#Excited to burn everything next session

[luvsvite]

Latch (S.R. x Reader)

18+ MDNI (I beg)

a/n: My first successfully finished attempt at a one shot :') I'm so nervous to post this so please be nice (note that english is not my first language)

Summary: After celebrating her boyfriend Spencer's birthday, reader has one last present left to give him.

Tags: sub!spencer x dom!reader, spencer is a munch & secretly has a mommy kink, afab reader, established relationship, mostly just cheesy stuff tbh but still porn w plot

w/c: 3.5k

With a stretch of your arms and a sigh dramatic enough to make your boyfriend chuckle behind you, you threw your purse somewhere on the fluffy rug of your room. It was dark but the moonlight bleeding through the curtains allowed for some illumination, you couldn't be bothered to turn on the lights. Instead you threw off your heels and jacket before letting yourself drop onto the bed, humming contentedly. Spencer was quick to join you, hovering above you as he smiled.

"Thank you for today, I had fun."

"Yeah?", you asked without opening your eyes, the exhaustion of being on foot all day now catching up to you.

"Yeah.", he reassured with a peck to your lips, fingers coming up to comb through your hair softly.

"And thank you for the gifts also, they were very thoughtful.", he mumbled against your neck, little pecks making their way down to your colorbone. With the little strength you had left, your arms locked around your boyfriend's neck. He smelled of the cologne you bought him.

"You're welcome, love."

Spencer's birthday now coming to an end, you remembered the day you just had. Dinner at his favourite restaurant, a screening of a movie he'd grown to love because of you, a trip around the museum, the tender look on his face when he unwrapped the books you bought him. Everything was perfect. And yet, for the past 24 hours, there had been one thing on your mind you'd been nervous to carry out.

Only having been dating for a few weeks, your and Spencer's relationship was relatively new. In that time, you had been considerate of the fact that Spencer had never slept with anyone, and of course, you would wait as long as he needed. Still, you had done some things. There was that time you were straddling him during a steamy make out session on the couch. You remember his heavy pants the subconscious movement of his very prominent bulge against your core. Tentatively, you'd moved against him, eliciting whines from him that would be burned into your mind for the next two weeks. He ended up coming in his pants, stuttering out apologies despite your countless attempts at reassuring him that no, he didn't need to be sorry, this might've been the hottest thing ever.

You thought about that time a lot. All the time, really.

Then, there was the time you'd come out of the shower in nothing but a towel wrapped around you when Spencer was still at your apartment, reading away sat on your bed. Admittedly, you'd purposely walked in to tease him. And sure enough, your flushed face and dripping, exposed skin created a literal wet dream for him. That time he found himself less capable of holding back as he pulled you onto him, ignoring the question What's gotten into you? But who were you to complain when he kissed you with such desperation, teeth biting at your lip tissue, hands tentatively scraping along your exposed legs as he choked out whines you hadn't heard in two weeks. That evening may or may not have ended with him coming undone, in your hand this time.

And that marks the end of your (very) brief sexual history.

The days leading up to his birthday, you had been toying with the idea of creating a scenario in which you'd get to hear those beautiful sounds fall from his lips again. And what better day to play it out than today.

"Although.. I have one more present for you!"

Spencer liftted his head to look at you, eyes comically lighting up like a puppy as sat up on the bed.

"What is it?"

"I'm going to need you to leave the room for a moment."

The excited look on his face turned into confusion, but you waved him off reassuring he'll love it. With that promise and another peck to his lips, he made his way out of the room. Once the door closed behind him you breathed out anxiously. In a swift movement you got up from the bed to slip out of your dress, letting it fall to the ground carelessly to expose the lingerie set you were wearing underneath- A lacy black two piece decorated with ruffles and little bows around the edges. When you'd picked it out you weren't sure what it would do for him, if he'd even like it. Truthfully, your goal was just to get a reaction out of him, any reaction.

"Can I come in yet?", you heard Spencer chuckle through the door, your nervousness growing more and more each second you dragged this out. You sat back down on the bed, struggling to find a position you felt comfortable enough in to let him see you like this. You settled for crossing your legs as you sat on the edge of the mattress, fingers nervously pulling at the straps of your panties.

"You can come in."

You watched as Spencer pushed the door open, visible confusion on his face that was immediately replaced by a look of shock the moment his eyes met your. It took everything in you to not look away as his eyes burned holes into you.

"Do you like it?"

His mouth opened, closed, opened and then closed again, unsure of what to say, how to put into words just how much he liked it. His eyes traced the way the set hugged your body, lingering on your heaving chest as he gulped nervously. He'd always loved the color black on you, how it fit your confident personality and reminded him of how you'd come into his life and consumed his entire being, like he'd been sucked into a black hole he couldn't get out of even if he tried. Most days you had him feeling like he was floating out in space, you enveloped him, numbed down his senses making it so the only thing he could ever truly see, smell, hear, feel, taste- was you.

Your glance shifted to his fidgeting hands and visible heavy breathing that was now making your own breath come quicker.

"I-", you began, but before you could say anything else Spencer had snapped himself out of his paralyzed state to kneel in front of you, a sight that had you weak in the knees unable to come up with a single thing to say to him. Though, you didn't need to because the next thing you knew, his hands were coming up to brush against your bare legs, fingers stroking along the skin as he scanned your figure.

"You uhm-", he cleared his throat, "You look beautiful."

"Yeah?"

He nodded frantically before you could doubt his words, "Darling girl, you bought this for me?"

A blush crept onto your cheeks as you nodded, warmth spreading along the area on your thighs that his hands were now exploring. You watched Spencer smile in admiration as fingered the the straps of your panties, sending a wave of your heat straight to your core.

"I wasn't sure you'd like this on me."

"I- are you crazy? Yes, I do. A lot."

You knew he was being genuine and still-

"How much?"

-you loved being a tease.

"Let me show you?"

The words had come out as more of a question when he really meant to say I want to show you how gorgeous you are, how I long for you every second of every day.

Yet, when you nodded at him, a look on your face that- if he wasn't mistaken- practically dripping with desire, he forgot all about his inability to articulate what he really meant. He let his actions speak for him instead, hands now coming up to your waist, the grip he had on you being tighter than he'd wanted it to be. His eyes locked with yours as his mouth found your skin. Slowly, he trailed kisses along your stomach, making goosebumps rise on the area.

"Feels good, Spence.", you smiled at him reassuringly.

Spencer grinned against your skin with new found confidence, determined to make you happy. He started to suck little marks along your abdomen, eliciting the tiniest noises from you as your back arched towards the sensation. You couldn't help but keep your eyes locked on him as he made his way down your body, heat spreading across your cheeks as you felt the wetness pool between your thighs.

And then, he stopped.

Breathlessly, your now half lidded eyes gave him a confused look as you combed your fingers through his hair in a reassuring manner. Was he uncomfortable? Had he changed his mind?

"Can I- um, kiss you?"

"You are kissing me.", you chuckled.

"Kiss you- uhm, here.", he confessed, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he shifted down to hover above your core, looking up to you through his eyelashes.

"Yes, please.", was all the reassurance he needed from you.

Anticipation bloomed in your stomach when Spencer pulled your panties to the side, a shuddered breath escaping him at the sight of your glistening wetness. Thanks to the moonlight that seeped in through the curtains you could see Spencer's cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red (if that was at all possible) when you spread your thighs open for him. His hands settled on either of them, letting out a whine as he licked a stripe along your pussy. He pecked your clit before tentatively taking it into his mouth as he started to suck. Oh. Oh.

"S-Spencer-", you started but when his gaze locked with yours again, all you could do was shut your eyes closed as if in pain. Having Spencer between your legs practically eye-fucking you was definitely something.

Given his inexperience, he was indecisive as to what to do exactly, so he switched between sucking and circular motions around your clit, occasionally moving down to lap up your juices before going back to making you see stars.

He'd never heard the term before but it was safe to say that, if you were to explain the term 'pussy-drunk' that's how he'd describe this feeling- complete and utter devotion and the yearning to satisfy as a million emotions cursed through his body at the taste of you.

"Who taught you to- fuck - do t-this?"

He released your clit with a pop, long fingers now coming up to resume the motions against you as he spoke.

"Believe it or not, I've read extensively on the subject of cunnalingus-", his thumb was now moving in circles against your clit, making your thighs shake around his neck from the overwhelming stimulation, "-I actually enjoy reading erotica a lot, ha. Ever since we- um. That day on the couch and uh- god-", he breathed out the last part, losing track of his own rambling as his eyes shifted back to his fingers against you. He was mesmerized by your wetness, how it coaxed his fingers and dripped down his hand, almost like tiny stars exploding against his skin, making him weak in the knees. He bent his head down again to lick along them, lapping up everything he could, moaning at the taste.

"Baby, can you finger me? Just-"

Spencer was sure his brain short circuited right then and there but his body quickly shifted to autopilot as he dragged his ring and middle finger down to your entrance, sliding into you with little resistance. The lewd sounds coming from the thrusting of his fingers had him rolling his eyes back as he went back to sucking on your clit, entirely focused on making you cum.

"Just like that, you're doing so good for me.", you moaned, having him speed up his thrusts at the praise.

You were so close already, sure anything could tip you over the edge, before Spencer spoke up again.

"Baby, can you come for me? Please.", he panted against you heavily, his free hand holding onto your shaking thigh as you came so hard you didn't even hear Spencer moaning in union with you, overwhelmed by the fact that he was the one making you feel this way.

After a moment, he slowed the pace of his fingers, helping you through your orgasm before he pulled out of you to kiss along your abdomen, trailing little pecks up to your flushed neck.

"Oh my god.", was all you could bring yourself to say, as you pulled him into an open mouthed kiss by his colar. You swallowed his whimpers as your fingers threated through his damp hair, your own sweat and release dripping down your thighs, making you shiver against him.

When you pulled away from Spencer, he was still panting heavily as he breathed against your lips, "Was I- um. Was that okay?"

"Yes. Spencer, yes. You're so- Jesus."

"I'm Jesus?"

"Stop.", you chuckled against him, giving him a peck on the lips before pulling yourself off of him to look down at the very prominent bulge against his pants. Before the redness could spread on his cheeks again (as if he hadn't just given you the most mind blowing orgasm in the history of orgasms), you pulled him onto the bed, hand lifting his face by his chin, your thumb settled on his swollen lip.

"Need some help with that?"

"No-I. I'm okay."

"Spencer."

He chuckled as he hid his face in your shoulder, ever so embarrassed. He kissed your shoulder blade, breathed against your skin, breathed in your scent- so familiar and safe it made him want to bathe in it, sit in it for hours. You were intoxicating.

"We can do whatever you feel ready to, baby. Just say the word."

"Wanna-", he lifted his head, kissing you again, pulling away, then pulling in again, pulling your lip between his teeth as he savored the taste of your lipgloss. He licked away at his own lips as he asked, "-I mean can I? Baby. My beautiful girl, I'm so-"

"I know, I know. Me too."

"Can I fuck you?"

Your stomach flipped at the way he worded his question, this probably being the first time you'd ever heard your boyfriend use lewd language. You couldn't be bothered to question what had gotten into him, so overwhelmed with the craving of having him inside of you.

"I would love that. But I want to make sure you're ready and absolutely sure you want to do this. It's okay if you were to change your mind."

"I don't- I mean, I won't change my mind. I love you, I'm so in love with you, darling girl. So yes, I'm sure.", he breathed as his hands ghosted along your hips, the cold radiating from his fingertips making goosebumps rise over your heated skin all over again.

His words of affirmation being all the reassurance you needed, you bit down a grin as you started pulling him with you onto the mountain of fluffy pillows behind you. Your hand went up to trace the lines of his face- Fingertips against his cheek, following his nosebridge down to his cupids bow, resting on where his lips were now parting.

"You're so gorgeous."

Spencer had never been good at taking compliments, so in situations like these he'd huff out a chuckle as he avoided your eyes, but you forced his face to look at you by gripping his jaw gently.

"T-thank you.", he wet his lips before he continued speaking.

"Uhm. Do I just.", he cleared his throat in an attempt to compose himself. "What do I do?"

"Tell you what, I can be on top if that would make you more comfortable?", you suggested, which had him nodding in a particularly eager way, drawing a giggle from you. You maneuvered yourself so you were straddling him, hands now unbuttoning his shirt painfully slow as you watched his eyes follow your every movement. With his shirt, you took off his pants, leaving him in his underwear.

"All for me?", you breathed as your fingers traced along the bulge in his boxers.

"Yes.", he chocked out at the feeling of having you touch him like this again. Your fingers were now actively stroking Spencer through his boxers, eliciting the whines from him you'd been dying to hear for the past few weeks, as he began to make the tiniest movements against your hand.

"Can I take your cock out, baby?"

Spencer nearly chocked on his on spit. You never failed to shock him with your blunt way of speaking. "Please."

Please.

You pulled down his boxers, leaving him bare. He looked so beautiful- Hair sticking to his forehead, lips red and swollen, parted as he breathed heavily in anticipation, fingers fidgeting against the bedsheets, cock hard and already dripping with precum.

In a moment of weakness, you found yourself unable to control the instinct of praising him, testing the waters as you longed to know what other reactions you could get out of him.

"Such a pretty cock, baby." , you mumbled, mesmerized as you watched his cock twitch, precum spurting out to pool on his stomach. Bingo.

"You like it when I tell you how pretty you are?", you teased. To your satisfaction, he huffed out another moan, licking his lips as he nodded his head yes.

"So cute.", your lips caught between your teeth , taking Spencer's cock into your hand, slowly pumping it a few times in a painfully slow pace. Selfishly, you wanted to prolong the ecstatic state the control over him had you in. Still, it got to a point where you couldn't ignore his silent pleas, so you began teasing his cock against your clit.

"O-oh-", Spencer's hips twitched upward at the sensation. Wordlessly, you pushed his hips back down shooting him a warning look to which he could only gulp, eyes glued to your hands against him. Something about the way you manhandled forced him to bite down a whine, he wanted to be good for you.

"Ready, baby?"

He could barely choke out a yes as you aligned his cock with your entrance before sinking down on him slowly, giving him and yourself time to adjust to this new sensation. The borderline pornographic moan Spencer let out at the feeling of you around him made you want to ignore the stinging of the stretch, as you sank down further on him until you were fully settled. You looked to your boyfriend for any form of discomfort but beneath you lied but a man lost in the pleasure of your heat around him, half lidded eyes focused on where you two were connected. Slowly, you began to move against him.

"O-oh- jesus.", Spencer moaned involuntarily, making you pick up your pace.

"Feels so good, Spencer.", you moaned as you  started a slow pace against him, hands gripping his sides tightly for support. His own hands rushed to grip hard at your waist.

With half lidded eyes, Spencer caught glimpses of sweat slipping down your skin- Along your neck, past your tits where drops caught on your nipples and dripped down your torso. The moonlight was casting shadows on your body that had him believing you were but a dream he prayed never to wake up from. One of his hands came up to catch a droplet on your torso and he watched utterly entranced as your body twitched against his touch.

He wasn't thinking clearly when he took your breast into his hand, mesmerized by the glistening skin under his fingertips.

"Can I-", he chocked out.

Noticing the pleading in his eyes, you moved closer to him so he could take your nipple into his mouth, his other hand still holding you steady by your side. He nibbled on your nipple as muffled whimpers continued to spill out of him, sending waves of pleasure to your core.

"Fuck, such a good boy for me."

The words spilled out of you before you could even consider the fact that calling him a good boy could've been weird or uncomfortable for him. But with the way his hips stuttered up against you at your words, the worries vanished quickly.

With a pop, he released your nipple, a string of saliva still connecting you to his lips. The sight had you weak, your own hips losing rhythm as you fought back the urge to slide your thumb between his perfectly pink lips and having slick coax your fingers instead. Your mind began to wander to how gorgeous he'd look with his lips wrapped around you, pleading eyes looking up at you for release.

You were ripped from your fantasy as you felt Spencer's fingers working against your clit, aiming to make you cum. He was more than content with the way you nearly screamed at the overstimulating sensation. You looked down to find him biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, knowing he must be close too.

"I won't last long. I'm- god-"

"It's okay baby, I'm close.", you panted.

"Please- oh, mommy I'm gonna cum. I'm-"

At this, you lost any sense of self control, your hand came up to pull at his hair, forcing a whimper out of him, the pace of your movements now erratic as you watched his eyes roll back, his fingers still working against you.

"Gonna cum for mommy?", you played into the dynamik you were now sure he wanted between the two of you just as much as you did. You slid two fingers between his parted lips, watching as he obediently sucked them in, drool dripping down his chin.

"Yes, just- please-", he mumbled desperately around your fingers.

"It's okay, let go for me.", you gave your sort of permission as you watched his eyes roll back.

Spencer came so hard his back arched against you, making it so you lost your composure and fell on top of him, kissing him through the waves of his orgasms as your own release hit you shortly after.

***

"So... mommy kink, huh?", you laughed against Spencer's chest as you both lied on your bed, steadily breathing against each other as you were slowly drifting off to sleep.

Spencer rubbed his face in embarrassment, avoiding your penetrating gaze.

"Don't mention it, please."

"I won't- But noted!", you pecked him on the lips. You caught glimpses of the moon shining through your window as you hugged your boyfriend tightly against your body.

-

a/n: idk how to end fanfics for shit so excuse this mess :')

[ayukas]

゛7dream as your group-project mates (but they’re all secretly in love with you) ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

7dream who begged your professor to bend the rules. who whined in unison at nine in the morning, a chorus of misbehaving puppies gathered outside her office, hands clasped, eyes wide with practiced desperation, voices syrupy-sweet and way too charming to be sincere.

“technically, we’re seven,” chenle says with a hopeful smile, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“but spiritually, we’re eight,” haechan adds, expression dead serious.

jaemin leans against the doorframe, spinning a pen between his fingers, a practiced charm in the tilt of his grin “c’mon, prof. it’s just one more person. just her.”

because what are seven boys to do without the sun they orbit around? what is a group-project without the girl who makes even silent brainstorming sessions feel like a slow-burn romance film?

the professor sighs, defeated. then, she agrees. seven pairs of eyes light up like kids on christmas morning.

you walk in minutes later, and they all greet you at once—too brightly, too eagerly—like it was fate, and not manipulation, that brought you to them.

haechan who never actually needed help with the slides but still texted,

urgent URGENT need ur help with the slides jisung’s USELESS PLS COME PLS COME PLS COME

you arrive at the campus cafe, laptop in tow, and spot him immediately by the window—sunlight spilling over his skin like honey. you watch as he plays with the straw of his drink, black thick-rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he huffs, a mess of black curls ruffled from waiting.

he nearly falls out of his chair when he sees you, jumping up and waving both hands like a man overboard spotting land.

“i got you your favourite,” he beams, cheeks dusted pink from excitement. “i remembered.”

and when you ask where the others are, he dodges the question entirely, tripping over his words, trying to change the topic and distracting you by pointing out every flaw in your powerpoint font choices.

eventually, you let it go, and he settles comfortably again, his hand finding yours—brushing, brushing, then finally staying, fingers laced in silent confession. he tugs on a strand of your hair absentmindedly, plays with the edge of your sweater sleeve like he’s memorising the texture.

your voice falters mid-sentence when he reaches up tenderly, tucking your hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your cheek. from the corner of your eye, you catch his boba eyes staring at you—soft, stunned, like you’re the most beautiful slide he’s ever seen.

mark & jaemin who “forgot” how to work the prototype.

can you come over to ours? prototype’s being weird. we’re stuck :/

you knock on their dorm door, expecting chaos and wires and last-minute stress. instead, you’re greeted by dimmed lights, the soft glow of their projector, and a pillow fort on the couch like something out of a sleepover movie.

the prototype’s nowhere in sight and jaemin throws a blanket over your lap before you can even start to question them. mark hands you a slice of pizza with a sheepish grin, like everything is normal, like they didn’t just lure you here under false pretenses.

“we figured it out already,” mark says, chuckling into his drink.

“but now we need help figuring out which movie to watch,” jaemin adds, head tilted as he scrolls through endless options, pretending to be focused.

you end up squished between them on the couch, warm and drowsy under the blanket. both boys leaning closer and closer everytime they laugh, their shoulders pressing against yours like clockwork.

mark sneaks glances when you’re not looking—eyes soft, almost shy. jaemin doesn’t even bother hiding it, his gaze never once leaving your face, like the movie is just background noise to the real feature.

jeno who volunteers to edit the report with you late at night, even though he has a baseball game the next morning.

he shows up at your dorm with his laptop, some study materials, and a bag of all your favourite snacks. he opens his laptop but barely uses it, too distracted by the way you chew at your pen cap when you’re thinking. the way your brows furrow when you're focused. the way you hum softly to your music as you work.

and when your mug runs empty, he refills it without you having to ask, the rim still warm from his own touch when he hands it back to you.

“how much did you get done?” you ask, stretching.

he blinks. “...one... word...?”

you burst into laughter, head thrown back, and he grins like he’s just hit a walk-off home run.

renjun who pretends to be annoyed when you make a mistake.

he sighs, dramatic and put-upon. “you’re doing it wrong,” he says, leaning over, hand over yours, voice low and slow as he guides you through the steps, his fingers lingering far longer than necessary.

he rolls his eyes when you mispronounce a theory term, but then repeats it in a tone so soft it practically melts into your skin.

he walks you home when meetings run late, pushing the rest of your friends away and pulls you away with him, muttering something about how he doesn’t trust the others with a pretty girl like you.

you thank him and he grumbles like he’s annoyed, but his scarf is already half-wrapped around your neck, and his hand is already reaching for yours.

“safety measure,” he mumbles, ears bright red as he avoids your eyes.

chenle & jisung who studies with you in the library even when they don’t want to.

chenle who groans the entire time about how unfairly high the project’s weightage is, but still shows up early with snacks he knows you like—because “someone has to make sure you’re fed.”

“you better not skip lunch again,” he warns, poking your arm with a prawn chip. his tone is teasing, but there’s concern in the crease of his brows.

jisung who doesn’t say much, but always choosing to sit beside you instead of his best friend. he opens his book to the same page you’re on and mirrors your reading pace, like working next to you helps the words make more sense.

he offers you one side of his earbuds, hand trembling slightly when your fingers brush. and when you call him cute after catching him startled at the contact, he turns red from collar to ears—denying it immediately, but unable to stop smiling for the next hour.

7dream who, when the project is submitted, are somehow outside your professor’s office again.

not for an extension, not for a grade bump, but to beg, again—politely, desperately—to stay together as a group for the next group-project too.

“we just work really well together,” mark says, a little too quickly.

“yeah,” jeno chimes in, nodding. “great chemistry.”

you glance at them, half-suspicious with the way they’re all grinning so much.

when you leave for your next class, jisung whispers, “i think i’m gonna confess to her after finals.”

“what? no way!” renjun hisses, “i was gonna ask her out!”

“over my dead body,” jaemin hums, already daydreaming about his confession strategy. should he buy you chocolates or flowers? both?

because 7dream may be your classmates, your groupmates, your friends—but they’ve also each written essays stitched onto their hearts. long, rambling, hopelessly romantic essays, each sentence spelling,

i like you, and i hope you never notice how obvious it is.

notes i know i said i was on a mini hiatus but my final-year project is Stressing me out Bad and im in a Rough patch with my groupmates (MY LEADER... BOO...) so i decided to write this to comfort myself #selfindulgent #idgaf #saveayukas did u guys miss me... i missed being on here hahahsh 😿✌️

perm. taglist ♡ @dreaminabtrj @ddolbyong @f6llsun @egojo1st @sungbites @nonverdolly @strwberie @blondemrk @chenlezip @markkiatocafe @stqrgr7 @jisungji @taroddori @haeriaes @kukkurookkoo @polarisjisung @dudekiss3r @dejundesign @uncasings @sweetpinkblueberry @spacejip @yushiela @insbread @t-102 @haelvrty @pl4netx1a @haeivie @natakgae @fae-renjun @sunghoonsgfreal @jaemcaffe @xikskrrrs

[ild-rllrcstr]

Your call part 4 (final)

Lewis Hamilton X You / slow burn / 3.3K

part 1 / part 2 / part 3

Summary You were the bright intern at Mercedes when you first met Lewis Hamilton, where a shared spark grew alongside rising trust. But just as things started to shift, life pulled you away from F1 and Lewis. Years later, Lewis ran into you again on the paddock, both of you in complete different colours. Old flames reignite on the opposite sides of the competition, and the story picks up where it never truly ended.

Warnings swearing A/N I’ve been a bit distracted by the F1 weekend (how can we not!) and was a bit clearing up how this story should go. I tend to write as I develop the story instead of having the whole clear picture so it took me some time, but here it is!!! Hope you like it!

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

Your eye fluttered open. It was the kind of waking where you forget where you are, when it is, or even who you’re supposed to be for the day. The room was only dimly lit by the small slit of the drapes. Monday. Post-race travel day. No briefings. No data sessions. Your body softened into the mattress with a rare kind of relief.

But that didn’t last long. You then slowly registered, something’s not exactly right. 

You felt some weight around your waist. Then your senses finally came back, the warm breath on the top of your head, the warmth behind you. You thought your mind was playing games or you were still dreaming until you remembered what happened last night. You slowly turned around to see the person behind you, confirming whatever happened was not a dream or imagination. Lewis was still sleeping peacefully. His arms instinctively moved up to hold you on the back as you turned around. His lashes long against his cheek, lips parted just slightly.

Your mind travelled back to yesterday, the dance floor, and you didn’t hold back. For once, you let yourself exist in the moment. You took whatever Lando handed you, you laughed louder than you had in months, and you didn’t care who watched you anymore. Not when Lewis was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing.

The words Lewis said, “I hate pretending I don’t want to be near you more.” The way he pulled you closer, not just with his hands, but with the truth in his eyes. How his eyes were shimmering under the bar’s light, you see the waves of emotions in his eyes, it was not something coming from a temporary fling, it was something heavier, deeper.

You were tipsy at the end of the night, but he was bright sober. He took your hand. You remember that. You remember Lando smirking like the smug little shit he was and muttering something about “finally” as he watched you leave with Lewis. You dreaded at the thought of having to face Lando the next time you see him, which is probably sooner than you'd like.

You weren’t sure if Lewis offered to take you home or if Lando demanded he do it. But the moment he touched your back to guide you toward the car, the world tilted into something quieter. Something more certain. The rest blurred. The elevator. The hotel door. You were asking him to stay, and his answer was silence, the kind where everything is said.

You rarely let yourself go like that. Not emotionally, not physically. You never felt safe enough. But last night you did.

You looked at him now. Still here. Still holding you. And that’s when it hit you, the weight of what this meant. Of waking up tangled with a man who now wore red while you wore orange. Of loving someone you couldn’t cheer for in public. Of needing someone you were supposed to out-strategise.

A soft ping from your phone interrupted your spiralling thoughts, you turned over to reach your phone, which was charging. He even plugged your phone.

“How’s the hangover, McLaren? Or should I call you Mrs Ferrari now?”

Lando. Why is he not a dead asleep or hangover somewhere far away when you need him to be? You rolled your eyes. You knew how excited he was about the whole tea of yours. Annoyed, your fingers hovered above a reply, then stopped.

A soft groan pulled your attention back to Lewis. He shifted, you turned around as his arms pulled you a bit closer, his eyes blinked open, locking on to yours with a kind of sleepy softness you didn’t expect.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough with morning.

“Hey,” you whispered back.

His thumb brushed the curve of your waist. “You okay?”

You nodded, but not fully. Not with the kind of certainty he gave you just by looking. He watched you for a moment, eyes quietly tracing the uncertainty on your face.

“You’re thinking too much.”

You gave him a dry half-smile. “And you’re not thinking enough.���

“I’ve done all the thinking already,” he murmured. “Weeks ago. Months, maybe.”

That pulled at something in you. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. Just... don’t shut me out.”

You didn’t promise him anything. Not in words. But you stayed. That morning bled into breakfast in bed, laughter over hotel robes and bad espresso. The hours passed like water, soft and warm, neither of you willing to disturb the quiet bubble you’d somehow created. By evening, you both flew back to London, privately. Quietly. Together. Just the two of you and a bottle of wine, his hand occasionally brushing yours between naps and casual conversation. For a moment, it felt simple. Possible. Like you could both have this, have each other and still return to your corners of the racing world.

You let the team know your itinerary had changed, no one asked anything more and you knew probably more than half of the team knew what was up with you. But you will have a couple of days before having to face that, you chose to be selfish, you chose to ignore all the alerts you had in your mind, at least just for a few days.

You spent two, maybe three days together. Time warped in that strange way it does when you're pretending nothing else exists outside of this little stretch of calm. Mornings when his arm found you before the sun. Afternoons wandering markets, cuddling with Roscoe, making dinner with music playing low in the background. Evenings when he'd pull you into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He didn’t push. He didn’t make promises that sounded like ultimatums. He was just there. Present. Certain.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, one night as you lay on his chest, your fingers drawing idle shapes on his collarbone. “Unless you ask me to.”

And you wanted to believe that was enough.

But then came the calendar alert, your flight. His schedule. Media day. The season never really stops, not for long.

He dropped you off at your place. But just before you walked out of his car, he took your hand.

“I know it’s not going to be easy,” he said. “But don’t pull away just because it is hard.”

You nodded, but your chest was tight. You kissed him like you were afraid to make it too final.

And then he let you go.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

It felt like only hours later, you were surrounded by screens and data again, the papaya walls closing in, when it hit you.

