Morning hair and sleepy eyes, little “good morning” clips where your voice still rasped. Snippets of your meals, the music you listened to, you dancing around your room while brushing your teeth. Sometimes it was just the sky or your shoes, your cat meowing for attention, or you venting about your manager. Nothing grand. But they were pieces of you — pieces you hoped would make him feel close, no matter how far he was.
And Chan watched them. Liked every message, double-tapped the stories, heart-reacted to the videos — but that was all. No “miss you too,” no “that’s so cute,” no “babe, I’ll call you when I get five minutes.”
Just… silence with hearts.
Sometimes, after particularly rough days, you’d get your favorite coffee delivered with a little note: “For the prettiest girl in the world – I’m sorry I can’t be there.” Or a bouquet of tulips — your favorite — with no card, but you knew it was him.
And God, you were grateful. But flowers couldn’t hug you. And coffees didn’t kiss your forehead and remind you it was real.
You waited. You waited for the night where maybe, just maybe, he’d actually reply. Not just “seen at 2:43am.” Not just a gift.
But that night never came. And eventually… the videos stopped.
⸻
You felt like a ghost in your own relationship.
His fans got to see him more than you did. And that stung.
You weren’t clingy — you told yourself that constantly. But it was the loneliness. The doubt. That creeping, twisting ache in your chest whispering, maybe I’m just a side piece. A comfort. Someone he loves, but only when it’s convenient.
You told no one. Not your best friend, not your coworkers. Not even Felix, though he always texted you with that sweet “how’ve you been, sunshine?” energy.
You just kept going out. Posting pictures in group dinners, bright lights, pretty clothes, even if you felt dead inside.
And he always liked the pictures.
He’s still watching.
But he’s not seeing you.
⸻
That night you cracked.
It had been two and a half months since he’d called. Four weeks since you sent your last message. And tonight, you had just finished eating dinner alone — again — when you did something you told yourself you wouldn’t do.
You called him.
“The number you’re trying to reach—”
You hung up before the voicemail hit. Your throat was burning.
Fine. You weren’t gonna cry. You weren’t gonna cry—
But why did it feel like the love was only one-way?
You scrolled and scrolled and landed on Felix’s name.
You didn’t think. You just called.
And he picked up. He picked up on the second ring.
“Y/N?” His voice was soft. Warm. Concerned. “Everything okay?”
And that was all it took.
You broke.
Tears spilled, your voice cracking as you said, “Why is it so easy for you to pick up, but he can’t even text me back?”
You weren’t even sure if he understood half of what you said. The crying made your words all twisted and high-pitched and frantic. But Felix sat through it. No interruptions. No sighs. Just a quiet, listening presence.
“He likes my posts but won’t even ask if I’m okay. I feel like I’m… I feel like I’m nothing to him sometimes. Like he’s with me, but he’s not really with me, y’know?”
You heard Felix sigh, voice barely above a whisper. “I know, love… I’m so sorry you feel that way. I know how much you love him.”
You hiccuped. “I do. But I can’t keep trying to stay in a relationship that doesn’t feel real anymore. I don’t wanna give up, but… it hurts, Lix.”
“I’ll talk to him,” he promised. “He needs to hear this. I swear, I’ll make sure he does. And whatever happens after… I’ve got you. Okay?”
You sniffled. “Okay.”
You wiped your tears, ended the call, and dropped your phone.
Then it rang again.
Chan.
You froze. Stared at the screen like it burned. Your heart slammed in your chest.
You picked up.
“…Hello?” your voice was raw.
“Baby?” His voice cracked immediately. “What’s going on? Felix told me—”
But before he could finish, everything exploded out of you.
“Why is it so hard for you to just text me back?” you yelled through sobs. “Do you know how humiliating it feels to be your girlfriend and still feel single? I’m always texting, always updating you, always waiting like a damn puppy — and you give me nothing! Flowers don’t make me feel better, Chan. They just remind me you’re not here.”
