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better-setterv2 · 2 days ago

Note

Hiiii! Could you do please one where Lewis and reader are good friends though Lewis is crazy in love with her since the moment he met her but she has a boyfriend so he is just like yearning for her. Until she and her boyfriend broke up and Lewis is there for her, supporting her, being the good friend he is, helping her heal until eventually she inevitably falls in love with him too.

Thank you so much in advance for reading.

I wish you the best. Have a good day :)

𝒜𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒴𝑜𝓊

Authors Note: Hey guys! Another request finished. I apologise, I’m slowly getting through them as fast as I can, since I got 3 new assignments recently. Still have another 6 requests to go. Lots of love xx

Summary: Lewis has been in love with his best friend since they were young. Reader doesn’t realise until a break up in adulthood.

Warnings: slight swearing

Taglist: @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You met Lewis in your final year of secondary school.

You’d transferred halfway through the term - a mid-year shuffle after your parents’ divorce meant moving to a new town, new house, new everything. The school was bigger than your last, louder, the kind of place where everyone already had their people. And you were just floating. Walking the halls with your headphones in, sitting alone at lunch with your tray of untouched food and a book you’d already read twice. Pretending not to notice the stares, the whispered “who’s she?” that always seemed to follow new girls around.

You were used to hiding. The chaos at home had taught you how.

What you didn’t expect was that someone else was hiding too and that someone was Lewis Hamilton.

Even then, he had that spark. Teachers called it potential. Kids called it weird. He was fast not just on the track, but in the way his mind worked, the way he doodled car parts and corner lines in the margins of his maths book. Most of the time, he was quiet. But when he smiled really smiled you could feel the air shift.

Still, he wasn’t exactly popular.

Some of the boys resented him. For being different. For being focused. For being a different skin tone in a school that only ever paid lip service to diversity. You’d seen it in the way they snickered behind his back, the way they'd "joke" about the way he talked or call him names just under the teacher's radar. Not loud enough to get caught. Just loud enough to hurt.

One day, after a PE lesson, you saw him sitting alone behind the bleachers. His uniform was crumpled, his knees pulled up to his chest, and there was a bruise blooming on his cheekbone that hadn’t been there that morning.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just sat down beside him without a word, pulling your water bottle out of your bag and handing it over.

He looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he should trust it.

“You look like you hate this place almost as much as I do,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

You huffed a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Well, I haven’t exactly been given a reason to love it.”

That was the beginning.

From then on, he’d meet you by your locker before class. You started sitting next to him at lunch, not caring that some people looked confused by it. You shared music. Traded secrets. Snuck snacks into the library during free periods. He let you read his notebook full of racing dreams and engine sketches the one no one else was allowed to see. And you let him see the messier parts of you, the way your chest still ached when your mum didn’t call back, the nights you cried into your pillow wondering why everything in your life was temporary.

Somehow, with him, it stopped feeling like you were just surviving.

And for Lewis in a world that often tried to shrink him, to make him smaller, quieter you never asked him to be anything but himself.

He didn’t realise it at first. Not in any dramatic, falling-off-a-cliff kind of way. It was gradual like the way morning light fills a room without anyone noticing until it’s fully bright. One day, he was just your friend. And the next he wasn’t sure how to breathe right when you laughed too hard and leaned into his shoulder. Or why his hands always felt warmer after you touched them. Or why it suddenly mattered so much if someone else made you smile.

He never said anything. Not then.

You were still figuring yourself out and he was still trying to prove himself to the world. So, he tucked it away. Folded those feelings into the pages of his sketchbook and the spaces between texts that said, “You okay?” when he really meant, “I miss you.”

But the truth of it lived quietly in him. The way he always saved you the better half of his sandwich. The way he noticed when your voice dipped just slightly over the phone. The way he’d rather spend hours lying on your floor doing nothing than be anywhere else.

And even after school ended, even when life began tugging you both in opposite directions him into the world of fast cars and global fame, you into uni lectures and internships and early heartbreaks the thread between you never snapped.

But before all that - before all the Grand Prix’s and mechanics and podiums you remember the first time you ever went over to Lewis’s house.

It was a rainy Friday afternoon. He’d noticed the way you lingered at your locker, dreading the walk home. You hadn’t told him your mum had forgotten to pick you up again, or that you’d been surviving on cereal and vending machine snacks for the last three days. But Lewis always had a way of knowing things without you saying them.

“Come over,” he said simply, slinging his rucksack over his shoulder. “Dad’ll be cool with it. He always makes too much food anyway.”

You wanted to say no. To come up with an excuse, a lie, anything that would let you keep your walls up. But something in his eyes made it hard to retreat. So, you nodded and followed him.

The flat was small, lived-in, warm. Racing posters covered the walls, and the faint scent of motor oil clung to the air like a second skin. But it felt like home in a way yours hadn’t in a long time.

Anthony Hamilton opened the door and took one look at you drenched hoodie, tired eyes, polite smile and something in his face softened.

“This her?” he asked, glancing at Lewis.

Lewis nodded. “Yeah. This is her.”

Anthony gave a quiet little grunt of approval and stepped aside. “Well, come on in then. Hope you’re hungry.”

You’d never had someone’s father cook for you like that before. He made spaghetti and garlic bread from scratch, cracked jokes across the table, and never once made you feel like an inconvenience. When you offered to help wash up afterward, he just shook his head and said, “Nah, you’re a guest. But if you’re coming back next week, I’ll put you to work.”

And he meant it. Because you did come back. Again, and again.

Anthony always greeted you like family. Remembered your favourite snack. Asked about your exams. Called you “kid” or “trouble” and sometimes when he thought you weren’t listening - told Lewis he was lucky to have a friend like you.

Lewis didn’t argue. He just smiled, small and secret, and looked down at his plate so no one could see what he was thinking.

You didn’t realise it at the time, but that house became a kind of second home. Not perfect, but safe. A place where you weren’t just seen but looked after. A place where you were wanted.

And it all started with a bruise on Lewis’s cheek and a quiet moment behind the bleachers.

You saw each other. Really saw each other.

And Lewis? He never stopped.

Years passed. The world spun faster.

Lewis became Lewis Hamilton. A name not just whispered between classmates anymore but shouted by fans from grandstands around the world. He wasn’t just the boy who shared your revision snacks and knew all your little tells - he was a world champion. A headline. A global name carved into history.

You watched his name rise from the corner of your laptop screen, from the tiny telly in your university flat with its dodgy antenna and sagging couch cushions. He was there in the background of your life like a familiar song, in magazine covers at the supermarket checkout, in Instagram stories forwarded by old classmates with messages like, “Remember him?”

Of course you remembered.

You never forgot the boy with ink-stained fingers who used to dream out loud to you in the back row of English class, notebook filled with cars and quotes and wide-eyed ambition. You never forgot the way he listened, really listened like every word you said mattered more than the noise of the world around you.

You texted sometimes. Birthday messages. The occasional “Good luck this weekend” or “Saw you on TV — still doodling in margins?” He’d always reply sometimes within minutes, sometimes days later from the other side of the globe. A scratchy voice note from a hotel room in Tokyo. A blurry selfie at an airport gate captioned ‘Look familiar?’ His replies were always warm, always tinged with something that never quite dulled with time.

But life had swept you up too.

There was your degree - long nights in the library, surviving on caffeine and cramming. An internship that turned into your first job. Your first apartment a tiny, creaky flat with paper-thin walls and a shower that only worked when you held the handle just right. You learned how to be alone. How to make instant noodles taste like something resembling dinner. You had your share of flings, mistakes, and one heartbreak so sharp it hollowed you out for a while.

And somewhere along the way, when you weren’t looking, the years folded over each other like pages turning on their own.

Then one day, he was back.

It was off-season. A rare break in the relentless hum of engines and media. He texted out of the blue:

Lewis -

In town for a bit. You around?

You stared at the message longer than you meant to, rereading it with a pulse of warmth you hadn’t felt in a long time. You typed back “Of course. Same café?” before you could overthink it.

And just like that, it was as if nothing had changed. Like the years between you hadn’t stretched or blurred.

He was waiting at the corner table of the café you used to sneak off to after school, the one with mismatched chairs and chipped mugs, the scent of cinnamon and coffee thick in the air. He was wearing sunglasses despite the overcast skies, a hoodie pulled low trying to blend in, though he never really could.

But when he looked up and saw you, his face split into that grin. That same damn grin that used to undo you in quiet, stupid ways.

“I still owe you a sandwich,” he said, holding the door open like always. “And probably a hundred library snacks.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you stepped inside. “I think you’re a little behind, Hamilton. More like two hundred.”

He laughed too low and fond but there was something in his eyes now. Something quieter. Something tired. Something that flickered when you told him about your job, your flat, your recent travels. And then—

“Josh, my boyfriend,” you said, smiling as you stirred your tea. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it didn’t shift the ground beneath his feet.

Lewis didn’t flinch. Not visibly. But his fingers paused their slow tapping against the ceramic mug. Just for a second.

“Good guy?” he asked, voice soft.

You nodded, totally unaware. “Yeah. He’s great. Smart, steady. He makes me laugh. We’re thinking of moving in together next year, actually.”

And just like that, Lewis folded it all back in again.

The ache. The slow, quiet longing that had bloomed again the moment he saw you walk through that café door. The way you’d tilted your head at him and smiled like no time had passed it had unmoored him. For a moment, it had felt like something was beginning again.

He had been falling for you not with the reckless speed of youth, but with the slow, aching certainty of adulthood. The kind of falling that doesn’t feel like falling at all just coming home.

But he said nothing.

Instead, he asked about Josh. Nodded when you told him how you met. Chuckled when you shared some awkward first date story. He laughed in all the right places and nodded at all the wrong ones, because it was the only thing he could do. Pretend it didn’t crush him every time you casually used the word we.

Because he remembered the way you used to lean your head against his shoulder during revision breaks, the way you once cried into his hoodie over a boy who never deserved your tears. The way he used to think even back then — Maybe one day. And the way that day had never come.

He’d waited for the right moment once.

But life got loud, and time got away from him.

So, he backed off.

He was good at that slipping out of reach without causing a ripple. Letting you shine while he drifted just outside your orbit. He’d mastered that balance on the track, and now he practiced it with you letting his love for you live in the space between what could’ve been and what still was.

Still, he stayed.

The friend. The constant. The voice at the other end of the phone when your car battery died or when Josh forgot your anniversary and you didn’t want to make it a thing. He was the one who sent you memes at 2 a.m. when you couldn’t sleep. The one who always answered, even when the call came in the middle of a media day.

Because being near you even like this was better than being without you.

And maybe, deep down, a part of him still hoped. Not for now. Not even for soon. But for someday. Some quiet, unpromised someday when maybe the timing would finally be right.

Because the thread between you might’ve frayed with time, pulled taut with distance and different lives…

But it had never quite snapped.

Lewis started to notice it in the little things.

The way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes when you talked about Josh anymore. How you used to light up when saying his name, voice soft, full of something warm and certain. Now, it caught on your tongue, like you weren’t sure it belonged there anymore. The way you once laughed a short, sharp sound with no real humour behind it - when Lewis casually asked if the move-in plans were still happening.

He didn’t press. He never did. But he paid attention.

He always had, when it came to you.

You met for coffee now and then, like you used to. Familiar places, familiar drinks. Life was busier now with race schedules, deadlines, missed calls that turned into half-hearted apologies but somehow, your paths kept circling back to each other, like gravity was doing its quiet work behind the scenes.

You told him stories. You always had stories. But lately, they came with longer pauses. You’d drift mid-sentence, distracted by something unsaid. You talked about work, about weekend plans, about Josh but more often now, Lewis noticed the searching in your voice, like you were digging for something good to say and couldn’t quite find it. And when you couldn’t, you’d just smile a little too tightly and change the subject.

Then came the texts.

Late-night ones, mostly. Sometimes after races. Sometimes at the end of an ordinary Tuesday.

You up?

Can I vent for a sec?

Is it bad that I don’t feel excited anymore?

Lewis never asked what had happened. Never dug into what Josh had said or done that night. He just answered, every time. It didn’t matter if he was in another country or a hotel room between races. If you needed him, he was there.

When Josh started missing the important days your birthday dinner, your sister’s graduation, the quiet night in you’d planned for weeks Lewis watched you try to hold the pieces together. You always gave Josh the benefit of the doubt. “He’s just stressed.” “He said he’ll make it up to me.”

But your voice cracked more each time you said it.

And when you said, “He’s just busy,” Lewis heard what you didn’t say:

So am I. But I still show up.

The night it all broke, you didn’t call.

It was Luna, your girl best friend, who messaged him instead, her words stumbling in a rush of panic:

She found him with someone else. She’s not okay. Please can you go? I don’t think she wants me right now.

Lewis didn’t hesitate. He didn’t think about the early call time he had the next morning or the interview he’d probably miss. He just grabbed his keys, shoved on a hoodie, and drove.

When you opened the door, you didn’t speak.

Your eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, lashes still damp. Hair pulled up carelessly. A hoodie too big for you hung off your frame like armour, sleeves falling over your hands. For a beat, you just stood there, like you didn’t know what to say, like you barely recognised yourself.

Lewis didn’t need words. He just opened his arms.

And you folded into him like it was instinct.

He wrapped you up, warm and steady, your face pressed against his chest as the sobs came in waves softer than before, worn down by hours of crying, but still aching. His hand cradled the back of your head, fingertips weaving into your hair, grounding you. You clung to him like you’d been holding your breath all day and only just remembered how to exhale.

He didn’t ask for details. Didn’t say “I’m sorry” or “What happened?”

He just let you break.

He stayed that night.

Made you tea you didn’t drink. Sat beside you on the couch, a blanket draped gently over your shoulders even though you never asked for one. He took your phone when it buzzed Josh’s name lighting up the screen and silenced it with barely a glance. And when you finally fell asleep on the couch, still tear-streaked and trembling, he curled himself into the armchair, kept one eye open, just in case you needed him again.

You woke at three a.m., disoriented, heart pounding, and he was still there - his hoodie bunched around his neck, his head resting awkwardly against the cushion. He stirred the second you shifted. Met your tired gaze with a quiet, reassuring look and asked, “You okay?”

You weren’t. But somehow, knowing he was there made it easier to breathe.

And he didn’t leave.

Not the next day. Not the one after that.

He came over with takeaway from your favourite Thai place, the one Josh always said was “too far out of the way.” He brought pastries from that little café you used to love, and when you couldn’t eat more than a few bites, he didn’t say a word. He walked your route home from work just to be near, to make the air around you feel less heavy. Sometimes, you didn’t talk. Sometimes, he made you laugh with dumb paddock stories impersonations of other drivers, tales from press tours gone wrong.

And sometimes, when the grief caught up to you when you curled into yourself on the couch, shoulders shaking, pain bubbling up without warning Lewis would pull you close, rub slow circles on your back, and whisper soft nothings until the wave passed.

You never thanked him. Not out loud. Not directly.

He never asked you to.

You didn’t fall in love with him all at once.

It wasn’t some cinematic moment or grand realisation. It was slow. Gentle. It was the way he remembered how you liked your tea with one sugar, splash of milk, extra hot. It was the way he read your silences better than most people understood your words. The way he always kept a respectful distance, never pushing, never making you feel like you owed him anything for being there.

It was the morning he dropped off groceries unannounced because you hadn’t been eating. The evening, he fixed the leaky tap in your kitchen without saying a word about it. The day he showed up with flowers not because it was a special occasion but because he thought your flat deserved some colour again.

And then, it was the day you laughed.

Really laughed.

He had said something stupid a joke about his own hair routine, maybe, or a story about George accidentally texting a team group chat instead of his girlfriend. Whatever it was, it caught you off-guard, and the sound escaped before you could stop it. Bright. Unfiltered. Real.

You covered your mouth with your hand, blinking like you couldn’t believe it happened.

When you looked at Lewis, he was already watching you.

Not with pity. Not even with relief. Just that quiet warmth again. That look that told you he’d seen the worst of you and hadn’t flinched.

Something in your chest cracked open.

Not from grief this time. But from something warmer. Something that felt like light creeping into a room you hadn’t stepped into in ages.

And in that moment, it hit you not all at once, but suddenly and sharply, like clarity finally pulling into focus:

This man had been yours all along.

Not in the way Josh had tried to possess you loudly, carelessly, like a prize. But in the way Lewis had loved you in silence. Patiently. Unconditionally. Fully. Without asking for anything back.

He had waited.

Without ever asking you to wait too.

And maybe now finally it was time.

It started slowly, the falling.

You didn’t even notice it at first. Just little things that shifted without you meaning them to. Like how your eyes searched for him in a crowd, without even thinking. Or how your chest loosened just a little every time you saw his name light up your phone screen.

One evening, a few weeks after the breakup, you were sitting on your balcony with him two mugs of lukewarm tea between you, the sun dipping behind the city skyline like it, too, was exhaling. Lewis was telling you about a disastrous team dinner in Monaco, and you were laughing. Really laughing again.

And then he looked at you just looked, not like anything had changed and your heart did something traitorous. It stuttered. Dropped. Caught again.

You blamed the sunset. Or the tea. Or the way he said your name so gently.

But that moment stayed with you.

And so did the next one. And the next.

Like when he reached over to brush a piece of lint from your sleeve and your skin burned under the touch. Or the day he walked you home in the rain, his jacket held over both your heads, and you couldn’t stop staring at the way his lashes caught the water. Or the night you watched a movie together and you leaned into his side a little longer than you needed to and he didn’t move. He just let you stay.

It scared you.

Because for the first time in a long time, you felt something. And it wasn’t grief. It wasn’t the ache of losing something or someone. It was softer than that. Warmer. Like something was rebuilding inside you, brick by brick and it had his fingerprints all over it.

You told Luna one night, voice low, like it was something fragile.

“I think I’m falling for him.”

She didn’t even look surprised.

“You’ve always been his. You just didn’t see it before.”

You didn’t answer. But the words haunted you for days.

One night, you found yourself digging through an old photo album in your parents’ attic a dusty, battered one filled with pictures from secondary school. School trips. Award ceremonies. Blurry selfies from your first ever music festival.

And there he was.

In the background of almost every photo. Always close. Always watching you. Sometimes laughing at something you’d said. Sometimes looking like he was about to speak but didn’t. And then there was that one of you and Josh, smiling stiffly at some friend dinner and Lewis, just off to the side, his expression unreadable.

You stared at that one the longest.

And suddenly, it clicked.

Like a puzzle piece slotted into place after years of trying to force the wrong ones together. You remembered the way he’d waited outside your classroom when you forgot your jacket. The way he’d walked you to the bus stop every day, even though it made him late. The way he never once told you how he felt not because he didn’t care, but because he didn’t want to burden you with it.

He’s loved you since you were kids.

You felt like an idiot. A blind one. Because how could you not have seen it? How could you have missed the kind of love that patient? That selfless?

That real?

You didn’t know what to do with the realisation. It sat in your chest like a secret too big to carry, too dangerous to say aloud. So, you didn’t. Not right away.

But the next time you saw him, something had changed.

It was movie night again your third that week, an unspoken tradition that neither of you ever seemed to want to break. He was curled on the floor, back against the couch, and you were up on the cushions, your legs tucked beneath you.

