#I don’t know how there are still some people who are like

[midday-clouds]

Yandere Batfamily x Neglected & "Immortal" Reader 》

There are many yandere batfam x neglected reader but I can't get enough of them--- So here is a silly story idea I have

I don't go into too much detail about how the reader is immortal but I'll probably share about it another timeee

CW: Neglect, Self-Degrading, Kidnapping, Violence(Being shot at), Blood, "Death"

Reader is a product of a hookup between Bruce and some random other woman, your mom

You and your mom had a decent relationship. The two of you would help each other out and have fun playing games. You were so content without knowing who your father was.

Your world begins to collapse when your mom doesn’t come home one day. A bunch of strange people suddenly come into your house and drag you out. You never understood what happened that day besides that you were now alone.

After your mother is announced dead, you find out that you are related to the millionaire, Bruce Wayne. You don’t know much about him but still find yourself put on the Wayne Manor's doorstep

Bruce had just gone through the loss of Jason and had just taken Tim in. He would have happily made some space in his schedule but a case always comes up and makes him forget about you.

Due to Bruce being too busy, you never properly mourned for your mother. Alfred would try to help you but you needed your dad.

For the first week, you locked yourself in your room, almost immediately forgotten by the rest of the family. Alfred would bring meals to your room, knowing that you aren't ready for any sort of interaction in this state. 

Alfred tries to convince Bruce to prioritize your health but there is always a case that takes up all of his attention

After that first week, you become comfortable enough to try and get out of your room at least.

With you around the manor more, the family begins to see them more often but not enough to care.

All of them were busy being vigilantes and weren’t interested in connecting with you. Sure, don't mean to neglect you, but some criminals just don't know when to stop

This worsens your mental state, making them regret not trying to bond with their family earlier. If they had tried in the beginning, then maybe they would have made connections with your new family. Now it feels like they've lost their chance

Alfred would do his best to comfort you but he could only help so much.

When you met Dick, it was when he was stopping by to talk to Bruce. You both had a fun conversation together but that was it.

After that first interaction, you tried to talk to Dick more often when he stopped by, but it seems the first time was just lucky. Dick always had something that didn't allow for a quick chat,

Meeting Jason was honestly terrifying. You were in the kitchen when you heard some noise from outside. It's dark outside so you walk up to the window to see what the sound was

Because of the darkness outside and lights inside, you mainly just see your reflection when looking outside

You squint your eyes to try to see past the reflection when a red helmet pops up and frightened you

Falling onto the ground, you stare in shock at seeing the stranger open the window and step inside

Jason tries to relax your nerves by taking off his helmet, showing he isn't a threat. It doesn't help much when you don't even know who he is

He explains himself after seeing your confused look and you both end up having a small conversation. It was nice until Bruce came in and pulled Jason away.

You never seem to meet Jason again

There were very few instances where you interacted with Tim. Even though you lived in the same house, Tim was always busy.

You’d both exchange small greetings when seeing each other in the hall but that was it. You didn't want to disturb him so you never stopped by his room

you hoped that when Tim had free time, the two could hang out. However, Tim always made plans that you couldn't fit into

Sometimes you would hear that Tim has been playing a game with his friends and you would play it but by yourself.

After a couple of years, Damian enters the family and you were so excited

Because Damian was new to the family, you thought it would be the perfect opportunity to bond with him

That didn't go well. He almost stabbed you

Your opinion of Damian was quick to go sour.

Damian's acts to show authority have gotten you scared of walking around the manor and frightened of animals. Specifically Titus.

It is quite unfortunate as you love animals and to have a dog in the family would bring you so much joy. Too bad Titus has attacked and chased you on multiple occasions

You didn't know what to do with the violence Damian had been taking out on you. You don't feel comfortable talking to Bruce and don't want to bother Alfred. This leads to you bottling up your emotions and locking yourself in your room

During your time, you spent reflecting on your life. Being in the manor isn't helping your mental health so it would be good to go outside more. Due to your constant attempts to bond with your family, you don't spend too much time with your friends from school

Seeing this as another perfect opportunity, you make plans with your friends to get out of the house and have a bit of self-care

Once the day comes, you quickly pack a small backpack and leave the house, only leaving a note for Alfred that says where you're at.

Finally getting some “fresh” air and being surrounded by those who feel more like family than your real family

You all have the best day and make plans for more get-togethers. 

It may not be the safest to be out so often but you’ve lived in Gotham your whole life, you know the safety procedures to stay safe. There isn't much news on you so people don't even recognize you as Bruce’s kid

Of course, something had to happen

You and your friends had just finished a fun day and you realize that your bike was stolen, meaning you don't have a way home. Your friends offered to take you home but you declined out of politeness. If something does go wrong, you ask your friends to call you to check up on you

Your walk home is longer than expected and it’s getting darker. As you walk through the streets of Gotham, you’re suddenly pulled into an alley and are threatened with a gun

There a three masked guys and one of them seems to have recognized you as Bruce’s kid, changing their plan to use you for ransom

You’re knocked out and taken to an abandoned building where you’re tied up to a pipe in the back

The kidnappers have a ransom letter and take it to the Wayne manor, including the small backpack you carried around

Unfortunately, Alfred was on his month-long vacation and Bruce was the one to receive the letter

He takes the time to contact "all" his kids and they're all perfectly fine and he doesn't recognize the backpack that was sent with the letter. There was a wallet but no ID card of any kind. The letter also didn't have a name on it.

