#*Continuous 'witty' eye jokes*

[its-anime-zing]

Continuing Demon Slayer and...

There you bastards are! (Said with love) 😁

@ruiniel

[science-hoes]

Guilty Pleasure

Jack Abbot x Reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+, arm riding, biting, deepthroating fingers, language, filth, the worms in my brain told me to write this

Jack Abbot Masterlist 💕

——

Your boyfriend stared at you, mouth agape at your request. His arms were crossed over his chest, forearms flexing as he unconsciously clenched and unclenched his fists. The low glow of the lamp in his bedroom was the only reason he could see that you were actually serious. “You…what?“ He questioned.

Usually, you knew better than to avoid Jack’s gaze. But after a 12 hour shift, finally in the comfort of his home in the early morning, you unashamedly stared at your guilty pleasure. Freckled muscles threatening to bust through the fabric of his well-fitted black t-shirt. But who could blame you?

Every shift, you had to stare at those arms. Fuck, they stared at you. They were so big, they could have their own zip code. And they distracted you. The way Jack worked diligently with his hands on a patient, tendons of his forearms rolling with each flexion. The way his arms corded with bulging veins after helping move a patient or heavy equipment. The way his beefy hands guided yours during a procedure, making yours look dainty and frail. It sure made it difficult to concentrate during the pre-shift huddle, the way your boyfriend loved to move his hands as he spoke, flashing those gorgeous arms in all their glory.

“I want to bite your arms.” You repeated for him.

Jack looked down to his arms, trying to figure out what the fuck you were seeing. “You know, I’m into whatever you want, love. But cannibalism?” He teased, flicking his whiskey eyes up to you, craning his neck like a turtle, that silly move he does when he’s questioning someone.

You rolled your eyes, closing the distance between you. You unwound his arms and massaged one of his aching wrists. “Oh, please. I don’t want Kuru.” You joked.

Jack shook his head, but smiled nonetheless. “Good girl. You’ll ace that board exam if they ever ask about spongiform encephalopathies.” He continued to mock.

You jabbed him in the sides with wiggling fingers, and he laughed. “Don’t change the subject. I want your arms.” You redirected.

Jack just continued to stare at you with bewildered amusement. “Why do you like my arms?” He questioned.

You shrugged, manhandling the arm you held, examining it like an ancient artifact. Your hands dwarfed in comparison to his engorged muscles. “They’re so sexy. They’re so…big.”

He huffed a laugh. “So? Your boobs are big, and I don’t wanna…” He trailed off as he recalled the previous night and how long he spent suckling at your breasts. “Oh, I guess I get it.” He conceded.

You smirked, kneading your fingertips into his bicep. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Jack was about to come up with another witty response, but you pushed him back toward the bed, making quick work of removing his black t-shirt. The dominance that he allowed you to hold in that moment made him chuckle. He sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread, letting you stand in between them. His fingers slid under your scrub top, ghosting over the skin of your waist.

“You want something, doll?” His voice was graveled with sleep but there was a twinkle of excitement in his eyes.

You pulled your scrub top over your head, tossing it over to where his shirt ended up. “Can I ride your arms?” You asked.

Jack’s lip twitched, the foreign request sending a chill through his body. “What?”

You pulled the drawstring of your scrub pants and let them pool at your ankles, stepping out of them. “Can I ride your arms?” You repeated, firmly this time.

He still wouldn’t let up, and his lip began to deepen at the sides, dimples morphing onto his face. “I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

You narrowed your eyes, but they were no match for his steadfast stare that bore through you with desire. “Can I drag my pussy across your fucking massive arms?” You gritted through clenched teeth, blushing at the vulgar words leaving your mouth.

A low rumble left his chest as he began to lean back on the bed. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” He praised. “All yours, kid. Have at it.”

You crawled onto the bed, perching beside him on your knees, and lowering your head to his arm. You pressed a single, innocent kiss against the freckles of his bicep, and you could’ve sworn those freckles kissed you back as his muscles pulsed underneath your chapped lips. Your mouth began to open more as you moved along his bicep, trailblazing down to his forearm, tongue dragging in tow.

Jack studied the way you worshiped his limb, curiosity peaking when your teeth began to graze against his flesh with your kisses. The first sensation of your hardened enamel sent a jolt of electricity through his entire arm causing his shoulder to spasm. You flicked your eyes up to him and smirked.

“You like that, huh?” You purred against his skin.

The muscles in his neck strained as he swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, kid.” He muttered, reaching a hand to his crotch to palm away some new pressure. “But it ain’t bad.”

You smirked and continued your expedition. The sun-worn skin against your tongue and teeth stretched just slightly as you licked a stripe down his forearm, from elbow crease to wrist. A shudder escaped his nose, and he bit the inside of his cheek to maintain his composure. As you worked your way up again with sloppy kisses, you opened your eyes just enough to see the indent of the long and short head bicep muscles. You dragged your tongue to massage the just-noticeable valley, mouth watering far too much. Your drool dripped down his upper arm, down to his elbow.

“Jesus Christ.” Jack mumbled, eyes riveted on your mouth. “Getting what you need, baby girl?”

His voice was sweet but too condescending. In retaliation, you bit down hard on the chunk of muscle, digging your teeth into his flesh. Not enough to break skin, but enough to satisfy your primal appetite. Jack let out a startled but aroused groan at the sensation. The muscles flexed in your jaws, writhing under your tongue. You sucked on the skin, a last attempt to leave a mark, before releasing his arm from your mouth.

Teeth marks indented in his bicep, claiming it as yours as the area surrounding it began to swell into a warm magenta. You admired your work and pressed a soothing kiss against your mark.

“You like marking me up?” Jack mumbled through dazed eyes. “Want people to know I belong to someone?”

You smirked before taking another chomp at his muscles, this time on the forearm. You sucked greedily at the cephalic vein that was permanently visible through his skin, always taunting you when he wore short sleeves. Your tongue lapped at the skin that grew saltier by the second with sweat, indulging in the savory taste.

“If you leave too many bruises, people will ask questions.” He warned, still palming himself through his scrub bottoms. “And I promise, I will mark you tenfold what you leave on me.”

You just hummed in acknowledgement to his threat before releasing the patch of skin, secretly hoping that he would hold true to that promise. The blotch grew darker as it adjusted to open air again, and you smiled with content. But then something caught your eye. The way his fingers twitched slightly, curling down to his palm as his arm rested on the bed. Those fingers spent a lot of time in your pussy, but not enough time in your mouth. That needed to be fixed.

You delicately grasped his wrist, lifting his hand. His fingers brushed against your cupid’s bow, tracing the outline. You met his eyes, and without breaking contact, you swallowed his meaty index finger. Jack let out a vulgar groan as he felt the smooth back of your throat against his fingerprint. You held him there for a moment until your gag reflex forced you to withdraw.

“Oh, fuuuuck.” He hissed, brow furrowed in bliss. “You know, you’re gonna-“

You cut him off by shoving his index and middle finger down your throat this time, somehow going deeper than before. His voice cracked as your pharynx constricted around his fingers. A wet gag forced them out of your mouth again, freeing your airway. A strand of beaded saliva connected your mouth to his hand as he reluctantly pulled away.

Jack wanted to fuck you senseless in that moment. Being such a good girl for him, taking his fingers so deep, face flushed and eyes watering. But he knew what you wanted, what you had asked so nicely for. So he extended his right arm away from his upper body.

“Wanna take a ride, baby doll?” His face was smug, mouth pulling to one side to show off his adorable grin.

You smirked in response. “What’s that saying? Save a horse, ride an ER cowboy?” You teased.

Jack chuckled, stretching his arm further to you. “Saddle up, cowgirl.”

You hovered above his forearm, the heat of his skin matching the radiation from your pussy. Your thighs trembled as you lowered closer and closer and closer.

Until Jack let out an unexpected groan as your juices melted against his skin. “So wet for me?” He sputtered. “Just for my arms, baby girl?”

You were a little embarrassed at his questioning, but you couldn’t help the euphoria speeding through your neurons. Every vein against your clit was electric. You placed a balancing hand on his broad chest, stabilizing yourself to slide up and down his arm.

“If you answer me, I’ll make it even better. I promise.” The look in his eyes was unrecognizable. Almost possessed.

You couldn’t look away from his powerful gaze, mainly because you knew if you did, he would force your jaw with his hand to meet his eyes. “Just for your arms.” You finally whispered.

“I can’t hear you.” He nearly growled.

You whimpered as you slid against him. “Just for your arms.” You verified, much louder this time.

He smiled with satisfaction. “That’s my girl.” He cooed.

Then he flexed his forearm under you, rippling the muscles and veins against your pussy. Just like he was pumping his arm before giving blood. Your eyes rolled back as you continued to grind against him.

“Oh, fuck, Jack.” You moaned.

Your vaginal lips smeared across the unholy marks you had left just a few minutes before. Jack placed his free hand on your thigh, guiding you ever so gently.

“Yeah? That feel good, baby doll?” He whispered.

He began to slide his arm in the opposite direction of your thrusts, enhancing the friction. The muscles and veins that nearly popped out of his skin were teasing your clit in a way that drove you mad. You whimpered as you dug your hips deeper, chasing your orgasm with every lewd squelch of your pussy.

“Feels so good.” You panted.

The familiar warmness in your belly began to creep lower and lower as you rode. Your thighs shook violently as you struggled to maintain balance as your climax neared. Jack chuckled and placed a strong hand on your shoulder to stabilize you.

“Oh, you’re so close, sweet girl. Take a break. I’ll get you there.” He said, voice laced with fake pity.

You finally stopped moving your hips, legs shaking as you came to a halt. And just like he promised, Jack continued move his arm underneath you, faster than he had before. You scratched at his chest with the hand that rested there as he set a bruising pace. Your clit swelled at the rapid brush of his worn, leathered skin, and it became too much. Your thighs clenched around his arm like a vice as you rocked into your orgasm, screaming his name as you did.

“There you go. Keep coming for me.” Jack coached you on.

Your pussy throbbed against him, slathering your juices on his freckled skin. When you finally collapsed on top of him, freeing his arm for the first time, he held it up to inspect it. Your slick honey dribbling over the veins down to his elbow, crossing over the bruise and bite mark you had left on his forearm.

He chuckled to himself. “Look at that mess you made.” He mumbled against your head. “All for my arms, huh?”

You hummed in agreement, still dazed by your release. “Told you they’re hot.” You breathed against his chest.

Jack wrapped his clean arm around you securely as you reeled from your high. He admired the way your juices glistened on his skin in the low light of the bedroom, how they glossed over his freckles.

“Why didn’t you just ask me sooner?” He questioned.

You shrugged, face still buried in his chest. “I was worried you’d be too…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Too…?”

You smirked slightly. “Too old fashioned.”

“Old fashioned.” Jack repeated, a smile on his lips. “What makes you think that?”

You rubbed circles onto his chest with your thumb, feeling pulled closer and closer to sleep. “I dunno.” You mumbled.

“Because I’m old?” He deadpanned.

You giggled and looked up to him. “You said it, not me.”

Jack chuckled, the warm vibrations rumbling through his chest and to your ear pressed against it. He lifted a finger underneath your chin to maintain your gaze and leaned down to kiss you gently. “After we get some sleep, you're gonna be apologizing for that little ‘old-fashioned’ comment for hours.”

—

A/N: I’m sorry this was shorter than my usual fics but I needed to have this written so the worms would stop talking to me 🐛

[vaamins]

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who just couldn’t stop turning his eyes towards you during class. watching your furrowed bros in thought of something Yaga said. he couldn’t care less though. he thinks you look beautiful deep in thought.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who constantly yaps about you to suguru and shoko who tell him to shut up whenever ( he never listens though ) but he continues to go on a rant about how your the most perfect person he’s ever seen, he’s ever known.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who is somehow stuttering mess whenever you speak to him. finding himself tripping over his words like a lovesick Highschool girl. his mind races in thought of trying to impress you with witty jokes.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who later regrets ever saying anything when he revisits your conversations. groaning into his pillow as a light blush dusts his cheeks at the image of you laughing at his joke.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who personally helps you in mastering your CT. who can’t bare to watch suguru try help you. ever since he found you training with suguru, he finds himself annoyed at the very thought of someone else touching you. his fists clenching as he sees suguru swiftly save you from falling, a dashing smile on his face.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who subtly tries to show you his feelings through heartfelt gifts. an expensive bouquet of pink roses ( your favourite, though you never told him, he found out through shoko but insisted he just guessed correctly to further impress you ) or even small treats after a mission.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who loves seeing you happy after beating him in a game at the arcade you and your friends usually go to after school ( even though your horrible bad at the game, he doesn’t ever want to see you sad over losing )

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who only ever realises he likes you when Yaga brings it up. his teacher commenting that he bets you’ve taken up satoru’s mind from the amount of times he’s caught him staring at you.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who rushes out the class at his newfound discovery, his heart beating aggressively against the cage of bones in his chest.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who promises to tell you the next day. planning a great confession. he has what he says noted down on pen and paper, perfecting it so he won’t mess up ( but he has a slight inking he will. you’ve only ever been the one person to make satoru stumble over his words and forget them mid sentence )

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who stays up that night. unable to find respite in sleep, he stares at the ceiling mulling over thoughts of what may happen tomorrow after he does what he plans.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who prays that you feel the same for him all throughout the night and through the morning classes. so much so that suguru is cackling in laughter after satoru tells him what he’s been doing for the last few hours.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who waits for you after your mission at the steps to the school his feet aimlessly kicking at stray rocks on the ground, his white hair flying in the breeze.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who finally lets out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding in when he sees you emerge from the many steps, your feet light on the ground so much so that if anyone were not blessed with the six eyes like him, they wouldn’t have even heard you.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who is silent for s long time, studying the face he’s come to adore and love so much. you stare up at him, confused and waiting, a stray hair lies on your cheek and he thinks he’s never seen you more beautiful looking than now.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who blurts out his feelings in one go, blushing red by the end of it, his eyes burning behind his black sunglasses.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who waits for what you say, only to be taken aback when he finds you laughing at him. endless amount of giggles escaping your pretty lips, hes beyond confused ( he didn’t expect you to start laughing )

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who turns away, slightly saddened that you didn’t return his feelings before you pull him into you, leaning up to kiss him lightly on the lips. your soft lips slightly grazing his cheek as you pulls away, he sees the blush rising from your neck to your face.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who is shocked when you admit to liking him back before you run away, further into the school and to the dorms he presumes.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who’s feet are stuck to ground. he is in shock, he thinks. beyond bewildered and oh so so ecstatic.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who’s fingers lightly graze his keeps, wishing he could stand in this moment forever. to forever ingrain the feeling of the almost bursting of his heart and the rush through his veins.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who finally realises how lovesick he is for you.

© VAAMINS 24  .ᐟ  do not copy, repost or plagiarise my works.

[lilislegacy]

You know what I always think about? Percy is the classic funny boyfriend. He’s sarcastic and witty. Some of his jokes are sharp and clever, many are corny dad jokes. But nevertheless he’s hilarious. And yet, Rick rarely writes Annabeth laughing at his jokes. I feel like he thinks it’s empowering for Annabeth to just roll her eyes or scold him every time. But he’s funny asf!! Let his girlfriend think he’s funny!

There’s a scene in HoH where Percy makes Annabeth laugh when they’re climbing down a cliff, and she has to tell him to stop so she doesn’t fall to her death. Then in CotG, Percy says something and Annabeth smiles against her will, and it makes Percy so happy. Those scenes are rare, but so. damn. cute. That said, I wish Annabeth wasn’t always trying so hard not to laugh at his jokes. I want to see him be able to make her smile and laugh so easily that it’s not even fair to her. I mean, the guy can drop banger after banger—there’s so much opportunity.

If these new books are supposed to be lower stakes, give me percabeth laughter. Give me Percy cracking bad jokes and Annabeth bursting out laughing with no shame. Give me her cackling at his witty comment so hard that her abs hurt and tears fall from her eyes. Even though we know Percy is conventionally attractive, give me Grover making a joke that the reason Annabeth likes Percy so much is because she spends so much time with her eyes closed since she’s always laughing. I want people to think they’re kinda annoying. I want to see their friends giving them side eyes from across the table because Percy’s making Annabeth laugh so hard that it’s disrupting the whole room.

Annabeth’s reluctance to laugh made sense before they were dating and were bickering 24/7, when they didn’t want to show their true feelings. But that’s not the case anymore. And don’t get me wrong, it really frustrates me how Rick seems to be rapidly reducing Percy to simply being “the funny guy.” He’s stripping him of so many qualities and compensating with double the cheesy humor. But the worst part is that even when being funny is all Rick will allow him to be, Percy still doesn’t get to be the funny boyfriend. It’s as if he wants Annabeth to be too mature for her boyfriend’s bad humor. But if Percy is going to continue be diminished to the stupid, annoying guy who can’t take things seriously, the LEAST Rick can do is give him the ability to easily make his girlfriend laugh.

[phefics]

𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐦

𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: fred weasley x reader x george weasley 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: fred and george dose the reader with a truth serum, which leads to her admitting a sexual fantasy including both brothers. 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: dubious consent (truth potion is used to make the reader admit her sexual fantasies which then play out), pseudo-inc3st (the twins don't do anything sexual to each other but are both involved in the same sexual scenario), gender-neutral!reader (reader has a vagina but no pronouns are used) 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.9k

Being friends with the Weasley twins was a constant rollercoaster.

There was never a dull moment, always an adventure to go on, a prank to pull, or witty banter bouncing between you and the brothers. Sometimes, you were helping Fred and George pull off their next big joke, but other times, you were their target. Sure, it could be frustrating, but it was also fun for you, and you always found ways to get them back.

You had been friends with the twins since your first year at Hogwarts, and that friendship had continued past Hogwarts and followed you into early-adulthood. You visited them at the flat over their shop in Diagon Alley often, where they showed you prototypes for new products and made you laugh until you cried with their antics.

It was a cold evening when you appeared in their fireplace, a bit dusty from the ashes, and were greeted with excited shouts from Fred and George before being pulled into a group hug.

As you looked up at their grinning faces, you couldn’t believe that there were people who still got the twins confused.

Fred had more freckles on his face, while George’s shoulders and arms had an abundance of them. When Fred laughed, he threw his head back, cackling loudly, while George usually gave more reserved chuckles, laughing down at his lap. And, well, George was fully missing an ear now, and Fred had a large scar on his temple from the Battle, where a piece of castle wall had crashed down on top of him.

“Finally,” Fred said, man-handling you onto the couch. “We’ve been waiting ages!”

“I’m only a few minutes late,” you replied, glancing at their clock, which wasn’t even working—it read 3:15, but it was well past 7:00 judging by the darkness outside.

“And are our few minutes not important to you?” George asked, sitting by your side. “We could have been using that time to come up with more brilliant inventions.”

“Or planned a clever scheme to spill a bucket of water on your head when you arrived,” Fred added.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m terribly sorry to have wasted your precious time,” you said, tone thick with sarcasm.

It was nice catching up with them. They updated you on each member of the Weasley family, such as Fleur’s pregnancy with her and Bill’s first child, or Percy’s upcoming wedding. You updated them on your own life as well, and it wasn’t long until they had pushed a glass of Firewhiskey into your hands.

“So, Y/N,” Fred said, leaning against the back of the couch. You immediately recognized the glint of mischief in his brown eyes, and braced yourself for whatever ridiculous question he was about to pose.

“Which of us do you think is the better looking twin?”

You opened your mouth, intending to say something like ‘neither of you’ or ‘you’re identical—what kind of stupid question is that?’ but the sentence that spilled from your lips instead was, “Well, you look pretty much the same, so I’d say you guys are equally attractive. I think the scar makes you look pretty hot, Fred, but George can really pull off the whole missing ear thing.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, face burning.

The twins both erupted into giggles.

“Oh, you’re too kind!” George said. “I’m glad you find my lack of an ear sexy.”

“And my scar is flattered,” Fred added.

“What did you two do?” you asked, scowling.

“We might have stumbled upon a vial of Veritaserum…” George said, trying and failing to look guilty. “And put it in your drink. Just a drop, though! It’ll wear off soon.”

You wanted to insult them, yell at them, call them every insult and curse under the sun, but no words would leave your tongue. It was like the truth serum wouldn’t even let you pretend to be pissed off. Sure, this was an invasion of your privacy and totally sketchy, but you had known Fred and George for so long, you were sort of used to their antics by now. You should have been way angrier than you were, but it was just so typical of them, you couldn’t muster much more than annoyance.

What you did manage to say was, “Why?”

Both twins shrugged.

“For fun,” Fred said.

“And because we were curious about something,” George replied.

“About what?”

“About which of us you like better.”

You blinked at them. “Are you serious? We aren’t eleven anymore. Is it really a contest between you two to be the better twin?”

“Not really, no,” Fred said. “Even though we all know that it's me.”

George reached over you to playfully shove his brother’s shoulder. “It’s not about proving anything. We’re just curious. So, Y/N, who do you like better: me or Freddie?”

“I like you equally,” you said. “You are both hilarious, intelligent, and my best friends. I find it easier to connect with George on serious things, but Fred always knows the right thing to say when I need cheering up.”

Your face was flushing deeper, embarrassed at the cheesy, sentimental words that left your mouth. Fred and George had grown up in an incredibly loving, affectionate family and had never shied away from making their love known, but it was awkward to voice your own feelings out loud like that.

Both twins seemed rather touched, though

“Wow, I was expecting you to have to pick,” Fred said. “But that’s oddly sweet.”

You groaned. “Okay, okay, yes, I love you both, can we knock this off now?”

“No, we have more questions!”

“Such as…?”

“Would you fuck either of us?” George asked.

Fred was normally the more vulgar of the two, and the question coming from George’s lips instead took you even more off guard.