Silence. Just your sniffling and the sound of your heart breaking in your own ears.
When he spoke again, his voice was choked.
“I’m so sorry. God, Y/N, I didn’t know it was this bad…”
He took a breath. You could hear it shake.
“I thought if I liked the messages and watched everything, it was enough. I didn’t want to text if I didn’t have time to really talk. I didn’t want to half-ass it. But now I realize that even something would’ve been better than silence. You’re right. You deserve more. You deserve so much more.”
You swallowed hard. “Then why—?”
“Because I’m scared,” he admitted. “Because this job eats everything. I come home exhausted and guilty and I miss you so much it physically hurts. But I put off calling because I didn’t want to sound tired or make you think I wasn’t happy to talk to you. I thought sending food or flowers was a way to show I still cared. But I know that’s not enough.”
He paused. You could hear the quiver in his voice.
“I’ll come see you this weekend. No matter what. I’ll make it happen. I promise.”
You let out a breath. “You better,” you teased weakly.
He chuckled softly through what sounded like a sniffle. “I will. I love you. So much.”
“I love you too,” you whispered.
And when the call ended, you sat there — drained, but lighter.
⸻
Three days later.
You got home from work. Your feet ached, your makeup was half melted, and all you wanted was to shower and crawl into bed. You tied your hair up and began your night routine.
Toothbrush in your mouth, you heard it.
The front door unlocking.
You froze.
Your heart leapt into your throat as you padded down the stairs barefoot, toothbrush in hand.
And there he was.
Standing in the entryway.
Hoodie. Sweatpants. Duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Looking tired and soft and real.
You dropped everything and stared at him. Your eyes welled with tears.
He opened his arms.
And you ran.
You collided into him like your body had been waiting for it for years. He held you so tight, your feet nearly lifted off the floor. You sobbed into his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie like if you let go, he’d vanish.
He whispered into your hair, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
You didn’t move. Neither did he.
And in that silence, you finally felt something you hadn’t felt in months.
Halloo, it's been a while since I've been active, and now that I have already finished my studies, I'll try my best to continue my work!
Warning: Poly!Stray Kids x Bratty!Reader | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Soft Heart, Big Guilt
Y/N was a handful and they all knew it.
Bratty, snarky, sarcastic to the bone, always pushing buttons, rolling her eyes, challenging every single one of the boys like she was born to test their patience.
“You guys are lucky to have me,” she’d smirk, feet on the coffee table.
“And cursed,” Seungmin would mumble.
Still, they never traded her for anything.
Because underneath all that attitude and fire, they’d seen glimpses of something else. Something soft. Something delicate.
The way she slipped extra snacks into Hyunjin’s bag when he skipped meals. How she wordlessly massaged Chan’s shoulders during late-night meetings. How she wiped off Felix’s smudged eyeliner with a gentleness that didn’t match her sharp tongue.
She cared. Deeply.
But she hid it like it was something shameful.
It was safer to be difficult than to be loved.
---
“Y/N, baby,” Jisung grunted, dragging her arm off his head, “I can’t breathe if you lie on my face like that.”
She laughed, dramatic as ever. “That’s how I make sure you appreciate me.”
“You are literally the chaos in our lives,” Minho muttered as he walked past, giving her a pointed glare.
She blew a kiss at him. “You’re welcome.”
The boys loved her, even when she was impossible. But sometimes… it did get to them.
And sometimes… they snapped.
---
It was a lazy Sunday afternoon. Rain tapped against the windows like a lullaby, and the dorm was unusually quiet.
Y/N was bored.
Which, for Stray Kids, meant danger.
She poked Seungmin’s cheek repeatedly while he was trying to read. Stole Hyunjin’s robe and paraded around like royalty. Changed Felix’s playlist mid-song just to annoy him. Tried to pour cereal into Changbin’s protein shake.
But it was Chan she really wanted attention from.
He was on his laptop, working again. eyebrows furrowed, jaw tight, glasses slipping down his nose.