Bruce brings up the case to the rest of the family but they agree that it may be a scam. 

The letter was likely from some desperate person who was trying to trick Bruce into giving money so it was put on the side while the family worked on a bigger case. 

Because of this, you’re held hostage for an unknown amount of days before the kidnappers get tired of waiting and shoot you in the gut out of frustration 

You’re filled with immense pain from the bullet before darkness consumes you.

More days pass before you wake up, still tied to a pipe and blood stained clothes

It seems your kidnappers had left your body behind rather than getting rid of it. You’ve been struggling with the rope since you have been taken and it was paying off because you can see that you can almost get your hands free.

Once you're out of the building, it is midnight. You immediately run back to the manor the moment you find a family path.

No one is there to notice you make your way back to your room. Because of how long it's been, you don't leave a trail of blood. Maybe some dirt but hopefully it won't be too hard to clean up

You debate on what action to take next. Looking in the mirror, the injury from the bullet is gone and you don't want to go to the hospital

One thing that is clear though is that you are extremely hungry and how dirty you feel. With this on your mind, you do your best to clean yourself up before going down to the kitchen

You don't feel comfortable talking to anyone so thankfully the rest of the family is busy at night,

Once you are sure no one is around, you take a bunch of snacks and hurry back to your room

In your room, you eat everything until you finally feel full. Hopefully, you don't just throw everything up because it feels so nice to finally have something in your stomach

Your nerves begin to relax and you truly take in the events that happened

How are they still alive? They were shot at and haven't had food for half a month. What happened? Did Bruce not get the ransom letter? Why did no one save you? Did your friends call you?

Quickly remembering your friends, you look for your phone but are unable to find it. Not wanting to worry your friends, you open up your laptop to contact your friends through there. You see that you've gotten multiple calls and messages from your friends and it honestly makes you happy, knowing that there were people that worried and cared about you. You quickly text your friends and tell them what happened (Not mentioning how you survived being shot)

During your chat, the topic changes to college stuff. Your senior year has just ended a couple of weeks ago and it would be good for you to move out and be closer to those that make you happy. Also, after the kidnapping, you don’t want to be near your current family. They were the reason you were kidnapped and didn’t even bother to help you

Your friends suggest going to college outside of Gotham, perhaps in Bludhaven.

After many years of being stuck in a family that does nothing but hurt you, you got an acceptance letter for a school in Bludhaven. You were so happy and had a small celebration with your friends. Unfortunately, none of your friends would be joining you but you couldn’t wait to truly be free. 

Alfred returns from his vacation and reviews all the work that he left behind, along with Bruce’s mail. He knows Bruce has likely already reviewed them but it helps Alfred get back on pace with his work

He finds the discarded ransom letter and immediately checks up on you.

When he goes to your room, he finds the room empty besides some items that you weren’t planning to bring to college with you. This worries Alfred more and goes to Bruce’s office to confront him about the letter.

Bruce is filled with immense guilt when he realizes he forgot that you existed and now you could be dead in an abandoned building. Him and the rest of your family completely forgot about you

Bruce has an emergency meeting with everyone where he explains the situation. Once a plan is set, they all go out in the night to find you. However, they only find loose restraints with dried-up blood and a broken phone.

When the family returns to the manor, Tim goes to his room to fix the phone, Bruce and Damian go to the Batcave to review the cameras, Dick and Jason decide to visit your room

With Alfred’s help, Dick and Jason find your room and take a look around. It isn’t the biggest and barely has anything in it. 

Jason finds some old and filled journals and looks through them. There is a checklist for school work, notes to yourself, and personal entries. He understands the emotions you put in your journal and wants to protect you. Especially when he reads your last entry about your kidnapping 

Dick looks at the decorations you have on the wall. There are some glow-in-the-dark stars, some posters from school events, etc. One of the posters is for a theater show and he wonders if you were a part of it. Either an actor or tech person, Dick wonders why he never heard about your shows. He attempts to take a poster off the wall but the tape used peeled some of the paint off the wall.

Bruce loads up the camera and looks at what happened the day the ransom letter was given to Bruce. You had this happy smile as you made sure you had everything you needed before going through the front door. About a week later, Bruce sees you on the camera, in bloodied clothes and completely exhausted. This brings a wave of relief to Bruce while Damian looks closely at the camera footage. The front of your shirt is covered in blood and has a hole in it, but you seem completely uninjured. 

The last thing the two see of you is you slowly taking your stuff out of the manor and officially moving out

Bruce and Damian find your room to update Dick and Jason on their findings.

They’re thankful that you’re alive but still need to see you in the flesh. Looking around your bedroom, there aren't many clues about where you have gone. 

Tim takes a few days to fix the damage on your phone. At the very least, he needs to save the data that was kept on the phone. After messing with a few parts of your phone, he transfers all the data to his computers.

Once everything is saved, Tim lets his curiosity get the best of him and looks through all of your stuff before informing the rest of the family. All your photos, text messages, etc. He sees all the calls and voicemails your friends sent you on the day you were kidnapped.

Tim continues to learn more about your interests and your efforts to spend time with the family. You ranting to your friends about only playing a game or reading a book because someone in the family has read or played it.

