him. He gazes like it’s a celestial phenomenon.

Tells you tales of Briar Valley’s ancient cheeses—one supposedly made of moonlight and snow. You swoon.

Genuinely believes cheese is the sacred food of joy. Gifts you enchanted cheeses that sing lullabies or sparkle in the dark.

Cheese Crisis Day:

“Even Horntorn cannot save me now…” You lie in your bed and whispering to the ceiling dramatically.

A thunderclap. He appears with a mythical alpine cow that produces endless cheese.

“Her name is Araluen. You may milk her with reverence.”

“I knew you’d understand.” and yes, you did tear up in joy.

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letters-to-lgbt-kids · 3 days ago

Text

My dear lgbt+ kids,

Someone requested „unhinged life advice“ and I will try my best to provide some - but firstly, and at the risk of sounding like a buzzkill, I need to say something very annoying:

A lot of the things that’ll make you feel happier and make your life better are - frustratingly - very, very hinged. They’re just the things you expect them to be: try to eat at least some veggies, fruit and fiber. Try to drink enough water. Go to bed early enough to get eight hours of sleep. Try to move your body, for example by taking walks or exercising. Avoid alcoholic drinks (altogether if possible but at least in excess). Quit smoking. Try to do at least some things in your free time that are not just passive consumption of content and instead challenge your brain, like learning a language or doing puzzles or writing short stories. Try to have at least some pleasant social interactions, ideally even in person.

These pieces of advice aren’t fun. They also aren’t easy. I think we are so fascinated by the concept of „unhinged life advice“ because we are tired. We hope for something easier, for a magic quick fix, for a „this one little thing changed everything“ - while in reality building new habits needs patience and determination and time.

So, I think the best pieces of „unhinged life advice“ are the ones that help to build these habits! I’ll share some of them. I’ll also throw in some pieces of advice that are just unhinged in the sense of „weirdly specific“ (since that’s another possible interpretation).

Without further ado:

If putting chicken nuggets in a salad makes you actually eat a salad you otherwise would never eat, then chicken nuggets are a healthy choice.

If you struggle with eating fruit because the texture is so unpredictable, try frozen fruit (eaten straight out of the freezer). Frozen fruit has a predictable texture!

If frozen fruit hurts your tummy or you don’t like that texture, either, here are some more ideas: make smoothies, or purée fruit and mix it into yoghurt, or purée fruit and add it to tomato sauce (sounds weird but a little sweetness can work great in tomato sauce), or bake fruit into muffins (if you cut them up very finely or blend them into the dough, they are often barely noticeable)

Moving your body doesn’t have to look like exercise. Going on a walk (maybe to look for pretty stones on the sidewalks? or even just to get a coffee!) counts! Dancing to your favorite song (even alone in your room) counts too! Crawling on the floor like a dog (just for the silliness of it, which is also great for your brain) also counts!

Sleep rituals can help a lot and they don’t need to be fancy! Just do the same thing before you go to bed and over time your brain will associate it with getting sleepy and calm down once you do it. This could be something like making a cup of chamomile tea, listening to soft piano music, praying or meditating, writing down one thing you’re grateful for etc., but also something whimsy like saying good night to your favorite plushie!

A great way to get some steps in and also challenge your brain is to go to museums. If you feel like you are not the museum type because you don’t „get“ art, try this little trick: just don’t try to get it. Don’t focus on finding the meaning or find hidden symbolism for now. Instead, just try to find three things you like about the art piece. This doesn’t have to be anything smart or deep. It can be something like „I like the blue color the artist used“ or „I like how fluffy the clouds look“. This approach will help you relax and actually learn to appreciate the art… which is what you need to do in order to allow your brain to look for meanings

There’s probably at least one vegetable you think you hate but you really just hate the way your mom prepares them (no offense to your mom). It can be a fun challenge to revisit some foods you decided you hate as a kid and to see if that’s still true.

Allow yourself to be bored. „I need to look at two screens simultaneously at all times to avoid a thought from occurring“ is not as funny in real life as it sounds as a meme. Your brain needs to be bored sometimes. Your thoughts need to wander sometimes. If that’s hard, then start by just doing certain things more intentionally: do not watch YouTube while eating. Just eat. Do not scroll through TikTok while on the toilet. Just poop. Your brain will reward you for actually getting some time to sort through and process stuff. Even if it’s just while pooping.

Allow yourself to gameify those boring adult tasks if that works for you. Pretend to be on a cooking show while chopping onions. Sing a silly song about laundry while doing laundry. Beat your own record for speed-cleaning. Give those dishes a nice pool party in your sink.

Reading of all kinds still counts as reading. Yes, it can be a rewarding challenge to finally finish that bestselling novel that is totally outside of your genres or interests, or that classic piece of literature that everyone should know. But if it’s too overwhelming and kinda stops you from reading altogether, then just put it aside and read something that’s actually fun for now! It can be a graphic novel or a children’s book or fanfiction or Wikipedia articles, too.

Make lists. I may be biased because I love lists and make lists for everything (I even have a list categorizing all my lists…) but lists can be such a great tool! Any task becomes much more satisfying when you can cross it off a list.

When people say things like „someone should empty the dishwasher“ or „we should take out the trash today“, they often mean „I want you to empty the dishwasher“ or „I want you to take out the trash“. They’re not even being confusing on purpose or playing mind games, they just assume that wording it so indirectly is nicer and more polite.

If you safely can, then go to Pride events (and queer spaces in general) in small towns or rural areas! They’re often the ones who need support the most. And since they’re smaller, they can also be more accessible (in terms of less noise, less crowded etc.)

I don’t think this one is rooted in science but I’m a big fan of having little comfort items. Just little „emotional support trinkets“ or lucky charms you can carry with you and look at or fidget with when you get nervous. Of course it’s important to not fall into overconsumption with that (impulsively purchasing lots of items you then do not end up actually using or even just purchasing them for the thrill of purchasing), but, if done intentionally (only picking a limited number of items that you actually form an emotional attachment and assign personal meaning to), I believe it can be a simple way to boost happy feelings. It can also work well as your own little „secret“ Pride item! If you don’t feel safe or comfortable wearing rainbow accessories but want something to affirm your identity for yourself, it can be a great idea to assign your own meaning to something totally random. Good way to train your creativity too!

