#(in a very not 'oh no have i touched a nerve for my new crush :(' way)

[synthient]

So, uh. Could we assume that the "what if we were young lords, in an aristocratic imperial society with stifling social norms, and one of us wanted to run away together but the other was afraid of losing his inherited wealth" thing is relevant. And also perhaps read some of those reactions as "babe, is our breakup argument still the first thing on your mind?" / [can't roleplay without revealing that he knows too much about how the real argument went] / "babe, are you roleplaying me???"

[kayesfanfics]

Hi can I request a femreader/ nightcrawler story where the reader is shy and anxious, while Kurt misunderstands this as her thinking he’s a monster?

But in truth she’s been trying to confess her feelings to him but she always backs out last minute in fear?

Thank you!

A/N: The way I’ve probably imagined this scenario at 12 years old laying in bed at night. I also made the reader friends with Rogue, Jean and Ororo since she’s closer to their ages

“Sugah, yer lookin’ more nervous than a long-tailed pussy cat in a room full o’ rockin’ chairs!” Rogue tapped your shoulder as she walked into the lounging area, where you were having morning coffee with Jean and Ororo. “What’s gotcha all riled up, huh?”

“Kurt’s playing basketball with the others outside...in shorts.” Jean quipped before taking a sip of coffee, a playful grin on her face. Ororo chuckled at the embarrassed face you made, as if someone just walked in on you changing.

“Jean!” You whined, face turning redder when Rogue started laughing.

“Oh, Y/N! We’re just teasing!” Jean giggled as you pouted at all of them finding your embarrassment amusing.

“I just don’t see why you haven’t told him about her feelings yet!”

They all knew you’ve had the biggest crush on the fuzzy blue X-Man, Nightcrawler, ever since he joined the team a few months ago. He was always so nice to everyone, including you, and he seemed to always say the right thing at the right time. He even made your morning coffee sometimes when you got up late, knowing everyone’s coffee order by heart by now.

The boys were outside playing basketball with Jubilee and Roberto, showing the younger ones how it was done. You watched out the window at the court, seeing Gambit and Wolverine battling for the ball before Kurt teleported between them and snatched the ball from them, tossing it into the basket and laughing when they both started yelling about the “no powers” rule. You smiled before realizing you were staring, clearing your throat and turning to Rogue.

“You know I get too nervous around your brother, I can’t even ask him to pass the salt at dinner!”

“Yer always nervous, that’s fine! But y’know, he totally likes you too. I can tell.”

“No he doesn’t.” You shook your head in denial.

“Yes he does.” All three women said at the same time, side eyeing you or rolling their eyes.

“My dear, Kurt is a very charismatic man, but he goes out of his way to make you smile every chance he gets.” Ororo set her hand atop of yours. “I even see a flash of disappointment when you flee from his advances.”

“Really?” You asked, feeling a bit guilty about making him feel bad. You were a generally nervous person, but your anxiety sky rocketed around him, your heart always felt like it would explode out of your chest when he got close to you or touched you. It was difficult to hold eye contact with him, your nerves getting the best of you and looking down at the floor while you spoke to him. You’d give him a scared smile when he handed you things, your blood running cold when his hand brushed up against yours during those exchanges. You often found your eyes wandering to him when he wasn’t focused on you, it was easier to look at him when you knew he wasn’t aware of you checking him out. You loved the way his tail squashed playfully as he joked around with Morph, how his ear would twitch like a cats when he heard someone new enter the room, how his fangs gleamed when he smiled or how his bright yellow eyes sparked with mischief during a fight.

“Okay…you know what? Todays the day, today I need to confess to him! If I don’t today, I never will cause I’m a baby and will back out.” You stood up confidently.

“Yeah! Go get em, tiger!” Rogue cheered as you walked away, then lowered her voice. “She ain’t gonna.”

“I think Y/N can do things she sets her mind to.” Storm defended you.

“Wanna put ten bucks on it?” Rogue raised an eyebrow and cheekily grinned.

“…you’re on.” Storm nodded, shaking her hand as Jean spoke up, saying she’d bet alongside Storm that you could do it.

“You know I can still hear you all?” You crossed your arms from the window, getting a closer look and watching Kurt dodge Roberto’s lunge. Your friends all laughed as you shook your head, trying to get ahold of your nerves.

How were you supposed to tell the most handsome, heroic, sweetest, most amazing person ever you were in love with them? Kurt was genuinely the kindest person you’d ever met, giving you butterflies when you watched him comfort a mutant child during a fight, or how he helped his teammates so gently when they were injured. You couldn’t fathom how people were afraid or disgusted by him, he was the most gorgeous man in the world. How you could see a tinge of indigo under his blue fur when he blushed or bruised, how sculpted and chiseled he was yet also was so soft to look at. When he wore sweatpants and a tank top after training one day, you swore you would have a heart attack right then and there seeing how attractive he looked in the outfit. You adored sneaking peeks of him working out alone, his muscles bulging when he did push ups or pull ups on a bar, how flexible and agile he was and how effortless he made it look. You’d stand outside the door until you felt you would get caught staring, not wanting to seem like a creep.

You were suddenly pulled out of your thoughts when the door opened, Wolverine carrying Jubilee, pretending to be limp and passed out in his arms.

“What happened?” Jean asked as the girls all stood up from their little coffee and gossip session.

“She tripped and scraped her knee trying to get the ball from Logan!” Morph snickered as they all filed inside.

“I’ve been attacked! He pushed me and now I’m severely wounded!” Jubilee whined dramatically as Logan set her down on the counter. You waited for Kurt while you listened to Jubilee and Wolverine bicker about the seriousness of her cut knee, feeling your heart skip a beat when he finally walked in, chatting with Hank.

“Um…hey, Kurt?” You spoke quietly, but Kurt’s ear twitched and picked up your shy voice.

“Yes, Miss Y/N?” He asked, stopping and letting Hank go ahead of him.

“I…um…could you find a first aid kit, please?”

You blushed when you heard your friends laugh behind you and Storm and Jean handed Rogue money, knowing Kurt was looking past you at them, wondering what they were doing. You felt like a dork backing out of confessing and asking him to do something you could easily do, but you changed your mind at the last second that you weren’t ready yet.

“Sure.” He smiled, before bamfing off. You turned and glared at your friends, before walking walked over to Jubilee, seeing blood dripping down her shin and gravel from the court embedded inside of it.

“Ouch, let me clean that for you.” You said and wet a paper towel, ignoring Logan saying how she was fine and it was part of growing up and being a kid. You kneeled down and patted down Jubilee’s injury, soaking up the blood and wiping out any gravel from the wound.

“Here you are, Y/N.” You heard a familiar sweet, velvety voice beside you. You looked over and saw Nightcrawler holding out a first aid kit from the nearest bathroom, a charming grin on his face.

“Oh, um, thank you Kurt.” You smiled at him shyly, before quickly turning your attention to Jubilee. You didn’t see the look of rejection in his yellow eyes as the irritated twitch of his tail at that, before he sighed and bamfed off again.

*a couple hours later*

“Mein Gott!” The mutant shouted in surprise, also not paying attention to where he was going before tumbling backwards at the collision. You were on your way to training, focusing on wrapping up your hands to look where you were going. Now, you knocked down the last person you wanted to. You felt bad seeing the gorgeous man on the floor because of you.

“Kurt! I’m so sorry! Here, let me help!” You held a hand out to him, but he got up himself.

“It is fine.” He said simply before walking past you, then suddenly pausing and turning to you. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure.” You fidgeted with your hands nervously, anxious for the question.

“Do you…have I offended you in some way?” He asked, his eyes flashing with a bit of sadness.

“What? No? Why would you think that?” You asked, worried your timid behavior had finally kicked you in the ass.

“You tend to just brush me off, I’ve noticed. Lately you don’t really look at me, you respond with few words to me. I just thought…maybe I did something to scare you? Disgust you? Perhaps I…you think I’m a monster?”

You stared at him in the hallway, shock freezing your thoughts for a moment. How could he ever think your awkwardness around him could be because you thought he was disgusting? That he thought you found him frightening? You hadn’t realized how not making eye contact or responding curtly would come across to him, a man who’s been persecuted and attacked his whole life for how he looked. He was the most admirable, amazing person you’d ever met and you made him feel like a monster.

“Kurt, no! Not at all! I just…I do like you, I do! You just…make me very nervous. More so than I usually am…”

“How? Do I intimidate you?” He tilted his head in confusion. “I do not mean to-“

“It’s not that, really. I uh…I just really admire you, I guess. You make me more nervous than the others because…because I really like you…a lot.” You looked down at the floor, shyly looking up into his eyes. His face relaxed when he finally understood what you meant.

“Oh…I apologize for thinking so little of your actions. You are understanding and non judge mental, I should never have assumed what I did about you. How about I take you out to apologize for my ignorance?” He flashed his fangs at you in a charming smile, slowly approaching you before he was close enough to hold out a hand to you.

“I-I…okay.” You took his hand and sheepishly smiled up at him, allowing him to guide you down the hall. “I’m really sorry I made you feel like I-“

“No apology necessary, Y/N, really. I’m just glad we’ve come to…an understanding.” He grinned, bringing your hand up to his lips to place a soft kiss on your knuckles. You blushed and giggled at the action

[leclsrc]

you know it ✴︎ cl16

genre: porn WITH plot (for once?! everyone cheered), humor, bit of fluff... oh inaccurate depictions of the 2022 season sorry

word count: 7k

Charles is a bit disappointed the pretty girl he harbors a crush on doesn’t have him listed as a Formula 1 crush. He is a lot disappointed that you two can’t fuck.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... degradation, praise, charles is a bit switchy here lol, penetrative sex, a bit of ass play sorry...., oral (m receiving), semi public sex, yeah

title from this. i love u guys im so sleepy

Joris insists there’s some big present waiting for Charles in his car, to celebrate the middle of the season that has, and will no doubt continue to stretch into a period of conflict and strategy woes. He yanks off the beanie sitting on his head, listens to small talk drifting between Joris and Carlos as they all walk toward their cars to alleviate the bubble of nerves in the low of his stomach. 

Sure enough, there’s an unassuming box lying on the driver’s seat. Joris slides into the passenger seat after Carlos drives away with his girlfriend, his grin shit-eating and mischievous. The door is half open when Charles takes the box to inspect it. White, with the Ferrari logo printed neatly on the centre (very classy touch), the sides are signed by different members of his team. He scratches through the seal and pulls the flap open.

He’s been given a quasi-official Ferrari box of condoms.

Thirty-six condoms, at that, small squares neatly lined up next to each other. Talk about a welcoming present. Not a camera, not racing memorabilia, not a new pair of shoes. Just condoms. Thirty-six of them.

“A mid-season pick-me-up,” presses his friend, giddily. The shorter male lounges comfortably on the seat, a blissful look of pride on his face. Laughing with exasperation, Charles wedges the box shut and tosses it carelessly into the backseat, preparing to drive. This isn’t his first rodeo with weird gifts—he’s half-sure he got adoption papers from an especially excited fan once before.

“You are such an asshole.”

“It’s also a congratulations on winning literally every race so far present,” Joris adds. It’s hyperbole but has a ring of truth to it. As the season closes, Charles’ chances of holding up the trophy this year increase. 

Despite himself, Charles has a better outlook on his chances for the remainder of the season, driving-wise. He’s given it his all so far, and the rest looks promising enough. He only hopes he’s right. Netflix also increased the amount of people getting into the sport, so he’s dealing with tons more fans and nosey DMs, but it’s not too much of an impediment to a hopefully stellar season.

Charles makes a right. “Do you plan to use them?” Joris asks then, a teasing tone taking on his voice as he scrolls through his phone.

“No, not really,” Charles says, lying straight through his teeth.

“You’re a fucking liar, you are.” He whips his head toward Charles, observing his stoic side profile. “You’re single, haven’t gotten laid in months—”

“—weeks.” Corrects Charles with a cough, the defense coming at an embarrassing speed.

“…Case in point. And sports gets everyone horny. And if you didn’t know, Mattia actually OK-ed the condoms, so you’ve basically been greenlit by your boss to fuck half the world. Thank me later. I’m proud of myself.”

“Sports gets everyone competitive. Because it’s sports. Which, you’re conveniently forgetting, is my life profession.”

“Loosen up,” Joris whistles lowly. “You think Lewis got seven titles by being a closed-off celibate? It’s practically tradition to fuck around if you’re single in sports. And, for others, being in a relationship is barely an obstacle, anyway.”

Charles hates to admit that Joris is right—because he is. Racing isn’t racing without the extravagant parties that follow, and the girls and guys brought back to hotels for reasons known to everyone. People from everywhere come to the paddock and the clubs—models, influencers, actors. The pent-up energy has to go somewhere, he supposes.

But even if the little shit is right, Charles still maintains a level of dignity. Ergo, he’s steadfast in his belief that he will not be sleeping around or putting this godforsaken box of condoms to any semblance of use while the rest of the season progresses. He just hopes he won’t eat his words.

—

Monza kicks off with a 1-2 and secures Charles with a comfortable lead ahead Max.

He is high on adrenaline all night, toasting and chugging to the win, snapping pictures with Carlos, proud out of his mind. It’s everything he’s wanted and more, a quench to the thirst he’d developed over the season, a slap in the face to his doubters, a kiss on his. He texts his family, friends who aren’t present, some other people who he feels are deserving of a personal announcement, and pockets his phone.

“Now would be a great time to put that gift to use,” Carlos says at some point, when everyone in the garage is kicking back alcohol and slowly preparing to move the celebrations someplace else.

Charles cringes visibly, having almost forgotten about the dreaded gift, and totally forgotten Carlos’ knowledge of it. Even with the recent win, he’s already thinking of the next, the promise of a two-peat, another podium, hell, another 1-2. The condoms were honest to God the last thing on his mind.

They break apart an hour later, when Charles is heading to the hotel and Carlos is headed somewhere else. He’s almost to the exit when someone calls his attention in a curt English voice.He turns and finds Lewis jogging toward him, outside of his race suit and back in the fashionable apparel Charles merely wishes he could pull off.

“Lewis,” he waves, pacing toward him to save the extra few seconds of waiting. 

“Amazing, amazing race, man,” the elder compliments. “You’ve got the best chance at the title here.”

Warmth melts into Charles’ body and he offers praise back, which—praising Lewis is just about the easiest thing in the world. Nerves bleed out of him as the conversation continues, the atmosphere of a finished race a welcome accompaniment to their strategic talk. 

“Headed to a party, yeah?” Lewis asks when they’ve both exhausted the topic. Charles gives a half-hearted shrug, already energized enough from such a momentous win, and he nods in response. “Nah, I get it. Sometimes you just gotta sleep. But hey, if you’re ever free, we should go get dinner sometime.”

—

The “dinner sometime” happens in Singapore. Having gotten P1 beside Lewis and therefore once again high off the adrenaline, Charles claps Andrea on the back and retrieves his phone to view two texts. One reads Put the condoms to use yet, champ? from Joris, and the other Can I take you up on the dinner? from Lewis. One goes answered and the other goes muted on his iMessage.

A little something he failed to remember was Lewis’ plant-based diet, a fact that hurtles back toward him when he can’t find steak on the menu of this classy, hole-in-the-wall type of restaurant. Of course Lewis would know these types of places, he thinks. He’s a millennial semi-hipster with a separate Instagram account for his dog.

Charles ends up ordering pasta, and Lewis beside him orders a cacophony of very vegan, hippy sounding meals, the quantity of which could feed the two of them. “I hope you don’t mind,” Lewis says when the waiter departs, “but a friend is actually joining us tonight.”

“Sure,” Charles says honestly. As long as it’s not some deranged hyperfan, he does well in social situations. Right then, Lewis calls someone over. Charles looks up, squints through the dim mood lighting to try and make out the nearing figure. And then you’re sitting down across them, smiling softly, exchanging hellos with Lewis.

A little something Lewis fails to remember is his “friends” can just as well be called “celebrities,” because he is, after all, a sporting legend. So if Lewis says “friend,” Charles will assume it’s a “friend,” and not a world-famous model whose face is plastered everywhere on and offline.

“Charles Leclerc,” he says blankly.

You introduce yourself, sliding easily into a bout of questions, apologies for missing the race, you’re impossibly jetlagged, it’s crazy. Lewis chips in with something about how he’s already ordered food for the both of you, and this and that, and Charles is hopeless, staring at your face the entire time. He hopes he looks more sexy than aloof or, worse, starstruck, because it’s turning out to be the kind of situation where he looks like the deranged hyperfan, and not the other way around for once.

To be clear, Charles isn’t a fan of you. He just knows of you, because honestly, who doesn’t at this point? You’re talking on and on about how your latest shoot with Jacquemus was a pain because you shot in a tank top in sub-zero weather, but you express it like it’s the most profound topic on Earth.

Lewis turns to him and, in an (eventually successful) effort to include more of Charles in the conversation, goes, “She’s a big Formula One fan, Charles.”

Okay. Common ground. Charles lifts both brows smugly, his eyes flickering back over to you. “Really?”

You meet his eyes and smile, looking downward and blinking owlishly. You’re so pretty, long lashes fluttering as you blink and try to find an answer. Christ, you’re so painfully his type.

Lewis chimes in again—“Really. And not just because she and I are friends. I mean she was into racing before we got acquainted. Honestly. Quiz her and everything”—then excuses himself to “take a call.” (His phone wasn’t even ringing—total bullshit—but Charles is ultimately grateful for it.)

You make a face of shut up toward the departing Lewis, and Charles exhales a quiet laugh at your defiance. You clear your throat and come up with an answer.

“I’m not a big fan,” you say. “I’m more of a casual, ‘every once in a while’ type of fan.”

“That’s what every big fan of sports says,” Charles says smoothly. 

“Is it?” You ask, cocking your head to the side, making a tch noise. You chuckle before going, “Well, if you insist, I’ll be honest. I didn’t want it to come to this, but okay. I am a fan… of Red Bull.”

Charles fakes extreme offense, his jaw dropping as if totally scandalized. You laugh, throwing two hands up in faux surrender. “Not Red Bull,” he says, his tone making him sound even more devastated. “You’re telling me you—don’t tell me you think Max Verstappen is attractive.”

“I mean, a bit!”

Charles makes sarcastic sounds of disapproval, and you laugh. Charles leans forward, and you do, too, both of you smiling. “So you’re into the angry drivers?”