Tim ends up having a copy of all your data for personal use before speaking to the rest of the family

Your phone is finally fixed and Tim can use it to find the location of your laptop. All the way in Bludhaven

With new hope, the family begins their search for you

They just need to take you home and keep you safe

Forever

[pickingupmymercedes]

A bit mushy - Lewis Hamilton

Let's see how Lewis and his wife do in a Couple's Interview.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: none

wordcount: +3k

a/n: Fun and light Lewis for the win, again thanks a million times to @greedyjudge2 for the idea and for some of the questions, I know I don't usually write carefree Lewis but it's my favorite ❤️❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

_______________________________________

The room was buzzing—cameras being adjusted, light stands tweaked and a handful of crew members chatting as they waited for everything to come together.

Lewis sat comfortably on the low-slung, cushy armchair beside his wife, his hand resting casually on the back of her seat tracing lazy circles on her back. They looked impossibly relaxed, as if the cameras were invisible, and this was just another day at home.

The director, a laid-back guy with a coffee stain on his jeans and a clipboard that looked way too serious for the vibe of the shoot, strolled over.

He was juggling his phone and an energy drink, clearly a man trying to keep his cool while wrangling two of the most charismatic people in motorsports.

“Okay, so this should be easy” he started, his voice overly casual like he almost didn’t want to disturb the couple’s chemistry “No serious stuff. No PR-approved answers. We’re here for the real deal. Just answering a few questions about each other, nothing too scandalous. Think... fun, but, y’know, juicy enough to make people smile.”

Lewis’s wife, legs crossed and leaning slightly into her husband’s space, raised an eyebrow. “Define juicy” a sly smile tugging at her lips.

The director chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know, like... light-hearted scandal. Stuff people don’t already know. Maybe embarrass him a little—" he motioned to Lewis—"but in a cute way.”

Lewis shot the director a mock glare “Right, you don’t really need to ask her that” he said, his voice dripping with good-humored sarcasm.

His wife snorted, turning to face him with a grin. “Promise not to dig too deep. Unless we’re talking about those sneakers you wore to the beach...”

Lewis groaned, tilting his head back dramatically. “Not the beach sneakers again! One time and I’m branded for life.”

The crew around them snickered, and even the sound guy adjusted his headphones to cover a grin.

There was something about the way they bickered that had the whole room leaning in, as if everyone was witnessing the most intimate, casual conversation between two people who just fit.

The director, fully entertained, motioned to the cameraman to get ready. “Alright, alright. Let’s save the good stuff for the shoot. Remember, it’s just you two being yourselves. No need to put on a show.”

His wife reached over and squeezed Lewis’s hand. “No promises.”

As they shared a quiet laugh, the subtle touches and glances between them were enough to make anyone nearby smile. There was no need for grand gestures—the way they leaned into each other, how their conversations flowed effortlessly, said more than any scripted moment ever could.

They had that kind of love that made everyone else feel like they were in on something out of ordinary, just by watching.

The cameras zoomed in slowly as the couple got comfortable in their seats. Lewis leaned back, his arm still slung casually around his wife’s chair, his body slight angled so he could face her better, and she tucked one leg underneath her, turning toward him like she always did when they were in the middle of one of their many quiet conversations.

Except this wasn’t quite so quiet. The cameras were rolling now, and the world was about to get a glimpse into how they were with each other.

The director's voice came through, just loud enough to hear but never intrusive.

“Alright, let’s get this rolling. What embarrassing fashion trend did you take part in?”

Lewis immediately leaned forward, rubbing his hands together as if he was preparing for battle. “I’ll own this one. Bandanas. Wore them with everything back in the day. Thought I was some kind of rockstar or something.”

She tilted her head, eyebrows shooting up. “Bandanas?” she asked, feigning surprise. Her eyes glimmered with mischief, and she leaned closer, as if letting the audience in on a secret. “You sure it wasn’t the Timberlands?”

Lewis threw his head back with a groan, already knowing where this was headed. “Not the Timbs,” he mumbled, shaking his head like he was in actual pain.

“Yeah, the Timbs” she said, fully grinning now. “Let me remind you, you used to wear them with everything. Jeans, tracksuits, shorts, suits—”

Lewis raised a hand, stopping her, though there was a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I still stand by those, alright? I don’t care what anyone says. Timbs are timeless.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, patting his leg. “Sure, babe. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The banter between them came so naturally, it was easy to forget there were cameras pointed right at them. The crew standing around had mostly stopped what they were doing, some watching the couple with amused smirks, others clearly touched by how playful yet undeniably affectionate they were towards each other.

“Okay, next question: What first attracted you to each other?”

Lewis’s wife leaned back, narrowing her eyes like she was trying to come up with something profound. “His sense of style,” she deadpanned, lips twitching as she fought back a grin.

Lewis blinked, his head cocked to the side. “Seriously? You were just attacking my Timbs? That guy’s sense of style?”

For a moment, she held her ground, lips pursed in mock-seriousness. But after a few seconds of staring at him—his bewildered look, the way he was just waiting for her to crack—she broke. Her laugh wasn’t exactly loud but it filled the room.

“Okay, fine!” She reached out, her hand landing on his thigh, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants. “It was your eyes.”

Lewis’s eyebrows shot up as he gave her a soft smile. He just stared at her, thrown off by her sudden honesty.