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

#lgbt #lgbt+

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sorensolsikke · 2 days ago

Text

i once had a dream where one day i woke up, and my name was euphrozina. and i was nine years old once again. and my clothes weren't familiar, and my school wasn't MY school, and my parents seemed a lot older.

i've spent (dream)days in confusion. did i just... dream that i was somebody else than euphrozina? where do my memories come from then? where is my life that i've grown used to??

soon enough, i figured it out: i, as i got to know myself previously, had died a decade ago, and my parents had euphrozina to get over their grief. she had a lot better upbringing than i did, and she was a rather happy child.

but right now, i am in her body, i can't leave her be, even if i wanted to. i don't know how to let go of her, or why have i returned from my death just to feel this enourmous grief and self-pity about losing my whole life. however, i figured that if i am here, i must have a purpose or something; so i decided to search up my friends from my previous life, as a start. i went straight up to them and told them that it's me, just reincarnated.

their reaction was confused, distant, terrified. i am not sure what else i was expecting. but one of them told me about a "psychic" that lives in a surrounding village who could maybe help me out; so i asked my mom to drive me there, and she did gave me a weird look, but i was euphrozina: mom gave everything she got left to her.

so there in the village we went. i told my story to the psychic witch, over some tea. she listened intently and then, suddenly, asked me if i liked snakes. i said i sure fucking like snakes.

she handed me two of them, entangled, trying to get free from eachother. they seemed to grow bigger in my hands. they also started talking to me. "Wrong path once again. Seems like you have never deserved a second chance." i can't remember more of their speech, and i can't find the paper i scribbled their words down on; but i am sure these were their last words to me.

then they bit me and i, notedly euphrozina, had died. i felt the cold jolt in my veins, i felt like i was falling and saw the vast blackness. and then i woke up, to the real life, as me and not euphrozina and had 6(six) existential crisises within a day.

anyways, i have DID

idk what traumatized or mentally ill person needs to hear this but dreams (especially the really disturbing ones you dont want to talk about to anybody) arent some deep peek into your psyche or a sign of your True Desires or whatever theyre quite literally your brain making fruit salad with whatever it can find on the shelf. just putting all that shit in a blender and hitting obliterate. its fine, youre fine, youre not a weirdo for it

#also #i often dream about giving birth #to a girl #sometimes i am me with an unwanted pregnancy but sometimes i am a distant woman with her own life #every time i wake up from that dream after labour #i search for my daughter (whom the doctors have taken away)#i usually need a few awaken hours to realize i DO NOT have a baby who i'd need to find in the house somewhere #and these dreams are full of pain and blood flowing out of me and the cruel white of the hospital lights

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wosospacegirl · 2 days ago

Note

why am I lowkey wanting a Leila yn oneshot. Like I know there’s an age gap and Leila doesn’t see yn that way…but also leila

Trigger warning: age gap, little dark and predatory (!!!!) behaviour, don't read it if it makes you uncomfortable.

Not sure how I feel about it, kinda guilty, but whatever.. I had fun writing this little concept. also, kudos if we turned this into a putellas!r

Leila glanced up at Y/n, a faint smirk on her lips. They were sharing a room.

There was some kind of mix-up that had happened when the staff was organising who was going to room up with whom. Not that Leila cared much.

The girl in front of her had recently turned twenty. She was young. She let her emotions drive her. She got nervous when she noticed she was being watched. She squeaked when she got embarrassed, like a little mouse.

Leila liked that.

It was her first senior call-up. She was only here because one of the defenders got injured two weeks ago, and the federation had to act fast, call someone up.

So why not Y/n? Barcelona's little star. Alexia's protégé. The U21 standout defender :)

Now, standing under the dim lights of their shared room, Leila wasn't sure it had been a good call. The kid (Leila had to bite back the word) looked like she might fall apart if someone so much as breathed too hard in her direction.,

Defenders were supposed to be the walls of the team. They were supposed to be unshakable. Tough. Right?

And yet, Leila knew Alexia would kill her if she let anything happen to the girl she talked so proudly of. Destroy Alexia's little golden girl? Nah...

All of that should have been enough to put an end to whatever weird thing Leila was feeling. But then Y/n looked at her again, like she was nervous, intimidated, and something else.

And suddenly, Leila wanted to kiss her right here, right now.

She wanted to turn that little scared face into something different.

But of course, Alexia couldn't know about it.

Leila would set the trap in front of Y/n, carefully, and if she was a good little rabbit…She would jump right in.

#woso x reader #woso fanfic #leila ouahabi #:D

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isabelckl · 1 day ago

Text

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 2

nerdy loser!ellie x popular mean fem!reader

bored in english, you reply to a girl named E you’ve been talking to on an anonymous gay dating app—without knowing it’s that lesbian nerd girl, ellie williams.

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 1

The hallway was loud in that late afternoon way—sneakers squeaking, lockers slamming, voices overlapping with end-of-day laughter and plans.

You slammed your locker shut a little too hard, and of course, because the universe hated you or just liked messing with you, half your shit tumbled straight onto the floor. Notebook, pen, lip gloss, a crumpled worksheet you didn’t even remember stuffing in there.

You sighed through your nose, already crouching — except someone beat you to it.

Ellie.

Hoodie half-zipped, guitar case strapped to her back, a mess of books pressed to her side like she was trying not to drop them too. She crouched down silently and started picking up your things like it wasn’t weird.

You stared at her.

She didn’t say anything. Just gather your stuff with careful fingers and then stand, holding it out.

“Here.”

You took it. Didn’t really look at her. “Thanks.”

You turned back to your locker to re-slam it shut properly and spin the lock. You glanced at her. She was still there. Looking at you. Kind of.

You raised your eyebrows. “What?”

She looked like she was about to say something—her mouth opened just slightly—but nothing came out. Her gaze flicked down, then back up. Whatever it was, she swallowed it.

Turning, she walked off fast, slipping into the crowd of students in the hall like she hadn’t just hesitated in front of you for too long.

You frowned after her.

Then, right on cue, your friends slid up beside you like sharks sensing blood in the water.

One of them leaned against your locker, twirling her keys. “Ew. Were you talking to that lesbo?”

You didn’t even blink. “No.”

You started walking before they could say anything else, bag swinging off one shoulder, the hallway stretching ahead.

“Are you coming to Tyler’s party or not?” another one of them shouted after you. “You said maybe!”

You rolled your eyes and didn’t answer. You didn’t want to go to another party. Not tonight. Not with them.

Not when — you pulled your phone out, thumb brushing over the screen — you had more interesting things to do.

Like talk to E.

Your room was quiet, save for the low hum of music from your speaker—some indie playlist you didn’t even recognize anymore. You were lying on your stomach, legs swinging idly behind you, chin resting in your hand.

Your phone sat right in front of you. Screen still lit.

I’M IN CLASS T_T

ur insane for this (i’ve been blessed)

how AM I supposed to FOCUS after this ???

You smiled.