“I’m not into a specific kind of driver,” you say casually, your tongue peeking out to lick over your bottom lip. Your voice is as soft as it is firm, slow and demure, matching the way your eyes glint. You’re impossibly pretty. He almost can’t handle it.

“So who’s making the cut?” He prompts, interested.

“Well, for starters, drivers who are my age,” you say slowly. “I turned twenty-four this year, so anyone within that bracket.”

“Oh?” Charles pretends to delve into deep thought, teasing. “Maybe Stroll? He’s very funny, speaks good English. You can never really say no to a Canadian.”

Your face warms, and you hope your flustered state isn’t too obvious as you shake your head. “He seems fun, but I prefer somebody a bit… a bit older.”

“Older…” he hums. “Pierre, perhaps? Tad bit older, real charming, great driver. I can introduce you. We’re good friends, you know.”

You click your tongue, smiling shyly. You bite your lip and it takes everything in Charles to not turn on his horny gears when he sees you, big eyes and lip bite, look so pretty. “You tease me,” you say meekly. Charles covers a cough with a chuckle and adjusts his position on the seat.

Later, after Lewis comes back in (“Long call, eh? It was about Roscoe.” Bullshit again) and you all get to order drinks, and you’ve departed in your private car, pressing an air kiss to Lewis and waving goodbye to Charles, he turns to the Mercedes driver and hums.

“Next time you have one of these”—he points to the restaurant, gestures to the front door—“dinners, let me know, okay?”

“Ah.” Lewis winks, smirking. “I’ll be sure to.”

—

Understandably, your schedules never seem to mesh well together. Lewis ends up giving Charles your number as compensation.

He stares at the contact longer than he’d like to admit, when he’s marinating in the sweltering heat of Austin. He’s finished much of his work for this half of the day so he’s mostly watching the engineers work on the last bits of modification for Sunday; he cherishest the free time and drafts, reads, and rereads texts, scours Google and Instagram for pictures of, and anything related to, you.

There’s a few new articles about buying a new car (a Benz, much to Charles’ chagrin) and new photoshoots intermittently scattered across Europe, with all sorts of brands. He sees a picture you’ve posted of yourself smiling at the camera and thinks of how pretty it would look as his lockscreen. 

Am I seeing you soon? He texts finally. He hopes it’s enough to let you know who he is.

Hopefully is the reply. He smiles the whole day.

—

You’ve been texting and calling almost everyday, conversations stretching continents. He only sees you next in Mexico, Friday night, at a club Lewis has rented out for a crazy price that will no doubt be replenished in days anyway. He’s dropped to second here, but the thrill riding in him makes up for his disappointment. The place is so crowded—everyone and their mums seem to have been invited here—room blinking purple and blue, each step vibrating with the heavy bass of EDM. He catches you right as you exit the washroom area, and you look pleasantly surprised to see him.

He saw you earlier, when you were doing shots of tequila and chatting with with Bella and Lewis, but just as quickly as he spotted you, you’d dipped back into the sea of people. Now is better, he thinks. You two are alone.

“Charles, hi,” you say casually. You’re wearing a tight top and a short skirt that, despite Charles’ best efforts, always cast his gaze downward. He wonders what’s underneath, hungers to get his hands there. But he’s nothing if he’s not patient, willing to play the long game.

He takes a step forward, his gaze steady on you. Charles isn’t the tallest driver, but he’s got a big presence. You swallow, taking a step back to accommodate him. He smirks. “You look pretty.” 

“You flatter me,” you say thickly, smiling, inviting him closer. The air is hot around the both of you—when your eyes flit around, they see nobody. You’re alone together. His eyes pierce into yours so deep you feel like breaking eye contact, exhaling as you take another step back—evidently, you’re distracted, because you stumble.

His arm circles around your waist, and once you steady, the hand moves down to your hip. It stays, a reminder of what you might be getting soon. You smile curtly, wondering what this might look like to a bystander, a stranger. Somebody might want to piss and walk in to see the strongest world champion contender’s hand on Chanel’s poster girl’s waist.

“Is this okay?” He asks softly against your ear.

“More than.” You say, breath shaky. “It’s more than okay.”

He chuckles. “Good. I’d hate if we couldn’t fuck before Abu Dhabi.”

Your finger traces down and wraps around the belt loop of his jeans. “Who said anything about fucking?”

Charles exhales a laugh, his lips curling upward into an amused smile. “Ah? I can’t fuck you, then?”

“I’ll let you fuck me when you’re holding up the world champion trophy,” you say sweetly, tugging him closer. “That’s okay, right?” You stare up at him, blinking, pouty. He wonders, is this how you might look with your lips wrapped around his—

“That’s about a month away.” His composure barely wavers, his hand traveling lower, blunt nails digging into your ass. Your breath hitches. 

“I’m aware,” you say lowly. So be it, Charles thinks—he’s got thirty-six condoms for a reason.

“Define fuck,” he says, voice rough.

“Penetration.” You’re quick with it, cocking your head to the side. You lean back confidently, testin him, eyes batting flirtatiously. 

It’s time he get a little creative.

—

Daytime weather is hot and the paddock is swarming with people, but Charles has his sights set on somebody sitting in the Mercedes hospitality. He manages to get out of morning meetings earlier, wedging himself out of the room and passing by a mirror to fix his hair with admirable concentration. He’s in the middle of combing through it when a force tugs at the hem of his polo, causing him to stumble backwards.

“Uh—Carlos? What the hell?” He asks, brow raised defensively. Facing him are Carlos, Joris, and Pierre, arms crossed over their torsos and amused expressions on their faces.

“What are you doing?” Asks Pierre, cocking his head to the side.

“Fixing my hair.” 

“Pussy appointment?” Joris interjects; the vulgarity of his statement earns him a poke on the side from Carlos, who clicks his tongue.

“Wh—I don’t—”

“You are shit at lying, mate,” says Pierre, his lips curled into a devious smile. “Who is it?”

“It’s nobody,” he lies.

“Charles,” says Lewis suddenly from behind them, waving his arms to get the former’s attention, “are you going to go over and say hi?”

Hook, line, and sinker. He’s been caught. “Well, well, well,” Carlos starts, mischievous.

“Guys—” Charles says, attempting to make an excuse.

“Looks like your vow of celibacy isn’t so far off after all,” Pierre adds. “That one over at Mercedes is going to break it, eh?”

“Yeah.” Joris says, smirking.  “Lucky George, huh.”

The three face him, incredulous. “I was kidding,” he fibs, once he realizes his epiphany is wrong. “Kidding.”

Charles walks off, and ends up seeing you right where he expected you, sitting beside Lewis in a tiny dress with your hair pinned up into a bun. Almost naturally, your words fall into the flirtatious back-and-forth you’d started at the dinner, hyperaware of the cameras snapping your pictures. At some point, the Brit excuses himself to “take a call” (again, bullshit) and leaves the two of you alone.

“See anything nice on the paddock?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with a teasing smile, head cocking to the side to gauge his reaction. He chuckles.

“Did you get a picture with Max?”

“Only a ton.” You pause. “And Daniel, too.”

“Ah, you’re just crushing on the whole paddock, now are you?” He pokes his tongue into his cheek, leans forward.” Uh, Checo?”

“Pass,” you say with a nose scrunch. You’re so fucking pretty.

“Lewis.”

“God, pass. He’s not ugly, but he’s my brother at this point.”

“Pierre.”

“Horribly French, but… smash.”

“Are you not into the French?” He smiles. “Good to know. Hmm—Carlos.”

“I’d be stupid to say anything other than smash.” You narrow your eyes, licking over your lips. “I’m into the Ferrari guys, is the thing.” His gaze travels to your crossed legs, long and disappearing into the hem of your dress.

He smirks. “Are you?”

“I really am,” you hum.

“Are you staying long? All weekend?”

“Yeah, I’m free from work for now,” you say casually. “Any recommendations on what fun things I can do here?”

“I can think of…” he says, smirking a little. “A few.”

—

Stupid places to have sex, number one: a motorhome.

Still, Charles is crowding you up against the wall of the room, swallowing the whimper that leaves your mouth with his own. And still, this isn’t sex. At least not the kind he wants the most. He mentally praises Carlos for being able to decipher the typo-laden text he’d sent out on the way here, one hand around your waist, the other barely capable of typing with how fast his brain ran. Clesr the fuckng room npw now npw it read. Thank God.

Your mouth tastes like champagne, and everywhere else smells divine. Your hands roam impatiently over his shoulders and you make muted noises of frustration at your inability to pull his shirt off. You settle for letting your hands crawl underneath it, stroking over his abs.

“D’you remember what I told you,” you pant, his lips insistent on your neck, “at the club?”

“Yeah,” he says, grunting at the memory.

“Okay.” You breathe. “Let me suck you off.”

“Fuck,” he groans. “Jesus. Okay. Fuck.”

You giggle, and he watches intently as you drop onto your knees, looking up at him through thick lashes. You’re insistent, pulling the zip of his jeans down and tugging his cock out. It’s pretty, thick like the rest of him, already hard. 

He’s at his limit, having you here like this, on you knees and stretching your lips around the tip of his dick. Your eyes barely leave his, fluttering as they tear up when you take him in your throat.

He throws his head back, squeezes his eyes shut, lets a hand unpin your bun and thread itself into the untangled hair. If he looks at you, he’ll see your head bobbing up and down on his cock, and he genuinely needs to hold off the orgasm first.

He rocks forward into your mouth and feels your throat close up around him. That’s enough to weaken his resolve, send grunts out of his throat that he can’t keep quiet.

“Oh, shit,” he says, feeling every part of your mouth and throat around him, warm and tense. He can’t help but thrust harder, steady but not too rough, growing more aroused with every sound of you choking on him.

His gaze flickers toward you. You’re teary-eyed, lips dotted with spit, choking yourself on his cock. Just for him, here in public. You pull off, blinking tears away from your face and looking up at him smilingly.

He laughs, guiding his cock back into your mouth, watching the way your brows knit together, pleading, almost. You're at his mercy, he thinks, thrusting harder, listening to your coughs. He loves seeing you like this, innocent face messy and slick with spit and precum, eyes big and needy.

“You like that?” He grunts. “Look at me.”

You nod the best you can. Yes, you want to say. Give me more, I love it.

“Yeaaah, fuck. I know you do,” he says through his teeth, staving off his orgasm the best he can before he releases all over you. The image alone of streaking you with his cum, claiming you all over-eyelashes, tits, cheeks splashed with cum-is enough to send him closer to the edge. “Gonna cum,” he grunts.

You moan around him, the vibrations causing his eyelids to flutter. You shake your head, pulling off and wrapping your hand around his dick, stroking slower. “Not yet,” you say sweetly, watching him throw his head back in pleasure and frustration. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, exhales shakily.

“Shit.” He whines. “Come on, baby. Make me cum.” He cups your jaw, stares down at you.

You stroke him faster, lip between your teeth. “Okay,” you say with a smile. “Cum for me, Charles.”

He stops staving himself off, falls into the pleasure and relief of your hand around his cock until he’s tense all over, knitting his hand into your hair and pushing you backwards so he can press his tip on the flat expanse of your tongue and let his cum shoot there. It drips from your tongue and lips onto your chin and you giggle, swallowing it, scooping up the rest to push into your mouth.

You stand, licking your lips slowly. “I owe you,” he pants, zipping himself up. Already he’s thinking about what he can do to you in return. Tease you, like you did him, bend you over his lap or sit you on it and make you whine and writhe and wait and cum. 

“I’ll hold you to that, champion,” you murmur, kissing his cheek and slipping back outside.

—

Ferrari’s advice is shit and despite his good mood and quick-witted driving, Charles finishes in fifth—not too shabby, but disastrous for his overall standings.

He suffers through a horrible debrief where attempts to defend his honor go unheard, his mood wilting and wilting until he’s at the media pen and ushered in front of some network he hasn’t heard of. They’ve probably paid to get a good seat here.

He’s in a shit mood, he hasn’t seen Joris or Pierre or you in hours, and has only faced red-faced frustrated superiors and now, wide-eyed journalists with loose mouths. The media’s done the mandatory speculation between the two of you, so he already expects questions of that variety, but it’s still hot and angry when he does.

Are you banging the Marc Jacobs model? The Irish reporter asks with a wink, so very unprofessional and not at all belonging to reputable media. The hot leggy one who has fuck me eyes?

Charles clenches his jaw, rolls his eyes, says fuck off mate and shoves him backward a little, then walks away and readjusts his cap. The clip makes Twitter and he feels even worse with the amount of troll accounts telling him to Jeez, take a joke.

After the ordeal, in your hotel room, you sigh softly and run your hands through his still shampoo-smelling hair. “You didn’t need to do that,” you say, a bit strictly. He knows you’re grateful, though, and a bit proud.

“I wanted to,” he insists softly. He forgets to leave before morning; when he does, he forgets his official Ferrari shirt hanging on the seat, leaving in a spare one instead. It’s got his number across the back. You don’t tell him.

—

In between Mexico and Sao Paulo, he manages to catch a flight to New York to peek into one of your photoshoots. It’s for Chanel and he’s half-sure he’s taken more pictures of you than the official photographer did. At this point your vague relationship status has caught onto headlines everywhere, and he doesn’t miss the curious murmurs from paparazzo that follow him as he enters your apartment later to greet you.

You’re in a pair of shorts and a tank top when you open the door, greeting him with a tight hug and leading him inside with a loose grip.

“Wine?”

“Please.” He eyes the wide area, the big floor-to-ceiling windows and the art on the walls. “Hungry?”

“Mmm.” You hum, sliding a glass toward him. “Starving.”

“Pizza?”

“Something else.” You smile. He tears his eyes away from your tits, poking out of the thin cotton, and coughs.

The both of you end up on the couch, your legs draped over his as you talk about racing.

He’s ranting about how he’s neck to neck with Max now, and the final verdict will likely be decided at Abu Dhabi, a fact that sends nerves all through him. You’re listening, you really are, but it’s difficult to keep listening because his hand, big and rough, is stroking your bare calf as he talks absentmindedly. 

You offer the occasional mmm-hmm and uh-huh and even the oh really to sell it, but he doesn’t seem to be conscious of how many sparks are coursing through you because of his hand on your leg. He just talks and talks, accent curving into curse words elicited by the competition.

And his voice, rough and deeper when he slides into Italian phrases, gets in your head, reminds you of the way he’d moaned when you had his dick in your mouth. You like that? he’d said, panting, heavy, hot. His hand remained in your hair, controlling you the same way you did him. Fuck.

When you blink, he’s stopped talking, and has likely noticed your wandering imagination if his teasing smile is anything to go by. You cough, clear your throat, adjust your thighs. You’re thinking—you can’t stop thinking—about what happened in Mexico, not just in the motorhome but in the club where he’d let his hand sprawl over your ass and stay there, possessive.

The tension rises. I owe you. He really does. You reach over and grab your phone from the coffee table, snap a few pictures of him. “—Hey!” He protests, scrabbling to grab it from you while balancing his half-full glass. “I look god awful.”

You stand up, review the picture. He looks so impossibly handsome. “You’re right, you do,” you say, pouting. 

He reaches over again, chuckling, and you avoid him. “Foul play!”

“Tch. At least show it to me,” he says defeatedly, so you do: presenting your screen to him.

Quickly, he makes a grab for it, but you just escape his grip, ending up right in front of him and leaning over. You’re losing your balance, digging your toes into your carpet to maintain stance. He spares a glance at your shorts, riding low on your hips, showing a bit of thin lace.

Charles tugs you forward by the hem of your top and then takes your wrist into his grip—the force of his grab makes your tits shake underneath your flimsy tank top. It’s dragged down so far your tits are spilling out. His eyes flicker down to them, dark, and a pretty smile spreads across his face.

“Come on, give it,” he challenges, eyes narrowing a little. You bite your lip, inwardly liking this a little too much—being at his mercy, trapped in his strong grip. You’re flustered and it shows.

He wrestles you onto his lap with ease, his arms steady around you. You stare downwards, dark eyes meeting his, hand on his broad shoulder for leverage. He’s so pretty, you think, so hot and handsome and you need him right now. Through his jeans you can feel how thick he is, his dick growing, getting hard and huge under you. It feels big even through a few layers—you can’t help but imagine how it might feel inside you.

Your phone clatters to the carpet behind the couch. “I win,” you say breathlessly.

He grabs your hips and jerks his upward, letting his stiff dick press up even more against your shorts.

“I think I’m the winner here,” he says gruffly, hands feeling you up all over. He thumbs at your chest, rubbing over your tits. You shiver—it feels good having him on you like this, your mind turning to mush.

“Shut up,” you laugh, shakily. A hand wanders in between your thighs, another coming to squeeze your barely-covered ass. You can’t focus on much, just his hands roaming everywhere and his hard dick pressing against your core. He shoves your hips downward again, his cock hard and perfectly against your pussy.

“You feel that?” He asks; it leaves him in one low breath.  

“Yeah,” you say, whimpering. “I want it.”

He grinds up against you again, his thumb teasing the hem of your shorts. Closer to where you want it. “Don’t think you could even take it, baby.”

“I hate you,” you say. “You know I can.”

He laughs. “We’ll see, yeah?” You find a rhythm of grinding down against his cock, nestled right against your ass. He’s everywhere and you can’t handle it anymore, finding yourself craving him more and more.

You moan against his neck—and then come to your senses. “No.”

He smirks when you pull away. “Tempted, were you?”

“Not…” You pause. You’re sweaty, flushed all over, and your panties are sticking to you from how wet you’ve grown. “Not very.”

—

Abu Dhabi is a son of a bitch.

It comes with meetings, meetings, debriefs, calls, meetings. Everything is riding on the night’s race, the flurry of social media a welcome source of anxiety for him as he watches the hours whiz by. You’d missed seeing him, understood he was busy; you send a selfie to compensate and it gets him calm enough to last the pre-race buzz.

Time speeds by with lunch, coaching, drills, talks with Carlos and Mattia and even Max, who displays support as strongly as competitiveness. Before he even realizes it, he blinks and he’s in his suit, adjusting his balaclava, inhaling, exhaling. Everything is just the way he likes—needs—it to be.

He drives himself to P2 behind Max, eyes shut.