“Hey, grandpa,” she said, flopping on the couch beside him, nudging his thigh with her socked foot. “You gonna die of stress before thirty or what?”
“Not now, Y/N.”
“Oof. Did I hit a nerve? You need a massage? A drink? A new life?”
“Y/N.”
His tone was sharper this time.
She smirked, pretending it didn’t sting. “Come on, Channie. Take a break. The world won’t end if you close the laptop for five minutes.”
“You don’t know that,” he muttered, fingers flying over the keyboard.
She rolled her eyes. “I do. And you’re not even listening. As usual.”
That did it.
Chan slammed his laptop shut, eyes flashing.
“You know what? Maybe I’m not listening because I’m tired of your constant brattiness. Every day, Y/N. Every damn day you push, poke, complain, tease, do you ever think we get tired of being your emotional punching bags?”
Silence.
The room went still.
No one had ever raised their voice at her like that—not him.
Y/N froze, something sharp and cold twisting in her chest.
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
For once… she had nothing to say.
Chan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean—”
But she was already on her feet.
---
She didn’t cry. Not in front of them. Not even when she locked herself in her room and pressed her face to the pillow, feeling like her own heartbeat was betraying her.
It wasn’t just guilt.
It was shame.
Because he was right.
She did push. She was a brat. She had made it harder than it needed to be.
All because it was easier to joke than to say: I’m scared you’ll leave me if I’m soft.
They all tried to reach out. Knocks on the door. Soft calls through the hallway. Jisung even tried sliding notes under the door.
But she didn’t answer.
She didn’t know how.
---
By the next day, she’d disappeared.
Not gone-gone. Just… not home.
Her phone showed one-word replies.
“Fine.”
“Don’t wait.”
“Need air.”
It drove them insane.
Until Minho found her, sitting under the covered rooftop of a nearby park, hoodie over her head, eyes red but dry, staring at the rain.
He didn’t speak at first. Just sat beside her.
They watched the rain fall for a long time.
“You weren’t wrong,” she whispered eventually. “I am a brat.”
“You’re also the one who got Hyunjin new paints last week without telling him,” Minho said. “You’re the one who sets a second alarm just in case I ignore mine.”
She didn’t reply.
“You push us because you’re scared. I get it. But you don’t have to do that with us. Not anymore.”
She sniffed. “I don’t know how to be soft. It makes me feel… stupid.”
Minho tilted his head. “Soft doesn’t mean weak. And even if it did… we’d still protect you.”
“I made Chan snap.”
“He’s human. We all are. You push, we snap. You hurt, we stay. That’s how this works.”
She finally turned toward him, eyes filled with something broken.
“You won’t leave?”
He smiled gently. “You could scream at us for a year straight, and we’d still fight to be near you.”
---
Back at the dorm, she stood awkwardly in the hallway.
Eight pairs of eyes turned to her.
Chan stood slowly, guilt etched into every line of his face.
“I’m sorry—”
“No, I am,” she cut in, voice trembling. “You were right. I—I’m difficult. I say stupid things. I hide behind all the sass because I think if I show you how much I care, you’ll get tired of me faster. I didn’t mean to make you feel like crap. Any of you.”
They all stared at her.
Then, one by one, they moved.
Hyunjin hugged her first, tightly, without words.
Then Seungmin, arms wrapping around from behind.
Jisung, tearful but smiling, pressing a kiss to her temple.
Felix sniffled. “Even your apologies are cute, ma.”
Changbin held her cheeks and whispered, “We knew you were soft all along.”
Jeongin wiped her eyes. “We just wanted you to let us in.”
Minho squeezed her hand. “No more hiding.”
And Chan… Chan held her last. Arms around her whole body like he was trying to put her back together.
“You’re not too much, Y/N,” he whispered. “You never were.”
She broke then, soft sobs into his chest, trembling but safe.
---
She was still a brat.
She still stole the last cookie. Still made sarcastic comments. Still teased the boys mercilessly.
But now, she didn’t hide when she did something kind.