One of those dumb little smiles that slipped out before you could stop it. The kind you’d hide if anyone else was around. But no one was. Just you. And her. And the heat still humming under your skin from earlier.

You were about to finally reply when the dots popped up again.

She was typing.

One message.

two. three, four—

care to reply?

i wanna ask something, can i?

what did you think when you sent that pic to me…

what are you thinking now? ?

BRO

don’t leave me hanging

You let out a short laugh, pressing your cheek to the back of your hand. She was spiraling. A little desperate. It was cute.

You waited a beat. Then started typing.

You:

what was i thinking?

nothing really.

just wanted to show it to you ;)

She didn’t respond right away. You watched the read receipt hover.

u always send stuff like that to ppl on here?

You paused. Fingers resting above the keyboard.

You:

what

ur the only one who gets to see that

Maybe it was too honest. But you didn’t unsend it.

This time, the three dots didn’t show up right away. You just stared at your screen. Waiting.

You grinned at the screen, still resting on your elbows, fingers hovering as you typed slow—on purpose.

You:

do u wanna see the other one?

You watched the “delivered” turn to “read” almost instantly.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Came back again.

what other one…

A pause.

U HAVE TWO NIPPLE PIERCINGS??

You snorted so hard it startled even you. You dropped your head into the crook of your arm, shoulders shaking as the messages kept coming in.

why would u say that to me

how could u drop that like it’s casual

i’m in distress

i’m literally sweating rn

oh my god do u actually??

You didn’t answer right away. You let her spin out.

You:

u okay over there?

Another pause.

no.

u can’t just hot girl drop that and then vanish.

not when i have a brain

and nerves

and a vivid imagination

this is cruelty. actual cruelty.

You were fully grinning now, cheeks warm against your arm, kicking your feet behind you like you weren’t being a menace on purpose.

You:

i’m just saying

you asked for weird

and i deliver

okay then what's your favorite color

i am just a fragile nerd go easy on me

You rolled onto your back, holding your phone over your face now. As much as you liked getting reactions out of her, there was something genuinely fun about it.

Like she made it easy to be just a little unhinged.

You:

pink :p

what is your favorite color?

The dots appeared instantly.

green :B

(but like the gross kind. forest green. sweater green. mossy swamp witch green)

You laughed under your breath, thumbs already moving.

You:

that is such a weirdly specific shade

u could’ve just said “green” like a normal person

normal is boring

u said so yourself

You paused, smiling a little.

You:

okay moss witch

what’s ur favorite movie

wtf

why is this suddenly 20 questions

r u trying to date me or smth

You rolled onto your side, tucking your pillow under your cheek as your smile stretched into something smug.

You:

idk

maybe

depends on ur answer

Three dots. Pause. Then—

spiderverse

but if you tell anyone i’ll lie

You:

that’s such a loser pick

i respect it tho

10/10 taste

good

i was worried ur opinion might ruin my whole night

You giggled softly, shutting your eyes for a second. It was late now—later than you realized. You rolled onto your side, phone cradled in your hand, the screen's soft glow painting your pillow in blue light. Music still hummed low in the background.

Your thumbs hovered before you typed, casual like always, even though your heart tugged just slightly.

You:

i feel like we'd get along in real life, if ever. don’t u think?

She read it quickly. Typing bubble appeared immediately, like she’d been waiting.

uh, well... u have a lot of friends

i mean

it's obvious

with what you’ve told me before

You blinked.

Friends?

Yeah, you had them. Too many, maybe. But somehow, the way she said it—it didn’t sound like a compliment.

Your brows pinched.

You:

does it really show?

yeah

you’re like the type of person everyone wants to be around

You:

not really. some people hate me

say i’m a bitch

which is true

There was only a one-second pause before her reply landed.

bitch is cool

i don’t mind u bitching me around

Your laugh broke out, a little too loud for how late it was. You buried your face in your arm to muffle it, shaking your head.

You:

what

what did u say

really huh

i mean

it’s u

Your fingers froze for a second. Your stomach did a weird flip.

You:

me??

u don’t even know me like that

There was a long pause—just long enough to make you think maybe she wasn't going to answer at all.

i know things

You scoffed quietly, rolling your eyes, but the grin tugging at your lips gave you away. It was stupid. She was stupid. But God, she was good at this.

You pulled your pillow closer, half-buried your face in it, then typed:

You:

sounds creepy when u say it like that

we’ve been talking for two weeks

i like… have a little voice of u in my head now

like a little devil

whispering shit i shouldn’t do

You blinked, smiling slowly. There was something shameless about that last part. Something that curled warm in your stomach. She didn’t even try to sound casual. She just… said it.

You:

what kind of shit?

👀

nope

not letting u turn this around on me

u already sent me to horny jail once today

You laughed into your pillow, your cheeks heating again even though you were totally alone.

You:

fine

but admit it

u like having me in ur head

maybe

depends

does the little devil voice wanna come over and ruin my life more

You bit your lip, heart doing that dumb lurch it always did when she got bold like this. And God, she was getting bolder.

You:

that depends too

how ruinable is ur life rn

hanging by a thread

try me

You closed your eyes for a second, just feeling your pulse, your grin, the way your legs kicked lazily behind you like you were thirteen again and falling in love with someone you hadn’t even seen.

You:

u flirting with me?

i’m letting the devil in

You stayed up talking to her until 3 a.m. It wasn’t even deep shit. It wasn’t I had a rough childhood or let me tell you about my dreams kind of talk. It was mostly stupid stuff. Like whether grilled cheese should be dipped in ketchup or soup. Which celebrities you’d punch if given the chance. What your weirdest recurring dream was. (Hers involved being chased by a swarm of bees through IKEA. You still weren’t over it.)

Somewhere around 2:17, your jaw started to ache from smiling so much. Not even joking. Like actual muscle fatigue. And yet you kept texting her. Kept laughing into your pillow like an idiot. Kept rereading her replies while the night blurred and softened around the glow of your screen.

By the time your alarm went off at 6:15, you were practically in mourning.

Now, here you were.

First period: Calculus. A.k.a. hell.

You were slumped in your seat, hoodie pulled over your head like armor, the room lit in that offensive fluorescent way that made everything feel worse. Your chin was cradled in your palm, elbow sliding ever so slightly with each nod of your head.

The teacher’s voice was doing that thing again—half English, half pure math. Something about integrals. Limits. Derivatives. You didn’t know. You weren’t listening. You were floating somewhere between consciousness and dreaming of accidentally sleeping.

Your eyelids fluttered.

So close. And warm.

“Miss Williams. Forty-five minutes late.”

The sharp voice sliced through your haze like a ruler to the knuckles.