All else seeps into him, natural method, natural routine. He flexes his thumbs. Through the team radio his engineer goes good luck, and Charles’ practice bleeds into his subconscious. The air is heavy, with tension and excitement, the division of blue and red. Everyone’s eager to see who claims the title. 

The lights go off and everything is left to skill, blurring into noise and turns and expletives yelled into the team radio. He can’t even feel himself think, turning with dexterity and overtaking with the kind of vengeance he hasn’t let out in a while. 

For all his trying, Max keeps up just the same, keeping a neck and neck level for the relative entirety of the race. They’re milking out the last few laps together, and Charles feels every fibre of his being work toward this, just this, nothing but this right now. Nothing but the finish line.

You got this, Charles, says the engineer, voice heightening. Maiden world championship.

He nods to himself, trusts his instincts and when he catches sight of the finish line, he thinks: he’s the best driver on the grid.

So he revs faster, and the rest descends into—

Absolute fucking chaos.

—

He’s smiling when he approaches the reporter, who’s already holding the mic with wonder. He asks for a message in Italian, then reminds him—and the crowd—that, in case he forgot, he’s world champion. Charles thinks he genuinely can’t ever.

“What are you doing to celebrate?” He asks then, smiling.

Sweaty, with damp hair and shiny skin, he smirks and leans closer. “Someone, I hope.”

—

“Hey there, champ.”

You’re already leaning against his hotel room door when he gets there, after the chore of wrestling himself free from the rest of the team pressuring him to get drinks. Carlos helps out, babbles something or other about Charles being “busy with something else”—which isn't wrong, not at all. He offers a smooth wink, bending down to kiss you.

Your mouths meet, softly first then increasingly messy as he pins you against the door. You push away, breathing heavy. “I don’t know what you’re into, but I don't want the top floor of this hotel seeing us fucking.”

“I wasn’t into that, but now that you brought it up…” You swat his arm and he laughs, unlocking the door and pulling you inside. You’re clinging onto him—his arms, his chest, anything, kissing up his neck and jaw. He groans at how needy you are. All for him, he thinks. Probably soaked through your panties and it’s all because of him.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he says gently, voice low as he leads you to the bed. He catches sight of your shirt and a brow raises. “Did you buy that?”

“Hmm?” You look down, following his gaze and blinking. The shirt you’re wearing is loose, hanging off your shoulders and hastily tucked into your miniskirt so it looks like you actually have trousers on. “Oh. No, this is yours.”

“Mine.” He smiles a little. “You look so good in it, princess.” His hands mindlessly grope at you, hungry, sneaking underneath your skirt to feel at the lace there. 

In retaliation, you lean forward, unbutton his jeans and tug at it.

“You left it at one of my”—you gasp, feeling his finger sneak its way beneath your panties—“my hotel rooms.”

“Pretty girl, pretty shirt, pretty lace, yeah?” He tugs, lets the garter of the skirt loosen and fall off your hips on its own. “Red.”

“You take too long,” you groan.

“You’re just eager,” he laughs, thumbing at your clothed cunt.

You’re so wet, evident even in the lazy circles he rubs over your entrance. You’re aching, desperate, begging almost. So he gives you what you want, maneuvers you onto his lap and pushes your (his) shirt up to stuff your mouth with it.

It won’t work for long, but it’s enough. He pushes your panties to the side and pulls his hard dick out. You’re sitting against it now, leaking slick onto it, at his mercy, branding his name and his number across your back. It’s hot. 

He stares at the way you rock softly against him, hungry eyes meeting yours. “You’re so pretty, baby. Ruined.”

“Fuck me already,” you say, voice throaty, innocent.

“Can you take it?” He asks, teasing you, slapping his dick against your clit softly. You whine.

“Please,” you insist. “I want it. Make it fit.”

He’s a massive tease with it, his breath fanning against your skin, hands sticky on where they’ve hiked your shirt up. He lowers you, slower, against the tip of his dick and he watches your eyes flutter when you sink onto it. After ages of waiting. Your grip’s like iron on his shoulders, moans leaving you in quiet bursts of pleasure. 

You’re far away, dumb from the feeling, you barely register the way he shoves the shirt back into your mouth to keep you quiet. “So fucking tight, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. It’s muffled, barely intelligible. “For you.”

You’re only able to take it because you’re so wet, so turned on, face and brain filled with nothing but pleasure. He can’t take it.

“Mmmfh,” you say, muffled by the bite of cotton in your mouth. You’re sweaty, flushed, overstimulated—you don’t know where to focus. On his lips against your jaw, his hand on your neck, the way your pussy swallows his aching dick. “It’s so big, I—”

“You okay?” He asks, breathily. Smiling. He’s in control, but still he sounds whiny—almost, if not as desperate as you. “You’ll take it all for me, won’t you?” 

“Oh god,” is all you muster, letting him stretch you out even more, gushing all over his cock. “I, I—”

He moans, his grip tight against your waist, watching his dick bury itself in you. “You’re getting me so full,” you whine. “So deep, I feel it—” you taper off into a moan again when he presses hs thumb to your clit, distracting you from the stretch as he finally, finally bottoms out.

“Good?”

You nod. So good, give me more.

You grind against him, let the shirt fall out of your mouth. “You’re getting my dick so wet,” he comments, breathless. “So pretty for me, too.”

Growing antsy, he attempts to move, but you whine. Your turn to tease, you think, after he was a dick to you just now. “Not yet,” you say, lip caught between your teeth. His hands are tight around your waist. Desperate.

You squeeze around him, watch his brows knit together, a grunt leave him in a frustrated exhale. “You wanna fuck me?” You tease against his neck, blinking innocently.

“Yes,” he replies, not missing a beat. You pout, like you’re empathizing with the problem you’re causing; you grind slowly against him and he lets out a guttural fuuuuck. He’s so big, so hard—you can feel every inch of him inside you.

“Tell me again, Charles,” you say with a giggle. You’re so hot like this, face flushed and timid, hips moving slowly. He could cum just from the way you bite your lip, the way a whimper slips out of you when he hits the right spot.

“—Yeah,” he says, sweetly. “I want to—please, let me fuck you. C’mon, baby, can I?”

“Aww,” you tease. 

“Can I?” He asks again, voice deep and thin with the need to fuck you, thrust up into you and make you the dumb one. His face is flushed and desperate. “Can I move, baby? Let me, please.”

You’re not stupid. You know—if his flushed, pleading face and big green puppy eyes are anything to go by—that he’s going crazy, growing antsy. But you’re not complaining.

“Hmm,” you say, feigning genuine thought. “I don’t know, Charles. Feels good just like this. And you want to make me feel good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Yeah.” You repeat, staring into his dark eyes. He’s frustrated, desperate, flushed all over and sweaty. His fingers dig into your hips. “I’ll make you feel really good, baby, if you let me.”

“Go ahead,” you say softly, “fuck me, please.” And he’s thrusting upwards to meet you halfway. It’s knocking you out, almost, the pleasure of it, the dizzy onslaught of euphoria. He’s stretching you out so well, whining softly into your neck and yeah, you two have waited far too long to have this. You 

“Fuck,” he grunts, lids squeezed shut and head rolled onto your shoulder. “Go on, baby, ride it, make me cum.” He cups your jaw, reaches his thumb into your mouth. It’s too much, all of it. He makes you suck on it while thrusting up, dizzying you with his cock.

He grabs handfuls of your ass, teases his thumb at your tighter asshole just to watch your eyes flutter, feel your cunt grow wetter. “I’ll fuck you even fuller next time,” he says; the implication gets you hot.

You bounce harder, chasing release as his thumb teases over your ass, the tip of it just thrusting in enough to elicit strings of moans out of you. “Come on, ride me,” he goads. “So good for me.”

“Fuck,” you pant, “cum in me, please.”

You cum first, writhing around him and riding your orgasm out in lazy grinds over his hard cock. You want to see him cum, see his eyebrows knit and his mouth release pretty whines, feel him claim you inside, hands hot and heavy on your ass. He does, with a guttural fuuuuck, shoving his dick up in you to the base and spurting all his cum in you.

He thrusts, watches his cum leak out of you, fucks it back in, in a vicious cycle. You shiver, blinking coquettishly and watching along—and then you’re both crumpling over each other on the bed behind you. You pant heavily against his chest.

“Hey.” He muses out loud, drumming against your skin.

“Yeah?”

“I have thirty-six condoms we need to go through. Wanna go on a date?”

[williamkisser]

A Luca x reader would be nice........... preferably slow burn and y/n is the shy type............. I'm hungry................. Thirsty............ Would beg....... Thank you.... *dying*

♡— The Prisoner with a shy S/O

♡— Oh my god… anon… N-N… NO!!!! Anon please, don’t do this to me… breathe. Oh my god. BREATHE!! *sniff* *sob* i’m… I’m so sorry i couldn’t save you, anon…. I hope you’re in a better place now… *sob*

♡— Warnings: g/n reader, fluff, possibly ooc i’m not sure, word count is 1400

♡— Luca Balsa, despite going through a turmoil of tragic events, never did once even try to stop working on his lifelong passion, god forbid even think of it. Yes, around him there were degenerates, murderers, thieves, even mystical, strange creatures - such combinations would drive any man crazy, as if anyone in here already wasn’t. But after all, finding something you could get absorbed in is the best method for killing time, don’t they say? Not even his developing issue with memory loss can stop him now.

♡— That’s why the prisoner, most of the time, could be found in the comfort of his own dorm, sitting by the desk while brain storming for yet another solution to the new experiment he was currently developing. And to be frank, he did quite like it this way. He had his own corner in the world, didn’t need to worry about money, could eat delicious meals and could even discuss some scientific matters with a few other enlightened individuals. And the prize for winning the game was even more tempting. Just imagine how much quicker he could develop his project with all this cash.

♡— Despite all the focus on his own dreams and scientific infatuations, Luca didn’t stray from engaging in interactions with other people. He’s certainly considered as one of the friendliest and most cheerful people in here. Some wonder if anyone im here ever managed to get on his nerve. He’s just very tolerable towards most, if not all, however, clearly he feels most comfortable near people who are willing to listen to his info-dumps, or engage in smart conversations, ask questions and give suggestions. There weren’t much residents in the manor like this. Most are either uninterested or too weirded out, therefore the prisoner always appreciated the open minded ones.

♡— Sadly, Luca’s past whereabouts left a permanent scar on him, making him a little unaware to some social cues. This man can not pick up on someone being painfully visibly attracted to him. He assumes all people willingly interacting with him are either friendly or just curious. Luca likes showing off and exchanging ideas with his mentor Alva, asking Helena for advice and letting her touch all of his tools or projects, trying to connect nature with science together with Luchino, or even explaining his ideas to the suspiciously fascinated Florian.

♡— And then there was you. A person very shy, awkward even. Everyone didn’t mind your presence, you just existed in your own bubble, in silence. Sometimes, someone would try to include you in some conversation, and while you did appreciate the gesture you just couldn’t grasp why you felt so uncomfortable, barely able to form a meaningful sentence. That was until you first encountered a young, quite charming in his own way man personally. You instantly became fond of Luca Balsa. Something about him just radiated pure happiness. He genuinely wanted to talk with you, sensing your anxiety, and you have no idea whether it’s for better or worse, because, oh God - he made you feel butterflies in your stomach and needles in your heart. You’ve got a crush on the Oletus manor’s „Prisoner”.

♡— You didn’t know what to do. The newly discovered feelings for the boy made your anxiety far more intense than it already was. Something in your head just screamed to not get too attached, after all, this is Luca Balsa we’re speaking of, he most likely doesn’t view you as anything else but a companion in matches. But, of course, the heart always does whatever it wants, ignoring the brain. That’s how you found yourself standing in front of his dorm doors, reflecting on if it’s alright for you to knock on them. What if he’s too busy right now and you’re just going to be a burden? This was a part of your mastermind plan - try to get into his interests and become a closer friend, and then…. maybe the friendship could bloom onto something else? You were in deep wonder, unaware that the doors are now open and Luca was waving his hand in front of your face. Earth to you.

♡— Either way, you spent some quality time with him together. He was very pleased to hear that you wanted to find out more about his projects and shared several insights related to his future plans. His dorm felt oddly cozy. You didn’t even realize that visiting Luca became some sort of a habit of yours, entering his workplace nearly on a daily basis - it made you forget about all the atrocities you witnessed during the bloody games. His voice was so soft and gentle, his eyes beamed as you kept asking questions about what is he doing right now. Luca felt so glad to elaborate and ramble about his passion. He’d even offer you to help him, giving you simple tasks as asking you to bring a certain tool. He was well aware of your shyness, so he was as understanding as he could, not forcing anything onto you. One day, Luchino teasingly called you „Luca’s little assistant”. The intense colour of your cheeks spoke for itself. You were head over heels.

♡— Quickly enough, your small acts of kindness turned into something way more serious. At one point, you felt like Luca’s own caretaker, because he was literally too absorbed in his work to pay attention to his own well-being. After you began frequently assisting him in not only helping to build some programs, you just took care of his needs. While Luca would love to stay up all night and didn’t like when people complained about it, oddly enough, he didn’t hesitate to tuck himself into his bed after you offered the prisoner too. You made sure he went outside and ate enough. Simple gestures like that were your own way of showing him affection, as you were too shy to be verbally affectionate.

♡— The whole situationship was now taking way too long. You were absolutely crazy over Luca, while he viewed you as a good friend and a fast learning companion. Everyone could tell you were following him like a lost puppy outside of matches, and he didn’t mind it at all. You just wished he would finally pick up on your real intentions, but at the same time you felt worried. What if he won’t talk to you anymore? What if there will be weird tension between the both of you if you confess? On one ordinary day, you were sitting by his desk as always, silently reading the notes hanged on the cork board while Luca came to you and asked to help him draw a technical sketch in his work notebook, to which you agreed to. After months of practice in his dorm you already knew how to properly draw a project on a piece of paper with accurate proportions - yet this certain sketch was new to you, you weren’t quite sure how to do it. That’s when Luca held your hand and guided it, helping you be more precise, and what an amazing, ecstatic feeling it was, his hand contained a specific, electric even, feeling on top of that. You blushed so hard you were surprised Luca didn’t even notice, but you knew you can’t be with him this way. You were hurting yourself by not telling the truth.

♡— This is how you found yourself sitting on Lucas’s desk, looking down and fidgeting with your fingers after telling the prisoner to listen for a minute. The whole thing was so stressful you can barely remember anything from that moment, not sure if it’s because of your own anxiety or if it’s the curse of this wicked place you’re stuck in. Either way, your confession to him was probably the most awkward one this Manor has ever seen - and it certainly saw a lot. Luca was surprised he didn’t manage to connect the dots for so long. He was focused on all the wrong things and failed to notice your affection towards him. Those were a few painful months, but he was going to make sure you know he appreciates all the help, not only on the projects, but also helping him take care of himself. Luca asked you for permission to kiss you while holding your hand, which you agreed to, feeling happy like never, making all your shyness go away for once… which did not last long, as Florian entered the room without knocking, making a loud „EWW” sound. Luca was going to make sure no one will interrupt you, scribbling something about a doorbell in his notebook right after kissing you like his life depended on it. Turns out, Luca Balsa now has found something to look forward to in his life other that science and innovative inventions - which was you.

Thank you for your request anon… i hope you can read this fic in the afterlife at least… anyways this my first time writing a fic for a character i’m not very familiar with. I tried to be as accurate as i could so i’m sorry if it’s ooc 😭 anyways it’s 2am now… idv x reader tag how are you doing on this lovely summer night

[arcanarix]

Fated Divergence, Ch. 10 // Yandere! Suguru Geto X Non-Sorcerer Darling (Finale)

AO3 (+prev. chapter)

Word Count: 5.5K

cw // mc riding gojo like no tomorrow for the gojo/reader parts,

It had been a few months since you found yourself settled within the walls of Jujutsu Tech, a place that had become your sanctuary as much as you new training ground. The world of jujutsu became your new reality. You met Gojo’s colleagues, his students—all of whom welcomed you with open arms.

The concept of all of this was still foreign to you, its presence imposing, woven into the very fabric of your surroundings. Despite not having been classified as a sorcerer or even been given a class, the school had granted you access to cursed tools—an acknowledgement of your recent brush with the arcane, particularly after the bone-chilling experience of having Suguru Geto’s ring in your possession, and against your will.

That ring, once a cold, malevolent band that had been etched into your memory, was now gone, yet its presence still lingered on your finger. You hadn’t the faintest idea how to harness or even detect cursed energy within yourself, and you hadn’t even seen ghosts yourself yet. The only exposure you had was that brief battle between Geto and Gojo, and then Gojo pulled you aside one day to demonstrate what he could do. He pulled out the classic soda can example. He crushed them without even being near them, or touching them. He explained he channeled pure cursed energy into that action, and you were in shock. You still didn’t quite understand since you couldn’t see anything, which of course, he understood. He promised you more one on one training sessions over your time there with him.

Satoru Gojo, in all of his nonchalant wisdom, casually mentioned in your last conversation how everyone possessed some latent form of cursed energy. For some, a natural gift—like with himself or Geto, he had to boast since they were both special grades—something that flowed effortlessly in their veins. For others, it was something that took years to master.

The notion that anyone could become a sorcerer through sheer effort, while an encouraging one, didn’t really pique your interest all that much, in the end. Your interest in the world of jujutsu was minimal. Abysmal, even. You held little desire to throw yourself into dangers you didn’t fully comprehend yourself.

Yet you found yourself willing to help Gojo out every now and then, where you could. After all, after everything Gojo had done for you, to shield you from Geto’s clutches, it was the least you could do.

Your phone—a sleek, cutting-edge model Satoru gifted you, and something way too fancy for you—suddenly vibrated, pulling you out of your thoughts. The new device was a part of your new identity, complete with a new number, a new life crafted in such a way to keep you hidden from Geto tracking you down.

His presence still haunted you even after your escape, your predator lurking in the shadows. Even after your escape, he sent you taunting images that left you on edge. Those photos, of you at your most vulnerable moments with Geto, had been taken without your knowledge. On occasion he even sent you lewd voice mails of jerking himself off to the thought of you, explicit and disgusting and downright obscene. You deleted each one he sent, not bothering to listen after the first time. Everything about Suguru Geto horrified you, and thus Gojo took immediate action. Only one person in the world knew you were still alive—someone you could trust beyond measure.