Didn’t flinch when they said I love you.
Didn’t run when someone snapped.
Because now… she knew.
They wanted the soft heart inside the storm.
And she was finally brave enough to give it to them.
tags: college au, smut, dom!jisung, sex with protection (but they take it off) sex without protection (dont be silly wrap that willy) praise, jisung being a menace, the same world as my past spiderman fic, spiderman au, ,nerdsung,oral fem recieving (this can also be used as a standalone aswell!) overstimulation, using webs as ropes to tie up, boob grabbing, forced orgarsm)
Inspired by a yeonjin spiderman fic I read a while back (sadly I can’t find the writer but search up yeonjin x reader
words: 1.7k!
my spiderman fic here!
authors note: smut of my spiderhan fic (the freaky frogs won and heres ur smut, you freaks) sorry it took so long, I actually was cringing the fuck out of this +the word cock made me laugh too much (ik im immature 😭)
There are certainly some quirks to dating your friendly neighborhood Spiderman, especially when it comes to safety. When he swings you around town, carrying you bridal style wherever you need to go, he practically becomes your personal chauffeur, always ready to catch you if you fall. And let's not forget about those webs, he can tie you up in a way that makes you feel both secure and... well, let's just say, adventurous.
"The tensile strength of these is actually fascinating," Jisung murmurs against your neck, his physics textbook forgotten on the floor beside scattered web-shooters and his discarded red mask. "Each strand can hold up a bunch of force, but when woven together like this..." His fingers trace the web binding your wrists. "The load distribution creates a virtually unbreakable restraint system."
You would roll your eyes at his nerdy rambling if you weren't so distracted by the way he seemed to memorize every hitch in your breathing, every beat from your heart.
"Jisung," you breathe, testing the give of the webs. They hold firm, showing how stuck you truly are.
"Did you know," he continues, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, "that spider silk is actually a protein polymer? The way it responds to stress and tension is remarkably similar to how your body..." His hand trails lower, fingers ghosting over your ribs. "...responds to stimulation."
The low-cut top that started this whole situation lies in shreds beside the bed—apparently, enhanced strength and delicate fabrics don't mix well when Jisung gets impatient.
When he finally enters you, the stretch is overwhelming. His enhanced stamina means he can move with a controlled intensity that has you seeing stars, each thrust calculated to hit that spot that makes your vision blur.
"Oh fuck, the angle of p-penetration is perfect for optimal g-spot stimulation," he pants, adjusting his hips with scientific precision. "The anterior vaginal wall is—"
"Jisung, less anatomy lesson, more f–fucking," you gasp, though the way he immediately complies suggests his spider-sense picked up exactly how close you are to the edge.
“S-so sorry babe”
“Fuck y/n” Jisung whimpers with every roll of his hips, hitting that gummy spot that made you see stars. The makeshift ropes strain against the bed, every movement making the cot creak. His right hand digs into your waist, leaving half moon indentations from his fingers. The calculus textbook falls off the bed pages fluttering as it hits the floor. Your back arches against his sheets, damp with your sweat and tears.
As he thrusts against you, his left hand tracing the curve between your breasts. His bedroom stank of sex and sweat, the textbook and study material scattered carelessly across his desk.
He grabs your tits and fondles them roughly. “Fuck, you know I can’t fucking control myself when you wear that” he mumbles.
You look at Jisung—Your eyes are half-lidded, too lost in pleasure to do anything but moan his name breathlessly.
Something clicks behind his eyes and suddenly he's grabbing your legs, pressing them higher against your chest. The new angle hits perfectly, each thrust targeting exactly where you need him most. Your moans pitch higher as he finds the spot that has your vision blurring.
He fucks, brusing your cervix over and over again. A wave of pleasure washes over him, he busts inside the condom. His ears red as he reaches his climax. He sees you for a quick second and remembers you need to come too.
“Shit s-sorry wait, a second!” he quickly readjusts, takes off the used condom—wrapping it quickly and tossing it in the trash next to his desk—and drops down to his knees.