She smiled, her gaze softening too as she looked at him. “They’re intense, you know? Like you see things really deeply. The way you look at the world... it’s impossible not to notice.”

Lewis was quiet for a beat, his usual witty retorts momentarily forgotten. His hand moved instinctively to cover hers on his leg, squeezing it gently. “Well, damn” he finally said, his voice quieter than before, almost reverent.

The room around them seemed to still. There was something about the way they looked at each other that made it feel like they were the only ones there, like everyone else had faded away.

“Next one—‘On what occasion have you lied to me?’”

Lewis’s eyes went wide, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he glanced at his wife. “Uh… Remember when I blamed Roscoe for loosing up your house shoes?”

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him in disbelief. “No. You’re telling me you wore my house shoes, Lewis?!”

He winced, trying to play it cool. “I mean… It was just that one time! They looked comfy, and my feet were cold. I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Oh, I noticed,” she said, crossing her arms. “I just thought Roscoe had lied on them, not that your big feet had wrecked them!”

The crew chuckled, sensing the playful tension building between them.

“Roscoe was the perfect scapegoat…” Lewis defended himself.

“My poor baby” she sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “You threw him under the bus!”

“He didn’t seem to mind,” Lewis replied with a smirk, leaning closer to her, his tone turning softer. “But hey, I bought you new ones”

She raised a brow, clearly amused but still pretending to be serious.

“Have I ever made you jealous?”

Lewis leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, a playful smirk creeping across his face as he quipped in before she could. “She has, yes.”

His wife’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh? When exactly?”

He didn’t answer immediately, taking his time like he always did when he wanted to build up the suspense. She leaned in; her curiosity evident in the way her lips quirked. “Come on, give me the details.”

Lewis shook his head, clearly amused. “The silver dress” he said, voice low.

For a second, she didn’t react, clearly trying to place the memory. Then, like a lightbulb flicking on, her eyes widened in recognition. “Ohhh, that night!”

Her laughter exploded from her, loud and sudden, catching even the crew off guard. She leaned back in her chair, clutching her stomach slightly as she laughed, while Lewis sat there, arms still crossed, trying his best to look annoyed but clearly failing.

“That night was something” she said between laughs, her eyes shimmering with tears of amusement.

Lewis sighed, shaking his head. “I’m glad you think it was so funny.”

“Oh, babe, you were so grumpy” she teased, nudging him with her foot.

Lewis didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he just looked at her with that mix of exasperation and fondness that made it clear that, no matter what she did, she was always going to get away with it.

“What’s a song that reminds you of each other?”

This time, she didn’t even hesitate. “A Life Like This by Nao.”

Lewis’s face softened immediately. “Why that one?”

She smiled, but it wasn’t her usual teasing grin. This one was softer, more intimate. “Because... before you, I was just going through life, you know? Things were just happening, and I wasn’t really... present. Then you came along, and it was like everything shifted. It was like my Saturn return was finally over, and I could just... breathe.”

For a moment, Lewis said nothing. His face betrayed him—no amount of his typical coolness could hide the way her words hit him.

He leaned forward slightly, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re really gonna get me emotional, huh?” he murmured, his voice so low only she and the mic could pick up on his voice.

She just smiled; her eyes full of love. “That’s the plan.”

The crew exchanged looks and quiet smiles. It was impossible not to feel the connection between them, like they were watching something precious unfold right in front of them.

“What’s something you wish you did more often?”

Lewis leaned back, thinking for a moment. “Lazy mornings.”

She smiled, nodding. “Yeah?”

“Yeah” he said softly, his eyes on her. “No alarms, no schedules, no meetings. Just us. Laying in bed, talking, laughing... not worrying about what we have to do next.”

She nodded again, her smile turning wistful. “Yeah.”

Their eyes met, and once again, the room seemed to shrink around them, leaving just the two of them in their little bubble.

“Okay love birds, next up ‘What is the most treasured possession that the other has given you?’”

She paused, tapping her chin as if she really had to think about it, though the answer was clearly already on her mind. “The necklace you gave me on our third date.”

The director blinked, looking between them. “Third date?”

“Oh yeah” she nodded, leaning back in her chair, eyes sparkling as she shot Lewis a teasing look. “He was whipped by then.”

Lewis rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. “You make it sound like I was proposing marriage.”

“You weren’t far off, though” she teased, reaching for the necklace hanging delicately around her neck. “He gave me this beautiful pendant, that he designed himself, by the way, and I remember thinking, ‘Okay, this guy is serious.’”

Lewis chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I knew what I wanted.”

“That you did” she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

“Yeah” he grinned. “No point in playing games.”

She looked down at the necklace again, her voice softening. “It’s not just the necklace though. It’s what it represented. He was showing me he wasn’t just there for fun—he was there for real.”

Lewis met her gaze, his smile quieter now, filled with affection. “I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

“When did you first know that you were in love?”

This time, she was the one to hesitate, a mischievous glint in her eye. “In love with whom?” she asked, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

Lewis groaned, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, don’t start.”

She giggled, clearly enjoying every second of his exasperation. “I knew I loved you when we went through about a dozen paint stores in Milan looking for the perfect shade of gold for that painting.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, didn’t remember that.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I could’ve just mixed the colors myself and gotten something close. But you were so invested in finding the exact match that I just... I kept going. And I knew it then. I knew I loved you because you cared about the little things, the details that most people would overlook.”