“—Mei!” you exclaimed, a surge of warmth flooding through you as she greeted you over the line. “Oh my God, girl. I know. I have so much to get you up to speed on, but you first!”

Her laughter, light and comforting, was like a cooling balm to your overactive nerves.

“Aw man, well, my life can’t be as interesting as yours was! It’s just work, terrible dates, more work.”

“If by interesting you mean downright traumatizing…” you muttered, the gravity of your words hanging briefly in the air before Mei’s nervous laughter dispelled it.

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” she replied, understanding. “I’m just glad you’re safe. When Gojo came to me with the updates, I was glad to know you were out of Geto’s hands.”

“Did he tell you anything else?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. There was a tightness in your chest as you waited for a response.

“He spared me a lot of details. Guy’s full of mystery as he is full of himself. Such a turn-off, I swear…he has a pretty enough face to get away with it.”

You snorted, the tension finally easing slightly. “Oh, you don’t even know the half of it. He drives all of his colleagues and students insane.”

“But not you?” Mei teased, her voice carrying a knowing cadence.

“I’m not exempt from believing the fact that Satoru Gojo is the most obnoxious man alive,” you quipped, as a smirk tugged at your lips. “But he has the skill to back it up, which makes it even more annoying. He’s annoying about literally every damn thing.”

“And yet, that didn’t change your attraction to him at all,” Mei replied in a playful jab.

“Oh my God, don’t call me out like that! I…still haven’t told him.”

“Still?” Mei’s tone was incredulous. “Bro saved your life.”

“I know, I know,” you replied, frowning. “I just don’t think it’s appropriate.”

“What makes you say that? Do you think he doesn’t feel the same way? Because, girl, don’t make me come over there and knock some sense into that too smart noggin’ of yours. Sometimes you’re too smart to see what’s right in front of you and he’s totally into you!”

You hesitated, biting your lip as you considered her words.

“From the few interactions you had with him, and you’re so certain of it?”

“Girl yes! So hurry up and make your move! He’s probably waiting for you to.”

“Come on, Mei…it can’t be that simple. I’m still recovering from that whole thing with Geto. I’m still in shock from everything. I still feel like that ring is embedded into my finger,” you admitted, and as you did, glanced at your left hand, on your ring finger where the memory of that cursed tool was still vivid, still potent, even though it was long gone. “He…was the most terrifying man I’ve ever known.”

Mei fell silent, the line quiet save for the faint hum of her breath. Her empathy was a comfort in the stillness to you.

“Who says you can’t start a new relationship while you’re still healing? That being said, I get where you’re coming from. That must have been worse than a nightmare.”

You sighed exasperatedly.

“The crazy thing is, I can’t believe all of this shit is for real.”

“Girl, I’m just as shocked as you were! What’s next? Flat earthers being right?”

You busted up into laughter, the absurdity of the statement pulling you out of the deepest, darkest compartments of your mind. “No, no, I don’t think that’s quite in the same league.”

“Alright, alright. But seriously, I’m glad you’re in a safer place. As far as the rest of the world knows, you’re dead and gone. You still get a bit of benefits from the clinic, but you said something about Gojo being your benefactor now?”

“Yep,” you confirmed, leaning back against the plush silk pillows of your bed. Gojo had been spoiling you rotten in the best ways possible, and he wasn’t even your boyfriend. You’d like him to be. “The guy is made of money thanks to his ‘strongest sorcerer’ status. And I guess family wealth too.”

You could practically ‘hear’ her wraggling her eyebrows in that classic, trolling Mei way.

“Okay, so now you’ve basically got a sugar daddy.”

You gasped dramatically.

“Oh my God, Mei!”

“Am I wrong?”

“Not necessarily, but Gojo and I aren’t that far apart in age.”

“Fair, fair. Do you think he can get me one of those Cartier sunglasses? I’d kill to own a pair.”

“Those are like, ¥436,500 a pop! Are you crazy? That might not be a problem for Gojo, though. I can convince him. Your birthday’s coming up anyway. He’s basically at my beck and call.”

“Girl, you are the best! Okay, I’m going to let you go now! My shift is about to start! Love you!”

“Love you too.”

Click.

The line went dead, and in the quiet that followed, you found yourself staring at the door, as if expecting company. A soft rapping echoed through the room.

“Come in!” you sang.

The door creaked open, and there he was in the flesh, the devil himself—Satoru Gojo, his presence filling the room with an effortless command that always left you slightly bemused. Often in your company, he ditched his blindfold. You couldn’t help but find it flattering. He trusted you enough to reveal those striking, gorgeous blue eyes, the legendary Six Eyes of the Gojo clan that saw too much, knew too much. Everything, everywhere. All the time.

“Hey,” you greeted, your smile softening as you took in his relaxed posture. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

Gojo waved you off playfully.

“Nothing, nothing. I just missed the gift of your company,” he replied, his tone light and airy, but there was something you caught in his intense gaze, a depth that betrayed his casual words. He winked, a playful gesture that didn’t quite mask the concern in those eyes.

“So, what’s on your agenda today? Annoy me to tears?” you chuckled, though there was a genuine warmth in your voice, and you relented as soon as you saw his ‘kicked puppy’ expression. “I’m kidding. I love having you around.”

“God, I sure hope so, then otherwise what are we doing?” Gojo laughed with you, the sound rich like chocolate and genuine like pure leather. “Listen, we’ve been tracking Geto ever since we brought you here. Looks like he’s under the impression that you’re gone from the world. Convinced it was a cursed spirit that took you.”

You nodded, ignoring the twist in your gut at the mention of Suguru Geto; even speaking his name sent you into a frenzy. “I just hope it works. We haven’t had any issues thus far, right?”

“Yep. Thus far. No issues. You’re safe here as far as we know right now. You know, but there’s a war between sorcerers now. Between those who are on his side, and our side.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, the gravity of those words pressing down on you, at the prospect of meeting Geto again after everything. “I kind of figured as such. One day he might confront the school.”

Gojo’s expression darkened slightly, a rare glimpse of the seriousness that existed just beneath his carefree and boisterous exterior. He definitely could be serious where it mattered. Someone mentioned to you—you believed it was Principal Yaga—that his greatest strength, and greatest weakness, was his personality and how Gojo carried himself. You began to understand that sentiment the more you hung around him and watched him engage with his students and colleagues.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be prepared,” he declared, his voice full of conviction, determination…but even a hint of fear. Even after everything, Gojo didn’t want to lose his old friend. You were briefed a bit on their shared history, on the situation with Toji Fushiguro and the girl, Riko Amanai, who Toji killed, and on how Gojo saved Fushiguro’s son from the Zenin clan—a clan full of scumbags, according to him.

The world of jujutsu—a world where the line between safety and danger was exceptionally thin—was your new reality, your new normal. It would take a while to adjust, and you doubted Gojo expected you to understand everything right away.  

“One day he might confront the school,” you repeated, in a softer voice, as if speaking the words aloud made the possibility more real.

Gojo frowned, but didn’t immediately respond. He stepped closer, his tall frame casting a comforting shadow over your frame. His hand found yours, and for a moment, you let the world around you dispel like a spell cast. You looked up at him through your lashes, finding yourself returning that genuine smile of his.

“When that day comes,” he replied, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear—an oddly intimate gesture from him that you weren’t used to, and your breath hitched. “We’re in it together. ‘Til the end of the world. You’re not alone anymore.”

You froze at those words. Geto’s voice reverberated in your head like a haunting melody.

‘Til the end of the world, I am loyal to my Goddess.

You will never be alone now.

The memories bubbled forth, unbidden, relentless, dragging you back into the deepest, darkest corners of your mind. Your room began to close around you the way the walls in Geto’s temple did when he trapped you there.

Gojo’s expression shifted, his usual easygoing smile fading into a concerned frown as he caught onto the shift in your demeanor. That twinkle in his eyes dimmed, shutting off his Infinity, replaced by a softness as he called out your name, to bring you back to the present with him.

“Hey,” he called to you—gentle, loving, actually loving and so different from how Geto would address you, his voice like a lifeline pulling you to the shallow shores. “Hey, talk to me.”

You swallowed, the bitter, metallic tang of old wounds threatening to rise in your throat.

“Geto said those same things,” you laughed bitterly, voice hollow.

Gojo’s eyes widened as the realization dawned on him, your words struck him and knocking the wind out of his body like a physical blow.

“I…” His strong voice faltered, his usual confidence slipping from his fingers as he searched for the right words. For someone with Six Eyes and keen senses, he didn’t have the best emotional capacity at times—he was a deeply flawed individual and he knew it. “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s not your fault,” you interjected, finding strength in your voice again—though still laden with the remnants of past, not so distant anguish. “Don’t think for a second that it’s your fault.”

“I know, I know. I just—it surprised me, that’s all,” he admitted, running his hand through his hair, his eyes shimmering with some turmoil in his eyes for what you went through with his old friend.

Things fell silent for a moment. You swore the shadows of your not so distant past might swallow you whole, dragging you back into the deep, dark abyss from which you had only just begun to emerge from and still struggled to accept.

Gojo adjusted in his spot, breaking the tension with the ease of someone now accustomed to chasing away storm clouds—it came with the territory of being a jujutsu instructor, you supposed.

“Okay, enough of this deep, heavy shit,” he began, his voice bright and airy through sheer will to not think about these things alone. If there was another thing you learned Gojo was bad at, it was confronting his true emotions. Not like you were much better in that department, either, so you had no right to judge him. “How ‘bout we go out for ice cream? You’ve been kind of couped up in here for a while and then we can do some training with the others to burn off all that sugar. Yeah?”

You blinked owlishly, the abrupt change in tone catching you off guard, that you couldn’t help but laugh. His ability to turn even the darkest moments into something lighthearted was both infuriating and endearing, like sunlight breaking through the storm clouds—much like him.

“You’re just wanting an excuse to eat something sweet, aren’t you?” you joked, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth despite the lingering ache in your chest. “Gotta stimulate that crazy brain of yours?”

“Maybe,” he quipped with a grin that donned pure mischief, that twinkle in his eyes returning in full force. “But can you blame me? I gotta eat all that sugar or I get antsy.”

“I’d get antsy and jittery from eating all of the sugar you do,” you retorted while sticking your tongue out like a petulant child, the playful gesture certainly welcome from the shadows that had just threatened to overtake you right then.

Gojo laughed, the sound ringing like church bells, as he rubbed his nose in an attempt to completely disarm himself. “Come on, seriously. I owe you a lot after everything that’s happened, you know? Let me treat you to more stuff. It’s what I’m born to do.”

You shook your head while still smiling despite yourself, the tension in your chest now loosening a bit. “You owe me nothing, Satoru.” I owe you everything. My life, my love… everything. “But ice cream sounds fantastic right now in this heat.”

You fell silent for a moment longer, and you were about to open your mouth to speak, to spill everything you’ve felt about Satoru since you met him, but the words died on your tongue when he ushered you out of your bed.

Maybe now was not the time to confess.

“I’ll even treat you to some nice designer items,” Gojo winked, “Anything to get you out of here, all stuffed up in here and depressed.”

“Okay, okay. You really don’t have to do that,” you told him. “I mean, you really don’t. Most of those items cost twice my yearly salary.”

“Don’t worry about it—I’m made of money, remember?”

Soft hues of twilight painted the sky like it was an endless canvas; the park bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. Satoru’s promise of ice cream materialized in a banana split sundae, the sweet treat a mere distraction for you. The park he chose, not far from Jujutsu Tech, became a haven of peace amid the chaos that became your life over these months. You still couldn’t shake off the onset of tension over the ever-present dangers which lurked beyond the campus gates. But at least right now, in the safety of Satoru’s presence, every little sliver of doubt and fear you had seemed to melt away, much like the ice cream in your cup.

You halted in your tracks, captivated by the grand stone fountain in the center of the park. The water cascaded gracefully like they were dancing, each drop catching the golden light and creating that shimmering dance. Satoru seated himself on the edge of the fountain, his white hair gleaming like silver threads in the setting sunlight. He beckoned you to join him with one of those boyish smiles of his, one that you couldn’t resist, and you accepted his invitation, the distance between you shrinking.

“Satoru…” His name slipped from your lips, barely above a whisper, yet it snagged his attention. His head tilted, those brilliant blue eyes of his bright with curiosity, and the corners of his mouth curving upwards as he recognized you addressed him with his first name more often. The spoon in your hand stilled, forgotten as you dabbed at the stickiness of your lips with a napkin, your heart pounding. The universe seemed to hold its breath as you mustered up the courage to speak.

“I’ve… been meaning to tell you something.” Your voice grew softer, almost fragile, but true to your nature there was still a strength behind it, a resolve that had been building for far too long when it came to something as vulnerable as this. Satoru’s brilliant blue eyes remained fixated on you, as if he could see right through you—which given his legendary Six Eyes ability, might not be entirely off.

“I really like you,” you admitted, the words rushing out like a flood, leaving no room for other thoughts. Your hands fidgeted in your lap, thumbs twiddling together in an effort to soothe your nerves through your confession. “I mean, I really, really like you. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but there’s never going to be an appropriate time, and I… I’m so grateful to you. For everything. I understand if this is sudden or something you don’t want to hear, but--!”

The sudden warmth of his finger against your lips silenced your incessant babbling, that touch of his light yet commanding. Those eyes of his, those piercing blue eyes that seemed as deep as the ocean, softened with something you had never seen before in your life—something so tender, so affectionate, that your breath hitched. He stared down at you with such passion that it made you feel as though you were the only woman in the world in his eyes.

“You’re not out of line,” he murmured, his voice rich like velvet, wrapping you around in a gentle embrace—if you’d allow him, of course. He sounded breathless, as if he had been holding them for far too long himself. “I like you too. I like you a lot. I…I think I need you, but it felt selfish to have these feelings, so I tried so hard to push them away so I could focus on protecting you. It felt wrong, to fall for you when Suguru was after you, when you were vulnerable…it made me feel, you know, like I was no better than Suguru.”

Your heart swelled at his words, his confession sinking into you. You could almost hear Mei’s voice reverberating in your head, a smug ‘I told you so’ that played like a broken record which made you want to laugh and cry in joy all at once. There was no room for anything else in that moment as sheer joy flooded your senses. This was maybe the one good thing that came out of everything—meeting someone like Satoru, who shared the same feelings you did.

His hand cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing over your skin, his touch tender, gentle. He leaned in closer, his breath mingling with yours, the air between you charged with electricity that set your heart alight.

“God,” he whispered, the word a soft exhale of longing. “I want to kiss you so bad.”

Without another thought, you jumped into action before he did, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was both tender and fervent. Finally, a release of everything you’ve felt for him for so long. His response was immediate, his lips moving against yours with a hunger and a passion that matched your own. The world around you faded into insignificance, a mere speck in the atmosphere, as you lost yourself. The ice cream in your hand forgotten as your cup clattered to the ground, the melted remnants pooling just by your feet.

You both pulled back, breathless and flushed, and Satoru’s intense gaze never left yours, dark with desire. He traced his thumb across your now red and cracked lips, his touch igniting sparks in its wake.

“I kind of want to do more than kiss you,” he confessed, his voice low, silken, a sinful murmur that made you a little too excited.

“So naughty,” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes as you caught onto the implications of his words. But the truth was you certainly weren’t opposed to the idea—far from it, in fact. The thought of being with him was the best thing that could ever happen in this lifetime. “Let’s wait ‘til we get back to schoolgrounds, you bozo.”

That boyish grin of his returned in full force, but there was still that heat in his gaze, promising you so much more in store.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he swore, stealing another kiss, this time softer, more languid, as if cherishing the taste of you, memorizing it. “I’m just glad I can do this now.”

“You can do this and so much more,” you breathed, your voice hoarse as your eyes locked onto his. There was certainly a challenge in what you said.

His breath hitched, and the air between you grew staticky and thick.

“Keep talking like that,” he warned, his voice going dangerously lower, a few octaves lower. “and I won’t have any other choice but to take you up on that offer.”

The journey back to your dorm went by in a blur. As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, you shoved Satoru against it, your lips capturing his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was full of need, desire. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you flush against him like his life depended on it. You responded in kind, your hands roaming over his body, pleased to finally have him like this.

The bed was your destination, but you weren’t sure how or when you got there, both of your clothes discarded somewhere along the way. All that mattered was focusing on Satoru, his eyes dark with lust and something deeper, something tender. It made your heart race even faster. You straddled him, your body flush against his as you pulled his hard cock out of his pants, strained and already needing to be inside.

You teased him, the head of his cock between your folds, stroking it until it hardened and beads of pre began to leak out of his slit. You kept going until he was gasping and moaning, needing. You smirked as you looked down at him, already fucked out, debauched, his breathing ragged and he was practically whimpering. You kept stroking him, unable to help the smirk that curled your lips as his eyes fluttered shut, on the verge of losing control. He moved to grip your hips, but his touch was gentle, inviting, as if to encourage you.

You sank yourself onto his cock, moaning as his size stretched you in all the right ways and relishing in the way he cried out your name.

He growled, pulling you in until your breasts were flush against his face, kissing between them and trying to stifle all the little whines and whimpers that escaped his lips. You rode him, hard, unrelenting, and he enjoyed every minute of you taking what you wanted from him.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, lips quivering, trying to hold himself together. “Fuck, baby, please—let me—!”

“Let you what, Satoru?” you purred, brushing your lips over the bridge of his nose. “Use your words.”

He uttered your name in another whine.

“Let me come, please,” he begged, a choked gasp as his body tensed beneath you, his fingers digging into your bare skin.

You didn’t need to be asked twice. You continued to ride him hard, your hips moving in a rhythm that made him lose his mind. The moment he found his release, his cock twitching inside of you as he filled you with his cum, you couldn’t help but allow yourself to bask in the power. He was finally yours, and knowing you could reduce him to this, someone regarded as the strongest sorcerer in the world…it made you feel invincible.

He lay there, spent, trembling, whimpering and whining. You leaned down, pressing a comforting kiss to his forehead, your fingers trailing over his chest in a soothing caress.

“That’s my good boy,” you murmured, your voice tender and loving as you glanced down at him, reveling in the sight of him so vulnerable, so needy. “

“Now let me take care of you, Satoru. Let me thank you for everything.”