And you couldn’t stop watching him.

Not in a subtle, sidelong-glance kind of way but openly. Boldly. Like you needed to memorise him. Every line of his face. The soft edge of his smile. The way he knew the movie word for word but still watched it like it was brand new, just because you liked it.

At some point, he turned to say something, and your eyes met mid-breath.

Silence.

Your heart thundered. His lips parted, just slightly, like he was going to say something, but then he didn’t. He just…watched you back.

Your fingers twitched.

You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe both of you. Maybe neither — maybe it was just something that had been waiting to happen for years, and finally, finally, the timing aligned.

Your hand slipped down beside his. Not touching. Just close.

He looked down.

Then back at you.

And then he reached slowly, like giving you time to pull away and let his fingers brush yours.

It wasn’t a kiss. Not yet.

But it was the spark.

You didn’t speak the rest of the movie. You didn’t move away, either.

When the credits rolled, you turned to him, your voice soft, trembling just a little.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

He didn’t pretend not to know what you meant.

He just looked down, let out a breath, and said,

“Because you were happy. And I didn’t want to be the reason you weren’t.”

Your throat tightened.

You reached for his hand again fully this time. Your palm against his. His thumb brushed over your knuckles like a whisper.

“I wasn’t,” you said. “Not really. I just didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like.”

His eyes met yours again, and something flickered there something deep, something vulnerable.

“Then let me show you.”

The words were so quiet, you almost missed them.

And that’s when you leaned in.

It wasn’t a rushed kiss. It wasn’t urgent or desperate. It was slow. Careful. Like the kind of thing that had waited too long to be careless. Your lips brushed his like a question. His answer was the way he tilted his head, deepened the kiss, his hand cradling your jaw like you were something breakable and holy all at once.

It was years of silence. Years of patience. Years of loving each other in the wrong timelines, finally collapsing into one moment where everything was right.

When you pulled back, he didn’t say anything.

He just smiled wide, real, full of every unspoken thing between you.

And you knew this was just the beginning.

You didn’t define it right away.

After the kiss that soft, silent thing that felt like coming home neither of you rushed to fill the space with labels or declarations. You stayed curled on the couch beside him, legs tangled beneath the throw blanket, your fingers still laced together. His thumb kept tracing gentle arcs over your knuckles like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch you like this now. Like if he let go, it might all disappear.

It wasn’t awkward.

It wasn’t loud.

It was just…different.

Softer. Heavier. A stillness that settled between you like shared breath. The world didn’t shift with a bang, but something unspoken clicked into place, quiet and sure like how you always knew you were meant to find your way back to him.

You still messaged the same way stupid memes, check-ins, late-night “did you eat?” texts but something about the timing changed. His replies came faster. Your words lingered longer before you hit send. And the silence between messages stretched not with absence, but with anticipation. A little thrill of “what are we now?” echoing quietly every time you looked at your screen.

The next time he came over, he didn’t knock.

He let himself in, as always, but this time when you turned the corner into the hallway, he kissed your cheek before saying anything. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he’d been doing it forever.

And maybe, in a way, he had just not out loud.

That night, when you curled up beside him again under your well-worn blanket, the space between you narrowed with ease. His arm draped over your shoulder with the same hesitance you'd seen in his eyes when he first took your hand the night before cautious, hopeful. He was giving you an out, if you wanted one.

Instead, you leaned in closer, resting your head against his collarbone.

Your voice came out like a secret. “Is this okay?”

He tilted his head down, met your eyes really looked.

“Yeah,” he said, warm and steady. “If you want it to be.”

And you did. God, you did.

You just didn’t know how to be in love with your best friend without fumbling the very thing you’d both spent years unknowingly building.

The first time you went out in public again not as just friends, but not quite a couple either was for lunch at that little café tucked behind the bookshop you both liked. You sat beside him instead of across. Close enough to feel the brush of his sleeve every time he lifted his coffee.

At one point, his hand found your knee under the table. Not deliberate. Not bold. Just... there. And your heart fluttered like a teenager with her first crush.

No one looked twice. But you did.

Every second.

He’d say something funny that dry, quiet kind of wit that had always made you laugh and you’d look at him with new eyes. Like, how did I miss this for so long? His lips curved, and you caught yourself watching his mouth, remembering what it had felt like against yours.

He noticed.

And he smiled like he couldn’t help it.

“Do you think this is weird?” you asked, peeling at the corner of your napkin.

Lewis shook his head gently, brushing his thumb across the back of your hand beneath the table. “No. But I think we’ve both been scared of it for a long time.”

You looked up, searching his face.

“Are you still scared?”

“A little,” he admitted. “But not of loving you.”

It didn’t escalate right away.

He never rushed. Never asked for more than you were ready to give. Just lingered a little longer when he touched you. A hand on your back when you passed each other in the hallway. A brush of his fingers down your arm as he handed you a cup of tea. A forehead pressed to yours in that quiet moment before goodbye.

He kissed you like it was a promise. Every time. Like it was sacred.

The first night he stayed over again after everything you shared your bed.

Fully clothed. Fully comfortable.

You lay with your head on his chest, legs tangled together beneath the covers, his hand gently resting against your spine like he was grounding you. His heartbeat was steady, strong beneath your ear.

“Is this real?” you whispered into the dark.

His voice was husky, drowsy. “Been real for me since we were kids.”

You tilted your head up, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

He caught the shift in your expression and kissed your forehead so gently it nearly broke you.

You didn’t say I love you yet.

But you felt it in every moment he reached for you when you woke up panicked from a dream, in the way he stayed quiet when you needed silence and spoke only when your shoulders relaxed enough to listen.

There were bumps.

You panicked one morning when Luna asked casually if you were back on the dating apps, and your mouth opened before your brain could catch up. You froze, unsure what to say, unsure if you could say anything yet. It wasn’t a secret. But it wasn’t public either. Not quite yours to explain without him.

Lewis noticed that night, when you sat a little further away on the couch. When you went quiet in the way that meant your mind was spinning too fast for your own good.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t push.

He just came by the next morning with your favourite coffee, still warm, and a gentle smile on his face.

“Still with me?” he asked quietly, holding out the cup.

You took it with both hands, eyes soft. “I just - I don’t want to ruin this.”

He leaned in, brushing his thumb across your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You won’t,” he murmured. “We’ve already been through the worst, haven’t we?”

Your breath hitched as you looked at him. All the versions of him you’d loved. The boy who sat beside you in class, the teenager who walked you home in the rain, the man who now held you like you were something precious.

You leaned forward and rested your forehead against his.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “And you stayed.”

“Always.”

The first time you told him you loved him; it wasn’t a grand gesture.

It was late. He’d just come back from a long race weekend a brutal one. You’d watched the whole thing on your laptop, biting your nails and yelling at the screen like he could hear you. When he finally walked through your door, tired and rumpled and so painfully familiar, you didn’t even think. You just moved.

You threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him in motor oil and cologne and something warm beneath it all.

“I love you,” you whispered into his collar.

He stilled.

Then slowly, his arms wrapped around your waist. Tighter. Closer.

He pulled back just enough to see your face, his eyes wide, like he wanted to make sure you meant it.

You did.

He smiled that small, private smile he’d only ever given to you and exhaled like he’d been holding it in for years.

“Finally,” he said. “I can say it back.”

And he did.

He said it again that night, between kisses that were slower than usual. Deeper. Kisses that said I missed you and thank you and I’ve been waiting for this for so long.

He said it the next morning, when he woke up to find you still wrapped around him, one hand curled beneath his t-shirt like you’d anchored yourself there in sleep.

He said it the morning after that, too.

And every day after, like it had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for a decade.

And now, he never had to hold it back again.

#lewis hamilton #lh44 #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #x reader #lh44 x reader #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton x you #lh44 imagine #lewis hamilton one shot #team lh44 #f1 one shot #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1

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sh4nksslvt · 2 days ago

Text

Paint Me You

You paint Katakuri for a joke—until the atmosphere gets way too intense to be funny.

katakuri x reader | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff ,sfw, shirtless, eye contact, ooc(?)

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ff cringe, and akward

word count: 1.1k

masterlist | ko-fi

You never meant for this to happen.

It started as a joke. A lighthearted, spur-of-the-moment thing. You were bored. He was sitting there—broad, silent, shirtless, sipping tea like it was the most normal thing in the world.

And you thought: what if I painted him?

Not seriously. Just as a gag. To tease him. Maybe draw a goofy mustache on him with some pastel. Post it on the wall like Katakuri the Destroyer of Donuts: In Repose.

But somehow, somewhere between the first few strokes and the halfway mark, it all shifted.

And now?

You were seated on the floor of his room, cross-legged with a brush in your hand and a growing flush on your cheeks. And Katakuri—tall, powerful, composed Katakuri—was lounging on the couch shirtless, arms spread over the backrest, abs catching the low afternoon light, letting you paint him.

Like a muse. Like some tragic Greek god. Except he wasn’t looking off into the distance.

He was looking right at you.

And you were very close to passing away.

It had started like this:

You peeked your head into his room. “Hey, you busy?”

Katakuri looked up from his tea, the tiny porcelain cup delicate in his massive hand. “Not particularly.”

You stepped in, holding a small canvas and a box of paints. “Perfect. Can I borrow your face?”

He blinked. “My... face?”

“I mean your whole upper body, really.”

A long pause. “What?”

You plopped the canvas down on the small table and grinned. “I’m painting you.”

Katakuri stared.

“I’ll be quick. Maybe. Sort of. Not really. But you love me, so you’ll sit there and let me, right?”

He sighed, but there was the faintest upward twitch in his lip. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m delightful,” you corrected, already setting up. “And this is happening.”

He didn’t argue.

Which, in hindsight, might’ve been where things started to go wrong.

“Turn your head a little—no, not like that. Less murdery.”

“This is my face.”

“Well, can you try making it less ‘I will destroy your bloodline’ and more ‘I’m daydreaming about soft clouds and pastries’?”

He made a low sound—something between a grunt and a chuckle—and adjusted his pose.

You dipped your brush in color and began again.

The first ten minutes were silly. You doodled shapes. Made comments about how absurdly symmetrical his abs were. He raised a brow at that one.

“Seriously, do you polish these?”

“No.”

“Are they waxed?”

“...No.”

“Are you sure? Because I can see my reflection in them.”

“You’re imagining it.”

“No, seriously, if I squint I can see myself judging you.”

His only response was a low exhale and a slight twitch of his lips.

You were proud. A Katakuri almost-smile was rarer than sea kings doing ballet.

But the longer you painted, the quieter it got.

The air shifted. Thickened.

You looked up from your canvas.

And he was watching you.

Not impatiently. Not blankly. But intently. Eyes heavy-lidded, focused, like he was studying you.

Like the roles had reversed and you were the canvas now.

You swallowed. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said quietly. “You look serious.”

“I’m concentrating.”

“I can tell.”

You cleared your throat, trying to focus back on the lines you were shaping—his shoulder curve, the dip of his collarbone, the slope of his neck.

Your hand slowed. The brush danced softer. The heat crept higher up your neck.

You could feel his gaze.

He hadn’t stopped.

“What?” you snapped again, flustered.

“You’re blushing,” he said evenly.

“You’re shirtless!”

He tilted his head. “You’ve seen me shirtless before.”

“Yeah, but now I’m painting your very detailed pectorals while you’re looking at me like that!”

He raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Like I’m a goddamn dessert.”

There was a pause.

“You are my dessert,” he said.

Your brush slipped. “Excuse me?”

He smirked.

Oh, this was dangerous territory.

“Katakuri,” you warned. “I will abandon this painting right now.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

He leaned forward slightly, muscles flexing in a very not-helpful way. “You’ve barely finished my chest. What a shame if it went unappreciated.”

You stared, slack-jawed. “You’re—who are you?! What happened to brooding silent type?!”

He looked amused. “You’ve had an effect on me.”

“That sounds like your way of blaming me for your current flirt levels.”

“It is.”

“Rude.”

“Accurate.”

You pointed your brush at him. “If you keep talking, I’m painting hearts around your nipples.”

“I wouldn’t stop you.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m not.”

You were seconds from combusting.

The silence that followed was thicker than before. You tried to return to the canvas, but your focus was wrecked. Your hand trembled. You dipped your brush in the wrong color twice. At one point, you forgot what body part you were painting.

Meanwhile, Katakuri just watched you. Silent. Sharp-eyed. Intense.

You knew this man fought entire fleets without blinking.

But somehow, the way he looked at you—calm, sure, fond—was infinitely more disarming.

You finally set the brush down with a groan. “Okay, I give up.”

His brow lifted. “You’re done?”

“I can’t focus with you sitting there being so... so you.”

He stood, walking over slowly. Each step thudding in your chest.

You looked up at him, flustered.

He was so close now. Towering over you, damp hair falling into his eyes, towel draped over his shoulder like a casual afterthought.

He glanced down at the painting.

Then back at you.

“Well?” you asked nervously. “Do I get points for accuracy?”

He crouched beside you, face level now. His voice was low. “You made me look... softer.”

You shrugged. “I paint what I see.”

He was quiet for a beat.

Then, gently: “Is that how you see me?”

You turned to meet his eyes.

“I mean, yeah,” you said. “I know you're terrifying in battle, and everyone’s scared of you, but... I’ve seen you make little donuts shaped like puppies. You saved me when I fell overboard without blinking. You wait to drink your tea until it’s exactly the right temperature. You’re kind. And weird. And funny, even though you pretend not to be. So yeah. That’s what I see.”

He stared at you for a long moment.

Then, very softly, he said, “I see you too.”

Your breath caught.

He reached out, brushing a spot of paint from your cheek with his thumb. His hand lingered.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t aggressive. Wasn’t demanding.

Just warm.

And slow.

Like he was memorizing you.

When he finally pulled back, you were stunned silent.

“…Wow,” you whispered.

Katakuri gave a rare, small smile. “You’re still blushing.”

“You kissed me while shirtless. I’m allowed.”

“I could put the towel back on.”

“Don’t you dare.”

You ended up finishing the painting the next day.

With Katakuri still shirtless.

And still watching you like you hung the moon.

You added a small heart in the corner of the canvas when he wasn’t looking.

Just for you.

And maybe, just maybe...

For your muse.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #idk man #idk what im doing #fluff #op katakuri #charlotte katakuri #katakuri one piece #katakuri x reader #katakuri

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soluversworld · 3 days ago

Note

www.tumblr.com/veriitasu/782470448966434816/14-dwy-doodle-dump-time--yippiee?source=share, can you make any scenarios from one of these arts?

SWEET MOMENTS WITH YOU! - REDACTED X G.N READER

Genre: Fluff

Summary: — Just the doodles from the artist @veriitasu THEY DREW REDACTED SO CUTEY! AND I LOVE THEIR OC THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!! AHHHHHH, ALSO MY FRIEND ASKED AND THEY DID GIVE PREMISSION SO HERE WE ARE!

I decided to do them as series of cute moments! ^^! I know anon said any one but I say why not some!

Link to the doodle post - Link

( Reader is a g.n!)

Content Warning : Nsfw jokes so </3

Did not proof read/Rushed.

1. THEIR HUG

You were folding laundry by the window, soft light spilling across the bed when you felt it—those familiar arms slipping around your waist, slow and silent, like he was scared of being too loud for the moment. His body pressed to your back, chest warm, their chin resting gently on your shoulder.

You stilled, holding the last shirt in your hands, breath catching just slightly.

“...Hey,” you murmured, looking down at their hands as they stayed clasped around you. “You okay?”

No answer at first. Just his quiet breathing, the weight of him settling into your spine. REDACTED didn’t always have a reason. Sometimes he just needed to touch, to hold, to bury himself in the shape of you when his thoughts got too loud.

You let the silence stretch. Let him have it. Let him take his time.

After a while, you leaned back into them, giving them your weight, grounding him. He made a sound—something quiet and sweet in his throat—and tightened his hold. His face tucked into the curve of your neck, his breath fanning across your skin like a prayer.

“You don’t gotta talk,” you whispered, resting your hand over his. “Just stay.”

He stayed.

You both stood there for a while—bodies swaying a little in the soft light, the room quiet except for the hum of outside life. He didn’t say anything, but you could feel how badly he needed this, how tightly he was holding everything in just to keep still. Sometimes his love wasn’t loud. It was desperate in the softest way.

Eventually, you turned in his arms.

His hair was messy, pulled into that loose ponytail you’d tied earlier. Black with hints of pink still fading. His eyes met yours, heavy-lidded but calm now. Less tension in his jaw. He looked a little startled when you touched his cheek—just a thumb along the bone, gentle and fond.

“You always sneak up on me like this?” you asked, smiling.

REDACTED huffed, lazy and amused. “S’not sneakin’ if I live here.”

You leaned forward and kissed his lips. He let out a small sound—surprised, but grateful. His hands moved from your waist to your back, then up to your neck, holding you like you were something soft he didn’t know how to keep, but wanted to learn.

He kissed you again, this time slower. Mouth warm, tongue just barely teasing the edge of your lips before he pulled back.

You whispered against him, “You deserve to be loved.”

His breath caught.

“Even when you're quiet,” you continued, “even when you don’t know why you feel the way you do. Even when you’re bratty or weird or scared. I want you to know—every version of you is still yours. And still mine.”

His eyes shimmered slightly. Not teary. Just full.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, voice low and almost broken with affection. “Y’really are an angel, huh.”

You nuzzled your nose against his. "Nah, you're a angel.”

His smile was slow, sleepy, full of something that looked like awe. Like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

“I used to think,” he murmured, “that love was somethin’ I had to earn. Like… like I had to perform to keep it. Be someone better. Sharper. Cleaner. Less me.”

You traced your fingers through his hair, nodding. “....”

He looked down. “After now But you—Angel, you never asked me to be anyone but myself. Even when I didn’t like myself. Even when I tried to hide behind Ren or Haruko or whoever the fuck else.”

You leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “....I liked the persona, I really did...But that’s because I didn’t fall in love with a persona. I fell in love with you.”

He didn’t speak. Just held you tighter. You felt the way his fingers trembled slightly at your back, like this moment was too big to hold.

“Hey,” you whispered, tilting his chin up. “Look at me.”

He did.

“I love you,” you said, soft and fierce and steady. “You’re safe. You’re wanted. You’re not alone anymore.”

He broke then. Not into sobs or tears, but into relief. A full-body exhale as he rested his forehead against yours, breathing in the comfort of your presence like it was the only oxygen left in the world.

“D’you ever get tired of lovin’ me?” he whispered.

“Never.”

“You sure? I’m a handful.”

You laughed, brushing your nose against his. “You’re my handful.”

He grinned, lazy and crooked and so stupidly beautiful it made your chest ache. “You’re stuck with me, y’know.”

“I want to be.”

“Might cling to you like a fuckin’ burr.”

“Do it. I’ll hold you tighter.”

“Might never let go.”

“Good.”

REDACTED looked at you like you just handed him the moon. And in a way, maybe you had.

“You’re so good to me,” he said quietly. “Dunno what I did to deserve you.”

“You woke up,” you whispered. “You stayed. You chose to try. That’s all I ever needed.”

He leaned in again, this time burying his face in your neck and sighing so deeply it vibrated in your chest.