Lewis stared at her; his face unreadable. Then, slowly, he smiled—a soft, genuine smile that seemed to melt the room around them.

“What’s your favorite memory of the two of you?”

Lewis leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That time we missed the flight in Paris.”

She let out a groan, breaking the feeling in the room, she already knew where this story was headed. “Nooo, not that!”

“Yep,” Lewis said with a smile. “So we were in Paris, right? And someone—” he pointed at her playfully, “—was absolutely convinced that the subway would get us to the airport faster than any car could.”

“It would’ve!” she protested, already laughing. “The traffic was insane!”

“Yeah sure” he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “So there we were, dragging our bumps through the subway stations, hopping from one line to the next. Every station was like a maze, and we were so lost. I kept telling you, ‘Let’s just get a cab,’ but nooo, you were determined.”

She shook her head, smiling. “It was an adventure!”

“It was chaos and we missed the flight by hours” Lewis corrected, his voice teasing but fond.

“But honestly? It’s one of my favorite memories. You were so carefree, so determined, so in the present. We were lost in Paris but we weren’t lost within ourselves.”

Her smile softened, her eyes holding his for a long moment. “You never told me that was your favorite memory.”

“Yeah” he said quietly, his voice more sincere now. “I felt like we could just... slow down. Be present. No pressure, no expectations. Just you and me.”

For a moment, they were silent, the weight of his words settling between them. The room around them was so still that the soft hum of the cameras was the only sound. The crew watched them closely, as if holding their collective breath.

She leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder, and whispered just loud enough for the microphones to catch “I think that’s my favorite memory now, too.”

Lewis smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, and for a few seconds, it was like the cameras weren’t even there. It was just them, lost in a shared memory, a world of their own.

The director, sensing the intimacy of the moment, cleared his throat gently.

“Alright, now to wrap this up ‘When can we expect little Hamiltons running around?”

Both Lewis and his wife exchanged quick glances, and almost in unison, they burst out laughing—only this time, their laughter had a bit of an edge, like they knew something the room didn’t.

Lewis leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands together. “Ooooh, good one.”

“You had to go there, didn’t you?” she added, her eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. “Real smooth.”

The crew, sensing the couple was playing coy, leaned in just a bit, waiting for a juicy response. But instead, Lewis leaned forward, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Well, you never know, right?”

His wife smirked, glancing at him sideways, playing along. “When you least expect it”

The director, not quite satisfied, pressed on. “Any plans in the near future?”

“Oh, besides, like, tomorrow’s plans?” she quipped, keeping the teasing energy alive.

Lewis chimed in again, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “We’ve got a lot of plans. Travel, Roscoe’s bath time…”

The director chuckled, shaking his head. “Dodging the question, I see.”

Lewis gave a knowing look to the camera, adding one final, cryptic comment. “We’ll let you know when it happens... maybe.”

And with that, they both smiled at the cameras, their laughter filling the air as the director called “cut” for the final time.

The room gradually came back to life, the hum of equipment being packed up and crew members chatting quietly filling the air. The couple stayed seated, though, still caught in the gentle pull of their shared moment, almost unaware of the bustling scene around them.

Lewis exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing as he glanced at his wife, his arm instinctively pulling her a little closer. She smiled, still leaning into him, her head resting against his shoulder, fingers absentmindedly playing with his fingers.

“That was a bit mushy, wasn’t it?” she murmured, a teasing lilt to her voice, though there was warmth in her eyes as she gazed up at him.

Lewis smirked, brushing his thumb gently against her arm. “Just a little. But you started it.”

She chuckled softly, nuzzling into his shoulder. “Tou’re not usually one for getting all sentimental on camera.”

He shrugged lightly, but there was no real defensiveness in his posture.

She smiled, her heart swelling at the softness in his gestures. “Good. I like you better that way.”

She sighed softly, sitting up a little and stretching her arms out with a satisfied groan. “People are going to think we’re a pair of softies.”

Lewis chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Let them.”

She smiled, sitting back in her chair and looking at him with a tenderness that only deepened as she reached out, her hand cupping his cheek for a brief moment. “I guess it’s not the worst thing to be.”

He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing briefly before he opened them and looked straight at her. “Nah, it’s not.”

Unbeknownst to them, the cameras were still rolling—just a little, a behind-the-scenes shot meant to capture those moments of candidness. The crew tried to keep their distance, giving the couple their space, but every now and then, someone would glance over, a quiet smile tugging at their lips. There was something undeniably magnetic about Lewis and his wife, the way they moved around each other, the way they fit together.

Without thinking, he stood up and extended a hand to her, pulling her up from her seat. As she stood, she let out a small laugh, one that was soft and filled with affection. But before she could fully straighten up, Lewis slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest in a gentle, protective embrace.

For a second, she stiffened—more out of surprise than anything—but then she melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. It was a simple gesture, nothing extravagant, but in that moment, it was everything.

“Alright, lover boy” she murmured, her voice laced with contentment. “What’s all this about?”

“Just holding you” he replied simply, his voice low and soothing, the kind of tone he used when it was just the two of them, no audience, no pressure. “Feels like we haven’t had a minute to ourselves in forever.”