You lifted your head just enough to blink toward the front of the room.

Ellie.

Hood up, headphones half-shoved into her backpack. She looked like she’d just walked out of a crime scene and into a math test.

The professor didn’t even let her sit down yet.

“Just because you’re good at calculus doesn’t mean the rules don’t apply to you,” she snapped, arms crossed. “It’s called structure. You should try it.”

Ellie didn’t look up. Just gave a low, mumbled “Sorry,” and slid into her seat like she was trying to disappear into it.

You watched her from behind your sleeve. Her hair was still messy. Hoodie sleeves too long. Her fingers drummed quietly against her notebook, eyes half-lidded but still pretending to care.

Your head started to dip again.

Just a little.

Almost resting.

“And you,” the teacher snapped suddenly, her voice slicing sideways now. “If you’re so tired you can’t keep your head up, maybe you should’ve just stayed home and slept.”

Your heart did a lazy flip as you blinked up, caught off guard.

She was talking to you.

Of course she was.

You straightened, barely. “Wasn’t sleeping.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered, turning back to the board like she hadn’t just publicly executed you. “Some of us actually care about your education.”

You resisted the very real urge to groan. Instead, you blinked slowly and stabbed her in the forehead with your eyes. In your head.

Can’t a girl be sleepy in peace?

What is this, the military?

You tugged your hoodie further over your eyes and sank back down.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. Just once—soft, stealthy, like it knew you were in the middle of being very publicly humiliated and wanted to offer comfort.

You pulled it out, just enough to see the screen under the desk.

good morning :>

how’s ur morning so far?

You stared at it for a second, lips twitching. You could still hear the teacher yammering on at the whiteboard, numbers flying across the screen like you were in A Beautiful Mind but with less genius and more exhaustion.

At least I get good morning texts like this.

Some people have coffee. I have this girl.

You ducked your head a little lower and typed back.

You:

hell

the teacher just publicly executed me

im texting u from the afterlife

Three dots popped up immediately.

LMAOO

i told u not to stay up

now ur a corpse

a hot corpse

You bit back a laugh, teeth sinking into your lip as you stared at the screen. Your cheeks warmed, because it was stupid—but it worked. She worked.

You:

i’m haunting this class

spreading sleepy bitch energy

ur next btw

oh i know

i got reaped by the attendance lady this morning

she called me “wasted potential”

i feel like a tragic poet

You:

u are

i bet ur writing limericks in ur notes

nah

drawing boobs on the back page

stay humble

You pressed your fist to your mouth, hiding the very real giggle that almost escaped.

From the front of the room, the teacher said something about derivatives again. You didn’t care. E was texting you about boobs at 9:03 a.m. and somehow it felt like a gift.

u look hot rn i bet

You blinked, then huffed quietly through your nose. You typed back.

You:

nope. i’m wearing a hoodie :( i look like a tired thumb

and? it suits u

You bit your lip, eyes flicking up toward the front of the classroom where your teacher was scribbling something on the whiteboard that may as well have been ancient code.

You:

i don’t wear hoodies at school

it’s illegal

i’m wearing a hoodie rn :)

You:

lmao that suits u

You settled back in your chair, hoodie still over your head like armor, as you typed again.

You:

i only wore it now bc i have bags under my eyes the size of my regrets

aw :[

last night worn u out huh

let me buy u something

what do u want

You squinted at your screen, half amused, half melting.

You:

wait fr

ur buying me coffee??

duh

i take care of the girl i ruin

You:

YEY

i want a croissant and like

a gallon of sugar

You grinned stupidly at your screen, letting your cheek fall against your hand again. You didn’t even know where she lived. For all you knew, she was across the country, or halfway across the world.

But the thought of her—wherever she was—thinking of you first thing in the morning?

That was enough.

done

now look dramatically out the window like ur waiting for me

You snorted, resisting the urge to do exactly that.

tag list:

@eclipcee8 @darkdanixoxo @chappellroankisser @senjukawaragitr @saverdelrey @appleofmyii @wzcoffeefloomo @fatbootymuncher @oneinameliann @ilahrawr @spiderx18 @vampirq @mioluvzsevika @ff4mi @ggutpunch @ellies-dinosaur @butchchase @bambiaches @velvetinkbym @rhian88

#ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x you #ellie x reader #ellie williams x fem reader #tlou fanfiction #lesbian #wlw #ellie wlw #nerd ellie #eventual smut #isabelckl

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ilovemarvel97 · 2 days ago

Text

Written in Our Souls - Part 13

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Y/N and Wanda’s bond is stronger than ever—but beneath the warmth of their intimacy, unsettling questions arise.

Word Count: 5,272

Warnings: fluff, a little smut, (18+), use of strap (enchanted)

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

A few days had passed since the mission, and Y/N had been basking in the kind of peace that only came from being wrapped up in Wanda—physically, emotionally, soul-deep. But even with the warmth of their bond grounding her, something kept tugging at her attention.

Vision.

Despite everything—despite the clarity of the bond between Wanda and her—Vision had been sneaking out of the compound more and more. Quiet departures in the early morning, late returns after sunset. Y/N had caught glimpses of him once or twice, and each time, something about him seemed… different. Off.

She made her way down to Tony’s lab, hoping for insight.

Tony was hunched over a half-built suit and a cup of coffee, talking softly to himself when she walked in.

“Hey,” Y/N greeted, hands in her pockets.

Tony gave her a once-over, not looking away from his project. “Well, well. Look who came up for air.”

Y/N smirked. “Funny. I was actually here to ask about Vision.”

That earned a pause. Tony blinked, then set down his tools with a sigh. “Ah. Him.”

“What’s going on?” Y/N asked. “I’ve seen him leaving. At weird hours. Something’s not right.”

Tony leaned back against the workbench, arms crossing. “You’re not imagining it. FRIDAY flagged a few anomalies in the compound logs—Vision's been leaving without logging his destination, and encrypting his activity. Not that he has to report to me, technically… but it’s weird.”

“Weird how?” Y/N asked, concern creeping into her voice.

Tony shrugged. “He’s precise. Predictable. But lately? He’s being careful. Too careful. Covering his tracks, locking access, even shutting down surveillance feeds in sections of the lab when he’s working.”

Y/N frowned. “Do you know what he’s working on?”

“No clue,” Tony said. “He always closes the screen or cuts the connection when anyone walks in. Happened twice this week.”

Y/N looked down for a moment, processing. “You think it’s about Wanda?”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “He hasn’t exactly been subtle about that obsession. But I can’t say for sure. He’s not talking. Just... off.”

Y/N nodded slowly, eyes distant.