You stood like that again, swaying slowly in each other’s arms, like a slow dance with no music. Just breath, heartbeat, warmth.

He deserved this. All of it.

And he knew—finally, maybe—that he didn’t have to earn love. He already had it.

2. JUST WOKE UP - BATHING (WASHING THEM UP!) <3

Morning Light gonna touch you bro.

The sun spilled through the curtains in slow, golden ribbons, casting a warm glow over the tangled sheets and your still-sleeping mess of a man.

REDACTED was on their stomach, one arm flopped off the edge of the bed, the other curled beneath his head. Their hair was loose and soft, ink-black strands tangled over their cheek, lips parted, breath slow and deep. He looked peaceful here. Vulnerable in a way he rarely let himself be when awake.

You slipped under the covers and curled beside them, heart clenching at the little sound he made—half sigh, half hum.

“Good morning, REDACTED…” you whispered into their hair, wrapping your arms around his waist.

He stirred, brow twitching, but didn’t open his eyes.

He was really a "My lil baby boy"

You kissed his shoulder. “C’mon, pretty guy. Sun’s up.”

Still nothing.

Then, slowly, so slowly, he groaned and rolled toward you, throwing an arm over your body and burying his face in your neck with a muffled grunt.

“Don’t wanna,” he mumbled, voice thick and lazy with sleep. “Lemme stay here. Jus’ like this... S’warm…”

You giggled, cupping his cheek as he nuzzled closer. “You big clingy thing. We gotta get up.”

“M’not clingy. Jus’ love you,” he slurred, still half-asleep. “Like... so much it’s stupid. G’night.”

“It’s morning, sweetheart.”

“Mornin’. Night. Same thing.”

You kissed his forehead, soft and lingering. He sighed. You kissed his lips. He kissed back, barely awake, a lazy mess of warmth and affection and soft sounds.

Eventually, with coaxing, promises, and another kiss, you dragged them to the bathroom. He moved like a sleepwalking puppy—head down, steps slow, eyes barely open. You turned on the shower, and he stood there blinking blearily, like it hadn’t occurred to him that he was even awake.

“Arms up,” you said gently.

He obeyed. No words. Just sleepy, automatic movement.

You undressed them slowly, lovingly, planting kisses on his shoulders and collarbone as you went. He shivered when your hands brushed their skin but didn’t resist—just let out a sigh and leaned into you like he couldn’t hold himself up on his own.

The water was warm as you guided them under it, your arms wrapped around his waist. He slouched against you with a soft, content noise, head lolling to rest against yours.

You grabbed the shampoo, lathered it between your fingers, and gently started washing his hair.

That’s when he made a little noise. The kind you’d only heard when he was really content.

“Angel…” he murmured. “That’s nice... Dun stop.”

“I won’t. You deserve this,” you whispered, working the suds through his hair, massaging his scalp gently. “You listen so well. So good for me.”

He made another little hum, eyes still shut, lips barely curled into a smile.

“Y’like takin’ care of me, huh…” he drawled, still too sleepy to be smug. “Spoilin’ me like this.”

You leaned in and kissed them again—on the tip of their nose, then their cheek, then their lips.

He kissed back, finally opening his eyes. They were soft and heavy-lidded, a little dazed, but all for you.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi,” he echoed, voice hoarse and low. “M’so lucky.”

“No,” you said, kissing him again. “I am.”

The warm water ran in steady streams as you gently worked your fingers through REDACTED’s hair, massaging in soft circles at their scalp. He let out a sigh—low, relaxed, completely at peace.

“Y’real good at that…” he mumbled, voice syrup-thick with sleep. “Y’can keep doin’ that forever, Angel.”

You smiled. “Forever’s a long time.”

“Don’ care. S’worth it.”

You leaned in, kissing the curve of his jaw. “You always this obedient when you're half-asleep?”

He huffed a lazy laugh. “Only for you.”

Rinsing out the suds, you ran your fingers through the long black strands, the pink tips still faint and grown-out near the ends—a reminder of how far he’d come, how long you’d loved them. You cupped water in your hands and gently poured it over his head, careful not to get it in his eyes.

“Mmph… pretty sure this qualifies as heaven…” he slurred.

When you finished, you kissed his forehead and whispered, “Let’s get you out, sleepyhead.”

He stepped out of the shower like a limp cat—blinking, dripping, completely pliant.

You wrapped a big fluffy towel around him, pressing it close to his chest and rubbing his back. “There we go. Warm now?”

“Mmhmm. Don’t stop…” He rested his head on your shoulder, towel clutched like a blanket, hair sticking to his face.

You dried them off like he was something precious and fragile, brushing the towel through his damp hair and rubbing gently at his arms, chest, thighs. He just stood there, barely swaying, letting you do it all.

“You’re so spoiled,” you murmured fondly.

He blinked slowly, then smirked in that sleepy way that made your heart squeeze. “Ain’t my fault you love me too much.”

You booped his nose. “Guilty.”

Tossing the damp towel in the bin, you guided him to sit on the edge of the bed, grabbing a pair of soft black boxers and a matching oversized shirt from the drawer.

He did wear the boxers himself, and sat like a baby bear again.

“Arms up.”

He obeyed with a slow, floppy motion, eyes half-lidded.

He let out a soft noise at that, cheeks flushed from your praise.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, flopping back dramatically. “Y’gon’ kill me with all this sweetness…”

You straddled his waist, leaned over, and kissed his cheeks. “Better get used to it.”

You combed your fingers through his hair, pulling it gently into a loose ponytail, then tucked the soft strands behind his ears. His face was still dazed, warm, and flushed, eyes fixed on you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

And you were.

He sighed, tilting his head into your touch like a puppy.

“Y’really gonna keep doin’ this every mornin’, huh…”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. “Because you deserve to feel loved like this. Every damn day.”

He smiled slowly, the kind that reached his eyes. “You win. M’yours. Totally. Completely. Forever.”

You leaned down and kissed him again, and he kissed back like he meant every word.

3. YOU WENT TO STORE, HE BECAME A MESS.

"I'm just going to the store real quick," you say, ruffling their messy hair as you pass by the bed. "I'll be back soon, Redacted!"

He groans softly, face buried half into the pillow, giving you one of those lazy, heavy-lidded stares that always melts your heart. The comforter’s barely hanging onto his hips, ponytail lopsided from sleep, shoulders bare and warm from your shared body heat. He blinks slow, like a cat disturbed too early.

“…Dun wanna be here if you’re not,” he mumbles, voice thick and scratchy with sleep. “Lemme come with.”

“It’s literally down the street,” you laugh, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “You’ll survive twenty minutes without me.”

He gives you a dramatic little sigh and rolls over onto his back, clearly offended but too drowsy to argue. His arm flops over his eyes, but not before you catch the reluctant pout twitching at the corner of his mouth.

You kiss him again—this time on the tip of his nose—and whisper, “Stay warm, clingbug. I’ll bring snacks.”

The door clicks shut behind you.

For a moment, the apartment is still. REDACTED stays flopped on the bed, silent, staring up at the ceiling like he’s just been left behind in a war zone. The silence starts to crawl into him.

“…Fuck this,” he mutters.

He stumbles out of bed after a long pause, dragging the blanket you’d been using with you. Not his. Yours. The one that still smells like your shampoo and the soft detergent you insist on using. He wraps it around himself like he’s a damn burrito—arms tucked in, head peeking out, the whole thing trailing behind him like a royal cape.

He waddles into the living room.

“…M’dyin’,” he grumbles to no one, plopping down onto the couch.

The blanket swallows him whole. All that’s visible is a single eye, his nose, and the mess of black-and-pink hair spilling out like he’s a sad anime villain. He curls in tighter.

“Angel left me. Said they’d bring snacks. But what if they get distracted by shiny things and never come back…”

He groans dramatically into the cushions. Reaches out to grab one of your hoodies from the nearby laundry basket and clutches it to his chest like a security object.

He misses you.

It hasn’t even been ten minutes.

After a while,blanket draped over his head like a hood

“…Not even five feet away,” he mutters. “Still. Could get hit by a pigeon. Or distracted by—what’d they call it? Clearance candles.”

His hand emerges from the blanket like a claw and he taps the glass.

“Angel…” he whispers dramatically. “Return to me…”

He lets out another sigh and shuffles over to the bed again. This time, he drags your pillow with him too. Rolls himself up, burrito-style, and flops back against the mattress.

After a moment of silence, he mumbles into the fabric, voice low and fond:

“...Hope they know I’m gonna latch onto ‘em the second they get back.”

Because yeah, he's bratty and clingy and full of dramatics—but he's also completely and hopelessly yours

The bed feels too big without you.

REDACTED lies on your side now—buried in your pillow, blanket still tightly wrapped around him like a stubborn little burrito. His eyes are half-lidded, lashes brushing the skin beneath them, but he’s not really sleepy. Not anymore.

Just lonely.

He buries his face deeper into the sheets where your body had been moments ago, pressing his nose into the faint warmth you left behind. It still smells like you—faint traces of your skin, your shampoo, whatever lotion you always use that drives him wild.

“…mmnh.”

He exhales slow, rubbing his face into the fabric like a lazy cat, nuzzling as if it'll bring you back faster. His cheek presses flush to the sheets, eyes fluttering shut for a moment while his body relaxes. It’s the closest he can get to holding you right now.

“Missin’ you..” he mutters into the sheets, lips curling slightly in a half-smile. “You got no idea, Angel…”

He presses a kiss into the fabric, slow and warm, like maybe if he kisses your side of the bed enough, you'll magically reappear. His hand slides under the pillow, fingers curling around the place where your head usually rests.

He turns his face to the side, cheek now smooshed against your scent, exhaling again in a sigh that turns into a sleepy whine.

“Y’re so warm even when you’re not here,” he mumbles, voice honey-slow. “s’not fair…”

He rubs his cheek in again, dragging it across your sheets like he's scenting you, eyes fluttering open and shut in lazy half-blinks. His black-and-pink hair fans out across the pillow like a halo, ponytail slipping loose.

There’s a beat of quiet. Then, softly:

" All stupid ‘n clingy.”

He pauses. Smirks.

“…like I’m not already.”

He shifts, rolling over onto his back, still cocooned in the blanket but now hugging your pillow to his chest like a body. He stares at the ceiling for a while. Eyes half-dreamy.

“I’m gonna smother you in kisses soon as you get back. Gonna cling. Not lettin’ go, Angel. Gonna carry you to the kitchen. Feed you snacks. Tell you, You're cute.”

He smiles at the thought.

His fingers drag slowly across your side of the bed, tracing invisible patterns.

He misses the weight of your body beside him. The way your thigh presses against his when you’re scrolling on your phone. The soft hums you make when you’re focused. The warmth of your laugh.

And god, he misses your hands. The way they run through his hair. The way they always cradle his face like he’s something precious.

“M’gettin’ spoiled,” he whispers to the ceiling. “Ain’t used to bein’ someone’s favorite person…”

His throat catches just a little. He hides it by tucking his face back into your pillow, breathing in deep and slow.

“...But I like it. Like bein’ yours.”

You unlock the door, the jingle of your keys echoing in the quiet apartment.

"I'm home, REDACTED!" you call out, smiling to yourself.

You expect a sleepy response, maybe the sound of feet padding toward you, or at least a muttered 'm comin’, Angel from the other room. But silence answers instead.

Suspicious silence.

You step into the bedroom—and there he is.

Your sheets are half-ruined, crumpled up like someone’s been rolling in them for hours. And sure enough, your clingiest hacker is sprawled right in the middle of your side of the bed, shirtless, hair a tousled mess, arms wrapped tight around your pillow. His face is buried into the fabric, nuzzling hard like he’s trying to fuse with it. You hear the soft, telltale sound of sniff sniff followed by a dreamy little sigh.

He doesn’t even look guilty. In fact, when he hears your voice, he just lifts his head slowly, blinking up at you with the laziest, most satisfied expression ever.

“There y’are,” he drawls, voice low and heavy with affection. “Mmm… y’left me all lonely, Angel. Had t’ improvise…”

“REDACTED,” you deadpan, stepping into the room. “Are you sniffing my sheets again?”

He grins. Actually grins. Shameless.

“Hell yeah I am.”

You groan, walking over to the bed, hands on your hips. “You promised you’d stop doing that after the last time you drooled on my pillow, remember?”

“Wasn’t drool,” he mutters, stretching with a slow, feline arch of his back. “Was emotional condensation.”

You toss a pillow at his head.

“Emotional condensation doesn't leave teeth marks.”

He catches it with a lazy hand, still burrito-wrapped in the blanket. His eyes sparkle, smug and sleepy all at once. “Y’smell good, Angel. I missed you… real bad.”

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the sight: REDACTED, wrapped in your blanket, clearly having made a nest on your side of the bed while rubbing his entire face against every inch of your sheets. You’re not even sure if that’s your shirt he’s wearing or one he stole from your laundry basket.

“Lost bed privileges,” you mumble, grabbing the blanket and starting to pull. “You’re banned.”

He groans dramatically and flops forward, hugging your waist before you can escape.

“Nooooooo,” he whines, dragging his words out like a child. “Don’t ban me, m’suffocatin’ without you. I’ll die. I’ll perish. I’ll rot into your mattress.”

“You already did,” you mutter, trying not to laugh.

He’s clinging like a starfish now, head nuzzled against your side again, shamelessly sniffing you this time. His arms tighten around you.

“Missed your smell. Missed your voice. Missed your hands."

You roll your eyes, gently running your fingers through his messy hair.

“You were literally alone for twenty minutes.”

“Longest twenty minutes of m’life,” he says seriously, pressing a kiss to your side through the fabric of your shirt. “I thought about textin’ you like seven times. But then I thought—nah. I’ll just roll around in their scent like an animal. It’s romantic.”

You give him a look. “It’s feral.”

He shrugs, cheek still pressed against your stomach. “Close enough.”

A beat passes. You’re rubbing your hand gently over the back of his head, petting him like he’s your sleepy pet fox. He melts under your touch, eyelashes fluttering closed.

“…Mighta sniffed the pillow too,” he mumbles.

“REDACTED!”

“Kidding. …Kinda.”

You lean down to kiss the top of his head, laughing despite yourself. His grip tightens, his arms wrapping around your waist as he presses a lingering kiss to your ribs through your shirt.

“I’m obsessed with you, y’know that?” he murmurs. “Proper gone. Can’t even sleep right without your heartbeat near me.”

You blush, letting your hands cup his cheeks as you pull him up to meet your eyes.

“I missed you too, clingy burrito guy.”

He grins, eyes half-lidded and lazy, gaze full of adoration.

“Still bannin’ me from the bed?”

“…Maybe just your side.”

He perks up instantly. “Can I bribe you with kisses?”

“You can try.”

And oh—he does.

But it didn't work! HAH! SUCK THAT REDACTED!

You cross your arms, tapping your foot against the floor like a disappointed mom. REDACTED is still tangled up in your blanket like a guilty-looking tandoori wrap, blinking up at you with big, lazy eyes.

“Okay. You definitely lost bed privileges,” you say, pointing sternly toward the living room. “To the couch. Now.”

His face twists into a theatrical frown, bottom lip sticking out immediately.

“Angel… nooo,” he groans, dragging the word out like he’s dying. “Don’t exile me. S’cold out there. I’ll die of heartbreak. An’ y’gonna have to live with the guilt of buryin’ me in the couch cushions.”

You raise a brow, arms still crossed.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have been sniffing my pillow, REDACTED.”

He pouts harder, dramatic as ever, blanket still wrapped tight around his shoulders like he’s a little goblin monk of mischief.

“But it smelled like you,” he whines, sitting up now, hair sticking out in five different directions. “An’ your side’s warm, n’ your hoodie was right there, n’—‘m not even sorry, really.”

You blink at him. “…So now you admit to sniffing the hoodie too?”

“Mighta rolled in it a little,” he shrugs, looking way too pleased with himself.

You sigh and grab a pillow, smacking it into his chest as you shove him toward the hallway.

“Couch. Now. Sleep like the clingy little freak you are.”

“Y’mean- he mumbles, trudging dramatically, dragging his feet with the blanket trailing behind like a defeated prince being banished from the kingdom.

“No bed,” you remind him again, following him just to make sure he doesn’t sneak back into it like last time. “And no fake apologies either. You’re only sorry you got caught.”

He flops dramatically onto the couch, cocooning himself in the blanket again with a pitiful little sound.

“Angel, this is cruel n’ unusual punishment,” he whines. “Don’t y’wanna fall asleep to my face in your chest like usual? Y’know I sleep best when I’m smothered in love n’ hoodie lint.”

You throw another pillow at him. “That’s exactly why you’re on the couch. You get too comfortable.”

He catches the pillow with a dramatic little “hnnngh” noise and then just stares at you with those huge, pleading eyes. The worst part? You know he’s real for 80% of it MAYBE 100%, and yet you still feel your resolve cracking.

He senses it too. Of course he does.

“Angel…” he murmurs softly, scooting a little closer to the edge of the couch, one hand sneaking out of the blanket burrito to reach for your wrist. “Y’really gonna leave me out here all cold n’ lonely? What if I cry?”

“You won’t,” you say flatly, even as he starts to lean his cheek against your hand.

“What if I do, though? What if I sob real pretty n’ tell River you emotionally abandoned me?”

You snort. “River would tell you to suck it up and laugh. Would you really tell him tho?'

He sighs dramatically, burying his face into the pillow you gave him.

“Then maybe I’ll sleep in the laundry basket tonight,” he mumbles into it. “Y’haven’t banned me from that yet.”

You groan. “REDACTED—!”

“What? It’s got your scent n’ everything…”

He trails off as you march off with another huff, only to come back a few minutes later with a glass of water and one of your older hoodies. You toss it into his lap wordlessly. He looks down at it, then back up at you, eyes sparkling.

“…Angel?”

“Don’t read into it,” you grumble. “It’s just so you don’t sneak into the bed while I’m asleep.”

He lifts the hoodie to his face instantly, breathing in like it’s a sacred ritual.

“Y’really do spoil me,” he whispers dreamily, voice muffled.

You roll your eyes and walk away.

And behind you, you can hear him muttering softly, smug and sleepy:

“Still winnin’…”

Yeah. He might’ve lost bed privileges. But he’s definitely still winning.

EXTRA : THE MEME!

You returned with two drinks in hand—your trusty water bottle and a black-and-pink Monster can that looked suspiciously like REDACTED’s hair during The Pink Era. The second he saw it, still swaddled like a feral prince in your blanket on the couch, his eyes lit up with that sleepy, chaos-goblin glee.

“Ohhh,” he grinned, reaching out with grabby fingers, “is that s’posed to be me?”

“Obviously,” you snorted. “You’re the one getting punished with get hydration and moral superiority.”

He cracked open the Monster with too much enthusiasm, slurping dramatically before giving you a devilish look. “Bet your water bottle can’t do this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do what—rot your insides and make your soul vibrate?”

He held up the can like it was Excalibur. “No. Inspire greatness, Angel.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your phone and holding it up. “Okay, okay. Before you say anything dumb—pose. This is a historical moment. First night you’re banned from the bed. We need documentation.”

REDACTED sat up slightly, then grinned like a madman. You went for a standard selfie look, bottle held close, smiling sweet and victorious.