Winter of 2017

As Suguru Geto landed on the familiar grounds of Jujutsu Tech, his eyes found Yuuta Okkotsu standing at the ready with the rest of his classmates—likely with Satoru and the other instructors following close behind soon enough. He kept his expression calm, even as his mind churned with thoughts of losing you—the one person he believed had been his beacon of light in his world of curses, now eradicated from the world when you didn’t deserve that.

Or so, that was what he was led to believe.

Geto’s gaze lingered on Yuuta, noting the determination etched into the young special grade sorcerer’s face. That power that boy wielded was certainly immeasurable, and something under different circumstances, Geto would have coveted for himself. Yet today, it barely registered in his mind. He had a different plan, one far more personal—if he could not claim Rika from Yuuta, then you were all he really wanted. If you were alive, nothing else mattered to him. He would call off the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons. Your supposed death was a carefully crafted lie, designed to keep him from slipping into a deeper state of madness. Yet doubt still gnawed at him, that tiny seed he planted that threated to sprout into hope that you were still with him in this cursed world.

His exchange with Yuuta and the other students passed in a blur of formalities and thinly veiled threats. Geto simply wasn’t interested, entirely, in unleashing the Night Parade. Geto’s words were sharp, each word carefully measured, but beneath it all, there was that underlying hope, desperation, masked by his usual bravado. You became his number one strength, and his number one weakness—his one tie to the little humanity he had left in him.

Had there been the slightest chance that you lived…

Satoru Gojo finally approached, flanked by the other elder sorcerers, the stakes between everyone rose. More empty threats were exchanged, but Geto remained focused, a sly grin playing on his lips as he prepared to deliver his ultimatum.

Unbeknownst to him, you watched the exchange from a distance, hidden within the protective veil Satoru had set up for you. Your heart pounded as you saw Geto again after everything that had happened, but you refused to let any fear show. He couldn’t see you from where he stood, but you were close enough to hear every word.

“I’m here to declare war,” Geto announced, his voice cutting through the air.

Your breath hitched, eyes widening in panic as the reality of the situation sank in. Given what you knew about what Suguru Geto could do, you were frightened.

“On the coming of December 24th, when the sun sets, we shall conduct the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons…” Geto’s voice was calm, almost eerily so, like he was discussing something arbitrary like the weather. “…If you wish to stop us, feel free to try. However, I can call it all off, under one special condition.

A bead of sweat tricked down Gojo’s brow as he listened in, already knowing what Suguru would say.

“You bring her to me. And the massacre is called off.”

Yuuta glanced at Gojo, confusion and concern etching into his features. “Who is he talking about?”

Gojo uttered your old name, and shock rippled through the students.

“Really? He’s telling us this now?” Maki groaned in disbelief. “But she’s gone!”

Gojo spared them the gory details of what had transpired before Suguru’s arrival, but the truth remained coveted in half-truths and misdirection.

Suguru’s eyes narrowed, his voice laden with anger.

“Don’t lie to me. I can sense her spirit from here. I want her to show herself to me now, and no harm will come to the human population.”

“You’re as delusional as ever with that bullshit,” Gojo remarked, his tone mocking. “Maybe you’re just recognizing the strength the women here wield. It’s not just unique to her. She’s gone, Suguru. Dead. She’s not coming back.”

Suguru’s lips curled into a snarl and his eyes burned with fury. “That’s a lie! She’s alive; I can feel her! Don’t you keep her away from me, you selfish bastard!”

Nanako and Mimiko, who had been lingering nearby, called out to Geto, their innocent voices cutting through the conversation with surprising ease.

“Is Mama really dead, Geto?” Mimiko asked, her voice filled with sorrow.

Suguru placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his expression softening.

“No, I’m sure of it.”

He turned back to his former allies, his gaze hardening once more. “Consider my offer carefully. I will call off the attack if she’s back in my arms. Otherwise, the cursed spirits will massacre all of Japan.”

Nanako inquired Geto about getting crepes later, saying that would cheer her up.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, Satoru, I must treat my girls. They’re so sullen to know their mother is gone, and they just love their crepes.”

“You don’t think we’ll just let you leave?” Gojo sneered.

“Careful, Satoru,” he concluded the exchange and flew off with his ‘family.’

Your eyes shimmered, fear pirckling at the edges of your mind as you remained hidden within the protective barrier. You couldn’t bring yourself to come out—not just yet.

Gojo lifted the veil and beckoned you to come out of your hiding spot once it was safe enough. You hesitated for a moment before emerging, meeting the curious and concerned gazes of others as they learned more about your situation. Their eyes bore into you, filled with questions they were too afraid to voice themselves.

“And now we learn why she’s our secret weapon,” Gojo stated as you approached him. “As long as he believes you’re gone, we can use you to stall him in his grand scheme.”

You groaned, clutching your head as a wave of frustration washed over you. “Giving up my individuality for a man again… Not what I hoped to do with my time…”

Gojo offered an apologetic smile, but it did little to ease the burden you felt.

“Sorry, sweetheart. It’s all we got right now. It’s likely we still have to fight, but we can at least hold him off.”

Yuuta shared a look with Gojo, the information fed to him now just a bit too much for him to bear, but he appeared to sympathize with you.

“Guess you have a point about what you said about love, Gojo,” he murmured, his thoughts drifting off to what he’d done to Rika.

“Yeah, if you’d call that love,” you muttered under your breath, your mind lingering on Geto, the man who meant nothing to you, yet you appeared to mean everything to him. 

You locked eyes with Gojo, determination burning within you.

“So, are we really doing this?”

Gojo’s expression grew serious, his lips pursued. He crossed his arms, assessing you.

“Why? Are you backing out?”

You shook your head, your gaze not leaving his, fire behind your eyes—you wanted revenge, lusted for it. If this was how you could achieve that revenge, then so fucking be it.

“If it means a minimal chance of stopping him, then I’m ready for anything.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Gojo’s mouth, amused by your resolve. You matched his smirk, your grin widening as the determination within you solidified.

“Besides,” you quipped, your voice firm, as you straightened your composure. “I’m not made of sugar.”

[catscidr]

NEED MORE OFFICE DOTTORE PLEAAAAADE HBAUBGUDUHFIBOND

i. note — he’s my guilty pleasure im sry i js CRAVE this mf twenny four/seven ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) </3 ii. includes — dottore, afab! reader but no gendered pronouns are used iii. cw — im rambling again heyyy what's new. office setting/modern au, dottore is kinda creepy, implied stalking, obsessive behaviour, their feelings are mutual but dottore comes off too strong and reader is a bit dense, mention of periods, drinking/alcohol, implied drugging (but nothing happens). this sounds bad but its tame he's just a weirdo with a crush and is weird about said crush Trust Me

thinking about office senior! dottore using his status in the company to butt in and work on projects that you’ve been assigned. him slowly but surely worming his way into your life ever since he got a taste of you, unable to let you just be a fling, a one-time thing. he just has to ruin you in every way

he would definitely be sooo aware of your steadily blooming crush on him and would use it against you to then tease you to hell and back. this man knows how to toy with people! he’ll most definitely toy with you!!!

lingering touches bordering on unprofessional but still friendly if you squint, going out of his way to ask your opinion on things during a crowded meeting n putting you on the spot, stepping into the elevator at the same time as you to trap you n initiate small talk……

of course said “small talk” is always… a little weird… when it’s with zandik. he doesn’t talk about the weather, stocks, or whatever mundane task you were working on right before you went on lunch break.

no, he’ll talk about things he shouldn’t know about you, things he’d only know if you told him about them, or things that are just a little too… personal? but maybe you’re being a little uptight. maybe you just… don’t remember telling him some things about yourself. it’s not like he’s talking about anything super outrageous or controversial anyways, it’s fine.

“eating instant noodles every day for dinner isn’t good for you, it’s most likely the reason why you get such bad cramps during your cycle. i would recommend adding some leafy greens to your servings at the very least, or some tofu to help with your iron intake.”

what a weirdo…. but hey, he’s kinda right, maybe you should eat more balanced meals so you don’t keel over anytime soon.

office senior! dottore also often does creepy things but in a nice way? if that makes sense?

for example, when the team is brought out for drinks to celebrate another successful project, he’ll make sure to be the only one sitting next to you. you’ll be squished against the wall and his shoulder, beer in hand, your cheeks burning from the alcohol and the proximity between you two

he’ll keep an eye on you and your alcohol tolerance, but not in the way you think he will. he’ll encourage you to drink more, “you seem tense. here, here’s a refill” he’d say in that smooth voice of his. “oh? you’re stumbling on your words, are your nerves still acting up? have my drink.”

and once you get to the point where you’re leaning over the table, head resting on your arms, only then will he start to actually take care of you.

he’ll place one hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles to help ground you from your dizziness. scold you for drinking so much, all while everyone else at the table glances at you with concern (or as much concern as other drunk and tipsy coworkers can muster)

“you shouldn’t have drank so much if you knew your alcohol tolerance was this poor.”

and the shadow of a smile on his face will turn into something more sinister when you frantically get up to rush to the bathroom. you immediately stumble to the floor, dizzy and disoriented. too dizzy and disoriented.

he’ll catch you before you fall as coworkers express their concern for you, only then noticing how bad your state had gotten now that face-planting directly onto the tatami floor of the bar was a feasible outcome

a chorus of surprised “woah!”’s and “are you okay?” ring out, conversations growing quieter as everyone stares at the stoic, scary superior holding up the rookie that got completely plastered at a work event. some are silently judging, but most are ogling zandik

your cubicle neighbor and work buddy gets up from her seat, stumbling on her way to help you stand up. though she had indulged you in gossip about him before, something about him holding your suspiciously drunk body up made alarm bells ring in her head.

“i’ll take them home,” he declares, voice colder than ice. no one really notices the hostility in his tone, too tipsy themselves to notice zandik’s obvious favouritism towards you. “enjoy the rest of your night.”

...and he diligently brings you to your flat, catching you before you stumble on your feet and trip over nothing. the trip was a struggle for the both of you, though more so for you than for him considering he had anticipated this outcome. maybe next time he should reconsider before giving you so much to drink.

[kxmisato]

♡ DATE FIRST, CAFFEINE LATER — DAN HENG

↳ characters : dan hang x fem!reader

↳ genre : fluff

↳ synopsis : after pining over you for so long, dan heng has finally worked up the nerve to ask you out. and he’s nervous, extremely nervous because, it’s his first date with anyone.

↳ note : for lovers who hesitate by JANNABI (i am so in love with him, i'm very normal)

dan heng has never before been more nervous about something than he is now. is that a bit of a stretch? yes, but he is still extremely nervous. he knows you’ve already said yes to going out with him but he wasn’t expecting it?

he had already set his expectations low, so when he eventually worked up the courage to ask you out he wouldn’t get his hopes crushed.

but, when you said yes and asked him to text you the details, he was surprised and relieved at first -- then his nerves got the best of him.

now, he has everything set up. where he planned to take you as well as the time he was supposed to pick you up, different conversation topics, he even picked out his outfit beforehand for crying out loud.

needless to say, dan heng is excited but nervous, very nervous.

and when dan heng approached you and asked you out with his typical nonchalant face, you were surprised as well. 

you had always thought of dan heng as someone who was not interested in romantic relationships but instead as someone who kept to themselves more, surrounding himself in books to keep him company, not a companion.

well, that is what he is, he does keep to himself and you do often see him studying in the library or walking around campus with his headphones in. 

so you hope he didn’t take notice of the stunned look on your face when he asked you out.

when the day finally came, the both of you are excited and nervous. 

typical first date jitters. 

you staring in your mirror, nitpicking your outfit and jewelry while dan heng is trying his hardest to tame his hair and find where he left his cologne. 

you’re tying the laces of your tennis shoes just when you get a text from him.

dan heng ​​◡̈ : i should be there in about 5 minutes.

y/n : okok ! super excited to see you !

dan heng ◡̈ : same :)

dan heng is in the elevator of your apartment complex and just your quick response to his message eased his nerves for a split moment, before the doors open with a ding! and he realizes he’s on your floor.

he takes a deep breathe then walks out down the ivory painted hallways, looking at the numbers on the doors before he finally reaches the one he was searching for.

you’re grabbing your bag and wallet while dan heng is standing in front of your chestnut stained door, straightening his sweater and wiping his clammy hands on his black jeans out of nervousness. 

the period of anxious waiting and final touches are done for both of you. 

and it’s finalized when you hear the wood of the front door of your apartment being knocked on and done when he hears your footsteps approaching it.

as your hands go to reach the knob of the door, you take a deep breathe then finally grip the brass. 

“hi…” you greet him shyly. “did you want to come in for a second? i just need to go make sure shushu’s water dish is full.”

“shushu?” dan heng asks as he comes in, with you closing the door behind him.

“she’s my pet cat, did you want to meet her? i can bring her out to see you.”

“ah…” dan heng coughs. “are you sure that’s okay? i know that cats sometimes get stressed out when meeting new people.”

“it should be fine, she didn’t have any issues meeting march or stelle. but it’s okay if you don’t want to see her, of course.”

“maybe i can meet her when i drop you off later? the café closes early on sundays.” he suggests.

it’s not like he doesn’t want to meet your cat, dan heng loves cats and cats love him, he thinks… but right now he really wants to go on the date with you, even if he doesn’t know how to say that outright to you.

“oh, yeah! that’s smart.” you smile at him. “i’ll be right back then.”

as dan heng stands in your apartment’s front corridor, he looks around. it’s your place, but it’s so you. the plants, the decorations, and the knick knacks that are littered throughout the place.

the empty beige walls are filled with so much life, your life. 

pictures of you, of stelle, of march, and shushu, of course. it’s warm. you made this place your home, a part of your life and dan heng hopes that he can be too.

“okay!” he hears your voice, breaking him out of his trance. “should be ready to go now, sorry about that.”

“it’s okay, i didn’t mind.” he affirms then opens the front door for you. 

“oh, thank you.” you thank him as he steps out behind you. you then pulled your key out from your bag and locked the door.

“let’s go. is… is it bad to say that i’m excited to be going out with you?” you turn and ask him as you two begin to walk down your hallway, footsteps tandem.

dan heng laughs awkwardly but turns and smiles at you. “no, uh, not at all because i think i’m just as excited as you are.” he admits.

“i’m happy to hear that,” you say, trying to hide your growing shyness. “i’ve been wanting to spend more time with you.”

“me too.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

“i seriously don’t think you understand how nervous i actually was for our first date.”

“really? you seemed pretty like… relaxed? to me.”

the two of you were currently bundled up to combat the dropping temperatures of fall turning into winter, sharing a throw blanket in your living room and reminiscing on your first date together.

“i thought i was going to screw everything up!” dan heng admits with a laugh. “and shushu not liking me right away also shook me up, i’m not going to lie.”

you giggle at the brunette, cuddling closer under the blanket. “shushu is very cautious. besides, you didn’t mess anything up. i thought it was a perfect first date. you were very gentlemanly.” 

“gentlemanly?” he ponders.

“yeah! you held the doors open for me, paid for our order, and you listened to what i was saying. not only that, you added onto the conversation, i really liked that. you left a very good impression on me, dan heng.”

“i’m glad i left a good impression on you, but shushu didn’t seem to think so.” dan heng mumbles defeatedly.

“i’m still so sorry that she scratched you, i’ve never seen her like that. but at least she likes you now!” you joke.

“yeah, now she does. it only took like 3 months of me coming over for her to like me.” he says then turns to look at shushu as she’s resting beside him on your beige couch.

“she’s obsessed with you now, everytime you leave she cries and looks for you.” you tell him.

“yeah?” dan heng asks, still looking at the resting feline.

“yes, i swear.” you say, reaching forward to grab the tv remote from the coffee table, pausing the movie that the two of you were watching. “so, are you still staying over?”

dan heng hums, faking thinking over your question.

“hey! answer me!” you whine, playfully hitting his chest. “i want to go to the cafe with you tomorrow morning, so you have to stay over, okay? i need your help with studying for my exam.”

“ah… i don’t know, should i stay over?” dan heng jokingly questions. “what do you think shushu?” he turns to ask the cat.

“dan heng, you do realize that i’m your girlfriend and not shushu, right? you’re in my apartment not hers…”

“i’m joking!” he laughs at your pouting face. “yeah, of course i’m staying over.” he says, leaning over, pecking your temple.

“you’re paying for the coffee.” you say.

“i wouldn’t let you pay to begin with.”

you hum happily, snuggling closer to dan heng then unpausing the movie.

“i love you.” you whisper to him.

“i love you too, shushu”

“wow. really?”

“kidding, i love you too.” he admits, wrapping his arms around your torso, pulling you impossibly closer.

[alotofpockets]

Archery lessons | Kate Bishop

Paring: Kate Bishop x Reader Prompt: “I can’t help it, you’re fun to mess with.” Masterlist | Marvel masterlist | Words: 915

You were dressed in your training gear, waiting for Kate at the archery range. You’ve been wanting to learn for a while now and finally gathered the courage to ask Kate to teach you. Kate is your best friend as well as the girl you’ve been crushing on for months now, as well as an amazing archer. The nerves probably stemmed from not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of her, she was so good with her bow and arrow, next to her you’d probably look bad no matter what.

Kate was excited to share her love for archery with you. Not many of her friends outside of archery had gotten her interest in the sport growing up. Therefore, being able to introduce you to archery was something she had been looking forward to all week. She had prepared different exercises to be able to teach you the basics in a fun way.

Unbeknownst to you Kate was already in the archery range, after setting everything up she hid. She loved scaring you and she thought that this would be an amazing opportunity. You were never going to suspect her jumping from the high up platform landing right in front of you. Kate timed it out perfectly, waiting until you had you back towards her. She jumped off the ledge, twisting in the air so that she would be facing you when she landed. Just inches in front of you she lands in a superhero pose, she smirks when she hears you scream. With a hand on your heart, you catch your breath, rolling your eyes at the woman still crouched in front of you, “This was not what I signed up for.” You give her a small push, making her fall backwards. “I can’t help it, you’re fun to mess with.”

You offer her your hand and help her up. “Was this all or are you actually going to teach me something?” Kate thanks you for helping her up, “Oh no, I am actually going to teach you, I’m very excited. This was just also the perfect moment to scare you.” You roll your eyes ones more, “Jerk.” You call her in a loving way.