You’d built your whole professional world around precision. Control. Boundaries. And Lewis, he was none of those things right now. He was the risk. He was Ferrari. A team whose job is basically to destroy them, be against them.

And for the first time since you let him into your hotel room, you wondered if you were strong enough to keep him in your life without letting the rest unravel.

Your phone buzzed later that night. His name is on the screen.

“Miss you already.”

Your fingers hovered over the screen. You wanted to answer. God, you did. But instead, you set the phone down and stared at the ceiling. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

Soon, you’re texts started to shorten and slow, Lewis noticed, and he’s not afraid to talk about it.

He called one night, voice warm but cautious. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just... tired. A lot on my plate.”

A pause. “Is this about us?”

You didn’t answer right away. That was answer enough.

He exhaled slowly, not angry. Just knowing.

“Look, I get it. I really do. I wanted you to know that I don’t need all of you all the time. But I need to know you’re still with me. Even in the grey areas. We’re in this together.”

Your throat tightened. “I just need to think.”

“I’ll wait,” he said. “But I won’t pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

You were reviewing data as usual, eyes dry from staring at screens too long. Lando slid into the seat across from you, sipping his smoothie obnoxiously loud.

“So,” he said, not even bothering with small talk. “No more morning conference with Ferrari 44?”

You didn’t look up. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Sure,” he grinned, “but not when I’m watching my best engineer in full-on emotional denial.”

You sighed. “I’m not in denial.”

He leaned in, elbows on the table. “You had that man fly you back to London with champagne and caviar, hand-feed you strawberries in his kitchen like it was a damn rom-com. And now you’re pretending he doesn’t exist?”

Your cheeks flushed. “You need to stop daydreaming of these scenarios, and I’m not pretending. I’m being realistic.”

Lando's smirk softened. “No, you’re being scared. Which is fair. But it’s okay to admit it, if you don’t talk about it and bury yourself in work, it just won’t help.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

He leaned back, eyes gentler. “He really cares about you. I mean I care about you, too. But not enough to fly you back on a private jet with me.”

That made you laugh, despite everything.

“But seriously,” he added, voice quieter, “don’t push him away just because it’s complicated. The job is always going to be complicated. Doesn’t mean you have to let your feelings go.”

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

The next day, you passed the break room on your way to the garage. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop, not really, but your name caught your ear. And Lewis’s. Two junior engineers murmured low over coffee.

“I don’t care if it’s off-season,” one said. “It’s just a bad look, right? Dating the guy we’re supposed to be beating?”

“I heard Zak said something about it last week after Singapore,” the other added. “They can’t tell her what to do, but come on. It’s Ferrari. It’s Hamilton.”

You froze.

“Bet you anything if results start slipping, especially against Hamilton, it’s going to be on her.”

That one sentence landed like a punch. And for a terrifying moment, you felt small, like every earned moment of respect could be wiped clean with a single headline. You walked away before you could hear more.

You dreaded it, but the meeting came. You, your manager and HR. 

They didn’t waste time. “We need to talk about perception.”

“We’ve heard things,” the PR rep said gently. “There are murmurs in the paddock. Nothing too serious yet, but it’s gaining traction. And we are concerned about these doubts going around the team.”

You swallowed hard.

“It’s about Lewis,” you said, already knowing.

They nodded. “This isn’t about blame. We understand your work ethic and your devotion. But the optics matter more when you’re in your role. Your calls affect both drivers. Your analysis shapes strategy. Even if you’re neutral, it won’t look like you are.”

You hated how small your voice sounded. “So what are you saying? That I have to end it?”

Your manager paused. “We’re saying you need to make a choice. Either you recuse yourself from any direct influence on Lando’s strategy… or you might need to take a step back from race weekends entirely. Only three weekends left in this season, but you know these last ones are crucial.”

Your heart dropped. That wasn’t a compromise. That was a soft exile.

“I’ve never let this relationship affect my work,” you tried to defend yourself, even though you knew how useless that argument was.

“We know,” they said, and it almost hurt more, the quiet empathy in their voice. “But the paddock isn’t about truth. It’s about belief. And right now, too many people believe you’re compromised.”

You left the room with your badge still hanging around your neck, but your identity already shaken.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

You didn’t message Lewis. You just walked. Thought. Let the rage fade into clarity. And then, hours later, you found him waiting by your hotel door, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“I heard,” he said.

“I don’t want you to fix this.” You swallowed. You were exhausted, emotionally.

He raised a brow. “That’s not what I’m here for.”

You let out a breath. “They want me to step back. From strategy. From weekends.”

He stepped forward, jaw tight. “They’re punishing you for being with me.”

You didn’t argue. Just stared at the floor. It was the right way to put it. “Maybe they’re right.”

“No,” he said immediately. “They’re afraid. That’s not the same thing.”

“I don’t want me to be the reason you lose the thing you’ve worked your whole life for.” He continued.

The silence between you cracked open. But it didn’t fall apart.

“What are you feeling?” he asked after the silence

“Can we just let the season blow over and then figure this out?”

He nodded unwillingly. He reached for your hand. “We don’t choose between us and the job. We find a way to fight for both.”

You left McLaren after the season. You said your farewells to Lando, and he tried to talk to you about you and Lewis, but you told him you really need some time off for that. 

You left the F1 world again, for the second time in your life. You stayed with your mom, making sure she was doing better. Some family time, away from the noises of the engine. Lewis tried calling, texting. You did it again, you extracted yourself again from his world.

But this time he didn’t keep his silence. You started to receive postcards. Somehow, he figured out your address, probably through Lando. Every city he went to, he sent you a picture and a postcard with a short message. You didn’t reply, but you kept every one of them.

Monaco, it was he and Charles in the special white suits for Monaco.

The only time of the year you can’t laugh at me being in red! –L

Silverstone, it was the circuit under the cloudy grey.

Home track. And it doesn’t feel like home without you. –L

Singapore, it was the fireworks and neon lights.

Missing how you smiled that night and asked me to stay. –L

Even your mom started to notice the postcards, the handwritten Ls, the flowers that came for your father’s memorial and your birthday. 

“Honey, don’t leave the man hanging, you need to let him know, no matter what’s on your mind and what your decision is. Hold on to the man that have you on his mind this whole time. Like how your father would.”

“Daddy really liked him.”

“And you know your dad’s good at judging people.”

She didn’t push you more, just being there for you like you were there for her.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

You were preparing lunch when your mom called you from the living room. It was close to winter, and almost a year had passed.

“Honey, a Mr. Vasseur is on the phone.”

“A what?” You heard the name, you almost got your finger cut off with the knife.

You set everything down and went to the living room while your mom took your place in the kitchen.

 It was Fédéric Vassuer.

“I’ll be frank with you. You were a huge headache for us last year, and it’s not smart for McLaren to let you go. We’re looking for a new engineer for next season, and we need someone who knows how to challenge the data. Challenge the driver. Someone who won’t flinch.”

Then he added, “And we got a strong recommendation from someone.”

You both knew who he was talking about. Your heart thudded.

“We had the conversation at the beginning of the season. He said he trusts you more than anyone in the sport. And I need a good engineer who works well with my driver.”

In the following weeks, terms were discussed, the contract was signed, and you had your heart racing way before the new season started.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

Lewis was in his car, on the starting grid, waiting for the first morning testing session of the season in Barcelona. Something bothered him. He realised his talk with Fred probably didn’t work as he didn’t see you from the beginning of the season at the office. He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know whether, after a whole year, he should continue to wait and send the postcards or accept the fact that he should just let you go. But the flowers were all successfully delivered and not once returned. He thought that had to mean something. But he’s not so sure of it anymore. 

The buzz of the radio stopped his train of thought. He slightly sighed and was ready to get on to work.

“Good morning, Lewis, Radio check.”

He pushed the button to talk, but he paused.

“Lewis, Radio check.” The voice repeated.

“Is that you?” He couldn’t believe his ears.

“Long time.” You smiled into the microphone, waiting for his reaction.

“Fuck am I hallucinating?” After a long pause, he finally spoke again.

“No, and now I need you to get that car out for the testing before you can come back and check for yourself.” You smirked, and Fred gave you a thumbs-up next to you.

“Copy.” Simple, but you heard the dedication. 

After a couple of rounds, the number 44 car drove back into the pit lane, where he saw you. After a whole year, finally. You were there, you stood with your headphones around your neck, you were in red, the exact same colour as him. His eyes were on you the whole time as the mechanics pulled him back in. He jumped out of the car the moment he could, and got rid of his helmet immediately. He ran to you. 

Some stood aside and smirked at the scenery. It was a secret. That was part of the deal with Fred. You wanted to be recruited with the regular process. You didn’t want to be chosen just because Lewis said so. You went through the interviews, the data working before the season starts, you secretly worked on all the data for Lewis’ testing and sims, giving feedbacks and suggestions for improvements, you took the time to prove to everyone in the team that you were there because you are worthy and not just because of Lewis. The red Italian family saw your dedication and value, and you were feeling more accepted than ever.  

Lewis holds on to you as if he let go, you would disappear again. You wrapped your arms around him to let him know that you are here. When he finally let go, he held your face delicately and looked at you. His eyes looked like a lost puppy, desperately making sure it was really you. 

“Welcome back.” He had tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry it took me so long. Thank you for waiting.” You whispered for only the two of you. 

“She’s wearing red, and this is not just for today?” He asked, turned to look at Fred for confirmation.

Fred smiled, giving him a thumbs-up for confirmation. “As long as you two give me a good result this year.” 

“This time I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered as he looked back at you.

Then his lips crashed onto yours. 

The pair of you wrote history and legacy together. And he would always say that it was your call, he trusted it and he followed.

Oh, and if you really want to know, trust me, Lando bragged about how he delivered Lewis’s coffee, how he asked Lewis to take you back to your hotel, and how he gave Lewis your address, not just on your wedding, but for the rest of his life.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

[foreingersgod]

You (on my arm) . CH

pairing: caroline harvey x reader

synopsis: cute moments with kk throughout your relationship!

A/N: this came out kinda shitty, but i promise i’ll have better kk content coming haha

I wanna sit around and watch you do your hair

“you’re so pretty,” caroline sounded from the doorway of the bathroom “d’you know that?”

it was nearing 6:30 am on a friday morning. you hated getting up early with every fiber of your being, wanting to stay wrapped in caroline’s arms for as long as you could. but today, she had an away game, causing the both of you to pack an overnight bag and make an excruciatingly long drive.

you quite honestly looked a mess, dressed in your comfy clothes and your face decorated with the smallest amount of makeup. your hair was a disaster as you brushed it out, trying to style it in a somewhat presentable manner.

“shut up,” you laughed, looking at her through the mirror. she looked so good, also in her lazy day clothes as she leaned against the frame of the entry way, arms folded across her chest. she looked you up and down, smiling adoringly “i look like a disaster”

“not to me,” she came up behind you, moving stray hairs away from you neck so she could rest her chin on your shoulder. her hands planted themselves on your waist “you look gorgeous no matter what”

you turned your head, planting a kiss to her temple, humming against her skin. she sighed as she gave a gentle rub to your hip.

“love you” she mumbled, voice muffled by your sweatshirt.

“love you more” you confessed to her like you had a thousand times before. she was your person, your everything.

Talk it all into the ground

Have a ceremony there for something, don't know what it'd be

you were sprawled across the grassy meadow, long green blades standing tall, surrounding your body. your sundress rode up your thighs a bit, sneakers kicked off somewhere next to you. your arm was outstretched to your left as your hand fit snuggly into caroline’s. she laid next to you in the grass, smiling at you past the scattered flora. you looked radiant like this: skin glowing and sunkist, hair descending down your shoulders and onto the dampened earth beneath you, teeth sparkling as you let out the most infectious laugh.

she sat up, rolling onto her side and propping her head up on her hand as she stared down at you. her free hand maneuvered over to toy with the hem of your dress, fingers gliding across the soft material.

“i’m gonna marry you one day, i swear”

your cheeks burned from the sun, growing even hotter as she said that. there weren’t enough words to describe how caroline made you feel, so appreciated and wanted and loved. you had every intention of marrying her. although for now it would have to wait, you hated the idea of planning things and balancing school and a job and a full on wedding at the same time. but you both knew, without having to say it, that it didn’t matter if you married or not. the love was there all the same.

“one day,” you mirrored her movements, also rolling to your side “and i can’t wait for that day”

But it'd become nothing, it's nothing

And you'd smile at me

you had done it. through all the last minute study sessions, stressful midterms, and the nights spent crying at the kitchen counter as caroline rubbed your back sympathetically. you had finally graduated college. it was a beyond thrilling moment to slip on your gown and bobby pin the unflattering cap to the top of your head. just thinking of walking away with your degree made your stomach ache with excitement.

your high heel clad foot bounced against the floor as you stood in the long line. the room felt hot and crowded while you waited to make your way across that stage and get your degree. in the distance, the boom of the microphone could be heard echoing through the stadium as the names of the graduates were announced. with each passing moment, you were getting closer and closer to your turn. the hundreds of faces sat in the stadium made its way into the view as the line slowly inched forward. you strained your neck looking around the different sections, trying to find caroline’s familiar face.

unfortunately, your parents and the rest of your family couldn’t make it to this huge milestone in your life. you had gone no contact with the majority of them a while back once they ‘disowned’ you. when they found out you were dating caroline, a girl, they were furious and couldn’t stand having a daughter that followed such a lifestyle. your sister was the only one you stayed in contact with, but she was studying abroad and couldn’t make it back to the states in time to see you graduate. you were absolutely gutted about the whole situation.

but caroline was there for you through it all. sat with you while you sobbed the day before graduation because it was all settling in. she assured you that, even though it wasn’t the same as having your parents and sister there, she was going to be there front and center to watch you succeed. caroline was by far your biggest supporter, your rock through everything. you couldn’t believe you had gotten so lucky with someone so attentive and prideful towards you.

so as you finally reached the front, body shaking with excitement, your eyes bounced around all of the smiling faces. it was only when you handed the announcer your name card, taking your first steps onto the stage, you saw her. she was beaming ear to ear as she locked eyes with you. she had her phone out, ready to record her gorgeous girl accepting her degree. caroline had dressed up just for you, sporting a navy blue dress shirt and slacks to match the colors of your university. she watched as you accepted all the hand shakes, posing for pictures with the dean, and evidently walking off that stage with that cherished piece of paper.

you walked off the stage and started to make your way back to your seat to finish out the rest of the grad ceremony. you looked over to her, finally able to get a clear look at her face. you gave her an excited wave, showing off your degree to her. she clapped for you and blew you a kiss, still smiling as brightly as before.

‘i love you’ she mouthed ‘i’m so proud’

and you smiled, mouthing back to her with tears in your eyes ‘thank you’

I wanna be, I wanna buy you pretty little things

And never ever lie to you

“what’s all this?” you asked, stepping through the door into your shared apartment with caroline.

you had gotten off of work quite upset, driving home with irritation coursing through your veins. you got called in for a so called ‘emergency’ even though you had requested the day off for yours and caroline’s anniversary. in reality, it wasn’t an emergency, rather your boss just needed someone to run errands for him. your girlfriend was so sweet and had planned out the entire day to celebrate, you were in a bad mood the whole day wishing you could just got back home.

but when you walked through that door at around 7pm, the scent of pine wafting around the kitchen, your heart melted. a bouquet of your favorite flowers sat upon the marble countertop, a neatly sealed letter leaned against the vase. there was a small box that also sat next to it with a baby pink ribbon tied around it. caroline stood from where she was previously sitting on the kitchen stool, coming over to greet you.

“just wanted to do something since you had to work today, s’all” she shrugged, pulling you into her by your waist as you set your stuff down on table “happy anniversary, baby”

you felt like you could cry, tears welling up at your lash line. you had felt horrible for spoiling the day by going into work, but caroline was so sweet and understanding and always made sure you felt seen.

“caroline, you didn’t have to do this!” you gestured to the flowers and box, leaning in to smell the flowers “i spoiled our anniversary, i don’t deserve this”

“don’t be ridiculous, you didn’t spoil anything” she kissed your cheek, you could feel her lips curl against your skin “and of course you deserve it, you deserve the world. now open your gift!”

the small ribbon glimmered underneath your dim kitchen lights as you ran your fingers over it. you looked at her with a skeptical face, smirking slightly when she laughed at your expressed. she urged you on, promising that you would like the small little present. you untied the ribbon excitedly and lifted the lid carefully.

sat on a small bed of tissue paper, was the most beautiful charm bracelet you had ever seen. you instantly pulled it out, putting it up to your face to see it closer. it was only when you had gotten a closer look that you had realized what it was.

when you met caroline, you noticed she had always worn a small little bracelet on her left wrist. she told you about a month into your relationship that it was something she’s had since she was a kid, a way to keep important memories close to her. you adored the thing, always asking about the charms that she added and what her favorite ones were.

the bracelet she had gotten you was a near exact replica of hers. it shared a few of the charms that hers held, ones that you said were your favorite. but it also had several new ones. many came from the vacations you and caroline took together, others she bought because they reminded her of you, and one that had both of your initials in a heart. it was by far the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever gotten for you.

“caroline,” you exhaled, completely blown away “baby…i don’t know what to say”

she laughed, taking the bracelet from you and grabbing your hand. she delicately wrapped it around your wrist and secured the clasp. she pulled you in for a passionate kiss, wiping away the tears you seemingly couldn’t stop shedding.

“i hope you like it,” she said “i just know how much you like looking at mine and so i thought-i don’t know maybe it’s silly, but i thought you might like one of your own so we can match”

“of course i like it” you shook your head, looking back at your wrist to admire the charms “this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me…thank you so much, babe”

you spent the rest of that night on the couch, curled up into her side with a glass of wine as caroline explained each and every detail of the charms she picked out. she watched as you giggled at every fond memory she took inspiration from, noticing how you ran your fingers across the intricate designs of the little pieces, thinking about how much she loved you.

Watch you get dressed

And compliment your taste

she laid on your side of the bed, extended horizontally so that her stomach stretched along the width of the bed. her elbows were propped up to support her head as she watched your gorgeous figure from across the room. at first she was scrolling mindlessly on her phone to pass the time until you were ready to leave for your guys’ date, but now she was beyond distracted.

you emerged from the bathroom, hair done up and makeup dewy, walking over to your walk-in closet. you wore nothing except your nude bra and underwear, rushing around frantically trying to pick out an outfit. caroline was practically ogling at you, drooling at the sight.

“is this cute?” she had snapped from her trance when you came out, holding up a yellow dress to your body “i don’t know i can’t decide”

her eyes flickered back forth between your stressed expression and the frilly, lacey dress that had previously been tucked in some corner of the closet. she had seen you wear it a few times, remembering how much she loved the neckline and the way it flowed gracefully down your thighs. in truth, she loved everything you owned no matter what it was. she thought you looked good in everything.

she grinned at you, wanting to scream from how beautiful you looked “yea honey, that looks perfect”

“are you sure?” you asked again. she knew you liked things to be perfect, wanting to look your best for outings and such. but caroline always thought you looked your best no matter what “is it too fancy or anything? i don’t want to look like an overdressed loser or something-”

“hey,” she interrupted, making you quiet down and take a deep breath “you’re gonna look amazing, ok? you could be wearing a paper bag over your head and you’d still turn heads”

“you’re too sweet to me” you said rushing over to press a small kiss to her forehead before scurrying back into the closet to change. caroline observed you through the small crack you left in the closet door. not in a lurking way, she just wanted to appreciate her girl.

she bit her lip as she watched how you shimmied the dress over your hips, how you stuck your tongue out as you tried to zip up the back, and how you ruffled up your hair in the mirror probably a dozen times before deciding you were ready. then you waltzed out, just as beautiful as you were before, grabbing your bag and ushering her off the bed. you kissed the back of her hand as you interlocked fingers, making your way out the door.

man, she had really hit the jackpot with you.

…I'd be better armed

If you agreed to take it <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[notarmedandnotdangerous]

+18 mdni! reader finds out bucky has been hiding a secret (vibrator) all along

cw: sub!bucky, dom!m!reader, forced orgasm, overstimulation, use of vibrator, reader has a thing for hair pulling, new pet name guys bucky calls reader 'babydoll'

word count: >1.6k

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bucky was sitting on the couch, staring into the ceiling as his phone charged at the coffee table next to him. you walked out of your shared bedroom, letting him watch as you held something that looked way too familiar for his own good.

“found this under the pillow, wanna explain what you’ve been up to?” you held a small bullet vibrator in your hand, it was small, yet strong. this finally explains the buzzing you’ve heard during bucky’s ‘workout sessions’

“uh.. nothing?” he looked at you, feigning his innocence. he knew you wouldn’t believe him, but he could at least try.

“and you’re telling me ‘nothing’ involves a vibrator?” you dropped the bullet vibrator on his lap, watching in enjoyment as his body tensed up while his face burned with embarrassment.

“i.. might’ve used it on myself a few times..” he admitted, looking away from you.

“there’s a perfectly healthy human being here, who happens to be your boyfriend, and you’re resorting to using a vibrator? really, buck?” you watched as his fingers twitched, not daring to pick up the bullet vibrator laying in between his thighs.

“well.. i didn’t think you’d be interested..” bucky slowly but surely tilted his head upwards to look at you. his cheeks still flushed from your teasing.

“never assume, buck, trust me. honestly speaking, i’m curious as to how you use this on yourself.”

“you.. wanna watch me use it?” he swallowed hard, his heart racing as he couldn’t believe you were actually interested.

“maybe. or maybe i wanna overstimulate you with it. you’d like that wouldn’t you? being forced to cum until you’re sobbing?” he let out the quietest whimper, just loud enough for you to pick up on it. “gonna record a video and save it for later, you’d let me, right?”

“i wouldn’t mind that..” he bit his lip, feeling a rush of excitement.

“god, you’re so painfully honest about everything, i love that.” you got down on your knees in between his thighs.

“up.” you signalled for him to lift his hips up, and he did. you slid his pants and boxers off, leaving him in just his shirt. you grabbed his cock, and teased it for a bit, running the vibrator all over, not turning it on just yet.

“don’t.. don’t tease..”

“you think you deserve this, buck? after hiding this from me?” you put his thigh on your shoulder as you kissed his inner thighs, pulling your hands away from his cock.

“please?”

“not enough, buck. keep going.”

“please, need you to touch me..”

“i am touching you.”

“mm.. not enough.”

“desperate.” you sighed, turning the vibrator on the lowest setting and gently running it up and down your cock, making him shiver.

“fucking finally..” bucky hissed when you dragged the vibrator along a vein on his cock. his back arched, while his hands reached out to grab onto your shoulders, needing something to hold onto.

“he’s so desperate for me, isn’t he?” you traced it up and down before settling on torturing the tip. you abruptly turned it on to the highest setting, chuckling as his hips bucked frantically.

“please.. i can’t take it.. feels too good..” bucky practically whimpered as his voice cracked.

“ah ah, you can, and you will.” you dragged the vibrator around his tip, making him whine before cumming hard. his entire body shuddered as you kept the vibrator pressing tightly against his tip to let him ride out his high. the moment he came back to his senses, his body burned with overstimulation, as he rambled for you to stop.

“wait- oh, fuck, too much..” he panted. his voice was cracking as he struggled to think straight. he looked down to see you with your phone, recording yourself playing with him.

“you’re okay with this, right? just miss you too much sometimes, need some.. ‘material’ to keep me busy, you know?” you moved the vibrator down, giving his tip some relief. you dragged the vibrator down to the base, making him squeal out.

“didn’t know you made these kinds of noises, buck.”

“i.. didn’t mean to.. just felt too good” he blushed, looking away from you after realising you had caught it on camera.

“don’t worry” you kissed his thighs lovingly, before mischievously dragging the vibrator back to his tip.

“oh- oh god..” his body tensed up as he neared his orgasm.

“i know, baby, i know.” you blew cool air on bucky’s cock, and he came almost immediately. his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he cried out. his fingers tugged at your hair roughly, making your brain short-circuit for a bit.

“i- i can’t anymore.. two is.. a lot..” he panted heavily, his free hand grabbing onto your wrist tightly as he tried to push the vibrator away.

“no.. you.. fuck..” you were losing focus the more he intertwined his fingers in your hair. his plan worked though, your hand absentmindedly moved itself away, while you were in your daze. “let go..” he let go immediately, blushing.

“sorry, didn’t mean to.. just couldn’t control myself..”

“ah.. no it’s okay.” you realised you’ve already taken the vibrator away from his tip now, so you pressed it back, making him scream out. his brain was almost mush now as sweat dripped down his neck.

“i- i can’t..” bucky gasped, his thighs shaking in an effort to hold himself back. you traced light circles around his tip, making his eyes squeeze shut as he came once more.

“you cum so much.” he was just about to speak, before you cut him off mid-sentence. you turned the vibrator to the lowest settings and pressed it to his balls. you leaned forward to lick the cum off his body.

“b- babydoll, please..” he groaned, his body still trembling from the aftershocks.

“you’re nasty, you tell me it’s too much for you, but you’re still here taking it.” you slapped his cock playfully, the sensation making his hips stutter.

“can’t help it, just feels too good..” he blushed, looking away from you. he tilted his head in curiosity as you sneaked a hand into the drawer next to you. you grabbed a small roll of medical tape, taping the vibrator to his tip. thank god it was on the lowest setting, or bucky would explode.

“take it.” he was so fucked out now, he wanted to speak, but the words had died down in his throat. “aw, too fucked out to speak?” there was no response from him as he writhed.

“i- i can’t, oh, please..” he whimpered, he was on the verge of another orgasm. he could easily tear the vibrator off of himself, but he chose to let it stay, let it torture him.

“gonna do you a favour.” you tore the vibrator away and jerked him off quickly. bucky’s hips jumped and bucked away from you. “no, no, you’re gonna stay here, and you’re gonna cum.”

“i.. babydoll, please..” his body tensed as he came for the last time that night, he couldn’t take any more. even if he did, he’d pass out, probably.

“woah, you’re shooting blanks? that bad, huh?” bucky’s entire body shuddered, so you backed away and gave him some time alone.

“didn’t.. didn’t know i could do that..” he panted heavily, hands reaching down to brush the stray hairs from your face.

“trust me, i didn’t know it was possible either.” you kissed his forehead, not wanting to clean him up yet, as it would be too overstimulating. “feel better, handsome?”

“yes, fuck, feel.. so much better..”

[pinkpurplesunrises]

Letters to No One - Chapter 2: The Space Between Answers

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Reader (wlw).

Theme: Ghostwriter x Athlete | Slow Burn | Angst | Emotional Intimacy | Happy Ending.

POV: 2nd person (you), emotion ally immersive.

Setting: Barcelona, Present Day.

Previous chapters: chapter 1,

ACT: I

Writer's note: wow, such kind comments from the first chapter. It made me so happy! This will be a series full of small chapters. I'm so quite excited to share what's next. Enjoy reading!

You fall into a rhythm.

Tuesdays. Always late afternoon. Always somewhere quiet.

Sometimes it’s a tucked-away café with mismatched chairs and windows that catch the gold light just right. Sometimes it’s a park bench with her hood pulled low and a take-away cortado clutched in her fingers. And sometimes... on the stranger days... it’s her apartment.

You still don’t know why she invited you in the first time.

You’d assumed you were just going to walk her to the street. But she’d paused outside her building. Keys in hand and said without looking at you:

“You can come up if you want. It’s quieter.”

You didn’t ask questions. You just nodded and followed.

Her place is minimal. Not cold. Just efficient. Sparse furniture. A few plants. A Barça jersey framed but hung in the hallway like an afterthought. The walls are white. Blank. As if she’s waiting to decide what kind of life she wants to paint.

She brews coffee without asking. Sets a cup in front of you and gestures toward the couch.

No words. No warmth. But no walls either.

Just her.

And in these quiet sessions, you start to see her not as a headline, but as a woman full of fault lines.

It starts with a question you didn’t expect her to answer.

“Do you ever feel like people confuse strength with silence?” you ask, recorder on but forgotten between you on the couch.

She’s been staring at the rain outside her balcony. Her hair is damp from the walk. She looks younger today. Or maybe just softer.

She doesn’t speak for a long time. Then:

“They want you to be tough,” she says. “But they only let you be tough in ways they can celebrate. Not in the ways that make you real.”

You turn your head slowly. “What’s real for you?”

She hesitates.

Then she meets your eyes. A direct, still kind of terrifying gaze. And says, “Pain. Sacrifice. Wanting something so bad it makes you cruel.”

You blink. “Have you been cruel?”

She looks away. “Haven’t we all?”

You learn to let her answers hang in the air like mist. Not everything needs to be followed by another question.

Sometimes you just sit there together. Silence stretching out like a string between you. You sip coffee. She scrolls through her phone. You glance at her lips when she’s not looking.

Once, when she laughs... genuinely... because you told her a story about accidentally submitting a first draft to your editor with an accidental Taylor Swift lyric left in, it feels like watching sunlight ripple across water.

“God,” she says, head falling back against the couch, “that’s so painfully you.”

You smile. “Painfully?”

She shrugs, smirking. “I don’t know. You’re just... not like other journalists.”

“I’m not a journalist,” you say.

She nods. Then like it means something: “I know.”

Later that week, you meet in the Parc de la Ciutadella.

She’s in joggers and a windbreaker. Hair pulled into a loose braid. You’ve long stopped being surprised when people walk past and do double takes. She never reacts. Just lowers her gaze. Keeps walking.