You whine at the sudden loss.
Before he settles between your thighs, he trails reverent kisses across your skin—your ribs, your hip bones, the soft flesh of your inner thighs where his earlier marks bloom purple against your skin. His fingers trace each bruise with something close to apology before his mouth follows, soothing the tender spots with gentle kisses.
"So beautiful," he murmurs against your skin, breath ghosting over your core. "Every part of you."
When his tongue finally meets you, it's with a devotion that steals your breath. He works with patient precision, mapping every sensitive spot like he's memorizing you.
"Jisung," you gasp, your thighs instinctively close around his head. "Oh god, just like that—don't stop."
He hums against you in response, the vibration making you arch, and you can feel his smile against your skin as he doubles his efforts, completely lost in the taste of you.
Jisung’s tongue lingered, greedy and insistent, like he planned to map your entire anatomy from the inside out, one slick drag at a time. He was still in his hoodie, his favorite pair of jeans half-pulled down to his waist, the dark blue fabric bunched awkwardly at his hips, but neither of you cared.
He braced himself on either side of your thighs. He looked up at you, eyes blown wide, mouth glistening—and fuck,
The webs dug into your skin, each taut line punctuating the sensation, tightening every twist of your hips, every involuntary buck. He nipped, just shy of pain, and murmured little apologies and curses into you. The rush of his breath sent goosebumps up your inner thighs. Your head lolled, eyes squeezing. Your mind went all fuzzy.
“J-jisung!” Tears pool up in your eyes—it's all too much. As he flattens out his tongue, his fingers not leaving your abused clit, and you spasm on his tongue. Him lapping every single drop, as you chant a mantra of his name.
He doesn't give you time to recover, crawling back up your body and sliding into you again, the oversensitivity making every nerve ending sting
"One more, Please," he breathes against your ear, his voice rough with need. "Please, baby, just one more. The way you feel when you come around me—it's like every enhanced sense gets amplified." God he sounds cuter begging.
Your hands turn white based on how much you're clawing at the webs/makeshift rope. “F-fuck! J-jisung, I really can’t” You repeat those pleas over and over, your body trembling from the overwhelming sensations as he loses himself in you. When he finally looks up, he sees the tears streaming down your cheeks and realizes he's pushed you past your limit.
“S-sorry Y/n, You can take a little more right?” He rises above you, positioning himself at your entrance before sliding back into your warmth with one fluid thrust that has you both gasping. Just a little more, I-it will feel better soon, I swear!”
Breathless curses spill from both your lips as the rhythmic slap of skin against skin mingles with the bed's desperate creaking and raw moans that shatter the usual quiet of clicking keyboards and peaceful silence.
“Sh-shit Y/n, can I come inside? Please, p-please, please! I promise, just let me c-come inside” You don't even know what the fuck he's promising, and he's too far gone to explain.
"Fuck—yes, inside, please!" you cry out, your knuckles white where they strain against the webs, the silken restraints cutting into your wrists as you pull desperately against them. Each thrust pushes you higher, your body wound so tight you feel like you might shatter.
When your second orgasm finally crashes over you, it's with an intensity that has you sobbing his name, your release coating his thighs as your body convulses around him, the webs the only thing keeping you tethered to earth as pleasure whites out your vision completely.
Jisung collapses gently on top of you, immediately pulling you into his arms and pressing soft kisses to your temple as you both catch your breath.
“W-was I good?” he looks up at you with those cute doe eyes, waiting for some sort of answer.
“So good ji” you reassure.
"So," you pant as feeling returns to your fingers, "how long until these dissolve?"
Jisung's face goes carefully blank in that way, which means his spider-sense is warning him of impending danger. "Well, according to my calculations... normal spider webs can last anywhere from a few hours to several days, depending on environmental factors..."
"Jisung."
"But these are supposed to mimic actual spiderwebs, so theoretically they should maybe uhh degrade faster—"
"HAN JISUNG."