“Yes,” you said, unable to stop yourself. “Either of you. Or both of you.”

“At the same time?”

“Yes.”

Fred and George also showed their emotions differently. Fred was better at keeping his feelings to himself, but when he was flustered, his ears would turn pink. His ears had flushed slightly, and his eyes were wide as he licked his lips, clearly intrigued by your answer. George was also flushed, but the color went to his face, and he brushed his thumbs repeatedly over his thighs, a nervous tick he’d always had.

“Have you thought about this a lot?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell us how you’d want it.”

You couldn’t help but answer. “I would let you strip off my clothes, groping me. One of you is behind me, kissing my neck as you take off my shirt. The other is at my feet, pulling my pants down. Neither of you shut up the whole time, talking about me like I’m not even there. Commenting to each other about how pretty I am, how wet my pussy is for you. Whoever is between my legs starts to go down on me, while the other holds my body still so I can’t move away from how good it feels. I cum on your tongue, and the other wants a turn, too…”

The twins were both clearly aroused as you spoke.

“Do you want that? Now?” Fred asked, his voice low.

“Yes,” you breathed. 

They waste no time switching their positions on the couch, George pulling your back against his chest while Fred positions himself between your legs, his hands eagerly moving to the waistband of your pants, tugging at it.

George took his time, hands sliding up your shirt, touching softly as he felt you up, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck, lips teasing the skin there.

You couldn’t help but whine under their touches, loving every moment of it. You had truly dreamt of this for years, always too afraid to ruin the friendship. Sure, you had kissed both twins for dares back at school, but this was real and intimate and beautiful.

Fred made quick work of getting your bottom half undressed, and he kissed his ways along your thighs, cupping your ass with one hand, squeezing hard.

“So fuckin’ hot,” George breathed.

“I know, right?” Fred replied. “So good for us, too. Are we making your fantasy come true, love?”

You nodded, whimpering softly.

“So needy, too. You want to cum for us?”

You nodded again. “Yes, yes please.”

George chuckled, nipping at your ear as Fred’s mouth finally reached your pussy, his tongue licking tentatively at you before he found your clit, which he immediately focused his attention on.

Your noises only grew louder, more desperate.

“Already? You’re not very good at this whole build-up thing, Freddie,” George said.

“I think we’ve waited long enough for this,” Fred replied before returning to his task.

“You don’t want to be patient, do you, darling?” George asked, hugging you tightly from behind. “You’ve wanted this for so long, you just want to be good for us, take everything we’ve got?”

“Fuck yes,” you moan.

Fred was clearly just as eager as you are, apparently trying to make you cum as quickly as possible, like he was placing bets in his head.

“You like that, hm? Is he good at it? Making you feel good?” George said.

“Feels so fucking good.”

“Good. You gonna cum for him?”

“Yes, yes, I’m—”

It didn’t take long at all. Fred’s tongue was good for more than just witty comments, and your legs trembled as he sat up, lips shining with your slick and a smug smile on his face.

“I think this is the part where we switch jobs, Georgie.”

Your pussy was already so wet, so sensitive, you knew that George would be able to make you cum fast, too. It was almost embarrassing how easy you were, how turned on they made you.

The twins switched positions, and Fred wrapped his arms around your middle sweetly, dragging his fingers over your waist and making goosebumps spread over your abdomen, squirming in his grasp.

“Don’t try and get away, sweet thing,” Fred said. “Otherwise George won’t be able to have his turn. Just be good for us, okay? Be a good little slut.”

You whined, face hot as George’s lips found your inner thighs and kissed the skin there, slowly, teasingly. He was the more patient, more methodical of the two. He wasn’t going to go straight for your clit, he was going to keep you wanting. Maybe until you begged.

Fred began sucking a hickey into your throat, leaving you a moaning mess as the twins both worshiped your body like it was something sacred.

Finally, George’s tongue found your pussy, teasing your hole and folds before even bothering to touch your clit.

“Should he put his fingers inside you?” Fred asked.

You nodded fervently, thrusting your hips.

George complied immediately, sliding one finger inside which was quickly followed by a second, pumping slowly before curling into that special spot, which he had found surprisingly easily.

Your second orgasm came just as quickly as the first, your hands balling into fists and your toes curling. Once your body was able to relax, you looked up through teary eyes to see George licking your taste off of his fingers.

“Was that everything you dreamed?” Fred asked.

You opened your mouth, expecting the answer to roll off your tongue, but it didn’t. You realized that the potion had worn off, and smirked.

“It could have been better,” you said, thrilled with your ability to lie again.

Obviously, Fred and George had to remedy that immediately.

[anaargent]

Touch games

Five Hargreeves x Reader

Five Hargreeves slowly turning from a grumpy, grumpy old man into a touch-starved mass. . .

It started with gentle hand touches, initially Five looked confused and ripped his hands from yours as he asked, “What the hell is this?” with a stunned and disgusted expression. “A handshake?” you answer simplistically, removing the hands he had methodically tucked into his coat and grabbing them again. “To maintain your disguise you need to walk closer and less robotic, grandpa, don’t act like you’ve never held a hand in your life.” After a few tries Five got used to walking closer, his hands gently reaching for yours unconsciously, holding them absently as they walked, ensuring you were on the safer side of the street, still with a scowl on his face.

.

After your initial aversion, the quick touches to your hair began - it's messy - you say absently, brushing away some strands that fell on Five's forehead, who had remained silent, eyes wide as he watched you smile when your bangs were finally in place, clearing your throat and letting out a half-strangled "hm, thank you". After that, your fingers automatically fixed Five's hairstyle, smiling proudly at him and leaving after a simple - now you're presentable - never seeing the young man's slight blush on his cheeks and the breath he had held being released in a stunned huff.

.

Five was confused, he considered himself a controlled person, always having total control of his reactions and actions, he wondered why he couldn't prepare himself for every time you came towards him and entered his personal space, what had once been irritation was slowly becoming anticipation. His eyes darted to follow you when you entered the same room, silently hoping that you would come to him to complain about something stupid that your brothers did that irritated you. He found himself listening carefully to every word, noticing the little tics as you released all the frustration of the day and in the end you seemed at peace again.

- Maybe it was the coexistence - Five said to himself, trying to deal with emotions that were certainly not in his life curriculum - I see her every day, I must have gotten used to her nonsense, just like Klaus - he continues to grumble as he searches for his favorite chocolate at the convenience store he had stopped at on the way home - with that loud and annoying voice... that beautiful idiotic smile - he stopped himself, shaking his head in contradiction - no, no, just a stupid smile, nothing pretty!

He hurriedly left the market, with a bag of chocolates in his hand.

.

Five slowly found himself tangled in a spider's web, what was once a cold and centered posture turning into a needy and insatiable teenager. He tried to control himself, tried not to reach for your hand when you were walking close to each other, or not to smile like an idiot when you patted his hair after he was kind to your brothers - finally a good guy - you smiled as you stroked Five's head, so oblivious to the effects you caused, the gears in the boy's mind stopping to turn as I felt a cozy warmth envelop him.

Or so he thought.

You were aware of the reactions and the subtle change in Five, from the nervous smiles, the hands pretending to brush against yours as you walked, his green eyes always chasing yours, the slight tilt every time he was sarcastic and expected a witty response from you, receiving it with a proud smile. You were aware of all of this, and you wanted to see how far you could take that tempting joke, how the touches seemed to feed something dormant in Five and in his always so rigid posture, an overwhelming curiosity to see what could be awakened in him. You didn't expect him to explode so quickly.

At little Grace's party there was a big reunion, the whole family together again. You and Five came together, your hands firmly clasped in Five's, it was almost natural, if it weren't for the small hesitation before the act

- I hope she likes our gift - you sigh nervously, looking at the package that Five carried in his other arm - you picked up the biggest and brightest unicorn in the store, she'll love it - Five offers you a loving smile and a light squeeze of your hand, seeing your relieved expression - do you swear? - I'm sure of it - Five assures as he opens the door for you to enter the party - a gentleman - you smile playfully - only with you - Five answers sarcastically, hiding the butterflies shaking his stomach with a fake cough, taking off his coats and pulling you to where everyone was gathered.

In the middle of the party you ended up moving away from Five and the others, lost in the middle of so many people and children everywhere. The party was almost over, there were balloons on the floor, the balls of lights spinning

- yeah, it's you and me, Bobby - you grumble, sitting at a table away from the center of the party, toasting with the huge blue bear from the decoration that kept you company during the night - maybe I'll give you my cute number your naughty little thing.

- y/n! - Five suddenly appears, with his tie badly tied, his hair a mess - Five? What happened? Is everyone okay? - you get up and go to the man who was on your mind all night, placing your hands on his shoulders. Five relaxed with the touch, feeling the withdrawal that was growing in him ease a little - where were you? - you are shocked when you come across the needy tone in his voice.

Five Hargreeves, the same Five who told you that after so many years in the apocalypse he didn't feel like having any company. He was in front of you with a helpless appearance, his eyes tearing up a little as he sniffed softly - I looked for you all night, Klaus... Klaus said that maybe you were with someone more interesting.

You laugh, what else could you do in those circumstances? After all the games of accidental touches, of approaching as cautiously as possible so that Five wouldn't think you were a threat and accidentally stab you during the night. Was he worried that you had someone else in your life? - Seriously Five? - You smile at him - Who would be as interesting as an old man in the body of an adult who has lived through countless apocalypses?

-I...i- Five tries to think, his mind clouded between insecurities and silly fears, he didn't find himself attractive enough for you to really consider him as an option. The guy had more trust issues than a war veteran - I'm paranoid - he tells him that you're done with it - And? - You ask, waiting for more. - Me - He hesitates a little - I'm controlling, grumpy most of the time, I use sarcasm as a defense mechanism, I have a gun under my pillow because I can't sleep without thinking that we might be attacked during the night. And there would probably be a bomb bunker in the garden.

- It sounds tempting to me - you smile, wrapping your arms around Five's neck - I can deal with underground bunkers and some anti-theft traps in the house - you say, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. Five freezes, his heart beating like crazy, he was in front of the person he wanted to have the most, and who deserved the least. He was a mess, yet, with everything you saw, you were still in front of him, with a perfectly placed smile on your beautiful face, waiting for something. Waiting for him.

Five then throws the blocks to the wind, maybe he would regret it, maybe he would wake up tomorrow knowing that he pulled you straight into trouble, but you would be there with him. So maybe it wouldn't be so bad. - We-we can have a dog - he says with the shadow of a small smile wanting to leave his lips. - Or two - you say finally pulling him for a kiss.

It was soft, insecure, perhaps a little cautious in the new field you were entering, your lips were warm and soft, and they moved slowly, your hands snaking through Five's hair, while he brought his hands to your hips, pulling you closer. Becoming bolder, you deepen the kiss, your tongue invading Five's mouth, the taste of liquor filling your mind, while everything seemed more intense and intense. When you finally pull away to take a deep breath, Five's eyes are already searching yours, his angelic eyes had a mischievous glint, something hungry lurking in the innocent features on his face. His hands are still wrapped around your waist, not letting you go that far

- can we go home? - he asks in a husky, thick voice. The sound causes a tremor in your body, the anticipation of the indirect suggestion filling your chest - I thought you would never invite me - you respond by pulling him into another passionate kiss while letting out a mischievous chuckle

[s4kura-tr3]

Could you make a crybaby reader with JJK men? Like just an overly sensitive/nice reader? It’s okay if not! Have a good day!

Sensitive!

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna, Megumi, Yuji

Gojo Satoru

Gojo Satoru never meant to upset you—he rarely ever did. But today, his usual playful teasing hit you harder than usual.

You were sitting on the couch together, scrolling through your phone while he flipped lazily through the channels on the TV. Out of nowhere, Gojo chuckled and said, “You know, you’re so dramatic sometimes. It’s kinda cute, but it’s like everything’s the end of the world for you.”

You froze, his words hitting a nerve. Dramatic. That’s how people had dismissed your feelings for years. You tried to brush it off, but your chest tightened, and your vision blurred slightly as you blinked back tears.

Gojo didn’t notice at first, still flipping channels and humming to himself. But when you didn’t respond with your usual witty comeback, he glanced over and saw your downturned face.

“Wait,” he said, sitting up immediately. “Did I say something wrong?”

You didn’t answer right away, biting your lip to keep your emotions in check.

“Hey,” he said more gently now, setting the remote down. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

Finally, you looked at him, your voice quiet. “You called me dramatic. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? It’s like every time I feel something, people just… dismiss me.”

Gojo’s eyes widened as realization dawned on him. “Oh no. No, no, no, that’s not what I meant,” he said, scooting closer to you on the couch. “I wasn’t trying to dismiss you. I swear, I just—ugh, sometimes I don’t think before I speak.”

You didn’t reply, still feeling the sting of his words.

Gojo reached for your hands, holding them in his warm, large ones. “I’m really sorry,” he said softly. “You’re not dramatic. You just feel things deeply, and I love that about you. It’s one of my favorite things about you, actually. You care so much, and that’s rare. Honestly, I wish I was more like you sometimes.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

“I mean it,” he continued. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that wasn’t a good thing. It is. You’re amazing, and I’m lucky you put up with my dumb jokes.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, despite your lingering hurt. “You really think that?”

Gojo grinned, his usual playful energy returning as he kissed your knuckles. “I think you’re perfect. And I’m perfectly terrible at saying things the right way. Forgive me?”

You sighed, the weight in your chest easing. “Okay. But maybe think before you speak next time?”

“Deal,” he said, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll even let you pick the movie tonight as a peace offering. But only if it’s not boring.”

You laughed softly, and just like that, Gojo had you smiling again, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close.

Geto Suguru

It was late in the evening, and you and Geto Suguru were sitting together in a cozy café. He had insisted on taking you out to unwind after a long week, and for a while, the warm atmosphere and his gentle company had done just that. But then, the conversation took an unexpected turn.

You were talking about a project you’d been working on—how much effort you’d put into it and how nervous you were about how it would turn out. Somewhere in the middle of your rambling, Geto chuckled softly and said, “You really overthink things sometimes, don’t you?”

His tone was light, and you knew he didn’t mean it maliciously, but the comment stopped you in your tracks. Your heart sank, and your chest tightened as those familiar insecurities reared their heads. You looked down at your tea, your appetite for conversation disappearing.

Geto immediately noticed the shift in your mood. He tilted his head, his dark eyes softening with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently, leaning closer.

You shook your head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly not nothing,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “Did I say something wrong?”

You hesitated, but his steady gaze encouraged you to speak. “It’s just… when you said I overthink things. I know I do, okay? I hear it all the time, and I hate that about myself. It feels like no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough, and people just see me as… too much.”

Geto’s expression shifted immediately, a flicker of regret crossing his face. “Hey, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” he said softly, his voice full of sincerity.

You looked away, but he gently reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours. “Listen to me,” he said, his tone warm and steady. “I wasn’t trying to say that in a bad way. I know you overthink because you care. You care so much about everything, and that’s not a flaw—it’s a strength.”

You blinked at him, his words catching you off guard.

“You put your whole heart into what you do, and yeah, sometimes it makes you nervous or unsure, but that’s only because you want things to be perfect,” he continued. “And honestly? That’s one of the things I admire most about you. I could never think of that as a bad thing.”

The tightness in your chest began to ease as his words sank in. “You really mean that?” you asked softly.

Geto smiled gently, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Of course I do. And I’m sorry if what I said made you feel like I didn’t. I’ll be more careful with my words next time.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thank you.”

He chuckled softly. “You don’t have to thank me. It’s my job to remind you how amazing you are when you forget.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and the tension that had settled between you melted away.

“Now,” he said, his tone lightening as he leaned back in his chair, “how about I make it up to you with dessert? I hear they’ve got a mean matcha cheesecake here.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Fine, but you’re paying.”

“Always,” he said with a playful smirk, raising his hand to call for the waiter.

Nanami Kento

Nanami Kento had had an exhausting day. Every step he took up the stairs to your shared apartment felt heavier than the last, and all he wanted was to come home, see you, and let the warmth of your presence melt away the stress.

When he opened the door, you greeted him with your usual enthusiasm, rushing over to pull him into a tight hug. “Kento! You’re home!” you exclaimed, your excitement practically radiating off you.

He managed a small smile and placed a hand on your back, but the weight of his day still hung over him. “Hi,” he said softly, his voice tired.

You didn’t seem to notice his exhaustion as you began talking a mile a minute. “I missed you! You won’t believe the day I had—oh, and guess what? I tried that recipe you love, and I think it turned out amazing! Oh, and Louis did the funniest thing today—”

“Can you give me a second?” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended.

The room fell silent, and the warmth in your expression dimmed instantly. You stepped back, your arms falling to your sides. “Oh,” you said softly. “Sorry.”

Nanami immediately felt a pang of regret as he saw the hurt in your eyes. You weren’t upset because he was tired—you were upset because he’d made you feel like your excitement didn’t matter to him.

You turned away, mumbling something about letting him settle in, but he quickly reached out and gently grabbed your hand. “Wait,” he said, his voice softer now.

You hesitated, looking at him but avoiding his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s not your fault I had a hard day. I… I was looking forward to seeing you all day, and then I let my frustration get in the way.”

You blinked, your lips trembling slightly. “I just wanted to make you happy,” you admitted quietly.

“And you do,” he said immediately, stepping closer to you. “You’re the best part of my day. Always.”

Your eyes met his then, searching his face for the truth in his words. His expression was soft, full of remorse and affection.

“I don’t deserve to have you greet me with so much love after the way I acted,” he said, gently pulling you into his arms. “But I promise I’ll do better. You’re everything to me, and I should have treated you like it.”

You rested your forehead against his chest, feeling his arms tighten around you. “I just got too excited,” you murmured.

“And I love that about you,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Your excitement, your energy—it’s what makes this place feel like home. I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate it like I should’ve.”

For a moment, you stood there in his embrace, his warmth and steady heartbeat easing the lingering hurt.

“Do you want to sit down and tell me about your day?” he asked after a moment, pulling back slightly to look at you. “I want to hear everything.”

You hesitated, then nodded, a small smile creeping onto your face. “Okay. But only if you let me heat up dinner for you first.”

He chuckled softly. “Deal. But don’t rush—just being here with you is enough.”

And as you led him to the table, the weight of his day began to lift, replaced by the comfort of knowing he was home—with you.

Toji fushiguro

Toji Fushiguro wasn’t the type to watch his words. His bluntness was just part of who he was—sharp, quick, and sometimes careless. Most of the time, you brushed it off, knowing he didn’t mean to hurt you. But tonight, it cut deeper than usual.

The two of you were in the kitchen after dinner. You were putting away dishes, humming softly, while Toji leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, watching you.

“I’ve been thinking about trying something new,” you said, your tone excited. “Like a cooking class or maybe painting—something creative. I think it could be fun.”

Toji grunted in response, not looking up from the dish he was drying.

You hesitated but kept going, trying to draw him into the conversation. “What do you think? Would you want to try something like that with me?”

Toji sighed and set the dish down a little too hard, the sound making you flinch. “You don’t stick with stuff like that, do you?” he said, his voice flat. “You get all excited and then drop it a week later. What’s the point?”

You froze, his words hitting harder than you expected. You knew he had a point—sometimes you did lose interest in things quickly. But hearing him say it so bluntly, so dismissively, made your chest tighten.

“I…” Your voice wavered as you set the plate in your hands on the counter. “I just thought it’d be nice to do something together.”

Toji finally looked up, his brows furrowing when he saw the way your shoulders slumped. “Hey, don’t get all upset about it,” he said, his tone softening, but it didn’t help.

“I’m not upset,” you said quickly, though the slight tremble in your voice betrayed you. “I just… never mind.”

You turned away, trying to hide the tears that were already welling up, but Toji wasn’t one to let things go.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter now as he stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled, but when you tried to brush past him, he caught your wrist gently.

“Look at me,” he said firmly, his tone still low but insistent. You hesitated, and when you finally met his gaze, he could see the hurt in your eyes.

“Damn it,” he muttered, his grip on your wrist loosening. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You didn’t have to say it at all,” you whispered. “You make me feel like I’m… not good at anything.”

Toji’s jaw tightened, guilt flashing across his face. He wasn’t good at this—at saying the right things or fixing mistakes—but he hated seeing you like this, especially when he was the one who caused it.

“You’re good at plenty of things,” he said, his tone softer now. “And… I’m an idiot for saying that to you. I wasn’t trying to put you down. I just… I don’t know how to say things without sounding like a jerk sometimes.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice.

“I think it’s a great idea,” he admitted after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “The cooking class or whatever. And I’d do it with you if that’s what you want.”

“You don’t have to just say that,” you murmured.

“I’m not just saying it,” he said, stepping closer until he could wrap his arms around you. “You’re trying to do something fun, and instead of supporting you, I ran my mouth like an idiot. I’m sorry.”

His arms around you were warm and steady, and you could feel the sincerity in the way he held you.

“You’d really go with me?” you asked, your voice still small.

“Yeah,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Even if I suck at it, I’d go. For you.”

Your lips quirked up into a small smile, the sting of his earlier words starting to fade. “Okay,” you said softly, leaning into his chest.

Toji smirked, holding you a little tighter. “Good. But don’t expect me to wear an apron or anything. That’s where I draw the line.”

You laughed, the sound lightening the room, and he sighed in relief, grateful to see your smile again.

Sukuna Ryomen

The Heian era was a time of beauty and chaos, and life with Sukuna Ryomen was no exception. Known as the King of Curses, Sukuna was feared across the land, but to you, he was something else entirely. His presence, though intimidating, had always been a source of strange comfort. However, his sharp tongue often betrayed him, and tonight was one of those nights.

You had spent the entire day crafting something special—a delicate embroidered cloth featuring patterns of crimson and gold, colors you knew he favored. Each stitch was precise, your fingers aching by the time you finished, but the thought of presenting it to Sukuna filled you with anticipation.