Kate walks you over to where she set up. "I grabbed you a beginner bow, basically one that is easier to handle than a bow like mine or Clints. This is just for you to get the hang of it, so if you end up enjoying archery we can look for a new one for you." She holds up the bow and shows you all its components. Handing the bow over to you she says, "Show me how you would hold it." You take the bow and hold it the way you think you’re supposed to. “You almost got it! All you have to do is move this hand up a bit.” She guides your hand to where it’s supposed to be. The touch immediately raises your heartbeat. Luckily Kate is too busy looking at your grip to notice the blush that made its way onto your checks.

“Yeah, that’s it! Now you can add the arrow.” She hands you an arrow and tells you how to place it in the bow. Surprisingly, you got that right on the first go. “See you’re a natural.” You laugh, “Just because I’m holding it right doesn’t mean that it’s going to go anywhere near the target.” You pull back the arrow, aim for the target and release it. It lands maybe three feet in front of you, nowhere near the target. “Yeah, okay you’re right, maybe not a natural.” Kate teases. You shove her slightly, “Oh, very motivating, miss Bishop.” You both laugh.

“Here, let me help.” Kate moved behind you. You freeze as you feel her body touching your back. Her arms reach around yours as if she’s holding the bow with you. Helping you to you make the right movements. Your heartrate is rising once more, this time there is no hiding it. It’s beating so fast and loud that you think she might even hear it. In your ear she whispers, “You’ve got it. Just left go.”

You release the arrow and watch it soar through the air, perfectly landing on the target. “That’s my girl.” Kate whispers in your ear. You instantly turn around in her arms. Your faces are already so close together, all you have to do is lean in and your lips would be on hers. Kate noticed your eyes were focused on your lips and smirked. “All you had to so was ask.” She says as she moves her hand up to your cheek to pull you in. Her lips were on yours and it was the most magical thing you have ever experienced. When you pull away from the kiss slightly, you say, “I should’ve asked you to teach me archery way sooner.” In response Kate hugged you tightly. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” You smile, “Me too.”

“Want me to teach you some more?” You lift the bow up again and try to take a shot yourself. It went further than your first try but still not close enough to the target. “It seems like I will be needing more lessons, but my teacher is quite distracting so it might take a lot of lessons.” Kate places a soft kiss on your cheek. “That just means that I will get to spend more time with you.”

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Shuffles in

I’ve once again been inspired by your ideals. I give you, a character that dies, right? Their dead, dying was scary but death? Oh what bliss. Floating in an endless cocoon of love and safety waiting in between worlds to be reborn once more, seeing glimpses of their loved ones through eyes of birds, bugs, and trees. Finally safe, finally at peace

Only to be resurrected.

Oh dear god it hurts. Their first breath of their new life is used to scream out in agony. They’re in pain, disoriented, and dizzy, unable to breathe through the ragged sobs. Typically the more stoic type, whumpee now clinging to caretaker like a child, screaming and crying into their form. Caretaker assumes death must be horrible watching Whumpee trying to live again, what else could have them so traumatized? Whumpee is exhausted by everything. They’re despondent, maybe a part of them remained in the beyond. Part of them is furious that they were even resurrected, another wants to return.

ANYWAYS RESURRECTED WHUMPEES ACKNOWLEDGING THE MANNER OF DEATH AND THE RESURRECTION IS WHAT HURTS RATHER THAN DEATH ITSELF >>>>

Oh hohohohohohohoh this is SO up my alley!!

One of my FAVORITE tropes is the ‘for their own good’. I love some conflict between Whumpee and Caretaker. Caretaker genuinely wanting to help Whumpee, loving them, but that love pushes them to hurt Whumpee in some way.

Painful resurrection is perfect for that!

Like you said, dying is scary. Their body torn apart, air crushed from their lungs. It’s terrifying, maddening, and there’s nothing Whumpee wants more than to live.

But death? That’s different. The moment Whumpee’s pulled from their mangled body, all pain is left behind. The terror leaves just as quickly, their mind clearing of panic. In an instant everything is calm, peaceful, perfect. It’s a level of peace Whumpee has never known, and in that moment all they feel is relief.

And then Caretaker reaches out, some sort of dark magic glowing at their fingertips, and drags Whumpee’s spirit back into its broken vessel.

It’s agony. Every nerve that comes back to life screams with a pain that no living creature should feel. The pain of decay, the pain of rotting, life being forced back into a body no longer fit for it. Whumpee wasn’t supposed to feel this; they weren’t supposed to be here.

In that moment, delirious with pain, overwhelmed by their rekindled life, Whumpee hates Caretaker. Hates their gentle touches that send agony through their body. Hates the tearful, loving expression on their face that should bring them comfort. Hates how they can feel Caretaker’s nails digging into their very soul, bringing them out of peaceful oblivion into agonizing life.

Whumpee’s beyond words, beyond reason. All they can do is cry; a wordless, haunting wail as they’re pulled back together against their will.

Caretaker holds them close. Whumpee doesn’t have the strength to pull away.

“I won��t let you die,” Caretaker says they pull Whumpee close, sending another wave of regenerative magic through them. Their voice is thick with tears, yet there’s an unwavering determination that speaks to their conviction. Their words are a promise, and Whumpee can only sob in response.

Whumpee doesn’t die, as much as they wish they had. Their body, only recovered enough to keep their soul contained, is carried to a hospital.

Recovery is slow. It’s days before Whumpee can so much as move, let alone acknowledge the world around it. It’s as if they’ve forgotten how to puppet their own body; it's as if they have to puppet their own body rather than movement being instinctual.

But eventually, they learn how to force their flesh under their command again. Eventually they remember how to force themselves to speak. They learn how to live again. But they’re not quite the same.

Caretaker tries to help the best they can. They’re an attentive nurse; always lingering nearby, ready to get Whumpee anything they could ask for. They’re patient when Whumpee struggles to speak, still remembering how to use their tongue. There’s nothing but joy and relief in their eyes, and a smile rises to their lips whenever they look Whumpee’s way.

Whumpee hates it, though they know they shouldn’t. Something in them screams that Caretaker is cruel and heartless and selfish, and they hate that they can’t blot the voice out.

Whumpee knows that Caretaker’s efforts are worthless, because Whumpee could never explain what’s wrong. How could they explain the total peace of death? How can they explain how everything was overwhelming in comparison, even the touch of air against their skin? How could they explain the ache they felt; the ache of a body they no longer fit in, the ache of something deep inside them that knew they weren't meant to be here?

How can they explain that everything is to much now? The feeling of soft bed sheets burns against their skin, the blandest means so overwhelming that Whumpee wants to gag. Just the feeling of their own skin, suffocatingly tight, feels baddening after the peaceful nothingness of death.

There aren’t any words that Whumpee could say to make Caretaker understand. They don’t have the words to explain it. And so when Caretaker stares into Whumpee’s eyes, so desperate to help them recover, there’s only one thing Whumpee can think to say.

“You should’ve let me die.” They whisper, the most they’ve spoken since their revival. They feel both a bitter satisfaction and a deep ache at the way the words make Caretaker’s expression crumble.

Whumpee doesn’t die again, not anytime soon. They eventually leave the hospital, returning to as close to normalcy as they can. But they don’t talk to Caretaker much either, and they never quite fit in their own skin anymore.

[deiaiko]

#20.10 Chat

It was almost midnight when Khun was finally able to lie down on his futon. Rak was already snoring, his limbs sprawled out and touching the floor. Ran was on the other side of the room, still playing with his game console. Khun paid him no mind, he was not in the place to lecture people about their sleeping habits when he went to bed just as late.

Instead, Khun called out his pocket, noticing there was a new message. His heart did a flip upon noticing that it was from Bam.

'Sorry for only replying now, I had a lot on my mind yesterday ;-; I went to Mr. Grace's place today, so I feel a lot better now.'

Khun mulled over the message for a while, debating what he should reply with. Though before he could even type a word, Bam sent him another text.

'It was fun :3 Hyung's teammates are very nice to me :D'

Khun smiled to himself and typed back, 'That's good.'

'Did you know that they have fishes? :O they're so cute!'

Khun imagined how Bam's eyes sparkled whenever he learned something new, and Khun's smile grew wider. 'I have seen his electric eel, though I didn't know he had more.'

"Creepy."

Khun turned his head around and his eyes met with Ran's. His previous smile instantly turned into a scowl.

"It's so weird to see you smile like that," Ran commented. "Who is that? Your crush or something?"

Khun clicked his tongue in annoyance, "None of your business."

Ran shrugged and pulled his blanket to cover himself more, seemingly done with his game and ready to sleep.

Khun checked his pocket again for new messages from Bam. 'Hyung said he will prepare a room at his place for me, so I can come by and stay anytime I want. Ah, and Mr. Agni said he will arrange a game with yours and his team, did you know?'

Khun raised his eyebrow. 'No.'

'Oh.'

And that was it from Bam. Khun tapped his fingers nervously, 'Will you be there?'

There was an icon that let him know that Bam was typing. But for a yes or no question, Bam sure took his time, and it made Khun nervous.

'I don't know.' Was what Bam sent, followed by 'But I want to, if I were given the chance. It'd be nice to be able to see everyone again.'

'One day, we'll get you out of there.' Khun promised.

'It's okay :) Hyung said that you guys will be safer with us staying under FUG. They can back us up if anything happens, since they have lots of assets.'

Khun pursed his lips. 'Are you sure? I thought you hated it there.'

'I just hate Mr Hansung. That guy is such a pain in the ass.'

Khun suppressed a snort. Where did Bam learn such a phrase? Though he had to agree that that coffee addict was really getting on his nerves.

'Ms Hwaryun is fine. I know she cares about me. It's just hard to read her. Master was a little distant, but he has been nice to me lately. Plus now that I can talk to you, and have Hyung with me, it's been more or less okay. I can live with it :)'

Still, I want us to be together again. Khun's fingers hovered over the text that he typed, but then decided to erase it. It felt so selfish and emotional, which he might regret in the morning if he were to send it. 'If you say so,' He sent instead, and yawned. 'I think we should sleep, it's getting late.'

'Alright. Good night, Mr Khun :3'

'I told you, just Khun is fine.'

'Good night, just Khun ;3'

'Very funny. Good Bam, Bam.'

'Haha XD.'

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☕ Buy me coffee ☕

[tomatoswup]

el chico del apartamento 512⋆ ˚｡⋆୨💌୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

summary: that new boy-next-door Vash from 512 sure is cute! Maybe you should write him a letter~

title translation: the boy from apartment 512

warnings/tags: shy/anxious reader, the usual nerve-wrecking feelings that come with a crush, tesla jumpscare, kabedon! by vash, i edited this at 4am might have mistakes, cute~, Modern!AU

A/N: I....don't know if i wrote this right...but this song had me delusional..... :D,,, I really wanted to write a cute boy-next-door kinda oneshot with Vash and boom, here yall go :P enjoy! I recommend listening to Selena's "El Chico Del Apartamento 512" since this fic was a direct inspir. from the song~

pairing: vash x reader

Life in your apartment complex was, in your own words, quite boring.

Bland scenery, the shouts and complains of neighbors and the ridiculous "problems" that shouldn't even be called problems you had to deal with.

Oh cmon, can't you park in your own fucking parking space?!

But there was a certain someone that made the hell of a place a bit more better. Your new neighbor from apartment 512. You first met him by accident when you dropped the groceries you were hauling up to your apartment one day, to which he helped you and struck up conversation.

From there, fate couldn't help but let the meetings between the both of you continue as the two of you talked more and more. Often times, he'd find you reading at one of the various apartment complex picnic tables, joining you in your times of relaxation.

"You okay?" You asked one day as the both of you sat at the table, sharing a bowl of fruits you had cut up to enjoy the afternoon with. He turned his attention towards you, orange sunglasses resting on his head and mouth full of watermelon causing his cheeks to puff out like a chipmunk "Mfph?"

You had a good ol' laugh as the poor man tried to chew as quick as he could to respond, but truly just ended up almost choking on the poor watermelon. You had to smack him on the back in the end so all the juice left his lungs.

Life, work, and flowers that the both of you liked, sometimes the two of you conversated for hours on end. And sometimes, you two just liked each others quiet company.

You admired that.

But you also admired something else.

ooo girl he was cute.

You couldn't resist the butterflies in the pits of your stomach whenever the two of you took your walks together, coming home from work late nights. The closeness of your shoulders and his made you a bit more delusional than you had wanted to be.

Or maybe you did?

GOD MAKE UP YOUR MIND!

Vash, that was his name, was your boy-next-door crush. To be honest, you never expected to find yourself attracted to someone like him. But man, did he have your heart running its laps.

Every.

Single.

Time.

The glances he would sneak at you from afar felt like honey for your little ol' fragile heart. And no, you never forgot those frequent very frequent times where you would find him knocking at your door. Opening it, there he was, the cute tall spiky haired blonde awkwardly standing there with a flower pot, little flowers already growing inside.

Shifting his weight from his feet left to right, he would use the excuse of "I bought a bit too much for my balcony!" to keep giving them to you.

It was adorable! You never failed to blush every time and whenever he accidentally touched your hand when he handed them to you. You didn't notice his own red cheeks though.

You had a small collection of these plants in your home now that you made sure to water every morning. And as a thankful gesture, you often invited him over for dinner at your place.

That was....flirting right?

Jesus fucking christ you really had no rizz..

You often found yourself lying in bed some nights, not knowing how to address those bubbly feelings of yours towards the dorky man.

How would you tell him either way? How about a date?

Oh no no no, you didn't have the balls to tell it to his face... Did you?

You contemplated for a second.

Nope, definitely not.

If he said no, you would have to think about finding a different apartment at this point.

oh my goddd this was embarrassing..

But cmon now that cute mole on his face? How could you resist those funny faces of his? You groaned loudly into the air as you slapped your hands on your eyes in exasperation.

'What if I write him a letter?' You froze in your mini moment of despair before shooting up from your laid down position. "Okay, okay, maybe this can work." You gasped out, stumbling and slipping off your bed, looking around the room trying to find a pen and paper.

Pen..Pen..Digging out a pen from your bag, you held it up into the air as if it were a holy grail.

Settling with a nice purple colored one and a page from a notebook that you carefully tore out, you wrote your "confession" letter on that messy wooden desk of yours.

That'll do that job! please

By the next morning, you had the letter sealed and ready to be given to him, but damn were you on the verge of wanting to throw up because of how nervous you were.

You even added a cute dried flower on the letter to make it look pretty maybe he could ignore the little tear marks of yours on the note

Okay, go to his door, knock, give him the letter, then run.

PERFECT! Completely foul proof plan!

Wash, rinse, repeat.

You put on one of the more nicer outfits from your closet, and paced around your room a bit before finally leaving the apartment. Letter clenched in your hands, you walked only a few steps from your door until you saw the numbers 512 glaring down at you.

Ummm…

You felt sweatier than usual as you frantically brushed down your hair before straightening your posture. It took you only 2 minutes of self-reassurance before you knocked.

knock, knock, knock

Pulling your hand back, you stood there holding the letter into your chest.

...

...

No response. That's fine! That's totally okay!

You took a moment to breathe in and out before knocking again. Finally hearing movement from the other side of the door, you took a step back, bracing yourself from seeing his face as the door swung open.

"How can I help you?" A feminine voice rung out.

Opening the door was a blonde girl somewhat a bit older than you. Her long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes making you do a double take as your mouth gaped open at the pretty girl. But that surprise was taken over by your heart dropping at the sight. She was wearing a white sweat jacket

His jacket..

HE HAD A GIRLFRIEND!?

'ABORT! ABORT MISSION!' Your subconscious yelled at you as you stumbled to find words to reply to the girl "I-um, well uh-"

The burning feeling in your chest started to hurt as you felt the desire to just drop dead right on the spot. There was no way you just... Oh my god..

Before you could respond, the girl's expression widened into somewhat recognition. "Oh! You're the neighbor from next door! Were you looking for my brother?"

Eh?

"...Y-Yes?" You tilted your head in a somewhat cheeky sweaty smile you were dying on the inside before she turned from you and looked back into the apartment.

"HEY VASH!" She yelled, holding the door open with her back as she crossed her arms, and from the depths of the blue-wallpapered apartment nice choice! you heard his voice.

"WHAT!?" There were sounds of blankets or something moving coming from where he was inside.

Her eyes flickered back to you before giving you a playful wink "I think our neighbor from 511 is knocking at the door! Are they the-!"

"WAIT WAIT WAIT DON'T OPEN IT WAIT!!" His sudden screech emitted before the sudden mess of things falling to the ground and objects breaking echoed through the apartment.

Was he okay?

"GYAH!" You heard Vash yelp before he tripped into your sight right around a corner, shirt half messily on him as he attempted to slip his arm through the hole of the shirt. The scattered scars on his body prominent to your eyes as he struggled for a second.

Wow look at that bod-

You quickly averted your sight, feeling the heat crawling up your neck and into your cheeks as he picked himself off the ground as fast as he could with only one hand. You noted that he didn't have the time to put his prosthetic on in that sudden rush of his.

"T-thanks Tesla!" He breathed out, smoothing down his shirt as Tesla left her spot by the door, leaving it ajar as she gave you a small wave before leaving into the apartment and what you presumed back into her bedroom.

"Sorry about my older sister, she's just visiting for the week..." Vash cleared his throat before leaning his arm his only arm at the moment on the door frame, humorously deepening his voice "So, how can I help a beautiful person on this most wonderous night?"

You giggled at his try to hide whatever happened, the tense muscles in your shoulders softening as you silently held out the letter you had.

"Hm?" His eyebrow rose as he relaxed himself, slowly grabbing the red envelope out of your hand. Turning it around, he scanned the writing on the top.

To Vash

And attached to it, was a red geranium, one of the flowers he had gifted you. He couldn't help but give the envelope a blushed smile before looking back up to ask you what it was.

But there was no one?

"E-Eh?" He stuttered as he quickly stepped outside, only seeing a flash of your body running through your door as you shut it quick behind you.

Did... Did you just run back to your apartment?

Vash let out a pout as his shoulders slouched down, barefoot on the concrete floor of the apartment complex corridor.

"I missed the chance to say it.. Damn it.."

Meanwhile, you had shut the door and slowly slid down it, covering your mouth with your hand in amazement.

YOU DID IT!

YOU ACTUALLY DID IT! YES!