He, on the other hand, tilted the Monster can dramatically beside his face, eyes wide and slightly crazed, mouth open in a villainous cackle, eyebrows arched to hell. He looked possessed.

Snap.

You stared at the picture.

You. Soft lighting, hydrated, proud. LIVE! REDACTED. Monster chaos incarnate. “Kill” energy in one frame.

He looked at the photo and snorted.

“Y’gonna print this out? Put it on the fridge like a gold star?”

“Yup,” you said. “Caption it: ‘First couch night: he earned it.’”

He rolled his eyes but smiled into his Monster can, the kind of smug, clingy smile that said he wasn’t even mad about being punished. If anything, he looked proud of it.

“…Y’like me like this, don’tcha?” he drawled lazily. “All pitiful. Leashed to the couch. Missin’ you already.”

“You sniffed my pillow.”

“Cuz I love you.”

You bonked him lightly on the head with your water bottle.

“Clown.”

“Your clown,” he mumbled, curling deeper into the blanket burrito, Monster can still in hand like a cursed trophy.

You tried to be strong.

You really did.

You pointed to the couch like an angry sitcom mom, you gave him the Monster can, took the incriminating selfie, made a whole speech about consequences and “learning lessons”... but it didn’t matter. Because ten minutes later, you heard the faintest shhff of the blanket burrito moving.

Then—shuffle, drag, thump.

Then—warm arms around your waist. A soft, smug noise pressed into the back of your neck. His breath was still sweet with artificial berry-caffeine sin.

“…Thought I said couch,” you murmured weakly.

“Yeah, but y’also said ‘I love you’ like. Five times today,” he murmured into your shirt, voice slow and syrupy, like it was your fault he had no self-control.

“You’re the worst,” you whispered, but you didn’t push him away.

Instead, your fingers found his hair—now messy from all the rubbing and Monster chaos—and combed through it slowly. His little ponytail was barely hanging on. You tugged it loose gently, and he hummed, melting into you like a sleepy fox under sunlight.

He curled closer, one leg hooked over yours. Blanket wrapped around you both now.

“Angel…” he said softly, voice slurred with drowsy affection.

“Mhm?”

“…You always let me back in.”

“‘Cause you’re my greatest weakness.”

He chuckled, lazy and low. “Lucky me.”

You kissed his forehead. Then his cheek. Then the soft corner of his lips.

“Goodnight, REDACTED.”

He sighed into you. “Goodnight. Love you.”

And even though he was banned, even though he technically stole back bed rights through pure, shameless neediness—you didn’t care. Not really.

Because nothing beat sleeping tangled in his arms.

#14 days with you #14dwy #14dwy ren #14dwy x reader #14dwy redacted #ren 14dwy #ren 14 days with you #14dayswithyou #14dwy vn #14dwy redacted x reader #14dwy redcated #14 days with you redacted #14 days with you x reader #14 days with you ren x reader #14 days with you ren #14dwy ren x reader

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hannie-bees · 2 days ago

Text

Pieces of you || c.hs

Pairing: Vernon x Reader

Genre: Fluff, domestic, romantic, comfort

WC: 1.9K

Theme: Its your 2nd anniversary and you gift your bf a jar of 100 reasons why you love him.

Song Recommendation: 10000 Hours

Two years.

You’d been with Vernon for two whole years.

And yet, somehow, when your anniversary rolled around, your brain decided to take a vacation. The “what to get him” panic had set in early—weeks of browsing, scrolling through Pinterest boards titled “Anniversary Gift Ideas for Your Lowkey Emotional Musician Boyfriend", and endless Etsy deep-dives later, you caved and bought him a Rolex.

Now…

You were this close to a breakdown.

It was two nights before your second anniversary with Vernon, and you were dramatically sprawled across the living room carpet, surrounded by Google tabs, half-finished card drafts, and a fancy black velvet box from the Rolex boutique that now made you want to scream.

“Why did I do this?” You groaned, dragging a pillow over your face. “It’s so low-effort boyfriend-gift-core.”

To be fair, you’d panicked. Vernon had mentioned once in passing that he admired classic timepieces, and your brain short-circuited into: oh my god, fancy anniversary = man + watch = love. But the more you stared at the sleek, expensive thing, the more you hated it.

Because Vernon wasn’t a Rolex kind of boyfriend.

He was the boyfriend who saved the last bite of every snack for you even if he was starving. The boyfriend who left you post-it notes with doodled hearts on mornings he had early schedules. The boyfriend who wordlessly held you until your anxiety stopped clawing at your throat. Who remembered you liked your toast golden brown and your strawberry milk with extra ice cubes.

A watch didn’t cover all that. He deserved more.

And that's how you found yourself in your sweats, surrounded by crumpled sticky notes and a half-eaten box of cookies, trying to figure out how to tell him what he meant to you.

That’s when it clicked.

Words. Words were always the answer.

He’d once told you that you had a way of making ordinary things feel important, and maybe—just maybe—writing them down would remind him how much of your life he lit up.

You counted out a hundred sticky notes. Soft pastels in a mix of pinks, blues, and greens. And you began writing.

Your gummy smile. The first thing I fell for. It’s unfair. You smile, and I forget how to function.

The way you think. You process the world so gently and deeply—it makes me fall in love every day.

The way you love. Not loud, not flashy. Just right. Just… you. You don’t say it often, but you show it, always.

You understand me—even when I don’t make sense. Especially when I don’t.

You’re patient. With my bad days. My weird moods. You never make me feel wrong for needing time. You just… get me. You listen between the words.

You never make me feel stupid. Not when I forget things. Not when I panic. You just hold space.

You’re weird. The good kind. The dancing-in-the-kitchen, talking-to-cats, doing-a-fake-British-accent kind. The I’m-gonna-marry-you kind.

You send me memes when I’m upset. Usually cursed ones. It works.

You’re honest. Always. Even when it’s awkward or hard.

You give me the aux cord without even asking.

You laugh at my bad jokes like they deserve Oscars.

You kiss my forehead when I overthink.

You listen. Like, really listen. Like, “remembers things I said 4 months ago while half-asleep” listen.

You let me take the first bite of your food even when you’re starving.

You say, “Text me when you get home,” even if I’m just going to the convenience store.

You kept going, hour after hour. You wrote them curled up on the couch, with lo-fi playing and your legs tangled in a blanket you stole from his side of the bed. You wrote them the next morning, stirring pancake batter with one hand and scribbling thoughts with the other.

Each note was like a breadcrumb trail back through your relationship. The quiet mornings. The messy fights. The making up. The comfort.

The you-and-him-ness of it all.

27. You let me warm my hands on your stomach in winter, even though you hate it.

39. You rap under your breath when you’re concentrating. I pretend not to notice. You pretend not to see me smiling.

41. You never let go first during hugs.

57. You carry my bags without making a show of it.

69. You tell me “I love you” like it’s a fact, not a performance.

72. You say “I got you” instead of “it’s okay.” And somehow it feels like both.

88. You’re just… you. And that’s more than enough.

99. You remembered I always wanted to be seen. You saw me. Even when I couldn’t see myself.

100. You’re my safe place. My home. My favorite person.

You folded each sticky note carefully into a tiny square, dropping them into a clear jar one by one until it was full—your love made tangible, note by note, word by word.

___

Anniversary Morning

You woke before Vernon did, still tangled up in the shared comforter. His hand was loosely curled on your waist, chest rising and falling in that steady, sleepy rhythm that always grounded you.

You turned slightly to look at him.

His features were soft with sleep, lips parted just barely, hair tousled and flopping into his eyes. Your eyes trailed down to the tiny mole near his cheek—the one he always forgot he had until you kissed it and your heart squeezed.

Happy anniversary, you whispered in your mind. To the boy who doesn’t need to say much to make you feel everything.

___

You gave him the Rolex first.

He blinked at the box, then at you. “...Babe.”

“What?” you said with a grin. “You love watches.”

He opened it slowly, then whistled. “Okay, I do. But this is—this is a lot.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “You deserve nice things.”

He leaned in, kissing your cheek with a quiet, “Thank you, really,” but you could tell from the way he pulled you into his side that he knew something was up.

___

Later that Evening

The sun was setting, casting honey-colored light through the apartment windows. You stood awkwardly in the living room, the jar tucked behind your back, your stomach flipping.

He was lounging on the couch in a hoodie and sweats, the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, a bowl of cereal in his lap even though it was almost dinner time. He looked up when you stepped in.

“Everything okay?”

You nodded quickly.

Then, without a word, you walked over and placed the jar on the coffee table in front of him, before diving onto the couch, grabbing a throw pillow, and hiding behind it like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

He stared at the jar. Then at you. Then back at the jar decorated with little cloud stickers and a label that simply read: 100 Reasons I Love You (and Counting)…

His brow furrowed slightly as he set his cereal aside and picked it up. “What’s this?”

Your voice was muffled behind the pillow. “Read it.”

He opened the lid and pulled out one of the tiny folded notes, unfolding it carefully.

1. Your gummy smile.

The reason I fell for you. It makes everything else feel softer.

You peeked out from behind the pillow.

He blinked. Then pulled out another.

2. The way you think.

You have such a beautiful way with words; I could listen to you talk for hours and never get bored.

And another.

3. The way you love.

Not loud, not performative. But steady, gentle. I always feel it. You don’t need to say a thing.

By the time he’d reached the fifth one—

5. Your patience.

You’ve never made me feel stupid for not knowing something. You make me feel safe enough to ask.

—His hand had slowed.

He looked over at you, eyes glassy.

“YN… What is this?”

You hugged the pillow tighter to your chest. “I felt like a Rolex wasn’t enough, too boring. So I made this too. It’s one hundred reasons why I love you.”

Vernon stared at the jar in his hands like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

Then he laughed softly, almost breathless, shaking his head in disbelief. “You wrote me a hundred love notes.”

“Every single one?”

“Every single one.”

You mumbled from behind the pillow, “It was either that or a custom rap verse about how hot your hands are. I figured this was less embarrassing.”

He laughed, soft and disbelieving, and then took another.

12. You send me random memes in the middle of the day, and somehow they’re always exactly what I needed.

Like, you just know.

18. You never force me to talk when I’m not ready. You just sit next to me. That’s more comforting than anything.

29. The way you rub your thumb over the back of my hand when we’re holding hands. You probably don’t even notice you do it.

He swallowed, and his voice came out a little choked. “You remembered all these things?”

“Of course I did,” you whispered. “They’re pieces of you. How could I forget?”

38. You tell me you’re proud of me—even when I haven’t done much.

43. Your hoodie always smells like you, and I secretly steal it when you leave for the studio.

52. You once offered to watch a horror movie just because I wanted to, and you ended up hiding behind my pillow. Adorable.

68. You once said, “You’re my favorite place to be.” I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

He pulled another one out, smiling through teary eyes.

Then he got to one that made him pause.

73. That night you thought I’d leave you… I wish I’d told you then how wrong you were.

I’m not going anywhere. I’m always here.

He paused at number 73. His hands stopped moving. For a moment, the room was quiet except for the sound of his breath.

He looked at you then, completely undone, the kind of emotion that Vernon rarely let the world see.

Gently setting the jar aside, he leaned over and tugged the pillow away from your face.

“Babe,” he whispered. “Come here.”

You climbed into his lap with a shy smile, arms looping around his neck.

His hands cradled your waist. “You’re insane. You know that, right?”

You tucked your face into his neck, grinning. “Only when it comes to you.”

He laughed, pulling you in tighter. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. Like, ever.”

You pulled back slightly, brushing his hair out of his face. “I just needed you to know. In case I don’t say it enough. I love you. A lot.”

His eyes searched for yours, warm and shining. “You show it in a hundred ways every day. I just have proof now.”

He kissed your forehead.

Then your cheek.

Then, finally, your lips—slow and steady, like he had all the time in the world.

___

Bonus:

He started carrying one note in his wallet every day like a lucky charm.

Whenever he traveled, you’d get a photo—your jar of pastel notes sitting right on his nightstand.

And six months later, you opened your laptop to find a document named Reasons I Love You: Draft Version 1. He never let you read it. Not then.

But a year later, he printed it out. Bound it like a book. Gave it to you on your third anniversary.

The title?

Chapter 1 of Forever.

🌸 Masterlist 🌸

#seventeen imagines #svt imagines #Seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt x you #svt fanfic #hansol vernon chwe #vernon #vernon imagines #vernon fluff #vernon x reader #vernon fic #svt vernon #vernon x you #chwe hansol imagines #chwe hansol x reader #svt fluff

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mapiforpresident · 3 days ago

Note

after a breakup reader is seeing images of mapi everywhere, in the street, hearing her name in random conversations, and little reminders of mapi from their relationship and realizing that she still wants to be with her!

I think I still love her

Mapi x reader

warnings: breakup

Thank you so much for the request I really loved this one!!!

Requests are still open for blurbs (or longer fics too)

~~~

The bell above the door jingled, a sound I’d grown so used to I hardly heard it anymore. The scent of espresso and cinnamon lingered in the air, dancing with the spring breeze that slipped through the open window of my little coffee shop in the heart of Barcelona. Business was steady, regulars greeted me with tired smiles, but I moved through it all on autopilot. Ever since Mapi and I broke up, something vital had gone quiet inside me.

We were together for two years. She used to sit at the corner table, hoodie pulled up, sunglasses on, pretending she wasn't famous. She'd sketch tattoo ideas in her notebook or doodle tiny hearts on napkins, leaving them for me behind the bar. Our life was quiet in a way I think she craved, a secret haven between matches, away from the roar of the stadium.

Now, it feels like Barcelona is conspiring against me. Yesterday, I passed a mural near the metro, Mapi’s face towering ten feet above me, eyes fierce, mouth caught mid-roar. Spain’s warrior, it read. My chest ached. I turned away quickly, but not fast enough to stop the rush of memories, late-night walks along Barceloneta, her arm slung around my shoulder, the way she whispered my name like a secret only she was allowed to know.

This morning, someone left a signed jersey on the shop's community board. Number 4. Her number. “For auction!” it read, “All proceeds to women’s sports programs.” I stared at it for too long, my fingers tracing the stitching before I realized I was holding my breath.

Even her name follows me. Two women at table six, tourists, probably, laughed over their cortados and said, “Did you see Mapi León’s tackle last week?” One of them clutched her chest. “She’s unreal.” I dropped a spoon I was drying. It clattered loud enough for them to look up. I smiled tightly. My heart was making too much noise.

Everywhere I turn, there she is. Not just in images or conversations, but in the echoes, a song she loved playing in the background of a TikTok, the chamomile tea she used to drink now suddenly the most requested blend, a dog wearing a Barça scarf that made me laugh like she would’ve.

I thought I left our relationship behind when I asked her to go. It wasn’t her fault, her world was loud and bright and endless. Mine was this coffee shop. Steady. Small. I thought I was doing the right thing.

But today, when I found one of her old napkin doodles stuck between two espresso manuals, a heart, slightly smudged, with “amor” scribbled inside, I sank onto the floor behind the counter and realized the truth I’d been dodging for months.

I still want her.

I don’t know what I’ll say, or if she’ll even want to see me again. But tomorrow, I’ll walk to the stadium. Not as a fan, not as the owner of a quaint coffee shop. But as someone who once held her heart, and hopes, desperately, to do so again.

~~~~

Buy me a coffee here.

#woso #woso x reader #fcb femení #fcb femení x reader #woso imagine #fc barcelona femeni #mapi leon #mapi leon imagine #mapi leon x reader #mapi león #woso fanfics

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smallestapplin · 1 day ago

Note

Hii! Could I request headcanons for Brainstorm, Rodimus and Rung with human artist reader who draws them all the time and sometimes draws them right on their desk. For example, one time they found a chibi sketch of you on their desk winking and saying something like "I love you" or "I believe in you"

I love these dorks so much. I hope you enjoy qwq i tried my best.

Rodimus

- the first time Rodimus sees your little sticky note with a cute little doodle of his helm and your head, wishing him a good day at work he nearly exploded right then and there. Ultra Magnus swears he’s never seen Rodimus work faster, but it was all in the name of getting out of his boring office and rush back to his habsuite to find you.

- The second his last report is done he nearly breaks a hole through the door cause it wasn’t opening fast enough and he wanted OUT! His beloved is awaiting him and his kisses and he can’t keep you waiting! You’re getting yanked from your spot right into his servos and smothered, positively drowned in his kisses, paired with a loud ‘mwah!’ For each smooch.

- Please never stop, he saves every last picture and note you make for him and giggles over them like a school girl with a crush, kicking his pedes and everything. It’s either his biggest distraction or his biggest motivator, cause he will remember you’re still on the ship and he’s not next to you and get the saddest puppy expression until Ultra Magnus is sick of him sighing loudly and let’s him leave.

- If you want to give him something to do tell him you hid a doodle somewhere in his office, and watch him go on the hunt going through every paper, every data pad, every corner of his office is not left untouched. He cheers so loudly when he finds it, giggling so sweetly and adding it to his collection before rushing with a skip in his step to you.

- Nobody can give him shit for it, it’s impossible when he’s rubbing it in everyone else’s face, “Oh, I’m sorry are YOU getting cute little doodles from your partner? Didn’t think so!”

Rung

- Rung is very private with the notes you leave him, he keeps them in his subspace and has a collection going, he keeps each and every one of them close to his spark so he can always look at them. His optics glow bright behind his glasses, digits tracing the written words of your love for him, the little doodle of you making him smile.

- Your little notes help him through the day, help him after a rough session helping a patient through something so sparkbreaking it weighs on him, but your little notes give him the push he needs soothing his own worries. Your praise and support means everything to him, seeing your little artistic doodles of him and you with little hearts makes his antenna wiggle, and a smile almost permanently stuck to his face.

- You’ll know when he’s found them as when he comes back to your shared habsuite, he’s got a soft blue blush across his cheeks and he so softly asks to be able to pick you up, and when you agree stepping into his servos he kisses the top of your head, “Thank you, my star.” He whispers, kissing you once more.

- He doesn’t show them off he perfers to keep them to himself and on bad days, if you aren’t with him he looks through them to remind himself someone loves him, someone is waiting for him, someone is cheering him on even if you couldn’t be at his side in that exact moment he knows you care so much for him, and having these reminders fills his spark with so much love and joy.

- Rung tries to attempt the same, actually! Though he’s not much of an artist like you are, that doesn’t stop him trying and making a little doodle of his helm and a cartoony thumbs up, wishing you a good day and that he loves you. He often makes these notes when you’re still passed out on his berth, just before he starts his day and goes in for work. Rung wants to properly show you how much he appreciates your notes and drawings. He will get bashful and try to hide his face if you wake up and catch him mid act.

Brainstorm

- DIVA! oh you have opened a can of worms I hope you have a wrist brace and do wrist stretches regularly, cause if he doesn’t get one little doodle of you wishing him a good day or that you love you and think he’s so cool, he will explode, he will approach you like “So you hate me? You hate me and want me dead, is that is? You do not love me? Where is my love?” Brainstorm needs your love and praise or he dies, that’s all.

- Brainstorm loves and adores every note and drawing paired with it, he will hold it to his chassis and squee softly before rushing to show off how sweet and kind his partner is! He is hellbent of showing you and your art off, his desk is covered in your little notes, he only moves them when they are placed in more dangerous spots and he doesn’t want them to burn or get something on them.