When you brought the finished piece to him that evening, you entered his chambers with cautious excitement, kneeling before him as he sat on his throne-like dais. “My lord,” you began softly, holding out the cloth, “I made this for you. I thought you might like it.”

Sukuna’s four crimson eyes flicked to the offering, and for a brief moment, there was silence. Then he spoke, his tone as sharp as ever.

“You spent all day on this?” he said, his voice laced with disdain. “What use do I have for something so… trivial?”

The words hit you harder than you anticipated. You had poured your heart into the gift, hoping to please him, and now your efforts felt meaningless. You lowered your hands, clutching the cloth tightly as your vision blurred with tears you desperately tried to hold back.

“I… I just wanted to give you something,” you murmured, your voice trembling.

Sukuna’s brows furrowed at the shift in your tone. He could sense your emotions as clearly as the tension in the air, and the sight of you so visibly upset stirred something in him—something he wasn’t used to feeling.

“Tch,” he muttered, leaning forward slightly, his gaze fixed on you. “Why are you crying? I didn’t tell you to do something like this.”

You shook your head, your voice breaking. “I know. I just… I thought it would make you happy.”

Sukuna let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t good at this—at softening his edges. But seeing you like this unsettled him in a way that battles and curses never could

“Look at me,” he commanded, his tone firm but quieter now.

Reluctantly, you raised your eyes to meet his. His gaze wasn’t as harsh as before, and for a moment, the room felt less heavy.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “I’m not good with… things like this.” He gestured vaguely at the cloth in your hands. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it.”

Your breath hitched slightly. “You… you do?”

“Yes,” he said, almost impatiently, but his tone lacked its usual edge. “I’m just not someone who knows how to handle… thoughtful gestures. But that doesn’t mean they’re wasted on me.”

You blinked, the sting of his earlier words starting to fade. “I just wanted to give you something that reminded you of… us. Of me.”

Sukuna’s lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “And you think I could forget you?”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and he chuckled lowly, clearly pleased with your reaction. He reached out, taking the cloth from your hands, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

“It’s well-made,” he admitted, running his thumb over the intricate stitching. “Better than I expected.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and Sukuna leaned back, his gaze softening just slightly. “Next time, don’t exhaust yourself for my sake,” he said. “You don’t need to prove anything to me.”

“I just wanted to make you happy,” you said softly, your earlier sadness melting away.

“You do,” he replied, his voice quiet but steady. “Even without this.”

The warmth in his words made your heart ache in the best way, and as he set the cloth aside carefully, you knew that, in his own way, Sukuna was trying.

Megumi Fushiguro

Megumi Fushiguro was in a foul mood. Gojo had been pestering him all day—constant teasing, unnecessary tasks, and endless comments that pushed his patience to the brink. By the time he walked through the door, his mind was racing, and he felt like he was ready to snap at anything that moved.

You had been waiting for him to come home, your excitement bubbling as you thought about sharing the small surprise you’d planned for him: his favorite snacks arranged neatly on the coffee table and a cozy spot on the couch waiting for him to relax.

When he walked in, you greeted him with a bright smile. “Megumi! Welcome home! I set up—”

“Can you just give me a second?” he snapped, not even looking up as he kicked off his shoes and dropped his bag with more force than necessary.

You froze, startled by the sharpness of his tone. “Oh… I didn’t mean to bother you,” you said softly, your voice already trembling slightly.

Megumi sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not about you, okay? I just need some space.”

Your chest tightened at his words. He didn’t even glance at the effort you’d put into making his evening better. The snacks, the cozy setup—it all felt meaningless now. “I just wanted to help,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you turned away, your shoulders slumping.

The sound of your soft, hurt tone stopped Megumi in his tracks. He looked up and finally noticed the care you’d put into the room—the snacks, the cozy setting, and the clear effort to make him feel better. Guilt hit him like a wave.

“Wait,” he said, his voice gentler now as he stepped closer to you. “I… I’m sorry.”

You didn’t turn to face him, your hands nervously fiddling with your sleeves. “It’s fine,” you said, though the crack in your voice betrayed your true feelings.

“It’s not fine,” Megumi said, his tone firm but remorseful. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

You glanced back at him, your eyes glistening. “I was just trying to make you feel better,” you murmured, “but if you don’t want me here, I can—”

“No,” he cut in quickly, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to leave. Please.”

He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “It’s been a rough day, and I let my frustration get the better of me. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You were trying to do something nice for me, and I acted like an idiot.”

You stared at him for a moment, his rare vulnerability catching you off guard. “You mean that?”

“I do,” he said, stepping closer and gently taking your hand. “I see what you did here. It’s thoughtful, and it means a lot to me. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

Your lips trembled as a small smile broke through. “I just wanted you to relax after your day.”

“And I’m lucky to have you,” he said, squeezing your hand gently. “Let me make it up to you.”

You hesitated before nodding, letting him guide you to the couch. As the two of you sat together, Megumi reached for one of the snacks you’d prepared, a small but genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“Thank you,” he said softly, glancing at you.

“For what?” you asked, tilting your head.

“For being patient with me,” he said. “And for always knowing how to make things better—even when I don’t deserve it.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned against him, letting the tension of the evening fade away. Megumi might not always get it right, but moments like this reminded you why you loved him so much.

Yuji Itadori

Yuji Itadori wasn’t the type to snap at people—he was always upbeat, kind, and quick to laugh things off. But after a long day of missions, training, and dealing with the stress of being Sukuna’s vessel, he’d finally managed to steal a rare moment of relaxation, engrossed in a video game he’d been trying to beat for weeks.

You, excited to share some news with him, entered the room without realizing how deeply focused he was. “Yuji! Guess what happened today?” you said cheerfully, walking over to him.

“Not now,” he muttered, his eyes glued to the screen, fingers flying across the controller.

You hesitated, unsure if he’d heard you properly. “It’ll only take a second! You won’t believe—”

“I said not now!” he snapped, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard before.

The sudden harshness of his voice made you stop in your tracks. Your excitement vanished, replaced with a sinking feeling in your chest. You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, before mumbling, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Your voice was so soft, Yuji almost didn’t catch it. But when he heard the hurt in your tone and turned to see the way your expression had fallen, his stomach twisted with guilt.

“Wait, no, I didn’t mean—” he started, but you were already backing away. “I’ll just… leave you alone,” you said quietly, heading toward the door.

Yuji quickly paused the game and jumped to his feet. “Wait! Don’t go!”

You stopped but didn’t turn around, your arms crossed tightly as if trying to protect yourself from the sting of his words.

Yuji rubbed the back of his neck, his face filled with regret. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softer now. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. That was really uncool of me.”

You glanced over your shoulder, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I just wanted to tell you something. I didn’t think it would make you so mad…”

“I wasn’t mad at you,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “I was just so caught up in the game, and I got frustrated. But that’s not an excuse. You didn’t deserve that.”

You bit your lip, unsure if you should say anything, and Yuji reached out, gently touching your arm. “Hey,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “I’m really, really sorry. You’re way more important to me than some stupid game.”

His words made your heart ache in the best way, and you finally turned to face him fully. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” he said, giving you that familiar, boyish grin that made it hard to stay upset. “Tell me what happened today. I want to hear everything.”

“You’re sure? I don’t want to interrupt…” you trailed off.

Yuji shook his head quickly. “Forget the game. I want to spend time with you.”

The sincerity in his voice melted away the last of your hurt, and you let yourself smile again. As you started sharing your story, Yuji sat beside you, listening intently, determined to make up for his mistake.

And when you laughed at one of his playful comments, Yuji silently promised himself to never let a moment like that happen again. You were his safe place, his reason to smile, and no game—or anything else—could ever compare.

[natalicss]

Guilty Conscience

choi seunghyun x american pop star!reader

summary: you’ve been out of the public eye for five years. at the 2025 grammys, you’re making your comeback. unbeknownst to you, your ex boyfriend has been making his own comeback to the industry.

warnings: angst, american!reader, lots of mental health talk, depression, anxiety, toxic music industry, toxic industry IN GENERAL, breakup, i kinda rushed this so it sucks lowkey

word count: 5.5k

nat’s notes: hey y’all!! i wanted to get this out as soon as possible so HERE I AM!! this is my first t.o.p fic so i hope yall enjoyyyy. i kept it angsty because ive been writing too much happy shit. you’re welcome. hope you guys enjoy, if you don’t…idk don’t tell me. i’m not promising a part two to this, but…never say never - xoxo former belieber

You sat at the vanity in your greenroom. You watched as your hair dresser and makeup stylist worked their magic, elevating your features in the most beautiful ways. Meanwhile, your stylist rambled on about your outfit, talking about how it fit your body in all the right ways, and how difficult it was to tailor it the way you wanted. A joke thrown out about how high maintenance you are. You don’t really respond, smiling faintly as you look back at your reflection. 

Part of you couldn’t believe it. You were sitting in a greenroom, wearing custom designer wardrobe, getting your makeup and hair done by familiar faces, and within the hour you would be standing on a stage in front of thousands of people, all of whom had no idea you were there. Part of it felt normal. A familiar pattern easy to slip back into as if no time had passed. But that’s the thing, time had passed. Five years. Five years since your last tour. Five and a half since your last album. Five years since you disappeared from the media. Five years since your mental health had taken a detrimental turn and you needed to take care of yourself. Five years since you and your ex boyfriend broke up and never saw each other again. 

Your own decision to go off the radar for so long had nothing to do with your breakup, not really. The media had been cruel, talking about you in ways it hadn’t before. Talking about your greatest insecurities, nit-picking at every move you made on and off stage, spreading rumors about your romantic life (all of which were false, but fans didn’t care), people you thought were your friends had turned out to be frauds. The world of fame of glamour that was usually just that suddenly felt ugly and dark. You had to escape. Your breakup had only been collateral damage, both you and your ex wanting the same things, but somehow you both paid the price. 

The day you met him was a silly one. You were on a world tour, years ago. You had just made your big break, winning awards left and right, promoting a new album, traveling to places you’d never been. When you had a show in Seoul, you were ecstatic. The show itself was absolutely epic, and would go down in your music career as one of your best shows. Everything about it was perfect. From your vocals, to your dancers, to the lights, to the band, and to the crowd, it was legendary. 

It was after the show, you were drinking water as your manager excitedly told you someone wanted to meet you. She said it was a big name, and you urgently moved to follow her to find who exactly had come to your show. And there he was. Choi Seunghyun, but in that moment you knew him at T.O.P. You tried to maintain your excitement, but you were pretty sure he saw right through you. 

There was no intention behind his introduction. He had wanted to meet you after Kwon Ji-yong had played your song for him. She’s the next big thing, for sure, he’d said as he gestured to your album on his phone. Ji-yong had continued to rave about you, which only led to Seunghyun looking you up himself. He’d quickly become enamored. With your charm, your wittiness, your creative process, all of which was shown in your interviews and your videos. You were a force to be reckoned with, just like Ji-yong said, and Seunghyun had to know you. He had to see how your mind worked. All of his curiosity was purely about music, about the industry.

So, the two of you became friends, following each other on socials. And you’d be the one to text him first, thanking him for coming to your show. You liked to think that text was what sealed your fate. Your fate that you’d eventually fall in love with Seunghyun. A whirlwind romance. Unexpected, but it made more sense than anything else ever had. The media had not known about the two of you (a choice you both made, and later were grateful for). The softness he held for you and nobody else. The warmth of his voice when he called you daily. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes when he’d surprise you by showing up at your shows. Your hands in his hair as you helped him dye it different colors. Your voice when you sang him your newest love songs inspired by him. Your laugh when he’d wrap his arms around your waist and lift you in the air.

A whirlwind romance that ended in fire and ashes. 

You don’t know where exactly it had all gone to shit, for lack of better words. Was it the distance? Was it the scandals the two of you had faced at the same time? Was it the pressure of society weighing you both down? You weren’t quite sure. You’d been there for Seunghyun during his darkest days. You’d stop your life to live with him as long as he needed. You faced his guilt, his anger, his grief, his anxiety, all with him even when he pushed you away. It never deterred you. Seunghyun, at the time, could never understand. Why would you want to be burdened by him and his actions? Why wouldn’t you leave him? He had tried, begged you, pleaded you to leave him be. He knew you deserved better than him, but he was too selfish at the time to end it himself. He didn’t want you to leave him. 

And when your own world started to crumble, Seunghyun tried to be there with you.The media had pulled you apart at the seams. The fans that once adored you now treated you like you were a wicked witch. The fellow musicians who were your friends now stood back and watched as you struggled for air. They let you drown in the cruelty of the media. And what had you done? The truth was, well, nothing. You’d done nothing wrong, and somehow that was the worst thing you could have done. You were good, too good, so surely something must be wrong with you. 

And as Seunghyun watched the light drain from your eyes, a guilt riddled in his chest. He’d tried to be there for you, but his efforts fell short. You were both drowning. Your own worlds were suffocating you both. He could not save you, for he could not save himself. But you could not save you, either, for you were too busy saving him. When he realized this, the selfish feelings he had were suddenly burning him alive. He could not keep you. Not when you paid the price. 

That was five years ago. Five years ago, Choi Seunghyun had broken up with you in his home in Seoul. Five years ago, you begged him with tears to stay. You were too selfish to let him go. He had to be the selfless one, because if he wasn’t, he knew the world would lose you permanently. He’d rather you’d hate him and live than love him and rot. 

His efforts pulled off. You spent the next five years healing. Therapy, medication, meditation, yoga, music, spending time with family or friends, and just about every other coping mechanism you could try. You did it all. Two years ago you started writing music again. A year and a half ago, you’d started producing. A year ago, you started working with your team to start talking about a comeback. And now, here you were, at the Grammy’s, about to announce exactly that. You were back, ready to face the spotlight after so long of praying it’d never find you again. 

The setlist was simple. It’d start playing an old song of yours, your first hit that started your career, before glitching out. Then, the set would open up to reveal you under the flickering lights before your biggest song started. You were shaking, unable to focus on anything other than directly ahead of you. You didn’t even want to think of the song you were about to play, because of course your biggest hit would be a song about Seunghyun. It was the first song you wrote about him. It was upbeat, fun, energetic, sensual, and hit every mark that reminded you of Seunghyun. The song had skyrocketed your career even farther than anything you’d seen. You were already building a name for yourself, but this song had became the song that people associated with you when you were mentioned. If only they knew who you thought of.

Still, you held your head high as you heard the cue. You could hear one song start, causing the crowd to go quiet. It only took a moment before they began to scream in realization. You sucked in a heavy breath, watching as the lights began to flicker, the set began to move, the audio began to malfunction, and the crowd got louder. It all came to a head as everything went quiet. A spotlight shined on you as you smirked at the camera. The crowd goes ballistic. Screaming, cheering, gasps of surprise coming from the guests of the night. You soaked in the cheers, the exact shot of energy you needed. You looked around, your confidence growing as you finally felt something you hadn’t in a long time. You felt like you belonged.

“Did you miss me?”

Choi Seunghyun was going about his own day. He’d been busy, of late. Interviews, working on his own music for the future, photoshoots. He’d been out of the public eye for so long, and he still was unsure of it all. Still, he was finding his footing in a world he once loved so much. His first step was acting. The perception had been mixed, at first, but now he was seeing the positives again. Something he hadn’t seen in years. 

He was in between meetings, taking a quick break. He was sitting in an office, alone, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly. Part of him loved seeing all the positive feedback, the love he’d gotten for his new role, the support for the future of his career. But part of it still settled uneasy on his chest. Seeing comments about his past reminded him of the guilt he’d tried so hard to move on from. Ignoring it was difficult, but he managed to do well most days.

Then, on his instagram explore page, he saw a familiar face. Yours.

He clicked on it.

There you were, standing on a stage. For a moment, he thought this was an old clip, but he knew it wasn’t because your hair was not that length the last time he saw you. He looked at the caption. Y/N MAKES COMEBACK AT THE GRAMMYS. PERFORMS HER BIGGEST HITS ALONG WITH NEW SINGLE.

He’d never admit how quickly he opened YouTube. 

Seunghyun felt all of the air in his longs dissipate as he stared at his phone screen. As the music of the song you wrote for him began to play. You looked different. Your eyes filled with a familiar light, something that hadn’t been there when you packed your things from his home. You looked healthier. Lighter. The weight of the media no longer crushing your bones like before. As the song started and your dancers moved with you, Seunghyun was mesmerized. The same way he was when he’d visit your shows. The way you move so effortlessly. The flirtation in your lyrics, when you’d lean against another dancer and let them sway your hips. The way you still sang it was better than the recording, in his opinion. He still new every word. He found himself mouthing them as he watched you command the stage like you never left.

For a moment, he felt jealous of you. The way it seemed like time hadn’t affected you like it did him. The way you seemed so…okay. He wasn’t okay. He had changed so much over the years, even more so when he finally bit the bullet and said goodbye. He wasn’t the same man he was. But you still looked the same. You had the same smile. The same choreography. The same dancers. You just looked…better.

“Did you miss me?” 

Your voice rang in his ears, the words feeling like a mockery of how he felt. Teasing the way he sat there staring at the screen with conflicted emotions swirling in his chest. He couldn’t help but wonder if you had seen him. His return to the industry. He’d wondered if you saw the articles months ago, or if you’d seen him in Squid Game first. He’d wondered if you saw the interviews he’d just done, or if you’d somehow manage to dodge anything relating to your ex lover. Maybe you were the luckier one out of the two of them. 

A familiar ache in his chest continued to build as he watched your performance. As you danced on stage with dancers he’d recognized from as far back as when he met you. As you sang to a crowd of your musical peers who’d either had your back or stabbed it. As you commanded the stage with a new level of confidence he’d hadn’t seen you wear in years. He felt that ache. He felt the way his heart pounded against his ribcage. How his lungs suddenly felt like they couldn’t hold enough air. How his eyes burned because he couldn’t blink. He could only stare.

As the song ended, the cameras cut to the various artists there, cheering and screaming loudly for you. A sense of pride washed over Seunghyun. This was the praise you’d deserved. To be recognized by some of the biggest stars in the industry. To be admired by the people again. It was all right there for you, waiting for you. Something he was sure you didn’t expect, but he did. 

As your dancers started to move away, you started walking to the second stage in the midst of the tables of guests. One dancer hands you a jacket to cover up, and you come to a microphone. A slow song starts playing. Seunghyun closes his eyes tightly as he realizes this was one of the last songs you’d released. It was a breakup song. A song filled with his promises he broke and your shattered heart left in between the lyrics. He had hardly listened to it since it was released, the memories of your breakup coming in every time.

You had stared at him with doe-eyes, but he refused to look at you. He couldn’t. Not when he finally had just enough strength to let you go. He knew one look at your heart broken face would have him retracting, falling to the floor and hugging your body as he begs you to forgive him and forget what he’d said. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t keep you, no matter how much he wanted to.

You’d been living with him in Seoul for a while. Mostly to help him with his struggles, a choice you made without him asking. Your undying loyalty for him trumping any other option. The media’s cruelty towards you had started sometime after. You put on a brave face, at first, but as time passed by and their criticisms were more so filled with hate, your facade cracked. Seunghyun watched helplessly. He couldn’t save you. Not like this. He’d tried, but no words and no comfort were there. He was so broken, so lost within himself in the worst ways that he couldn’t even reach for your hand as you sobbed next to him at night. 

But you, you always did. You wiped his tears when he cried to you. You whispered sweet nothings to him to reassure him that he was deserving of good things. You made his favorite meals, or ordered them if you didn’t know how. You surprised him with small gifts. You loved him so seamlessly, so effortlessly, so loudly…Seunghyun didn’t understand why he couldn’t be as good to you as you were to him. 

And then, as he stood a few feet away from you, looking out a window, the guilt seemed to chew at his organs. The deafening silence felt cold. We can’t do this anymore, he had whispered to you. Your breath hitched, your soft eyes suddenly swimming with something else.

“Why?” Your voice came out in soft concern. “Seunghyun, what happened?” You were more worried about him. Because of course you were. Your love for him, your loyalty, it all seemed to matter more to you than anything.

Seunghyun closed his eyes tight as he tried to erase the way your voice sounded. “We aren’t good for eachother.” Was all he could say. His own voice would betray him if he said more.

You shook your head. You got up from the couch you’d previously been sitting on, walking closer to your boyfriend. He refuse to look at you. He was staring out at the city. A city he almost despised now. A world he had grown a resentment towards after it tore you apart. Him? Fine. He’d take his guilt and he’d drown in it again and again until it melted off his skin and left him nothing but bones. But you? You were different. You were better. You deserved better.

“I can’t help you,” He says softly, a quiet confession. “I can’t be the partner you need.”

It was almost naive of you, the way you only batted your eyes at him and shook your head. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. This was some sick joke. Or maybe Seunghyun saw something in the media about him that made him feel insecure. You weren’t sure, but you knew that this couldn’t be it. Not like this. You reached for his arm, your fingers delicately touching his skin. “Seunghyun-” You flinched as he pulled away from your grasp. He’d never done that before, not even when the two of you got into your fights.

“This isn’t a discussion.” He said. His tone turned harsh, a way for him to get through this without shattering at your feet. It was another thing he didn’t do often with you. Sure, when you fought sometimes things got loud, shouting at each other to try and get your thoughts heard and understood. But the sting felt harsher here. You felt your eyes starting to burn as tears built up. You were so confused. This morning, the two of you were wrapped in each others arms, nothing more than tangled limbs and kisses with swollen lips. You two were smiling, your hands tracing each others bare skin. You two were happy, you thought. How could so much have changed in this short amount of time?

Seunghyun felt like he was going to throw up. Every part of his body screamed at him to shut the fuck up, change his mind, wrap you in his arms and throw the both of you back in the bed and stay there until your lips were bruised and your hands were molded to each other. Despite every urge, every instinct, every thought telling him to stop, he didn’t. He looked at you now, clenching his jaw hard as he watched the fat tears roll down your face.