OH FUCK YOU DID IT.

ohhhh shit.

"what did I just do.." You groaned, pushing your knees up to bury your face into.

For the next couple of days, you tried your best to avoid Vash as much as you could. Taking all the early shifts at work, racing into your apartment whenever you saw him sitting at the picnic table with a bowl of strawberries.

Maybe he didn't feel the same way, how could you show your face to him? You were scared..What he would say?

Disgusting?

I'm interested in someone else?

That night was one that had you up late, running through all the things he could say about your letter, bad or good.

But one day. you had been forced to take the late night shift again and found yourself walking down one of the many apartment complex hallways alone. You actually kinda missed your lil nightly talks with him…

"Hey!"

Hm?

Turning your head to the left, you spotted the pretty blonde man, racing down the path in slippers, sweatpants and a long sleeve, no glasses of his in sight.

"V-VASH!?" You squawked out, the man closing in as in a panic, you closed your eyes. Feeling your back hit the hard wall behind you, you were only able to throw a hand out to put a cushion to whatever was happening.

What?

Slowly peeping your eyes open, your vision was covered by the sight of his chest. His large frame practically covering your body and both arms of his caging the sides of your head, most likely to prevent you from meekly escaping.

"I finally.." He let out a deep breath as the hot sensation of it lightly hit your face "..caught you." His gaze only focused on you as you noticed the grip you had on his firm shoulder. Ah... He was trying to talk to you again..

Did the letter not make anything awkward?

"Vash?" Your breath hitched, the intense stare of his eyes just on you making that stomach of yours develop butterflies once again.

"You never gave me the chance to give you an answer.." He muttered before chuckling "Didn't think it'd take me this long to finally see you."

Moving your gaze away and to the side, you tried to escape his eyes in attempt to calm yourself down "I thought I made things awkward...Ha." You gave him a small pained grin, the urge to cry out of humiliation was making the lump in your throat push upwards.

One more word out of you and you'll accidentally let it out, tears and all.

Vash looked down at you with a curious expression before the look of adoration riddled his face "Aw cmon now, look at me. You'll never make things awkward between the both of us..." Hand off the wall, he softly put two fingers under your chin, moving it so you looked back into those endless bright blue eyes of his.

"Ya know, you actually beat me to it first."

"I-I did?"

He gave you a cheeky smile "Definitely, I was gonna come over but.." The corners of his mouth moved downwards "I didn't get to see you anymore. Even after work, I made sure to wait a bit to spot ya. Guess today's my lucky day."

oh fuck, you felt so bad.

he…was actually looking for you.

shit.

"I-" You choked out, silencing Vash as you felt your eyes start to blur with the tears. You couldn't hold it in anymore. All those embarrassing moments and thoughts.

"I was scared about what you were gonna say... I thought you weren't going to like me anymore after that letter…” You tried to regulate your breathing as your furiously wiped the tears out of your eyes “Stupid right?”

Using both hands, Vash slowly took your hands away from your face, before swiping his thumb against the apples of your cheeks "Well, whatever you thought that was gonna do, did quite the opposite.."

Face to face, just centimeters away from each other.

"I like you even more.." His thumb brushing the bottom of your lips as you observed him, eyes still red from crying. But the red of Vash’s own cheeks got brighter and brighter.

"May I?"

And with no words spoken, you nodded and he caved, leaning in. You felt like melting as he wrapped his arms around your sides, those pink lips of his deeping into your own as the taste of mint seeped into your mouth.

The sweet taste of his was one you imagined at night, and have never thought to ever taste until now.

Now that you tasted him, it felt so intoxicating. Every touch of his tongue in your mouth, the grip he had on your waist.

Okay slow it down a little cowboy~

Pulling away for air, the both of you just stared at each-other, eyes wide and quiet.

Until laughter came about, Vash had started giggling and you tried your best to stifle your own until you couldn’t. And the two of you continued laughing as Vash kept you close in his embrace.

"I was wonderingg~" Vash whistled out after getting those cute giggles out of his system "Are you doing anything this Saturday?"

You tilted your head to the right, giving him a shy smile "Not necessarily, I was just gonna order some pizza and stay home alone.."

"Maybee..I can keep you company?" He jokingly puppy-eyed before you gave him peck on the lips just one more time

"Always~"

A sharp gasp was suddenly emitted from your right side, causing you to almost yelp in shock at the sudden disturbance as Vash whipped his head to the direction. And there stood your upstairs neighbor, an elderly hispanic lady and her husband with a little cart full of folded laundry.

"Mire! El chico del apartmento 512 se junto con el rentero de 511. Ay que bonito~" She cooed as her husband nodded in agreement.

You returned a blushed smile, feeling Vash's hand slip into your own.

Oh how sweet!

translation: Look! The boy from apartment 512 got together with the renter from 511. How pretty~

[masnmountz]

Hi can u do a gavi fic with actress!reader where she confesses in an interview that she had a crush on him and he dms her ... <3

one last question - pablo gavi

SUMMARY - while promoting your new movie you are invited to an interview in which the interviewer asks if you have eyes for anyone…

PAIRING - pablo gavi x fem!reader

SONG INSPO - n/a

WARNINGS - none

WORD COUNT - 600+

NOTE - hi! thank you so much for your submission! i thought it was so cute and i loved writing this!

you had been flown out to spain to promote your new movie. this movie was your "big break" and your co star was none other than the anya taylor-joy. the two of you had gotten really close, and she had become like a sister to you.

it was your first time doing over seas promotions for a project, so you were very nervous. it's not like you hadn't done an interview before, but something about doing one in a different country made you anxious. it felt so real, whereas before it was more calm. it's just a reminder of the big step your career was taking.

the morning of the interview came, and you were feeling more anxious than ever. you got dressed into black linen wide leg pants, and a white silk blouse. it was simple, but put together. you then put on your black ballet flats, and after doing your hair and makeup, you left the hotel room.

once you got to the set of the interview you were met with the hair and makeup crew. yes, you had done your hair and makeup, but that was only to leave the house. it sounded crazy, yes, but whenever you did anything for the press, they always had to touch up your hair and makeup so you looked perfect for the cameras. you were used to it by now.

"3, 2, 1, recording"

and with that the interview started.

anya was on the left of you, and she looked so put together. she answered every question so perfectly and had the best answers. this was so natural for her, which seeing her calm made you more calm. after all, you were just answering simple questions.

as the interview went on, you got more comfortable. you were able to laugh a little as some of the remarks anya said, and you were just enjoying yourself.

"so, miss y/l/n, one last question, do you have eyes on any one? any special guy?"

the question caught you off guard. all the nerves suddenly came back. it was only an innocent question, so you pulled your self together, mentally, and answered the question.

"yes, actually. barcelona's pablo gavi. i think he's very charming".

you tried not to blush out of embarrassment. you couldn't believe you actually answered the question.

the interview came to an end after anya had answered a couple more questions, and the two of you promoted your movie one last time on the interview.

"Y/N! omg, you and pablo would be so cute together! why didn't you tell me you liked him!"

anya was practically jumping for joy after you made your confession. you blushed and tried covering your face.

"you're only, what, a couple months younger than him? that is seriously so cute, y/n"

you rolled your eyes as you went to go gather your things.

you and anya decided to get something to eat at a little cafe in madrid, since that's where you had your interview, and it had probably one of the best burgers you had ever eaten in your life. the energy of madrid was incredible, and you were definitely looking forward to staying here for an entire week.

as you and anya were walking around you were checking your instagram. it had been a few hours since the interview and you wanted to see the feedback from others. everything you were seeing was pretty positive, and all the messages you were so sweet.

and then you noticed on message in particular.

oh my god

you clicked on the message and read it.

pablogavi: hey, i think you're pretty charming too

you blushed, out of embarrassment, and shyness. you couldn't believe that he had actually seen the interview, and then dmed you.

"why are you so smiley?" anya asks while shrugging your shoulder.

"anya, he dmed me"

[waitmyturtles]

Turtles Finds a Coping Mechanism: The Until We Meet Again Rewatches

I've been so committed to crushing through the Old GMMTV Challenge that I kind of didn't allow myself to think that life's blips and bloops would shake me from my pace.

Well, real life has SLAYED ME as of late, SLAYED ME, and as @lurkingshan has noted to me -- yes, there's a CERTAIN amount of dissonance for my watching UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN, OF ALL SHOWS, as a coping mechanism, but here we are. I wanted to copy @bengiyo and rewatch UWMA anyway as a means of preparing for New Siwaj's Absolute Zero, which will be premiering at the end of September -- a time when my life will be calm-ish (???) again -- so I decided to take the plunge to see if UWMA would be a salve to my frayed nerves. It is, it totally is.

So here's some stream of consciousness notes, quite unlike my usual comparative/analytical style, just to honor what a ridiculously fabulous show UWMA is. (In my OGMMTVC analyses, I don't always get to gush over the cute stuff anyway because my posts get so long, so I'm doing a little of that here, too, ha.)

I knew that as soon as I watched it the first time for the OGMMTVC that I desperately wanted to rewatch it, so I just gave myself the go-ahead to eat the leum kleun candy. I've already completed one rewatch and am well into a second rewatch -- this show is so damn good, and now that I know the beats much better, I'm just having a lot of fun seeing in-depth the little nuances I missed the first time.

1) On my first watch, I did not appreciate how clearly Pharm was into Dean from the very start. The way Pharm flips through the photos of Dean that Team sends him from the first beach trip; the photo of Dean eating Del's breakfast; the way Pharm looks at the Facebook photo of Dean holding up the leum kleun. And how Pharm reacts when he saves Dean's phone number in his phone -- that ENORMOUS grin. I knew a lot going in the first time about Pharm's blushing maiden approach and how he was gunshy with intimacy for so much of the show. But I forgot in those early episodes -- homeboy was really into his crush! Taking that secret photo in the library, etc. He acknowledged it pretty immediately -- especially in that whispered conversation Pharm has with Team and Manaow in their English class. I had also forgotten that the show began with Pharm possibly questioning his sexuality, but being solidly knowledgable that it was Dean that was causing him to catch feelings.

2) Speaking of that fleeting moment in the library: after having watched the entire series the first time around, and remembering that Dean had saved that very first Post-It that Pharm had used to write a quick note on the papers that Pharm gave back to Dean in the library in... episode 2? Pharm had originally erased his name on that Post-It. It didn't click with me until this rewatch that Dean was able to make out Pharm's erased name from that Post-It -- which caused Dean to save the note, and use it as reference in the very last scene of the series. So cute.

3) I finally took the time to read about Phra Aphai Mani, the prince of the legend that Dean and Pharm talk about in the aquarium. Remember how Pharm says to Dean that Pharm doesn't like players?

DUDES. HAVE YOU READ ABOUT PHRA APHAI MANI? I guess, like, yes, if you're gonna have a super-long epic poem, a lot of shit needs to happen, but Aphai just kept marrying WIFE AFTER WIFE! FOUR WIVES TOTAL! One ogress, one mermaid, and two maybe humans? A half-ogress son here, a half-mer/son THERE, prince of THIS, king of THAT. Homeboy's life was COMPLICATED! I'm all EXTREMELY SYMPATHETIC to chaos, but this takes the damn cake. (And maybe gives me a touch more context into what's happening with that second marriage in I Feel You Linger In the Air, without the actual monsters/mermaids.) (Oh man -- imagine the Only Friends version of Phra Aphai Mani.) (NO.)

4) The first time around, I kind of though that the bits about Alex hitting on Pharm were a little extraneous and maybe a touch unnecessary, à la New Siwaj's style. But after my first rewatch, I stopped thinking so, and I actually began to enjoy them -- not only for how ridiculous they are, but I also recognized that that was the first time in the show that we see Pharm establishing boundaries. Of course, we see Pharm in his blushing maiden era forming boundaries with his P'Deeeean. But the way he's very clear with Alex, putting up as many walls as necessarily, and being exact in his communication that he likes someone else and is VERY not into dating Alex -- Pharm showed clarity and strength there. While Dean clearly liked to care for Pharm and treat Pharm as his younger companion -- Pharm also had agency, and knew he owned his agency, and I liked how that agency was first demonstrated vis à vis Alex.

5) I totally forgot about this, but -- I think it was the second time they had breakfast together in Pharm's condo? the third? that scene where Pharm's wearing the yellow shirt and he drops the bowl -- remember when Pharm asks Dean if he's mixed-race? I don't think I still understand the meaning of that. I'm guessing Pharm is asking if Dean is Thai-Chinese? I want to think on this more, because -- in episode 16, when Pharm goes to his uncle's/grandpa's house, it is clear that the house is a Thai-Chinese household. There are banners with Chinese script on the walls. I wonder if that was meant to indicate that Pharm was under the impression that he himself (Pharm) was fully ethnic Thai -- but with his relationship to his dad's side of the family being more revealed, it would turn out that Pharm himself was also "mixed." I did think it was cute that Pharm said, "I like it" to Dean after Dean's answer -- another instance where Pharm was being clearly flirty, despite the whole blushing maiden thing.

6) I did not appreciate the first time around, how good Ohm Thitiwat's acting was in the car scene when he's processing Korn's suicide. At the end of the series, I was so taken by the condo scene that I failed to give props to other intense moments, and that car scene was one of them. When Dean arrives at the building where Pharm and Sin lived next to each other -- a part of me wondered if he had originally intended to visit Sin, before hesitating to knock on Pharm's door. I'm not sure, and I wasn't sure after this rewatch. But that was a hell of a recognition moment on the part of Ohm's acting, and it was really damn good. (In fact -- it was my thinking about that car scene, and my wanting to watch it again, that prompted these rewatches in the first place.)

7) It may have been a little confusing, but: I really liked that the Korn x Intouch flashbacks were never presented in chronological order. I liked that the show had Dean and Pharm piece together their dreams and nightmares to come to a collective understanding about the trajectory of Korn and Intouch's relationship, even before Dean receives the background information from Sin. I know I was always a little confused during my first watch as to what moment in time I was watching with Korn and Intouch, but I recognize now that that was a reflection simply of when Pharm and Dean were receiving the same information themselves -- and I liked that the viewer was going through the same process that Dean and Pharm were going through.

8) At the way beginning of the series -- episode 2, maybe? episode 3? -- I like that Dean slyly figures out where to park himself on campus to see Pharm coming out of class. This is before the electric transformer explosion. Dean already was so swayed by Pharm. So cute.

9) I think it first struck me as a touch weird that Manaow and Del (Dean's sister!) were the admins of the DeanPharm chat group. But now that I can think more about it -- I wonder if they were doing that maybe as a way to help Pharm through his hesitancy and protect him from the fans. That being said: one of my absolute favorite moments was when Del first leans about Dean's first sleepover at Pharm's condo -- the way she jumps up and down and tries to calm her smile down. I was CRAAACKING up.

10) Maybe it's because I'm Indian, and used to very large and complicated families, that the relationship between Dean being a part of Intouch's family and having Korn's spirit, and vice versa with Pharm, wasn't confusing to me. But what really got me during my first rewatch was: Fluke Natouch's just INCREDIBLE acting when Pharm first meets Intouch's sister/Dean's grandmother, and Intouch's niece/Dean's mother. When I first watched the scene of Pharm meeting Dean's grandmother, a number of friends commented on loving that scene as well. GOD. It struck me as hard the second time around as the first time. And I think I was even MORE moved the second time around to see Pharm meeting Dean's mother.

Dean's mother had to process a LOT in the moment that she met Pharm. She had to process that her son had a boyfriend, that that boyfriend was there in her house in the first place, and that she'd have to tell her husband (Dean's dad) that their son's boyfriend was sleeping over. AND, that was all BEFORE Pharm had his reaction to Dean's mom once he was finally awake and processing things again. And THEN, she knew that Dean HIMSELF would have to tell his dad the next day and ask for his blessing. Moms have to go through a lot (do I ever know that life), but that was a LOT for Dean's mom, and god, I just gained a new appreciation for those scenes and how Dean and Pharm managed the whole damn thing together. (Also, now that I've seen The Love of Siam, as well as, of course, KinnPorsche -- and, OH, Be My Favorite, too! Kob Songsit. LEGENDARY BL DAD!)

11) My initial flip-out on the condo scene still stands. During my rewatch, I rewound it, like... three times? Fuck, man. One of the BEST BL scenes, ever, ever.

12) I loved taking my time to watch the very final scene, when Dean and Pharm have had the same dream of Korn and Intouch thanking them, and they get back together. I really loved paying attention to how all the Post-Its came back, the meaning of Never Forget, all the little notes and memories of when they had first met. Intouch's ring, the very first note Pharm wrote to Dean, all of it. Dean was such a sentimental simp from the start.

(Because I'm on such a DeanPharm kick -- and I know this is against better advice, but -- I'm considering a fast watch of Between Us just to see DeanPharm's conclusion. I know! The side couples are supposed to be chaotic, but, but. Once I get more time.)

13) Last note. Again, when I have time again, I'm wanting to write a Big Meta on separation. I've noted in some of the most important GMMTV BLs, that separation is often a key theme. But I think Pharm asking for a break was also incredibly key, and keyed into his continued commitment to setting boundaries. I think I probably fell most for Pharm as a character with him doing this -- strange, I know, since I love DeanPharm incessantly, but his standing up for clarity for his feelings meant so much for the internal strength he had gained by surviving the ordeal they had gone through. He was going to stick to his guns to make sure the relationship was authentic FOR HIM, and he did just that.

GOD, THIS WAS CATHARTIC! If you read this, thanks for going through this with me! I'm addicted to writing and this was a fun break in the midst of life chaos. I promise the OGMMTVC will hopefully continue without interruption, but that being said -- I'm watching Not Me, slowly, and having a great time with it. But UWMA is my woobie at the moment, and I just love having fallen in love with this show.

[photogirl894]

Hi!!!, I'm so glad for your 1000 followers, you deserve it, I hope you get more and more every day. 🥺

From the physical afections prompts, I loved the number 4; you know Tech is my man.

Thanks for the request, love! And oh man, sweet Tech...this will be fun!

"Night Lights"

4. Fingers softly touching before intertwining

Pairing: Tech x fem reader

***

You inhaled deeply through your nose and then exhaled slowly through your mouth. The bell to your apartment door had just gone off and you were bracing yourself for who was on the other side, calming down your nerves.

Why were you nervous?