- Brainstorm is a mech who is not at all ashamed or modest in his love for you, you show your love for him? Wonderful, he will proceed to scream his from the roof tops, if no one can hear you scream in space they truly have not met a Brainstorm who is fueled by spite and his overwhelming love for you.

- After he’s gotten one of your little doodles he’s all giddy, and most times that giddiness lasts until he sees you an can finally get his cuteness aggression out on you, so much so it’s not uncommon for someone (likely Perceptor) to ask you two to get a habsuite and take it behind closed doors, cause Brainstorm needs his kisses but also he needs to give you kisses but ALSO he needs to hear you say you love him and believe in him.

- Brainstorm is unsurprisingly a needy mech, he will trap you against him and look at you with such a love sick expression asking you to say it again, just ooooone more time, for him? Please? Mayhaps a liiiittle louder? You will have to bap his nose to get him to stop, cause he can’t get enough of hearing you love him.

#transformers x reader #transformers rodimus x reader #transformers lost light #transformers lost light x reader #transformers rung x reader #transformers Brainstorm x reader #transformers headcanons

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marauder-misprint · 1 day ago

Text

I don't mind

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

8.1k words

Inspired by Absolute Silence's "I Don't Mind" - which means reader isn't the best person. Deal with it.

cw: angst, fluff, pining, angst, Y/N, angst, reader doesn't deserve remus, reader makes poor decisions, remus is too forgiving for his own good, reader has on-and-off relationship with someone else

You could pinpoint the moment you started to become friends with Remus. Third year, first Wednesday of classes, second period. Professor Dassow assigned seats for his Arithmancy classes and he put you next to Remus. It wasn’t that you didn’t know or hadn’t spoken to Remus before then. No, that was just when you started to become friends.

You didn’t talk a lot at first, exchanging simple hellos when you arrived at class. Then he missed class a few weeks into the school year and he asked if he could copy your notes from the day he missed.

“Ignore the doodles,” you said, handing him the notes.

He smiled and got to work copying them down. He gave them back to you later in the day. He thanked you and you said he could borrow your notes any time. He made note of that and always went to you when he missed Arithmancy, which was more often than you had expected, and he sometimes asked for other classes’ notes as well.

“Your Arithmancy notes are amazing. I assumed the rest of your notes would be too. Better than James and Sirius, at least.”

From there, you started talking more both in and outside of class. Your growing friendship was strictly for Remus. You could sit and talk or do homework or whatever with him, but the moment James, Sirius or Peter showed up, you excused yourself. You didn’t know them all that well and you didn’t plan on changing that. You also knew that you weren’t the only person who was fine with being friends with Remus and not the others. Lily, for example.

Sometime in the spring of third year, it was James who asked you for notes. He said Remus asked him if he could grab him. Remus was apparently going to be out longer than he usually was.

“With his rubbish immune system, you know how it is,” James said with a shrug. “So can I get those from you?”

You sighed but handed the notes over. “Tell him I hope he feels better soon.”

“Will do.”

And then Remus was back in classes a few days later. He looked paler than usual, but that would be what getting extremely ill does to you. You didn’t think anything of it. He told you he was extremely grateful when he gave you your notes back.

“I did say any time, Lupin,” you said, giving him a smile. “Glad you’re feeling better.”

“Me too. Hate missing class.”

Over the summer, you didn’t write to each other. You didn’t expect anything from him. You weren’t that close of friends for you to think otherwise. When you got back in the fall, he gave you a smile and a wave, which you returned. And then when Professor Dassow didn’t assign seats in Arithmancy, Remus still sat next to you. He sat near you in Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts well, but he shared his desk with James and Sirius, respectively.

One weekend, you ended up in a game of Truth or Dare in the Gryffindor Common Room. Disgustingly personal questions were being asked and you weren’t sure if you wanted to answer those, so when your turn came around, you picked dare. Sirius grinned mischievously before dishing out your task.

“I dare you to kiss Remus.”

“What?” Remus asked, voice sounding thin.

“Only if you don’t mind,” you said.

“Al-alright.”

Having been sitting on the floor, you crawled over to Remus and quickly pecked him on the lips. It was barely a brushing of lips that lasted less than a second, but it counted for the dare and for your first kiss. You had always imagined it would be something more romantic. At least the pressure of your first was out of the way. If you were being honest, you didn’t think much of it.

Later that night, Sirius clapped Remus on the shoulder up in their dorm.

“You’re welcome, mate.”

“What for?” Remus asked.

“Got you a kiss from your girl,” he answered with a smirk.

“She-she’s not my girl.”

“Not yet. Or have you changed your mind? No longer fancy her?”

“I, uh, erm. Don’t meddle. I’m fine.”

“Fine,” Sirius sighed, falling onto his bed dramatically. “I’ll stop being the perfect wingman.”

While Sirius didn’t continue his direct attempts to help Remus catch your eye, he did try to at least get you to spend more time with Remus. He did so with the help of James and Peter. Their mission? Befriend you so you’d hang out with them, and therefore, also hang out with Remus.

Peter made the first move in befriending you. Sirius, James and Remus all ended up in detention while he got off scot-free. He walked up to where you were working on homework in the common room and sat down across from you. You looked up briefly before going back to work. He had his own homework with him. You assumed he was just going to also use the table.

“Y/N, can you help me with this Defense worksheet?” he asked once he had gotten set up.

“The one that’s due tomorrow?”

“That’s the one.”

“Right, well, I’m kind of busy? Arithmancy doesn’t exactly do itself.”

“Please? Remus says you’re brilliant. He’s in detention right now. Otherwise I’d be buggin’ him ‘bout it.”

“Potter or Black available?”

“Detention with him, I’m afraid.” He gave a faux-sniffle, like he was missing his friends. “It’s absolutely dreadful without them.”

You sighed. “You lot are dreadfully co-dependent. But what part is confusing you?”

By the time the other three got back from detention, you and Peter were laughing with his Divination dream journal in front of you. He was talking you through what some of his recent dreams apparently meant.

“I really don’t think ‘death by toastie’ is a thing, Peter. I think you’re safe,” you assured him through laughs.

“I could choke!”

“Chew thoroughly then!”

“And if someone makes me laugh while I’m swallowing?”

“Hope your friends know the heimlich.”

“Heard of it, don’t know how,” James said, walking up behind Peter and leaning on his chair. “Did you say ‘death by toastie’?”

“It’s what his dreams say apparently. So you best learn to ensure your quartette doesn’t become a trio.”

You smiled at Remus before packing up your stuff and leaving, barely giving the boys a brief good night. Peter remarked that you’re even more helpful than your notes were.

“Because she’s smart. I’ve told you this,” Remus said.

“Didn’t believe you,” Peter replied casually. “Now I do.”

“Because I’m so untrustworthy?”

“No, just think your brain’s a little screwy.”

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Anyways… did you finish the Transfiguration assignment? I still need to do that,” James said.

Peter slid his finished assignment toward James. As James copied down the work you helped Peter with, James came to the same conclusion. You were smart.

And so, the three continued their mission to fully befriend you. It was a slow process. Getting you to linger around them without being one-on-one was a struggle. The closest they got was when you were working on an assignment for Arithmancy with Remus during lunch, and once you were finished working with him, you left the table.

But where the three struggled, Remus actually seemed to be making progress. Your conversations with him were becoming more frequent and you’d approach him if you heard something that you thought he’d find amusing. You didn’t seem to have any issue with asking him questions. You even hand delivered your notes to him in the Hospital Wing one evening after he wasn’t in class and you with him to go over them. The boys had a field day with that when Remus told them about it.

“There’s no way she’s not smitten with you. Come on, mate – all the signs are there!” Sirius said.

“I think you’re mistaking friendship for ‘signs.’ She’s just nice. You guys would go over the notes if I needed you to.”

“But you don’t need us to. She should know you don’t need her to. And yet,” James said, agreeing with Sirius that you had to like him.

“It’s the bloody Hospital Wing. No one likes being there more than they have to,” Sirius added.

Remus shook his head. “And she knows I miss a lot of class. She was probably just making sure I was up to speed.”

“You’re more up to speed than I am,” Peter said. “And I’m in class.”

“She’s just-”

“Smitten with you. Trust me,” Sirius said, but Remus just rolled his eyes.

“If she was, which she’s not, wouldn’t you think she’d try warming up to you more?”

That shut the boys up for the evening. They could’ve suggested that you were shy, but that didn’t fit you. You weren’t the loudest, but you held your place. They could’ve said that you didn’t like big groups of people and maybe four people was your limit, but they’ve seen you talk to groups of like ten people. Every excuse they could come up with was easily disputed. So they dropped the topic of you.

You wouldn’t say that you were smitten with Remus. He was cute, smart and nice. He was a good friend. And that’s all you were looking for at the moment. You let the friendship grow. You slowly found it in you to tolerate his friends more, mainly in brief stints. It actually hit a point where you knew when the other boys would be elsewhere so you could hang out with Remus alone.

One of such evenings, you were content to sit next to Remus on the couch in front of the common room’s fireplace. James was at quidditch practice, Sirius in detention and Peter at chess club. Remus was recounting his latest run-in with Peeves. It hadn’t gone well. Your laughter filled the common room and Remus swelled with pride that he was the one making you laugh. Ever so slowly, he inched his hand closer to yours. You didn’t notice, or if you did, you didn’t say anything.

You leaned your head on the couch at an angle so you could look at Remus. “I swear I only run into Peeves when I’m late for Potions. It’s always Potions.”

He moved his hand closer.

“I think he smells lateness.”

“And what does lateness smell like?” you laughed.

Closer.

“Not sure. I’m not Peeves. But I’ll ask next time I see him.”

Closer.

“Could you also ask him to not loiter near the Potions classroom? Slughorn hates lateness. I could get away with McGonagall or Dassow or Binns.”

“I’ll try,” he said with a smile and then with a burst of courage, he let his hand touch yours.

You didn’t pull away as he allows his hand to completely cover yours on the couch cushion. His heart was practically beating out of his chest; yours did a little flutter at the affectionate action.

“Come to think of it, as long as you don’t make a big show, you could probably walk into History halfway through class and Binns wouldn’t care.”

“He’s more concerned with history than the present,” Remus said.

“You’d think that’d make him a better professor.”

“But alas.”

You both burst out laughing. Peter was the first one to return from his evening activity. Remus saw him enter the common room, but he just smiled at Remus and went up to their dorm. You and Remus kept talking. When James and Sirius came back, they had similar reactions to Peter. Smiles and disappearing. It looked like Remus was getting the girl and who would they be to disturb that?

When you called it a night, Remus went to bed smiling. You, also smiling, found yourself considering if maybe you’d like Remus as more than a friend. You weren’t actively looking, but if it happened, you didn’t think you’d be against it. It felt nice for him to hold your hand. It felt nice to sit and talk and laugh with him. Everything about him was nice, even if you didn’t quite like his friends. Maybe you’d grow to like them.

You didn’t have to like them right away. Not for the rest of fourth year, at least. Remus held your hand a few more times after that night, but that’s all. He didn’t ask you to the last two Hogsmeade weekends. He didn’t ask you to go on a walk with him or to sit with him by the Black Lake. And then you both went home after finals.

You were still friends and more so than you’d been after third year. That summer, you did write to each other. They weren’t long letters, nor were they extremely frequent, nor were they love letters. Based on what you read, they were full of platonic feelings. It was the same feelings you got from Lily’s or Mary’s letters. That didn’t stop you from hiding those letters from your parents though; you weren’t sure what reaction they’d have if they found out you were writing to a boy and you didn’t want to find out.

When you arrived at King’s Cross in the fall, it was surprisingly easy to spot Remus through the crowd. He had grown at least a head taller. You said bye to your parents and started to make your way through the crowd toward the train, and coincidently, Remus.

“Hey, Lupin,” you said with an easy smile as you passed him and boarded the train.

Simple. Easy. Casual.

He boarded the train right after you, not wanting to lose sight of you. He may have gotten taller, but you got prettier. He watched you until you disappeared into a compartment with Lily, Mary and Marlene. He kept walking until he found the boys. He would’ve loved to have talked to you more, but he supposed there would be plenty of time for that back at Hogwarts.

“Moony’s smiling,” Sirius teased the moment Remus entered the compartment. “He’s seen Y/N.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, but that’s all he could say. Sirius was right after all.

“Why do you think he waited on the platform?” Peter laughed.

Remus blushed as Sirius and James joined in Peter’s laughter. But they were right. Completely right. Remus waited on the platform while the other three boarded the train. He wanted to catch a glimpse of you before the ride to school, and he did and it left him feeling unusually giddy. If it was simply because you said hi to him, he was in for a long year, or a really good year since you didn’t pull away your hand in the spring.

“Did you see Remus on the platform?” Mary asked you. “He’s a freaking giant now!”

“He’s a good few inches taller,” you said with a nod.

“And to think, I stopped growing during third year,” she sighed.

“You know he’s probably not done growing, right?” you asked.

She groaned. “It’s not fair!”

“It’s not but that’s life. Marls, you barely wrote this summer. What’d you get up to?” you asked, turning the conversation away from Remus.

The girls knew about the handholding and how you wouldn’t say no if Remus asked. You didn’t want to talk about it right now. There was simply nothing to say. The girls wouldn’t accept that and you decided that was a war for another time.

The year started off as ordinary as you expected. It was normal sitting next to Remus during Arithmancy and near him during other classes. It didn’t take long for you to be working on assignments together and to be sitting on the couch by the fire late into night together. The first few times, it wasn’t anything romantic. Just hanging out and relaxing. Then he held your hand again and you rested your head on his shoulder. That felt a little romantic. A little, but not much.

One thing you didn’t expect to happen was Remus asking you to come watch a few of James and Sirius’ quidditch practices with him. He told you he usually did homework and it would be nice to have someone else there besides Peter and a handful of girls who stalked James and Sirius’ every movement.

“Ah, just say you like my company,” you laughed before agreeing to go with him.

And then it wasn’t an odd sight to see you pressed into Remus’ side during the matches, whether Gryffindor was playing or not. It was an increasingly common sight, you and him together. But you assured the girls that it wasn’t anything real yet, just two friends hanging out.

Two friends. Platonic. You kept repeating that in your head as he held your hand and you used his shoulder as a pillow. Friends can hold hands. Friends can lean on each other. Friends get squished into each other’s sides when the stands are packed.

There were times, however, when the line between friends and something more blurred. You and Remus were in the library, sharing the same book for your Arithmancy essays. Your chairs were mere centimeters apart, allowing your arms to bump every once in a while. You weren’t doing it on purpose, but you also weren’t actively avoiding it. You liked how Remus turned slightly red when it happened and you looked at him with a small smile. He looked cute.

You couldn’t stop yourself. Your essay was nearly finished and your arms bumped yet again. You looked at him and he blushed and you leaned in. Similar to that truth or dare game last year, it was a brief kiss. It lasted slightly longer and was barely more than a brushing of lips. When you pulled away, Remus was even more red. You just smiled and turned back to your essay. He stared at you for a few more seconds before following suit.

“I kissed him,” you said as soon as the door to your dorm closed behind you.

“Remus?” Lily asked, looking up from her desk.

“Who else?” Mary answered for you, but you still nodded.

“Wait, you kissed him or he kissed you?” Marlene asked.

“I kissed him.”

“What’s it matter?” Mary asked.

“It means she’s initiated twice,” Marlene explained. “And as far as we’re aware, he has yet to.”

“He initiated hand holding,” Lily said.

“Not the same,” Marlene said with a shake of her head.

“Why did you kiss him?” Mary asked.

You shrugged. “We kept bumping arms and he blushed every time I looked at him. Was kinda cute.” You looked to Marlene. “Where do you think this leaves me ‘n’ him?”

“Where you were before, I’d say. A little too friendly for friends, but one kiss in the library does not make you his girlfriend.”

“Right. Okay.”

So, essentially, you were still friends. You wondered if Remus wanted more. The blushing had to mean something, you thought. You didn’t blush around boys you didn’t fancy; although you’d rather punch some of those boys.

Remus was all smiles when he returned to his dorm.

“Did you make love to your essay, Moony?” Sirius asked as Remus placed his school bag on his desk.

He rolled his eyes. “Got it off several times.”

“Sure it was the essay you got off and not, perhaps, Y/N?” Peter asked with a smirk.

James and Sirius jeered when Remus turned pink. He stopped looking at them. They just laughed more.

“Well, mate? Tell us what happened,” Sirius said.

“She kissed me.”

Sirius cheered. “Love a girl with balls!”

“And in Moony’s favor, there was no dare this time,” James added.

That was it for a month. The occasional hand holding and head resting, but that was it. You didn’t talk about the kiss, nor did another one happen. Classes came and went. Assignments started and finished. You figured you spent about equal time with your friends and Remus.

Once again, you were pressed against Remus’ side during a quidditch match. Gryffindor was flying circles around Hufflepuff. The match was moving by quickly. Cheers from Gryffindor’s fans were obnoxiously loud and their volume only increased with each goal they scored. After Gryffindor’s seeker caught the snitch, you were ushered onto the pitch with everyone around you, and then back to the common room. No time was wasted in getting a celebration party set up.

You and Remus were sitting next together, as to be expected. Everyone around you had butterbeer in their hands or something stronger. The energy in the room was pulsing. You could feel the beat of the music in your bones; some seventh year had gone overboard with their amplifying charm.

When your favorite song started to play, you placed a firm hand on his arm.

“I love this song. Dance with me.” It wasn’t a question.

He didn’t move right away when you stood up, but you smiled at him and then he was up, letting you drag him over to where other people were dancing. Remus didn’t think of himself as a dancer. He was too unsure of his extremities and how they moved, but with you in front of him, it was slightly easier to let his body be loose. His awkward dancing made you smile. One wave of confidence surged through him and he took your hand to spin you. Your laughter filled his ears as you turned round and round. His smile matched yours. He loved hearing your laugh sound so genuine and pure; even better was that he had been the cause.

Remus danced with you for one more song before bailing. At that point, however, Marlene had joined you and you didn’t have to dance alone. From where he sat, Remus watched you dance for the rest of the evening as he sipped on his butterbeer.

“Didn’t think you were the dancing type,” James said with a smirk, leaning toward him.

“Only when she’s asking.”

James laughed. He knew how true that was. It was only reinforced by Remus not dancing for the rest of the night.

---

Marcus Dumond stopped you after Transfiguration. You weren’t close, but you were friends. More of friends of friends if anything, but him stopping you didn’t throw you off all that much.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, adjusting his bag strap on his shoulder.

“Hi.”

“Would you be able to help me finish the essay? I’ve reread the chapter like six times and I’m getting nowhere.”

“I’m no tutor but I can try.”

“Sweet. Library around seven?”

You nodded and smiled at him. He walked away and you thought nothing of it. You didn’t think the essay was all that difficult so maybe you would be able to actually help him. After dinner, he was waiting for you in the library. You saw Remus as you made your way towards Marcus, so you waved at him. His face lit up with a smile, but it quickly dimmed when you kept walking past him and sat down next to Marcus.