“This isn’t working out. We aren’t working out.” He gestured to the air between you. Air that was usually warm and comforting had now became cold and suffocating. “I can’t do this anymore.”

You watched as he turned away from you, walking in the direction of your shared bedroom. Another emotion ate at you now. Rage boiled under your skin as you started storming after him. “What the hell is happening!?” You threw your hands in the air as you walked into the room. Confusion, frustration, it all swam in your expression as you looked at him. “You can’t do what anymore? I haven’t asked anything from you!”

That was true, and part of that was the problem. You never asked anything from him, because you knew how much he had on his own plate. Instead, you took what you could from him, accepting the little-to-no affection he’d give you most days. You accepted the uglier versions of him. The darker versions people in the industry hadn’t seen before. You accepted the days you’d go without seeing Seunghyun, knowing he was out somewhere coping in awful ways while you sat in your home and waited. You accepted the tears that he’d shed over his mistakes. You accepted the anger that came out at sudden moments, all swirled in with guilt. You took it all without a single complaint, and you loved him so deeply and so openly it hurt him more. Because he couldn’t do that for you. He couldn’t show his love for you in the ways you needed it. You were just to blind to see it.

Seunghyun ran his hand through his hair. “I know. I know, it’s not like that, okay? I just can’t-”

“Can’t what?” You walked closer, your eyes wide with desperation as you looked at him. You studied his face for anything at all. Something to explain this. Something that’d give away his thoughts. You wanted to understand. “What did I do? What can I do? Please, just talk to me. Please.” You begged. Your voice croaked as you tried to fight back your own sobs. “I’ll do anything. Just tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it.”

This time, Seunghyun is the one that’s fighting back his sobs. He swallows painfully has he shakes his head at you. His heart was tearing apart. “Y/N,” He whispered. You stared at him, watching as he slowly shook his head. Somehow that spoke more words than anything either of you could say. It wasn’t up to you. He’d made his choice.

That felt like a lifetime ago, and yet he still remembered it like it was yesterday.

The breakup song wasn’t a ballad. In fact it had an almost upbeat tune behind it as you sang. Different emotions swirling in every lyric. Anger, desperation, bargaining, all of the same emotions you’d felt the very night your relationship fell apart. You sang alone on the little stage, moving around to sing at the crowd, but oftentimes your eyes remained on the camera in front of you. It felt as if you sang to him directly, all these years later. Reminding him. Reminding him how you would have stayed if he had asked. How you were always his even if he was not always yours. 

He clenched his jaw as he watched. Every time the camera switched to focus on the crowd or your band was a blessing. A second of freedom from the raw emotions you’d seemed to dig up when singing this song. It was like you were reliving it too. Just like he was. Both of you still stuck in that bedroom. Your voice still pleading for understanding. His body still yearning. His eyes avoiding you. His words shattering reality.

And when the song finally ended, Seunghyun couldn’t breathe. He wanted it to be over. He could click away, he knows that. But he doesn’t. He watches as the crowd cheers your name, and the cameras focus on the darkness of the room. A mystery lurking behind the scenes as people wondered what song you’d perform next.

The unfamiliar intro of another song began. Almost all vocals, the dancers crowded around your body, and you’re staring directly at the camera. The crowd goes wild as your dancers crowd around you, their hands dragging all over your body as you pose. A  beat hits, the lights go out. Seunghyun watches. Another beat, the lights flash on, and you start singing again. A new song, your first song in five years. You start a new complicated dance routine, your body moving naturally with every line.

Seunghyun listened closely to the words. His mouth went dry as he began to register the words. Your comeback song was filled with confidence, but it had a meaning behind it. Seunghyun started to blink, tapping his phone to rewind ten seconds to listen again. Seunghyun felt like throwing up. He very well might. You singing a song about loving someone, despite the way the both of you are, well, not very good for each other. Felt oddly on the nose. The sound of the song was much more your style. Pop with electronic flares, music with fun beats and catchy chorus’s that fueled your dancers. Sensuality flowing through you.

It dawned on him, then. Realization. You were back. You weren’t hiding from the industry, and in a way, you weren’t hiding from him. Whatever had changed between five years ago and now…he knew it was clear. You’d found yourself, just like he’d hoped. You were ethereal as you moved around the stage. You were confident, strong, sexy, absolutely perfect. He couldn’t help but smirk, his chest swelling with pride. 

He’d always been proud of you. You’d always been freakishly talented. Your creative abilities amazed him. It’s what drew him to you in the first place. Even after all this time, you hadn’t lost that flare. That spark. He saw it, even now, as you struck a pose in the center of the stage, finishing the song. Everybody cheered. Everybody was on their feet, clapping and loudly yelling in appreciation. It had been a surprise for all of them, and seemingly everybody loved it. You were breathing heavily, and he could see it. Underneath the emotional layers you wore on stage, he could see the nerves that had seemed to finally relax. He could see your eyes studying every face. Your lips curling up in a wide smile.

You’d made it. Just like he knew you would. 

As the video ended, Seunghyun reopened instagram. It was still sitting on the same post. A news source that had already started making articles to explain how big of a deal this was. He could see comments piling up in excitement. You were breaking the internet, though that didn’t surprise him at all. A gentle, sad, soft smile on his face, Seunghyun double tapped the screen. A heart was on the middle of his screen, covering you for only a second, before he clicked his phone off. He looked up as someone walked in, telling him it was time for the next meeting. He stood up, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt, nodding politely.

You were basking in after parties. 

Your music friends invited you out immediately, knowing you hadn’t been to one of these events in so long. You accepted, feeling deserving after making a comeback in a very loud way. Everyone was congratulating you, telling you how proud they were, how they couldn’t wait to hear what was next, and just about every other compliment imaginable. You let yourself accept them. It was praise you were no longer used to, but you’d be damned if you didn’t let yourself have it all for one night.

So, here you were, at some expensive hotel rented out by some super star for the party, dancing your heart out in a short sparkly dress, holding your third or fourth glass of champagne. You were having the time of your life. In your hiatus, you’d taken a lot of time for yourself. To learn to love yourself, to have more confidence in you and your choices. You took time to learn that the media was always going to be cruel; you just had to choose if you’d let it eat you alive or if you’d rise above it. It seems you’d finally learned how to do the latter. 

You’d also made the choice to stay off social media. You’d had side profiles to watch things, but you’d made the choice to focus on real life. It was an effort to keep the critiques and harsh words to a minimum for the last few years. Your team posted photos of your choice, let you pick the captions, they posted stories and such for you, but overall you remained off line. Until tonight, I guess. You had ended up sitting on a couch after dancing to way too many songs with your friends. You hiccuped, opening social media apps to see the reviews thus far.

Twitter, X, whatever, had been an expected mix. People mostly excited seeing you around again, looking happy and alive. Enthusiasm over the new music coming later in the year. There were the random haters, but you knew now to scroll past if it wasn’t meaningful or progressive in any way. 

Tiktok was already swimming with edits. You giggled at the comments, knowing how absolutely wild fans could get on there. You didn’t stay there long, worried you’d start overthinking the way you looked in certain frames. Silly things you can’t control. You were confident in your appearance and your stage presence now. Something you lacked before. But the nerves still ate at you, even if only slightly. It was progress, something that’d take time and more performances to work through. You closed the app to move on to another one.

Instagram comments flooded your page. You hadn’t posted anything yet, but people were already raving about you. Part of you was surprised. Sure, you knew some people would be happy, but the overwhelming amounts of love you were receiving was still unexpected. Even with years of therapy and self-help, you weren’t sure many people would care about you anymore. It felt nice to be proven otherwise. To prove the dark parts of you that still lingered wrong. 

You were looking at posts about you. From fanpages to news articles. Some included clips of your performance, some just random stills. You were smiling softly. People wanted more from you. They were ready for the single, the album, even a tour if thats what you chose. It all sparked a familiar joy in you. A familiar excitement that had been buried under years of torment from the media. But you weren’t letting it control you. Not anymore. 

Then, by chance, as you scrolled through the recommended posts on your explore page, you saw something.

Liked by ttt and others

You blinked, thinking it was the champagne making you read it wrong. You read it again. And again. And again. ttt. T.O.P. Choi Seunghyun. Suddenly you felt remarkably sober.

Admittedly, you stopped keeping up with him after Still Life came out. Your friends and people around you told you it wasn’t good for you, and they were right. You’d spent years waiting for him to come back to you. Waiting for him to check in. Send a postcard. Anything. You couldn’t fully heal while holding out for him. So you had to stop. You had to pull away even when every part of you hated the idea. 

And now you were staring at his instagram username like it’d just kicked you in the stomach. It felt that way too. 

You clicked his name. The air kicked out of your lungs as you looked at a photo of him with purple hair, painted nails, wearing a teal sweatshirt with the number 230. You’d heard he’d been in Squid Game, but you’d chosen to avoid it and Netflix entirely for the foreseeable future. 

This leads you to a spiral, in the middle of an afterparty, googling your ex boyfriend and seeing all the things he’d been up to while you were gone. From his wine company to dearMoon to Squid Game. His interviews were filled with remorse and nerves. You hated how you still felt empathy for him. You hated how deeply you related to every sentence. You hated how even after all this time it felt like the two of you spoke the same language. 

But you also had felt a smile form as you read his hopes for the future. As you saw photos of him. Clips of him doing press for the show. He was slowly coming out of the shell he’d been forced into. And he was still beautiful. Still soft and warm in the ways you remembered. You’d wanted this for him for so long, so of course you found yourself looking at photos of him with a level of fondness that felt unfamiliar now.

And as you stared at the video and series of photos of Seunghyun on Squid Games’s instagram account, you pondered your next move. What were the chances he’d see it? Slim, considering the post was a few days old. What were the chances fans would see it? Less slim, considering they’d be watching your moves now. So, you did the logical thing. You liked the image, a heart forming over Seunghyun’s face for a moment. Then, to cover your tracks, you liked a few more Squid Game posts. You’re just a fan of the show, you could say if people talked too much. You even were sure to follow Lee Jung Jae to make it more passable. Sure, your team and your friends would know the real reasonings, but it wasn’t obvious to anyone else.

Other than Seunghyun, of course, who saw it a few days later.

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x shy Hufflepuff fem!reader

Summary: You have a massive crush on James. One you didn't think would ever lead anywhere until a drunken party in the Gryffindor Common Room.

Genre: Fluff 🫶

Warnings: drinking, being drunk

~ directly inspired by the song So High School by Taylor Swift. thank you to the anon who requested this! ily! ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

Your cheeks burn from your embarrassment and the fire-whiskey in your blood-stream as your ears ring from the loud music dancing around you and you shake your head.

Lily Evans laughs as she glances around the Common Room. "C'mon, this is your chance," she insists, "They're playing Kiss, Marry, or Kill."

When Lily sees your confused and frankly frightened expression, she quickly explains, "It's a muggle game—it's harmless and fun—c'mon," she says again and pulls on your arm.

"Gentlemen," Lily declares when you approach the circle of students near the fire and she looks at the ring leaders of the group, The Marauders.

They're the ones that had planned this party—or Sirius and James had while Remus and Peter tagged along.

Sirius grins when he sees Lily. 

"Aw, are you joining us, Red?" he smirks and then he sees you, "And who's your friend?"

You smile shyly. You know Peter from Care Of Magical Creatures in your third year, and you often seen Remus in the library (you've even spoken to him a few times), but you've only ever seen and heard James and Sirius from afar—

—which definitely never helped the stupid, baseless, soul-crushing crush you have on James Potter. 

Remus, who is sitting criss-cross ext to Sirius, speaks up, "Y/n, yeah? You're a Hufflepuff—I see you in the library." He smiles kindly and pushes on James's shoulder, who has the latter almost choking on his beer, so you can sit next to him. 

James frowns but he recovers quickly and looks up, his glasses crooked on his nose. He's wearing his Quidditch sweater, his brown hair a tangled mess, but he's smiling now.

"Hi," he moves so you can sit next to him and Remus as Lily grins like a fool. You feel her hand on your shoulder as she plops you down next to James and she sits across from you. 

Apart from the Marauders, other students are also sitting around the circle and chatting. Sirius is by far the loudest of them all, and you think James is the funniest. 

It becomes honestly embarrassing how hard you laugh at any stupid joke he says. You can't help it, your tipsiness impairs any rational thoughts you may have, as you cover your mouth and stifle your laughs. 

James notices immediately and he grins. 

"Never had this much success, dove," he says, as charming as always, "You're cute."

This causes you to become even more flustered and you don't even know how to answer him. So, you hide from him, turning your head in the opposite direction. Lily sends you a knowing look.

James leans his knee closer to yours and you have to convince yourself he did that by accident or you'll simply implode. 

"Okay, Jamie, Kiss, Marry, Kill—me, Lily, and our new sweet little Hufflepuff," Sirius suddenly says, pulling your attention to the group again. You still have no clue what this game is and your eyes round.

Sirius seems quite pleased with himself.

James sips his drink, "Hmm, Kill you because you're a pain in my arse—" 

Sirius dramatically puts a hand on his heart, feigning hurt at his best friend's words. "And here I had the ring all prepared," he whines. 

James chuckles and continues. "Then um," he looks between you and Lily for a moment and your heart sinks.

Everyone knows James had a thing for Lily in second to fourth year. How could you, someone who had been too shy and awkward to even talk to him, compete with smart, incredibly witty, and beautifully stunning Lily Evans?

"Kiss Lily and marry Y/n," James shrugs, smiling lopsidedly as he looks at you and pushes his glasses further up his nose. "Lils' seems like she'd be a decent snog, but I like them sweeter for the long run," he reasons and winks. 

Lily laughs and rolls her eyes, "Smooth, Potter."

"No need to get all green-eyed on us, Evans," James says and turns his attention to you again, "Whadd'ya say, lil' puff, June 17th in six years?" he says, planning the future fake wedding.

You look up at him, your eyes round and you blink—unable to laugh it off as your heart thumps so loudly you can barely hear a thing anymore. 

"I think you broke the poor girl," Remus chuckles and then turns to Peter to steer the attention away from you, "Okay, Wormy, your turn."

Thank Merlin for Remus Lupin.

* * *

A while later, you stand in the corner of the room, your mind still stuck on how James's teasing that you don't hear the man in question come up to you.

"Hey, dove," he whispers and you spin around.

"Oh–hi," you whisper. You must look so smitten because you can just feel your cheeks burn.

James smirks. "It's late. Where's Lily?"

You frown as you look around, "She's talking with um—some of her other friends over there—" you point, expecting James to walk to her and leave you behind.

Instead, he stays. "You think she'd mind if I walk you back to your Common Room, you seem a little tipsy."

You're at a loss for words but then you stutter, "O-oh, no, I don't think she would mind," you whisper, "That's very kind of you, James. I c-can walk alone if it's a bother—"

"Nonsense. If it was a bother, I wouldn't have asked," James takes your arm, pushing some hair from your face with his fingers.

"Cute ribbon," he adds, looking at the red ribbon in your hair, "Very on brand with Gryffindor pride," he chuckles as he clearly enjoys the flustered look you're wearing.

"You're adorable," he says and he takes your hand, leading you out into the hall. The corridors are empty and dimly lit at this time in the evening and it feels surreal to walk the halls hand in hand with James Potter—especially when he keeps looking back at you with that look on his face. 

When you arrive at the entrance of the Hufflepuff Common Room, James turns to you and he keeps his hand in yours. He's blushing obviously now and you can smell the beer on his breath.

"If we weren't so tipsy," he mumbles, his knuckles caressing your skin, "I would kiss you right now."

Your eyes widen and your breath leaves you. "Pardon?"

"You heard me, love—where have you been all my life?" he sounds lovesick and one of his palms press against his warm cheek, "Is this what love at first sight is supposed to feel like? Because I was convinced that was all bullshit until now. What charm have you put on me, Y/n?"

You look away because if you look into his eyes any longer, you'll faint. Your hand squeezes his as his words make you feel dizzy and all fluttery. "I think you're just a little drunk, James."

"Drunk in love, yeah," he half-jokes, his tone soft as he leans in and his lips find your forehead.

You shut your eyes, wondering how he could make you feel like this in a mere matter of hours and although your insecurities creep in, you stay in the moment. 

"Where can I find you tomorrow?" James whispers against your skin. 

"I'm in the library a lot, especially in the mornings," you say, having no expectations of ever seeing James Potter again. You and him live on completely different planets.

"You can find me there if you'd like," you finish and James nods, his lips kissing your temple one last time and then he whispers a small, sweet dreams into your skin. 

* * *

  In the morning, you ignore your hangover and find your usual spot in the back of the library as you open an old book written by an ancient muggle philosopher. 

Last night's events in the Gryffindor Common Room play in your head as you read. 

"Mornin'." You're startled by a familiar voice and you look up from your book. James stands in front of you, a Quaffle under his arm as his hair splays messily across his forehead.

He's still dressed in his Quidditch Uniform and he walks closer, smiling. "Sorry I'm late—practice ran later than usual. Whatcha reading?" he asks, sitting across from you and draping his arm across the chair next to his as the Quaffle sits in his lap.

"You came," you whisper with a smile, your heart fluttering.

"Yeah, 'course I came," James says so casually as he leans over the table and taps your book, "Whatcha reading, dove? Do tell me all about it,"

You feel all warm and fuzzy like all your wildest dreams have come true, when you say, "Only if you tell me all about Quidditch practice after?" you look at him shyly.

"Your wish is my command," James grins, a faint blush on his cheeks.

[claramelooo]

I think I don't need made it clear, but cheat is wrong and if you agree with this, you have a huge character flaw, improve!

Finally the moment has arrived!

Enjoy it! <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warning: + 18

Paring: Mommy Wanda x Brat Fem reader

Summary: Wanda's jealousy makes her take an important step in your relationship

Read here: Prologue | Part 1 - Predator | Part 2 - The Prey | Part 3 - On Your Knees | Part 5 - The Lamb

Velvet Chains

The Spider

The church bells echoed through the neighborhood, announcing the start of the Sunday mass. You were late—as always. You sat discreetly in the back pews, trying to blend in with the crowd of familiar faces. But it didn’t take long for your eyes to be drawn to the front, where the Maximoff family sat in their usual spot.

There was Wanda, sitting upright next to Vision, with Billy and Tommy between them. The twins were impeccable, in little suits that made their rosy cheeks look even more innocent. Vision, ever composed, was the picture of the devoted husband and present father. Wanda, in turn, seemed to radiate grace and serenity.

You watched as she tilted her head to listen to something Tommy was whispering, a gentle smile curving her lips. There was something so perfect about the scene that it was almost suffocating. The way she adjusted her son’s tie with quick, delicate fingers, how Vision placed a protective hand on Billy’s shoulder, how the four of them seemed like a living painting of family harmony.

The congregation adored them. The approving glances and knowing smiles all around were impossible to ignore. It was clear that everyone saw Wanda and her family as a model to be followed—a beacon of perfection in an imperfect world.

But you couldn’t stop wondering: If she’s so happy, why does she look at me like that?

The thought hit you hard, and you quickly averted your gaze, feeling your heart race. You tried to focus on the sermon, but the priest’s words seemed blurry. All you could see was her.

As the service went on, you watched her out of the corner of your eye. She looked so devout, hands clasped in prayer, eyes closed, but there was something beneath that facade of holiness you couldn’t ignore. A barely perceptible tension in her shoulders, a shadow in her smile.

And then, when everyone’s eyes were closed, singing the hymn, it happened. You caught her looking.

It was quick, but enough for you to know it wasn’t your imagination. Her gaze met yours, just a second longer than it should have, before she diverted her attention to the children. It was a look heavy with something you couldn’t fully decipher—desire, frustration, maybe even desperation.

She’s so good at this, you thought, feeling a lump in your throat. So good at seeming perfect.

As soon as the service ended, you rushed straight out of the sacred temple—to avoid any contact with anyone—and ended up bumping into another person.

“Y/n?” The familiar female voice rang in your mind like bells.

“Yelena?” You asked weakly.

As soon as the words left your mouth, Yelena tilted her head to the side, a smile forming on her face as though she had just remembered an old inside joke. "Wow, so you’re still alive? I thought you had been sent off to a convent or something."

You opened your mouth to respond, but Yelena was already laughing, that laugh you always found contagious. "And you’re still as clumsy as ever," she continued, crossing her arms and sizing you up.

"I’m not clumsy," you replied, but stumbled over your words, which only made her smile widen.

"Oh, yes, you are!" Yelena shot back, taking a step back as if bracing for an imminent explosion. "But you’ve grown up well, I see."

You felt your cheeks burn, but before you could think of a witty response, Yelena stepped closer and gave you a sudden hug. "It’s good to see you, Y/n," she said, her voice softening. "I thought I’d never run into you again."

You couldn’t help but smile—that smile that seemed to come from a forgotten place, a hidden corner of your memory where Yelena always held a special space. But before you could say anything, she pulled back and raised an eyebrow. "So, do you still only fancy girls? Or have you 'grown out of it'?"

Your jaw dropped at the audacity, but the teasing glint in Yelena’s eyes made it clear she was just playing around. "Tsk, you never change!" you replied, crossing your arms and trying to look indignant.

"Oh, good," Yelena said, shrugging. "I prefer you this way. Way more interesting than these smiling hypocrites around here." She glanced around, making it clear she was talking about the very place you were in.

From a distance, Wanda watched the interaction with narrowed eyes, the kind smile she wore as a mask beginning to fade. Her chest burned with something she didn’t want to name—jealousy.

Who was this woman who made you smile so easily? Who pulled genuine laughter from you while Wanda herself struggled to coax even a shy smile? Wanda felt her fingers involuntarily tighten on her purse strap as her eyes followed every movement of their interaction.