She smiled as she found her place on the crock of his neck, her fingers absently tracing circles on the back of his neck “You’ll get them,” she promised quietly. “We’ll make time.”

Eventually, Lewis pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know,” he started, his tone teasing “about those Timbs.”

She groaned, playfully swatting at his chest. “I thought we agreed to leave the Timbs in the past.”

“I never agreed to that” he grinned, tightening his arms around her playfully. “I’m still rocking them, remember?”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face betrayed her. “Well, at least one of us has evolved.”

He laughed, pressing a soft kiss to her head. “Maybe. But you love me anyway.”

“I do,” she said softly, the sincerity of the words wrapping around them both like a warm blanket. “I really do.”

______________________________________________________________

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[angel1010xx]

ｂｅｇ ｆｏｒ ｍｅ

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Pairing: Zoro x Reader (NSFW)

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“Goddammit woman, why didn’t you fucking listen to me?!” 

Zoro was livid. Here was a man, towering in front of you, menacing, broad, ominously powerful—a man that has cut mountains in half—a man that just so happened to be unbelievably pissed off at you. 

“Don’t even try raising your voice at me!” You retorted back. “We would have lost everything if I didn’t make that move! Everything that the whole crew has been trying to protect would have been for nothing, Zoro! Nothing!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck,” Zoro spat, “about some cuckoo artifact that some podunk fucking scientist made.” He sneered, slowly taking steps towards you as if he were a beast waiting to pounce on its prey. 

Zoro had practically ripped your cabin door off of its hinges as soon as the Thousand Sunny had set sail again. This was only a few moments ago. Robin uncovered an artifact on the island the crew had stopped at, which just so happened to be one that was really, dreadfully needed. However, there were some… complications while leaving the island, to put it lightly. There was one particular enemy who tried to stop the crew. This nuisance had eaten a devil fruit that granted him the ability to neutralize one’s ability to fight, like a switch being flipped to the off position. He could only affect so many people at one time, and you were one of the unlucky ones to basically become a citizen in the battlefield. 

That didn’t make you take a tactical retreat, much to the chagrin of a certain swordsman. “Then what do you give a fuck about, Zoro?”

“You want to know what I give a fuck about?” Zoro breathed out in a mocking tone of voice, now standing chest to chest with you. His eyes burned into your own. “Right now, it’s teaching you a fucking lesson.” 

Zoro pushed you against the wall, and you let out a small yelp in surprise. He was still dirty from the battle, sweaty, scraped up… but you didn’t have time to think about that, because he crashed his lips onto yours with a feverish need. You yelped again, and all Zoro did was bite your bottom lip.

You felt your brain short-circuit. What was going on? 

The swordsman reached down to put his hands on the back of your thighs, and he hoisted you up in the air in one swift motion. Instinctively, you wrapped both your arms and legs around him, your back still against the wall. “Zoro, what are you—?” 

The swordman’s lips descended on your neck, and he just kept sucking and biting you. He groaned into your neck, and the combination of the low pitch of his voice, the vibration, and the warmth of his breath and mouth were all too much for you. Zoro bit your collarbone, and you gasped. He pulled away to kiss you again. “Shut up.” 

Zoro pulled away from the wall, and took a few calculated steps backwards so he could throw you on your bed. You gazed up at him, completely flushed, but you felt an ache between your thighs. He wasted no time to straddle you, trapping your legs between his, and he grabbed your wrists. “You are going to listen to me right now.” 

He growled in such a desperate way while he tied his ever-so-handy signature bandana around your wrists, and stared down at you. You were underneath him, writhing around, rubbing your thighs together for some friction and relief. You looked dirty, you looked needy, and you looked ravageable. 

Zoro got off of on top of you, and stood by the edge of the bed. He grabbed your hips and pulled you towards him, and you gasped as he ripped through any fabric barrier between you and the air. What’s gotten into him?

He spat on your cunt, then teasingly rubbed one finger in-between your folds. You moaned and arched your back, finding it hard to handle his slow pace. He didn’t let up, though; he kept rubbing his thumb in lazy circles over your entrance, then moving up to rub lazy circles on your clit, and then back down. “Fuck, Zoro, why are you teasing me…?”

“Because you don’t know how to listen.” He watched with sadistic glee as you bucked your hips against his thumb, desperate for more stimulation. “I need you to know who’s in control.” Zoro kept staring a hole into your soul, pride swelling up in his chest as he gazed down at your swollen lips and all the marks he left on your neck. So fucking pretty.

“You want more?” He asked, barely sliding the tip of his middle finger in and out of you. “Tell me you want more. I’m not giving you anything until you beg.”

You bit your lip, not wanting to give in, but your sopping cunt was aching. You shook your head at Zoro. “No…”

He leaned over you, lips hovering just above yours, and growled at you while pulling hard on one of your nipples. “Beg.”

You cried out, grinding your hips against Zoro’s, whimpering as he continued to tug and squeeze your nipples. He grunted, grinding back against you, shuddering from the adrenaline. “Tell me what you want, and fucking beg me for it.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Zoro, I need you inside me…. Please. I—please, Zoro—”

The swordsman took a second to tear his own clothes off of him. God, he was beautiful. Your eyes trailed down further and further… and God, how was he going to fit?!

Zoro smacked his dick against your cunt a few times before lining himself up with your entrance. “Say ‘please’ for me, one more time.”