"I may have... not tested the dissolution rate thoroughly?"
You kick him with surprising force, which makes you wonder if you develop some kind of enhanced strength when properly motivated by frustration.
"So. Worth. It," he grins, pressing a kiss to your temple.
"No sex for the week" you declare. "This was a stupid decision. Why on earth did I let you tie me up, with webs too!!? Ribbon restraints are like 20 bucks!"
“Also you owe me a new shirt! That shit was so expensive” You look dead at your poor, poor shirt, at the ground beside his bed.
He smiles,
"Well sorry to upset you, but at least enhanced stamina means I can make it up to you. Multiple times. For science obviously.”
꒰ 𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ Bang Chan x gn!reader ˒˓ long-term established relationship 𝓰enre/𝓽ags. angst, no comfort (so sorry), emotional cheating.
[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — first time writing an angsty mini fic, but i was in a mood for some hurting, i might do a part 2 of this if people enjoy, so let me know what u think! <3
Part 2
The soft blue light of the laptop screen illuminated the room. It was late, later than you’d usually stay up, but thats what happened when you procrastinate.
Chan had gone out for a snack run, leaving in a rush, the way he did when he craved something sweet. You stayed home, working in a slight panic, on an assignment as usual.
Despite the rush to get the work done the space was Cozy. Familiar. Safe.
You looked around the apartment. The blanket he always made sure was folded and waiting for you on the couch. The half-drunk tea you left on the table that he never complained about. The pair of his socks you were wearing, mismatched but warm. It was always the little things with him.
Your life with Chan wasn’t perfect, but it was real.
He’d leave sticky notes on the bathroom mirror that said cheesy things like “Don’t forget you’re brilliant” or “You’re my favorite harmony.” They made you cringe but they always brought a smile to your face.
You’d make him playlists for his midnight walks home, scrawling stupid little doodles on the cover art. He’d hum your favorite song when he cooked breakfast, even if he didn’t know all the words. You’d sit beside him in the studio sometimes, not talking, just being there, and he’d glance at you between takes with that soft, tired smile. The kind that said, “You’re the only thing keeping me grounded.”
You knew the ebb and flow of his energy. The quiet days when he didn’t say much, the nights he needed to be held, the mornings where he danced in the kitchen just to make you laugh. He supported your work too, always the loudest cheerleader even when your confidence faltered. He once waited two hours outside your lecture just to hand you a smoothie and tell you he was proud of you.
He made you feel like home wasn’t a place, but a person. Him.
That’s why, when you opened his laptop to send yourself a file, something that wasn’t out of the ordinary, you both kept your devices open to each other, you didn’t think twice. Not until you saw it. A folder, half-buried under date-stamped labels. Titled simply: “Unreleased.”
Curiosity pulled at you.
Inside: voice memos. Demos. Snippets of lyrics. Familiar stuff. But one file was different. A Word doc. Nothing flashy.
Just a title.
“A spark I didn’t expect.txt”
Your stomach fluttered.
You clicked.
⸻
“There’s this girl.”
“I’m not quite sure how she ended up in my life, fate? Odds? Or maybe that’s just life, I guess. At first, it was nothing. Just polite conversation. But the more I saw her, the more I found myself… wondering, thinking, dreaming…”
“She’s sunlight in a locked room. Not blinding. Just warm. Steady. She listens like she’s reading music off my face. And I’ve caught myself thinking things I know I shouldn’t. Like what her laugh would sound like pressed against my collarbone. What her hands feel like when they’re not holding a pen or a mic. What she smells like.”
“She’s made me want to write again. Not for work. But for me.”
⸻
You stared at the screen.
Your chest tightened so fast it made you dizzy. You read it again, and again. hoping, no. praying, that it would turn into something else. A metaphor. A fiction. Or maybe that would just disappear. Anything that didn’t feel like… this.
But no.
Suddenly all the late night talks of your future, the list of potential baby names in your shared notes app. every single moment of your relationship suddenly felt like a weight around your neck, dragging you deeper into an ocean of despair.