Oh, she sees.

Yelena.

The problematic daughter of the church, the black sheep in a flock of immaculate whiteness. Wanda vaguely remembered her from the sermons years ago: messy blonde hair, clothes always a little out of place from the modest standard expected, and an attitude that seemed to shout defiance with every breath.

Yelena never fit in. She was the type of person who asked uncomfortable questions during Bible studies, who laughed loudly when no one else found anything funny, who made a point of standing out even in an environment where uniformity was seen as a virtue.

And now, there she was, as comfortable and confident as ever, talking to you like she had every right in the world to occupy space in your life.

Wanda gritted her teeth, hatred bubbling inside her with a force that almost scared her. It was irrational, of course. Yelena hadn’t done anything directly to Wanda, but that only made her irritation grow. The blonde seemed to exist to provoke, to rebel, to remind Wanda of everything she considered chaotic and unnecessary.

And now, she was pulling you into this world. So when Yelena tilted her head and gave you a playful tap on the shoulder, Wanda saw everything in shades of scarlet.

“You really are a mess,” Yelena said, laughing. “But I think I missed this.”

“Well, you’re not perfect either,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

“Of course not,” Yelena retorted, winking. “But at least I’m fun.”

Your laughter echoed in the air, and Wanda turned abruptly, marching away with firm, calculated steps. Fun, she thought, her teeth clenched. She doesn’t need fun. She needs focus. She needs me.

Yelena was a symbol of everything Wanda despised and feared: chaos, disobedience, questioning. And now, she had you. She made you smile. She made you open up in a way Wanda couldn’t.

Wanda took a deep breath, trying to compose herself while watching from afar, her nails digging into the palm of her hand. She knew it was irrational. But, at the same time, she knew she’d do anything to keep Yelena away from you.

[...]

Your shift at the library was coming to an end, and you hadn't seen the woman who haunted your dreams. In fact, you hadn't seen her since Sunday at church. Instead of offering you personal mentoring, Wanda had simply written what you should study and made a few comments on your essays.

Had you done something? Hurt her? Made her angry? Had something happened?

Your thoughts vanished the moment her figure appeared in front of you, as though she had been there all along. Wanda stood in front of a bookshelf, seemingly deep in thought.

“Wanda, I–” You tried to speak, but she turned to face you, making you stop mid-sentence. Wanda shot you an enigmatic look before turning back to the shelf, picking up a few books and placing them on your desk.

"Your shift is almost over," she said. Hearing her voice after a few days made your heart race. "Do you think you could help me take these books to my place? The boys have a test next week, they need to study."

"Y-yes," you replied, mentally kicking yourself for stammering.

Wanda's eyes brightened for a moment, a smile curling at the corner of her lips.

"I'll wait for you in the car, then," she handed you the keys and walked out.

The weight of the moment seemed to hang in the air as Wanda left, leaving only the trace of her overwhelming presence behind. You held your breath for a moment, the cold library keys in your hand, your mind spinning in a whirl of questions.

Why had she been distant these past few days? Why did she seem so... different now?

You finished organizing your things, carefully locked the door, and walked toward the parking lot, the weight of the books in your arms mirroring the heaviness in your chest. Wanda’s car was there, parked under the shade of a tree, and she was in the driver's seat, the window rolled down, her eyes focused on something in the distance.

As you approached, Wanda looked at you and gave a slight smile, but there was something in her gaze that unsettled you—a glimmer that felt both warm and dangerous.

"Get in," she said, her voice low and soft, almost an invitation, yet with the firmness of an order. You obeyed, placing the books in the back seat and sitting beside her. The silence that followed was thick, but not uncomfortable; it was charged, like a rope stretched to its breaking point.

Wanda drove with calculated ease, her fingers holding the wheel with the same delicacy with which she seemed to handle everything in life. Occasionally, she’d glance in your direction, and you could feel the intensity of her gaze, even without turning your head.

“You’ve been working well,” she said, finally breaking the silence.

“Thank you,” you replied, trying to sound neutral, though the stammer almost came back.

The silence reigned all the way to her house. “We’re here,” she announced, parking in front of a house that looked straight out of a catalog: an immaculate garden, a white fence, flowers perfectly aligned.

She got out of the car with grace, and you followed, balancing the books in your arms while trying not to trip.

The house was as perfect inside as it was outside, decorated with a flawless balance of coziness and sophistication. The sound of children laughing echoed in the distance, but Wanda moved with calm, guiding you into the living room.

"Leave the books here," she indicated a table, and you obeyed.

When you turned to her, Wanda was standing closer than you expected, arms crossed, that unreadable look on her face again.

"Thanks for the help," she said, and there was something in her tone, a softness that almost felt… maternal.

Billy and Tommy pulled her attention, asking for help with a question about the test. Wanda leaned toward them, answering with patience and care, the kind of mother any child would dream of having. But even while talking to her sons, her thoughts were on you, and the overwhelming desire to have you completely under her control surged inside her like an unstoppable tide.

She stood up again when the boys returned to the living room, turning back to you with a gentle smile—a smile that masked the storm raging inside her. “The boys will be fine now. Do you want something to drink?”

You hesitated, the discomfort obvious. “I think I should go, Wanda. I don’t want to impose.”

"Impose?" she repeated, almost laughing. But there was something in her laugh—something tense. “You would never impose on me, Y/n.”

The softness of her words made something stir inside you. You wanted to believe it was just kindness, but you knew it was more than that. There was an intensity in her eyes that held you captive, pulling you in like a magnet.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice low.

“Then don’t say anything,” she murmured, almost like an order. She moved closer, her steps slow, deliberate. “Just… stay here with me.”

Something inside you screamed that you should leave, that you should escape this overwhelming sensation, but your legs wouldn’t move. It was as if she had already wrapped you in an invisible web, and you couldn’t break free.

“And Vision?” Of all the things, that was the first thing you managed to say.

"Business trip," she said, placing a cup of hot chocolate on the table while she sipped a carefree glass of wine. You shot her a curious look. “What?”

“Hot chocolate? Are you serious?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, with a hint of humor in your question.

“You’re too young for wine, and coffee is out of the question,” she replied, while pouring herself more wine—almost like a playful challenge.

“I drink coffee,” you countered.

“The person who offered you that should be arrested. Or killed,” she smiled behind her glass, the corner of her lips curling into a questionable humor.

You laughed, even though you tried to hold it back. Her lighthearted comment was an unexpected break in the tension that always seemed to exist between you two. Holding your cup of hot chocolate, you took a small sip and narrowed your eyes at her, pretending to disapprove.

“I’ll pretend this isn’t just jealousy because I’m young,” you said, arching an eyebrow.

Wanda smiled crookedly, a smile that seemed to light up the room. “Maybe I just like to tease you,” she said, joking, but there was something behind the teasing, a depth you couldn’t ignore.

You shook your head, smiling, trying to hide the blush on your cheeks. “Well, mission accomplished.”

She tilted her head, watching you with curious eyes, as if trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re funny when you’re uncomfortable, you know?”

“That’s a strange compliment, Wanda,” you replied, taking another sip of the hot chocolate. “Or are you saying you like to see me uncomfortable?”

“I like to see you any way, my sweet,” she answered casually, but the intensity in her gaze contradicted the lightness of her words. You felt your stomach churn with the implicit confession.

“That was… forward,” you murmured, looking away. “It’s not common to hear that, you know?”

“Maybe because no one else has had the courage to say it before.” Her reply came quickly, almost as if it had been rehearsed. She took another sip of wine, her eyes still fixed on you. “But I’m not like the others, Y/n.”

You looked at her, studying every detail: the green eyes that seemed to pierce your soul, the way she held her glass with a confidence that seemed natural. “No, you’re definitely not like the others,” you said, before you could stop yourself.

For a moment, silence fell between you two, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy, laden with something neither of you wanted to name. Then Wanda broke the moment, resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, as though studying you.

“Tell me something,” she said, suddenly changing the subject. “Something no one else knows about you.

“Something no one else knows?” you repeated, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah. A secret. A memory. Something big or small, it doesn’t matter. I want to know more about you,” she explained, her voice so soft it was almost hypnotizing.

You hesitated, feeling vulnerable under her gaze, but at the same time, there was something inviting in the way she waited for your answer. “Okay… I used to collect rocks when I was a kid,” you finally said, laughing softly.

Wanda raised her eyebrows, clearly intrigued. “Rocks? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, laughing again. “But they weren’t just rocks. Each one had a story. Some were ‘magical,’ others ‘cursed.’ I’d make a huge drama about it.”

She laughed softly, her laughter’s melody seeming to fill the space around you. “That’s adorable. And it makes sense. You seem like someone who would bring rocks to life.”

You protested, but her laughter was so contagious, and soon you were laughing too.

As the laughter died down, she looked at you with a soft, almost protective expression. “See? This. That smile. That’s what I’ve wanted to see for so long.” Wanda whispered, her eyes fixed on you—clearly enchanted.

You remained silent, feeling an unexpected warmth spreading through your chest. Something was changing, deepening between you both, but you didn’t know whether to be afraid or simply accept it.

The conversation began softly as Wanda sat next to you on the couch, the dim light of the late afternoon casting soft shadows around the room. She watched you as if trying to see beyond the words, beyond the silence. When she finally broke the moment, her voice was calm, yet direct.

“Tell me more about your old life. I’d like to know you better,” she asked, her head slightly tilted, her eyes attentive.

You looked away, your fingers nervously playing with the sleeve of your sweater. “It’s complicated.”

Wanda didn’t relent. “I want to understand you. I want to know what happened to you. I can see there’s something weighing on you, something you carry alone.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her persistence. Something in the maternal tone of her voice, in the gentle firmness of her presence, made the words slip out before you could hold them back. “I was sent to a Catholic boarding school in England when I was 17.”

Wanda raised her eyebrows, surprised. “A Catholic boarding school? That sounds... ironic, coming from your family.”

You laughed, but the sound was bitter. “Yeah, ironic is one word for it. They wanted to ‘correct’ me.” You made air quotes with your fingers, sarcasm clear in your voice.

She fell silent, giving you space to continue.

“I was accused of… well, trying to kiss a girl named Sharon. Some neighbors saw us talking too close to each other and decided to make up their stories. That was enough to make my parents panic. And just like that, there I was, with a one-way ticket to a nunnery, where I was supposed to learn to be a ‘good girl.’”

Wanda sighed, leaning in a little closer, the warmth of her presence a surprising comfort. “And there? How was it?”

You hesitated, but something in her expression — the patience, the care — encouraged you. “I met Kate there. She was the rebel, the girl who did whatever she wanted and defied the rules. And me? Well, I was the shy one. She teased me all the time, laughed at my seriousness. Until one day, behind the chapel, she kissed me.”

Wanda’s eyes brightened with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. “And then?”

“Then, one of the nuns caught us. Kate denied everything, of course. Said I forced her, said I was a freak. I was punished. They said I was a bad influence on the other girls.” Your voice trembled as you relived the moment, but you kept going. “My family stayed silent. No one defended me. It was as if they finally had an excuse to give up on me.”

Wanda reached out, softly touching your hand, the warmth of her skin against yours anchoring you. “They were wrong,” she said, her voice firm and full of emotion. “Everything about them is wrong, Y/n.”

You looked at her, your eyes welling up. “Why do you care so much? Why do you want to know?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she leaned in closer, enveloping you in her arms. Your head found her shoulder, and she began to stroke your hair with gentle fingers. “Because I see you, Dorogaya. I see how special you are, even if no one has ever told you that before.”

You felt the tears fall, but also a calm that seemed impossible. “I just... wanted to be enough.”

She cupped your face with both hands, lifting it so your eyes met hers. “You are enough. You always have been.”

Before you could respond, her lips met yours. The kiss was soft, but firm, filled with a security you hadn’t felt in so long. There was no rush, no urgency. Just warmth that seemed to envelop you, as if she were trying to convey everything words couldn’t.

Wanda’s hands moved to your waist, gripping your curves.

“Stick your tongue out, Dekta.” She stroked behind your ears, sending a shiver through you.

You moaned softly when you felt Wanda’s hungry tongue meet yours, coaxing you to give in. Her alcohol-tinged, aphrodisiac breath intoxicating you. It was so intense, so distinct… you never thought you could be touched like this, in such a… possessive way.

Your nails dug into Wanda’s back, trying to hold onto something, anything as the kiss deepened.

It didn’t take long for Wanda to tug at the hair at the back of your neck, making the kiss addictive, and soon she was pushing you back, making you lie on the sofa cushions, coming over you. Her body became her only focus — and seeing you so vulnerable, she simply couldn’t resist.

Bold and full of lust, Wanda slid her hands under your shirt, her fingers touching the skin of your stomach, making you gasp. Her plan was to make an even bolder move, grabbing your perfect breasts and squeezing your nipples under the fabric of your bra. However, a noise from upstairs made you both pull apart abruptly.

The kiss had been a spark in the fog Wanda hadn’t even realized surrounded her. It felt as though something dormant inside her for years had finally awakened. Her days with Vision, her impeccably perfect routine, her polite smiles to her children — it all felt like it had been lived in black and white.

But your touch, your lips, brought color.

Wanda felt a warmth radiating from her chest, spreading through her entire body. It wasn’t just desire; it was something deeper, something that made her feel alive in a way she thought she’d forgotten. The world around her seemed to vanish, leaving only the sensation of you, so close, so genuine.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes remained locked on yours, as if trying to memorize every detail. A small, almost shy smile appeared on her lips. Not the smile full of control she usually wore as armor, but something genuine, unarmed.

You made her realize there was something more to feel, more to live. That the safety and routine she knew maybe weren’t enough. The instant your lips met hers, Wanda realized she didn’t want to go back to black and white. You were her reason to see the world in color again.

You swallowed hard, trying to compose your thoughts, but doubt began to grow inside you. “Wanda…” Your voice came out low, almost pleading. “What does this mean? What are we doing?”

The woman pulled back slightly, still watching you, her dark eyes reflecting the embarrassment that consumed you. What was she looking for in you? What were you seeking in her? You wanted answers but didn’t know if you were ready for them.

“I…” and for the first time since meeting Wanda, you saw her falter. “I’m tremendously attracted to you, Y/n.” She confessed. “Would you be interested in having an affair?”

Your heart raced, pounding frantically in your chest. Wanda’s proposal made your mind spin in a whirlwind of thoughts. The air between you two felt charged with electricity, the tension almost palpable. Her gaze didn’t leave yours, keeping you locked in the intensity of her dark eyes.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “I... You’re a married woman, Wanda.” Your voice trembled, reflecting the confusion and desire fighting within you.

Wanda slightly tilted her head, a sad smile appearing on her lips. “And you think I don’t know that?” Her voice was soft, but there was a hint of exasperation. “You think I don’t think about it every time I look at you, every time I feel this thing inside me?”

"Thing?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

She took a step forward, closing the distance between you again. "This... need I feel... This connection. It's different from anything I've ever felt before, Y/n."

Your mind screamed to pull back, but your body remained still, absorbing every word. "And Vision? Your children? The church?"

Wanda looked away for a moment, as if the mention of them was an open wound. "They are my family, my duty! But you... you came out of nowhere and became something I can't ignore. I don't want to ignore it."

"This isn't fair." Your voice faltered, a lump growing in your throat. "It's not fair to them. It's not fair to me."

She sighed deeply, and for a moment, you saw a vulnerability in her that seemed impossible. "I know. And yet, here we are, aren't we? I can't get you out of my head, Y/n. You've made me question everything... All the things I thought were right, all the things I thought I knew about myself. And if this is wrong, then... I don’t want to be right."

The silence that followed was heavy. The world around you seemed to fade as you fought against the whirlwind of emotions Wanda had triggered in you.

"I don't know if I can do this," you finally admitted, your voice fragile.

Wanda came closer, and this time, her hands found yours. The warmth of her touch was undeniable, as comforting as it was overwhelming. "I don't expect you to have all the answers right now," she said, almost in a whisper. "But I know that this, whatever it is between us, is real. And I'm willing to risk anything to find out."

You looked into her eyes, searching for something that could help you decide. And, in the end, you found the security you had longed for—not in the situation, but in her.

"I... accept." Your voice barely made it out, but Wanda heard it.

The smile that lit up her face was like the sunrise after an endless night. A smile so bright and true that it made you want to lose yourself in it, want to preserve it at any cost. And in that moment, something broke inside you—or maybe something finally clicked into place. The weight on your chest wasn’t doubt, nor fear. It was something deeper, something more dangerous. It was your own obsession.

What would you do to keep that smile? To hold onto that warmth, that feeling of being seen, of being desired, as something precious? Everything? Maybe.

"I accept," you repeated, this time more firmly, your voice echoing like a promise in the dark room. Wanda smiled again, but now there was something different in the shine of her eyes, as if she knew she had won you over, that she had pulled you into her web and there was no escaping now. "But I've never done this... None of this." You let out a shy whisper. Your confession sounded like a timid prayer, a whisper of vulnerability that Wanda knew she would never forget.

She watched every nuance of your face—the way your eyes avoided hers, how your restless hands searched for something to hold onto, and the blush that rose on your cheeks. So inexperienced, so raw. A blank canvas waiting to be painted, molded by her hands.

It was more than attraction. It was power. A power that enveloped her like a sweet, intoxicating poison, while her mind simmered with ideas of how to guide you, how to corrupt you. Wanda wanted to be the only one to show you everything—the possibilities, the sensations, what desire really meant.

"This is good," she finally murmured, moving closer, her voice low and almost maternal. "It means you're all mine to discover."

She raised her hand, the touch of her fingers running smoothly down the side of your face, almost as if she were examining a precious jewel. You leaned slightly into the touch, like a flower seeking the sun, and the innocent gesture made Wanda bite her lip, struggling to contain the growing desire.

"You trust me, don't you?" she asked, with a softness that masked the true weight of the question.

Your eyes finally met hers, hesitant but sincere. "I trust you," you answered, and Wanda felt a shiver run down her spine.

That trust, so freely given, so unprotected, made her want to devour you, and at the same time, protect every piece of your soul. She knew she was treading dangerous ground, but the desire to shape you, to be the first and only one to mark your skin and your heart, was stronger than any sense of reason that might still exist.

She held your face gently, her thumbs tracing invisible lines on your cheeks with the tips of her fingers. "You don't know how much it means to hear that, my girl," she murmured, as if trying to keep every word deep within her soul.

"I know," you replied, because you knew. You knew how it felt to fall into someone else's abyss, how it felt to be willing to be consumed just to keep feeling the warmth they brought.

Her lips met yours again, but this time the kiss was more intense, as if Wanda was trying to leave a mark, as if she were trying to brand you in a way that could never be erased. You responded with the same hunger, holding onto her wrists as if afraid she might disappear.

She pushed you hard back, and you hit your hip on the corner of the table—what would give you a bruise later, but that mattered little when you sucked in and received Wanda’s demanding tongue into yours.

The woman lifted you up, making you sit on the table so she could press her palm against your pussy, and you moaned, muffled by the kiss as you bit her lip and she gasped.

You didn't have much experience, but you knew this feeling was not common. A kind of dangerous desire to feel, it was corrosive and you could see control slipping through your fingers like trying to hold beach sand.

When the air ran out, the separation was necessary, and you could hear Wanda protesting quietly. Pressing your foreheads together, still panting, you held her gaze, feeling your heart beat like a drum in your chest. "You make me feel like there's nothing else in the world that matters."

It was true. It was dark, it was reckless, but it was true.

You knew you were stepping into dangerous territory. But looking at Wanda, with her eyes burning with emotion and her fingers still tracing your skin, you also knew you were willing to risk it. Even if that meant burning.

Wanda tilted her head, still so close to you that the heat of her breath brushed your skin. The smile on her lips was something between satisfaction and a veiled challenge, as if she were fully aware of the power she held over you—and relished it.

Yelena... the name wouldn't leave the woman's mind, taking her to a limbo of insecurities and uncertainties she didn’t even know she had. Making her feel fear. Yet now, the girl was nothing more than a private joke.

How could she think someone so insignificant could steal you from her? That she could destabilize what Wanda was trying to build with you? It was almost adorable how she still didn’t understand. Wanda let out a smile, almost indulgent, still lost in thoughts—while her fingers caressed your neck.

Yelena. 

She had no idea how much time she was wasting. Wanda wasn’t just attractive, she was necessary, the missing piece in your life, the one who could give you everything you needed—or rather, everything you hadn’t yet realized you needed. She knew exactly how to dominate, how to guide, how to make you feel that you couldn’t live without her. And Yelena... Yelena was just a passing obstacle.

The anger of seeing someone else approach you, even if only with words or looks, was a flame Wanda preferred not to feed. She didn’t need it. But all insecurity was gone when you gave yourself to her in such a... complete, raw way. 

Wanda had something deeper with you. Something more lasting. Something that couldn’t be shaken.

She could try as much as she wanted, thought Wanda, with a satisfied smile. But you, Y/n, are already mine. And that... that is something neither she nor anyone can change.

The feeling of control, of being the only one to offer security, warmth, and pleasure, filled Wanda like a drug. She knew you didn’t need anything else. Nothing but her. As she looked at you intently, the thought lingered: She can try... but you've already given in. "I'm the only one who can give you what you want." And that made her smile again. Because, in the end, Yelena could never compete with what Wanda knew she had in her hands.

In that moment, Wanda was like a spider finding an innocuous corner to weave her web. The longer she spent weaving, the more fabulous her construction became, though few noticed—her threads were almost invisible. A spider doesn’t need to exert effort or leave her place to feed—in absolute silence, she waits for her prey to approach and get caught in her web, so she can devour it.

~*~

Y/n, you'll be devoured.