You immediately got to work, discussing the theory that McGonagall had assigned the essay on. If you were being honest, it didn’t seem like Marcus was really struggling with it. He talked about it as if he had a firm grip on the subject, and his questions only furthered that assumption, picking apart small details that were probably more on par with N.E.W.T. levels than O.W.L.

As the evening went on, your chairs got closer until your shoulders were touching. Marcus looked at you with kind eyes every time you spoke. He listened to every answer you gave him. You continued to talk about Transfiguration long after he finished the essay. Eventually the conversation shifted to you and him, your personal lives, friends and such. He was incredibly interested in your answers, leaning closer as you talked. When you realized how late it had gotten, he insisted on walking you back to Gryffindor Tower.

“We should study together more often,” he said as you stood a few steps away from the Fat Lady.

You shifted your weight and tucked some hair behind your ear. “You think we were productive?”

“More than.”

“Then I think we can arrange for that.”

He leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek before whispering, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You watched Marcus walk away and disappear around the corner before giving the Fat Lady the password. Your face felt warm. You couldn’t help smiling to yourself as you went to your dorm and put your stuff away. It was a forward move by Marcus, but you didn’t mind. The girls thought your smile was because something more happened with Remus. Boy, were they wrong.

It didn’t take long for them to catch on that something other than Remus was going on in your life. Marcus followed up on studying with you more often. He made a point to walk with you to classes you shared and he offered to carry your bag. He started making his presence by your side something to be expected. He became more consistently in your atmosphere than Remus was. Marcus asked you out and started to take you on dates.

You were happy. It was that easy. School was going good, there was no drama within your friend group, and Marcus treated you well. The rest of fall went by in a flash and before you knew it, you were back in school for the spring term. Things were still good.

For a while.

“Don’t be stupid. We’ve covered this hundreds of times. You know this,” he said one evening as you studied together.

“We’ve never covered this! I know we haven’t,” you insisted. “And don’t call me stupid.”

“I’ll call you stupid if you’re being stupid. We covered this two days ago!”

“I wasn’t studying with you two days ago. Who were you studying with?”

“You!”

“No, you most certainly weren’t. Who were you studying with?”

“I swear it was you.”

“Marcus, tell me the truth!”

“You’re being ridiculous! I am telling you the truth.”

“You aren’t. And you’re calling me ridiculous and stupid… Marcus, be honest.”

“I am!”

You frustratedly shoved your things into your bag and stood up from the table. “You can find me when your memory comes back and you feel like telling the truth.”

Then you left in a huff. Marcus didn’t chase after you. He just watched you go with a deep frown on his face. It wasn’t until you were long gone that he realized he had been studying with one of his friends. You were going through a plethora of emotions as you stormed back to Gryffindor Tower. You were too deep in your thoughts to feel the tears streaming down your face.

A gentle hand on your shoulder stopped you from going to your dorm.

“Y/N, you alright?” Remus asked in a soft voice.

You sniffled loudly. You rubbed at your eyes before looking at Remus, but he saw the hurt in your eyes. He pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly.

“I got you… Come on,” he whispered and started to move you in the direction of the stairs to the boys’ dormitories.

You let him guide you up the stairs into his empty dorm. You let him sit you down on his bed. He made you a cup of tea and just sat with you. He didn’t ask you any questions about what had happened. He knew that you were dating Marcus and he probably missed his chance with you, but seeing you sad made his heart clench and if he could help fix it, he would. Like always, Remus’ presence next to you felt welcomed. He was warm and kind and what you needed in the moment. After you finished your cup of tea, Remus held you again and you buried your head in his chest. He rubbed your back.

“You’re going to be alright,” he mumbled into the top of your head. “Whatever happened, you’ll be alright.”

You sniffled and nodded. You couldn’t deny that you had distanced yourself from Remus since getting together with Marcus. Being next to him again was nice. And he just held you and comforted you until you appeared to be a little better. He didn’t force any conversation out of you.

“Thank you, Remus,” you said once you felt okay enough to go back to your dorm.

You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before disappearing out of his dorm’s door. He watched you leave and then stayed in the same position until the other three boys came back into the dorm.

“Someone put a full-body bind on Moony before we left?” James asked, poking his shoulder.

Remus didn’t move or respond, just staring ahead.

“Oh! He blinked, that’s a no,” Peter said. “So what’s got you frozen?”

“Y/N,” Remus breathed.

The three boys’ heads snapped toward Remus. You hadn’t been around for a while, since before Christmas.

“Care to explain?” James asked.

“She…” Remus cleared his throat. “Was here. She was crying.”

The boys didn’t say anything. They didn’t know what to say. Frankly, they didn’t think that you crying was enough to have this effect on Remus.

“She kissed me.”

Sirius sputtered out some kind of noise. “She did what?”

“On the cheek.”

“Isn’t she still with that Ravenclaw bloke?” James asked.

Remus shrugged. You had been crying. Maybe you had just broken up with him. He hadn’t asked why you were crying and you didn’t seem to be in a chatty mood.

“Huh…”

You spent maybe a day away from Marcus before he found the courage to admit that he was wrong. It was like nothing had happened. Remus was kept at arms’ length and you were at Marcus’ side. James, Peter and Sirius tried to keep a close eye on Remus to make sure that he was okay. He didn’t give them much to go off of. He knew it was stupid to get his hopes up ever so slightly from the cheek kiss, but that didn’t stop them from rising.

It’s good again for a time. Marcus was somehow treating you better than before. And again, you were happy. But something about Remus kept drawing your eye. You think it was something about that night you fought with Marcus. Remus didn’t think about helping you calm down. He just did.

But you’re with Marcus and being with him was good. He made moves on you; Remus never did, not romantically.

You were more than content with your relationship with Marcus. Then you got into a fight. You weren’t sure what set it off, but what started off as a picnic by the Black Lake ended up as a screaming match and you threw your cup of pumpkin juice into the lake. You stormed away. You didn’t let yourself cry, but you knew your emotions were evident on your face.

You didn’t make it back to Gryffindor Tower before Remus found you. Part of you wondered if he somehow heard you yelling at Marcus. If he had, he played it off. He physically ran into you as you rounded a corner. His hands grabbed your waist to steady you so neither of you fell and when he saw your face, he pulled you into a hug.

“I’m here,” he said softly.

And you let him guide you into the nearest classroom. You sat on the floor next to him, resting your head on his shoulder like you used to do on the couch. He didn’t reach for your hand. He sat with you in silence for a minute before speaking up.

“It’s okay to cry.”

“I shouldn’t need to.”

“Everyone needs to cry from time to time.”

“And when was the last time you cried?” Your voice cracked as you asked that. The image of him crying wasn’t something you wanted to linger on.

“Two weeks ago,” he said without sparing a second to think.

He knew exactly when he cried last. The full moon had been that evening and he caught a glimpse of you making out with Marcus in the Transfiguration Courtyard. He was tired, stiff, achey, already feeling every effect the moon had on him and that sight sent him over the edge. He had retreated to his dorm and didn’t move from his bed until it was time for his transformation.

Silence filled the room again. You didn’t cry. You didn’t feel the need to. Being next to Remus helped quell any urge you had to cry. You didn’t understand how he calmed you so easily. You could hear his heartbeat and you had to fight the urge to fully latch onto his arm and nestle yourself into him. Sitting next to him would have to suffice.

You sighed, “I don’t need to cry.”

“Alright.”

You stood up and Remus took a second but mimicked you. Before you could leave the classroom, he pulled you into another hug and kissed your forehead. His lips lingered on your skin longer than he knew he should have let them. Even under the guise of comforting you, it was clearly more than a platonic kiss from him.

“I’m here whenever you need,” he whispered.

“Thank you.”

Then you walked away like nothing happened. Like you didn’t fight with Marcus and didn’t find comfort in Remus. The next day supported as much; you were at Marcus’ side like you had been the day before and the day before that. That was your last fight with Marcus for the spring and the last time you spoke to Remus one-on-one. Finals came and went and then everyone went home.

Remus wrote to you once at the beginning of summer with the intent of checking in on you. You couldn’t bring yourself to open his letter. You pretended that you never got it. You wrote back and forth to Marcus and went to visit him a few times. You successfully planned to get your school supplies from Diagon Alley together in August and your parents liked him when you introduced them.

For the first time since third year, you didn’t sit next to Remus during the first day of Arithmancy. You didn’t gravitate toward him and the Marauders during your classes with them. Your excuse was that they could be distracting with how much they talked during class. It wasn’t the strongest of excuses, but it wasn’t necessarily weak.

You really thought you’d be starting the school year off strong. Academically, you were. With Marcus, not so much. You were fighting more and more. You knew it showed on your face and it affected how you slept. You weren’t sure what you were doing wrong with him, but he was constantly nitpicking everything you did.

A particularly nasty fight had your crying in the common room late into the night. It felt like you ended things with Marcus. Remus came down from his dorm and saw you. You were his weak point. Within a few seconds, he was sitting next to you and pulling you into his side. You didn’t fight him. He was a comfort to you. He didn’t ask questions you didn’t want to, or know how to, answer.

After that fight, you didn’t talk to Marcus for a few days, but you went back to him, patching things up. He apologized to you, albeit a half-hearted one. Remus was sent back to watching from the sidelines as you went back to Marcus every time he made you cry. It was becoming more frequent. It wasn’t uncommon for you to be up in the common room, staring into the fire with a blank expression, when he got back from Prefect rounds. You never turned him away if he asked if you wanted company.

What Remus wasn’t really expecting was you coming to him. You accepted his comfort when you were upset, but it was always offered. When you knocked on his dorm door in tears, Remus was speechless. The boys were in the dorm as well, and they shared Remus’ shock. Their confusion increased when Remus walked out of the dorm and closed the door behind him. They could hear the hum of low conversation before it faded; Remus took you back down to the common room.

Did you end up snogging Remus that night after the common room cleared out? Yes. But after a few days away from Marcus, you were back with him. It left Remus confused and hurt. For two weeks, he watched you laugh and kiss and hug Marcus. For two weeks, he wondered what was going on. And then you were back at his dorm door, crying in a way that shook your entire body. This time the boys weren’t in the dorm so he brought you in.

Did you end up snogging? Yes. Did Sirius walk in on you? Yes. Were you even more flustered? Yes.

You awkwardly stood up and said, “Thanks, Remus.”

Then you walked out, avoiding eye contact with Sirius. Sirius tried to not give Remus a judgemental look, but it happened anyway.

“Moony…” he said slowly.

“Don’t.”

“As long as you’re aware…”

“Yeah. I know.”

Sirius told James and Peter what he walked in on the next when Remus wasn’t around. They had similar reactions. You and Remus shouldn’t be snogging. Not in their dorm. Not in the common room.

Especially when you went back to Marcus the next day.

This happened two more times before the boys tried to talk to Remus about it.

“She’s with Marcus, Moony,” Peter said.

“Not when she comes to me.”

“She’s with him now. Literally right now. They are probably necking in the courtyard,” Sirius said.

“Y/N only comes to you when she’s crying,” James added.

“Because she trusts me!”

“She comes to you for a snog before going back to Marcus,” Sirius said.

“But she keeps coming back. To me.”

“Mate, we hear you, but this…” James shook his head. “This isn’t right. You deserve better.”

“There’s nothing better than Y/N.”

Remus walked away from the boys, not wanting to discuss this with them. Sirius pursed his lips.

“Fine. If he won’t listen, maybe she will.”

Then he walked away with the mission of finding you. It didn’t take long for him to find you. You were leaving the library.

“Oi, Y/N!” he called, getting you attention. “We need to have a chat.”

You said bye to your friends and turned toward Sirius with your arms crossed. “Yeah, Black?”

“You need to stay away from Remus.”

You crunched your face in confusion.

“Whatever you’ve got going on with him. It needs to end. It’s not good for him.”

“It’s none of your business,” you said snippily.

“It’s going to hurt him in the long run, which means it’s my business. You got to stop. You can’t be playing with his heart like that.”

“I’m not-”

“You are! I don’t know how you don’t see it, but you are. It hurts him every time you come running to him and then you leave… For that fucking Ravenclaw? Don’t bounce between the two. Pick one. It’s not good for Remus.”

“Whatever, Sirius.”

You rolled your eyes and walked away from him. You didn’t like what Sirius said, but what could you say? You didn’t want to hurt Remus; that was never your intention. He just happened to be around when you were hurting and he offered comfort. He had been around enough times that you went to him automatically.

The next few days, Remus was never left alone by Sirius, James and Peter. He was only alone when he was in Arithmancy, and that was when he was alone with you. Not ideal for the boys, but you seemed to listen to Sirius. You didn’t look his way during class. You sat as far from him as you could. You didn’t want to hurt Remus any more than you apparently already had.

When you got into fights with Marcus, you went straight to your dorm. You didn't let anyone stop you. You knew Remus saw you but you kept walking, even if he said your name or reached out for you. You wouldn’t let him comfort you anymore.

A few weeks later, you were crying in the Astronomy Tower. You called it off with Marcus. Again. But this time it felt permanent. You knew it should be permanent. You shouldn’t go back to him. And you ended it, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. You had half a mind to go to Remus like you always did, but you kept thinking about what Sirius had said. So, you stayed in the tower and let out your feelings alone. You’d be okay. You always were.

The door creaked as it opened and you rubbed at your eyes. If someone was going to give you detention for being out after curfew, they weren’t going to do it with you crying.

“Y/N?” Remus asked softly.

You stiffened. Second to last person you wanted to see right now.

“Are… are you okay?”

You rubbed your eyes harder, but your sniffle gave you away. He was at your side within a second.

“Hey, hey, I’m here,” he whispered, but you pulled away.

He blinked in surprise. You never did that before. You had always leaned into him when you were crying.

“I don’t need you,” you said.

It sounded hollow. It felt hollow. But it hit Remus like a Stupify to the chest. Somewhere deep inside of him he knew that it was true. He had been clinging to the fact that you kept coming back to him, like it meant something. He had been ignoring his friends and their attempts to get him to see reason, but he really, really likes you. Even when you were walking away from him and towards Marcus, he liked you.

“I know.”

“Then go away, Remus.”

It was still hollow, and that made Remus want to stay even more.

“I’ll be okay, I promise. Just… go away.”

“Oh… Okay,” he said softly, standing up and turning towards the door. Before he left, he looked over his shoulder and added, “Don’t stay out too late. You’ll need sleep.”

Even when you were shoving him away, he cared for you more than he should have. Remus couldn’t let go of you. And you didn’t understand how he could do that. Somewhere inside of you, Sirius’ words echoed and reverberated. By going to Remus whenever things went south with you and Marcus was hurting him, and that mattered more than however much it helped you. You would survive without Remus’ arms around you. You didn’t know how much it was hurting Remus to kiss you and then watch you leave time after time.

The next day, you didn’t go back to Marcus. Nor the next nor the day after. Time kept passing and you stayed away from him. He tried to talk to you once, but you told him no and walked away. You owed it to yourself to keep things ended, even if it hurt, even if you missed being held and loved. You needed to clear your head and that meant staying away from Marcus and Remus. You avoided him as much as you could, filling your time with your friends or just being alone. You could walk the castle or grounds and be with your thoughts. Maybe that’d help you see what you needed to do.

You were up late in the common room alone. It wasn’t a rare occurrence. Usually, you were working on an assignment you had put off or wanted to do really well on. This time you were sitting on the floor in front of the fire, hugging your knees to your chest. You had never felt so empty. You knew what was missing: Remus. But you can’t go back to him. Even if you want to treat him right this time, Sirius and James and Peter… They’d find a way to convince Remus to shut you out, as they should. It was right of them to be protective of him.

Then the portrait opened. Remus walked in. You looked up and your heart stopped beating. You hadn’t realized he was out on prefect patrols.

“Hey,” he said from the other side of the common room. There’s an awkwardness in the air between you.

Remus had stopped walking when he made eye contact with you. He wasn’t sure where he stood with you anymore. He wasn’t sure if you were even friends anymore. He tried to be what you needed and somehow that drove you alone. Remus wasn’t aware of what Sirius said to you, nor that you took it to heart.

“Hi.” Your voice was as hollow as it was when you really ended things with Marcus.

“Do…” He shouldn’t ask and he knows it. He should go to bed. “Do you need someone?”

“No. Not someone.” You wet your lips before pressing them together. “I need you.”

Remus hated how he was at your side with a few strides, how he sat down on the floor next to you and put his arms around you. But then, like you used to, you leaned into his side. You weren’t crying and curling in on yourself like you had in the past. This time you wrapped your arms around him and pressed your face into his chest. You inhaled deeply, relishing in his smell. Merlin, you had missed it.

“‘M mry,” you mumbled into his chest.

Remus rubbed your back and peered down at you. “Hmm?”

You pulled your face back just enough to repeat, “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Everything.”

“Everything?”

You nodded and hugged Remus tighter. If you relinquished your grip on him, you were certain he’d go to bed and you’d lose this moment forever.

“That’s an awful lot to be sorry for, darling.”

You mumbled something into his chest again, but Remus let it be. You were in his arms again, and it wasn’t because you were running from Marcus. He hadn’t seen you with him for over a month. He wasn’t sure what was wrong, but it felt so good to have you burying yourself into his chest. He just rubbed your back.

“I don’t deserve you,” you whispered after a while.

Remus hummed in confusion again, a simple urge to keep talking.

“You… you deserve better than me. Someone who sees how amazing you are. All the time. Not just when I’m hurting.”

You felt Remus shrug. “I don’t mind.”

“You should.”

“I’d rather have you at your worst moments than not at all. I don’t really care what that says about me.”

You hugged Remus tighter. You truly did not deserve to have this boy in your life.

“Would you have me all the time if I asked?” you asked quietly.

“Of course.”

“Can I ask something?”

He hummed.

“How come you never asked?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to be mine in the way that I’m yours.”

“I… I want to be yours, Remus.” You adjusted in his arms so you could look at him fully. “I want to be the one who’s next to you. I want to be the one kissing you and holding you. I want to always be coming to you. Not just when I feel like crying. But when I’ve had a good day or a mediocre day or when I’ve just heard a stupid joke or finished a book. I want to dance with you at parties and sit next to you in class. I want to give you my notes so that you can not-so-secretly give them to your friends. I want to sit with you in the hospital wing whenever you miss class to make sure you aren’t falling behind in any way.” You paused for a breath. “I want to be yours, if you’d have it in you to have me.”

“I have it in me,” Remus said before using his arms around you to bring you close enough to kiss.

It felt different than the times you snogged him. It was better. It was better because this time it matter who you were kissing. Not only was this Remus, but this was Remus who had been yours before you’d asked and now you were his. You had just been too blind to see before that he was truly yours, but he always had been. You don’t want to think what might’ve been if you had seen it. That would make you too sad.

Now wasn’t a sad moment. Now the beginning of you and Remus in the fullness of your feelings. You weren’t going to let go of him anytime soon. This was your Remus. And your Remus didn’t mind your flaws and mistakes.

tags: @navs-bhat, @faceache111

#marauders #marauder-misprint #marauders fic #remus lupin fic #remus lupin #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin angst #remus lupin x reader

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koyaildoesstuff · 2 days ago

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Merci beaucoup @assortedvariety. Je suis tres heureux que j’ai te rencontres. (Alright, I’ll stop with the French now. But seriously, I’m so glad you are my moot 💜. You were one of my first three moots, and so you were one of three people who single-handedly kept me motivated to continue posting my chaos. And I can talk Silm with you! I love your art and fics as well, and I’m so glad to have you around.)