The silence in the room felt unbearable now, almost violent. The air turned thick. Your ears rang.
How could someone who made you feel so safe write something that made you feel so replaceable?
He hadn’t written about you like this in years.
You’d chalked it up to time. You weren’t naïve, you know that love settles, simmers. It becomes a rhythm. But this wasn’t just a spark. This was a yearning.
Your lips trembled as the tears spilled over. It wasn’t just sadness, it was betrayal. The kind that gnawed at the very bones of who you thought you were together.
you didn’t hear the door open. Didn’t hear the keys drop. Or the crinkle of bags.
“Babe?” Chan’s voice echoed faintly from the doorway, casual at first, until he stepped into the room and saw you curled on the couch, laptop glowing beside you, your face streaked with tears.
He froze.
“Hey-hey, what happened?” His voice sharpened, alarmed. He rushed to you, crouched beside you. “Are you hurt? What’s going on?”
You didn’t answer. Just turned the laptop toward him with shaking hands.
Silence.
His eyes scanned the words. Slowly. Carefully. His face, once filled with confusion crumpled into something more painful. Guilt. Shame. A sliver of fear.
“I—I didn’t. You weren’t supposed to see that,” he said, voice trembling.
You laughed. It was bitter. Empty.
“Yeah, I figured.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, speechless. “It wasn’t… I didn’t do anything. It was just a thought. That’s all it was.”
You stared at him through tears. “But it wasn’t just one thought was it?”
He stared his face stricken as your words sliced into him.
“You’ve fantasized about her, regularly. Not just her body, Chan. Her soul. You said she made you want to write again. When was the last time you said that about me?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it again. He looked like he’d been gutted.
“I didn’t stop loving you,” he whispered.
“But you started wanting someone else.” Your voice broke on the last word.
He reached for you gently, desperately. But the second his hand brushed your arm, you recoiled like he’d burned you.
“don’t.” you whispered.
“I never meant to hurt you,” he pleaded, his own eyes glossy now. “It was just a stupid thing. I never acted on it. I never would.”
His eyes pleaded for you to understand for you to know without the words how much he loves you.
“That’s the worst part,” you said. “You didn’t need to act on it. You already left me. You started a relationship with her in you mind.”
He looked like a deer caught in headlights. Speechless. Breathless.
You stood, grabbing your coat with trembling hands. Your entire body screamed at you to crumble, to scream, to make him feel the weight of what he’d done but you didn’t.
You just shook your head, and walked out the door.
Hi! I’d like to request an ot8 texts where they all come off dry and distant but all fem!reader wanted to do was tell them something important. Thank you. I love your stories btw especially the hybrid ones.
fake texts | dry texts, important news
pairing: poly!ot8 x reader
genre: angst
warnings: kinda open ended, reader is on a visa, boys are dismissive and jerks, apologies
❑ asking the members of stray kids if they would remarry if you died
❑ warnings — humor, mentions of marriage, mentions of death
❑ notes — sorry these are so short but it feels like it gets right to the point lol I have a lot of content coming your way so take this shorter fake text scenario as payment 😊 thank you for reading and if you like it, please reblog to show your support!
ⓘ DISCLAIMER: for entertainment purposes only. these are fictional characters based on the very real members of stray kids. these fake texts in no way represent or reflect their irl personalities
main masterlist || taglist
minors do not interact with nsfw content!
ageless & blank blogs will be blocked!
❑ random everyday texts with your boyfriend, Seungmin
❑ warnings — mentions of idol au, seungmin being a little mean on accident, smutty scenarios, mild sexting (18+ mdni)
❑ notes — this is my first one so pls be gentle with me 🥺 please reblog to show your support!
ⓘ DISCLAIMER: for entertainment purposes only. these are fictional characters based on the very real members of stray kids. these fake texts in no way represent or reflect their irl personalities
main masterlist || seungmin masterlist || taglist
theartofmadeline
germansingergirl
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