It was because you were about to go on an actual date with your crush...Tech.

You lived on Pabu and you'd first ran into him in a tavern after he came back from flight training with the young girl in his squad. You thought he was cute and, after a couple small drinks, worked up the courage to go talk to him. You'd clicked pretty quickly and he told you he'd see you around. The two of you met up a couple more times in that same tavern before he finally decided to ask you on a proper date and you couldn't be more excited! You'd even gone out and bought yourself a new dress and everything to impress him.

Though, now that the date was upon you...you were anxious as hell.

You pressed the button to open your door and there he was, your favorite intelligent, goggled Clone in his nice blue and white leather outfit that you liked on him.

"Good evening, (Y/N)," he said politely.

"Hi Tech," you replied, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

"Are you ready for our date?" he inquired.

You nodded. "I've been ready all day."

"As have I." Then he offered you his arm and stated, "Come. I have something special planned for us tonight."

With an excited smile, you looped your arm through his and the two of were off.

He led you down to the pier where he revealed he was borrowing Mayor Shep's boat for the evening and the Mayor had also helped him prepare a special picnic meal for the two of you. The two of you got onto the boat and Tech drove the boat out further into the ocean until you could see all of Pabu in the distance. You enjoyed the lovely meal together while making pleasant conversation. You asked Tech how he was liking life on Pabu and he regaled you with stories of his life as a soldier. He was attentive to every word you said and you were enthralled with all of his stories. You just knew you could listen to him all day.

The sun had almost disappeared on the horizon and you had the feeling your date with Tech was just about over and you couldn't help but feel sad about it.

"I've had a wonderful time with you tonight, Tech," you told him.

"I have had an enjoyable time with you likewise," Tech replied. "However, our outing is not yet over."

"It isn't?" you questioned.

"Not quite," he said. "After analyzing weather conditions a few days ago for Shep in order to properly plan expeditions for the fisherman, I took notice of a particular phenomenon that is supposed to take place this very night. I thought it would be more special if we...could see it together."

Just as you were about to ask what he was talking about, you saw his eyes look up and there seemed to be a softer light illuminating his face, casting a slight glare on his goggles. You looked up in the direction he was gazing and a quiet gasp escaped your lips as you got up to your feet.

The night sky was alive with ribbons of sparkling lights of various colors: green, purple, blue and pink. It was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen and you just couldn't take your eyes away. You felt Tech stand beside you and the slightest sensation that Tech's hand was right next to yours. This moment was so serene and romantic...you wanted so badly to just inch your hand over and hold Tech's hand.

Suddenly, his fingers lightly brushed against yours and you froze ever so slightly. To test the waters a little more, you lightly touched him back...until you felt his hand slip into yours, intertwining your fingers together, and he grasped your hand tightly. Finally, you made yourself look at him and your eyes tenderly met, causing a feeling of warmth to build inside you at the way he gazed at you.

"This...is perfect," he told you, a softer smile that you'd ever seen from him on his lips.

"Not quite yet, it isn't," you countered. You then tilted your head up and sweetly kissed him on the lips.

When you pulled back, he grinned even wider. "It appears I stand corrected," he said in reply.

Tech then pulled you into his arms and kissed you again in the glowing light of the night sky above you.

Photgirl894's Physical Affection Prompts

Photogirl894's 1000 Followers Fics

[maarriiii]

Simp (Part 9) | Wilbur Soot

A/N: More of a filler than anything else. Nothing really happens here since I don't know what to write honestly

Summary: You and Wilbur catch up after a couple of days

Pairing(s): CC!Wilbur Soot x gender neutral!reader, CC!Wilbur Soot x actor!reader

Warning(s): None.

my masterlist :))

~~

Call Me What You Like was out and Wilbur couldn't be more proud of himself and the band. It was a long journey trying to finish this one, almost getting scrapped and tucked away with other unfinished songs that would probably never see the light of the day. Wilbur was glad he stuck with it cause by the looks of things, everyone seemed have positive responses to it. Everyone was enthusiastic about Lovejoy's newest single. His friends, his fans, his family. But, secretly, he wanted to know about what you think of it.

Wilbur hadn't heard from you since almost two days ago—when you made a surprise appearance in his chat. He knew you were busy, promoting your film that he hope would be able to watch soon. So, he had been trying to distract himself with everything he could possibly do—preparing for tour, hanging out with his friends, etcetera. He didn't think of himself as a clingy person, someone in need of constant attention, but with the amount of times he checked his phone for any notification from you only to put it away when he found none would say otherwise.

Wilbur leaned his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "They'll talk to you if they have the time. Stop being clingy, man."

"Who's being clingy?"

Wilbur raised his head, seeing Tommy in the doorway. "It's nothing, Tommy."

"You sure?" Tommy asked, amusement in his voice. "Seems like it is something. A certain famous person, perhaps?"

He walked and sat next to Wilbur.

"Shut up, you little gremlin."

Tommy cackled, while Wilbur sat there unamused at his situation. "You're so bad at lying, Wil. I could see it in your face. What's wrong? Is y/n ignoring you?"

The blonde boy continued teasing him, making voices and all. Wilbur sat, taking in at all in, face flat until finally he headlock him.

"Ah! Phil!" Tommy cried out.

~~

You arrived in New York with a newfound spirit—albeit being tired and jet lagged. You haven't told Wilbur about the news due to you immediately passing out when the soft cushiony bed of your hotel suite touched you and the interviews that happened later that day. The first day of the press junket in New York was busy and packed, and with meeting the rest of the cast again, some of you wanted to catch up in the city. A lot of drinking, eating, and laughing occurred and you thought it was the best way to end the night.

When you finally arrived at the hotel, longing for the feel of your silky pajamas and cloud like king size bed, you tried very hard to fought off the sleep that came. You wanted to talk to wilbur even for just a little bit and also listen to his new song that just came out. You searched for the headphone you always bring everywhere, made yourself comfortable on the bed again, and searched the song on YouTube.

The sight of Wilbur on the screen brought a smile to your lips and you couldn't helped but nodding along to the beat of the song. You thought it was great—though maybe you're just bias—and grew even more excited at the thought of seeing him in one of his shows.

~~

Late in the night, Wilbur's phone buzzed on his desk and at the sight of your name, his face lit up. He didn't wait for a second longer to unlocked his phone and reply to you.

Hey wil Are u still up

hey there yes I am

Oh good I don't want to interrupt your sleep or anything Sooo I just heard the new song

He exhaled, slowly getting nervous.

what do you think?

I LOVE IT IT IS SO GOOD I'm going to annoy everyone with the amount of times I will play this.

Wilbur chuckled, his nerves eased. He never would've thought this crush towards you—one that exist only because he thought you were good looking and talented—would grow into something more, something genuine that pulled at his heartstring and made his heart just beat a tiny bit faster at the mention of you. It had been awhile since he felt like this about someone and there's a part of him that was scared because it was you, someone he could've never thought because it was just downright mental.

thanks y/n i'm glad that you like it

Also i have something to tell you too

okay shoot

It's about the shows

oh?

Unfortunately I didn't get any tickets Cause i was in the middle of the interview when the tickets went on sales

Wilbur immediately lost his spirit. He knew it was too good to be true. He wanted so badly for you to come to at least one of them. He wanted to see you; your eyes, your lips, your smile. He wanted to hear you; your laugh and your voice.

oh that's okay y/n you're busy and all

But...

but? but what?

You didn't reply immediately and it killed him seeing that three little dots disappearing and appearing.

come on y/n you're keeping me on edge here

Oh who am I kidding I DO HAVE TICKETS SAM GOT THEM FOR ME IM SEEING YOU IN A FEW MONTHS

Wilbur stood up from his bed ridiculously fast, eyes wide and very awake than he was before. He wanted to cheer like a school boy who just got accepted by a girl that he liked, but hold himself back for two reason; one, he didn't want to have a noise complaint from his neighbor and two, he was a 25-year-old man--though he was very much screaming and cheering internally.

y/n that's great!! i can't fucking wait to see you

Wilbur spent the late night talking to you until you had to go, but it prove to be hard to close his eyes and sleep when all he could think about was you coming to see him doing what he loves with a smile on his face, and unknown to him, you were doing just the same.

[princess-leaorgana]

Goodnight, Astarion

Summary: Cal watched his friend get fed on by a vampire who had already had his affections. He'd like to try and be brave. Afterall, his family and city were safe, and he was finally able to relax. Why not take advantage of the slowed down life?

Couple: Astarion X Cal (Based on my coupling of them in my other fic, What Tieflings Do)

Baldur's Gate 3 spoilers, little mention of vampire feeding, but just a sweet little fic.

Cal could feel his heart thumping through his chest. He had never, ever kept anything from Rolan or Lia, but he had a little secret. He would be honest once he knew, but he had to find something out first. And what a perfect time for him to try something that might, in the very least, get him teased by his siblings. Rolan had just coupled up with their new housemate, Zelphie. A hero of Baldur’s Gate. Rolan had been lovesick after her for months and he was terribly happy for his brother. Cal loved Zelphie and she fit in perfectly with their dynamic. Lia loved her as well, and Lia and Cal had been making little bets behind Rolan’s back to when Rolan and Zelphie would finally get together. They just had, last night. Very fucking loudly. Twice. It hadn’t been pleasant, but now Cal could go as he pleased with everyone else distracted with Rolan’s business. Cal had a crush of his own. Astarion, Zelphie’s friend, another hero of Baldur’s Gate.

Astarion was a flirty elven vampire. He was immortal. He was quick witted. He was gorgeous. And according to Zelphie, he was finding himself, now that he was free of his master, Cazador Szarr. Cal had very bravely invited Astarion out for a drink. He couldn’t help himself. Days ago, Astarion was flirting with him after Zelphie had allowed him to feed on her. The vampire hadn’t made it subtle to Cal that he would be very happy to feed on him. Cal remembered the thought of Astarion feeding on him made his brain short out. He had watched Astarion feed on Zelphie and it was terrifying, but there was a strong sense of intimacy about it. The two were so physically close, Astarion’s hand cupping the back of Zelphie’s head. Not to mention him having to physically latch onto her by the neck, an intimate area.

Cal dressed decently, he knew the elf liked nice things. A black jacket with yellow embroidering. He was pacing outside of the Elfsong, making the half-orc bouncer a little nervous. A large tiefling, walking back and forth outside of the nice establishment wasn’t a common sight. Cal bit at his bottom lip, nerves bundling in his stomach.

‘Oh, what a gentleman, waiting for me out here in the dark,’ a cool voice called and Cal looked up. Astarion. Cal’s face got hot, seeing him. He was dressed rather nicely as well, tailored blue jacket with a ruffled shirt and high cravat to cover his neck. ‘Oh, yellow is very nice on you,’ Astarion said, raising a hand to Cal’s lapel. ‘Might I?’ He asked and Cal nodded.

‘Yes, thank you, it’s uhm…’ Astarion’s fingers touched Cal’s chest and Cal felt himself get a little dizzy. Astarion’s eyes blinked a few times, looking up at him. ‘Vanminar’s work, you know him? He’s in The Wide. Rolan’s quite taken with him,’ he rambled a little and Astarion smirked.

‘Oh! Vanminar, yes, Rolan does seem the type to like his humor,’ Astarion said and let go of Cal’s lapel. Cal chuckled, even though what Astarion had said wasn’t particularly funny.

‘Your jacket is lovely, maybe I need a new tailor,’ Cal said and Astarion smirked.

‘Oh, now that would be fun! I do all of my own tailoring, darling,’ Astarion said and did a little proud spin to show off his work. Cal grinned and chuckled again.

‘This is all you? It’s gorgeous, Astarion, you should be really proud of yourself,’ he said and Astarion smirked.

‘Oh I am, don’t you worry. But you keep complimenting me like that, you’ll get a free suit out of me,’ he said with a wink. Cal bit the inside of his cheek and smiled with al;l the bravery he could muster.

‘Sounds like a deal,’ he said and Astarion gave him a little flash of the eyes and Cal motioned to lead Astarion inside the tavern. The two sat down at a private table and Cal only felt his nerves rise in his stomach and chest. Luckily for him, Astarion had zero shame or nervous thoughts. Not really. Almost two hundred years of charismatic flirting, Astarion had no issues with ‘dating’ nerves. And he did like Cal, what that like would blossom into he didn’t know. But he wasn’t going to be a bully.

‘So, three tiefling orphans found their refuge in Baldur’s Gate, defied every odd and not only helped save Faerun, but got quite the nice pocket of real estate, how does it feel to be on top?’ He asked and Cal grinned.

‘It genuinely still hasn’t hit me. Lia, on the other hand, rules the roost and Rolan was born to live like that, the Tower and the money and the lavish decor, but me? I’m just happy to be settled, and safe. Boring as that sounds,’ Cal said and smiled. It was genuine. He was just happy to stop running.

‘Lia rules the roost?’ Astarion asked and then laughed, he had such a silly song in his laugh and it made Cal smile. ‘Oh that I doubt. No offense to your sister, of course, she’s as hot headed as they get and I do respect that, but surely our little friend has taken a natural leap to ruling over the tower. It’s what she does best,’ he said and Cal lifted an eyebrow.

‘Honestly? Zelphie’s been nothing but helpful around the place. All she does is pop in and figure out how to be useful,’ Cal said with a shrug.

‘I know, dreadfully annoying, isn’t she?’ Astarion asked with a playful smirk. ‘But life in the Upper City, you could do worse, Cal…’ Astarion slowed down while saying Cal’s name. Cal shivered and he felt his tail whip behind him. Astarion pondered and looked away for a moment. His features were so sharp. His beautiful red eyes darted about in thought, Cal didn’t think Astarion was real. He was too perfect, wasn’t he? ‘Cal what?’ Astarion asked and Cal was taken out of his thoughts and blinked.

‘Me what?’

‘Your surname, darling, what is it?’

‘Oh! Oh I don’t have one,’ he said and Astarion’s forehead wrinkled a little. ‘My mom didn’t have one, it’s not uncommon for tieflings,’ he said and Astarion smirked.

‘Ah, well, don’t we just complete each other? I happen to have one surname too many,’ Astarion said playfully. That made Cal go deep red in the neck and cheeks.

The night went rather well. Cal was afraid he was getting a little too tipsy, not drunk, but a little light in the head and was speaking a bit loudly. Astarion seemed to keep his cool through the glasses of wine he was downing, but they both had a good time. Cal really wanted to hear Astarion laugh all night. It made him feel terrific to make the elf giggle. But as Cal was feeling lightheaded, he knew their little date should end. He wouldn’t want Astarion to deal with him drunk. 

Astarion volunteered to walk Cal home, as it couldn’t really happen the other way. What a romantic stroll they would have had, hand in hand to the next sewer cap they found. Astarion insisted, night was his hike, after all. During their walk, another brave streak washed over Cal. While Astarion was regaling Cal with a story of a battle he was taking full undue credit for, Cal’s hand slipped into Astarion’s. Astarion took it without missing a beat, just prattling on about his cunning acrobatics and how it would have been so much better if he had his full vampiric powers at his side. His hand was cold and Cal’s was hot. Cal’s tail swished happily as they walked, just listening to Astarion. Astarion was very entertaining to listen to, and clearly he was very happy to talk.

‘I’d love to have you up for a nightcap or something,’ Cal said as they reached Ramazith’s Tower’s doors.

‘Or something?’ Astarion asked with a perfect little smile. Cal blushed and lowered his eyes. ‘I had a good time tonight, Cal, regardless of your brother’s hatred for me.’

‘He doesn’t hate you,’ Cal said quickly and Astarion smirked. 

‘Oh yes he does. I’m the vampire that crept into his darling love’s bedroom and drank her blood, most would be jealous of that. Jealousy only breeds hatred,’ he said coolly.

‘Well, explain what I’m feeling then.’ Cal said and Astarion’s eyes grew, genuinely taken a little bit back by Cal’s bold statement. ‘Just like Rolan, I was jealous of that feeding, but from a completely separate side…’ he said and Astarion lifted his free hand to Cal’s cheek. He was so cold. Cal shivered and wondered if Astarion felt warm touching Cal, he hoped so. Cal leaned down and kissed the lips of the elf sweetly. His whole body felt so cold, though his face grew hot. Astarion’s plush, perfect lips against his own. Just a sweet good night kiss, but it was so much more than that. Cal’s glowing yellow eyes met Astarion’s beautiful red ones and the both of them smiled. Astarion wasn’t the type to ‘date’. For the better part of two centuries, he had no free will. Survival was all he craved. Freedom, revenge. He had his life to himself once more, he was free and oh had he gotten his revenge. Cal grinned, the nervous feelings slipping away and he gave a chuckle.

‘This was quite the change from my usual night out,’ Astarion said, breaking the sweet silence. ‘I’d like to…continue,’ he said and flashed a grin at Cal. ‘I hope you feel the same,’ he said. Cal was a little silent for a moment, not all his nerves had dissolved. However, instinct was instinct and Astarion felt a tight little tugging on his ankle, as Cal’s pronged tail coiled around his leg slowly.

‘I do,’ Cal said and gave another nervous chuckle. Astarion moved his head to meet Cal’s shy eyes.

‘Good, I’ll pick you up from the shop tomorrow evening,’ he said and Cal felt a heat in his chest rise again. Tomorrow? Already? Cal nodded. ‘Good, see you then, sweet dreams,’ Astarion said softly, lifting his chin once more for one more kiss. Cal kissed him back, his free hand placed itself on Astarion’s waist. Cal’s lips parted gently, feeling the vampire’s fangs for only a moment and Astarion pulled away gently. Cal’s tail slowly released Astarion’s leg.

‘Goodnight, Astarion,’ Cal said, a little more confident than before and the elf winked at the tiefling and he turned to leave. Cal watched Astarion stalk off into the night of the Upper City and he placed his hand on his cheek. The feeling of Astarion’s cold hand still lingered. Cal took in a shaking breath and walked back inside. He stepped into the Tower, met with a little ‘mew’ from the kitten Lajy. Cal smiled and knelt down to greet the little cat, but realized that if Lajy was at the entrance of the Tower to greet him, that meant only one of two things. Cal looked up and in the dark, Rolan stood with his arms crossed, a scowl on his pointed face. He was still fully dressed, hair still back perfectly. All the little butterflies in Cal’s stomach disappeared.

‘Where have you been?’