Tony’s voice softened slightly. “I’ll keep an eye on it. Let me know if he says anything to you. Or if anything feels… wrong.”

Y/N nodded again. “Thanks, Tony.”

As she turned to leave, Tony added under his breath, “Weird behavior from a synthezoid usually means one of two things—an upgrade… or a problem.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

But the knot in her chest said she already knew which one it was.

---

Tony continue to monitor Vision’s behavior.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., where is Vision off to again?” he asked, sipping his coffee as he watched the surveillance feed.

“He has exited the compound through the east corridor,” the AI replied smoothly. “No scheduled mission or clearance filed.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at the screen as Vision walked with purpose across the perimeter and into the tree line, the same path he’d taken three times this week alone. Always around the same time. Always when no one was watching.

Or so he thought.

“Freakin’ sneaky toaster…” Tony muttered. “What the hell are you up to?”

He tapped a few keys, pulling up heat signatures and satellite imaging, watching Vision disappear into the woods again. No obvious rendezvous, no vehicles. Just… him, alone, disappearing deeper into some isolated location.

Tony leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “This is getting weirder by the day.”

With a sigh, he stood up and grabbed his tablet.

---

A Month Later

Gunfire echoed through the dim corridors of the Hydra base, lights flickering as red emergency alarms pulsed across the walls. The air reeked of gunpowder and scorched metal.

Y/N was a blur of motion.

She zipped between agents, disarming them before they could aim, dropping weapons to the floor with clatters that barely registered before she was already gone again. A round of bullets followed her—too slow. They hit empty wall as she reappeared behind the shooter and knocked him out cold with a swift elbow to the temple.

“Got eyes on the main server room,” Nat’s voice crackled over comms. “Cover me while I pull the drive.”

“Copy,” Y/N replied, turning toward the hallway where Nat had vanished.

More Hydra agents spilled into the corridor ahead, barking orders in German. Y/N dashed forward, skidding between them, her momentum sending two crashing into the wall as she swept their legs from under them. She ducked a stun baton, twisted, and delivered a lightning-quick jab to the agent’s solar plexus. He collapsed with a grunt.

“Wanda?” she called into the comms. “You good?”

“I’m surrounded,” Wanda’s voice came through, tight with strain. “Third corridor near the east wing—need backup now.”

Y/N's head snapped in that direction. "On my way, babe."

She shot forward in a blink, wind snapping around her as she dashed through the maze of halls. Along the way, she shoulder-checked a Hydra operative into a wall and vaulted over another, disarming him mid-air.

Sparks flew as she skidded to a stop near Wanda, who was holding her own—red magic lashing outward in brilliant waves. But more agents were closing in fast.

Y/N didn’t waste a second. “Heads down!” she shouted.

In a flurry of movement, she zoomed through the group, disarming, disabling, and knocking them flat in a matter of seconds. The last agent tried to run—Y/N appeared in front of him and sent him flying with a roundhouse kick before he could blink.

Wanda lowered her hands, panting, her red eyes glowing faintly.

Y/N grinned. “Miss me?”

Wanda smirked, stepping toward her. “Always.”

Behind them, another explosion shook the far wall. Nat’s voice came through again: “Got the data. Meet you at extraction in two.”

Y/N gave Wanda a quick wink before grabbing her hand. “C’mon, let’s finish this.”

---

The low hum of the Quinjet filled the cabin as they lifted off from the Hydra base, the engines steady beneath them. Y/N sat with her back against the cool metal wall, catching her breath, her suit smeared with soot and a cut above her eyebrow already beginning to close. Across from her, Wanda was watching her, arms crossed, eyes soft.

Nat was at the console, already decrypting the stolen files, while Clint piloted up front, focused but relaxed now that they were airborne.

“That was clean,” Clint called over his shoulder. “Almost too clean.”

“Speak for yourself,” Y/N muttered, wiping her forehead. “I think I ran enough to power this jet twice.”

Wanda chuckled softly and moved closer, settling beside Y/N. Her fingers gently found Y/N’s wrist and traced over her name, a quiet, grounding touch. “You didn’t hesitate when I called,” she said, voice low.

Y/N turned her head and smiled at her. “I’ll never hesitate for you.”

Nat looked up from the console with an amused eyebrow. “God, you two are worse than Barton and Laura.”

“I’m right here,” Clint said, though he didn’t sound annoyed. If anything, he was smiling.

Then, after a moment, he added, “Hey—before I forget. This weekend, it’s Nathaniel’s birthday. Laura already invited Nat, but I wanted to ask you two as well.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “Oh—really? You sure we wouldn’t be, you know… distracting?”

Clint chuckled. “Nah, Laura loves you both. And the kids are already obsessed with Wanda’s magic tricks and Y/N’s speed. You’re practically party entertainment at this point.”

Wanda grinned. “I’d love to come. It sounds wonderful.”

Y/N nodded. “Count us in. Wouldn’t miss it.”

Wanda leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder, and Y/N instinctively pulled her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her hair.

“So,” Nat said, tone suddenly sly, “how long until we have to start making excuses to give you two alone time again?”

“Don’t start,” Y/N groaned. “We’re just… making up for lost time.”

Clint laughed. “That what the kids are calling it now?”

Nat smirked but said nothing more, returning her attention to decrypting.

Y/N glanced down at her wrist as Wanda’s touch lingered there. The mark hummed faintly, alive with warmth and peace. She smiled to herself and closed her eyes for a moment, just soaking in the closeness.

Even with the low buzz of tech and the hum of the Quinjet, wrapped in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence, everything finally felt… right.

Home wasn’t a place anymore. It was a heartbeat against hers.

---

Back in the Compound

****

A few hours later, their room was dimly lit by the golden hue of late afternoon sunlight seeping through the curtains. The air was heavy with warmth and intimacy, filled with soft gasps and the creak of the mattress.

Wanda was straddling Y/N, her palms pressed against Y/N’s stomach for balance. Her movements were slow, intense, each roll of her hips deliberate, driven by the quiet desperation in their bond. The enchanted strap they’d come to cherish pulsed with magic and connection, bridging the space between their bodies in a way that felt impossibly real.

Y/N’s hands held her waist firmly, guiding her but letting her lead. Her eyes never left Wanda’s face—flushed, lips parted, brows furrowed in pleasure. She looked like a dream. No, more than that—like something sacred.

“Wanda…” Y/N whispered, voice rough with emotion, not just desire.

Wanda leaned down slightly, one hand sliding up to Y/N’s chest for support, their foreheads nearly touching. “I feel everything,” she murmured, breath hitching. “Every inch of you… it’s overwhelming.”