You sit on a bench. Side by side. Not quite touching.

You ask her about identity. What it means to be Alexia Putellas to the world and what it means when she’s alone in her flat. Unwashed hair. No crowd to clap for her.

She thinks for a long time. Then:

“Sometimes I feel like people love the mirror of me. Not the actual girl. Just the echo.”

You pause. “And who is the actual girl?”

She exhales. A soft, tired sound. “I’m still trying to figure it out.”

You say nothing. You just look at her.

And she looks back. Really looks. Like she’s realizing something. Or fighting it.

Her eyes flick to your mouth for the briefest second.

Then she stands. “Let’s walk.”

At one point she says your name. No question. No sentence. Just your name. Quiet. Like a touch on your wrist.

You look up at her. Her gaze doesn’t move.

And something in the way she says it. The shape of it in her mouth. Makes you ache.

Not with lust. Not even love. With recognition.

That night, you add a new entry to Letters to No One.

She answers the questions she can. And gives me the rest in silence. I’m starting to think that’s her way of trusting me. Not with what she says, but with what she doesn’t have to.

I’ve stopped wanting to write her story. I want to be part of it. And that terrifies me.

You save the file. You don’t re-read it.

You tell yourself it’s just writing.

But when you close your eyes, you swear you still feel the way she said your name.

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

Chapter 3: The Things We Carry

[stillalivebydemand893]

YOU BETTER RUN

(repost)

Enemies to lovers

To say you hated Erik was the understatement of the century. You despised him. And the worst part? He was hot. Tattooed, pierced, tall, devastatingly handsome—and you couldn't stand him. Or worse, you couldn’t stand how wet he left you every time you ran into him. Which, living next door to the Campbells, was all the time.

You know that song “My Best Friend’s Brother Is the One for Me”? Switch it to “My Worst Enemy” and you've got your anthem. Erik was Julia’s older brother. The poster boy for bad decisions. And you? You were the idiot still thirsting after him.

He hated you or at least, that’s what you told yourself. Things used to be different. When you first moved into the neighborhood, you and Erik clicked. Rooftop smoke sessions, midnight drives, endless texts. You used to like being around him. You used to feel something. And then one day, he just… stopped. No explanation. Cold shoulder. You told yourself you didn’t care.

Liar.

You’d had a crush on him. Still did, if you stopped lying to yourself for more than a second.

6 weeks ago, it got messy.

You were both alone on the couch, half-heartedly playing The Quarry. Your legs were lazily draped over his lap. Normal. Comfortable.

“This game sucks. Until Dawn was better killer soundtrack, though,” you said, tossing him a sideways glance.

He smirked, annoyed. “It sucks because you killed half the characters with your dumbass choices.”

“They were strategic choices asshole. You’re the one who can’t mash buttons to save a life,” you leaned closer, voice sharp enough to cut.

“You’re seriously calling me an asshole? Do you want to die?” he sat up, legs shifting, making your feet tumble off his lap. The tension snapped .

“Please. You couldn’t even kill that wolf. You think you can kill me?” you muttered, cheeks burning as you fumbled for the remote, pretending your pulse wasn’t out of control.

He took a sip of his stupid Capri Sun, but his eyes were pure heat. “I’ll give you five seconds to run. And when I catch you, Y/N, you’ll never have the nerve to talk to me like that again.”

“Erik, be serious”

“One. I’m not joking, sweets. Better hide.”

“Fuck you. I’m not playing.”

“Two. Three”

You ran.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, excitement flooding your veins like a drug. You sprinted to the best hiding place in the house: his parents’ closet. He’d never find you there. At least… you kind of hoped he would.

What the hell was wrong with you?

Then footsteps. Bedroom door creaking. Shit. How’d he find you so fast?

“Next time, don’t drop your scrunchie on the floor like a calling card. Or… were you hoping I’d find you? Scared? Or just desperate?” His voice was harsh.

Before you could react, the closet door swung open. You tried to dart, but he grabbed you by the waist and slammed you back onto the bed.

“Found you.”

His smirk could melt glaciers. You stared up at him, blood boiling. He was on top of you, pinning you with that cocky, unreadable expression. And your body? Traitorous. Soaking wet. Heart thundering.

You wriggled under him, trying to escape but he barely budged. So you did the only thing that came to mind: you tried to headbutt him.

Unfortunately, or maybe fatefully, he moved and your lips crashed together instead.

Frozen. Both of you.

His grip loosened, breath shallow. Your brain short-circuited. What the hell were you doing?

But your body had other plans.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. And when he kissed you back? Game over.

His hands found your waist, dragging you up into him. Your legs tangled around him. Your back hit the wall. His lips were soft, pink, addictive. His chest rose and fell fast against yours.

“Erik… what are we doing?” you whispered, breathless, terrified he’d pull away and ruin everything.

So you kissed him again harder, hungrier, desperate to brand this moment into your memory forever.

The kiss turned filthy. His tongue explored your mouth like he owned it. You moaned into him, and it only spurred him on. When you tugged his hair, he groaned—and to this day, that sound still echoes in your head every time you touch yourself.

His hands were everywhere, gripping your waist like he wanted to leave marks. And maybe you wanted them. You needed something to remind you this wasn’t a dream.

He was right there all this time, and you waited this long to kiss him?

You finally broke apart, panting, eyes wild. He looked just as wrecked flushed, lips swollen, gaze unreadable.

“ERIK, COME HELP ME WITH THE GROCERIES, HONEY!” his mom yelled from downstairs.

Shit.

You locked eyes, neither of you speaking. He raked a hand through his hair, exhaled, and without a word… left. Just like that.

Left you soaked. Horny. Angry.

You never talked about it again. He avoided you like a pro. No texts. No calls. Not even a knock on your window.

You stopped visiting the Campbells. The only time you’d see Julia was during morning runs ,Erik never woke up before 11, so it was safe.

But you were furious.

And worse?

Still horny.

It was Bobby’s birthday. You almost didn’t go.

Bobby was like your little brother,you loved the kid,but showing up meant facing Erik. And after everything, that was a battlefield you weren’t sure you could walk into unarmed. Still, you couldn’t stay away. You bought Bobby a puzzle printed with a photo of him and his turtle Paco, and scored two tickets to see his favorite baseball team. You arrived late. Needed time to steel yourself. It wasn’t like you’d just had a wet dream the night before about Erik pinning you against the wall or anything…

You found refuge in the kitchen, helping Erik’s mom frost cupcakes when she asked you to grab more sugar from the pantry. Easy enough. You slipped in, closed the door behind you. You needed a breather anyway your mind was spinning, heart strained from the weight of Erik’s deliberate silence over the past few weeks.

“Are you good, peach?”

You jumped.

That voice rough, low, too familiar sent a jolt straight through you. Your eyes lifted, and there he was. Your waking nightmare. Your flesh-and-blood torment.

“Great,” you snapped. “What the fuck are you doing in here? Scaring people your new hobby now? Or is it just another way to avoid me?”

The fury in your chest was bubbling, thick and sharp. You didn’t know if you wanted to slap him or sob. Maybe both. Your eyes locked with his, and just like that you were melting. Stupid body. Stupid feelings.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he started, tone hesitant. “I know I’ve been an asshole. But you need to understand, this this thing between us it can’t happen. These fucked-up feelings”

He cut off the second a tear slid down your cheek.

“Peach, don’t” His voice cracked, hand lifting toward you.

You slapped it away.

“Don’t you dare call me that,” you spat. “Not ever again, Erik Campbell.”

You stepped into his space, close enough to smell the ghost of his cologne and feel the tension thrumming between you. Maybe you hoped it would scare him. Maybe you hoped it would break him.

“I don’t give a damn if you never want to kiss me again in this godforsaken timeline,” you hissed. “But how dare you take my friend away from me? You didn’t just disappear from me, Erik you ripped a whole piece of my world out. I waited. I kept hoping we’d talk like before, laugh like before.”

He backed into the shelving at the back of the pantry. The space suddenly felt suffocating.

“I could’ve gotten over a crush,” you continued, voice trembling. “A stupid, hopeless, pathetic crush. But you broke my fucking heart.”

You muttered the last part under your breath, barely audible, and turned your back before he could see the full extent of the mess he’d made of you.

The truth was, the crush had never left. It had just burrowed deeper, nested in the softest parts of you, until it started to rot from the inside out.

“Peach...wait,” his voice pleaded behind you. “Let’s just… talk, okay? I was..”

You froze, hand gripping the doorknob like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. You turned, slow and deliberate, like facing a ghost.

“You were what?” you demanded, voice steel. “Tired of me? Sick of my presence? Annoyed that I ever thought we were close?”

He didn’t look at you.

He stared at the floor like it held all the answers he didn’t have. He sighed, heavy, like someone carrying the weight of an entire year of denial.

“I was scared,” he finally admitted.

Your breath hitched.

Scared?

Of what? Of you? Of feelings? Of wanting something real?

Because you were terrified too. The difference was, you didn’t run.

“Bullshit,” you snapped, voice trembling with fury. “You’re not scared of anything, Erik. You literally got your dick pierced.”

You immediately regretted the mental image your traitorous mind conjured it up in full HD: his cock, thick, flushed, adorned. Jesus. Focus.

“I was scared I’d fall harder for you,” he said, quiet but firm.

His words slammed into you like a goddamn freight train. You blinked, breath caught somewhere in your throat, eyes locking onto his. Searching for the lie.

“Stop lying, Erik.” Your voice wavered despite the bite. “You’re just trying to make this easier for yourself, make me disappear without the guilt.”

Because deep down, you still believed it,believed you were too much. Too loud, too messy, too needy. Who would stay for all that?

He stepped forward, closing the distance until barely an inch of air separated you. The pantry had never felt smaller.

“Stop being a brat and listen to me for once,” he said, voice low, laced with that sharp edge that always got under your skin. “I avoided you because that kiss wrecked me. It’s all I could think about. Days, nights,it was torture. Fucking medieval-level shit. I thought if I kept my distance, it would fade. You’d move on, forget it. I knew it didn’t mean anything to you but it… it stuck with me.”

His breath ghosted over your lips, minty and warm. His words curled under your skin and set it ablaze.

You gathered every last shred of strength left in your chest. “How dare you say it meant nothing to me?” you growled. “You really are an asshole, you know that?”

He chuckled, low and dangerous. The kind of sound that made your stomach twist and your thighs clench.

“Told you to behave, brat,” he whispered, your lips barely brushing now. “You remember what happened last time you called me that?”

There he was. The Erik you wanted. The one who left you breathless.

But you weren’t done pushing.

“Asshole.”

That was the final spark.

He crushed his lips to yours like he was starving. No hesitation, no restraint. Just pure, unfiltered need. You gasped into his mouth, but he swallowed the sound, his hands already in your hair, your waist, everywhere.

There was no room to think. Just heat. Tongues. Teeth. Desperation.

You weren’t sure who moaned first, but it didn’t matter,his kiss devoured the rest of your thoughts. You grabbed his shirt, yanking him impossibly closer, your bodies colliding like fire meeting gasoline.

This wasn’t gentle. It was weeks of silence, weeks of tension, and a kiss that refused to fade,all detonating at once in a pantry with barely enough space to contain it.

And the worst part?

You didn’t want him to stop.

[sxcretricciardo]

not the end - DR3

•

The headlines came and went in the blink of an eye.

“Daniel Ricciardo dropped from F1 lineup.”

“End of an era?”

“What’s next for the Honey Badger?”

For everyone else, it was just another news cycle. For Daniel, it felt like the end of everything he had built his life around. The silence after the official statement was deafening. No more debriefs, no more grid walks, no more hearing his name on team radios. Just… quiet.

He stayed in his apartment for weeks, only leaving when someone dragged him out or when his own thoughts got too loud. He smiled for the cameras when he had to, gave vague answers in interviews, told people he was “figuring things out.” But the truth was, he didn’t know who he was without a race weekend. Without speed. Without purpose.

It was Jack, one of his old mates from Perth, who gave him the push.

“Mate,” Jack had said over the phone one day, “come out to the track this weekend. Not a race, just dirt bikes, the crew, fresh air. You need it.”

Daniel had hesitated. “I haven’t ridden my dirt bike in forever.”

“All the more reason.”

So, Saturday morning, long before the sun had burned off the morning chill, Daniel found himself loading up his bike, gear bag tossed in the back of Jack’s truck. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he figured it had to be better than wallowing in his own disappointment.

The motocross park was tucked away in the hills, about an hour outside the city. It wasn’t huge, but it had enough twists, jumps, and loose dirt to wake something in his chest that had been dormant for too long. Riders were already out on the track, kicking up clouds of dust under the pale morning sun. The air buzzed with engine growls and laughter.

That’s when he saw you.

At first, it was just the way you moved—like the track bent to your will. You weren’t riding to impress anyone, you weren’t flashy, you weren’t reckless. You were just… in it. The jumps, the turns, the throttle control—it was all instinctual. Effortless. Beautiful.

Daniel stood at the fence, helmet in hand, just watching for a few minutes, completely unaware he was staring.

“Hey, Ricciardo, you riding or just making heart eyes at someone?” Jack teased, nudging him with an elbow.

Daniel smirked, pulling his helmet on. “Maybe both.”

Later, after his first couple laps, he caught up to you at the far end of the pit area. You were checking your bike, wiping mud off your goggles when he approached, half-smiling beneath his helmet.

“You ride like you’ve got something to prove,” he said.

You looked up, curious but calm. “I don’t. I ride because it’s the only place the world shuts up.”

That made him pause. “Yeah,” he said softly, “I know that feeling.”

There was a beat of silence. Then a smirk tugged at your lips. “You keep up okay out there.”

He chuckled, arms crossed. “Keep up? I wasn’t even trying.”

“Sure you weren’t.”

You spent the rest of the day weaving around each other—racing, bantering, meeting at the water cooler between rounds. It was the first time in months that Daniel felt… alive. Not distracted. Alive. That ride turned into a habit.

Every weekend, without fail, you’d both show up—sometimes with friends, sometimes just the two of you. He’d joke about your lap times. You’d tease him about how long it took him to stop babying the throttle. And slowly, the sessions turned into late breakfasts, which turned into lingering coffee shop stops, and then evening rides through the backwoods trails.

Daniel found himself waking up excited again, looking forward to dusty afternoons and tired smiles. You didn’t ask him about F1. You didn’t treat him like Daniel Ricciardo™. You treated him like a guy who loved bikes, who had good jokes and bad days, and who was slowly stitching himself back together.

One evening, after a long ride, the sun started to dip behind the hills, casting the track in golden light. You were both sitting on the tailgate of his truck, helmets off, skin still glowing with sweat and dust. A peaceful kind of tired settled between you.

He was quiet for a while. Too quiet.

You nudged him gently with your elbow. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Daniel looked at the dirt, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Do you ever feel like… your whole identity was built on something that’s just gone?”

You didn’t answer right away. You let him have the space to keep going.

“I gave everything to racing,” he continued. “My childhood, my time, my body. Every decision I made was about being better. Going faster. And now it’s over, and I don’t know who I am outside of it. The world moved on like I didn’t even matter. I felt… worthless.”

You turned to face him, your expression soft but strong.

“You’re not worthless, Daniel. You’re just not only an F1 driver. You’re a person. A damn good one. And you’re still moving. Still chasing adrenaline. You just needed to change lanes.”

He looked at you, something breaking loose in his chest. “Yeah, well… you helped with that. More than you know.”

You offered a small smile. “You helped yourself. I just kept showing up.”

There was something in the air between you—warm, fragile, heavy.

Daniel reached out, brushing a bit of dried mud from your cheek. “Can I take you out sometime? Like, not in gear. No helmets. Real food. Table. Chairs. Maybe even candles.”

You laughed, leaning into his touch slightly. “Only if you promise to stop trying to race me on foot to the snack stand.”

He grinned. “Deal.”

-

Daniel texted you the next day.

Dan:

“So… this restaurant doesn’t allow helmets or full riding gear. Still interested?”

You:

“Only if you wear shoes without dirt on them.”

He sent back a picture of his sneakers—freshly cleaned—and a thumbs-up emoji.

You didn’t know what to expect. The two of you had spent weeks covered in mud and adrenaline, sweat-soaked and competitive, trading smirks over handlebars. But this—this was different. No helmets. No engines. Just you, him, and a quiet table between you.

He picked you up just before sunset. You were standing on the curb when you saw his car pull in—clean, for once—and he stepped out, looking… well, unfairly good. Black jeans, white t-shirt, leather jacket slung over one shoulder, curls just slightly tamed. That smile—the one that usually followed a snarky joke after a jump—was softer now. Nervous, even.

“You clean up nice,” you said, stepping forward.

He let out a breathy laugh. “Thanks. You’re not too bad yourself. Didn’t even recognize you without your helmet trying to kill me in a corner.”

You gave him a playful shove. “That’s called racing.”

“And this,” he said, opening the car door for you, “is called a date.”

The restaurant was small, tucked between buildings like a secret. Dim lighting, old wooden tables, and the warm hum of conversations wrapped in clinking glasses and soft jazz. It was intimate in a way that felt strangely unfamiliar to both of you.

You sat by the window, the city’s glow flickering behind him. Menus in hand, but neither of you looked at them much.

He leaned back, resting one arm on the back of the booth. “So. You. What do you do when you’re not making me eat your dust?”

You smirked. “Fix my bike. Clean my gear. Try to keep my elbows from bruising permanently.”

He tilted his head. “You ever think of going pro?”

You shrugged. “I almost did. But that’s a story for another time. And there’s something about riding just for myself. No sponsors, no media. Just the ride.”

Daniel grew quiet for a moment, and you saw it—that flicker in his eyes. The part of him that missed the roar of fans, the intensity of the paddock. But there was admiration there too. Maybe even a little envy.

“I think that’s what I lost along the way,” he admitted softly. “The joy. It became about survival. About keeping my seat. I forgot what it felt like to just… ride.”

You didn’t reach for his hand or tell him it would be okay. Instead, you met his gaze and said, “Well, you’re finding it again. One lap at a time.”

He smiled, but this one wasn’t for show. It was real. Deep. “Thanks to you.”

The night stretched on. Dinner turned into dessert. Then into coffee, then a long walk down quiet streets, the buzz of the city fading as you wandered into more peaceful corners.

Somewhere between laughter and silence, he reached for your hand. It wasn’t forced or overly smooth—just instinct. Like it had been waiting to happen.

“You know,” he said, glancing sideways, “I don’t remember the last time I was nervous for a first date.”

You arched a brow. “And now?”

“I’m nervous in a good way.”

You stopped, turning to him as the streetlamp cast a soft glow over his face. “Why’s that?”

“Because this feels different,” he said. “Real. I’m not thinking about what comes next. I’m just… here.”

A beat passed. Your hand tightened around his.

“Then stay here,” you said. “Just for a little while.”

And so he did.

He leaned in, slowly, carefully—waiting for any sign that you weren’t ready. But you were. His lips met yours in a kiss that was warm and grounding, nothing rushed, nothing showy. Just two people, letting the dust settle around them, and finally seeing each other clearly.

-

The next morning, before you even woke up, he sent you a message:

Dan:

“Best race I’ve ever lost was letting you beat me to dinner.”

-

Weeks passed in a blur of dusty trails and late-night conversations.

Daniel was different now—lighter, calmer, but still very much him. The cheeky grins, the teasing comments, the quiet way he always made sure your bike was fueled before his own. He had found something out there on the track again. Not F1. Not the crowd or the cameras. Just peace. And maybe something even more important—you.

You became each other’s weekend ritual. Saturday morning rides. Post-ride tacos. Sunday maintenance sessions in your garage, laughing as you both argued over who had better tire pressure control. And in between, the quieter moments—his hand finding yours while watching a movie, or the way his head rested against your shoulder after a long ride when neither of you needed to talk.

But he noticed something.

Every time you swung your leg off the bike, you winced just a little. When you thought he wasn’t looking, your fingers would massage your knee through your pants. Some days, after a longer ride, you’d leave early, saying you were “just tired.”

He didn’t push. Not right away.

But one night, after a sunset ride that left both your gear caked in dust, the two of you sat on the floor of your garage, backs against the workbench, sharing a bottle of water. Your helmet lay beside his, and the warm air was thick with sweat, grease, and unspoken truths.

“Can I ask you something?” he said suddenly, voice low.

You looked over, towel draped over your neck. “Sure.”

“Why didn’t you go pro?” He was gentle, but direct. “You’re easily one of the best riders I’ve ever seen. It’s not just talent—it’s instinct. You were born for it.”

You held the water bottle between your hands, staring at the label for a long time. Then, quietly:

“Because I’m broken.”

Daniel blinked. “What?”

You sighed, leaning your head back against the wall. “My knee. Old injury from when I was seventeen. I tore it bad on a landing—ACL, MCL, cartilage… you name it. They said I’d never ride again. I proved them wrong, but the damage was permanent. I can manage it with training and rest, but it’s getting worse.”

He was silent, watching you, listening.

“There’s a surgery,” you continued. “Experimental, expensive, painful. And it has a 70% failure rate. If it fails… that’s it. No more bike. No more trails. Just a lifetime of rehab and maybe a limp.”

Daniel’s brows furrowed, eyes narrowing slightly—not with judgment, but with the weight of someone who gets it.

“I’d rather ride in pain than risk never riding again,” you said, voice cracking just slightly. “This—riding—is who I am. It’s the one place where I feel free. Where my body doesn’t feel like a cage. I don’t want to lose that.”

He shifted closer, gently taking your hand. You hadn’t even realized you were gripping your knee.

“I get it,” he murmured. “More than you know.”

You looked at him. “You do?”

“I spent years racing through pain. Hiding it. Ignoring the noise. Because the idea of stopping was worse than the pain itself. And when I finally did stop… it wasn’t on my terms. It nearly broke me.”

You let that sink in—this man who’d been at the top of the world, now sitting next to you on a garage floor, speaking with the same fear you carried every day.

He looked at you, his thumb tracing slow circles on your knuckles. “But I also know that you don’t have to carry that fear alone. Not anymore.”

Your throat tightened. “You really mean that?”

He nodded. “You’ve been showing up for me every day since we met. Let me show up for you now. We’ll figure it out—whatever you choose. Surgery or no surgery. Pain or not. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tears welled in your eyes, unspoken for too long, now spilling in quiet silence. You leaned into him, forehead against his shoulder, and he wrapped you in his arms like he’d been waiting to do it forever.

In that moment, the fear didn’t vanish. But it softened. Because for the first time in a long time, you weren’t facing it alone.

Later that night, he kissed your knee, right over the brace you wore under your sweatpants, and whispered, “Whatever happens, you’re still a badass to me.”

-

part two here

[ninibeingdelulu]

Three times he realized he love you ft. michael kaiser

a/n: reader’s noel noa little sis, and not everything is accurate to the plot. Chat, should I write more of this ?

the first time

It was during one of the Blue Lock training sessions when Michael first felt that telltale flutter in his chest around you.

You'd come by to visit Noel, sneaking in snacks for him like the doting little sister you were.

But when you waved hello to the rest of the players, Michael was caught off guard by how bright your smile was directed at him.

Just a simple friendly greeting, but he felt his heart kick up a few beats faster.

As the training drills ramped up in intensity, he kept stealing glances over at you cheering on the sidelines. The way your eyes sparkled with excitement, how you clapped so animatedly at every good play.

He couldn't help but start showing off a bit more, putting some extra flair into his dribbling and shooting just to try and impress you.

And each time you whooped and hollered for him, that fluttering feeling grew harder to ignore.

By the end of practice, Michael knew he was in dangerous territory...yet he couldn't wait for the next chance to see you again.

the second time

There was a team bonding night out at the local arcade, a rare chance to blow off some steam outside Blue Lock's rigorous confines.

Michael, usually so focused, found his attention divided between his mates battling it out over videogames...and you.

You'd tagged along again and were currently immersed in an intense dancing game session, moving with impressive rhythm and vigor.

He got caught up watching the way your body swayed, how those slender hips rolled and your expression scrunched up in adorable concentration with each new flurry of moves.

The next thing Michael knew, one of the guys was laughing and nudging him - he'd become so entranced watching you dance that he'd completely zoned out from their com-bat game.

Cheeks flushing, he tried to play it off...but couldn't dislodge that image of you moving with such unrestrained passion and zest from his whirlwind mind the rest of the night.

the third time

The final piece slotted into place thanks to an unexpectedly tender moment interrupted.

Noel had fallen ill, so you'd brought him some homemade soup to help nurse him back to health.

Of course, your perpetually hungry older brother devoured it within minutes while you fussed over him sweetly. But then you scooped up another spoonful and turned to Michael with that radiant smile again.

"Open up, you big lug. I want you to taste it, plus I cooked too much for my dummy brother."

You cooed it so easily, not even thinking twice about doting on him too with that same sisterly affection.

As Michael obediently parted his lips and tasted that rich, nourishing broth from your hands, he was suddenly overwhelmed with a protective instinct fiercer than anything he'd experienced on the pitch.

In that simple act of caring, Michael realized how lucky he was that your generosity and tender warmth had been bestowed upon his chaotic life too.

Not just as Noel's little sis, but as his own...he wanted to keep being on the receiving end of your special brand of unconditional love in whatever capacity you'd allow.

A burning need to cherish and look after you in turn blazed to life inside him.

As you happily continued fussing between the two most important guys in your life, Michael knew then he was utterly, completely, and hopelessly enamored with you in the deepest way possible. His soulmate, his future, his empress...his everything.

[writesvani]

coming down | 04

collegestudent! gojo x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try.

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to-enemies with benefits-to?

TWs (for this chapter): manipulation, toxic friendship dynamics, arguing, back handed compliments, making out, sexual tension, substance abuse, explicit language, mentions of past trauma, emotional conflict, jealousy

comment HERE for Coming Down taglist;

SERIES M. LIST

— previous chapter // next chapter

wc: 7k // date: 17th of March

CHAPTER FOUR – In The Night; proceed with caution...

AN: okay listen. i know this was a slow burn chapter. but every single part of it was necessary. EVERYTHING is important. do you think i just write things for fun? no. every sentence, every stare, every word exchanged between gojo and y/n is intentional. calculated. y/n and yumi? the way they showed up wearing almost matching outfits? not a coincidence. the way y/n interacts with yumi and vice versa? telling. the way the toxicity seeps through her conversation with gojo? NECESSARY. you need to understand where they stand right now to fully grasp what’s about to happen next. there is a reason they are all still in each other’s lives. trust me.

and finally. GETO. HELLO. WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT. he had no business being that hot this chapter. NONE. i was writing him like sir please be serious for once but no. he had to say things. he had to look like that. i hate him (i love him).

next chapter; after 100 notes <3

love, vani 🩷

You can feel the weight of your wallet in your bag, but it’s not a burden; it’s an opportunity. The mall hums around you, the fluorescent lights overhead making everything feel a little more artificial, but also a little more alive. You take in the scent of expensive perfumes mixed with the fresh leather from the bags on display. It’s like a hit of dopamine straight to the system, and you can almost taste the excitement on your tongue.

Yumi walks beside you, her eyes already scanning the racks, her steps slow but deliberate. She's in the same vibe today, quiet, but her attention sharp. You two aren’t talking much, but it doesn’t matter—sometimes, silence is just another form of conversation.

“Do you think it’s wrong to just...buy things for the sake of it?” Yumi asks out of nowhere, glancing sideways at you, her lips curling up in a half-smirk. “Like, not because we need it, but because...it feels good?”

“Fuck no,” you reply almost immediately, your voice louder than it probably should be in the middle of the mall. You catch a couple of people glancing over, but it doesn’t matter. “Anyone who says that is lying to themselves. Spending money is like hitting the reset button, a little personal therapy session in each swipe. I mean, have you seen these shoes? They're practically begging me to buy them.”

Yumi chuckles, her eyes falling to the rows of trendy sneakers on the shelf. She moves towards them with purpose, but you know she's not just here to buy. She's here to feel something, just like you. The thrill of walking out of the store with something new, the satisfaction of a decision that is all yours.

“Sometimes I feel like...if I just have something nice, it’ll fix everything. Like, if I buy this jacket, maybe everything will feel okay,” Yumi says, her voice soft, almost hesitant. You look over at her, catching the slightest crack in her usual nonchalant expression.

"Yeah, I get that," you reply, your hand brushing along a velvet dress on display. "It’s like, a temporary fix. But sometimes? It’s all you need to get through the day. You can’t tell me there’s a better feeling than slipping into something new and realizing you just made your own mood for the day."

Yumi glances over at you, her face breaking into a grin. “I knew I wasn’t the only one who thought that way. Let's make the most of this ‘therapy’ while we can.”

You both laugh, the sound mixing with the distant chatter of other shoppers as you continue to roam, leaving your cares and worries at the door with every step you take. Today is not about making decisions, it’s about feeling. And right now, you’re both just trying to feel good.

You and Yumi are dressed in the kind of outfits that could easily be mistaken for "mom chic"—but in a way that feels intentional and effortless. Think muted tones, soft fabrics, and the kind of casual elegance that says, "I don’t have to try too hard, but I still look put together."

You’re both wearing beige-colored pieces, like a warm, oversized cardigan layered over a simple cream blouse. The cardigan drapes off your shoulders just so, perfectly slouchy, like you didn’t even think about it. Your pants are wide-legged, a soft taupe color, with just enough volume to make them look chic but still comfortable enough to lounge in. You're not exactly pulling off a runway look, but you’re definitely pulling off an “I’m casually rich but low-key” vibe. You’ve opted for simple, white sneakers that look like they’ve been through a lot, but still hold their own in the aesthetics department.