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @3liyuh @rosekjsses @3liyuh @idkwhatever580 @valentine585 @beggingonmykneesforher @trindad2k

[starrdream]

Senator business

Anakin x f!reader x Obi-wan summary: Going home with 2 Jedi as a Senator can't be that bad, right? includes: SMUT!!, threesome, praise, double pen, head(f receiving) AN: never in my life have I written a threesome-mind you I am SHAKING

"Master, I hate to admit, but this gorgeous lady has been eyeing you all night.." Anakin tilts his head toward you.

"Ah," Obi-wan chuckles. "you have it wrong, young one. To me it seemed like she was drooling over you."

Anakin looked at you again, then back at his Master.

"Well she's definitely looking this way." He confirms eagerly.

He didn't really know you. Sure, polite greetings in the halls or an occasional smile during mutual meetings, but nothing past that.

You weren't even a Jedi actually. You worked with the Senate. Your position regarded the Order which meant you spent time at the Temple.

And, in this case, were invited to numerous Jedi gatherings.

"The Senator, Anakin? Really?" Obi inquired.

"I'm not too sure Master Kenobi." Anakin shook his head. "Doesn't matter too me." He claimed, putting his drink down and walking toward you while completely ignoring Obi-wan's protests.

"Why hello m'lady." A sweet voice interrupted you.

You looked up at the young Jedi standing before you. He was quite attractive with his blue eyes and brownish curls.

"Good evening young one." You smiled politely.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. You must be the Senator?" He asked nicely. "I'm Anakin Skywalker." He stretched his hand out for a handshake.

Odd kid. You thought.

"Nice to meet you Anakin." You held his hand to shake it but instead, Anakin brought your delicate hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles.

You smiled, finding his 'manners' intriguing.

"May I know your name?" He sat in the chair next to you, leaning his hands on the bar.

"Y/n" You nod.

"Such a beautiful name isn't it?" Anakin smiled. "It's quite an honour to have you here tonight. We appreciate the things you do for the Jedi."

Anakin tried really hard to make conversation, going as far as buying you a drink. You seemed unaware of his intentions.

"You must be the prettiest senator, hm?"

"I'm on the Council at my age"

The kid was absolutely whipped, he wasn't even being subtle with undressing your with his eyes.

"If you don't mind me asking, how old are you m'lady?" He mentally cursed himself for asking such stupid questions.

"27." You chuckle, pinching his cheek slightly.

Anakin's heart races at your touch, immediately perking up. "Really now? I thought you were younger than me for sure."

He shamelessly flirted with you for at least another 15 minutes before dropping the question. To his surprise you agreed quite easily.

"I knew my charm worked." He teased, standing up from the chair and offering you his hand.

You gracefully take it, laughing at his witty language.

He links your arm together with his once your on your feet, walking toward his Master.

"Obi-Wan is a great mentor. He taught me everything I know." Anakin spoke matter-of-factlly.

"Master Kenobi!" You were pleasantly surprised to see a familiar face.

"You two know each other?" Anakin mumbled.

"How can we not? The Council has had plenty of meetings with the Senate." The older Jedi took a hold of your free hand, kissing the back of it and making you chuckle softly.

"Shall we?" Obi-wan teased light-heartedly, offering you his arm as well.

You happily agree, linking your left arm with Obi-wan's right.

The three of you start making your way throughout the party. Anakin is still bragging, trying to swoon you with his wit while Obi-wan keeps apologizing for his behavior and teasing Ankin.

Three feet away from the entrance, Master Windu runs into the three of you.

"And what exactly is going on here?" He asks half teasingly, half seriously.

"We can't have the lady walking back by herself can we Windu?' Kenobi jokes, making Mace laugh it off and continue his way.

"My, my, I never thought I'd be accompanied by a Jedi." You look up at Master Kenobi. "Let alone two.." You turn your head back towards Anakin who's already grinning down at you.

"Well I can assure you-you're in good hands m'lady." Anakin teases, eyes flickering down to your chest every now and then.

"Yeah?" You furrow your eyebrows jokingly, squeezing their biceps.

Before long, the three of you are in your penthouse. In your living room, to be specific.

"Are you gentlemen up for drinks? Or are we getting down to business straight away?" You ask, despite already knowing the answer.

"You're asking?" Anakin gripped you by the hips, effortlessly pulling you down into his lap, kissing you sloppily.

Obi-wan chuckles at his eagerness, sitting down on the couch next to him and wrapping one arm around your waist.

They both maneuver you so that you're straddling Anakin's left and Obi-Wan's right leg, your knees pressed up against their crotches.

The 2 men take turns claiming your mouth hungrily. Their hands explore your body firmly, groping and massaging your curves.

Pulling away from Anakin you instinctively grind your hips against their thighs, causing a soft whimper to escape you.

"Eager?" Obi-Wan teases as he kisses you sloppily again. Anakin brings his head down, nipping and sucking on your neck.

"C'mon baby.." Ani wraps both of his hands around your waist, pulling you into his lap so your back is to him.

"Let's take this off shall we?" He teasingly pushed the strap of your dress down while Kenobi knelt before you.

You blush slightly as they undress you carefully, leaving you in just underwear.

"My, she's gorgeous." Obi-Wan groans, the noise muffled by your thigh.

"Absolutely." Anakin agrees, kissing your neck again.

Master Kenobi spreads your knees softly, making more space for himself between your legs.

"Relax beautiful, okay?" Anakin whispers, wrapping his metalic arm around your waist as his flesh one groped your tender breasts.

"Please, I-" You whimpered desperately but Anakin shut you up by kissing you.

Obi-wan slowly pulls your lacy panties down, burying his face between your thighs immediately.

You gasp into Anakin's mouth, causing him to tighten his grip on you.

You feel a pair of strong hands grip your thighs, pulling them up. Obi-wan settles them on his shoulders easily as he devours your pussy like a starved man.

One of your hands makes it's way down to his hair, playing with it and tugging softly when he hit a sensitive spot. The other one is tangled in the back of Anakin's head, holding him close.

Pulling away slightly, you whimper. "I-I'm gonna-" A moan interrupts you as an orgasm rips through you. Your thighs softly squeeze Obi-wan's head, walls convulsing around his tongue. Your back arches making your ass grind against Anakin's painfully hard erection, causing him to whimper.

After licking you clean, Obi-wan stands up, wiping his mouth.

"Let's take this to the bedroom." He sugested.

In seconds, you were dropped on your bed softly. Both men took their robes off before climbing on top of you, getting ready for another heated make out session.

Your hands roam their bare bodies, tracing various battle scars and the lines of their raw muscles in slight awe.

Seems like the Jedi training does pay off.

The room was filled with soft praises, moans and wet, sloppy sounds of your kisses.

They slowly pulled away and Obi-wan sat back against the headboard, pulling you into his lap and spreading your legs in the process.

Anakin groaned at the sight of your pussy, leaning in to press a few kisses up your thigh to your hip bone.

In the meantime, the older Jedi had already unbuckled his belt and was pumping himself while he waited.

"You ready, darling?" He asked.

"Yes." You purred softly.

"Good." He replied, lifting your hips and lining himself up with your back entrance, teasing softly.

"Let me know if something hurts, okay love?"

"Mhm" You whimpered, holding onto Anakin's shoulders as Obi lowered you onto his cock, stretching you out.

Once you were fully settled, he pulls you back carefully, gripping your hips as Ani also entered you, his tip mere inches from hitting your cervix.

Damn they were big.

You moan desperately at the fullness, gripping Anakin's forearm as you adjusted to the feeling, walls pulsing around both of them.

"You okay gorgeous?" Anakin kissed your cheek.

"Y-yeah" You whimpered desperately. "Please, just-" You moan as Obi-wan interrupts you, sliding your hips up and down his length.

Anakin waits a few seconds before starting to move himself.

The dual stimulation had you moaning and whimpering every second. The stretch was both a painful and pleasuring sensation and you felt like you could cum any second.

Anakin leans down to suck on your neck and Obi-wan pulls your head back gently by your hair, giving him better access.

The soft praise they were whispering mixed with their noises drove you insane, causing you to arch your back, pressing into Anakin.

They kept a slower, more sensational pace, not wanting to hurt you.

Soft grunts and whiny moans fill the air as the two Jedi run a train on you.

"Such a good girl..You take us so well baby." Anakin purred before kissing you and swallowing your moans.

"Pretty noises too." Obi-wan added as he massaged your tits in a circle, tweaking your nipples softly.

"Mmf...gonna cum.." You whine.

"Mhm, we got you pretty girl." Anakin chuckles.

"Need you to..to film me up." You mutter out, face contorting in pleasure.

With a slight jerk of your hips and a loud gasp, you finish, walls tightening around their thick lengths. Your jaw falls open and Anakin doesn't waste a second before shoving 2 fingers inside of it, shutting you up.

Tears start to appear in the corners of your eyes, body shaking softly and hips twitching uncontrollably.

Seconds later, both men finish, filling your holes up with their release.

At this point, you're full blown sobbing in overwhelming pleasure, chest heaving with deep, shaky breaths.

After riding out their own orgasms they carefully pull out.

"Shh, shh.." Anakin holds you tightly as Obi-wan slides you off of his cock, standing up from the bed.

"We didn't hurt you, did we my dear?" He asks, sitting down in one of the armchairs and starting to put his clothes back on.

"Mm-mm" You shake your head no as Ani lowers you onto the pillows, still not making an effort to pull out. He lays himself on top of you, breathing contently as he wraps his arms around you.

"I'll get up in a minute.." He murmurs. Your hands find their way to the his head, playing with the hair on the back of his head as you kiss the side of his face.

"You did so good for us, darling" Obi-wan stands up, walking over to you and placing a soft kiss on the top of your head. "I'll run you a bath."

Anakin gets up from you while pulling out carefully, drawing a whine from you and leaving you aching, sensitive.

Laying down beside you he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. "And I'll join you." He chuckles softly, kissing your collarbone.

[ghostofhyuck]

their "Oh." moment. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

‧˚ʚ ───────── ₊‧꒰ა ୨ৎ ໒꒱ ‧₊ ───────── ɞ˚‧

Mark Lee ; when you're running towards him with a smile.

It was the autumn season in Korea. Mark was waiting by the park, just outside a coffee shop where you two agreed to meet. It didn't take a while for you to arrive, calling your boyfriend's name making him turn around. He was stunned. His mind went blank. Seeing you running towards him, smiling and looking pretty in your autumn clothes felt as if he was struck by cupid. "Oh." He realized. Because the moment you're standing in front of him had Mark's mind in haze. He doesn't know what to say, but all he knows is that he's lucky to have you. 

Huang Renjun ; when you take care of him because he was sick.

"You know you don't need to do this," Renjun said. You only looked at him, smiling as you lightly cup his cheeks. "But I want to." you said before leaving him to get something from the kitchen. Renjun stared at his ceiling. It was quiet and all his mind was blurry because one: he's sick. and two: you were willing to take care of him. He couldn't help but to let out a sigh. His cheeks are heating up and he wonders was it because of you or maybe he's just sick. But whatever it was, all he knows is that he doesn't want to let go of you. 

Lee Jeno ; when he had the best sleep next to you.

Jeno realized that it was morning when the sun peeked through the curtains of your windows. As he opens his eyes, not only was he blinded by the light, but also by the thought that he slept throughout the night. Lately, he's having sleepless nights, worries and anxiety hovering him and leaving him awake at night. This was the first time he probably felt at ease enough to sleep peacefully, and as he turns around and sees you still asleep, Jeno was in dazed. "Oh." he thought. Wanting more mornings where he wakes up next to you. 

Lee Donghyuck ; when you were laughing out loud because of him.

It was a group dinner and yet it seems like you and Haechan are in your own world. Haechan continued cracking jokes and commenting witty remarks about his co-members, and you couldn't help but to burst into laughter. You were laughing so hard that you could only hold onto Haechan as you tried to compose yourself. That's when Haechan unknowingly smiles, a proud grin because you were laughing because of him. He wants to see you and your gummy smile while your laughter is a music to his ears, and he wants it because of him. 

Na Jaemin ; when he thinks that this is a second chance.

You and your groupmates were supposed to meet for a project, but only Jaemin showed up. It was awkward since he's your ex-boyfriend. While waiting for the others, the rain suddenly poured. You were forced to seek shelter at the park's gazebo along with Jaemin. You were a bit wet when you two reached the gazebo. You couldn't help but to let out a sigh, because you're stranded with Jaemin. As you try to dry yourself Jaemin couldn't help but to steal glances at you. It's been a year and yet Jaemin can still feel his heart beating for you. He couldn't help but to touch your arms, you were startled, but Jaemin remained unfazed, thinking that this is another chance for him to correct everything. 

Zhong Chenle ; when you cried because of him.

Your tears never stopped when you reached the university's clinic. Chenle sat on the bed, but it is obvious that his situation is bad because his ankle is wrapped with bandage. You couldn't help but cry louder, witnessing how bad the injury Chenle had during the match. Chenle tries to laugh it off, but the moment he saw that you were crying because he wasn't taking care of himself, he couldn't help but feel guilty. He reaches for you and you gave him a bone-crushing hug. "Oh." he realized. He shouldn't make you worry anymore. 

Park Jisung ; when you disappeared for a day.

Twenty missed calls and almost fifty messages. It's been a day since you ghosted everyone. Jisung was worried about you. He knows how school's been shitty for you and with you being unresponsive, he couldn't help but to be concerned with you. What's his purpose if you couldn't lean onto him? He tried to look for you everywhere, you're not in your dorm or even in your friends' place. As Jisung ran around the campus area, his eyes catches a familiar figure by the field. It was late night and immediately, he rans. Jisung almost cried in joy to see you, then he started nagging you, telling you how worried he is and why did you suddenly disappeared!? You weren't able to answer because Jisung hugs you tightly, showing you that he wouldn't let you leave him again. 

[sturnswrites]

bridal style

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

⤳ fluff, drinking/alcohol

⤳ you accidentally get too drunk at chris’ frat party, he has to take you home, and the alcohol was definitely talking that night. 

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

The party was in full swing, the bass of the music vibrating through the crowded frat house. Chris leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping from a barely touched drink, watching the chaos unfold around him. Drinking wasn’t much of his thing, but his friends insisted he show up, and the enjoyed the atmosphere. 

Chris had always noticed you in their shared friend group. You were easy to talk to, effortlessly funny, and had a knack for lighting up any room you walked into. Though he’d always considered you a friend, he couldn’t deny the little jolt in his chest whenever you laughed at his jokes or flashed him a smile. Tonight, however, you seemed to be the life of the party, dancing with your friends and enjoying yourself more than usual.

He spotted you in the living room, laughing with a group of friends. A grin spread across his face as he saw how much fun you were having. But after a while, his smile faltered. You were radiant, but it didn’t take long for him to notice something else—how your steps became less coordinated, your words a little slurred, and your friends seemed to hover more protectively around you.

When you tried to make your way across the living room and bumped into a coffee table, one of your friends intercepted you, looking worried. They caught Chris’s eye and waved him over.

“Chris,” your friend said, shifting her weight as you leaned heavily on her shoulder. “Can you help? She’s had way too much, and we don’t want to just leave her with anyone.”

Chris straightened immediately, setting down his cup. “Yeah, of course. What do you need me to do?”

“She lives just a couple blocks from here,” your friend explained. “But none of us can leave yet. Could you take her home? We trust you more than anyone else here.”

Chris looked down at you. Your normally sharp and witty gaze was a bit hazy, but your lips curled into a goofy smile when you saw him.

“Chrissss,” you slurred, poking his chest. “You’re cute.”

He chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. “Alright, let’s get you home.”

Before your friends could offer another suggestion, Chris bent down and scooped you into his arms, carrying you bridal style out of the frat house, earning a few whistles and cheers from the partygoers. You squealed in delight, throwing your arms around his neck and giggling. 

“You’re like a prince,” you said, nuzzling your head against his shoulder. “My prince charming. Did you know that?”

Chris tried to suppress a laugh. “I didn’t, but thanks for letting me know.”

“And so strong,” you continued, poking his chest. “How’d you get so strong?”

“Years of carrying drunk friends home,” he teased, adjusting his grip on you.

The walk to your apartment was slow and careful, Chris adjusting his grip as you continued to flirt with him unabashedly.

You hummed, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment before snapping open again. “Chris, you should stay over. My couch is so comfy. Or—” You leaned in conspiratorially. “You could stay in my bed. We could cuddle.”

His heart skipped a beat at your suggestion, but he quickly shook his head. “Not happening, Y/N. You’re drunk.”

“So?” you replied, pouting. “You’re still cute. And I like you.”

Chris didn’t respond right away, too focused on getting you home safely. Your words repeated in his mind, making his chest tighten in ways he wasn’t prepared to deal with tonight.

-

When you arrived at your apartment, Chris carefully set you down, helping you unlock the door. You stumbled inside, flopping onto your bed with a dramatic sigh.

“Chris, come here,” you said, holding out a hand.

“What is it?” he asked, stepping closer cautiously.

“You should sleep in my bed tonight,” you said, patting the empty space beside you.

Chris shook his head, suppressing a laugh. “Not a good idea, Y/N.”

“Why not? You’re my knight in shining armor,” you argued, pouting.

“Because I don’t want to do anything you’ll regret in the morning,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

“But I don’t wanna be alone,” you murmured, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Please stay.”

Chris sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. But I’m sleeping on the floor.”

You frowned but didn’t argue, watching as he grabbed a spare blanket from the back of the couch and set up a makeshift bed on the floor beside yours. You fell asleep quickly, your soft snores filling the room as Chris leaned back against the bed frame, his eyes drifting shut as he kept watch over you.

- 

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains, and you woke up with a groan. Your head throbbed, and your memories of the night before were hazy at best.

“Ugh, what happened?” you muttered, sitting up and looking around.

Your eyes landed on the bundle of blankets on the floor, and you froze. Chris.

“Chris?” you called out, your voice hoarse.

“In here,” he replied from the kitchen.

You stood, rubbing your eyes, slightly concerned and disheveled, as you shuffled into the kitchen. There he was, standing at the stove, flipping pancakes like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“You’re making breakfast?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe.

He turned, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “Seemed like you could use something solid in your stomach. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” you admitted, rubbing your temples. “What happened last night?”

“You had fun,” he said lightly. “A little too much fun. Your friends asked me to get you home, so I did.”

Memories of the night before came rushing back—the party, Chris carrying you, your embarrassing flirtations. Your cheeks turned crimson. “Oh my god. I hit on you, didn’t I?”

He smirked, sliding a pancake onto a plate. “A little bit.”

“I’m so sorry,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“Y/N,” Chris said, setting the plate down and stepping closer to you. “You didn’t make anything weird.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “Really?”

He nodded, his expression soft. “Really. In fact… it was kind of nice. Hearing you say you like me.”

Your hands dropped to your sides as you stared at him. “Chris…”

“I’ve liked you for a long time,” he admitted, his voice steady. “But I never thought you felt the same way, so I kept it to myself. Last night just… confirmed what I was too scared to say.”

Your heart raced as his words sank in. “I wasn’t just saying those things because I was drunk,” you said quietly. “I’ve liked you too, Chris. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

A smile spread across his face, lighting up his features. “So… what do we do now?”

“Maybe you take me on a date,” you suggested, a teasing smile on your lips.

He chuckled, his eyes shining with excitement. “Deal. But only if you eat these pancakes first.”

You laughed, sitting down at the table as he brought over two plates. As you shared breakfast and easy conversation, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, everything had fallen into place.

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

[plumso]

do i make you nervous? (theo x reader)

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader // theo’s pov!! summary: theo finds himself indifferent to everyone but y/n. her calm, mysterious demeanor intrigues him, and he wants to do anything to break it. song recommendation: juno by sabrina carpenter masterlist I do not consent to the reposting of my work! reblogging, however, is fine <3

People are so easy to read. Too easy to manipulate. If you know what they want, you can make them do anything. I can even fool McGonnagall, her senses are as sharp as a cat. But why can’t I read Y/N?

My potions partner, my occasional thorn in my side. Y/N. She has been a mystery since I met her. I never cared for her before we became partners, but my unfruitful attempts to push my share of the work onto her made me curious.

She’s friendly to all, albeit a bit cautious towards men. Words of seduction don’t seem to affect her. Her witty retorts towards me suggest that she’s not shy towards men. Maybe she doubts men? Or maybe she do-

“I finished my half of the questions. How about you?”

I jump from the sudden break in my thoughts and restore my usual “cool” demeanor. I wonder if she noticed me staring. 

“Uh, yes. Here’s mine.” I slide down my paper to hers. She slightly leans towards me to look at the answers, her eyes fluttering at each word. I never noticed how long her eyelashes are.

“Hmm. Looks good. Here - you can copy mine first.” Y/N slides down her paper to me and I take a quick glance at her neat handwriting.

“How about you write it for me instead, Y/N? You have better handwriting than mine anyways,” I say with a smirk.

Y/N gives me a blank stare, her eyes looking straight at mine. My breath hitches and I shift in my seat, but I don’t break our eye contact. 

After a few seconds, she looks away. “Quit joking. You know your handwriting is pretty,” she says as she flips nonchalantly through the potions textbook.

She does this often. When I make a joke or flirt, she finds a way to shift the power back on her either with her stares or sudden compliments. Or is she attempting to flirt back? Shockingly, I don’t mind this power play, and I don’t mind if she calls me - or my handwriting - pretty.

I chuckle as I push our papers to the center of the table. “Here, we can copy down our answers together.”

“No, it’s easier if you ju-”

“You’re a bit stubborn, you know. It’s faster if we do it this way,” I say as I place my hands on our papers, preventing her from moving them.

She quietly laughs and then nods. “Yes, sir.”

We quietly copy down each other’s answers. Our calm, gentle silence is comforting and safe. I don’t often feel this kind of peace - I only find it with her. I enjoy every second of this moment with her until a loud, obnoxious voice interrupts.