Y/N cupped her face, pulling her in for a kiss as their rhythm deepened. Magic sparkled faintly around them, soft red wisps dancing at the edge of their joined bodies—resonating with every thrust, every gasp, every heartbeat they shared.

They weren’t just touching—they were fused in soul, in love, in something far greater than either of them could put into words.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Wanda’s movements grew faster, more desperate, her fingers digging lightly into Y/N’s stomach as she rode out the rising wave inside her. The bond between them crackled like a live current—magic and love entwined, tangible in every breath, every shared heartbeat.

Their moans filled the room, raw and unfiltered. Y/N’s grip on Wanda’s waist tightened as she thrust up to meet each movement, breath ragged, lips parted.

“Wanda—” she groaned, voice trembling with the effort to hold back.

Wanda leaned forward, one hand cradling Y/N’s face as her forehead rested against hers. “Detka…I’m so close” she whimpers, eyes locked on hers. “Come with me.”

As Wanda cried out, her body trembling through the high, the sensation and their bond sent Y/N over the edge with her. A low moan tore from her throat as she released, the enchanted toy responding with a soft pulse, responding to Y/N climax. Wanda gasped again as she felt it—warmth filling her, real and undeniable—and her lips found Y/N’s in a kiss that was everything: hungry, tender, grateful.

Their bodies stilled, but their connection pulsed stronger than ever. Wanda stayed close, resting her forehead against Y/N’s, both of them breathing hard, tangled together in the soft afterglow.

****

“I’ll never get over this,” Wanda murmured.

Y/N smiled, brushing back a strand of hair from Wanda’s face. “Good. Because I’m never letting you go.”

Wanda lay on top of her, chest rising and falling against Y/N’s, still intimately connected. Her cheek rested against Y/N’s shoulder, the warmth between them steady and comforting. The room was quiet now, save for their slowing breaths and the occasional hum of their bond, soft and pulsing like a second heartbeat.

Y/N lazily trailed her fingers up and down Wanda’s spine. “You know, we really need to stop breaking the bedframes,” she said with a sleepy grin.

Wanda chuckled, her lips brushing against Y/N’s skin. “Maybe you should stop making me lose control, then.”

Y/N smirked. “That would mean denying you. And I’m just not that strong.”

Wanda hummed in satisfaction, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. “I like when you’re weak for me.”

“You’re dangerous when you know your power,” Y/N teased.

There was a quiet pause, filled only by the shared rhythm of their breath, before Wanda murmured, “What do you think Clint’s kid wants for their birthday?”

Y/N laughed, the sound low and full of affection. “You just rode me like a woman possessed and now we’re talking about birthday gifts?”

“I’m a multitasker,” Wanda replied smugly. “Also, I want them to like me.”

“They already do. You helped Lila with her math homework, remember? You’re basically her favorite Avenger now.”

Wanda smiled against her skin. “You think so?”

Y/N wrapped her arms around her, holding her tighter. “I know so!”

They lay there like that a little longer, basking in the quiet afterglow, their hearts calm, their souls at peace. Wanda was mid-sentence about birthday gifts when Y/N suddenly shifted, flipping them both over in one fluid motion.

Wanda let out a surprised laugh that turned into a soft gasp as Y/N settled between her thighs, still inside her, deeper now.

“My turn,” Y/N growled playfully, her eyes dark with renewed desire.

Wanda’s breath hitched, her legs instinctively wrapping around Y/N’s waist as a fresh wave of anticipation rushed through her. “Then take it,” she whispered, voice trembling with need.

Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. She rolled her hips forward, slow at first, drawing a moan from both of them, and then again—deeper, firmer. The room once more filled with the sounds of their love, their bond sparking like wildfire between every breath, every kiss, every movement.

And just like that, round two began—hungry, heated, and absolutely theirs.

---

The city buzzed around them with late afternoon life—horns honking, people laughing, the faint smell of roasted nuts from a nearby cart. Wanda’s fingers were laced with Y/N’s as they walked hand in hand down the sidewalk, both of them in sunglasses and low-key clothes. Still, they had a glow that made people look twice—two women in love, completely immersed in each other.

“Okay,” Wanda said, glancing at the small list she had open on her phone. “Clint said Nathaniel’s been obsessed with dinosaurs lately.”

“Dinosaurs?” Y/N grinned. “Then we’re getting the biggest, loudest, most annoying toy we can find. If it roars, stomps, and maybe breathes fake fire—perfect.”

Wanda laughed, leaning into her. “You really want to get uninvited next year?”

“Absolutely not. I just want Clint to suffer a little. He did make me babysit the gremlins during that mission debrief last month.”

They ducked into a bright toy store a moment later, the kind with spinning mobiles, bright shelves, and too much cheerful music playing in the background. Y/N made a beeline for a massive animatronic T-Rex while Wanda wandered through the science kits and puzzles, already thinking of what Laura might appreciate too.

Eventually, they met in the middle—Y/N triumphantly holding the roaring T-Rex box, and Wanda with a neatly wrapped educational kit about fossils.

“We get him both?” Y/N asked, already knowing the answer.

Wanda nodded with a smirk. “Chaos and balance. Very us.”

As they stepped back outside, bags in hand and the sun beginning to dip lower in the sky, Y/N pulled Wanda into her side and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“This is nice,” Y/N said softly.

Wanda tilted her head up and kissed her. “It is.”

They didn’t rush home. They strolled, stealing kisses at red lights, sharing a street pretzel, and laughing like no one was watching—just a couple in love, picking out dinosaur toys for a kid’s birthday and living a piece of the normal life they'd fought hard for.

---

The Birthday Weekend

The Barton farm was alive with energy—kids darting across the yard with superhero masks and foam swords, music drifting from the porch speakers, and the scent of grilled food in the air. A bright dinosaur-shaped bounce house roared intermittently, thanks to a little button Nathaniel couldn’t stop pressing.

“Why does that thing growl every five seconds?” Laura asked with a chuckle, joining Wanda and Nat under the shade of the big oak tree with drinks in hand.

“Because Y/N showed Nate how to do it,” Nat replied dryly, sipping from her cup. “She’s enabling him. Chaos recognizing chaos.”

Wanda laughed softly, but her attention remained fixed on Y/N. Across the yard, Y/N was dramatically pretending to be a captured villain, wrapped in streamers as Nathaniel and Cooper shouted about locking her up. She stumbled back with exaggerated groans, fell onto the grass with flair, and made the kids burst into delighted laughter.

“She’s good with them,” Laura said, watching the scene unfold with a fond smile.

“She is,” Wanda agreed, her voice quiet, full of something deeper. Her gaze never wavered from Y/N, who now had Nathaniel perched on her back like a tiny superhero riding into battle.