Yumi mirrors you in a similar way. She’s got a beige trench coat hanging loosely around her shoulders, the kind of piece that makes you look like you’ve got your life together, even if you don’t. Her pants are slightly more tapered, a light khaki shade, but still relaxed enough to give off that effortless vibe. A simple beige scarf is wrapped loosely around her neck, adding just the right touch of elegance. You notice she’s wearing matching beige slides, the kind that click softly against the floor with every step, but they have a casual, almost lazy feel to them, like she couldn’t be bothered with heels today.

Both of you have your hair pulled back into sleek, tight buns—nothing too fancy, just neat and low-maintenance. It’s a look that says you’re not trying too hard, but still trying just enough to feel put-together. It’s a mood. The kind of aesthetic that screams understated, but the more you look at it, the more you realize just how much effort went into making it look so effortless.

At some point, you break away from her, your eyes landing on a store that’s been calling your name for days. You head straight for the jeans section like you’re on a mission from God. And there they are. The perfect pair. The jeans. They practically shine in your peripheral vision, whispering your name. “Buy me, buy me, buy me,” they seem to scream. You grab your size with the kind of urgency that only comes from knowing destiny has just called your name, then practically launch yourself into the fitting room.

Once you’re inside, you slip into the jeans and instantly fall in love. They hug you just right, shaping your body in that effortless way that says, I’m so stylish. You glance in the mirror, nodding to yourself like you've just discovered fire.

“Yu!” You yell, probably a little louder than necessary, but you’re too excited. “Come here, I found something.”

“Girl, where’s here?” Yumi calls from outside, clearly in the middle of her own shopping-induced trance.

“The fitting room, hurry up!” You tug at the waistband to make sure it’s sitting just right. You can already feel the high of this purchase.

You hear Yumi’s footsteps approach as she huffs impatiently. “Step out, c'mon!” she calls. You laugh, rolling your eyes as you open the fitting room door, spinning out dramatically to show off your catch of the day.

“What do you think?” You strike a pose, a mix of sass and excitement.

Yumi blinks. It’s not the reaction you expected. Her eyes flick up and down you, but there's something off about her expression—something you can’t quite place. She pauses, the kind of pause that always means she’s about to say something she thinks will sound nice but isn’t. She twirls a lock of her hair around her finger and scratches at her trench coat like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“Oh,” she says, her tone flat.

“Is something wrong?” You squint, suddenly sensing the tension in the air. She can’t even look you in the eye.

“No, no, they’re great,” she says quickly, but it’s too fast. Too... fake.

You raise an eyebrow, giving her the look—the one that says, Really, girl? “Come on, be honest.”

She chews her lip, eyeing you again. “Well, I mean…” She lets out a breath, eyes sweeping over you. “I don’t think they suit you,” she says, as if it’s a casual observation. “They’re not really... the model of jeans for you. But hey, we can totally find you something else. Like, better.”

Your whole posture goes rigid. That familiar sting of frustration bubbles up, your brow furrowing as your stomach tightens. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you shoot back, holding her gaze with a challenge in your eyes.

Yumi’s smile falters just slightly, but she hides it quickly, brushing a non-existent hair from her forehead. “Nothing,” she says, the fakest sweetness lacing her words. “Nothing at all. They’re still good... for you, I guess.”

You shake your head, the irritation trying to creep in. “Well, I don’t care,” you say, a little too firmly. “I’m buying them.”

Yumi’s expression softens, but there’s still that tiny edge to her smile. “Okay,” she says, giving you a shrug. “But don’t be all broody and moody when you realize there’s better stuff out there for you. Like, I’m just saying.”

You roll your eyes, tossing the jeans into your bag with more force than necessary. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” You’re not sure if you’re more frustrated with her or with the fact that her words still got under your skin. But you don’t care. You’re buying them. End of story.

Yumi gives you one last look, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at her lips. “Alright, drama queen. Whatever you say.”

You slip the jeans off quickly, tossing them over the little bench as you grab your regular clothes, avoiding your own reflection in the mirror. The tightness in your chest isn't from the jeans; it's from something else—something Yumi always manages to plant inside you without even trying. It’s that lingering feeling, the one that makes you question if you really know who you are.

You slide your old clothes back on, pulling everything back into place, but that knot in your chest only seems to tighten. Yumi’s words replay in your head, and they sting, a little too much. “They aren’t exactly the model of jeans for you.”

You don’t know why it hurts, but it does. Maybe it’s the way she always acts like she’s doing you a favor, like her opinion is the only one that matters. You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t stop the sinking feeling. You’re not going to let her get to you. You won’t. Not this time.

You’re pissed – pissed at Yumi for acting like she has the right to call the shots when it comes to your life. Pissed at yourself for letting her get away with it for so long. The usual irritation bubbles in your chest as you grumble under your breath about her condescending attitude. This weird dynamic between you two – it’s been building for a while now, and it’s starting to wear thin.

You glance down at your phone, desperately hoping to distract yourself from the heavy tension in the air. And then you see it.

The notification.

Geto Suguru has just accepted your follow request.

Geto Suguru has sent you a follow request.

Your breath hitches. Your heart skips a beat. This is it. This is the moment. Like a schoolgirl in the throes of her first crush, your hands shake as you try to process it.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” you squeal in disbelief, all thoughts of Yumi and her annoying behavior forgotten in an instant. It’s as if the universe just dropped a bombshell into your lap.

“What’s going on?” Yumi’s voice cuts through your excitement, her tone mixed with amusement and curiosity. You barely hear it. All you can do is stare at the screen, your mind racing between accepting the request immediately or savoring this moment for a bit longer.

“Geto accepted me and followed me back on Instagram!” You burst out, your voice a little too loud as you shove your phone in Yumi’s direction, too giddy to care about anything else. Your face is flush with excitement, like you’ve just won some major prize.

Yumi blinks at you, looking genuinely confused. “You followed him?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. Her disbelief only makes you smile wider.

“Yeah, like three weeks ago,” you say, your words tumbling out in a rush. “He never followed me back…until now.” You shove your phone even closer, practically forcing her to examine the screen like it holds the answers to the meaning of life.

“And you never told me?” Yumi’s voice is dripping with mock hurt as she places a hand dramatically on her chest. “Ouch. I thought we were friends!”

You roll your eyes. “Chill, Yumi. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” you reply, trying to brush off her dramatics. But you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. You’ve been waiting for this moment, and now that it’s here, you’re just too damn happy to care about anything else.

“Well, you should’ve told me,” she says, crossing her arms and feigning disappointment. “I’m feeling so betrayed right now.”

“Just let me have my moment, Yu,” you snap back, your patience thinning. You don’t have the energy for her attitude right now. “I gotta call Ren. This is huge.” You murmur the last part mostly to yourself, your fingers already lazily scrolling through your contact list. Yumi’s voice rings out, suddenly sharp with curiosity.

“You told Ren and not me?” she asks, raising an eyebrow in mock offense.

“Yeah, because he was there when I followed Geto. This conversation is pointless,” you say, your eyes not leaving the screen as you look for Ren’s name. “If this is a real problem for you, then I don’t know… Maybe touch some grass or something.”

“Whatever, forget it,” she mutters, her earlier drama fading away like it never happened. “So, are you gonna accept him or what?” Her voice now bubbles with excitement, the tension dissipating as she realizes what’s happening.

You look at your phone, a mix of excitement and nervousness swirling in your gut. You hover over the “accept” button, the thrill of the moment almost making you dizzy.

Without thinking twice, you tap the button.

Yumi gasps. “Oh. My. God. You actually did it,” she says, her voice filled with awe. She watches as you sit back, your heart still pounding. “You’re officially in. Ren’s gonna lose it when he finds out.”

A laugh escapes your lips, a little breathless. “I know, right?” You feel like you’re floating. This is it – your moment. Finally.

But before you get lost in your own excitement, you dial Ren’s number, your fingers moving with practiced ease. This is big. And you’re definitely calling him first.

You dial Ren's number, heart pounding like a jackhammer on a caffeine binge. The phone rings twice before he picks up, his voice muffled as if he's speaking from the depths of a swamp.

"Yo, what's up?" he says, sounding distracted.

"Ren! You won't believe what just happened!" you exclaim, barely containing your enthusiasm.

"Hold up," he interrupts, the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing echoing in the background. "I'm on the can. Give me a sec."

You stifle a laugh, picturing him mid-transaction. "Take your time," you reply, tapping your fingers impatiently against your phone.

A few moments later, he returns, his voice clearer now. "Alright, I'm back. What's got you so hyped?"

"Geto Suguru accepted my follow request and followed me back!" you blurt out, unable to keep the excitement out of your voice.

There's a brief silence on the other end before Ren erupts. "No way! That's insane!"

"I know, right?" you giggle, pacing your room. "I can't believe it!"

Ren's voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "Okay, okay. We need a plan. Like, a full-on strategy to get you two together. I'm talking meet-cutes, accidental run-ins, the whole shebang."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Ren, you're crazy."

He ignores your comment, already deep in his own world. "Picture this: you and Geto, a chance encounter at a coffee shop. He spills his drink on you, you both laugh it off, exchange numbers—classic rom-com material."

You roll your eyes, amused. "And what's next? The meet-the-parents montage?"

"Exactly!" Ren responds enthusiastically. "And then, plot twist—you both end up on a reality dating show together. The drama, the tension, the undeniable chemistry."

You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach. "Ren, you're out of control."

He pauses, then adds thoughtfully, "Okay, but real talk. This could be your big break. You and Geto, taking over the internet. The content would be insane."

You sobered slightly, considering his words. "Yeah, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. It's just social media."

Ren snorts. "Just social media? Girl, this is the 21st century. Social media is everything."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "You're incorrigible."

"Hey, I'm just saying," Ren replies, his tone light. "The lore we could build around this—people would lose their minds."

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Thanks, Ren. I needed that."

"Anytime," he says. "Now, go accept that follow request before he changes his mind."

You laugh,"Beat you to it bestie, it’s already accepted."

"Atta girl," Ren says approvingly. "Now, keep me posted. I want all the details."

"Will do," you reply, feeling a flutter of anticipation. "Talk to you later."

As you finish up your chat with Ren, you spot Yumi by the counter, already making her purchase for the shirt she couldn’t resist the second she laid eyes on it. You toss your jeans beside it, ready to pay for your own haul. “Yo, Yu,” you hum, flashing a playful grin at the cashier as you hand over your cash. She bags up your purchase with a smile, and you nod your thanks, slipping out of the store.

"So, what's the deal with Geto and his girl?" you ask, picking at your nails as you walk beside Yumi. There's a slight flutter in your chest—yeah, you definitely want him, but are you really ready to totally shake up his relationship? You can’t decide.

Yumi's expression shifts, her lips curving into a devilish grin that screams, I know something you don’t. "They broke up last week," she drops the bomb casually, her eyes practically sparkling with the excitement of sharing the gossip.

"Wait, seriously?" you blink, caught off guard.

"Yep," she says, her tone smug, like she just delivered the best news ever. "The man’s single now. Time for you to make your move."

A flutter of nerves rushes through you, but you push it aside. "I want to, but... where do I even start?"

Yumi taps her chin, the wheels turning in her mind. "Easy. Post a pic of yourself. See if he’s gonna like it. If he does... it’s game time."

You raise an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips. "Not a bad idea, actually."

“I know, I’m a genius,” she says, almost too smug.

You scroll through your gallery, your finger hovering over the screen until you find the one. There it is—your mirror selfie from a few days ago. Your hair is perfectly curled, a soft cascade of waves that look effortless but just polished enough to make heads turn (courtesy of heatless curls hack you found on TikTok). You’re wearing the perfect balance of casual and seductive—oversized denim jeans slung low on your hips, paired with a black tube top that clings just enough to highlight your curves.

But the real magic? Your finger, softly grazing your lips, the tip of your manicured nail pressing ever so lightly against your full, plump pout. The angle's just right to capture the soft curve of your neck, and your eyes? Locked straight at the camera with that playful, irresistible spark.

You glance at Yumi, a devilish grin creeping onto your face. "Game on, Geto Suguru. Let’s see if you can handle this."

The rest of the day flies by in a haze of impulse buys, mindless chatter with Yumi, and forcing down yet another overpriced green smoothie that tastes like regret. You nearly block out Yumi’s oh-so-inappropriate remarks about you as you finally step into your apartment alone, shutting the door behind you with a sigh.

Silence. Finally.

Tossing your bags onto the couch, you make a beeline for the TV, flipping on Netflix like it’s muscle memory. Without hesitation, you scroll straight to Gossip Girl. The Thanksgiving episode is on, and before you know it, you’re gasping at every twist and betrayal—as if you don’t already have the entire script engraved in your soul. (But seriously, with every rewatch, it just gets better. No one can convince you otherwise.)

Mid-scene, you reach for today’s most questionable purchase—an unnecessarily fancy ashtray you bought for no real reason other than, well, aesthetic. You light a cigarette, placing it between your lips, the flicker of the lighter casting a brief glow against your face. Smoke curls around you as you stare at the screen, completely locked in, like Blair Waldorf’s next move is life or death.

Then, your fingers move on autopilot. Check story views.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Geto Suguru hasn’t even seen it.

Your eye twitches. Excuse me?

Dozens of likes, a couple of fire emojis in your DMs, and even a "damn who let you be this fine??" from someone you don’t even know. But the one person you want? Nowhere to be found.

“Dude,” you groan, flopping back against the cushions. “Throw me a bone here.”

With a sigh, you toss your phone onto your lap, take another slow drag of your cigarette, and let the smoke swirl lazily around you. The air in your apartment is thick with it now—probably should crack a window before your living room starts smelling like a nicotine shrine, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.

Then, just as you start spiraling into a self-pity session, your phone rings.

Ren.

You stretch your arm lazily, phone tucked between your cheek and shoulder, eyes glued to the screen.

“Hey, babe, you home from your little shopping spree?” Ren’s voice comes through, smooth and familiar.

You sigh dramatically. “Mhm. Just watching Gossip Girl.”

“Again?”

“Yeah. I have commitment issues, and this is the only way I know how to work through them.”

Ren lets out a knowing laugh. “Whatever keeps you sane, babe. But listen—it’s Friday, and I was thinking… I kinda want to go out. And you know Aiko—”

You half-listen, stretching your neck until it cracks in a way that probably isn’t good for you. 'Ouch. Love that for me.'

“—her roommate’s throwing a party, and Aiko invited me. And obviously, because I’m the best bestie to ever exist, I told her I’m not going anywhere without my ride-or-die.”

You let out a soft laugh, but your brain is already at war.

On one hand, you had the perfect night planned: sinking into your couch, rewatching rich people make messy life choices, rolling a joint (or two), and falling asleep in a haze of smoke and Blair Waldorf’s superiority complex.

On the other hand… getting a little reckless with Ren? That sounds dangerous. And fun. And exactly what you haven’t done in a long time.

You and Ren don’t party together. Your social circles barely overlap, and that’s always worked in your favor. But maybe, just maybe, it’s time to shake things up.

And it’s Aiko. Ren’s childhood bestie, who goes to a different college but still lives in town. No drama, no nonsense—just good vibes. And honestly? New faces, new energy, and new distractions sound pretty damn tempting.

Because, let’s be real—who needs Geto Suguru to like their story when there’s a whole party full of questionable choices waiting for you?

A slow smirk tugs at your lips as you finally answer, voice dripping with mischief.

“Let’s go cause some chaos.”

The party is exactly your kind of chaos—loud, reckless, and just dangerous enough to make you feel alive.

You catch a shift in Ren’s energy beside you, and when you glance at him, it clicks—this is definitely not what he was expecting. Poor thing probably thought he was signing up for a casual little get-together, a few drinks, maybe getting a little too tipsy and ending the night puking out Aiko’s window.

But instead? This.

Bodies packed tight, unfamiliar faces blurring together, the thick haze of weed curling through the air like a heavy fog. The bass from the speakers thrums beneath your skin, rattling in your chest, making the world feel electric. Someone spills a drink nearby, but no one cares. There’s a girl perched on the kitchen counter, her fingers tangled in a guy’s hair, pulling him in like she’s starving.

And—oh my God. Is someone actually moaning out loud?

'Alright, that’s a little much, even for me. Jesus. Please, for the love of God, take it to a bedroom. I don’t need to be reminded that I haven’t gotten laid in two months. Thanks.'

Still, the rest of this? Perfection.

You flick your gaze back to Ren just in time to watch his soul physically leave his body. He looks like a deer caught in headlights—half-hiding behind you, half-frantically scanning the room for an escape route.

And then—just like that—he’s gone.

Your eyes track his movements lazily, following him as he weaves through the crowd with surprising determination. Interesting. You watch as he approaches some guy—tall, broad shoulders, an easy grin. You don’t know him personally, but recognition sparks.

Aiko introduced them a few weeks ago and he is the one Ren showed you a picture of.

Oh.

Ohhh.

So this is why Ren wanted to go out so bad.

You roll your eyes, but there’s an amused smirk tugging at your lips. Cute. Puppy love.

Hopefully, the guy rails Ren by the end of the night.

You scan the room, taking in the dizzying mix of sweaty bodies, half-baked stoners, and preppy girls pretending they don’t secretly love this mess.

And then—you spot it.

Aiko has a bar. Or at least, something that resembles one. A sleek blend of wood and cool gray marble, standing out like a beacon of class in the middle of this absolute shitshow.

And—oh, look. An empty stool, practically begging you to claim it.

You mentally pat yourself on the back for securing the perfect spot—close enough to the action to people-watch, yet tucked away just enough to avoid being in it. A strategic retreat. A throne.

You already know the marble is going to be a dream for rolling, so you settle in, pull out your weed, and get to work.

Your fingers move on autopilot—muscle memory kicking in like a well-rehearsed performance. You unfold the paper, pluck at the small green bud, and absolutely massacre one of your cigarettes, so you could mix your joint with tobacco. A brutal sacrifice for a higher cause.

Once it’s done, you sit back, admiring your work of art for a solid thirty seconds. A true masterpiece. Leonardo da Vinci could never.

Then, rummaging through your bag, you fish out your lighter. Flick. Flame.

And just like that—the first hit of the night is here.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting there. Time has melted away between the slow drag of your joint and the burn of nicotine on your tongue. One joint down, two cigarettes deep—it’s time for round two.

You bring the joint number #2 to your lips, ready for round two, when—

"Look at what we got here."

The voice is rich, velvety, dangerous. It spills down your spine like warm liquor, and then—the heat of his breath, so close to your neck, so intimate, you nearly shudder.

Fingertips ghost over your shoulder, then trace a slow, lazy path down to your waist. Barely there, yet enough to send a pulse of electricity through you, enough to make your breath hitch and your thighs press.

You inhale, slow and steady, masking the effect he has on you with a drag from your joint. “Didn’t think the place I’d see you again would be here,” you murmur, blowing out smoke in a smirk.

But then—fuck.

His fingers skate down your ribs, a teasing tap, so faint it shouldn’t do anything, but it does. A single touch, and your stomach tightens, heat pooling low.

You’re acting like a starved divorcée. Embarrassing.

“So you thought about seeing me again,” he says, stepping forward, pressing closer.

And ohhh, the way he moves—fluid, predatory, his body heat licking at yours like an unspoken promise. His elbow lands on the marble counter, muscles flexing, jaw sharp enough to cut.

Black shirt, grey joggers—so simple, so effortless, yet you know how dangerous that combo is. How easy it would be to just… tug the waistband down.

Then—the worst part. The part that makes your fingers twitch with the need to touch.

His hair—tied up in that messy, infuriatingly perfect bun.

You want to pull it loose.

You want to fist your hands in it.

You want to ruin him.

He flicks his tongue against his cheek, and your brain short circuits.

That tongue. That thumb. Fuck.

“Mm,” you hum, shifting slightly, just enough to brush against him. “What if I did, Suguru?”

His smirk deepens, something dark flickering in his eyes.

“Already on a first-name basis?” His voice drops—low, thick, laced with amusement and something even filthier. “You’re bad, peach.”

Peach.

Oh, he’s playing dirty.

“I can be a lot worse,” you counter, dragging your tongue over your lips—slow, intentional. And just as expected, his gaze snaps to the movement. His jaw tenses, his Adam’s apple bobs, and—ohhh, there it is. That tiny flicker of restraint slipping.

He’s so sexy it’s infuriating.

“Wanna prove it sometime?” His voice is like silk, wrapping around you, daring you.

You barely breathe out, “Yeah.”

And then, stupidly, recklessly, you extend your arm to hand him the joint.

Big mistake.

Because the second he takes it, that hand—the one burning your ribs, teasing, lingering, driving you insane—is gone.

And now?

Now it’s wrapped around the joint instead.

Your lungs seize.

Your thighs press tighter.

You’re already losing this game.

But even without his hands on you, he’s still too much for your own good. The joint rests between his lips like it belongs there, lazy and effortless, the smoke curling around his face in slow, deliberate swirls. His eyes—dark and low—trace over you, dragging like the lazy pull of a bowstring, like he’s memorizing every dip, every curve, every flicker of emotion that crosses your face.

He takes a slow inhale, lets the smoke pool in his lungs before releasing it in a sigh that feels too intimate, too heavy, settling between you like an invitation.

“So,” he murmurs, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, “what brings you here?”

Your fingers twitch at your side. Why does he have to be so fucking pretty?

“I’m here with my friend. He’s friends with Aiko,” you mutter, tipping your chin toward Ren—who, at this exact moment, is devouring THE guy in the corner like he’s trying to consume his soul. His hands are buried in the guy’s hair, nails digging in, like he’s trying to make sure this man never forgets him.

Geto follows your gaze, lets out a short, amused huff. “Subtle.”

You snort, then—maybe to distract yourself, maybe just to fill the space—ask, “What about you?”

“Jen is Yuji’s girl,” he says absently, fingers tracing the cotton of his shirt, and—oh.

So that’s the connection.

And then it hits. Yuji's girlfriend is Aiko's roommate. A slow-building dread that curls in your stomach and coils around your ribs, tight, suffocating—because if Geto and Yuji are here… then so is Gojo.

Your chest feels too tight. Your blood feels too hot.

You don’t want to think about him. You can’t think about him. Because the last time you saw him, he ruined you. Because his words are still a wound in your chest, still raw, still bleeding.

You flex your hands, swallow hard. Keep your voice even. “That’s cool.”

But Geto is too fucking perceptive for his own good. His eyes are on you, watching, picking apart every microexpression, every breath, every slight shift in your body language.

“Are you okay with that?” His voice is smooth, careful.

“With what?”

“C’mon babe. I know you already realized Gojo is here and last time I saw you and Gojo in the same room, there were fangs and claws.”

“I’m fine.” The words come out clipped, a little too quick.

Geto hums. He doesn’t believe you. You don’t believe yourself.

“As long as he doesn’t talk to me, I don’t give a shit.”

A pause. A twitch of his lips. “You sure about that?”

You shoot him a look. “I said I’m fine.”

His gaze lingers, heavy with amusement and something else you don’t want to name. The silence stretches, thick and charged, something unsaid crackling between you like static electricity.

And then you do something dangerous.

With slow, deliberate movements, you reach for the joint between his lips, plucking it free with a feather-light touch. His breath hitches—so quiet, so subtle, you almost miss it. But you don’t.

You never do.

You bring it to your lips, inhale deep, the taste of him clinging to the filter. Let the smoke swirl in your lungs before you exhale, slow, deliberate, watching as it curls between you like something intimate.

You learned a long time ago how easy it is to make a man forget about everything but you. A touch, a look, a well-placed breath—and they’ll unravel at your feet.

Geto is no different.

His pupils dilate, his eyes flickering between your lips, the joint, and back again.

“So,” you murmur, voice dipping into something just shy of teasing, “you think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

A lazy smirk tugs at his lips. His fingers—deft, warm, deliberate—trace over yours where they rest against his chest. His heartbeat is fast, just a little erratic, but his voice is steady when he hums, “Mhm.”

You tilt your head. “Then tell me—” You lean in, just close enough that you can make sure he tastes the next inhale of smoke, “—what am I thinking about?”

Geto pauses, the corner of his mouth quirking up, eyes dark and knowing. His fingers tighten over yours, just barely.

“You’re thinking about me,” he murmurs, voice velvet-soft, rich, dangerous. “On top of you.”

And fuck—maybe you are.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, your lips part—just slightly, just enough. And then you close the distance.

The second your mouth touches his, something electric shoots through you, like a live wire sparking against bare skin. You exhale the smoke into his mouth, letting the heat of his lips, the weight of him, consume you. Geto doesn’t hesitate. He inhales it all, deep and slow, before letting the smoke curl lazily from his nostrils like a fucking dragon.

And then—then the hunger wins.

Your fingers find his hair, twisting into the dark strands, yanking hard enough that he groans into your mouth—a sound that shoots straight down your spine, settling low in your stomach like molten heat. The joint slips from your fingers, forgotten, hitting the floor with a dull thud. It doesn’t matter. This is more important. So much more important.

Your lips press harder, claiming him, devouring him, like you’re trying to carve yourself into his bones. His hands are everywhere—sliding down your waist, gripping the curve of your hips, fingers sinking into your ass like he’s staking his claim right here in the middle of the fucking party. And then—smack.

A sharp slap against your ass echoes through the room.

A few people glance over, but you don’t care. You barely notice. Your brain is nothing but static, buzzing with the way he’s touching you, how his body is pressing you into the cool marble counter. You get it now. You understand all the couples you were rolling your eyes at earlier, making out like they were the only two people on the planet. You judged them, and now here you are—worse.

(You mentally apologize to them. You were wrong. You get it. You so get it.)

Geto licks into your mouth, deep and slow, like he’s savoring you. His tongue tangles with yours, his hands guiding your body against his in a way that feels almost too easy, too practiced, like he already knows exactly how to unravel you.

And he does. Fuck—he does.

"Real classy. Real, real classy, babes."

A voice cuts through the haze like a blade, slicing right into the heat of Geto’s lips, his hands, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue. Your breathing is erratic, your body still pressed against his, and when you finally tear yourself away, the hunger in his eyes mirrors your own.

But of course—because the universe hates you—there’s only one person bold enough, obnoxious enough to cockblock you like this.

Gojo Satoru.

His arms are crossed over his chest, lips curled into a smirk so sharp it could cut glass. His eyes gleam under the dimmed lights, twinkling like he’s enjoying every second of this. His white hair is a mess, like he just rolled out of bed—or worse, someone else’s bed. The thought alone makes your stomach turn, and you hate that it does.

"Did you really have to?" Geto groans, tilting his head back with a deep sigh, like he's asking the heavens why they let this happen.

Gojo's smirk only widens, his ears perking up like a damn cat that just found something new to ruin. "Well, sorry," he drawls, voice laced with insincerity. "Yuji disappeared somewhere with Jen, and I'm bored. I don’t wanna be alone."

He even pouts—full-on juts out his bottom lip like an overgrown, spoiled child. You swear he gets off on being the most insufferable person alive.

"Then go somewhere. Socialize," Geto deadpans, sounding like he's already debating walking out of this conversation.

Gojo scoffs, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. "Please. Let’s just chill,” he says. “Plus, I’m saving you from her, dude. As if anyone actually wants to be near her."

You snort. "Please. You’re projecting, baby."

His sharp blue eyes snap to yours instantly, and that goddamn smirk deepens, crawling into something more dangerous.

"You sure about that, sweetheart?"

"Well sweetheart, you’re the one wandering around all alone here. I have company."

Your fingers curl around Geto’s bicep, slow and deliberate, like a claim, like a shield, like you’re daring Gojo to say something about it. And he does. Of course, he does.

His smirk deepens, something sharp lurking beneath it. "Yeah? And your company just so happens to be one my best friends. What, you don’t have any of your own anymore?"

The words hit exactly where they’re meant to. Right where it hurts.

Your lips part, but there’s no quick comeback—because he’s not wrong. Not really. There was a time when your circle was bigger, fuller. But it collapsed. You burned bridges, walked away, let it crumble without a second glance.

Except for Ren.

So you nod toward the far-right corner of the room, where Ren is, mouth pressed against that guy’s neck, hands tangled in his hair. Your Ren. The one person you still have. The one person who still believes in you.

"I came here with Ren," you say, voice light, nonchalant, as if the words aren’t a loaded gun pointed at Gojo’s chest.

And then you fire. "It appears as if all your friends always choose me."

The moment the words leave your lips, you see it.

That flicker of something—something real, something raw—pass through his eyes. His jaw tightens. His fingers flex at his sides. You got him.

Because you and Gojo and Ren were everything once. A trio. A home. And then it all shattered, and when the dust settled, Gojo was left standing alone.

And Ren? Ren chose you.

Gojo stares at Ren a second too long. You watch the gears turn in his head, watch the muscle in his jaw tick, watch his body betray him in a dozen little ways. His throat bobs. His foot starts bouncing—an old habit, one you recognize. He’s pissed.

"Well," he finally says, voice low, strangled at the edges. "Looks like Ren’s occupied at the moment."

"He is," you agree, voice dipped in honey, in poison. You lean in, just a little, just enough to let him feel it. "But he’ll come back to me."

And there it is. The moment the knife twists.

You see it happen—see the way something dark passes over his features, the way his lips press into a thin line. His stare burns into you, unreadable and blistering and dangerous.