@askereiniongilgalad- I am so glad to have you around. You were one of the first blogs I followed, and my first moot. I almost screamed when I had gotten the notification that you were following me, just because I had fallen deeply in love with your blog. It’s been a while since we’ve talked, but you’re amazing.

@adarssuggestionbox- My lord father. Thank you so much for embracing me with open arms. I never thought I would find a home in Mordor of all places, so I thank you that I also found a family. *jumps onto you for a hug*

And by extension @wowstrawberrycow- thank you so much for rp with me. I have so much fun with Adar, and you do such a great job with him. I hope Celebrimbor’s wig doesn’t give you too much trouble.

You three motivated me to continue with this blog and not just lurk and reblog stuff. You were my first three moots. I have never really known the toxicity I’ve heard of in the fandom because you three opened your arms to me and showed me the safe side of it. You peeps are amazing, Borahae sooooooo much.

@starstruck-mortal-mari- thank you so much for being here, and supporting me through some of my more trying moments that I’ve blogged about. You and Ereinion have forever blessed my feed 💙✨

@tolkenian-enby- my favorite styrofoam eating moot (and also the only one). I love having you around, and I’m glad to have someone I know shares my humor in silm memes

@iwanderbecauseimlost- your blog is a great addition to my feed. Thank you for also putting me onto eat your young by hozier. I knew of the song, but never really listened to it, and now it’s a favorite 💜

@the-elvenking-of-mirkwood- I’m glad to have you on here as well

@ffigwit- we don’t interact often, but I’m so glad anytime I get a notification from you. I’m glad to have you around

@depressedyeti- thank you for supporting my blog. I remember waking up one day to like 10 notifications from you, and thinking “this person seems pretty cool.” Thank you for being here

@balrogballs- thank you for the utter chaos that is your blog. You’ve almost tricked me with your shitposts more times than I would like to admit 😅

@ringsofpowerconfessions- I know you often get a lot of flak for what you do, but thank you for providing a safe space for the fandom’s unhinged thoughts. I’m glad to have you on my feed

And lastly, those of you who aren’t my moots, and I rarely (or never have) talked to

Merry, since I know the tag won’t work- My lady of Eregion. Thank you for blessing my feed with all the Cele love, and other random musings. Your art is stunning, and I’m glad to have you in my feed

Mcpanye, since the tag won’t work either- I am always glad to see you on my feed <3. Please continue to be our fandom’s strongest soldier

@braxix- the quotes never fail to make me laugh at how true they are and hilarious they are.

@rivendellwatch- thank you so much for organizing the fluffy weeks. I hope you rest well before spice week starts! Your comments on my cc week fics really helped me feel more confident in my writing too, as well as help me reach a bigger audience

@cilil, @edensrose, @doodle-pops, @erebusbabylon, @runawaymun- we’ve never interacted (except briefly with Eden and runaway), but I read your fanfiction when I was an empty blog lurker, and those stories still motivate me today, and I often go back to them. Thank you <3 Also, Mina, thank you so much for saving Icarus’s headcanons.

I’m probably forgetting people, but thank you all for creating a safe space for trop and silm on tumblr

Sooo...I woke up to a crap ton of negativity in the ROP/TROP fandom tag. I don't want to get involved at all, but I DO want to see the fandom being a thriving, happy place. So here's a positivity tag game I'd like to offer for anyone who'd like to contribute.

RULES

Tag 3 (or more!) people who you admire or enjoy in the fandom and write a short 1-2 sentences about why you admire them. The tagged people then reblog with 3 or more people they admire/enjoy and so on.

@queenmeriadoc & @helenvader For organizing all sorts of fun fandom events and themed weeks! Even though I don't usually have time to participate, I love seeing the events and everyone's resulting creativity.

@hellofeanor For your amazing Annatar cosplay that makes me drool with envy and appreciation whenever I see it because it is my DREAM to be that good at cosplay some day.

@a-bungle For your stunning fandom art that makes me catch my breath and smash the reblog button every time I see it.

@artesdaterramediaby-kithkerulin For your amazing Haladriel art that makes me grin like an idiot (and also smash the reblog button) every time I see it.

@samiaescorcio15 For your soft and lovely art that makes me feel all warm and fluffy and happy. (And I can't WAIT to get my order of your stickers :D:D:D)

@sauronsgianthands For your hilarious tags and comments that I love to see on other people's posts.

@sauron-the-sexy For your wonderful (and very sexy) gifs of our favorite diabolical Dark Lord.

@baddybaddyadardaddy For seeing all the love and positivity you spread about our favorite Uruk Daddy.

Additional tags: anyone who wants to join in spreading some positivity around the fandom!

#i love my moots #trop #silmarillion #ramblings #roleplay

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chara-cat5 · 3 days ago

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lads college au

last pre-relationship episode

this is a college au in a normal modern universe (ours). theres no evols. gender neural mc/reader

this only has caleb's part if you are after one of the other lads.

masterlist link

caleb

the days were getting shorter and colder, the snowy season on the approach. you made caleb your personal guard on darker walks home and in return, you'd hang out while he practiced for basketball and went to his games. he'd carry your bag like a gentleman (his instance), holding it over your head if tried to take it back.

as your last class ends, you packed your things, noting the time before you left. moving through campus was easy enough, most students already gone for the day. you could walk at your own speed, humming softly to a song only in your head. you found caleb outside, his classes done before yours so he'd play with his buddies in the outside court. you heard them before you saw them, heads of brown, black or blond hair flying around their heads as they cheered. you hooked your fingers through the fence, watching the boys bebop around for a moment. your eyes were drawn to caleb, his shirt loosely hanging over a fit form. while you were distracted, gideon came panting over, grabbing his water. he glanced at you, sweat dripping from his black hair as he smirked.

"here for your boyfriend?"

you scoffed, rolling your eyes despite the slight heat coming to your cheeks. it wasn't lost on you that maybe possibly somewhere you had caught feelings for caleb. and as much as you wanted to deny it, it changed your outlook on him. he was still caleb, but suddenly he also made your stomach twist and face warm.

"shut it, gideon. at least i have game. you're clearly loosing this one.

he huffed out a laugh, about to retort when caleb came over, a broad smile on his lips at the sight of you. he grabbed his bag, tugging out both his water bottle and a bottle of your favorite juice.

"pips! there you are. mind waiting a bit? gotta finish this game."

you walked around the fence, taking the juice as he handed it to you with a smile.

"course, caleb. i await your victory."

he smiled at you while gideon rolled his eyes. you made yourself comfortable on the sidelines, pulling out a notebook while you waited. you intended to work, maybe review your notes, but just doodled in the margins between watching the game. after their scrimmage, they flopped down in the grass, catching their breath before they would return to their dorms and apartments. caleb walked over with a mischievous grin, flopping his sweaty head into your lap.

"ew! caleb!"

you pulled your hands and notbook away in disgust, groaning as he settled comfortably.

"come on, pipsqueak, you make the best pillow."

you felt your cheeks heat as you glared at him, a few of his friends chuckling.

"caleb. you have five seconds to get your sweaty ass off me before i start hitting."

he let out a groan as he sat up, pouting at you like a child.

"pips..."

"no pips! you're gross."

gideon huffed at the display, groaning as he stood up.

"i'm heading out. theres only so long i can listen to you two."

"what's that supposed to mean, huh?"

caleb's pout slipped from his face as he watched gideon, a boy named mark also standing.

"means your insufferable when you're acting like a lovesick puppy."

caleb only rolled his eyes, seeming unbothered by a comment that brought the heat rushing back to your cheeks. lovesick? caleb wasn't lovesick for you, he was just... friendly. thats it. you had always been touchy and close. it's not like that... (denial is a river in Egypt, dearest).

"not my fault i'm comfortable being touchy."

eventually, you followed their lead, packing up and heading toward your own place. caleb walked next to you, his taller frame on the road side of the sidewalk. you hummed softly, watching the way each of your shadows moved against the ground. it made him look taller, his shadow all stretched out next to yours. glancing at his real body, he had cooled off, no longer all sweaty. his hair was still ruffled, but in the nonchalant way it always was.

"...pips?"

you hummed distractedly, still half lost in thought. when he called your name you snapped your gaze to his eyes. he never used your name...

"... does it... bother you when the guys tease you or me about us, ya know."

you blinked at him, considering his words before averting your gaze. did it bother you? it made you a little embarrassed, sure. but it's not like it made you upset or angry.

"no. not really. the biggest thing is i worry you'll be uncomfortable being paired off with me."

"i would never be uncomfortable with that."

you met his purple gaze again, his words lacking any hesitation. your own hesitation made the silence stretch, before he spoke again.

"i like how we are."

he shifted your bag to his other hand to gently take yours in his.

"i don't want to change for anyone but you."

your eyebrows furrowed slightly at his words, squeezing his hand as you came to a stop.

"i don't want you to change. especially not for me. you should be yourself."

he looked at you for a moment, letting your words settle before he reached out to rub the crease between your eyebrows.

"i won't change then, pips. won't change for you."

you went back to walking, swinging your joined hands back and forth. you hummed a soft tune before caleb finished it, making you look back to him. he smiled, shrugging his shoulders.

"you've always liked that song. i actually tried to learn how to play it on the guitar when we were little..."

"wait, really? i didn't know you could play guitar."

he chuckled, looking away guiltily.

"i... can't. i got stuck on f major and quit. but i tried at one point! i probably could now if i tried to learn again."

you laughed, rolling your eyes at his silliness. you didn't notice how his gaze stayed on you, his entire form melting at the sound of your pure laughter. you reached your apartment and he let go pf your hand. you already missed the warmth of it as you took your bag. he shuffled his feet, hesitating before he walked to his own place.

"you have no classes tomorrow, right? maybe we could go out?"

you nodded with a smile, thinking he just meant like one of your casual hang outs together.

"sure. do you have anywhere in mind?"

"well thats a surprise, pips. see you tomorrow!"

he sprinted off in the dimmed light, the sun almost gone.

"text me when you get home!"

*********************************

caleb showed up around 9:30 the next day, his usually grin on his lips as you opened your door. the two of you walked to this mystery location he had planned, but you were maybe a little more self conscious... you had spent a little longer today getting ready and you hoped he didn't notice. he led the way to the park, pulling out a blanket from his backpack you hadn't noticed before. you laughed as he patted the ground next to him, flopping down dramatically.

"so you planned a little romantic picnic, huh?"

he huffed at your teasing tone, reaching over to flick your hair from your face.

"you could say that."

he brought out a lunch box with snacks in it, all giving you a sense of nostalgia. they were all treats you used to share as kids.

"i mean, whats more romantic then a fruit roll up?"

he snickered as he stuck one end in his mouth, holding the other end to your lips.

"wanna lady and the tramp it?"

you snickered, shoving his shoulder as you sat up.

"no way! i have cooties after all."

he groaned at your words, tilting his head back.

"that was one time! don't tell me you aren't over it?"

you only hummed, a smug look on your face as you popped a few cheeseits in your mouth. he huffed, laying his head in your lap, pouting up at you.

"i said i was sorry, pips. i said sorry like 10 years ago."

you fed him a square, rolling your eyes at his dramatics.

"i'm just teasing you big baby. this is really nice..."

he met your gaze, a warm look on his face.

"yeah? how would you rate this against all the dates you've been on?"

you sputtered, almost choking on yellow number 5 as you snapped your gaze down to him.

"date?!"

he tilted his head, reaching up to push you hair back.

"yeah... was that not obvious? i thought i was being clear about my feelings..."

you felt dazed as you shook your head, heat rushing to your face. you avoided his gaze, your hands fidgeting with the cheeseits wrapper.

"you... have feelings for me? i didn't know..."

he groaned as he sat up, turning to face you.

"pips, if it makes you uncomfortable, i'm fine being friends. i just- i guess i though you felt the same."

you nod, looking at him with wide eyes as you slipped your hands into his.

"i do! i'm just surprised! i um-... i like you. a-and would be open- very open- to dating you."

his lips quickly broke out into a grin, hands gripping yours tightly before he tugged you against him. you yelped, your body tugged over his as he laid onto his back.

"caleb!-"

"you're stuck with me, pips!"

you fell into giggles, unable to stop the giddy feeling as you goofed off with him. he was silly and lovely and for this moment, yours. your caleb.

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

little update

just finished this part and gods it took forever!! i started writing just after the last post and still. (did have work everyday since then, so my time spent on it was very limited)

this has taught me that maybe, i'm not that good of a writer cause i had to review and rewrite it a few times before i was happy.

but i will continue! no quitting! and i shall also improve!

thank you for reading!

-chara <3

#caleb x reader #lads #lads caleb #lads mc #lads x reader #love and deepspace

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yvesssssssss · 15 hours ago

Note

Haiiii! I love your work smm 😭 Binge rereading them all the time heh:33

Can I request Yuta Okkotsu with a gf that gets startled easily? Like the moment she turns around too quickly and spots Yuta out of the corner of her eye, her heart is doing leaps and she jumps a little bit 🤞 Thank you so much for the hard work heh 💕

Yuta with a girlfriend who gets startled easily

Hii!n you're the sweetest!!🥹 Thank you so much!! I'm glad you love the stories!(⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

You don’t mean to be this jumpy. Really, you don’t.

But when you’re standing in front of a vending machine, debating between hot chocolate and matcha milk tea, and someone gently clears their throat behind you—

“GAHH—!”

Your entire body jolts like you’ve been electrocuted. You spin around, heart doing backflips, only to see—

Yuta.

With his usual soft smile and apologetic eyes, holding his wallet like he was just going to buy a drink too. “I—sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

You press a hand to your chest like you’re trying to hold your heart in place. “You startled the soul out of me, Yuta.”

“I thought you saw me coming! I even cleared my throat.”

“That did nothing!” you groan. “You need to stomp or sneeze or—or yell next time!”

He tilts his head, lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. “Yell… what? ‘I’m coming! Don’t be scared!’?”

You glare, even as your face warms. “Yes. Exactly that.”

He raises both hands in surrender. “Got it. I’ll start carrying a megaphone.”

From that day on, Yuta does his best to give you very clear warning before approaching. The problem is… he’s just too good at sneaking up on people. Even when he’s not trying.

You’ll be in the common room, minding your business, headphones on, sketching a little doodle of a sleepy Miku curled up like a cat—and next thing you know, there's a shadow at your side.

You pull your earbuds out and turn.

“AHHH—!”

Yuta flinches when you yelp and nearly fall off the couch. “I—oh my god—I’m sorry!”

You blink at him, wide-eyed and panting. “Yuta! You can’t just—stand there like that!”

“I didn’t mean to! I said your name!” he insists, crouching to make sure you’re okay. “Twice!”

You groan, grabbing a couch pillow and hugging it to your chest. “You were too gentle. It doesn’t count unless it’s dramatic.”

“…Dramatic?” he echoes.

“Like—‘OH HEY! BELOVED GIRLFRIEND! I’M APPROACHING NOW!’”

Yuta laughs, finally. “I’m gonna get kicked out of the dorms if I yell like that every time I see you.”

You narrow your eyes. “Or you could wear a bell.”

“…Like a cat?”

“If the shoe fits.”

#yuta okkotsu #okkotsu yuuta #yuuta x reader #jjk yuuta #yuuta okkotsu x reader #jjk okkotsu #okkotsu yuta x you #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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smiley-mcdoggington · 1 day ago

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Weee mini ficlet CW SOOSTAN CW SEX WORK

"Hello. You're very pretty. I'm Soos."

The woman at the bar side-eyed him.

"So. Uh. You seem to like drinking."

Her eyebrows lowered.

"That's cool. Uh."

She put a hand up to hold her drink, covering the top with her palm.

"Do you have a phone number? Cus - I have a phone and... you..." She got up and left for a table of other women.

The bar was hot, full of faces he didn't recognize, crowded with people and everyone seemed to be with someone but him. Then he found a bathroom sign.

The shuffle-pivot to the bathroom took a minute, but he got there and immediately locked himself in the first available stall. He felt sweaty and sticky and the half a drink he had just gave him a headache but he wasn't going home until he had someone for Reggie's wedding.

There was a knock at the stall wall. "C'mon, kid, pay or leave."

He looked at the wall. It was covered in doodles and swears and numbers but there were two arrows pointing down at a hole in the wall. "What?" He asked.

"You heard me, ten for a hand, twenty for lip service, fifty ta boof, big guy."

"Uh. No thank you."

"No thank you? No thank you, he says - well then what're you doin' in here? Out of order sign wasn't just for show."

"Oh - sorry dude, I didn't notice. It's just so hot out there, and I dunno how to talk to girls and--"

"Ey, twenty for life advice, bub, I'm running a business here." The man in the other stall cut in.

"Oh - sorry sir." He pulled two crumbled tens from his wallet, offering them under the stall. The hand that grabbed the bills from him felt very moisturized.

"Okay, go on - girl trouble."

"The thing is, I need someone to take to my cousin's wedding, my Abuelita wants me to go with a date, so I asked my friend Wendy where to find girls but she's only fifteen and she's never left our hometown so she didn't know so I asked her dad and her dad said go to this dive bar because this is where he met his wife and it was manly and stuff, but I can't say anything right and I don't wanna disappoint my grandma, you know?"

The man in the next stall hummed. "So what's your line? How do you start with these girls?"

"Uh. Hi, I'm Soos?"

"Yikes kid that's just awful. You gotta-- ah shit a customer. Get out, kid."

"Wait! Your wisdom!" Soos knocked again.

"Ugh, just come over here, kid, I can work and talk." He said, and Soos heard a stall door click.

He got off the broken toilet and opened the door to see a man avoiding eye contact. Then he was yanked into the next stall and pulled to sit on the lid of that toilet. The man he'd been talking to was smaller than him, long brown hair and a red sweater, with Soos sitting he had to look up at him and he looked like he already knew more about Soos than Soos did.

The stall next to theirs clicked shut. "What the hell's going on in there?" The man from before asked, sounding a lot more confident than he looked earlier. His twenty-dollar mentor sank to his knees, where he was level with the hole in the wall. "C'mon, gorgeous, you don't mind my little understudy here, do ya? I'll make it worth your while." He said, voice gravelly and dragging in a way it didn't with Soos.

"Fine, fine - how much for a blow?"

"Thirty, but I'll knock it down to twenty for the audience."

"Fuck - fine, yeah." A twenty was fit through the hole, and the man snatched it.

Then someones dick was through the hole, and the guy's eyes were on him again. "See, you gotta romance them first." He spoke, lips running along the side of the stranger's dick. "Tell em' they're gorgeous, tell em' what caught your eye about them, tell em' you saw em' and you just had to come over." He cradled the head on his tongue before wrapping his lips around it, pushing forward and forward, taking more and more in his mouth until his nose was against the stall wall. A groan rumbled out of him, and he never stopped looking at Soos.

"I - uh. I think I did that. Called them pretty and stuff, but then I didn't know what to say."