“Theo! Did you finish? We need to copy yours.” Mattheo yells from the table behind with Blaise laughing next to him.

I sigh before I look back at him. “I’m still working on it, so too bad.”

Mattheo grunts before looking at Y/N. “Can I copy your paper? You’re so nice, so I know you wi-”

“She won’t. Now leave us alone,” I say with a glare before turning back around. I lean closer to Y/N to whisper in her ears. “Just ignore him. He’ll find someone else to copy off from.”

Y/N nods as I lean back in my chair. She suddenly looks guarded; her shoulders are up and she’s covering her ear I whispered in with her hand. Is she nervous? 

“Did that startle you?” I say with a smile on my face. I bend my head to try to look at her. I wonder what face she’s making right now.

Y/N turns her head away from me. “... No. But you don’t have to whisper in my ear. Just say it normally,” she says as she continues writing on her paper, refusing to look back at me.

Huh. This was the first time I’ve seen her so nervous around me. I feel my heart beating in my chest and my stomach twisting. It felt nice knowing I made her usual, guarded demeanor break, even for a short moment.

I chuckle and shake my head. “I can’t believe it. I made you nervous. So whispering in your ears does it for you?”

“I-I’m not nervous! I think any reasonable person would be caught off guard by that,” she says with her voice a slightly higher pitch.

I continue to laugh. “You like me,” I sing as I lean closer to her. “What else makes you nervous, Y/N?”

“You don’t make me nervous. But… could you also not say my name? It’s weird,” she says, still not looking my way.

“Oh? Does it make you nervous, Y/N? Is it too intimate for you, Y/N? What should I call you then, Y/N? Maybe a pet name like ‘My Dear Y/N’? Or maybe ‘My Sweet Y-’”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” She exclaims with a laugh. She playfully pushed my arms with her small hands, but I quickly take hold of it before she drew back.

“Come with me to Hogsmeade this weekend,” I say as I pull her hand closer to my chest. 

She looks straight into my eyes, but her stare isn’t blank anymore. They’re nervous and surprised, but most of all, curious. 

She then slowly slips her hand out from grip and I soon feel the despair of rejection. I try to think of ways I could play this off as a joke, but she scoots her chair closer to me.

“Yes, Theo," she says with a smile, her first time calling me by my nickname. Did she do this purposefully to make me nervous?

"But we should finish up our work or else we’ll be in detention instead,” she says as she continues to nonchalantly write. But there’s still a small smile on her face.

I laugh in disbelief. I still can’t get a clear reading on her. What is she thinking? Does she feel something for me? Am I just entertaining to her? Better yet, does she prefer butterbeer or pumpkin juice?

No answers to my questions yet. It’ll take a lifetime to answer them, but a lifetime sounds nice to me.

I move my seat closer and lean till our shoulders are lightly touching. I readjust our papers in front of us and continue writing. “Yes, ma’am.”

[dreamersworldduh]

Omg hiiii again,i don't know if you've watched Teen Wolf, but can you write of Stiles stilinski. Instead of Stiles liking Lydia since third grade, he's like the male reader instead, and he's finally wanted to make a move on male reader so he tries to show off at lacrosse practice but it failed and he continues until he finally confess to male reader. If it could get a little sexual at the end it would be soo appreciated 🙏🙏. Your works are still sooo good, and I loved my request you did. Thank you so much 🙏🙏🙏

CLUMSY CONFESSIONS

• STILES STILINSKI x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Stiles Stilinski has spent years secretly in love with his best friend but never found the courage to confess. However, after an intense lacrosse practice where he pushed himself to impress you—only to end up in the hospital—he began to realize he couldn't keep his feelings bottled up any longer.

WARNING! FLUFF. Suggestive Langauge. 

WORDS! 6.9k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Here we are with the sarcastic, witty and dashing, Stiles Stilinski. There’s a easter egg in there from one of my favorite movies—if you catch (you are awesome). This was fun to write—honestly there might be a part 2, but anyway I hope you enjoy ✨

Nine years, six months, and two days. That's exactly how long Stiles Stilinski has been in love with you—not that he's been counting or anything. Not that he lies awake at night, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his bedroom ceiling, replaying every moment, every touch, every stolen glance between you. Not that he marks the time in the way your laughter has changed over the years, from the high-pitched giggles of childhood to the softer, more knowing chuckles of adolescence.

It all started in third grade, in Mrs. Carter's classroom, where you plopped down beside him without hesitation, your pencil poised over wide-ruled paper, the scent of bubblegum lingering in the air between you. You were the first person to truly see him—not just as the hyperactive kid with too many thoughts and too little filter, but as Stiles. You noticed things, like how he bit his lip when he was nervous or how he tapped his fingers against his desk in a pattern only he understood. You laughed at his jokes, even the really bad ones, and when he forgot his fruit snacks, you always—always—slid half of yours across the desk without a second thought.

At first, it was admiration, a simple fondness for the way you scrunched your nose when you concentrated, the way your hair caught the sunlight just right, the way you somehow made even the most ordinary moments feel special. But admiration turned into something deeper, something heavier, something that settled in his chest like an immovable weight. It was in the way his pulse stuttered when you linked your pinky with his during a scary movie, the way his stomach flipped when you ruffled his hair absentmindedly, the way he memorized the exact shade of your eyes even though he'd never had the courage to hold your gaze for too long.

Through the years, there have been countless moments—late-night talks where your voices dipped into whispers, study sessions where your knees knocked together beneath the table, inside jokes that no one else could possibly understand. But through it all, Stiles has never let himself say the words that burn at the back of his throat.

Because as much as he aches for you to look at him the way he looks at you, as much as he dreams of your fingers lingering just a second longer when they brush against his, he's terrified. Terrified that if he speaks the truth, if he lets the love that has woven itself into his very being spill from his lips, he'll lose you. And losing you? That would be the one thing he could never recover from.

The connection between you and Stiles is so natural, so effortless, that his friends can't begin to comprehend the idea of you ever walking away from him. To them, you and Stiles are an inevitability, a force of nature, like the tide meeting the shore—constant, unwavering, and undeniable. If anyone is blind to the reality of the situation, it's him. Because to everyone else, what you share isn't just friendship. It's something deeper, something unspoken yet impossible to ignore, woven into the very fabric of your interactions.

Scott has lost count of how many times he's watched the two of you exchange nothing more than a glance before dissolving into laughter, as if carrying on an entire conversation without a single word. It's almost eerie how in sync you are, how seamlessly you anticipate each other's thoughts and reactions. He's seen it happen mid-battle, mid-study session, mid-sentence—you don't even have to try. It just happens.

Lydia barely suppresses an eye roll every time Stiles insists, "We're just friends." Because to her—and to everyone else—there is no just about it. She's analyzed every interaction, every lingering look, every moment Stiles gets that dreamy, faraway expression when you aren't paying attention. She's seen the way his hand twitches, like he wants to reach for yours but doesn't, and the way his entire body relaxes the second you're beside him, like you're the one thing in the world that makes sense.

Even Malia, who isn't exactly known for her emotional awareness, has taken notice. More than once, she's tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at the way Stiles instinctively moves toward you, how his body seems to orient itself in your direction even when you're across the room. Once, she even asked, completely deadpan, "Are you sure you're not mates?" Stiles choked on his drink, of course, but it didn't escape anyone's notice that he didn't actually deny it.

To them, it's not a matter of if you and Stiles will finally admit what's been obvious for years—it's a matter of when. Hell, half the pack already assumes you're together. And if they didn't know any better, they'd think you and Stiles were just keeping it a secret for the fun of it, stringing everyone along in some kind of elaborate inside joke. Because a connection like yours? It doesn't go unnoticed. It doesn't just exist without meaning something.

While your friends—and most of the pack—were convinced that you and Stiles were already a couple, the rest of the student body had their own interpretations. Sure, some people noticed how often the two of you were together, how your steps naturally fell in sync, how Stiles' entire demeanor shifted the second you entered a room. They saw the way he leaned in when you spoke, like every word that left your lips was something precious. But others? They didn't pick up on the unspoken language between you, the lingering glances that stretched just a beat too long, the way Stiles seemed to breathe easier when you were near.

No, they only saw what wasn't there—no hand-holding between classes, no kisses stolen by lockers, no official title to confirm what everyone else assumed. And because of that, they came to one simple conclusion: You were single.

Technically, they weren't wrong. But Stiles sure as hell didn't see it that way.

He stood beside his locker, fingers curled tightly around the strap of his backpack, jaw clenched as he watched the scene unfolding just a few feet away. One of his fellow lacrosse teammates—Jake something, because honestly, Stiles couldn't be bothered to remember—was leaning far too close to you, his forearm braced against your locker like some kind of wannabe heartthrob in a bad teen movie.

Stiles knew that posture. That smirk. That tone. He'd seen it a hundred times before, heard the fake charm laced in every word. And right now, every muscle in his body screamed that Jake wasn't just making conversation—he was flirting.

And worse? You were smiling. Not the dazzling, full-wattage grin that Stiles had practically built his entire emotional stability around, but a small, amused curve of your lips. A polite, entertained smile. But still, a smile.

Stiles' stomach twisted in frustration.

With an exasperated sigh, he turned to Scott and Isaac, his eyes darting back to you every few seconds, like he couldn't quite tear himself away. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, voice low and clipped. "He's not even funny. Or interesting. Or good at lacrosse, for that matter."

Scott, ever the reasonable one, placed a steadying hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Relax, man. If anything was really happening, you'd know. You two have a connection. Just talk to him."

But Isaac? Isaac had no intention of easing his suffering. With his usual smug grin, he leaned lazily against the lockers, arms crossed. "Look, I hate to break it to you, Stilinski, but your boy over there?" He nodded toward Jake, who was still talking to you, still way too close. "He's one of the hottest guys in school. Aside from me, obviously."

Stiles scowled as Isaac flicked a piece of lint off his sleeve, completely unfazed by the death glare he was receiving.

"It's only a matter of time before someone snatches him up," Isaac added, his smirk widening.

Stiles groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "Wow. Super helpful, Isaac. Really appreciate it."

Scott shot Isaac a look, but the damage was already done. Because as much as Stiles wanted to brush it off, those words lodged themselves into his brain like a splinter. What if someone else got to you first?

That single thought sent a jolt of determination straight through him.

No. Not happening.

If there was ever a time for Stiles Stilinski to stop hesitating, to quit hiding behind fear and excuses, it was now. Because if he didn't make a move soon, someone else would. And there was no way in hell he was about to let that happen.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, spilling gold and amber hues across the lacrosse field, you settled onto the bleachers, the cool metal beneath you warmed by the lingering heat of the day. The air was thick with the sounds of practice—the rhythmic thud of lacrosse balls meeting sticks, the sharp calls of the coach barking orders, the occasional grunt of exertion as the team wove through their drills. Your eyes, however, were locked onto one player in particular.

Stiles Stilinski.

Despite his usual chaotic, slightly uncoordinated energy, there was something different about him tonight. He was focused. Determined. Almost... competitive?

From across the field, he spotted you, and it was like a switch flipped inside him. His face lit up instantly, a grin stretching from ear to ear. With one hand gripping his lacrosse stick, he lifted the other in an enthusiastic wave—so enthusiastic that he nearly lost his grip on his stick in the process. You chuckled, returning the gesture with a playful wiggle of your fingers, amusement dancing in your eyes.

Unfortunately, your little moment didn't go unnoticed.

"Trying to impress someone, Stilinski?"

The voice came from beside Stiles—Jake Matthews, one of the more arrogant players on the team. The same Jake who had been leaning against your locker earlier that day, trying to charm his way into your good graces. His tone was casual, laced with teasing, but there was an unmistakable challenge woven beneath it, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced between Stiles and you.

Stiles' grin vanished instantly, replaced by a scowl as he turned to face Jake. Oh, this guy again.

"I don't need to try," Stiles shot back, tightening his grip on his stick. "Some of us have natural charm. You wouldn't understand."

Jake scoffed, twirling his lacrosse stick with an easy confidence. "Right. We'll see about that."

And just like that, the game was on.

What should have been a standard practice turned into something else entirely—an all-out competition. Every drill, every pass, every shot suddenly became a battleground. Jake, fueled by his own arrogance, made a show of his skill, dodging past defenders with ease and landing shots with near-perfect precision. But Stiles—fueled by sheer stubbornness and the undeniable need to win—was playing with an intensity no one had ever seen before.

He ran harder, passed sharper, and somehow—somehow—even managed to score a few impressive goals. The kind that made both Scott and Isaac stop mid-conversation and exchange stunned glances.

"When did that happen?" Isaac muttered, arms crossed as he watched Stiles maneuver around a defender with surprising finesse.

Scott shook his head, equally baffled. "I have no idea. But I think we just found his greatest motivation."

It wasn't just effort. It wasn't just determination.

Stiles was playing for you.

And honestly? It was kind of working.

Until it wasn't.

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the overwhelming urge to one-up Jake. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the fact that he could still see you sitting on the bleachers, eyes trained on him, an almost amused little smile playing on your lips.

Whatever the reason, Stiles got cocky.

Going for what was supposed to be his grand finale, he sprinted across the field, angling himself for an epic shot—one that, in his head, would be flawless, the kind of goal that would leave you thoroughly impressed. But instead of landing his cinematic moment of triumph, disaster struck.

His foot caught in the turf.

Time seemed to slow as he realized—far too late—that there was no saving himself from what was about to happen.

With a graceless flail and a yelp of pure panic, Stiles went down. Hard. His lacrosse stick tumbled from his grip, skidding across the grass, and a collective wince rippled through the field as he landed in a heap, the sharp crack of impact echoing through the air.

A second later, a low groan escaped his lips.

Scott was the first to reach him, dropping to his knees. "Stiles, you okay?"

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, mentally assessing the damage before attempting to sit up. "Yeah, yeah—I'm fine," he grumbled, only to immediately suck in a sharp breath and clutch his ankle. "Okay, nope. Not fine. Definitely not fine."

Isaac, standing over him with a smirk, tilted his head. "Hate to say it, Stilinski, but I think your charm just backfired."

Despite the pain radiating from his ankle, Stiles still found the strength to glare up at him. "Wow. So helpful, Isaac. Truly."

Scott sighed, already prepared to help him off the field, but Stiles barely registered it. Because even as his pride (and his ankle) throbbed in agony, his gaze flickered toward the bleachers—toward you.

Your expression was a mix of amusement and concern, but the fact that you were concerned at all sent a different kind of ache through Stiles' chest—one that had nothing to do with the fall.

Because twisted ankle or not, humiliating wipeout or not, one thing was crystal clear.

He wasn't going to stop fighting for your attention.

Not now. Not ever.

The hospital room at Beacon Hills Memorial was as sterile and dimly lit as ever, the harsh fluorescent lights casting a clinical glow over the walls. The scent of antiseptic and freshly laundered sheets filled the air, but none of that mattered to you. Your arms were crossed as you stood beside Scott, watching Melissa McCall—Beacon Hills' most capable nurse and, more importantly, Scott's ever-reliable mother—wrap Stiles' ankle with practiced efficiency.

Her movements were swift yet careful, the kind of precision that only came from years of experience. She worked as she spoke, her voice both professional and motherly, a perfect blend of authority and care.

"You're lucky," she said, securing the bandage with a firm but gentle touch. "It's just a minor sprain. Stay off it for a few days, maybe use some crutches if it starts hurting too much. And—" she shot Stiles a knowing look before he could so much as open his mouth, "no attempting to run around on it like an idiot."

But Stiles wasn't listening.

His focus wasn't on Melissa. It wasn't even on his ankle.

It was on you.

Scott, ever perceptive, noticed immediately. He caught the way Stiles was staring—completely unaware that he was doing it, his brown eyes locked onto you with an intensity that would've been impossible to miss if you'd only turned your head.

Scott sighed. Here we go.

With an exaggerated stretch, he clapped his hands together and glanced at his mother. "Hey, Mom, why don't we go check on the nurse's station?" His tone was casual, too casual. "Y'know, in case they need you for anything?"

Melissa blinked, confused. "Scott, I work here. If they need me, they'll—"

"Great, let's go." Scott didn't give her a chance to finish, already ushering her toward the door with the determination of someone trying to prevent an impending disaster.

Melissa shot him an unimpressed look as he all but shoved her into the hallway. "Subtle," she muttered before the door swung shut behind them, leaving you and Stiles alone in the quiet hum of the hospital room.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. The distant beeping of machines filled the silence, along with the faint murmur of nurses and doctors just beyond the door. Stiles shifted slightly on the bed, drumming his fingers against the railing, the metal clinking softly under his touch.

Then, finally, he cleared his throat and attempted a casual smile—his signature smile, the one that had always been a little awkward but undeniably charming.

"So," he started, dragging the word out, his voice just a little higher than usual. "You, uh... you saw that, huh? The game. The practice. Me. Doing well for once."

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Yeah. That was... a first."

Stiles pressed a hand to his chest, scandalized. "Wow. Wow. So little faith in me. I'm wounded. Emotionally and physically."

You grinned, shaking your head. "I'm just saying, I've never seen you play like that before. I mean, you were actually keeping up with everyone."

Stiles scoffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. "Okay, that's fair."

The two of you shared a quiet laugh, the tension in the room easing just enough for Stiles to relax against the pillows.

But then, curiosity flickered in your expression as you leaned against the hospital bed's railing. "So... what was that all about, anyway?" You lifted an eyebrow. "I mean, I've seen you play before, but never like that. You were on fire."

Stiles opened his mouth, prepared to toss out some half-hearted excuse—something about adrenaline, maybe sheer dumb luck. But before his brain could catch up, the truth just slipped out.

"Well, yeah. It was because of you."

The second the words left his mouth, his brain short-circuited. His eyes widened, mouth snapping shut like he wanted to reel them back in, as if he could somehow undo what he had just confessed.

You blinked.

Stiles panicked.

"Uh—I mean, not like because of you, you," he rambled, his hands flailing as he scrambled for damage control. "But, like, inspired by you. Or, uh, motivated? Encouraged?" His voice pitched higher with each word, his hands now waving in frantic gestures. "Not that I'm saying you specifically motivate me, but—well, actually, no, that is what I'm saying, but not in a creepy way, just in a totally normal and cool way—"

"Stiles."

He froze.

You had your arms crossed now, watching him with thinly veiled amusement. "So what you're saying is... you were trying to impress me?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, thick with unspoken tension.

Stiles let out a strangled, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze darted anywhere but at you. "Pfft, no! Of course not! ...Maybe."

A slow smirk spread across your face.

Stiles groaned, immediately flopping back onto the hospital bed with a dramatic sigh, one arm thrown over his face like he couldn't bear to see your reaction.

"Kill me now."

Your laughter rang through the small hospital room, light and effortless, cutting through Stiles' dramatic groan as he buried his face in his hands. His fingers gripped his hair in frustration, as if sheer force could undo the last sixty seconds of his life.

Rolling your eyes, you reached forward, fingers wrapping around his wrists, and gently tugged them away from his face. Stiles resisted for about half a second before relenting, his hands falling limply to his sides, revealing a face that was, without a doubt, very pink.

His expression was a perfect storm of embarrassment and something else—something softer, something hesitant, something that made your stomach flip if you let yourself think about it too hard.

"Come on, don't be so dramatic," you teased, keeping your hold on his wrists as you leaned in slightly. "It was kinda cute, actually."

Stiles blinked. "Cute?" His voice cracked on the word, high-pitched and unfiltered, and the moment he realized it, he immediately cleared his throat, forcing a more neutral expression—one that utterly failed to hide the way his ears had gone red.

You only grinned, giving his hands one last tug to pull him forward.

And that's when it happened.

You had moved without thinking, stepping closer in the process, and suddenly, you were standing between his legs. His knees bracketed your body, the warmth of him radiating through the thin fabric of his hospital shorts.

Stiles definitely noticed.

His breath hitched. His brain stalled. His hands, which had instinctively found their way to your waist to steady himself, froze.

And no matter how hard he tried, he could not not think about the fact that you were right there—closer than you'd ever been, close enough that he could count the flecks of color in your eyes, close enough that if he tilted his head even slightly, your lips would be—

Nope. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Not going there.

Stiles tried to focus on anything else—the distant beeping of machines, the muffled voices of nurses in the hallway, literally any other thought that wouldn't make him combust in real time. But you weren't making it easy. Not with your hands still loosely gripping his wrists, not with your body so close, not with that teasing smile that made his heart do things it had no business doing.

His fingers twitched against your waist before he quickly ripped them away, gripping the edge of the hospital bed instead like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Meanwhile, you seemed completely oblivious to the absolute meltdown happening in Stiles' head. Instead, you just tilted your head, amusement dancing in your eyes.

"You good?" you asked, watching the way his entire body had gone rigid.

Stiles let out a noise that was supposed to be a casual laugh but came out more like a strangled wheeze.

"Yeah! Yep. Totally fine. Just, uh..." He forced a lopsided grin—one that was more nervous wreck than charming rogue. "Just... sitting here. With a sprained ankle. And my very attractive best friend standing way too close and—"

His mouth snapped shut.

His eyes widened.

You raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over your chest. "What was that?"

Stiles slapped a hand over his face so fast it was almost comical. "Nothing. Didn't say anything. Please disregard."

But you just smirked.

Leaning in ever so slightly, you lowered your voice just enough to make Stiles' stomach flip.

"Stiles," you murmured, tilting your head. "Are you nervous?"

Stiles groaned, flopping back against the pillow like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. "I hate you."

You just laughed again, and despite his sheer, complete mortification, Stiles was pretty sure that sound alone could heal his ankle faster than any of Melissa McCall's medical expertise.