You crossed a line.

And you meant to.

The silence between you is thick. Suffocating.

Geto clears his throat, a nervous chuckle escaping him. "Okay, guys, let’s not kill each other, yeah?"

He glances between the two of you, trying to gauge what the fuck is going on. But he doesn’t know. He can’t.

All Geto knows is that you and Gojo slept together in high school.

That’s all he knows.

"Let’s…" Geto sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let’s drink something. Satoru, why don’t you bring us some drinks, hmm?"

For a moment, Gojo doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. His eyes stay locked onto yours, an invisible war waging between the two of you.

And then, like flipping a switch, he smiles.

It’s fake. It’s so fake. A bright, easy-going grin spreads across his face, his body relaxing, his tone suddenly light, playful, effortless.

"Sure thing," he chirps, eyes glittering with something unreadable. "I’ll be right back."

Then he turns, walking away like none of this mattered. Like you didn’t just tear him open.

But you know better.

You watch him disappear into the crowd, your pulse still thrumming in your ears.

Because you finally hurt him.

And knowing Gojo Satoru?

It’s going to hurt for a long, long time.

"Don’t miss me too much," Gojo quips, his voice light, teasing.

But something about it feels… off.

You watch as he bounces toward the other room, easy, effortless—like none of this meant anything. Like you mean nothing.

And yet—

He turns. Just for a second.

His eyes meet yours, and for the first time tonight, they’re stripped of their usual bravado. No cocky smirk, no playful glint—just something heavy, something raw. Something that doesn’t belong to Gojo Satoru, the golden boy, but to Satoru, the boy who used to be your best friend.

For a split second, it looks like he wants to say something.

Like he needs you to understand.

And for that split second, you want to. You want to reach out, sift through the weight in his stare, get it the way you used to.

But those days? The days of understanding each other without words? The days of you and Gojo?

They’re dead. Long buried.

So you do what you’ve gotten so good at.

You turn away.

You laugh at something Geto says. You act like Gojo was never here. Like his presence wasn’t just buzzing against your skin.

But he was here. And you feel it.

Gojo Satoru might have walked away. But you know—deep in your bones, in the pit of your stomach, in the quiet part of your mind that still knows him—

He’ll be back.

Soon.

taglist: @zeunys @charmstarr @ovela @kur0mii3 @dabisdolly @17362939 @krispywhisperswhispers @mintcheery @kazupop @heh123321 @hanakotateyama @choppersworlds-blog @eneiyri @suniloli @44ina. @s4ikooo1 @blushedcheri @dishs0pe @rhea-sylvea

[jscrawls]

Grave mistakes

Gotham City is full of a lot of characters, criminals, creepy clowns, man eating plants, eccentric billionaires. But all that rolled into one household?

Warning: contains mentions of kidnapping, threats, torture, general spooky stuff, it's an Addams reader they're gonna be freaky,

Part 4: gardening errors

🔹🔹🔹

You're not quite sure what circumstances lead to this, but here you are regardless.

It started as any normal morning for you in your new home, your routine caffeine fix and then you spent an hour in the play room wallowing in despair and shrieking in torment as the spirits watched on. Then you made yourself waffles.

As you were out tending to your garden and ripping up the colorful lilies hidden in one of the hedges something strange happened, a noise behind you, and then darkness.

You were disappointed to wake up, though finding yourself tied up and hanging upside down raised your mood a bit. Hyenas growl hungrily underneath your form as drool slowly drips from their chops, a strange green miasma is in the air around you. You slowly realize you're in some kind of greenhouse judging by the clear roof and the plants everywhere.

“I see you're awake.” A feminine voice purrs from somewhere behind you, you can't turn your head enough to see them but you don't have to, they slowly stroll into view and stand under you next to the hyenas. Her hair is long and blood red, her skin green and she seems to be wearing a green body suit covered in vines, this is an interesting turn of events!

“Hello there ma'am! Nice to meet you, Is this a torture thing?” It's a struggle to keep your voice even, not wanting to give away how excited you are when one of the hyenas jumps and tries to snap at you. A good torture session should have some build up after all.

The woman chuckles, taking the tremble in your voice as horror as she smirks. “right to the point are we? No my sweet, it's not torture….. Yet. Not if I get My way here.” with a slight flick of her wrist some of the plants around her shift and twist, vines crawling up from the ground to gently wrap around your throat, A threat. You can't suppress the shiver going down or up? your spine. The woman chuckles again.

“Not yet? What's the wait my friend, are we expecting more company first?” It's a bit hard to keep your eyes on her when she starts stalking around the room, you frown when the vines release you and sink back down into the ground.

“Oh I almost forgot myself, please forgive my lack of manners miss, my name is-” “I know who you are, I know everything I need to know about you. How you come here and start throwing money around, paying that filthy company to keep producing their chemicals regardless of how many plants choke and die on their disgusting fumes. How you bought that land no doubt to drain the swamp on it, how you-are you giggling?”

She cuts off her monologue to stomp towards you, standing just under your head as she scowls up at you, rage burning in her pretty green eyes.

“Are you serious right now?” She hisses, hands clenching into fists while the plants around you twist and curl towards you, some starting to wrap around you once again.

“Oh no, please continue! I love a good monologue my dear friend. It's just that hanging like this has a fun little dizzying effect, blood drowning the brain and all.” You say with a smile as you look down at her, the vines starting to cut off your air supply.

She frowns at you and crosses her arms, blood colored lip curling into a sneer. “Why you-” “red! Finish the demands before ya start popping heads! You're putting us at stake here!” An exasperated voice yells, another woman joining the first.

This one's in red and black, short split dyed hair and skin so pale as if it's been bleached, she could almost rival Morticia’s sickly tone.

The woman apparently named Red rolls her eyes a bit, but wraps an arm around the others waist, they both look up at you as the vines again release you and drop into the dirt.

“Right…. Here's the deal Richie, we want money. Lots of it in fact, your people are gonna get it to us if they want you alive and well. You understand?” They both look up at you expectantly, the hyenas circle around Underneath you.

“I understand perfectly, how much do you want to torture me?”

They give each other confused like while you smile down at them, sweat starting to gather on your forehead from hanging upside down by your feet for so long.

After a few seconds the red head speaks again, tone aggravated. “What?”

“How much money do you want? I'd like this to continue and I understand your time is very valuable.”

“…. Did you not hear me?” The red head huffs, the other woman leans over to whisper loudly in the others ear. “Maybe I hit em in the head too hard?”

“i heard you just fine! you need money yes? i can pay you myself after the torture, or do you intend to kill me? you can get ahold of my dear relative morticia should i pass. wait have you seen my phone? i want to tell her or gomez the good news!” the split dyed hair one stares up at you with a look of concern, she pulls a familiar phone out of her pocket and looks down at it before glancing back up at you. “….i don’t think this is goin to plan, red.”

the redhead snatches the phone from the other, rolling her eyes while turning it on. “you’re not psyching us out, masochist. what’s the passcode for this? if you don’t tell me i’ll watch as my little babies grow from your eyesockets.”

“it’s 666.” “oh, of fucking course-alright i’m calling your emergency contact, i’m getting our damn money.” she huffs, pacing in circles as she dials and holds the phone up to her ear.

“come on…come on…finally, ahem, are you mx addamses emergency contact?…..this is their kidnapper. i’m calling to tell you that they’re going to be brutally tortured within the hour if you don’t gather a small sum of one million dollars and send proof of bank statements to this phone or else-huh?……”

after a moment she lowers the phone and stares at the other woman.

“….a little girl just told me ‘good for them’ and hung up on me.”

“a little girl is your emergency contact?” the split dyed hair one looks up at you questioningly as she starts to pet one of the hyenas.

you nod your head with a smile on your face. “Wednesday is actually my second emergency contact, grandmama is the first but she doesn’t have a phone.” the redhead tilts her head in confusion, dropping your phone carelessly on the moss covered ground. “then how do you contact them?” she mutters skeptically, crossing her arms over her chest. “depends where she is, usually via smoke signal or seance depending on her living status.”

“….so your emergency people is your living or dead grandmother and a little girl that doesn’t care if you’re being tortured?”

“there’s also cousin it, but essentially yes.”

the redhead sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, muttering something unintelligible under her breath as she turns away from you and goes to sit on a vine covered bench.

the split dye one looks back and forth between you and the other woman, after a moment she shoos the hyenas away. “…..so, how’s about we talk about torture thing, eh? you seem ta be into that sorta thing, i won’t yuck ya yum if you’re actually gonna pay coinage for it.”

the redhead whips around to glare at the other one. “we are not doing bdsm for money! we’re not that desperate harl.” the plants around her slowly curl towards her, leaves and flowers brushing against her as if in comfort.

“well we might as well get sumthin outta this! we need the doe and pronto.”

you watch them bicker back and forth for a few moments in polite silence, your head aching more and more as the blood rushes to your head. after a bit you speak up loud enough for them to hear you over their arguement.

“excuse me my friends, can i ask what prompted this kidnapping and attempted ransom? it sounds like you’re both out of sorts here.”

the one apparently named harl quickly speaks up. “we got booted out of our apartment.” the other woman stands up angrily. “harley!”

harley glances over her shoulder, her lips pressing together in a pout. “what?”

the redhead pinches the bridge of her nose, clearly agitated as she approaches the harley lady. “you can’t tell them anything you idiot! they’re our victim not our therapist.”

“well they asked!”

you speak up again, one of the wriggling vines bumping into you and causing you to spin in a circle like some kind of torturous carnival ride. “kidnapping victim or not, i can have sympathy for someone going through a bad time. how’d you get removed from your home?” your voice sounds odd as you Spin back and forth, you're starting to get really dizzy.

Harley whips towards you, hair smacking her in the face as she righteously gestures. “they were homophobic!”

The redhead rolls her eyes and walks over to push on Harley’s face as she corrects her. “that’s not what happened, apparently the landlord found someone’s record.” she gives Harley a pointed look.

Harley pushes the hand off her face and points at your still spinning form as if to convince you of her side of things. Giving you an overly emotional look as she fends off the redheads attempts to shut her up. “well it sure seemed like he was homophobic when we's both broke into his place, you shoulda heard im when he realized who was under the ski masks!”

Your brows furrow as sweat drips off your forehead, your vision getting blurry as you finally stop spinning and you try to look at the two women below you.

“that’s very sad, a little devious activity shouldn’t lead to you losing your place, i can relate to that quite intimately actually.”

“really?” you hear both ask with differing tones, one sounding unenthusiastic in comparison to the other. You nod as best you can. “yes, that’s the whole reason i moved to this beautiful city!….we’re still in the city right?”

“maybe…..”Harley looks away from you and whistles innocently as she casually reaches over to pet a carnivorous plant.

That's good enough for you, you wriggle a hand free to pull a handkerchief out of your pocket so you can wipe your forehead clean, when you're done you tuck your hand back under your binds. “are you still looking for a place to stay?”

the redhead tilts her head in confusion while Harley replies. “why’d you think we want your money?” she looks away from the plant and walks under you, swatting at your jacket when it smacks her in the face.

“harley can you not?” the other woman is clearly exasperated as she all but hisses her words out, stomping over to try to drag Harley away from you. “May I remind you that we're threatening to kill them?”

You're unperturbed as you press on, watching them whisper loudly to each other right under your upside down figure. “do you want a place?”

Harley immediately perks up, a big grin on her face as she whips around to loom up at you. “are you offering?-” the redhead groans loudly and grabs the other woman by the upper arm and pulls her away while trying to cover her mouth. “absolutely not! we’re not going near the bdsm weirdos house after we kidnapped them, it’s never happening harl. i’m putting my foot down.”

“…”

Harley starts to tear up in silence, staring at the other woman with big glassy eyes as she works up some tears.

🔹🔹🔹

“i hate the manipulative tears.” the redhead, whom you’ve learned is named pamela, growls at harley as she roughly drops down on your couch with crossed arms.

“free room and board, red. keyword free, my lovely little murderous plant.” harley flops over beside her, wincing when a spring digs into her back, she still makes herself comfortable on pamela’s lap though.

🔹🔹🔹

M.list | prev | next

A/n: I apologize if the flow is off in this one, I wrote it while feverish y'all bear with me 🤷‍♀️

Taglist: @lunarapple @ladykamos

[colouredbyd]

The Nightingale III: Starling In The Sky

Regulus Black x fem!reader Hunger Games AU

summary: Training pushes you and Regulus to limits as tensions rises behind closed doors. A hidden dress sparks old memories, and a sudden outburst changes the course of everything. ( i suck at summaries sorry)

warnings: Graphic violence, cussing, insecurties, mentions of weapons

word count: 6.8k

authors note: AHHH here it iss! The Nightingale is finally getting exciting, hope u guys love this chapter :D

ps. if there are any grammatical errors please feel free to correct me as english isnt my native language

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Mornings in the Capitol didn’t feel real. The light wasn’t warm or golden—it was too clean, too white, slicing through the glass like a scalpel. I opened my eyes slowly, hoping maybe I hadn’t. But the silk against my skin, the stillness of the room, the aching in my chest—none of it let me pretend.

I sat up, heart already racing. Two days. That’s all that was left. Two days before the Games began and everything ended.

Across the room, James stood near the window. His back was straight, arms crossed, eyes trained on something I couldn’t see. He looked more like a statue than a boy. When he noticed I was awake, he gave me a nod.

“You alright?” he asked softly.

I nodded, even though we both knew I wasn’t.

“What time is it?”

“Past seven. Marlene came by. Training starts in thirty.”

I pulled the covers back. My feet touched the cold marble floor and it startled me how alive it made me feel. The Capitol uniform was already laid out—sleek, fitted, black with silver seams. It looked like armor. It felt like surrender.

The elevator down to the Training Center was silent. James and I didn’t talk. We didn’t have to. The weight of what we were walking into spoke loud enough.

The Training Center was massive—cathedral-high ceilings and walls of glinting glass that caught the light like shards of ice. I’d pictured it before, but nothing prepared me for the cold perfection of it. The floor was so white it burned my eyes, gleaming like something sterilized, like even our fear would be wiped clean. Stations stretched out before us in sleek rows of steel and chrome, each one humming with quiet menace. Weapons hung along the walls like relics in a museum, too polished, too pristine—tools meant to kill made to look like art.

Tributes had already scattered across the room, testing stations with a reckless kind of bravado, their laughter too sharp, too loud. All of it felt like a show. A circus. A lie wrapped in glass.

And then I saw him.

Regulus stood at the far end of the room, alone. All black, no Capitol red, no gold, no shine. He looked like he’d been carved out of stone—sharp, cold, and beautiful in a way that made my stomach twist. There was no smile, no welcome. Just a curt nod and a wave of his hand, calling us forward like soldiers to a battlefield.

“We’ll start with observation,” he said, voice flat—controlled, but there was a thread unraveling beneath it. “I need to see how you move. What you know. What you’re afraid of.”

He wasn’t looking at James.

He was looking at me.

My fingers curled before I could stop them, like my body was trying to grab hold of something—anything. I didn’t know if I wanted to hit him or fall into him and let him break me all over again.

James led the way to the mats, his movements relaxed, as though this was all just another training session. I followed behind him, my feet heavy with the weight of what was to come. The Center was intimidating in its size, the lights too bright, the sterile air too clean, but what was worse was knowing Regulus was watching us, cold and impassive. It wasn’t like the other training sessions we had back in District 7, where we could let our guard down, where we could laugh and share glances with friends. Here, every step felt as though it was under a microscope, every breath too loud.

The drills began, the usual combat exercises—simple moves, things we’d done a hundred times before. But with Regulus standing there, his eyes fixed on me, it felt like the room itself had shifted. Every time I lunged, I could feel his gaze, sharp, tracing my feet. When I hesitated, unsure of my next move, his focus tightened, his eyes boring into mine, catching my every weakness. He didn’t write anything down. He didn’t need to. His silent observation was enough to make my skin burn. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but it was clear it wasn’t the score of my performance.

It was something else. Something quieter, something deeper.

We moved on to weapons training. My fingers twitched as I reached for the knife, the cool metal sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. I could feel the shake in my hands, a tremble I couldn’t explain away as just nerves. I told myself it was nothing—just the pressure of the day, the tension in my chest that I would be expected to handle. But it was more than that. As I gripped the blade, memories surfaced uninvited. His hand on mine, guiding me. The soft insistence in his voice, telling me to never let anyone take it from me. His arms around me the first time I cried over the Reaping, how he’d promised he’d keep me safe.

I threw the knife with a jerk of my arm, too fast, not as precise as I wanted. It struck the target just off-center. Not bad, but not perfect either.

“Again,” Regulus said. His voice was quiet, but there was no softness there. Just the same cold command that he always had when it mattered most.

I wiped my palms on my trousers, still trying to shake the ghost of the past that clung to me like a shadow. My voice cracked when I spoke, sharper than I intended. “Why?” I asked. “So I can kill more cleanly?”

He didn’t flinch at the words. He met my gaze with the same unreadable expression he always wore. “So you can survive.”

A nervous laugh escaped James as he dramatically collapsed beside the throwing station. “Alright, alright. Let’s save the tragic backstory reveal for after we dodge the spears, yeah?”

Regulus didn’t respond. But I saw the flicker of something behind his eyes—a brief, silent acknowledgment that spoke volumes. He was the one who had lived that story, the one who understood it in ways that none of us could.

We moved to the next stations, one after another—camouflage, traps, climbing walls. The exercises were grueling. My muscles screamed at me, my hands were raw, and my legs began to feel like dead weight. Every action felt like it was pushing me past my limits, until I didn’t know if I was breathing or if my lungs had given up on me altogether. But through it all, I was hyper-aware of him. Regulus was always there, quiet, measuring, never speaking unless necessary. His silence followed me like a shadow, pushing me to do better, to be better, but never offering a word of encouragement or critique. He didn’t need to. I could feel the weight of his expectation.

Every time I stumbled, I felt him move forward, as if to catch me. But just as quickly, his steps faltered, as though he would never get close enough to touch me. Each time I looked up to see him, his gaze would flicker away, never settling, never staying.

By the time we reached the final station, my palms were scraped, my knees bruised from the falls I hadn’t been able to stop. James handed me water, his face flushed from exertion, and I gratefully took a sip. 

 When Regulus handed me a cloth, his fingers brushed mine. It was brief, just a second too long.

The contact lingered, leaving my skin tingling, my heart pounding. Regulus looked like he wanted to say something—his mouth opened and closed, like the words wouldn’t come. His eyes locked onto mine, searching, as if he were trying to find the right thing to say, but he never did.

“There’s more tomorrow,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual.

I nodded, turning to leave, but then his voice stopped me. It was barely a whisper, but it sliced through the air like a whisper of a ghost. “You moved like you used to. In the woods.”

My breath caught in my throat, and I froze in my tracks.

“I remember,” Regulus said, his words as sharp and raw as the knife I had thrown.

I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t. If I did, I might not remember how to leave. And right now, that’s all I could do—leave. Keep walking, keep moving, and pretend I didn’t hear the things that haunted him in his silence.

The air in the Capitol was thick with anticipation as Marlene led James and me through a maze of glittering halls and softly humming elevators. 

The room we were led into shimmered like a dream soaked in too much light. Mirrors lined the walls from floor to ceiling, catching the glint of crystal chandeliers overhead. The floors were pale marble, veined with soft gold that sparkled beneath our feet like something alive. Racks upon racks of clothes stood like towers in the corners, and trays of jewelry gleamed on velvet cushions. The air smelled like roses and silver.

“Here we are,” Marlene announced, her voice bright and professional, betraying nothing of the exhaustion that lingered beneath her immaculate appearance. “The fitting room. You two are going to look amazing.” She flashed us a grin before turning to Regulus, who had been trailing silently behind us. He was a shadow in the background, his face impassive, his presence like a cold wind that we couldn't escape.

Regulus barely acknowledged us, but I could feel his gaze resting on me as we entered. He didn’t speak. He never did. But I could sense him—always there, always watching.

Marlene clapped her hands, and from the shadows emerged a handful of stylists, their movements fluid and soundless, eyes glinting like blades. They began to set the stage—racks of shimmering outfits materializing before us, each more extravagant than the last, each a spectacle in its own right. The first gown caught my breath—a deep, velvety violet, threaded with gold that gleamed under the harsh lights like the flicker of distant stars. My heart sank. The fabric looked heavy, not just in weight but in expectation. It was as if the Capitol’s fingers were already curling around me, tugging me into something larger than life, something too brilliant to feel real. A glamour that would consume, transform—remake us into creatures of their design. The costumes were more than clothes; they were chains cloaked in silk.

“First, we’ll try this one,” one of the stylists said, her voice like glass, as she held up the violet gown. “It’s made from fine silk with golden thread, designed to look like flowers”

I swallowed hard, trying to push down the rising anxiety in my chest as I reached for the gown. The fabric slid through my fingers like water, its texture so smooth it almost felt unreal. I looked at Marlene, but she had already disappeared behind the curtain, urging me to try it on.

James was already in the corner, tugging at the ridiculous layers of his own outfit. The colors were blinding—neon green and orange with sharp metallic accents. His expression was a mix of amusement and disbelief, the absurdity of it all clearly taking its toll. 

“You think they’ll expect me to walk out in this?” he called over to me, holding up a ridiculous ruffled collar that looked like it belonged to some ancient king.

“Probably,” I replied with a wry smile. “It’s the Capitol. They don’t do anything halfway.”

I stepped into the gown, feeling the weight of the fabric settle around my body. The mirror in front of me reflected a version of myself I didn’t recognize—distant, polished, far removed from the girl who had once sung in the woods with Regulus. I touched the golden threads, tracing the intricate patterns that shimmered under the light.

There was a sudden, sharp movement behind me—Regulus had stepped closer, his presence imposing even without a word. I glanced at him in the mirror, but he wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were fixed on the reflection, studying the gown with a cold, detached expression. It felt like he was seeing something I wasn’t. I quickly turned away, unwilling to let him watch me like this.

The stylists adjusted the gown, fluffing the layers of fabric around my waist and adding a jeweled belt. They spoke in low voices to one another, making subtle changes to my appearance, but I couldn’t focus on their words. My mind was caught in that moment—Regulus’s presence, the quiet weight of his gaze. It was as though he saw through the surface of everything, his eyes piercing straight through to the place where all my memories were buried. The memories I hadn’t let myself think about for years.

“How do you feel?” Marlene asked, her voice cheery as she reappeared, looking at me with an eager smile. She was doing her best to make me feel comfortable, but nothing in this Capitol would ever feel comfortable again.

“I don’t know,” I replied softly, my eyes still on Regulus’s reflection. “It’s… a lot.”

Regulus’s eyes met mine briefly, and I could see something flicker in them, something I couldn’t read. Then he shifted his gaze back to the floor, his stance unreadable. He was silent as always, but his presence was heavy in the room.

“Let’s move on,” Marlene said, clearly sensing the discomfort in the air. “James, darling, your turn.”

I stepped out of the gown, and the stylists immediately began changing me into another outfit—a vibrant red dress with black feathers sewn into the hem. It looked like something designed for a firestorm.

James came out in his next outfit—this one even more ridiculous than the last. It was a massive purple cloak with oversized shoulder pads and gold chains hanging from the sides. He looked like an absurd caricature, his face a mixture of incredulity and amusement. “What’s next, a crown?” he asked, spinning dramatically. “I can barely walk in this thing.”

“It’s ridiculous,” I agreed, offering him a smile. “But, hey, they want us to stand out. Not sure how anyone’s supposed to stand out in this, but there you go.”

Regulus was still there, still silent, his eyes scanning both of us like he was measuring something—something we couldn’t quite understand. His focus was on me again, but his expression didn’t change.

“You both look… fine,” he said finally, his voice as flat as it always was. “It’s not about the outfits. It’s about how you carry them. How you make them yours.” His gaze shifted to James, and for the briefest moment, there was something unspoken in his eyes. “No one’s going to care about the clothes if you can’t convince them you belong here.”

Marlene gave a small laugh. “He’s right, you know. The Capitol loves a good show, but they love confidence more.”

I wanted to say something, wanted to argue that it didn’t matter how confident I was, how well I carried the dress—it would never be enough. Not when I knew the truth of what was coming. But I kept quiet, letting the silence settle over us, thick and uncomfortable.

James, meanwhile, was being draped in cloak after cloak, every outfit more absurd than the last. His stylist was an older man with silver eyebrows shaped into perfect arches. “More structure in the shoulders,” he muttered. “He needs to look like he can win but also like he won’t spill soup on his lap.”

“I’ll have you know I eat soup very elegantly,” James deadpanned, arms outstretched as they pinned yet another cape to his shoulders.

“You look like a crow,” I told him, watching as the fabric swished behind him like wings.

“A very fashionable crow,” he corrected, tilting his chin up dramatically. “Thank you.”

Despite the ache in my chest, I smiled.

Then the door opened, and Lily Evans stepped in.

She didn’t need to speak. The stylists moved aside like tides parting around her. She had the kind of presence that made people listen before she even opened her mouth. Her hair was braided back with tiny green ribbons threaded through it, her clothes simple compared to everyone else in the room—just a forest green shift that brushed her ankles and boots that had clearly seen mud. And yet, she was the only one who felt real.

“I’ll take it from here,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Out. All of you.”

There was a pause. Then the stylists bowed and disappeared like smoke.

Lily turned to me and walked forward slowly, her green eyes thoughtful. “They’ve been trying to turn you into a Capitol rose,” she murmured. “But you’re not a rose, are you?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

She smiled gently, then moved toward the far rack and pulled something down from it with reverence, as if she were unearthing a memory. She carried it over her arm and held it up to the light.

“This,” she said, “was made for you.”

The gown was unlike anything I had ever seen before, a masterpiece woven from moonlight and whispers. At first glance, it appeared to be a soft silver, the kind of pale shimmer that seemed to steal the light from the room and make everything around it seem darker. But as I moved, the fabric shifted in the light, revealing layers of pale pink and rose-gold beneath, like the first blush of dawn brushing the horizon.

Each turn caught another glimpse of color, delicate and fleeting, like a secret only the dawn knew. The sleeves were sheer and almost ethereal, falling gracefully around my arms like morning mist, light enough to seem weightless. The bodice, shaped to fit my form perfectly, was embroidered with tiny, copper vines that twined around the neckline, each thread curling delicately like something still growing, still reaching toward the sun.

The skirt flowed downward in soft, endless layers, the fabric so translucent in places that it seemed to melt into the air, like something from a dream. When I stepped into it, it felt like I was slipping into a memory, one I had never lived but somehow knew all too well.

Lily adjusted the fabric with a quiet precision, her fingers light as they ran over the edges, smoothing them with care, her eyes focused and serious. When she finally stepped back, there was a moment of stillness that seemed to stretch forever.

"Look," she said softly, her voice almost reverent.

I turned slowly toward the mirror, and the reflection that greeted me was not one I recognized at first. The girl who stared back didn’t look like a tribute. She didn’t look like the Capitol's puppet, draped in glitzy, faceless glamour. No, she looked like something older, something softer, woven from forgotten forests and lullabies.

The girl in the mirror seemed to carry a quiet strength, an ancient beauty like the quiet glow of a forest at twilight. Her face was framed by the delicate lines of the dress, and the copper embroidery on her chest seemed to pulse with a warmth that was almost living. There was something sacred about the way she stood, as if she had been forged by time itself, as though this gown was more a part of her than the body beneath it.

"You look like someone who was born to sing under the stars," Lily said softly, her voice filled with a tenderness I hadn’t expected. "Someone who remembers where she came from."

I blinked hard, feeling an unexpected wave of emotion rise up in my chest. I wasn’t ready for this—wasn’t ready to feel anything like this. But there it was, a sharp, aching tenderness, the kind you can’t escape even if you try.

James stepped beside me, drawing me out of my thoughts. His outfit was equally striking, though in a different way. He wore a deep navy suit, one that fit him like armor but somehow softened around the edges. The gold threading along the cuffs and collar caught the light, adding a touch of warmth to the otherwise solemn color. A long cape trailed behind him, pinned at the shoulder with a brooch shaped like a tree branch, the delicate carvings hinting at nature in a way that was subtle but undeniable. It was regal, but not flashy—strong, familiar, and comforting, like something I could rest in, something I could trust.

“Look at us,” he said with a grin, his eyes crinkling with that mischievous spark. “We clean up alright.”

I couldn’t help but smile. "You look like a storybook," I told him, admiring the way the suit moved with him, how the navy seemed to catch the light in different ways.

He looked me up and down, and his smile softened into something deeper, almost reverent. “And you,” he said, his voice quieter now, “look like a promise someone forgot to keep.”

Before I could respond, my gaze drifted to the far corner of the room. Regulus stood there, as still as a statue, half-hidden in shadow. He hadn’t moved since Lily entered, and his arms were folded across his chest in a posture that was both distant and deliberate. But his eyes—those sharp, dark eyes—were fixed on me. Not in the way they had been before, filled with cold assessment. No, this was something else. This was something raw, something that broke through all the walls he’d built around himself. The sight of me in this dress seemed to shatter something deep inside him, something I hadn’t realized was still there.

His expression didn’t change, not outwardly. But I saw the shift in him. I saw the subtle widening of his eyes, the way his throat moved as he swallowed, like he was struggling to process something he hadn’t expected to feel. His lips parted, just for a moment, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. And then—nothing. 