“…Please.”

He pushed himself inside you in one hard thrust, giving you no time to adjust. An embarrassing squeal came out of your mouth. He was long, and he was girthy, and it felt like you were being split into two. His hand reached up to hold your tied-up ones, and he drilled into you like a man starving for water.

Sloppy, messy, wet, and god it felt so good.

Moans kept pouring out of your mouth as Zoro’s dick kissed your cervix with each thrust. He leaned his upper body onto yours, his voice dark with his own moans and grunts as he again began kissing and marking your neck. “Y’know what I give a fuck about?” He panted. “My woman. Alive.” 

“Zoro, I’m sorry—” 

Zoro changed his pace, his thrusts becoming slower and harder. Your body rocked with each one, and he put his finger in your mouth. “Ah ah ah. Show me you’re sorry. Beg for me. Beg me to make you cum on my dick.”

Your face was burning, you were swimming in pleasure, and your mind was a haze. You could smell sweat and a lingering trace of cologne, you could smell your own wetness, and all you could focus on was the growing, warm pit in your abdomen. His dick was rubbing just the right spot, but your body needed just a little bit more attention there, just a little bit more tension so you could snap—

“Fuck, please, Zoro. Please, I need you to make me cum. I need to cum on you, I’m so close, I—”

Zoro leaned back and put your ankles over his shoulders, and he began ravaging you like the beast he had been acting like earlier. It was all you could do to take it,

it was overwhelming, but his dick was curving right into that perfect spot, over, and over, and over, and over…

You cried out again, feeling the tension finally snap, and you saw white as your orgasm flooded every sense in you. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” You heard Zoro moan, and he snapped his hips into yours a few more erratic times before you felt him twitch, and then you felt the strangest sensation of being full.

He stayed inside you while the two of you fought to catch a breath.

The swordsman grunted, slowly pulling out. You could feel cum spilling out of you. He laid next to you, and untied your wrists. “I can’t… I can’t protect you when you run into the fight vulnerable like that. You were supposed to go where it was safe.”

You sighed, turning onto your side to face him, and traced your finger over the scar on his chest. “’M sorry, Zoro. I was trying to do the right thing.”

“I know,” he murmured, placing his hand over yours. 

He really couldn’t stay mad at you. 

[priniya]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 BEFORE US! ᡣ𐭩ᯓ

pairing. ollie bearman x webber!reader.

summary. a drunken encounter leads to a history straight out of rom–com, turning the world of a formula 2 driver upside down.

notes. reader tells ollie the plot of before sunrise. also, reader is said to be ollie’s age (kinda self-indulgent LOL) maybe part 2 of them meeting in spa? 😁

it was eleven in the evening, while you were having a good time on the streets of hungarian capital city. your actions were not exactly responsible as you were there with a friend of yours that you met online a few months ago. also, you weren’t exactly sure how you managed to strain away from your father and oscar. well, alright — there was a possibility that a train, a sweet smile and a promise to be safe were involved.

honestly, you don’t even know how you ended up in that small bar, but in the larger point of view, you were happy that you let lara drag you there. you already had a few drinks in, you were going back to your booth, when you accidentally bumped into a muscular, tall guy, spilling the drink on your white dress.

“shit, i am so, so sorry.” the boy — because you could easily notice that he must’ve been similar to you in age — spoke relatively slowly, probably out of kindness as he couldn’t tell if you were fluent in english or not. some would call it offensive, but you considered it slightly endearing that the boy tried to be as considerate as possible, knowing that not everyone in the world speaks english.

his face fell to your chest for a tenth of a second, a small cough escaping his lips, before his cheeks tinted pinkish from embarrassment that he even let himself be so blatantly disrespectful towards you. what made it even worse was that the once white dress became see-through.

“shit, shit, your dress. i– here, take this.” he stuttered, swiftly taking off his grey hoodie, letting you take a glimpse of his toned stomach for half a second as his shirt rolled up.

people around you two, suddenly stopped existing and maybe the alcohol you’ve consumed that night was at fault — or maybe it was the charming aura around him, but you honestly couldn’t care less. he was the only guy that wasn’t trying to harass you or make your night less fun and definitely more stressful.

“you shouldn’t apologise, it’s all my fault. i wasn’t paying enough attention.” your voice was loud, but yet still soft enough, so only the boy you bumped into could hear you. “i’m yn, my friend lara is there in the corner booth, do you… um, maybe wanna join us? so i can get you a drink for bumping into you?”

it might’ve been a risky move — he could always say no, laugh at you and go away, thinking you were the most embarrassing person in the entire bar. or he could think that you were a pretty cute, interesting girl that he’d like to spend a july evening with. and, fortunately for you, ollie introduced himself with a quick breath of relief (that he didn’t know he was holding), said that he’d love to join you and buy you a drink, but he was there with two other guys and one of the friends’ girlfriend.

so, upon hearing that, as a responsible human being, you… suggested that they should join you as well, because you really felt like getting to know ollie a tad better. upon hearing that he wasn’t there alone, you nodded with a small smile, before suggesting that it’s not really a big deal and that maybe the four of them would like to join you and lara, who wouldn’t have anything against it since she was a social butterfly, loving bigger crowds.

two and a half hour later, you ended up walking down the cobblestone pathway, while your newfound group of friends was a few steps ahead. lara quickly got along with kimi, eliska and gabriele, so you felt less guilty that you got so occupied in the endless conversation with ollie, slowly trailing behind the group. a month or two later, you were told by eliska that she saw the way you and ollie click and made sure you could get along.

you weren’t sure where the six of you were going, budapest was a gorgeous city, but keeping your eyes on bearman was pretty much enough. he had your arm hooked around his as you slightly started to stumble from the tiny gaps in the path. a giggle escaped your mouth as he whispered a really cheesy joke, his lips inches away from your ear. then, your drunken mind thought that you should come clean with the cute boy about why you’re actually in budapest.