The man pulled off. "A flower is pretty, kid. Look for something more, something they want noticed." He purred. "Why don't you try romancing me, I'll stop you when you go too wrong." He instructed, before his lips were around that stranger's shaft again.

"Oh - okay. Uh. Hello, your... Your hair is really nice, it looks soft, reminds me of a lion. Uh. But you probably know that, you look like you know things you..." The man never looked away while his head moved back and forth and back and forth. "... You look like you really know what you're doing. And I really wanna get to know you more, because you seem smart. My name's Soos, what's yours?"

The man pulled off. "Just call me Lee." He said. "You did good, the cute dork thing works for you--"

There was a rude knocking at the stall door, and Lee started running his tongue over the stranger's dick again. "So why can't I get girls to talk to me?"

Lee hummed, maybe because he was thinking, maybe because it made the guy in the other stall whine. "That's cus' this ain't a place for big, cute marshmallows." He purred, before he swallowed the other man whole.

"So - where do I go?"

Lee pulled off the man with a wet pop. "College town, bit west of here, wear something nice, bring flowers, sit at a cafe, put on a mopey look at a table for two, they'll be on you like flies." He said simply, before going back to his customer.

"Oh." Soos sighed. "I really wanted to get someone tonight."

"Well I'm a knockout in a dress but I'm not the kinda guy anyone wants sniffing around their grandson, sorry, kid."

Soos' eyes widened and he shot to his feet. "You'd go with me? If my Abuelita was okay with it?"

Lee shrugged, not taking his mouth off the stranger.

"That's great! So - do you wanna go out tomorrow or..."

Lee pulled off the guy, working him with his hand for a second. "Wedding's tommorow?"

"No, in four months, but you're my date, right? I gotta take you out before then."

Lee raised an eyebrow. "You know I charge by the hour, right?"

"You got it, dude. I'll pay for dinner, too."

Lee smiled against the stranger's shaft. "Good boy." He said, looking Soos in the eye.

The other guy came, getting Lee's check and in his hair. Lee's smile withered, he finally looked away from Soos to glare at the stall wall, his grip on the other guy turning iron. "Facial's extra, pal." He said, tone sharp like it was before.

He looked... Nice. His lips were red and bruised, an old, weathered anger in the set of his shoulders, hand not moving to wipe away the come dripping off his jaw.

The guy on the other end knocked, and Lee let go of him. A second later a ten was slipped through the hole and Lee smiled.

"Good. Now fuck off." He said, and sighed once the other guy had scrambled out of the stall and the bathroom. "Now I got a mess."

Soos grabbed some toilet paper and wiped his cheek. Lee looked up at him again and it felt better this way. He didn't look so angry.

"You're a sweet kid, Soos, I won't pass up the money but... You'll do alright."

Soos got to his hair and you can't really wipe stuff out of hair. "I'm in a motel for the night - got a shower in there, if you want it."

Lee smiled like he might eat Soos alive. "Sure kid."

#soostan #drafts

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explorer-alba · 3 days ago

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Entry 01

So I started my journey - maybe a little unprepared. Only got my trusty Dagger and an old rusty pistol. Maybe not the best choice, since an imp nearly killed me. Never thought these small beast can get so dangerous in numbers.

At least I found some new gear during my exploration. Like this neat Staff - looks like it was made from Iron. Wasn't a big fan at first - it felt so clunky. But man this thing hits hard. So props to Iron craft. It's really solid.

Also got this adorable patch from some Cubs.

They were exploring the Ruins. Had to protect them from ghost, since they got spooked a bit. In the end the three did very well. I'm proud of them and hope they remain together as a warband.

I miss mine,... :sigh:

Anyway,... haven't found anything interesting for my legion, but I made these two paintings. It's been a while since I last drew, but I definitely haven't forgotten how.

Now its time for a little rest, before I continue my journey.

Maybe I meet that person again, who called for me. Sadly missed them, as I was on a hurry and haven't noticed at first.

~ Alba

To my future self: Get some better food, cold Hamburgers are terrible,...

--- I opened Alba's Ask box, in case you wanna toss a question or two at them :3 I will mostly answer with screenshots, but maybe I feel motivated to answer with a little doodle once in a while. Already really like this white cat.

#gw2adventurerchallenge #gw2 adventurer challenge #gw2 #guildwars2 #guild wars 2 #charr #explorer alba

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brainlessbaguette · 2 days ago

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Should I be prepping for art fight... yes. Anywhoosies have a lynel matriarch because I will apparently draw anything except for a man!

I really told myself this would be the year I get good at drawing guys, and yet here I am again at a buff lady, a battle grandma.

I love that zelda enemies always seem much smarter than the game acknowledges, especially in botw and especially the lynels in botw. And this is the thought that lead to battle grandma. If my undying adoration of our collective skull kid son hasn't given it away by now, I like taking the neutral or enemy monsters and making them into full characters. Forget the Zoras and Ritos, I want a tribe of aggressive cat centaurs who's respect can only be earned through blood on a battlefield. Could you imagine how neato it would be to get mounted archery lessons from a Lynel. GUYS. I WANT THIS.

These are some very early doodles, a work in progress concept in a way that probably wont go anywhere. I was just having Zelda thoughts again, as usual.

And before anyone wonders it yes I want a lady lynel at the head of the group I will not budge on that. I hate drawing men AND (and infinitely more importantly) I believe lionesses are always getting the short end of the stick. King of the jungle while the queens are out there doing all the work, no thank you. Sarabi and Nala deserved better.

#i have been calling granny Ida btw #idk why it just feels like a good old lady name #i may be losing my mind #the legend of zelda #loz #zelda #lynel #...im gonna end up like kilton #oh dear #at least the hoodie looks comfy

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nozhdyved · 2 days ago

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bf!kurt kunkle headcanons

contains: 18+, mdni. kurt kunkle x gn!reader, lots of mentions of blood and gore, bodily harm (consensual this mf freaky) blood kink, praise and degradation, idolization of serial killers, autistic kurt kunkle, even though he's a freak we love him 🫶

notes: managed to rush this one really quick before i leave but i really love these... he's such a loser. also charlie finally smutting it up? we like? we dont like?? ENJOYYY i love kurt sm

taglist: @girliism, @imperishablereverie, @faiztsheap, @musingsofheaven, @yardofbrunettes, @fwaist, @sincerelystarry, @222col

𖤐 is the most chronically online mf ever. will send you a tiktok with some niche brainrot in a whole other language along with “🤣🤣🤣” and you’re just like “??? babe what”

𖤐 such a sweetheart deep down. he just really wants to know that what he’s doing is good (major praise kink hellauurr!) if you’re having a panic attack, he’ll ground you with breathing, no touching. if you’re stressing over an exam, he’ll plan a little date night to take your mind off of it. afterwards, he’ll always ask “did i do good? was that helpful?” like a bot survey. he really takes it seriously, too, making little changes every time.

𖤐 you guys had a spree meet cute <3 well not meet cute bc he was planning on killing you.. but he didn’t! that’s cute <3 you had hopped into his spree, passenger seat, not like other riders, and had chatted with him the whole time, distracting him with the pretty scent of your fragrance and how your eyes would gleam. you were talking about how you were going to a restaurant with someone you’ve been after for a month, making heart eyes as you ramble to him. when he drops you off, you leave a five dollar tip, and he’s left to just gape at you. you’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen– and he’s picked up tons of hookers before!

𖤐 it’s an odd sort of fate that makes him your spree driver later that night, picking you up while you’re sobbing on the curb. “god, he was- such a douche!” you whine to him as he gets you buckled in, listening intently to your every word. he lets you cry on him, rant to him, and he even puts in his two cents once in a while. “what a total incel. i would never treat someone as perfect as you so badly.”

𖤐 kurt kills that guy that same night after dropping you off. corners him in his apartment, pistol in one hand and knife in the other. “i’ll let you pick, i’m feeling nice- even though i should just blow your brains out right now, huh? fucking beta.”

𖤐 he mails you a photo of the guys bloodied corpse, and you want to scream and throw up- until you see the little car doodle on the back, the scribbled phone number and call me in messy scrawl.

𖤐 you try to stay out of his business, and he tries to keep you out of it, though sometimes your worlds interlap. he kills one of your professors one night, dragging the body from the trunk of his car over to your dorm, waiting for you to answer like a cat bringing a dead mouse to their owner. “kurt, what the fuck-?!” “shh shh shhhh, baby, do you have any bleach?”

𖤐 he washes off his instruments in your bathtub. a hacksaw crusted with blood, his favorite drill with its bits and pieces torn apart because of how different guts and brain matter got wedged into the mechanism. knives of all different sizes, just laying in your bathtub, their shiny sheen splattered with blood. sometimes he needs you to help him clean it up, so you’ll scrub with a sponge until the water runs red, and you’ll pass it to him for him to wash off with the showerhead. it’s silent the whole time, just running water and clinking metal. you don’t ask questions, and he doesn’t want you to.

𖤐 the one thing he never brings around you is his guns. you know he has one, more than one, but you never see them. it’s purposeful on his half. even if you’re riding in his car, he’ll hide them or even just fully take them out of his car, opting for a knife as self defense.

𖤐 at first, you’re scared to get close to him. who knows how many people he’s killed? but he’s genuinely a caring person, just wanting someone to make him feel loved. he treats you better than he treats himself- name something, and he’ll find a way to get it to you.

𖤐 is too paranoid to go to car washes, so he’ll park in an abandoned ditch near your place, and you two will walk down there with buckets of water and sponges. he’ll make a date out of it, playing music and splashing water on you as you scrub the guts out of his car, laughing at his huge smile. he’ll leave damp handprints on the back of your pants and wet kisses along your neck everytime he walks by you.

𖤐 you have to calm him down from a murderous rage every time he gets jealous over the smallest things. one of your friends high-fived you? “she wants you so bad, im- ugh! hold on. i’m gonna get my tiny gun so i can keep it in my pocket and shoot her when she least expects it.”

𖤐 obsessed with blood. like, obsessed. he’d bathe in it if he could. sometimes he’ll use a small blade to carve thin lines into his skin, pricking the tip of his finger and pressing it to your lips, watching with hungry eyes as you lap it up. “maybe i should bring you along on my rides. you’d be like my sexy sidekick.”

𖤐 has a really bad rule 34 problem. like. Bad. he’s a massive fucking gooner. he’ll excuse himself to the bathroom while you’re hanging out, and less than five minutes later, you’ll hear the wet slapping sounds of him fucking his fist and his muffled moans. when you walk in, you’ll be sure to see him with his t-shirt in his mouth, some sort of anime or game nsfw art pulled up on his phone. if he’s feeling really depraved, he’ll watch an animation.

𖤐 you sort of heal him though. because the only thing better than his r34 art is you, sculpted from marble and sent down from the gods. his phone can’t capture the taste of blood on your sweet flesh, or the scent of your arousal as he kisses down your abdomen. sure, he’s still a gooner- but he only goons to you now.

𖤐 his gamer tag is kurts96inchkock. that’s it.

𖤐 actually such a little bitch when he plays video games- but in a shy way? it’s endearing. he’ll begin to insult someone, then look over at you for approval, as if afraid of disappointing you. like the fact that he killed people wouldn’t scare you off, but him calling a little nine year old on cod a “beta bitch” would. you nod, most of the time, to see what he says. it’s always creative. “i’m gonna use your face as my wet wipe, bitch.” “oh, i’m gonna fuck you so hard my dick will leave an imprint.” “FUCKING- goddamnit! you’re a stupid fucking cuck!”

𖤐 he opens up to you about his parents, sooner than you expect. how after the divorce, his life went downhill. his mom would leave him alone constantly to go seek some washed up celebrity to have sex with, while his dad never remembered to send child support to his mother. not even a birthday card. “this is going to sound just- awful,” he’ll whisper to you, “but i don’t regret killing them. not at all, not for a second.” and maybe it’s awful of you, but you understand. that’s why he loves you.

𖤐 one day, you ask about his process, and his eyes light up, excited to talk about his passion- then he pauses, gaze narrowing. “waaaait a minute. are you just trying to get a recording of me to send to the police.” you laugh, kissing his cheek, and assuring him you’re not. he brightens again, launching into a grisly explanation. “okay, obviously, it depends on if the passenger is in the front or back seat….”

𖤐 you teach him about buying followers on instagram– and after you show him, he praises you like a god. “wow- oh my god, its like- endless clout, haha! there’s so many people watching me! oh my god, they’re watching!” he squeals and throws his arms around you, kissing up and down your neck. you don’t need to tell him that most of the followers are bots. he’s happy.

𖤐 makes you a mix. he hands you the cd, with ‘for my baby :) <3’ scribbled on it with a red sharpie. it’s all heavy basses and off tempo hi-hats, but you can’t even deny how much you love it. the distorted sound of his tag, “dj kurt kunkle” with an added on “...is in love!” just makes you melt. his music is shit, but it’s obvious how much effort he’s put into making a mix just for you. he beams with pride as you kiss him on the cheek, and you keep the cd in the glove box of your car.

𖤐 kurt is such a fucking munch. if there’s a hole, there’s a goal, but he doesnt think with his dick. his tongue is fucking heavenly, teasing and flicking at all the right spots to make you squirm and beg for more, his hands holding down your hips so you dont move too much. ass or pussy, he’ll devour it like it’s a five course meal. he’d finish you off, watch you tremor from the orgasm and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, slick and cum dripping down it. he came from eating you out– “now that’s what i call a job well done!”

𖤐 lives for praise. like, lives for it. he’ll have his nose buried into your crotch, kissing at your sensitive areas like his life depends on it. “aah– ‘m i doin’ a good job? tell me- please, baby, need you so bad,” he’ll whine, looking up at you with wide brown eyes, desperate to please. and you can only be honest, yeah, he fucking is.

𖤐 you get him a collar that says ‘good boy.’ as a joke. and he laughs along with you, but he’s definitely chubbing up in his pants.

𖤐 despite the praise kink, he also has the filthiest mouth ever. degradation goes both ways for him, he’ll fuck your face until you’re crying and drool is bubbling up from your lips, and he’ll taunt you. “oh, can’t take it? mouthy fucking slut, you talk too much for someone who can’t even fit all of my cock in your mouth.”

𖤐 on the flip side, you’ll have a hand around his flushed, leaking cock, thumb swiping over the slit and making him whimper. he’s your needy whore, and you say so, making him moan louder, bucking his hips up into your fist. “g-gaah-! yeah, i am- ohh, i so am- can i cum? p-please, hnnnh, your slut wants to cum for- youuu!” he’ll lick his spend off your hand, tongue darting out to clean up every drop, then kiss you hungrily, making you taste him on his lips.

𖤐 you call him a loser while he’s fucking you one time, as a test, and he literally cums immediately. like, actually, warming you up from the inside. after he rides out his orgasm, he turns to you with a little pout. “...not a word.”

𖤐 for sure fucks you with the handle of his knife, even cutting a slit along his forearm to let it drip onto you as he fucks you. it turns him on so much to use what he previously used to end someone’s life to bring you pleasure. he could straight up just cum from watching you writhe and moan on the handle, drops of blood dotting your body as he smears it across your skin.

𖤐 sex playlist is diabolical. it goes from cbat to the gummi bear song to a song that he made a few months ago, making him get so excited that he stops mid fucking to explain to you his process for producing that beat.

𖤐 aftercare used to be non existent at the start of your relationship. he didn’t exactly know how to do it, so he would just cover your already sweating body with blankets and talk about an interest- whatever game he was into, an artist he liked, his last victim, and yeah, it was cute, but after a while you needed actual aftercare, especially as he became more bold in bed.

𖤐 when you explain to him what aftercare really is, he gets even more confused, treating your body after sex like a corpse he’s trying to dispose of. wiping you off with antiseptic wipes, snapping on latex gloves to carry you to the shower so he can wash you off. and you know what? good enough. he’s really trying his best.

𖤐 so fucking autistic, if you can’t tell. i might be projecting but like genuinely he for sure has autism. so unclear on how certain aspects of the law works, so you have to explain when he’s going 50 in a 20. “what-? but i'm in a rush! i have shit to do!” “yes, baby, but everyone’s got shit to do.” “but i’m the most important!”

𖤐 slight god complex i fear. he talks trash on past serial killers to you, gloating about his own deeds and how his name should be in history books. the only killer he admires is jack the ripper– “i mean, im sort of the next jack the ripper, huh? no one knows who i am,” he says smugly. (its because no one follows him) (shhh)

𖤐 wants to be a dad. honest to god, he actually does. you’re worried at first, scared you’ll become one of those family vloggers who exploits kids, but he sits you down and explains seriously. he doesn’t want to be known as kris kunkle’s deadbeat son, he wants to be someone’s dad, someone capable of taking care of another being who isn’t himself. he wants to prove the world wrong, he confesses tearfully, his hands holding yours. he would stop killing if you two started a family, and he’s being dead serious.

𖤐 i feel like he would have pet rats 😭 one named bowie and one named laurie. they smell like shit because he always forgets to clean their cage, so you do most of the time.

𖤐 he spends most of his time at your apartment or dorm. his place is a total mess, mattress on the dingy ground and guns in a pile behind a stack of folded clothes. you’ve tried to deep-clean with him before, but he just gets distracted, going through old papers and cooing at baby photos of himself.

𖤐 he’s like a fratboy tallying his body count, except it’s like. a dead body count. he has you scratch the tally marks across his back with a box cutter, squeezing your hand the whole time. “it’s okay,” he assures you, “i gotta remember my accomplishments somehow, babe.” he’ll look in the mirror with a smug grin on his face, watching the blood trickle down his shoulder blades.

𖤐 he also takes photos. millions, of either the bodies in the car right after, or maybe one bloodied and battered. sometimes he forgets, so there’s a blurry photo in the dark of a body laying in a shallow grave or in a body bag. either way, he always remembers eventually, and keeps them in a photo album, tucked away behind your notebooks for class. one time, someone almost opened it up and you hurried to stop them, slamming it shut and blurting out “those are my boyfriend’s nudes!”

𖤐 kurt laughs when you tell him the story, and since then, he’ll give you little polaroids a few times a week. the angry red tip of his dick beaded with pre cum, laying against his stomach, a photo of his face mid-orgasm, eyes lidded and mouth parted in a moan, and once, a photo of his laptop screen pulled up to a photo of you, ropes of cum over he screen and his cock in his fist, mid pump as he came. that one was your favorite. now you have two photo albums to hide from visitors!

𖤐 he brings you trinkets from his rides. a beaded bracelet from one of his victims, maybe some colored pens that he got from rooting around in his victim’s bags, a few beat up paperbacks of all different subjects.

𖤐 for all his freakish tendencies, you really do love him. he’s attentive and sweet, always worrying about you and your wellbeing ahead of anything else. and that’s why he loves you even more, because you can look past his crimes and public image to see the real kurt. with you, he feels like he has 10 million followers all packed up in just one person, you, his beloved. his love for you runs deeper than his obsession with blood and murder, and if you asked him to stop killing, he would. but you don’t– it’s sort of part of his charm, isn’t it?

#charlie's writing #i had sm fun writing this i fear #spree 2020 #spree movie #kurt kunkle #kurtsworld96 #kurt kunkle x reader #kurt kunkle x you #kurt kunkle smut #kurt kunkle headcanons

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