The stillness returned, but the weight of his silence, the quiet tension that stretched between us, was almost unbearable. He didn’t speak. But I felt everything in that silence, in the way his eyes searched mine, as though he had seen something in me he hadn’t expected.

Marlene clapped her hands together sharply, breaking the moment. “Perfect,” she said, her voice crisp with approval. “The Capitol will eat this up.”

But I didn’t hear her. I didn’t hear anyone else. My attention was locked on Regulus, on the way he looked at me, on the way his presence seemed to hold me in place. I wondered if he saw the same thing I did in the mirror—a girl dressed in starlight and sorrow, standing on the edge of a war she never chose, wrapped in everything she used to be, everything she was trying to outrun. 

And him? He looked like he remembered.

Later, when the lights had dimmed and the bustle of stylists and Capitol handlers faded into murmurs down distant corridors, I stepped into the stillness of the hall, my gown trailing like water behind me, silver and rose and quiet, my breath barely stirring the air as if afraid to disturb whatever spell had settled over the evening.

The silence wrapped around me like silk, but before I could sink fully into it, I felt the shift in the atmosphere, the quiet exhale of something familiar drawing near, and I didn’t need to turn to know it was him, because Regulus never arrived loudly, never announced himself with footsteps or breath, only with gravity, as though the world tipped slightly when he stepped into it.

He stood a few feet behind me, not speaking at first, and I could feel him watching, could feel his gaze settle over me like dusk settling over a lake, slow and reverent and full of a sorrow I didn’t know how to name.

“I thought you left,” I said softly, the words floating into the stillness like petals on water, my voice a thread I wasn’t sure he would catch.

His answer came slower, almost reluctant. “I tried,” he said, and the words sounded tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. “But I couldn’t.”

I turned then, slowly, as if the moment might break if I moved too quickly, and when our eyes met, something inside me stilled, because it was the first time in years he looked at me not as a memory, not as a mistake or a ghost or a responsibility, but as someone real, someone he had loved and still did.

“You look…” he began, but the sentence faltered, his mouth parting like he was reaching for a word he didn’t trust himself to speak aloud.

The silence stretched and softened between us, and I didn’t press him, only watched him with the same ache I used to feel when he’d sneak into the woods at dusk just to watch the stars through the gaps in the trees, alone and aching and always pretending not to be.

“You grew up,” he said finally, his voice barely more than a breath. “You grew up really beautifully.”

He said it like it hurt, like the words were carved out of something he had never let himself touch, and I blinked, not because I was surprised, but because something in his voice made the edges of my heart blur.

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” I said, but my voice trembled as I spoke, because a part of me had always hoped he would, always hoped that even behind the cold Capitol glass and the crown of silence he wore so well, some part of him still remembered how I looked with mud on my knees and songs in my throat.

“I notice everything when it comes to you, star.” he said, he wasn’t smiling, but there was something soft in his eyes, something that cracked open all the things he tried so hard to bury.

He took a step forward, not too close, just near enough that I could feel the warmth of him in the air between us, and his hand lifted like he meant to touch me but stopped just short, fingers hovering above the place where the embroidered copper vines curved over my shoulder like roots that never forgot where they came from.

“That dress,” he said, his eyes trailing down the soft shimmer of fabric that moved like dawn against my skin, “you look like something I used to dream about before I went into the arena, before I forgot how to sleep without fear.”

I couldn’t speak, not at first, because his words were peeling open something I had stitched closed years ago, and it hurt in a way that was almost beautiful.

“Regulus…” I whispered, but I didn’t know what to follow it with, didn’t know how to gather all the years and all the heartbreak into something coherent, something that wouldn’t collapse beneath the weight of what we had both lost.

“I never forgot you,” he said, and the words felt like unraveling. “Even when they made me stop writing, even when they told me you were better off not knowing me, I carved your name into everything I could—into my thoughts, into the silence, into the way I trained every tribute who reminded me of you.”

I looked at him then, really looked, and saw the boy I used to know buried beneath the man the Capitol had sculpted, saw the shadow of the fourteen-year-old who once carved wooden stars and whispered my name like a secret prayer.

“I never wanted you to be perfect,” I said, my voice shaking. “I just wanted you to come back.”

And something inside him broke, not loudly, not visibly, but I saw it—the way his shoulders sank slightly, the way his fingers twitched like they ached to hold something they’d lost.

He reached for my hand then, finally touching me, his palm warm against mine, steady despite everything shaking between us.

“You look like home,” he murmured

Eyes fixed on me like I was the only thing in this glittering, monstrous city that still made sense. “ Starling, you will live and I will make sure of it.”

I didn’t speak, because there was nothing I could say that would be more true than the way I stood there in silence, silver and soft, every layer of my dress catching the light like memory, letting myself believe—if only for a moment—that in his eyes, I was still the girl who sang beneath the stars, and in mine, he was still the boy who listened.

Elsewhere. That same night.

Regulus moved like a wraith through the veins of the Capitol’s heart, the corridors stretching endlessly around him, gleaming like the insides of a polished coffin. He knew these halls. Knew the way the marble hummed beneath his boots, the way the lights above flickered once—only once—when they shifted into surveillance mode. These were the bones of a building that had birthed him, broke him, rebuilt him into something sharp enough to survive.

He walked like he belonged, because he did. This place had carved him into a symbol. A victory anthem in the shape of a boy. A Capitol treasure with teeth. He had been theirs for five years, and they never stopped applauding. They never stopped watching.

But they didn’t know what he was doing now.

The guards nodded when he passed. Silent. Respectful. Unaware.

He could walk through fire with blood on his hands, and they’d still open the doors for him.

He found James exactly where he hoped he wouldn’t. Awake. Wandering.

The boy was alone, standing in one of the shadowed passageways behind the tribute quarters, gazing through a sliver of glass cut into the wall like a wound. The city stretched beyond, monstrous and glittering. His reflection was faint in the window—wide eyes, trembling mouth, the quiet dread of someone who knows the world is about to end and still dares to look anyway.

James Potter was brave, stupidly brave. Loyal in a way that broke things. He would have laid down his life for her.

And that was the problem.

Regulus’s fists curled at his sides. He did not speak. If he did, he would fail.

James turned at the faintest sound, confusion flickering across his face like sunlight caught on water. “Regulus?”

It was the last thing he said before the world tilted sideways.

The strike was fast. Precise. No hesitation. Regulus moved like a phantom and hit like a promise—one made years ago in the quiet of District 7, in a grove that no longer existed, to a girl with a voice like rain and fire.

James’s breath left him in a single broken gasp. He stumbled, knees buckling, eyes wide with shock, but Regulus caught him before he could fall too hard. He sank to the ground with him, hands steady now, cradling the boy’s head like something sacred. His pulse was fluttering beneath his jaw. Still alive. Just enough damage. Just enough time.

He’d planned it perfectly.

James wouldn’t die. But he wouldn’t stand either. Not in the Arena. Not in time to take her place.

It would have to be Regulus.

It had always been Regulus.

He lowered James gently to the cold marble floor and sat beside him for a moment, as if in mourning. The silence swelled around them, full of unsaid things. The Capitol blinked in and out of view through the narrow window, uncaring and infinite.

“I never wanted this,” Regulus whispered. His voice sounded foreign. Strangled. “You’re better than this place. She trusted you. And I—” His voice broke for real then, a fracture so deep it felt like something inside him split clean through.

“I had to. You don’t understand. You would have died for her. But I already did.”

He pressed his forehead to James’s shoulder for a heartbeat. The boy was still breathing. That had to be enough.

The clock was already ticking.

Regulus stood slowly, breath catching in his throat, spine trembling with restraint. He looked back only once.

James lay in the hallway like something fallen from grace, bloodless, peaceful, still.

And Regulus—Regulus walked away, each step ringing louder than the last.

Not a hero.

Not a traitor.

Only a boy who once loved a girl beneath the trees and promised her the world.

And now, with hands that could only destroy, he would try to save her.

The morning didn’t come.

It didn’t drift in with soft sunlight and slow, gentle whispers like a normal morning. No, it exploded through the room like a thunderclap, ringing through my ears until everything was distorted, warping the air with its jagged edges. The Capitol’s sirens began, sharp and unrelenting, like the cry of something dying in the dark. It pierced the quiet, cutting through every thread of peace, every moment of stillness I had left, and rattled the walls of the sleek, glass-walled room we were assigned to.

I thought, for a moment, it was just another broadcast—another announcement, maybe a change in the Games’ schedule or some twisted new development designed to rattle us. But it didn’t stop. It went on and on, a screeching reminder of everything that was wrong with this place.

My body jerked upright on instinct. My heart raced, thudding against my ribs like a drumbeat, trying to catch up to the chaos around me. The air felt thick with electricity, every breath feeling like it might be my last, each second weighted with something I couldn’t name.

I heard the sound of hurried footsteps—someone was running down the hall. I didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Marlene.

She burst through the door, her figure casting a long shadow across the polished marble floor. The usual Capitol poise was gone. Her makeup was smudged, her hair falling loosely in soft waves around her face, the edges of her dress frayed from where she’d clearly been rushing. The corners of her mouth were tight with something more than stress—fear, I realized as she met my eyes, her gaze frantic. Her hands trembled as she reached out, but it was the words that shattered me.

“James is hurt. He’s unconscious. He can’t participate.”

Everything stopped.

The sound in the room died, as if the air had been sucked out and replaced with a suffocating vacuum. My mind couldn’t process it. I was standing before her, but it didn’t feel like I was actually there. My body was moving, I was hearing the words, but it felt like I was stuck in the middle of some dream—too distant, too far from reality.

I blinked. Hard.

“What—what do you mean he can’t—he can’t—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I felt like I was choking on the word, choking on the truth that was starting to crawl into my skin.

Marlene’s eyes darkened, and she hesitated. I could see the lie she was about to tell forming, but she didn’t have the heart for it. Not today. Not like this.

“It was an accident,” she said, her voice trembling, breaking on the last word. “A medical emergency. The Capitol’s doctors—he’s in the infirmary now. They’re doing everything they can.”

“No.” The word left me before I could even think about it. It was raw and desperate, a plea from somewhere deep within me. I took a step forward, the floor cold beneath my bare feet, but it felt like I was moving through water, like I was trapped in something thick and suffocating.

Marlene stepped back as I approached, eyes wide with something that looked a little too close to pity. She opened her mouth again, but I couldn’t hear her. I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of my pulse in my ears.

James didn’t make accidents.

James Potter—the boy with the bruised smile and the reckless laugh, the boy who could dodge any attack, who lived through any battle—didn’t fall to something as simple as an accident.

He doesn’t.

James was chaos, but he was controlled. He survived things that should’ve destroyed anyone else. He lived through fire. He lived through wolves. He fought like the world was his to burn, and nothing—nothing—could break him. He was fire.

This? This wasn’t possible.

I turned, my mind finally catching up to my body, forcing my legs to move. I didn’t know where I was going, only that I needed to get to him, to see for myself, to know.

I ran.

I ran, and I didn’t care if they saw me, if they followed me. I didn’t care about anything except getting to him. The halls blurred as I moved faster, my pulse pounding louder with each step.

When I reached his room, I found the door closed. No, locked.

I pounded my fist against the smooth surface, desperation choking me, my breath coming in jagged gasps. I didn’t even hear the guards approaching until one of them spoke, the words cutting through my frantic thoughts like ice.

“You can’t go in.”

The voice was firm. Impersonal.

I pressed my forehead to the door, the cold glass seeping into my skin, and I felt something snap. I needed to get to him. I needed to hear his voice, to see the glint in his eyes that told me he was still alive.

“No,” I whispered. “No. I’m not leaving. I need to see him.”

But they didn’t let me.

Then, just when I thought I couldn’t stand the weight of it all any longer—when I felt like I might fall apart at the seams—there was a movement behind me. A sound. A voice.

I didn’t turn at first. I couldn’t.

“Step away from the door,” the voice said.

I knew that voice. It chilled my blood in an entirely different way.

It was Snape.

He was standing there, framed by the golden light filtering through the hallway. He wasn’t wearing the normal uniform, but something more formal, more imposing—dark, sleek, a shadow in the Capitol’s daylight. His eyes were unreadable, like always, but there was something else there now, something colder.

I didn’t want to talk to him. Not now. Not like this.

But he didn’t wait for me to speak.

“You can’t go in,” he said again, his tone sharper this time. “James won’t wake before the Games begin. Even if he does, he’ll be in no state to participate.”

I didn’t want to hear him. I didn’t want to hear any of this.

But I had to.

My mouth opened, but no words came. There was no fight left in me. Only the slow, cold realization that something was slipping out of my grasp, something I couldn’t save.

Snape’s gaze didn’t soften, it never did. But it wasn’t cold, not exactly. It was something more like knowing.

“Look,” he said, a quiet command. And I knew—knew without a doubt—he wasn’t asking me to look at James. He was asking me to look at what came next.

I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to look. But my body turned, as if on its own. I didn’t even hear the elevator doors open behind me, not until the soft chime echoed through the hall.

It wasn’t just the sound of the elevator. It was the sound of everything changing.

And then he stepped out.

I didn’t recognize him at first. Not because I didn’t know him—but because it didn’t make sense.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to look like that. He wasn’t supposed to wear that.

He wore the uniform.

The District 7 uniform. The same one James should’ve worn. The same one I should’ve been wearing.

Regulus Black. My Regulus Black. Dressed in the grey and green of the Capitol’s cruelty. The insignia over his chest—his new identity—wasn’t just a symbol of District 7. It was a brand. A reminder that they owned him now.

His face was pale. Too pale. Not the porcelain skin I remembered, but something sharper, harder. Like he had been chiseled from ice, but even the cold couldn’t keep him from breaking. His eyes…

His eyes found mine.

One glance. One moment. One second.

But it was enough to tear the world in half.

I saw everything in those eyes. I saw the boy who once held me close in the darkness of the woods. I saw the boy who swore to protect me. I saw the boy who was now standing in the uniform of a killer.

Regulus Black had done it.

He had taken James’s place.

And now he was walking into the Games.

For me.

But I didn’t understand. Not fully. Not until the Capitol’s voice rang out, echoing through the hollowed halls like a funeral bell.

“Due to medical disqualification, District 7’s male Tribute shall now be Regulus Black. The Games begin tomorrow.”

The world shattered.

I couldn’t breathe. My body felt like it had become weightless, like I was floating above the earth. But my heart… my heart dropped straight down into my stomach.

Regulus took a step toward me. One step too many.

But I couldn’t stop him.

And I couldn’t stop myself from dying a little bit, too.

I, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Regulus Black female and male tributes from district seven of The 70th Hunger Games.

taglist: @fadingcollectivenightmare @spidermansfangirl   @foulwaterss @slaybestieslay946 @aelinwya @yvessentials @sickly-afraid @urfunnyvalentin3 @hufflebubble53

[odxrilove]

BIRTHDAY BOY

PAIRING: mingyu x f!reader

GENRE: fluff, friends to lovers, bday party!au? kinda confession!au, uni!au but not really mentionned

WARNINGS: , flirting, swearing, alchohol, drinking, one mention of being high (not yn or seventeen), etc typical party stuff, game of truth or dare, minghao is annoying x1 (jk), yn gets jealous a bit, yn and mingyu are in love ewwww, huge make-out session (borderline smut...) (JKKK. or am i), lots of tension + more?

WC: +8.1k

SYNOPSIS: It’s Mingyu’s birthday party, and Hoshi lets something out under the influence of alcohol. Apparently, you have two gifts prepared for him– completely throwing out the one-gift tradition your friend group strictly follows. However, Hoshi’s a liar — and a bad one at that — but it’s already too late. Even though Mingyu knows he’s supposed to be excited about all the gifts he’s receiving tonight, he’s (not so surprisingly) only interested in everything you’re giving him.

A/N: thank u so so much to sara the loml pookie bear (@4xiaojun) for reading it so many times over the past few months and hyping me up ! i couldnt have finished this fic if it wasnt for u ily bae !!!! &&& rec song - i dont understand but i luv u by seventeen 

FIC TAGLIST: @etherealyoungk @simpforyongbokk @luvhyun3 @nhularin @matchahyuck @graybaeismytae @mark-geolli @esloao @jaklvbub @sukistrawberry @raggedypansexual

back to masterlist !

“Having fun?”

The music is loud, resonating off the walls and making your ears ring. But even if you barely hear your own thoughts over the noise, mingyu’s smooth voice fills your ears.

You change your weight from one foot to another, bringing the red cup to your lips and taking a sip of your drink. The alcohol isn’t cold anymore and you slightly grimace at the way it burns your throat when you decide to empty your cup. You pull the cup away from your mouth, bumping it deliberately against his before crossing your arms and looking up at him.

“Yeah. Even more so now that you’re here.”

His already pretty smile widens and his little vampire teeth appear as he throws his head back to laugh. Your mind is hazy from the alcohol and you’re a bit tipsy, glossy eyes staring at his neck. You always thought mingyu’s skin was so pretty.

Mingyu takes a look around the room before focusing on you again, leaning with his shoulder on the wall next to you. He’s tall and looking down at you, it makes you smile a little.

His heart beats in his chest at the sight of your cherry lips, still wet from the drink. He doesn’t think he’s seen you wearing this lip color before, recounting all the times you came to hangouts wearing anything else than lip balm. The color suits you though, he thinks.

Unconsciously, his eyes wander to your cup before landing on the white plastic rim, the red trace of your lip gloss making him shudder.

The glint in your eyes is mischievous when he makes eye contact with you again. He sees you looking him up and down and he has to yell at his own mind when certain thoughts enter his head. He can sense how you fill up with pride at the sight of him wearing the watch you just gifted him, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“You’re already wearing it?” your body turns to him a bit and he leans down even more at the same time, faces centimeters away from each other. He lifts his hand up with a grin, pushing his shirt sleeves up his arms even more when he notices you eyeing them.

This time, you smile so big Mingyu almost awes at the sight. You force yourself to stop smiling and look away but your happiness can be heard through your slightly playful voice. “The others wouldn’t be happy to hear that, y’know?”

Mingyu wiggles his fingers and flexes his arm, making you giggle and uncross your arms in the process. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s my favorite gift.”

He tilts his head to the side, ruffling his styled hair with his ring-clad hands. Mingyu isn’t much of a ring-wearer but when he does, it fills your stomach with butterflies– not that that doesn’t happen on a daily basis.

“Who said the others have to know?” His stare makes you feel weak, knees almost buckling under you. You lean back on the wall for support, something he definitely catches up onto with the way he smirks. “Let’s say this is our little secret, yeah?”

You blush when you realize he’s, again, wearing the rings you gifted him months prior for secret santa.

Mingyu turns to lean against the wall with his back, facing the crowd as he lets himself drown into the loud music and the warmth your body radiates, shoulders touching. Your friend crouches down a bit, legs stretching on the ground and head close to your neck. With a sigh, he plops his head on your shoulder, turning to hide against you. He grabs your hips and holds his arm around your waist, audibly whining against your neck.

You nod silently, picking at the rim of your cup. From how close the two of you are, Mingyu can count your lashes, admire your face and the way your lips curl into a smile when you see your friends having fun on the other side of the room.

His breath tickles your skin and you realize mingyu’s just as tipsy as you are.

“You know what Hoshi told me?” he starts off, voice small and softer than usual. You guess he’s a bit tired from partying all night. It’s only a few seconds later that you look at him, smiling and humming when he silently waits for an answer. “He said you had a second gift for me.”

The man, who’s supposed to be 6.1ft tall, seems to shrink even more at your question, pouting and eyebrows furrowing. He glares at you before his eyes turn soft, hugging your body from the side. “You know I didn’t mean it like that~” His voice is slurry and you laugh at him, patting his head and passing your fingers through his hair.

Ah Hoshi, he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t go around spilling secrets and creating drama. You avert your eyes, suddenly finding the fabric of Mingyu’s shirt very interesting. “Is the watch not enough for you? ‘didn’t know you would be so greedy, gyu.”

You nod again, fixing a few strands of hair on top of his head. “I like your hair like this.”

“Yeah? You think I’m handsome?”

Mingyu abruptly gets up, rolling his shoulders back to stand up straighter. He lets out a mix between a gasp and a chuckle before turning towards a mirror near where you’re leaning against the wall. He passes his hand through his hair, going over the spots you didn't touch and paying extra attention to not mess up the ones you previously styled as he smiles. Suddenly, his tone turns confident as he examines himself in the glass, winking and adjusting the sleeves of his shirt.

You try your best to keep a straight face but the alcohol in your system makes it a difficult task. “Of course, you’re always handsome.”

Mingyu seems to light up at your words, a big smile on his face as he returns to where you are, choosing to lean against the wall on your other side. You know he’s up to something with the way he looks at you but you don’t question it– he’s mainly harmless so you have nothing to worry about.

To Mingyu's surprise, you don’t deny it. 

He taps his pointer finger on his chin, pursing his lips and giggling, “Could it be that you’re flirting with me?”

He swears he can see a teasing look in your eyes before it quickly disappears, making him gulp. He can’t even question you about it more before you’re intertwining your fingers together, holding his hand close and walking away from the wall. Mingyu feels like a puppy following his owner, tail wagging and tongue lolling out as he watches you drag him to the other room, discarding your empty cup on a random counter.

With a loud sigh, you plop down next to the armrest, dragging Mingyu down with you, squishing his big body between Hoshi and you. He looks at you and pouts as you let your head fall back on the couch, closing your eyes for a few seconds as the loud music resonates off the walls. 

When the two of you enter the living room, you’re not even surprised to see some of your friends gate-keeping the couches, seemingly playing a drinking game. Hoshi is one of the drunker ones and you walk past him to get to the bigger couch, ruffling his hair as he stares with empty eyes at a framed photo hung up on the wall. He’s still out of it so you quickly scratch the underside of his chin with your nails and he perks up, immediately scooting over to give you and Mingyu some space on the couch.

You feel Mingyu’s hand resting on your forearm, slowly dragging up and down as he intensely watches goosebumps rise up on your arm. When Hoshi seems to get dragged into a conversation between Joshua and Seungkwan, voices fill the room and you joyfully listen, letting Mingyu take your hand in his. 

His skin feels soft against yours and his thumb draws circles on the back of your hand. You turn towards him, leaning further against the armrest as he smiles at you. He’s cute you think, he’s always been cute. 

And then Mingyu brings your intertwined hands up to his mouth, kissing the back of your hand delicately and smiling into the sweet kiss.

His eyes sparkle, the party lights making him shine. His hair is ruffled from the many hugs he received from his friends and his cheeks are rosy from the alcohol.

Suddenly, it feels like you two are the only ones there, like there aren’t dozens of partygoers stumbling around Mingyu’s apartment. It’s weird, how you stare at each other in absolute delight, ignoring everyone around you as if Seungcheol wasn’t calling out both your names for a game of truth or dare.

It’s Mingyu who first snaps out of it, having been elbowed in the ribs by Hoshi next to him. He grumbles in pain but lifts himself off the couch anyways, extending his hand out to you and winking at you. You laugh and place your hand in his, his warmth sending shivers over your spine. 

Mingyu hoists you up from the couch and immediately wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you so close to him that your free hand lands on his chest. He tilts his head slightly and comes closer, mouth inches away from your ear. 

“I’m happy you came. Thank you.”

Mingyu pulls back with a slight blush on his cheeks, the tip of his ears read. A shy smile covers his lips and for a moment you’re not sure if you’re able to speak. You shallow and find your vocabulary again, thoughts racing in your mind. 

When you speak up, eyes locked into his, Mingyu thinks he could pass out from the sugary sweet tone in your voice. 

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

With a silent nod of his head in the direction of the hallway towards his friends, you put your hand in his again and lead the way, zigzagging between guests. 

—

“So, you really made out with that girl during summer camp? There’s no way that’s true.”

Laughter fills the room as you once again find yourself in the living room with Mingyu and his closest friends. At first, you had all followed one of the guys to the kitchen for a game of truth or dare until one of the partygoers threw up right on the stark white kitchen tiles, pausing the game and consequently pushing the group back to the sacred couches. 

Jun yells at Dino, hitting the latter on the shoulder and downing his drink. The younger one cackles, teasing Jun more for his confession. “Shut up, dickhead. I’m not saying anything else, just know that she was the one who initiated it.” 

His answer doesn’t convince Dino in the slightest and he just continues to laugh, falling backwards on the beanbag he’s currently occupying.

Mingyu’s laugh fills your ears, the joyful sound bringing a smile to your lips. You’re sitting right next to him again, but this time with your back to the armrest, one leg dangling off the couch and the other one blocked under the latter. Your heel digs into the skin of your thigh and unfortunately for you, it’s starting to feel like you have pins and needles in your legs.

You openly wince at the prickly sensation and squirm around, trying to release your hurt leg as you support yourself on the armrest, your feet on the floor slipping. Even with all the laughter and noise in the room– and Hoshi’s sudden barking, Mingyu notices and turns to you with worried eyes. You’re pouting without knowing it and he finds it hard to stare away from your lips, forcing himself to help instead.

What you didn’t expect however, was for him to pull your legs over his, in his lap, after you sat back down. You can feel your face heating up and you’re sure that your ears are full on red at this point. Mingyu knows the effect his action had on you, smirking while pretending like he’s absorbed by the current conversation– or more so an argument between Seungkwan and Dino about who used to have the best math grades in high school.

A gentle hand places itself on the side of your knee, helping you lift your leg as he guides you up with his other hand on your waist, respectfully and only after your nod of affirmation.

The boy continues to act like nothing is going on, seeming calm while his heart beats loudly in his chest. There is so much going on, the music resonating off the walls and friendly banter in the background, but Mingyu’s only focus is on the way your breath hitches when he hoists one of your legs up in his lap. He grabs onto your ankle, near the strap of your high heel and your leg soon joins the other one in his lap.

Mingyu’s being careful with his movements, unsure if he’s crossing a boundary or not– unsure if he just ruined one of his best friendships just because his heart couldn’t keep itself in check. But then you grin, eyes sparkling wide and radiant as you look at his hand on your ankle.

It’s a silent game of back and forth– Mingyu’s looking at you to see your reaction and you avoid his gaze, knowingly, to stare at his pretty hand running up and down your calf. Mingyu knows you would have said something if you disapproved of his action but he’s still feeling like a high school boy with a crush on someone for the first time, worrying about every small thing.

On the other hand, you are glowing, happiness and excitement radiating off you. You feel weird, butterflies erupting in your stomach as if you weren’t already aware of how much Mingyu could affect you– how he could make you fall in love with him over and over again.

Actually, if he thinks about it, he is a boy with a crush on someone– you, just not as a high school boy anymore since he graduated long ago.

You snap out of your little bubble, again, and for once you are grateful for Joshua. Because you’re almost hundred percent sure Mingyu was starting to trace hearts on your thigh. And you certainly didn’t know how much longer you could survive his constant flirting.

When your eyes lock, there’s a look and nod of agreement between you. And then his hand is on your upper thigh, thumb brushing circles on your skin.

“Truth or dare! Yn and Mingyu, you two are playing this round!”

Even with the guys’ screaming in the background, you hold eye contact with him for a little bit longer, just in time to see his eyebrows relax and his gaze soften before you’re diverting your eyes. 

“Isn’t truth or dare something you play in middle school?” You tease your friends, trying to lift yourself off the couch to sit up straighter so that other people can join and use the couch. Before you can do so and pull your legs off Mingyu’s lap, he stops you with a hand on your knee, looking at you with furrowed brows.

“Cmon Yn, truth or dare is a classic. Even us oldies have to play it once in a while!” Dino exclaims, unaware of the sudden tension rising from your couch.

A loud slap is heard before Dino winces, turning around to face the culprit as Scoups menacingly points at him, “Ya! Who are you calling old!” They continue to argue for a bit, with Dino calling the oldest, well, old and Scoups pushing the youngest off the beanbag and on the floor.

Normally, you would have paid more attention to it, the friendly banter bringing you much joy, but this time your mind is focused on something else.

If Mingyu tried to talk to you right now, you would barely be able to hear it over the loud music, but he doesn’t talk to you, his gaze tells you enough. “Don’t” is what you understand he’s trying to say and you let out a deep breath. He’s still staring at you, hand still on your knee and his eyes seem to be pleading you to stay.

At that moment, you realize you could probably never say no to Mingyu.

So you set your legs back down in his lap, readjusting your dress so that you don’t flash everybody. When Mingyu realizes you decided to stay, he sends you a big smile, teeth on display. And when he smiles at you like that, you would trade every couch in the damn world to see it a bit longer. You don’t even care anymore about the other party goers who might have wanted to join the game, Mingyu and you clearly taking up the whole couch, with a drunk Dk squished to Mingyu’s right side.

“Hey lovebirds! We said you two are playing, pay attention instead of staring at each other!” 

The game in itself isn’t that bothersome– your friends are mainly having fun, bickering and throwing each other under the bus when it comes to revealing not so important secrets. It’s pretty entertaining to watch and you take pleasure in it, but you can’t concentrate fully on Jeonghan’s story about how he saw his high school math teacher and science teacher, both married with kids, making out together in the science lab ten years prior. And all that because of the eyes boring into the side of your head. 

You huff when you still feel his eyes on you after Woozi downed his drink, poking Mingyu in the ribs. A quiet yelp leaves his mouth and you smirk, triumphantly, crossing your arms proudly, chin high. 

That is until Minghao turns towards you, pinky lifting from his glass and pointing your way. “Yn, truth or dare?” 