Laura noticed the way Wanda’s fingers brushed absently over the inside of her wrist, where Y/N’s name was marked—her soulmate. Y/N immediately raise her head with a smile she only gives to Wanda, feeling her own wrist tingle. And Wanda just smiles back.

“You two talk about the future yet? Marriage, kids?” Laura ask seeing their interaction.

Wanda flushed slightly but nodded. “We’ve started. Not everything, not yet. But we know what we want. And we want it with each other.”

“That’s the bond,” Laura said knowingly, lifting her own wrist and brushing her fingers over Clint’s name. “When it’s real, when it’s right, you don’t need everything figured out. You just know.”

Wanda glanced at her with a soft smile, then at Nat, who remained suspiciously quiet.

“She’s already yours,” Nat said teasingly, nudging her shoulder. “Even if you weren’t soulmates, the way she looks at you would give it away.”

Wanda’s gaze drifted back to Y/N just as she scooped Nathaniel up and spun him in a wide circle. The boy shrieked with glee, arms outstretched, completely trusting her. Wanda’s heart clenched, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded into the background. All she could see was Y/N—laughing, loving, alive.

“Being with her feels like breathing,” Wanda murmured. “Like I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until we found each other.”

Laura smiled warmly. “That’s how I felt with Clint. It’s soul-deep. Hard to explain, but impossible to ignore.”

“And now,” Nat added, “you two are in the honeymoon stage. Might be stuck in it for a while.”

“Forever sounds fine with me,” Wanda said without hesitation, a dreamy smile playing at her lips.

And as they stood together, watching Y/N collapse onto the grass with Nathaniel giggling in her lap, Wanda knew—with her whole heart and soul—that this was only the beginning of the future they would build. Together.

---

The Barton farmhouse quieted as the evening rolled in, soft laughter still echoing from the kitchen where Clint and Laura were cleaning up. The kids had finally crashed after hours of games, cake, and chaos. Nat had taken one of the smaller rooms, grateful for the quiet. Wanda and Y/N were shown to the guest room upstairs—cozy, with a big window overlooking the back pasture, and a bed that was just the right amount of creaky.

Wanda entered first, kicking off her shoes, her body still buzzing from the joy of the day. Y/N closed the door behind them, flipping the small lamp on. The warm yellow light painted the room in soft golds and browns.

“They really wore Nathaniel out,” Wanda said, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and letting it fall around her shoulders.

“They wore me out,” Y/N said with a playful groan as she stretched, cracking her back. “I think I pulled something when I was pretending to be a villain in the treehouse battle.”

Wanda turned, smiling. “You looked like you were having the time of your life.”

“I was. With you watching? Always.”

Y/N crossed the room, her arms circling Wanda’s waist, and she buried her face in the crook of her neck. Wanda wrapped her arms around her, holding her close, grounding herself in the warmth and scent of her soulmate.

“Today was perfect,” Wanda whispered. “I could do this with you forever.”

Y/N leaned back slightly to look into her eyes. “Then let’s.”

They shared a soft kiss—no rush, no fire, just intimacy and affection and the quiet promise of forever. When they broke apart, Y/N pulled her shirt over her head, and Wanda followed suit, both settling into bed under the thick quilt.

Wanda curled into Y/N’s side, fingers tracing over her chest, then down to her wrist, where her name was etched in elegant script. “It still feels like a dream,” she murmured. “That you’re mine.”

Y/N kissed her temple. “And you’re mine. For good.”

They lay in silence for a moment, listening to the distant hum of the house, the sound of crickets outside. Wanda sighed in contentment and nuzzled in closer.

“Let’s have this one day,” she said, eyes fluttering shut. “And all the days after.”

Y/N smiled, pulling her in tighter. “You got it, baby. Every one of them.”

And wrapped in each other’s arms, they drifted off—soulmates safe, together, and finally at peace.

---

The days rolled by in a quiet rhythm of love, missions, laughter, and stolen moments. Somewhere between early morning coffee kisses and late-night whispers under shared blankets, time slipped past like sand between fingers, and when they realize it was already six months since Wanda stopped rejecting.

“Six months,” she murmured aloud, her fingers brushing over the date circled in red. The day they finally stopped denying the bond. The day she chose Y/N fully, without fear or guilt.

She found Y/N in the training room, sweat glistening on her brow, cheeks flushed from sparring. Wanda just stood in the doorway for a second, watching her—her soulmate. Her partner in everything. The woman who had taught her that love didn’t have to hurt.

When Y/N caught her staring, she grinned. “Hey, babe. You okay?”

Wanda walked over, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s waist from behind and resting her cheek between her shoulder blades.

“Did you know it’s been almost six months?” she whispered.

Y/N paused, her hands settling on Wanda’s. “Really?” She turned around, smiling softly. “Feels like yesterday. Feels like forever.”

Wanda leaned up to kiss her. “It’s everything.”

They sat down on the edge of the mat, Y/N pulling Wanda into her lap as she ran her fingers through her hair. “We’ve been through a lot in less than a year,” she said quietly. “But I wouldn’t trade a second of it.”

“Even the messy ones?” Wanda teased, resting her forehead against Y/N’s.

“Especially the messy ones. That’s how I knew it was real.”

Wanda kissed her again—slow, reverent, full of everything words couldn’t say.

Y/N deepen the kiss making Wanda moan slightly into her mouth. And when they break the kiss Y/N murmur “Do you wanna go eat somewhere with me tonight?”

Wanda smiled against Y/N’s lips, her fingers still tangled in the hem of her shirt. “Hmm… is this a date?”

Y/N grinned, her nose brushing Wanda’s. “Of course it’s a date. You think I’d let six months go by without taking my girl out to celebrate properly?”

Wanda’s eyes lit up, the way they always did when Y/N called her that—my girl. She bit her bottom lip, nodding.

“I’d love that.”

Y/N leaned back just enough to catch her breath, her heart still pounding from the kiss—and the look Wanda gave her. “Alright, then. You shower, I’ll shower, and let’s get dressed up. Somewhere nice.”

Wanda raised a brow, teasing, “Nice as in candlelight and violins? Or nice as in greasy fries and milkshakes?”

Y/N pretended to think it over. “Hmm… maybe both. Fries first, violins after.”

Wanda laughed softly, the sound warming the air between them. “That’s why I love you.”

Y/N blinked, heart skipping a beat. Wanda had said it so casually, so confidently—but it landed like thunder in her chest. She smiled.

“Good,” she whispered, brushing a soft kiss to Wanda’s cheek. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m crazy about you.”

“Pretty sure?”