You then reached forward and nudged his shoulder—not hard, just enough to jolt him out of his spiraling self-destruction. His head lifted slightly, his brown eyes meeting yours again, still wide from his earlier slip-up. You could see the wheels turning, his brain scrambling at full speed, desperately trying to figure out how to recover, how to backtrack, how to un-say the words that had already left his mouth.

But before he could even attempt an escape, you smirked.

"You know," you said casually, tilting your head, "for someone who thinks I'm attractive, you don't seem to realize you are too."

Stiles blinked.

His lips parted slightly, like his entire operating system had just crashed, his brain throwing up an error message in real time. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again—his face flickering between shock, confusion, and sheer disbelief, as if he had just misheard you. As if he needed a full system reboot before he could process those words properly.

"I—wait—what?"

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. "I'm serious, Stiles. You're really attractive." You shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I just figured someone should tell you, since you clearly don't hear it enough."

Stiles made a noise.

A noise.

Something between a strangled laugh and a dying animal, his face turning an impressive shade of pink. His hands twitched at his sides, his fingers fidgeting like he suddenly had no idea what to do with them. He sat up a little straighter—well, tried to—but in doing so, he only ended up shifting closer, his knee brushing against the side of your leg.

And that was when he realized—again—just how close you were.

Oh, God.

His brain was overheating.

Before he could spiral any further, you leaned in.

His breath hitched.

The world tilted.

Your voice softened, something warm and undeniably real threading through it. "And... I'm really proud of you, you know." Your eyes searched his, the words landing in the space between you like something solid, something true. "You played amazing out there."

Stiles swallowed hard.

He wasn't sure which part was making his heart race faster—the fact that you were still standing between his legs, the way your voice sounded so genuine, or the fact that—

Oh.

Oh.

You were leaning in even closer.

His breath caught entirely when your lips pressed softly against his cheek, warm and lingering for just a second longer than necessary. The heat of the contact sent a shiver down his spine, burning through him, leaving a brand behind.

His entire body locked up.

Every single nerve in his system short-circuited.

By the time you pulled back, Stiles was frozen.

Mouth slightly open. Eyes impossibly wide. Heart definitely no longer beating at a survivable rhythm. If it were anyone else, you would've assumed he had stopped breathing altogether.

You tilted your head, amused. "You okay there, Stiles?"

Stiles slowly blinked.

Then, with absolutely zero control over his own reactions, he squeaked—an actual, audible squeak—before aggressively clearing his throat and scrambling to collect himself.

"Y-Yeah! Yep! Totally fine!" His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, and he winced. "Just—just processing. You know. Uh. Normal stuff. Normal processing."

You chuckled, shaking your head fondly. "Glad to hear it."

Stiles, meanwhile, was pretty sure he was never going to recover.

For the rest of the week, Stiles could not stop smiling.

It was actually getting ridiculous.

Every time he so much as thought about that moment in the hospital—the soft press of your lips against his cheek, the warmth of your voice when you told him he was attractive, the way you had stood so close, right between his legs like it was the most natural thing in the world—his face would break out into a stupid, lovesick grin that he couldn't wipe off no matter how hard he tried.

Scott had definitely noticed.

So had Lydia. And Isaac. And literally everyone who interacted with him for more than ten seconds.

"Okay, what is wrong with you?" Lydia had asked at lunch, raising an unimpressed eyebrow as she watched him stare off into space with the goofiest smile she'd ever seen. "You look like a golden retriever that just got praised for doing a trick."

Scott, already knowing exactly what was going on, just smirked and shook his head. "It's about you know who."

Isaac, biting into an apple, tilted his head. "Ah," he said, nodding in understanding. "Bleachers Kiss Syndrome. Classic case."

Stiles snapped out of his daze immediately, scowling. "Bleachers Kiss Syndrome is not a thing."

Isaac took another bite. "It is now."

But as much as Stiles tried to brush it off, he knew they weren't wrong. Because no matter how many times he replayed it in his head, he kept circling back to the same conclusion:

He had to tell you how he felt.

He couldn't keep pretending it wasn't there, couldn't keep shoving his feelings down just because he was scared of what might happen. You liked him—maybe not in the exact way he liked you (yet), but you had to like him at least a little, right? No one just casually calls their best friend attractive and kisses them on the cheek like that unless there's something there.

Right?

Oh, God. What if he was reading this all wrong?

What if it was casual for you? What if you just saw him as a best friend, nothing more?

What if he confessed and completely ruined everything?

Stiles groaned, dragging his hands down his face as he sat slumped over his desk at home, staring blankly at his notes for a history test he definitely wasn't studying for.

But then his mind wandered back to the way you had looked at him in that hospital room, the way you had smiled right before kissing him, the way you had stayed by his side, even when you didn't have to.

And that's when he decided—screw it.

He needed to tell you. Because the way his heart had been feeling lately? He wasn't sure it could handle keeping this to himself any longer.

Stiles knew he had to find the right moment to tell you how he felt—really tell you. Not in a half-mumbled, nervous slip-up. Not in an awkward, flustered compliment that he immediately tried to backtrack. No, this had to be something big, something meaningful.

That moment didn't come right away.

In fact, it didn't come until the championship lacrosse game.

Beacon Hills was up against one of the toughest teams in the league—the Cyclones—and to say it was an intense game would be an understatement. The air was thick with tension, the crowd was electric, and every player on the field was running on pure, unfiltered adrenaline.

The game had been brutal—fast breaks, bone-rattling defense, near-impossible shots that somehow found the net. By the final quarter, Beacon Hills was up by just one point. One more goal, and they'd win the championship. But if they missed? If the Cyclones countered?

They'd be going home humiliated.

The pressure was insane.

Scott, Isaac, and Stiles stood tense on the field, eyes locked on the opposing team as they strategized their next move. Sweat dripped down Stiles' temple, his chest heaving with exhaustion, his heartbeat thunderous in his ears.

And then—because the universe was a cruel, cruel place—the ball ended up in his stick.

Everything stopped.

For a split second, it felt like the entire world had gone silent.

The pounding of footsteps, the roaring of the crowd, the whistles and frantic calls from the sidelines—all of it faded into a distant hum as Stiles stared at the lacrosse ball nestled securely in his net.

He swallowed hard.

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no.

This was bad.

If he made this shot, he'd be a hero.

But if he missed?

If he missed...?

He would never hear the end of it. Not from his teammates. Not from the school. Not from literally anyone who had ever met him.

Stiles tightened his grip on the stick, fingers clammy, his pulse wild. He could do this. He just had to—

And then, in the midst of the chaos, he heard it.

"You got this, Stiles!"

Your voice.

It cut through everything, ringing loud and clear from the stands.

Without even thinking, Stiles turned his head toward the bleachers, his nerves momentarily forgotten.

And there you were.

Standing in the middle of the crowd, eyes locked on him, wearing a smile so bright, so damn confident, that his stomach flipped. Both of your thumbs were raised in encouragement, your expression screaming, C'mon, Stilinski, don't overthink it. Just take the shot.

For a second, the rest of the crowd seemed to fade, as if everyone else had noticed exactly who he was looking at. A ripple of murmurs passed through the stands, eyes shifting toward you, wondering why you of all people had chosen that exact moment to cheer.

But Stiles?

Stiles didn't care.

Because suddenly, the nerves? Gone.

The weight of the game? Didn't matter.

Because you believed in him.

Time seemed to slow down the moment Stiles swung his lacrosse stick, sending the ball flying through the air.

The crowd held its breath.

Everything—the pounding of his heart, the shouts from the sidelines, the sound of cleats scraping against the turf—faded into a distant hum as the ball spun in a perfect arc. It cut through the air, passing by outstretched sticks of the opposing players who leapt desperately in an attempt to intercept it. But Stiles had aimed it just right—just high enough to avoid their reach.

The goalie's eyes widened. He reacted a second too late, diving forward, his gloved hand stretching toward the ball in a last-ditch effort to swat it away.

For a fraction of a second, it looked like he might block it.

But then—

Swish.

The ball slammed into the net with a resounding thwack.

Silence.

For half a second, no one moved. No one breathed. Even Stiles, still frozen in his follow-through stance, wasn't sure if he had actually seen it happen or if his brain was playing some kind of cruel trick on him.

Then—

The referee's whistle pierced the air.

And just like that, the silence shattered.

The stands erupted. The entire Beacon Hills crowd exploded into cheers, a deafening roar of excitement and disbelief as people jumped to their feet, screaming in celebration.

Stiles barely had time to process it before Scott tackled him from behind, practically lifting him off the ground. Isaac was right behind him, ruffling his hair and shouting something about how he actually pulled it off. Other teammates swarmed in, clapping him on the back, shaking him by the shoulders, shouting in his face like they couldn't believe it either.

But none of that mattered.

None of it even registered.

Because the only thing Stiles saw, the only thing that mattered, was you.

Still standing in the bleachers, still grinning from ear to ear, eyes locked on him like he was the only person on the field.

And that's when he knew.

This was the moment.

The deafening roar of the crowd faded into a distant hum, drowned out by the rush of adrenaline pounding through Stiles' veins. His breath came fast, chest heaving, but he barely registered it. The celebration erupted around him—teammates shouting, hands slapping against his back, coaches cheering his name—but none of it mattered.

Stiles didn't think. He just moved.

He shoved past his teammates, dodging high-fives, ignoring the victorious yells, his feet barely touching the ground as he sprinted toward the bleachers. The crowd was a blur around him, faceless and unimportant, their voices lost to the singular, relentless thought hammering in his skull: Get to you. Get to you. Get to you.

His cleats scraped against the turf as he vaulted over the barrier, weaving through the surge of students rushing onto the field. He hardly noticed the way some clapped him on the shoulder, how a few shouted his name in triumph.

Because you were all that mattered.

The second he reached the bottom of the bleachers, your gaze locked onto his, and in that instant, every hesitation, every excuse, every fear that had kept him silent over the years vanished.

Not anymore.

Stiles took the steps two at a time, pushing through the ache in his muscles, his pulse hammering harder with each step. His entire body was electric, wired with something more powerful than adrenaline, more overwhelming than victory.

And then, finally, he was standing right in front of you.

Your lips parted, a breathless laugh escaping as you opened your mouth to congratulate him—but you never got the chance.

Because Stiles didn't wait.

His hand lifted instinctively, cupping your cheek, his fingers feather-light despite the wild energy thrumming between you both. His thumb brushed gently against your skin, his touch softer than it had any right to be considering the way his heart was slamming against his ribs.

His eyes searched yours for just a fraction of a second—just long enough for you to see everything he had been too afraid to say, too scared to show.

And then, finally—finally—he closed the distance.

His lips crashed against yours, the kiss raw, desperate, full of everything— every moment of hesitation, every ounce of longing that had been bottled up for years. His other hand found your waist, pulling you in, molding your body against his as he melted into you, as if this was the only place he was ever meant to be.

The roar of the crowd, the championship, the entire world disappeared.

There was only this.

Only you and him.

And the only thought running through Stiles' head as he kissed you was:

Finally.

Suddenly, something cool and unexpected landed on his cheek. It was subtle at first—just a single drop of water sliding down his skin. He barely registered it, too caught up in you, until another followed. And then another.

He pulled back slightly, his breath mingling with yours as his eyes fluttered open.

And that's when he felt it.

The gentle pitter-patter of rain beginning to fall from the sky.

You both tilted your heads upward, watching as the dark night sky gave way to a soft, steady drizzle. The stadium lights caught the droplets as they descended, making them shimmer like falling stars.

But there was no rush for cover, no panicked scramble from the crowd.

No—if anything, the rain only seemed to heighten the energy. The cheers still echoed across the field, players and students alike embracing the moment, their victorious shouts mixing with the sound of raindrops hitting metal bleachers and dampening the turf.

Stiles, however, wasn't paying attention to any of it.

Because as the rain soaked into his jersey, cooling his flushed skin, his gaze drifted back to you.

You were still watching the sky, droplets catching in your hair, sliding down the curve of your cheek. And then, as if sensing his eyes on you, you turned to face him again.

And you smiled.

A small, soft, knowing smile—one that made his breath hitch all over again.

"Congratulations," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the chaos around you.

Stiles' heart stumbled, his chest tightening in a way that was both overwhelming and perfect.

He returned the smile, unable to help the way his fingers instinctively curled around your waist, pulling you closer.

Then, without hesitation, he kissed you again.

This time, it was slower—less frantic than the first, but just as intense. Rain mixed between your lips, the coolness of it contrasting with the warmth of the moment. His hands tightened their hold on you, as if anchoring himself to this, to you, to the undeniable certainty that this was exactly where he was meant to be.

And as the crowd cheered, as the rain continued to fall around you, as everything else faded into the background, Stiles realized something—

Winning the game had been incredible.

But this?

This was the real victory.

As the rain continued to fall around you, soaking into your clothes and sending a pleasant chill down your spine, you pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Stiles' gaze again. His brown eyes were still wide with disbelief, flickering with excitement and something deeper—something that sent a thrill through you.

You leaned in close, your lips barely brushing against his ear as you whispered, "We should get out of here."

Stiles pulled back, blinking at you in surprise before a teasing grin spread across his face. "What? You scared of a little rain?" he teased, shaking his wet hair dramatically, sending tiny droplets flying everywhere. "C'mon, I thought you were tougher than that."

You rolled your eyes, stepping even closer, your hands trailing up his damp jersey until they rested on his chest. You could feel his heart hammering beneath your touch, the steady rhythm growing faster the longer you lingered.

"That's not why we should leave," you murmured, your voice taking on a tone just sultry enough to make Stiles freeze.

His cocky expression faltered slightly. "Oh?"

You smirked, tilting your head as you leaned in, your lips barely grazing the shell of his ear. "I just think... a champion deserves to be properly celebrated," you whispered, letting your voice drip with suggestion.

The effect was instantaneous.

Stiles practically short-circuited.

His breath hitched, his fingers tightening against your waist as he processed what you just said. His face went through a series of rapid changes—shock, realization, then a dawning understanding that sent heat rushing to his face.

"Oh," he managed to breathe out, his voice slightly higher than usual.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again, watching with amusement as his brain visibly scrambled to catch up.

Then, in a move that surprised even himself, Stiles grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as he stepped back. "Right. Yes. Leaving. Immediately. Great idea. Fantastic idea."

You chuckled, allowing him to pull you along, both of you ducking through the rain as the cheers from the crowd faded into the background.

Because this night?

It wasn't over yet.

[jijournal]

MASTERLIST!

ˋ°•*⁀➷ GOLDEN TRIO ERA

╰┈➤ HARRY POTTER

♡ I See You

As a Muggle-born Hufflepuff, you were taught to always be kind-even when it hurt. Years of people-pleasing left you exhausted and invisible, until Harry Potter reminded you that your worth isn't tied to how much you give. Now, you're learning that kindness includes being kind to yourself too.

♡ Worse Than Veritaserum!

Something went wrong while you and Harry were brewing Veritaserum—the potion you created now causes you to read each other’s minds.

╰┈➤ DRACO MALFOY

ˋ°•*⁀➷ SERIES

♡ LOVE ME LOUD

♡ Part 1: Love Me Loud: To the world, Draco Malfoy was untouchable—arrogant, cruel, and proud of it. But when you took the only empty seat beside him, you became the exception. Well maybe not that much of an exception... He cared more about what his family wants, and not what he wanted. Which was you. ♡ Part 2: Love Me Again: After walking away from the boy who couldn't choose you, fate brings you face to face with Draco Malfoy once more. The feelings are still there, truths remain unspoken, and the question lingers—was it ever really over?

♡ CRAZY RICH... WIZARDS?

♡ Part 1: Crazy Rich... Wizards? You find out your long time boyfriend is a... wizard? Was it a prank? a joke? some kind of unamusing humor? No. It was real. And now, he wants to introduce you to his parents. ♡ Part 2: Wands, Weddings, And Wicked Traditions: When your boyfriend drags you into a world of old money, ancient grudges, and fancy robes, you quickly learn that fitting in isn’t about magic—it’s about surviving family dinners. ♡ Part 3: Wealthy, Witty, Witches: After barely surviving a disastrous dinner with your wizard boyfriend’s parents, you’re forced to endure yet another nightmare—this time, with his ex. ♡ Part 4: To be Continued...

ˋ°•*⁀➷ STAND-ALONE

♡ Right Here All Along

Camellia Rose and Draco Malfoy, childhood friends bound by loyalty, love, and unspoken words. As Camellia is torn between loyalty and betrayal as she discovers that Harry Potter, the one person she trust most, has been using her all along.

♡ You'll Be In My Heart

Whenever Draco needs you, you're always there. That's an older sister's duty after all. When he was at his lowest throughout the years, you teach him an important lesson in life.

♡ Just Pretend

To get his parents off his back, Draco begs you to pretend to be his date for a gala. He swears it's just for a night, but by the end, he's wishing it wasn't.

♡ "You're Going Down, Malfoy."

After a playful late-night duel with Draco, you win a bet and make him hold your hand in public for five seconds. Maybe a little longer than five.

♡ "Jealous Much?"

You receive a letter with a gift every week, and your brother Harry and his friends won’t stop teasing you about a “mystery admirer.” Little does he know, the sender is the last person he’d ever expect.

♡ Complain Here, Complain There

You had a talent for endless complaining—fortunately, someone always seemed to have the full-time job of fixing whatever you whined about.

♡ "Told You I Was"

A quiet winter night of sulking turns unexpectedly sweet when Draco proves he’s been listening all along, surprising you with thoughtful gifts that melt your heart.

♡ Charm Me Up

You’ve made it a habit to give small charms to those who need a reminder that they’re not alone. But there’s one person you keep finding reasons to give them to—one boy who always seems to need a charm.

♡ Little Miss Collector

In which the strangest girl in Slytherin collects lost things in a heart-shaped box, and Draco Malfoy realizes she might be the only person who’s never truly lost herself.

♡ He laughs at her eyes, at her smile, at the glasses on her face:

Draco Malfoy hates you, or so you thought.

♡ Undressed

And I don't wanna learn another scent I don't want the children of another man To have the eyes of the girl I won't forget.

♡ Never Go Near A Malfoy

You were taught to never go near a Malfoy, ever. But how could you? He's very much unavoidable.

♡ The Greenhouse Effect

When you're paired with Draco Malfoy for Herbology, you expected eye-rolls and dead plants. But, you don’t expect that the most sudden pairings bloom brightest.

♡ Drop The Beat, Steal The Heart

Hogwarts’ most popular DJ gets summoned to throw the party of the year—but when the birthday boy starts watching you like your a spell he can’t resist, things quickly turn electrifying. Get ready for beats, banter, and tension that drops harder than any remix.

♡ The Eleven Word Question

Draco Malfoy would literally die for you—unfortunately, asking you to the Yule Ball might just kill him first. When he finally gathers the courage to do it, you politely decline… thanks to a spectacular misunderstanding. Now, with his pride bruised and his heart set, Draco is determined to win you over—properly, this time.

♡ Fight Or Flight (Coming Soon)

A fierce academic rivalry brews between you and Draco Malfoy—your greatest competition for second place behind your bestfriend Hermione. But after years of witty insults and tension, one unexpected moment changes everything, revealing a spark even Harry and Ron never saw coming.

♡ You, Before The War (Coming Soon)

Being forced into becoming a Death Eater because of your family's name was unbearable—but betraying the love of your life to spy for the other side, all for the greater good, was far worse.

╰┈➤ RON WEASLEY

♡ A Weasley Gift

Ron surprises you with something very special in the Weasley household.

╰┈➤ GEORGE WEASLEY

♡ My Very Own Cupid:

Valerie Valentine, known as “Hogwarts’ Cupid” for her matchmaking prowess, finds herself heartbroken upon finding out George Weasley, her crush since 4th year, likes Angelina Johnson. This leads her to abandon her romantic endeavors, only to later discover something unexpected.

♡ Confession Candy

When Fred convinces George to test their latest prototype, George has no idea the candy will shout out a confession he’s secretly been holding in for years. To his horror—and your shock—it blurts out that he's in love with you.

♡ Hired Matchmaker (Coming Soon)

As a professional "matchmaker"—as people say—Molly hires you to find George the love of his life after Fred's passing. You both don't realize that the "love of his life" was standing in front of him, helping, all along.

╰┈➤ FRED WEASLEY

♡ The Thief

No one knows that you own a cute baby Niffler. It may be only a few months old, but his love for mischief keeps developing fast... really, fast.

♡ Prank Wars

You and Fred Weasley had been bickering since first year, locked in a never-ending war of (mostly) harmless pranks. Why is it that he's so obsessed with tormenting you? you’ll never know. The petty rivalry drags on for years, until your sixth year, when one of Fred’s pranks goes completely wrong… or maybe completely right.

╰┈➤ CEDRIC DIGGORY

♡ A Promise Kept

Before the Triwizard Tournament, Cedric makes you promise that, no matter what happens, you won’t cry over him. After his death, you struggle to keep that promise—until you find the letter he left behind.

♡ Another Chance

If you are given another chance to go back and prevent him from entering that stupid tournament, would you do it?

╰┈➤ OLIVER WOOD

♡ The Quidditch Bet

You and Oliver are captains of rival Quidditch teams, and the competition is fierce. But when a bet forces the loser to take the winner on a date, you realize that maybe you don’t hate him as much as you thought.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ MARAUDERS ERA

╰┈➤ JAMES POTTER

♡ Back To Friends

Best friends weren’t supposed to fall. But after one night and a thousand unspoken words, James Potter chose Lily Evans—and you were left remembering what it felt like to be loved, even if only for a moment.

╰┈➤ REMUS LUPIN

nothing to see here yet...

╰┈➤ SIRIUS BLACK

♡ "Bet You'll Fall For Me" (Coming Soon)

One lazy afternoon in the Gryffindor common room, Sirius makes a bold bet—he claims he can make you blush in less than five minutes. You're certain he (kinda) doesn't stand a chance.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

enjoy reading!