Your cheeks grow hot, being caught off guard as you sink into the armrest of the couch. You take a moment to think. You know Minghao isn’t the type to completely humiliate you if you decided to choose dare, he’s actually rather laidback with you, but you also remember accidentally spilling his last cup of his favorite tea right on his lap when you all went to visit his new apartment a week prior. And since Minghao’s pretty protective of his tea, you’d prefer to avoid walking right into the cage of a wild and unpredictable animal. 

And as the red-haired boy looks at you, waiting for your answer with a slight smirk on his face, you’re sure you made the right choice. 

“Truth. I don’t want to leave this place covered in a mix of glitter and cereal or something.” 

Truth it is. And could Truth possibly do even any harm?

Minghao hums, taking a last sip of his drink before finally speaking up. “Wise choice. Or not. Yn, of all the people in this room, who’s the guy you’re crushing on?” 

Okay, so apparently Truth can do a lot of harm. 

Your eyes widen, your mouth falling open in sock as everyone turns to look at you, some whispering between themselves and some even giggling. 

You definitely did not think this through enough. 

Mighao tilts his head a bit and you don’t waste a second more before you’re reaching forward to grab your shot glass off the table, “Pass”. In your haste, you forget that you’re basically sitting sideways on the couch and that you don’t have any support under you as you move your upper body off the couch, eventually losing balance and falling forward. 

But before you can hit the coffee table with full force, an arm snakes around your waist, holding you up and bringing you back on the couch. Mingyu’s hand is holding onto your hip firmly, his fingers dipping into the fabric of your dress. 

There’s a sudden silence as your friends look from you to Mingyu, then back to you. You turn your head towards your ‘savior’ and directly make eye-contact, the close position and the strong scent of his cologne making you dizzy. 

Your face heats up, again, and you quickly grab your glass from the table, downing it and returning to your seat, hands clasped tightly together. Minghao eyes the now empty shot glass and chuckles, “Hiding something?” 

You glare at him, “It’s one question only, Minghao.” You forgot sometimes how infuriatingly teasing he can be. 

The next round of truth and dare goes more smoothly, nobody’s falling to the ground and there are no questions regarding anyone’s love life– if you don’t take into account Joshua asking Hoshi if his sister is still single. 

You don’t know how much time passes but you feel at ease on the black couch, leaning the side of your head against the backrest as you continue to enjoy the nice and friendly atmosphere. The guys have now changed to another game in a smaller group, while the others thought it was a good idea to start playing Mario Kart.

The music changes to a slower genre when the clock hits 2am and you decide that maybe it’s time to get another drink, the alcohol leaving your system a bit too soon for your liking.

With a sudden boost of energy, you swing your legs off Mingyu’s lap and stand up, kneeling down to stack the empty shot glasses and bring them with you to the kitchen. While you’re doing so, you feel a tug at the bottom of your dress. Mingyu pulls the hem of your dress down as you lean over and he makes sure no one can sneak a glance under your short  outfit. 

You turn to him with difficulty, the stacked shot glasses in your hands and your heels almost knocking over a plastic cup on the ground. Mingyu looks up at you, hair brushed back and arm resting on the back of the couch. He waits for you to speak and you smile softly. “Want a drink?” 

The corners of his mouth turn up and he gets up from the couch, taking the shot glasses from your hands. “I’ll go with you, if that’s ok.” 

You nod, and almost notice the faint blush on Mingyu’s cheek, “Of course.”

The music is still playing through the heavy speakers in each corner of the room, the lights of the TV casts a colorful glow over Mingyu’s living room and the chatter of every party goer doesn’t go unnoticed as you two make your way out of the room, stepping over the many empty cups on the wooden floor and into the less crowded hallway.

There aren’t really a lot of people in the hallway, but most of them are walking from one room to another, making it a hassle to peacefully cross the hallway without bumping into someone. It’s loud and the people occupying the little space aren’t exactly making it easy to enter the kitchen. 

Mingyu sees the mess before you do, taking all the shot glasses in one hand and grabbing your hand with the other. His back is creating a wall between you and the ‘danger’ in the hallway, and before you know it, Mingyu’s pushing forward, bumping into drunk party goers to make it through. He quickly creates a path, one that is safe to take as he pushes away the cups and beer bottles on the ground away and to the side, craning his arm so that you’re close to his back and following him.

When a very drunk– and probably high, guy stumbles out of a random room and directly into Mingyu’s shoulder, the shot glasses nearly fall to the floor, earning a panicked gasp from the owner. The guy doesn’t even bother to say sorry, looking past the both of you with a dead gaze as he tumbles forward, weak legs bringing him to the living room.

You whip your head around, smelling the awful stench coming from the guy and bring your hand up to cover your mouth. When he’s out of sight, you sneak one last glance to where he disappeared off to and tsks. “Asshole.” 

Mingyu’s laugh brings your eyes back to him, puzzled. He just squeezes your hand, sending you a smile over his shoulder. 

As you two finally arrive at your destination, the kitchen, your eyes widen in horror. It seems that there are even more people in the small kitchen than in the living room, which is already crowded enough. There’s not even enough space to navigate properly, people choosing to squeeze themselves between other people to get to the exit, spilling bits of their newly-filled drink. You hear Mingyu sigh– the cleanup the morning after is gonna be a tough one.

“Hey, why don’t you wait for me here? I’ll go in alone and come back with the drinks.” Mingyu turns to you, the shot glasses carefully leaning against his chest. 

Mingyu watches as you glance around the hallway and then around him, into the kitchen. You bite your lip, showing you’re becoming a bit anxious and he furrows his eyebrows. His smile quickly falters, showing concern right away. “You okay?” 

You look up at him as he turns fully towards you, almost blocking the doorway to the kitchen. You pass your hands over your dress, flattening out the non-existent wrinkles. “Yeah, it’s just starting to feel a bit too stuffy in here..”

Mingyu hums, raising his head to look at the end of the hallway, where the door to the balcony is situated. When he returns his gaze to you, he tilts his head cutely, licking his lips. “You wanna wait by the balcony? I told the guests not to go on there too much so that i won’t get a noise complaint from the neighbors. I think it’s safe if you go there.” 

With a smile, you nod at Mingyu, “yeah, that would be great. Thanks.” You place one of your hands on the wall next to the kitchen before leaning in so he hears you better over the music. “Don’t die in there by the way! We haven’t even gone to Iceland yet like we planned to years ago– it would be a waste for you to miss out on our extravagant bucket list, right?”

Mingyu’s laugh fills your ears, the sound making you smile from ear to ear. “C’mon, who do you take me for? Seok– Oh sorry.” Mingyu cuts himself off, lifting his two hands in the air with one still holding all the shot glasses. The girl, who just bumped into Mingyu, and who you recognize as one of your classmates from your major, pushes her hair behind her ear, blushing at your friend. 

Before she leaves, she mumbles a few words, but the music is way too loud for you to make out what it was, and then she’s gone. 

You don’t pay too much attention to it, as does Mingyu, who’s already back to look at you. It’s not the first and certainly not the last time someone is going to bump into one of you two at his party. 

“Sorry, what were you saying?” You turn back to Mingyu, crossing your arms and making the silver necklace you’re currently wearing shine even more under the flashy led lights. 

“Ah, sweetheart, you never listen do you?” Mingyu brings his free hand up to your jaw, tapping on the underside of your chin with his index finger. “I said, you need to stop biting your lips when you’re nervous. They’re too pretty for that.” 

You can’t speak, your entire vocabulary having left your body. His hand then turns to cup the underside of your jaw, his thump grazing over your bottom lip, ultimately smudging a bit of your lipgloss. Your mouth falls open a bit at the shock but he doesn’t stop. “A pretty color.. for pretty lips. Suiting.” His thumb sweeps one last time over your lip before he retreats into the kitchen. 

“Wait for me by the balcony, I'll grab our drinks for us.” 

— 

The temperature outside is completely different from the stuffy warmth inside the small apartment, the cold breeze making you shiver. You’re not a fan of the winter, or the cold in general, but when it’s almost 3am and your cheeks are red from being around Mingyu, the weather is probably the only thing keeping you sane. 

You think it’s captivating outside– how the moon shines and provides you enough light, how the silence from nature and the muffled sounds from the party mix together, how the wind blows your hair around and makes you tremble. You like it all.

There’s a calming atmosphere around it. You don’t feel as edgy as before and you mentally thank Mingyu for allowing you to use his sacred space for your own benefit. 

If you truly think about it, you had come to the party with no real intentions, but as the night goes by, you find yourself yearning for more. 

You find yourself yearning for Mingyu. You suppose it’s not entirely a bad thing– it’s also not the first time. 

You’re leaning over the balcony railing, looking down to the street at the foot of his apartment building. The concrete tiles are darker than usual, and wet– you were too absorbed by the party to even notice it was raining outside. The water droplets on the railing are cold against the skin of your forearms but you just clench your jaw through it. In a way, it wakes you up.

Your eyes are closed as you hum to the melodies of the pop song playing inside, chin propped up on your palm. You don’t know how long you rest your eyes, but you missed Mingyu’s voice when he opens the door to the balcony, stepping out of the apartment and smiling your way.

“Sleepy?” You just tilt your head, eyes still closed. You do turn towards him as you feel his presence behind you. 

You realize Mingyu always smiles when he’s looking at you and butterflies race in your stomach. 

Your hands are on the slippery metal railing as you lean back against it, the water droplets staining the lower back of your dress. It’s cold against your skin and you shiver, suddenly, and Mingyu notices, immediately stepping closer to you. 

“Just a bit out of energy.” 

Mingyu closes the balcony door behind him, swiftly setting down the two newly-filled plastic cups on a wobbly garden table in the corner and joining you. He stands in front of you, hands in his pockets and smirking down at you. You gulp, feeling like his prey. 

“Why’s that?” His tone doesn’t show an ounce of concern. Probably because he knows he has nothing to worry about. 

You’re not a jealous person, truly. You’re relatively confident when it comes to your relationships and friendships and have never deemed it necessary to throw a tantrum about your partner and who he talks to. To be fair, your last relationship was quite a while ago, but you still stand by your own beliefs. 

So, feeling a tiny bit of jealousy creep up when your classmate– the one who had previously bumped into Mingyu– walked up to him in the kitchen and laid her perfectly manicured hand on his bicep was an entirely new thing for you. 

You had even questioned yourself if you had the right to be jealous. You and Mingyu weren’t even together! 

The fact that you could watch what was happening right from your spot on the balcony didn’t help you either– your curious self being unable to stop watching while your mind was telling you to think about happy moments– aka moments where Mingyu showed he was definitely more interested in you than in the party or your classmate. 

So even though the little angel on your shoulder tried to avert your eyes from the crime scene, the manipulation play from the little devil on your other shoulder was a bit too convincing for your liking. In conclusion, you found yourself staring at the entire event. 

Frankly, nothing happened. On Mingyu’s part at least. The girl however, let’s say she was just trying to get to know him (a lie you’re definitely not telling yourself to keep calm).

Honestly, you weren’t paying much attention at first. It’s Mingyu’s birthday party, of course people will go up to him and congratulate him. But when the girl– you honestly don’t even remember her name– leaned towards him and put her hand on his chest, on the same spot where your hand had been moments prior, you knew this was more than a simple “happy birthday!”. 

Was it foul to only remember the way Mingyu’s smile seemed fake, the way he slowly backed away from her presence, and the way he rushed back to you? If it was, you couldn’t care less.

The two drinks he brought back were still sitting on the old table, untouched as if forgotten. 

Mingyu’s a bit too close for your liking. You can probably start counting his lashes– or the sparkles in his eyes. But when you open your mouth to joke, so that the tension could leave your body, Mingyu interrupts you and gets even closer. 

His tone is serious but you know he’s enjoying this, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “Were you jealous?” 

You hate how good Mingyu knows you, and you hate the effect he currently has on you, even though you would normally bathe in it. 

You know he knows, so there’s really no need to lie. Even more so when one of the reasons why he rushed back to you was because your eyes met when he was getting your drinks, and he saw you biting your lip. And you know now he doesn’t like it when you do that. 

You lean back against the railing even more, the metal digging into your skin as your heart starts to speed up. Your sudden shyness doesn’t waver his interest in the slightest and he only takes a step forward, backing you up against the railing. 

“What are you going to do if I say I was?” 

At that, Mingyu chuckles, looking to the side before hanging his head down. When he looks at you again, his hand finds its way to your cheek and he carefully brushes over the blush adorning your skin. 

The only thing you hear is a small ‘cute’ uttered under his breath before he retracts his hand and puts both of them on the railing behind you, trapping you between him and the end of the balcony.

Mingyu caught you, literally, and there’s not much you can do to stop him from getting what he wants. So you opt the easy way out, speaking the truth. “I was jealous, yeah. For the first time ever actually.” 

His smile grows even wider. “Do you love me that much, darling?” 

You don’t give him an answer this time, because you know he’s not really waiting for one. He knows and that’s enough for him, now. He also doesn’t really have the correct mindset to play this game with you at his party. The few glasses of alcohol you both took earlier are probably a bit at fault too. 

You clear your throat and he speaks up again, voice a bit rougher than earlier. “I guess Hoshi didn’t lie when he told me you liked me that much that you would have prepared two gifts for me.”

“You know Hoshi almost always lies.” You let go of the railing, hands finding their way to Mingyu’s waist, fiddling with his leather belt.  

You hear him inhale sharply, looking up to the sky for a short moment before focusing on you again, and definitely not on your hands. 

To fight back against the aggressive butterflies causing havoc in his stomach, Mingyu pulls you towards him, one hand on your lower back and the other one squeezing the fat at your hip. He’s in total control, and he’s confident about it too– you couldn’t even blame him for it. 

“Oh, almost always? So he’s not lying this time?” Mingyu leans down again, faces inches away from each other, to the point where you could just close the distance between the two of you with a small movement of the head. “Because I do think there’s some truth to it, sweetheart.” 

Your hair swings in the wind, and even though it’s cold, you want to stay with Mingyu as long as possible. His body feels warm under your fingertips and you almost gasp when he pushes you against the railing, his hand protecting your lower back from digging into the cold, wet metal. 

A short silence fills the air and you don’t know what to do except look away, your face growing hotter and hotter with every minute. Mingyu doesn’t talk either, too busy staring down at you. He makes a mental list in his head of all the things he loves about you, adoring you with his eyes while the music inside resonates from the glass door. 

You look away because you can feel him stare, and you wouldn’t know how to react if you were to make eye contact, since the effect Mingyu has on you is continuously making your knees buckle under you. 

“Were you interested?”, you suddenly ask, voice much quieter than before. It takes Mingyu a few seconds to realize what you’re talking about when you don’t meet his eyes, deciding to rather look at his shoes instead. 

He thought he had made it clear– clearer than anything else– but he didn’t expect you to suddenly shy away while in his arms and close to his chest, all because some girl tried to flirt with him. Deep down, you know he isn’t (if he was, he wouldn’t be with you right now, risking at least a three day-long fever) but you want him to say it. 

Mingyu just tilts his head a bit, a soft smile on his face as he tries to show you you have nothing to worry about. “Not in her, no.”

This time you smile back, a quiet ‘good’ falling off your lips as you place your hands on his forearms, palming his muscles through the sleeves. “Just wanted to make sure, y’know.”

He knows. 

Now it’s his turn to ask questions though.

“Why didn’t you say anything during Truth or Dare?” The question comes off strong, completely out of nowhere and causing your eyes to widen in shock. You weren’t expecting him to mention the game and how much you had embarrassed yourself.

You’re quick to answer though, in all honesty. “Because the others didn’t have to know.”

Mingyu smirks, liking the way your face heats up whenever he does or says something. He feels like your eyes can’t take him in wholly, going from one part to another frantically as they slide over his upper body. “And can I?” 

Your eyebrows furrow after his teasing tone makes an appearance again and he has to stop himself from letting out a chuckle. You’re almost pouting too, lower lip jutting out and unintentionally showing off your pretty lipgloss. You cross your arms, nails digging in your own forearms as the cold suddenly takes over you again. “I think it’s pretty obvious, don’t you think?”

A beat of silence, and then, “I want you to say it.”

He’s begging for it, pleading eyes boring into yours. His voice sounds somewhat more whiny as he starts to rub your sleeveless arms, making the goosebumps disappear. It’s not the first time you’ve seen Mingyu use his puppy eyes, he usually brings them out when someone teases him or when he needs something, and today, it’s the latter. 

Once again, you find yourself unable to refuse Mingyu anything. 

“I should have said your name when Minghao asked.”

Then he’s smiling again, happy you finally (kinda) admitted what you two should have confessed months earlier. He didn’t think you would give in so quickly, making him beam in excitement. His eyes are full of joy and his cheeks are rosy– you like to think it’s because of what you said, but the alcohol could still be playing a part in it.

You didn’t even feel tipsy anymore, no blurred vision or imperfect balance. It’s the first time you’ve sobered up so quickly, and you entirely thank Mingyu for it. 

You truly don’t know how much time passed since you stepped foot onto the balcony, the cold weather dragging every minute out but Mingyu’s presence speeding everything up. The music seemed to have calmed down a lot since the beginning of the night, and when you glance around Mingyu and into the apartment, you notice you can actually now make out the furniture and picture frames in the hallway. The kitchen and hallway are mainly empty but you can still hear chatter and laughter coming from the living room, concluding the rest of the guests are probably scattered all over the couches.

When your thoughts are all over the place, a slight pinch at your hip wakes you up, bringing you back to reality– on the balcony, and still in Mingyu’s arms. He chuckles, smoothing down your dress where he pinched you, rubbing over the now sore spot as you slowly wince. 

He looks behind him, into his apartment, where you were previously staring at and comes to the same conclusion as you. 

You’re all alone, with no one around. 

That thought alone makes him gulp. Fuck, was he always this nervous around girls?

It’s a silly question, because he knows he’s only ever that nervous when it comes to you.

He’s nervous, but he still craves for more so he focuses on you again. On your pretty eyes and how much they glisten in the moonlight. On your soft hair and how perfectly his hand fits in the nape of your neck, playing with a few strands. On your pretty lips and how he wishes he could just kiss away the lipgloss, so that you’d have to apply it again and he could then mess it up again.  

Mingyu needs you now, and if that means speaking without a filter, then so be it– a sacrifice he’s more than willing to give. 

“Are you going to kiss me now?”

You giggle and he feels dumb. But then you smile so deeply that he falls in love all over again. And he thinks you’re with no doubt the most beautiful soul he’s ever met. 

Your hands start to travel back up from his forearms to his biceps, before landing on his shoulders, where they squeeze his muscles, the tension in them all too familiar. You eye him, entirely this time, taking your time to appreciate every single part of him. 

You stare a bit too long at his neck and Mingyu blushes, unaware of how he’s supposed to react to this sudden onslaught of attention. Your hands move up to his jaw, holding his face close to yours as you stroke both his cheeks. 

You truly have him twisted around your finger. 

“Do you want me to?” It's an unnecessary question, but you want him to say it– just like Mingyu wanted you to before. Mingyu thinks he’s on the verge of collapsing, the only thing still keeping him upright are your hands on him and his on your waist and the railing. 

He’s desperate as he catches both of your wrists and kisses them each, before bringing your right arm up to wrap around his neck. He’s slow but determined and it sends shivers down your spine. Your nails scratch against the nape of his neck and he groans, clearly affected by it– by you. 

“Please, Yn.”

Your left arm soon joins the other one around his neck and Mingyu has to mentally restrain himself from rushing whatever good is supposed to happen. When both your arms are loosely hanging around his neck, your bodies are closer than ever, chests pressed against each other, warmth engulfing you entirely.  

Your sweet voice is the last thing he hears before his mind circuits. “Guess it’s time for your second gift then.”

And then you’re standing on your tip-toes, closing the small distance between you two and finally, finally stopping the seemingly endless torture. 

Your lips smash against his and it’s so aggressive because you can’t control yourself anymore. His lips feel soft and delicate against yours and you think you might end up breaking them– you wish you would. 

Mingyu holds a strong grip onto your waist, his arm circling around it to make sure you don’t shy away again. His other hand is on the side of your neck, holding onto your face as he pushes you against the balcony railing. 

One of the first things he notices is your raspberry flavored lip gloss– which he swears he knows he will never get enough of– and the slight hint of alcohol on your lips. It’s enamoring, enticing and everything he’s ever wanted. 

You run out of breath quickly but you don’t stop, you refuse to, physically unable to separate yourself from him. It’s Mingyu who backs away first, leaving you desperate for more, chasing after his lips. You gasp for air, head spinning at the utterly new but heavenly feeling while Mingyu attacks your neck, jaw, and everything that could make your eyes roll back.

Your hands are gripping onto his shirt, nails clawing at his back as Mingyu takes pleasure in pressing kisses onto your skin, going from your neck down to your cleavage and stopping when his chin grazes the fabric of your dress.

Mingyu groans when you pull at his hair, biting and sucking at your neck before planting a last kiss on your collarbone, quickly coming back up to your lips. He swears he can’t live anymore without kissing you. 

You drag Mingyu closer to you by the collar of his shirt, and then he’s kissing you again. His lips were determined and unrelenting, not letting go of you. He was addicted, goosebumps taking over his body as he bit down on your lower lip. You whined at the metal taste in your mouth, craning your neck for more. 

Mingyu chuckled against your lips, kissing them slowly before sliding his tongue against your lower lip to soothe the bite. He’s barely leaving you alive, completely breathless but still– always–  aching for more. 

His mouth was devouring you and you just couldn’t get enough– both of you, too absorbed in your own little bubble to even notice the weather was becoming gradually worse, rain falling out of the sky in a downpour. 

His tongue slid against your lips, again, before entering your mouth. Your hands holding onto Mingyu’s shoulders weren’t enough to get you anchored, legs trembling as he held onto your waist, muscles flexing. 

Mingyu’s warmth surrounded you completely, to the point where you felt like you couldn't breathe properly. Mingyu had taken full control over you, as your mind was a total mess, and you were just able to follow his movements and beg for more.

You gripped onto his bicep as you arched your back, the rain drenching both of you to the core– not that you really cared anyway, the way Mingyu’s tongue fought with yours was what truly mattered. 

You were ruined– completely and devastatingly ruined for everyone who wasn’t Mingyu.  

Then he eventually parted from you, pressing one sweet kiss to your mouth and you almost teared up when you felt him smile against your lips. 

Mingyu was beautiful, soaking wet hair sticking to his forehead, cheeks and the tip of his ears spark red and his lips swollen, red and plump from kissing you. His chest is heaving as you stare up at him, not caring in the slightest about the rain messing up your makeup and outfit. 

His hands slowly lift up to your face, holding it so softly your heart skips a beat. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone and he leans towards you, nuzzling your nose with his. 

Mingyu’s eyes literally shine and your lips part in awe.

You stare too much but Mingyu doesn’t force you to look away, because he’s sure he’s staring just as much. 

It’s only when you lean back into his arms that Mingyu notices the lingering taste of raspberry on his lips. He grins and he hopes that your lip color stained his lips, so that when you go back inside, your friends know that you’re his now– not that they weren’t aware before. 

And when you lift your head to look at him, arms circled around his waist, your smudged lipgloss is enough to make him want more. 

“Happy fucking birthday to me.”

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[sodaneko]

𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐄𝐒 (𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫) ❦ 𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝟎𝟏 ; 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭: 𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐚

♫ Nilüfer Yanya - midnight sun

Love is raised by common thieves // Hiding diamonds up their sleeves // Always I did it for you // Never felt so sure // You're my best machine // You're my midnight sun // Always I did it for you

word count: 4.3k

⭅ back to m.list

“And this is the secret snack drawer of our department. Bossman refills it every Tuesday so you gotta be quick if you wanna snatch your favs before someone else does.” “Alright, thanks Bokuto-san, I’ll keep it in mind.”

When they said office tour this wasn’t exactly what you imagined, but you’re not complaining. You trail behind this giant puppy of a man who can barely contain his excitement over showing you around the building. While he gives off the impression that there’s not a single thought behind these unsettling eyes of his, you can tell that he is a sweetheart to his core and you have a good feeling about working together.

It’s been an hour since Kiyoko from HR–the most beautiful girl you’ve ever laid your eyes on–dropped you off in the hands of your future team and so far you’ve seen: 

The half-heartedly fixed window on the 3rd floor a certain “Tsum-Tsum” broke during last month’s office party

The girls restroom where Yachi from Marketing could be heard crying (“She schedules her crying session between meetings, it’s normal for her so don’t worry!”)

The cafeteria and which vending machines there to avoid, as well as the ones Bokuto ended up being stuck with his arm in 

The rooftop where they hold events during the warmer months (and where you accidentally locked yourself out when the door fell shut behind you–thankfully a guy built like a french door fridge who introduced himself as Meian came to your rescue after twenty minutes).

The coffee shop next door where everyone goes because the in-house coffee is ass apparently and HR cut budget for a new coffee machine 

What you haven’t seen yet:

Your future cubicle and the floor your team works on

The IT department where you’re supposed to pick up your work laptop

The showrooms of the latest collection

The Bossman 

Still, your nervousness from this morning is easing slowly. When you applied for this position, you wouldn’t have thought that they’d actually hire you considering what a mess your resume is on paper. Moved overseas with your family in middle school and continued living there till a month ago. Dropped out of college to pursue a career as seamstress (all self-taught no less because an apprenticeship meant too much commitment). Then chased that promised record label deal with your band which didn’t happen before you crashed and burned out big time. 

Frankly speaking, you were tired. 

It’s as if every decision in your life was either taken away from you or led you down a miserable path. Everything you touched just crumbled underneath your fingertips. Sometimes you catch yourself thinking that maybe you weren’t built for this kind of life. Maybe you weren’t meant to be a dreamer. 

Something boring. Something stable. 

You applied for this corporate job with the hope in your heart that you can find some rest. Putting an end to worrying about bills at the end of the month, and finally knowing which bed you’ll fall asleep in at night, seeing the same old city day in, day out. Maybe a place to call home but then again you didn’t allow yourself to wish for too much. Just a change from whatever trainwreck your life had been prior to this would be nice. 

You loved sewing and making music with your entire being, but maybe you never should’ve built a living on it–if you could even call the past few years of your adulthood that. Living. It felt more like surviving. You’ve been missing that joy over these things you used to love the most for a long time now. 

So when you got the call that you got the job last month, you didn’t have to think twice. You started packing your few belongings into boxes the same day and gave notice to quit your shabby flat. The money you once saved to go on a world tour with your band now came in handy to fund your move back to Japan. It all happened so fast. In a way it felt like an escape, like giving up; but in your heart you knew this was the right thing to do. 

Maybe you had to take your eyes off the things you loved to really see them again.

“Hello…? Yes, she’s with me. What? No, I wasn’t showing her the view from the fire escape ladder. Should I? Why am I getting yelled at?”

You snap out of your thoughts when Bokuto answers a call that obviously makes him go through all emotions in the span of a minute. He gestures something to you and you have no idea what it means, but based on context clues you assume it’s “the bossman” on the other end of the line. 

“Meeting room on cloud nine, got it. What? But ‘ninth floor' sounds so boring… yeah, yeah, I’ll bring her. No detours, got it. Not even… no? Okay.”

Bokuto hangs up the phone and you swear his hair looks a little deflated, just like his overall expression. He really was an open book. It was kind of refreshing.

“Did you get in trouble because of me?”, you ask and he shakes his head vehemently. 

“No, no! I showed you all the important stuff and Omi-Omi–I mean, the bossman–will show you the boring rest. Like where your desk is and everything. He’s back from his out-of-office appointment and booked a meeting room for you two. I’ll take you there!”

Omi. The corners of your mouth twitch a little when you hear that name, a sweet memory unraveling in your chest. Bruised knees and ice cream dripping down your knuckles, small hands pushing you on the swings and braiding flower crowns made from daisies for you. Plucked out petals. He loves me, he loves me not. Friendship bracelets and baby teeth. 

You aren’t any good with names, but you’re sure you would’ve remembered this one during the interview process. 

“This Omi-Omi…” you wonder as you follow Bokuto’s lead, “is he a new hire as well? I’ve spoken with a ton of people for my interview but if I remember correctly the team leader was someone called Miya Osamu…?”

“Ohh, you spoke with Myaa-sam!” Bokuto’s eyes seem to light up. “No, he doesn’t work here anymore, just his carbon copy! Quit the job to follow his dreams, he said. He’s about to open his own restaurant just around the corner actually! We should go there for lunch once it’s open!”

A strange emotion tugs on your heartstrings. Following your dreams. Yeah, that ended disastrous for you but still you can’t help but feel a pang of envy over everyone who does it anyway. You try to shove it deep down, far away. It’s long in the past. You’re here now, a new chapter. New faces. New routines. All new. Same old you. 

“Omi-Omi got promoted when Myaa-sam left, so that’s why you haven’t met him during your interviews,” Bokuto adds and holds out a door for you. “Don’t worry about him. He can be a bit grumpy at times but he has a sparkly heart or whatever the saying is. You’ll get along just fine!”

Bokuto leaves you alone with your thoughts in the small meeting room. You’re not sure what to do while you wait. The prospect of sitting still seems awful but you also don’t wanna be nosey and flip through the fabric samples someone left on the table or read through the flipchart in the corner, even though you’re tempted, so you end up pacing around the room and looking outside the big windows. Everything outside seems so small from up this high. It makes you feel irrelevant too and it’s a strangely comforting feeling. Being nothing but a name, a small gear in a bigger picture. Maybe if you become a blank canvas, you can find the colors in your world again. 