“Hopelessly.”

They kissed once more—gentle and full of promise—before Y/N stood and offered her hand.

“Come on, Maximoff. Let’s celebrate almost-six-months with something that isn’t leftover pizza.”

Wanda took her hand, rising to her feet. “Only if you let me wear the red dress you like.”

Y/N smirked. “Deal. But fair warning, I might not make it through dinner if you do.”

Wanda leaned in with a sly look. “Then we’ll just have dessert at home.”

---

The night started perfectly.

Wanda looked stunning in the red dress Y/N loved—elegant, effortless, and entirely captivating. Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off her, and Wanda couldn’t stop smiling at the way her soulmate kept sneaking glances like she was seeing her for the first time all over again.

They were seated at a cozy corner table, low candlelight flickering between them, the clinking of glasses and quiet hum of conversation creating an intimate backdrop. They held hands over the table, sipped wine, laughed at old mission stories, and toasted to ten months of love, chaos, and finding peace in each other.

But as the food arrived—plated beautifully, rich in aroma—Wanda’s expression changed.

Her smile faltered.

She blinked a few times, then pressed a hand lightly to her stomach. “Sorry, I—I don’t know what’s wrong. I suddenly feel…”

Her voice trailed off. She clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with panic.

“Wanda?” Y/N asked, concerned, already rising from her seat.

Wanda didn’t answer. She bolted from the table, heels clicking in a rush across the floor, and disappeared into the women’s restroom.

Y/N followed without hesitation, ignoring the startled looks from a couple of nearby diners. When she pushed through the restroom door, she found Wanda in the far stall, retching violently.

Y/N’s heart sank. She closed the stall door behind her and crouched beside her, holding her hair back and rubbing gentle circles on her back. “I’m here, baby. Just breathe. It’s okay.”

Wanda didn’t speak for a while, just coughed and heaved until her stomach was empty. When it was finally over, she sagged against the stall wall, panting and pale.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t know what happened. The smell hit me and then—just everything turned.”

“Shh, don’t apologize,” Y/N said, brushing strands of hair from her forehead. “You’re okay. We’ll get you home.”

Wanda nodded weakly, allowing Y/N to help her to her feet. She rinsed her mouth and splashed cold water on her face at the sink, still visibly shaken but grateful.

“I ruined our night,” she muttered, still not quite meeting Y/N’s eyes.

Y/N turned her gently by the shoulders and looked at her. “You didn’t ruin anything. You scared me, sure. But we’ll try dinner again some other time. Right now, I just want to get you somewhere comfy.”

Wanda managed a small smile as Y/N kissed her temple and wrapped an arm around her. She leaned into the touch, letting the familiar warmth of her soulmate steady the trembling in her limbs.

They exited the restaurant quietly, with Y/N flagging down a car rather than using her speed—Wanda looked too shaken to be swept off her feet like usual. The ride back to the compound was silent, but not uncomfortable. Wanda rested her head on Y/N’s shoulder, eyes closed, breathing slow. Y/N held her hand the whole way.

Once inside their room, Y/N helped her out of her dress, letting her change into one of her oversized T-shirts and a pair of soft shorts. Wanda moved slowly, still a little off balance, and Y/N noticed—really noticed—how pale she looked under the warm lighting.

“You want some water? Or tea?” Y/N offered, brushing Wanda’s hair back.

Wanda shook her head. “Just… lie with me?”

Y/N didn’t need to be asked twice. She climbed into bed and opened her arms, and Wanda curled into her side without hesitation. The bond between them pulsed softly, a gentle hum that grounded them both.

Y/N held her close, the steady beat of Wanda’s heart under her palm both a relief and a concern. She pressed a soft kiss to Wanda’s forehead and whispered, “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve never gotten sick like that before. Maybe it’s a bug? Or something you ate?”

Wanda didn’t answer right away. Her fingers toyed with the hem of Y/N’s shirt, a nervous habit, and her eyes stayed trained on some distant point on the ceiling. Finally, after a beat of silence, she said softly, “I’m fine.”

Y/N frowned, gently tilting Wanda’s chin so their eyes met. “Wands. That wasn’t nothing. You nearly collapsed in the restaurant.”

“I know,” Wanda said, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I didn’t want to ruin tonight.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Y/N said firmly. “But you’re scaring me, baby. Talk to me. If something’s wrong, I need to know.”

Wanda’s throat worked as she swallowed, and for a moment, it looked like she might say something more. But instead, she shook her head and snuggled in closer, burying her face in Y/N’s neck.

“I promise I’m okay,” she murmured. “I just needed to be with you. That’s all.”

Y/N didn’t push, not yet. She tightened her arms around her and let out a slow breath, choosing trust over worry—at least for now. But her mind wouldn’t stop spinning. Wanda was rarely this quiet when something was off. And that look in her eyes earlier—that wasn’t just discomfort.

It was fear.

Still, Wanda was resting now. Her breathing had slowed, evening out against Y/N’s chest. Y/N stroked her back in soft, repetitive motions, whispering small reassurances even as her gut twisted with unease.

She was lying. Not about being fine, but about something.

She just didn’t know what yet.

And that scared her more than anything.

Y/N held Wanda a little tighter, her hand resting gently on the back of her head. The rhythm of her fingers slowed against Wanda’s hair as a quiet thought surfaced—last time she got sick like this...

Her mind flicked back to a memory she’d tried not to dwell on too much. It had been months ago, back when everything was still tense and raw. Back when Wanda was still living in the other room. Back when she was still engaged to Vision, when he tried to be intimate with her…

Y/N sighed, her breath slow and heavy, and looked down at the love of her life resting in her arms. Wanda’s brow was still faintly creased in discomfort, lips parted as she breathed softly through her mouth, eyes shut but restless. She looked so vulnerable. So human.

Y/N wanted to ask. Wanted to say “Are you feeling like that again? Did something bring it back? Did Vision try to do something?”

But she didn’t.

Not tonight.

She brushed a kiss to Wanda’s forehead and whispered into her hair, “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about anything. Just rest, baby.”

Wanda let out a barely-there hum, nuzzling into her chest. But Y/N felt the tension still lingering in her spine, like her body hadn’t fully let go yet.

She rubbed soft circles into Wanda’s back and closed her eyes, trying to ground herself in the feel of Wanda in her arms. The bond between them was steady but quiet, like it too was waiting—watching—holding its breath.

Y/N swallowed the unease rising in her throat and tucked it deep down.

Let it pass, she told herself. Let her breathe. Let her feel safe.

Tomorrow, if Wanda was ready, they’d talk. But tonight… Y/N would simply hold her through the storm.

---

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