You twirl around when the door clicks open, flattening down your skirt, suddenly now very aware that the moving box with your flatiron is still stuck on some container at sea. Doesn’t matter, maybe you can pull it off as edgy or casual chic with the right amount of charm and charisma. 

Behind you, the door clicks open, making you twirl around. 

And freeze.

“Sorry I’m late, I picked up your work laptop from the IT department on my way, so we can get started right aw–” 

Leather sleeve holders on a spotless white shirt. A black face mask covering the lower half of his face. Dark curls, moving like the sea at night. Hands so large they’d swallow yours easily if you ever get to hold them again. Two birthmarks, right above the eye–that’s where a lover used to kiss you in a past life, you remember saying when you were both kids.

“Kiyoomi,” you hear yourself mutter. It sounds distant, like an echo from the past. It’s been over a decade since you tasted his name in your mouth and even after all this time your hearts still recognize each other. 

“Ah,” he says and then, after a pause, “you.”

He looks dumbfounded and just stands there frozen, balancing a bundle of paperworks and a laptop in one hand and two styrofoam cups of coffee in the other. For a few seconds you just blink at each other, trying to process whatever cheap trick the universe decided to play here.

Sakusa Kiyoomi. The boy you claimed you’d marry one day when you were both just eight years old. You remember being so sure about it. How the thought never left you growing up; and how you broke down crying when your parents told you about their plans to move overseas for their work during your first year of middle school, the end of a dream. 

Eventually you snap out of your paralysis. 

“Ah, you. What kind of non-reaction is that?”, you ask and shake your head, laughing. You take the coffee from his hand and reach out to slowly peel the mask off his face. Despite his brows knitting together, he doesn’t protest it. It’s strange, seeing him. The boy you once promised your heart to in the sandbox and the grown man with the same face, just sharper. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you now. 

“Well, excuse me, but the girl who I still have a bite mark from when we were kids just spawned out of the blue in front of me,” Kiyoomi huffs, rolling his eyes like he used to when he was annoyed by your antics. He cups one side of your face with his now free hand and lifts it slightly as if to get a better look at you, his thumb idly caressing your cheek. It feels awfully intimate and you find yourself leaning closer into his touch.

Omi. Your Omi. 

It’s as if time stood still between you; as if not over a decade has passed since you last saw each other. Held each other. Murmured promises in each other's ears as you hugged goodbye in the pouring rain. Of course it was pouring that day, it was as if the heavens were weeping over the two of you being separated. Maybe that's the universe's apology for this past dick move, you think, the corners of your lips curling upwards.

Kiyoomi lets go of your cheek and flicks your forehead as if he read your mind. Another habit from back then.

“Still a daydreamer,” he remarks and for the first time since he walked into the room he smiles and it’s like the sun has risen again after years of winter. 

When you sit down together, so close that your knees under the table are touching, you find it hard to focus. Kiyoomi explains the applications you’ll work with, your logins, company security policies, which meetings you’ll attend with him the upcoming weeks and the hierarchy of your team, but you don’t follow. At all. You’re too distracted by the flutter in your chest and wondering what the shaved part in the back of his neck would feel like if you ran your fingers over it, as well as what he’d been up to over the past decade, and why he never answered your letters, and… 

Your phone vibrating on the table next to you snaps you out of your thoughts. You click your tongue in annoyance when you see it’s the moving company calling you. 

“Sorry, I gotta take this. Won’t take long,” you apologize and pick up the phone, leaving the room for an ounce of privacy–it’s not like the thin walls muffle much when you yell into the speaker for five minutes only to hang up in defeat. 

Kiyoomi looks up when you return, his eyes looking you up and down with the same intense gaze like he always did.

“Boyfriend trouble?” His voice is bland, seemingly disinterested, but no matter how much he tries to hide it you can still hear the underlying weight of the question. “Or girlfriend trouble. Didn’t mean to make assumptions.” 

You slump down on your chair again and sigh in defeat, shaking your head. 

“None of that. It’s the damn moving company,” you huff, slamming your phone back on the table. “They mixed up dates and now I’m here but all my stuff isn’t.” You rub the bridge of your nose in annoyance. “It’s been almost a month and my back will kill me if I have to spend one more night on an air mattress.”

Kiyoomi drums his fingers on the table, pondering. You can tell by the furrow of his brows and the intensity of his gaze. Once again you notice what a fine man he has become. His beauty would’ve been intimidating if you haven’t known him since you were little kids. 

“Stay with me.”

You look up from your phone where you wrote down the new date they gave you for the arrival of your furniture and blink at him slowly. Not fully registering what he’s saying.

“Stay with me,” Kiyoomi repeats again, noticing your confusion. “Till your things arrive. I have a guest room. It’s a short commute to the job. I cook and I clean.” He shuts his laptop and gets up, running a hand through his dark curls. 

“And…?”, you ask, as if waiting for the condition because surely it sounds too good to be true. 

“And maybe I’m also worried that you’ll turn out to be nothing but a fever dream if I take my eyes off you again.”

In the evening, Kiyoomi and you stop by your almost empty apartment to pick up your suitcases with a change of clothes. 

Sneaking away after work together without the rest of the team noticing was surprisingly easy–Meian had clocked out early to pick up his partner from school (Kiyoomi begged him to clarify that she was a teacher to avoid any future confusion), Bokuto and Atsumu were stuck in an elevator (“They’re not my responsibility after 5pm”) and Hinata went out for dinner with some business partners from Brazil. 

When Kiyoomi saw how you were dressed for the chilly autumn weather, he wordlessly turned around and disappeared in the office building for five minutes again, showing up with a scarf that looked suspiciously like the one the mannequin in the showroom wore, from the collection that wasn’t supposed to see the light yet. Nobody has to know, especially not how tenderly he wraps it around you, making sure you stay warm. He always did. 

Some kind of protective instinct within him kicks in when you unlock the door to your place. Kiyoomi, who huffed about the lack of security of your apartment complex for the duration of the whole elevator ride and then some more when you let him in, was now checking your windows and front door. 

“You’re gonna tire yourself out from all that head shaking and tongue clicking, Omi,” you tell him while you stuff your scattered clothes across the floor back into your two big suitcases. Most of them were absolutely not fit for the season because after spending half of your life abroad. You kind of underestimated how cold Japan could get during autumn and winter. Maybe you could sew a few pieces after work and on the weekends. 

“This place is a rathole,” Kiyoomi groans after turning the dripping faucet on and off and making a face of utter disapproval. “You should just move in with me permanently.”

“I’m not moving in with you, I just met you like eight hours ago,” you snarl back and roll your eyes, but maybe, in the back of your mind, you’re considering it. 

Kiyoomi crouches down next to you, taking your chin between his fingers so you’d look at him.

“Eight hours my ass,” he huffs. “Don’t act like we spent our childhood glued together. You slept more in my bed than in yours. The memory foam of my mattress kept the shape of you long after you were gone.”

“Now that’s kinda romantic.” 

You glance at him, a small smile tugging on the corners of your mouth. Your Omi. How you missed him. His thumb traces the outline of your jaw, and for a fleeting second you wonder if he’s gonna kiss you. 

Maybe you really want him to kiss you. 

You take a cab to Kiyoomi’s apartment (“What have you packed in these suitcases? Bricks? I’m not hauling these to the other end of the city. Get in.”) and he holds your hand for the entire duration of the ride under the feeble excuse that your hands are too cold. On the outside you watch the city lights pass by, an artificial milky way that unexpectedly lead you back into your first love’s arms.

Kiyoomi’s place is clean and spacious without being cold. The scent of it is making your brain tingle in a strange way, the subtle note of an almost forgotten childhood memory resurfacing again; the boy you once loved still living here but also someone else, someone he grew into without you.

You step out of your heels and shrug off your jacket and the scarf, dropping them carelessly to the ground. Behind you Kiyoomi bends down to hang it up neatly on the coat rack while you waltz inside as if you own this place. Another thing that hasn’t changed since you both were little. 

Expensive, you think, recognizing some of the furniture brands and decorations. In one corner of the living room stands a vintage serving cart, crystal glasses and pricey bottles of various alcohols on top of it. His walls are adorned with artworks of all sizes, but otherwise they’re bare, the shelves missing trinkets and personal touches like framed photos of family and friends. 

Still, the whole place feels like a home, lived in by someone as quiet and private as Kiyoomi. 

“It’s late, I’m gonna order us some food,” Kiyoomi announces when he appears behind you, fingers tapping on his phone screen in one hand while the other unbuttons his shirt a little. He doesn’t look at you, just hands you his phone, gesturing vaguely. “Pick anything you like. My treat.”

Sitting down on the couch with your knees hugged to your chest, you scroll through the food options. Your attention span is fleeting, your eyes darting from the screen to Kiyoomi who carries your suitcases to the guest bedroom. Giving you a place to be, to stay, like it’s the most natural thing to do. Suddenly you’re very aware of the heaviness of your bones and how tired you feel.

You’ve been running for a long time. You’re home now. 

Kiyoomi returns with a towel and a change of clothes, taking the phone from you again. He frowns when he scrolls through your food picks, letting out a small sigh.

“You still have the palate of a five year old.”

“You told me to pick anything I like? Just because you were fed caviar and gold dust as a baby… You pick something then.”

“I didn’t say I won’t order it, no? Go take a bath meanwhile. You had a long day.” 

A long day. If it was only that.

But you don’t say anything, just wordlessly take the stuff from Kiyoomi’s hands and let him usher you to the bathroom. He pats the counter for you to sit on while he runs you a bath, pouring some bathing essence that causes a mild explosion of bubbles (same as you liked it back then). The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up when he checks the water temperature before turning back to you. He walks over till he’s standing between your legs, his hands coming down to rest on the sides of your thigh.

In the confined space of the bathroom, he seems even taller, wider. Nothing left from his baby cheeks and soft features. There was a time when you could see eye to eye, but now he’s towering over you with ease. Your hands find their way to his hips, subconsciously making him inch closer. 

“You don’t have to do all of that for me, you know,” you mumble as you glance up at him. 

“I want to. So please, let me,” he replies quietly. His face is so close, you could count his lashes if they weren’t endless. Endless as his adoration for you–still, after all this time. You briefly wonder if you could love each other like you did back then. Or even more. Your heart is drumming, a nostalgic melody you haven’t listened to in a while but one that’s engraved into your being.

It would be so easy, loving him. Like breathing. 

Kiyoomi pulls you into a tight hug, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Your arms around him cling tight, as if part of you is afraid that he is just a fleeting illusion, crumbling the moment you let go. It seems like you share the same fear. He shakes his head when your grip loosens slightly. 

“Not yet,” he mumbles, his lips brushing over the skin of your neck when he does. “Don’t let go yet.”

Your fingers are tangled in his curls, keeping him close, your bodies pressed against each other. Hearts beating in unison. You silently thank the sun and the moon for bringing you back home into his arms. Only when his neck starts to hurt from the way he’s hunched over you, he reluctantly peels himself away from you, patting your side. “C’mon now. Your bath will get cold.”

He holds out a hand to help you down from the counter, slender fingers wrapping around yours. 

“But I wanna keep talking to you,” you pout, earning a small eye roll from him, but the faint smile on his lips is betraying the gesture.

“Then leave the door a crack open. I’ll talk to you, doll,” he replies and flicks your forehead. Before he leaves the bathroom he turns around again, as if there was something else on the tip of his tongue, but he decides to swallow it. For now.

Immersed in the bubble bath, you tell Kiyoomi everything that happened over the span of the past decade. From your life overseas and how lonely it had been, to the missing letters and how you tried finding him on social media when you were older, how much you loved sewing and making music and how it burned you out doing these things for a living. You pour your heart out. Somehow it’s easier when you’re not looking at him, when you can’t see your own sad reflection in his dark eyes.

You can hear him moving around on the outside, not peeking, but always near enough to give you short answers, ask questions or to simply hear him laugh through the small crack you left open. It is strange. Life is strange. One night you’re selling your bass to have something to eat for the rest of the month, then a heartbeat later you’re sitting in your puppy love’s bathtub while he orders you fries and waffles. 

That night, you fall in love again.

Or maybe you never fell out of it. But it’s there, tangible, glowing. You're tucked under a thick blanket, a photo album in your lap, and Kiyoomi is hand feeding you nuggets while you look over the slightly faded photos from when you were kids, some you have long forgotten about. 

The one where you lost your first baby teeth, grinning from ear to ear to show off your tooth gap. You cried horribly that day and to comfort you, Kiyoomi bought you a small plushie from his pocket money. It still sits next to your pillow when you fall asleep every night.

The one where you wore your middle school uniforms for the first time, not knowing you would be torn apart a year later and never got to graduate together. It’s also when Kiyoomi had another growth spurt and you realized you really, really liked this boy.

The one where you played dress up in your mother’s wardrobe, her wedding dress way too big on you, the veil awry on top of your hair, but Kiyoomi looking at you like you’re magic. It was all play pretend, but maybe in another life he really became your husband if life hadn’t torn you apart.

“I really missed you,” you sigh quietly, your head resting against his shoulder as you shuffle through the photos. The nostalgia is leaving a bittersweet taste in your mouth, the what if’s getting harder to swallow. It’s like the words are clawing in your throat, begging to be let out. Kiyoomi wraps his arm closer around you, pressing a soft kiss on top of your head. 

“Missed you too. More than anything.”

It seems like everything leads you back to him. In his arms, his home, his heart. You have a feeling that maybe this could be the beginning of something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

a/n: i rewrote this chapter SO many times to a point where i wanted to rip my hair and my eyes out so here we are. omi loving demon and me are shaking hands rn, WE MADE IT. thank you so much for reading and loving omi as much as i do. this chapter is for YOU 🌷 ps: meian's partner mentioned is y/n from dodger's oh captain, my captain

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[bonkybuchananbarnes]

There She Goes (2)

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Bucky Barnes x AFAB!Reader

You're a bright superhero popstar, and he's a quiet, brooding ex-assassin who seeks redemption. The two of you are like sun and moon. When Bucky suddenly moves in with the Avengers, you stop at nothing, trying to become closer with him. What could possibly go wrong?

Au!Post Civil War where all the Avengers are alive. This story is a slow-burn romcom!

Title and story inspired by the song There She Goes by The La's

Series tags: sunshine x grumpy trope, strangers to friends to lovers, 2000s romcom vibes, crackfic, reader is a bold outgoing flirt and Bucky is a self reserved shy?man, fluff & crack fic, some angst, bucky is trying to heal and you try to help him, maybe future smut?

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chapter summary: You try to get to know the new kid on the block and notice that he has Steve's little brown notebook.

chapter warnings: none. although has a bit of angst!

A/N: i have SOOOO many ideas for this fic i'm actually excited for once lol

also, sam wilson is sooooo best friend coded but one of these days i'm going to make him an x reader fic. he's so underrated and needs more love.

Word count: 2k-ish?

Bucky frowned as his spoon of cereal lingered midway from his bowl and his mouth. His eyes bore into your figure as he watched you plop down on the dining table and sat across him. The books and papers that you once held on to scattered throughout the kitchen table. The brooding man watched as one of your pens that escaped your pencil case roll into his cereal bowl with a small ‘clink’.

‘Good morning Bucky!’ you greeted cheerily. With your elbows propped up on the kitchen table, you set your face between your two palms as you stared at him with a cheery expression. 

Was the sun rising even higher this morning or did the room suddenly get unbearably bright?

His left eye twitched.

Ignoring your greeting, Bucky shovelled the spoon of cereal into his mouth and returned his focus back to his breakfast bowl.

The cold demeanor didn’t phase you at all. You were determined to become Bucky Barnes' friend. He was tall and handsome. You just had to add him to your collection of himbos, which currently consisted of Thor, Steve and Sam.

Maybe Bruce Banner too on a good day.

‘Did you sleep well on your first night here?’

A long pause before he answered. ‘Not really.’

‘Hm. How do you like the Tower?’

‘It’s okay.’

‘You’re lying. You used to live in this super ugly and run down apartment in Bucharest. Trust me sweet stuff, Stevie showed me photos. Don’t pretend that you don’t enjoy this insane upgrade.’ you huffed as you crossed your arms.

Bucky’s eyes flickered up and squinted at you when you called him sweet stuff. The nickname didn’t sit right with him.

‘Don’t you ever stop talking? God, you’re worse than Sam.’ he groaned.

‘Why thank you! Always wanted to one up him in something.’

The man stared at you incredulously, annoyed and slightly impressed that everything he did did not phase you at all.

You leaned in closer. ‘Wow, Sammy was right. You do have a staring problem. Not that I mind though. You’re very handsome and your blue eyes are stunning.’ you blurted out suddenly.

The super soldier flinched back. He knew that you were straight forward, but this was just crazy for him. It was too much for him to bear.

You blinked at his sudden action. Then a laugh escaped your stomach. 

‘Alright, I know you’re from the 40s and during that era women were still prissy little dames, but there’s now way you can’t be foreign to an idea of straightforward women!’ you said between your fits of laughter.

Bucky warily watched you laugh as he began to eat again. He needed to finish his bowl of cereal. He had to get to his therapy session with Dr. Raynor. Not that he wanted to go anyways, he had to because of his pardon. 

It was going to be a loooong day for him.

Once you calmed down from your laughing fit, your eyes made their way towards a small brown notebook resting next to Bucky’s bowl of Lucky Charms.

‘Hey, isn’t that Stevies? Why do you have it?’ you inquired, pointing to the book.

Bucky made a ‘hm?’ noise as his eyes followed to where you were pointing at.

You found that particular action of his cute.

‘He gave it to me. No longer has a use for it, scratched out all the things he did on the list.’ he answered.

Your mouth made an ‘o’ shape in response. But before he could blink, your hands snatched the book from his side.

‘Hey!’ he yelped as he hopelessly tried to snag the book back. 

‘Nice try Buckaroos, but they call me Sunshine for a reason!’ you gleefully said.

‘Don’t call me that.’

Ignoring his last sentence, you opened the notebook. The pages were slightly yellowed and crumpled on the edges, meaning it was well used. Your fingertips skimmed through the small pages until you landed on the list. Scanning down the written words, your eyes stopped at something you knew Sam brought up.

‘Ah, of course. The Troubleman by Marvin Gaye. Tsk tsk, Sammy, your taste could be better.’ you tutted, shaking your head at the same time. ‘Bucko, have you listened to the Troubleman yet?’

‘I like 40s music.’ he responded.

‘I get it, Bing Crosby is the goat. But let me do you one better; Stevie Wonder - Songs In The Key Of Life. You won’t regret it.’ 

Bucky regretted looking up at you. Your chest was puffed up like a bird trying to attract a mate. You looked really proud at your suggestion.

It was so stupid it almost made him laugh. Keyword; almost.

‘Sunshine, are you downplaying Marvin Gaye right now?’ Sam called out as he shuffled next to you. In his hands were two iced lattes, one which he gracefully slid over in front of you.

A small smirk danced on your lips as you dramatically clutched your chest, letting out the fakest gasp Bucky has ever heard. 

‘You wound me! Why would I ever downplay Marvin Gaye? He made Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, which is a brilliant song by the way.’ 

‘That song wasn’t even on the Troubleman album!’ Sam exasperated as he threw up his hands in the air in frustration. 

Bucky watched as you and Sam bickered about who the superior artist was; Stevie Wonder or Marvin Gaye. He wanted to slip away quietly and leave, but strangely he kept his place and sat through the whole debacle. 

Maybe it was because he secretly found the two of you amusing. But he would never admit that. 

‘Of course I would know better! I'm a singer after all!’ you scoffed, throwing a diva fit towards Sam.

Now that interested Bucky. 

‘You’re a singer?’ he piqued up slowly.

A sudden silence suddenly filled the dining area as you and Sam slowly turned away from each other and faced the super soldier. A bright smile replaced your scowl as Bucky’s sudden interest in your career made you ecstatic. 

‘Why yes I am! Do you want to see one of my music videos? Hold on, let me put on Spotify for you and show you my newest hit!’ you excitedly proposed to him. 

‘Hold on, run that back. Bucky, you're asking questions about people? Sweet Jesus this is an amazing development!’ Sam praised. 

James Barnes regretted opening his inquisitive mouth. 

‘Nevermind, forget what I said.’ he sighed. 

Bucky tried to get up from his chair and move somewhere else so he could eat his Lucky Charms in peace, but your flailing hands got in the way as you ran to his side (how did you get there so fast?)

‘Come on Buck! Don't leave yet! You asked if I sang, so I gotta show you that I do sing!’ you pleaded. 

‘Listen (Y/n), don't call me Buck. Only Steve can call me that. Also, I need to leave, I'm going to be late with my appointment with Dr. Raynor.’ 

His strong arm gently moved you out of his way as he quickly turned the corner to the bedroom area. The two of you simply watched as he disappeared down the hall.

You left a small sigh of defeat. So much for making an acquaintance.

Sam gave you a sympathetic look. ‘Listen Sunshine, I know you’re ecstatic about another hot man living here but you gotta give him some space. He's been through a lot.’

‘And you think I haven't?’ you snapped back. ‘Sam, it may look like fun and games but believe me, I know what it's like to be alone. And I don't want him to be alone.’ you quietly finished. Your fingers timidly grazed your left arm as a pathetic attempt to soothe yourself.

He softened his gaze with your confession. ‘Look at you, so empathetic and understanding. Is that why you were so adamant on befriending Thor as well?’ 

A teasing look suddenly appeared on your features, replacing the once sad smile that once danced on your face. ‘Nah Sammy, I was just hellbent on seeing his big blond beautiful self everyday.’

An aggressive eye roll and a playful smirk was all you got in response from Sam. ‘Anywho, I see you got your papers scattered again. Writing a new song?’

Your fingers lightly tapped against the cool marble dining table. ‘To be honest with you, it's getting harder these days to write a good authentic original piece of music.’ you sadly confessed. 

‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with sampling a few hooks here or there you know.’ Sam piqued. 

‘Oh?’ you said, raising your eyebrows. ‘So I supposed I can sample some Marvin Gaye?’ 

You were met by a light push of Sam's shoulders against yours as he gave you a painful smile. ‘Now you're pushing your luck Sunshine. I don't give you permission to tarnish his work.’

‘You wound me, and here I thought you were my best friend!’ you mourned mockingly.

A light laugh passed his lips, with you following after. 

—------------

God he hated public transit. Everything was too loud. New York subways has to be one of the levels of hell that he was taught as a young boy, because that's how he felt right now sitting in the rickety old subway car on the way to Dr. Raynor's.

Hell. He was in hell. Like he already wasn't living in hell for the past 70 years. 

His eyes met with the homeless man sitting across from him. The old scrawny dude stared back at him, unblinkingly with eyes that looked like they were popping out of their sockets. Bucky felt like there were holes being burned into his eyes.  

Maybe he did have a staring problem. 

A sigh left his lips. Breaking away from the homeless man’s burning gaze, Bucky hung his head low as he rummaged his metal fingers through his brown mop of hair. He just wanted to live in peace, after continuously fighting for almost a century without a break. Steve’s proposition for him to live at the Avengers tower didn’t exactly warrant the peace he wanted. But even if he didn’t want to admit it, he needed to stop pushing people away.

The rest of the ride was a blur and before he knew it, he found himself on that uncomfortable couch in the office room, facing the empty chair in front of it. Dr. Raynor was yet to arrive, so he sat in silence waiting for her.

The quiet tick of the moving clock was the only thing Bucky heard, until his super hearing picked up a song being played by the radio in the reception area. It was very faint, but he could hear it clear as day; it was your voice singing.

A fraction of an inch of his eyes widened as he carefully listened. Your singing voice was not what he expected. While he was introduced to your boisterous and outgoing talking voice, it contrasted to what he was hearing right now. A beautiful melody ripped through your throat as you sang with passion, with a catchy tune accompanying you.

He would hate to admit it, but it wasn’t terrible.

Actually, he really enjoyed it.

He zoned out as he listened through the whole song, not noticing that the therapist walked and took her place on the seat in front of him.

‘-es Barnes? Are you ready to start?’ Dr. Raynor started.

Bucky snapped it out. It was almost like your voice called to him like a siren singing to a sailor.

He warily looked up at Dr. Raynor and let out a tired smile. ‘Sorry doc, was out of it for a second.’ 

She shot him an incredulous look before she started the session.

…

A half hour painfully passed by. The therapy session came to a close.

Dr. Raynor sighed. ‘James, you need to stop pushing people away. You only contact Steve, and you don’t even answer Sam’s texts. That is so sad.’

The super soldier clenched his jaw but said nothing. She was right. Steve was right. He was given a chance of redemption, something he felt he didn’t deserve. There were people who wanted to reach out to him. Steve, Sam, some others.

And you.

‘Yeah.’ he croaked. 

The doctor closed her notebook and got up to leave. ‘I’ll see you next week Bucky.’

A small click of a door is all he heard.

Walking out of the room and into the reception area, he slowly made his way towards the exit before he paused, then reached out of the pen sitting at the counter of the check in desk. Pulling out the brown notebook from his breast pocket, he flipped his fleshed fingers to a fresh page and began to scribble something down.

(Y/n). Sunshine.

Stevie Wonder -  Songs In The Key Of Life.

As quickly as he wrote, Bucky shut the notebook and shoved it back into his breast pocket of his leather jacket and walked out, with a new song of yours faintly playing in the reception area once more.

He would have to ask about your favourite song in that album when he got back to the Tower.

[leaderwon]

CHAPTER 04 — The unofficial rule of proximity

wc — 790+

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It started with a group project. Because of course it did.

Nothing ever truly shifts without a little academic chaos thrown in.

Your literature teacher had stood at the front of the class with that too excited gleam in her eyes, like assigning a creative group presentation on classic novels was the highlight of her year. Maybe it was.

You should’ve seen it coming when she began listing the groups aloud instead of letting you choose. “Group Four,” she called, scanning her sheet. “Jay Park, Jake Sim, Y/N L/N, Haeun Seo, Sunghoon Park.”

You blinked. Jay immediately turned in his seat to grin at you, mouthing, jackpot. Jake looked like he was trying not to laugh. Sunghoon just nodded slightly, already scribbling notes on the assignment like he didn’t just hear you’d be stuck working together for the next two weeks straight.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath. Lia, unfortunately, had landed in another group, which meant you'd be trading notes more than actual study time now.

As soon as class ended, you were cornered.

“So,” Jay began, linking his arm with yours as you walked toward the lockers, “how do you feel about carrying this group?” “Bold of you to assume I’ll carry anything.” Jake chuckled from your other side. “You usually do.” “That’s because I care about passing.” “Same,” Sunghoon added, a little too casually. “Which is why we should meet today.”

“Today?” you groaned. “We just got assigned this.” Jay shrugged. “Better now than last minute, right?” So, just like that, your lazy afternoon turned into a study session.

Jay’s house was the obvious choice, his parents were out, his snacks were abundant, and his living room was practically designed for group hangouts.

You were sprawled across the carpet with papers all over the coffee table, while Jake sat on the couch, reading annotations from The Great Gatsby like they were written in a different language.

“Who even talks like this?” he asked, squinting at the book. “No one says ‘old sport’ in real life.” “It’s a metaphor,” you sighed. “Everything’s a metaphor in literature.” “Then why does Jay think Gatsby was just a simp with money?” “Because he was,” Jay called from the kitchen. “Don’t disrespect Gatsby,” you replied, tossing a pillow in his direction.

Sunghoon was sitting on the floor beside you, quietly highlighting text and occasionally pointing things out on your shared worksheet. He didn’t say much, but he was there. Steady. Focused. Calm in a way that made you feel less overwhelmed just by sitting next to him.

“Okay,” Jay returned with a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of soda, plopping down next to Jake. “We should split the scenes. Y/N and I can do the first half. Jake and Haeun can take the second. Sunghoon can handle visuals.”

“Why do I get visuals?” Sunghoon asked. “Because you have good taste.” “And because you don’t argue as much,” Jake muttered. You nodded. “Honestly, he’s the only reason this project won’t crash and burn.”

Sunghoon glanced at you briefly, a small smile forming. “Thanks.” You didn’t know why that one word response stuck with you, but it did. Maybe it was the way he said it. Quiet, sincere. Maybe you were just tired.

The study session went longer than expected. You ended up ordering pizza, laughing over mispronounced literary terms, and arguing over whether Jay was a better speaker or just louder than everyone else.

By the time you were packing up, your head was spinning from metaphors and scene breakdowns.

Jake walked you home, claiming it was “on his way” even though you knew it wasn’t.

“You looked tired earlier,” he said as you reached your front gate. “Because I am. My brain’s fried.” “Still... you’re doing a lot lately.”

You paused, turning to face him. “Is that a bad thing?” “No,” he said softly. “It’s just... don’t burn yourself out, Y/N.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment.

Because sometimes, Jake had this way of slipping into your thoughts without warning. Saying things you didn’t expect to hear. Not always deep, but always honest.

“I’ll be fine,” you eventually said. “It’s just a project.” “Sure,” he said, then smiled. “But if you need help, I’ve got you.” “Thanks.” He waved as he turned to walk away. “Sleep early, old sport.”

You groaned and threw your notebook at him. He dodged, laughing all the way down the street. You stood at your gate for a moment longer, the air cool against your skin, heart a little heavier than it should’ve been.

It was just a group project.bIt was just Gatsby.It was just a study session. And yet, something about all of it felt like more. Like the start of something you weren’t quite ready to name yet.

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