“i have a confession.” you started quietly, your words barely above a whisper. ollie let you continue as he simply nodded. if you weren’t tipsy from all the strawberry daiquiris you had at the bar earlier, you would notice how his body tensed slightly, almost as if he was afraid of what you were about to say.

the first thing that came to his mind was that you had a boyfriend somewhere in monaco, while he was really getting a vibe from you that maybe you were interested in getting to know him as much as he wanted to get to know you. just half a second later came the thought that you knew who he was and it was just as awful. he hasn’t been in the spotlight of motorsport for a long time yet, but he was aware of how people’s perception on things change once they realise what he does, and he really, really didn’t want it to be the case with you.

“this is not something i usually tell people on the day i meet them, but you’re so genuine and so, so nice to me.” your words were coming off as rambling, though despite the lump in his throat, the prema driver couldn’t help but think that maybe he could live with the thought of you bumping into him on purpose if he could listen to your cute rambling for a few more minutes. “and i’m really enjoying spending time with you right now, and-and i don’t want you to think that i’m like a liar or something, because i really am not.”

“hey, breathe. whatever it is, i don’t think i’m gonna perceive you as a liar.” his quiet chuckle with a nervous undertone was enough for you to calm down a bit. his hand dropped to yours, squeezing it for a little more reassurance.

“that’s what i’m really hoping for.” you whispered, looking down at your jointed hands, a ghost of smile lingering on your face. “so, there’s this sport you might’ve heard of — or not, honestly if it wasn’t for my dad, i don’t know if i would, but — gosh, i’m sorry i’m rambling again. alright… there’s, um, formula one, right? i guess you know, because it is a big thing in england, i suppose.” oliver nodded once again, a pit in his stomach growing.

“the thing is… i’m in hungary for that exact reason. there was the grand prix this weekend and i came here with my dad, because, um… he’s a manager of, um, one of the drivers. oscar? he won today, yesterday, technically.”

ollie couldn’t believe what he just heard. he was so scared that you were pretending just to boast about hanging out with formula 2 and formula 3 drivers, while you were having an inner turmoil of your own, weighing pros and cons of telling him that you were the daughter of the mark webber. he could see the nervous expression on your pretty face and his heart swelled, knowing that in those two and a half hours of constant chatter he gained so much of your trust to be told that.

for other people it might seem like it was nothing, nevertheless ollie knew how much fake people you must’ve met in your life, who liked you for your father’s achievements and not you. god, for a moment he felt like crying.

“i was there too.” he gave you a shy smile. before you were able to overthink every possible scenario with the worst possible outcome, his smile widened, his hip gently nudging yours. “i’m racing for prema in f2.” he chuckled at your surprised expression.

bearman, as he was a tad more sober than you, could easily notice the weight falling off your shoulders, once you recognised him, quickly replaced by a blush of embarrassment that flooded your cheeks.

“that’s why i thought i’ve seen you somewhere.” you muttered, scrunching your nose, gears in your brain working overtime. “i’m sorry, it’s— i haven’t really been up to date with formula 2. but i remember you from saudi, i wasn’t there, but my dad was really impressed. everything makes sense now, though.”

“no need to be embarrassed or anything, i’m glad neither of us recognized each other. you made me feel like a normal teenager for once.” he grinned down at you, your face matching his as he let go of your hand, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, bringing you closer, but you couldn’t really complain.

you didn’t remember the moment, when your night turned into a reenactment of one of your favorite rom-coms — before sunrise. gabriele, kimi and eliska had to go back to their hotels, suspiciously at the same time, when lara’s curfew was coming. it was truly reckless for you to stay out with ollie till your train back to the place your father had rented for the four days stay in hungary. once you were alone, he made sure to keep you close to him at all times, so if an emergency occured, he’d be able to protect you.

“i feel like i’m in a movie.” your admission was soft as you slowly sat down on the grass in the park, the state of your white dress long forgotten as it’d be green once the sun was up.

“a movie you like?”

“my favorite one.” ollie smiled.

“tell me about it.” he suggested, plopping down next to you, uncorking the wine you two bought earlier in one of those 24/7 shops.

“it’s about two people that met on a train going across the europe.” you started explaining, ollie’s free arm slung across your shoulders once again, making you realize what his love language must be. “he’s american and she’s french, once they stop in vienna, he asks her to get off the train with him and walk around the town with him till he has to go to the airport, because it’s his last day in europe. she thinks it’s crazy, but she agrees and they spend the entire night together. nothing kubrick-esque happens there, all of the action happens during their dialogues. they share opinions and stuff. it’s kind of silly, but they end up in a park, too, with wine and stuff.”

“like us.” he commented, his eyes still lingering on your face as they were, while you were skimming over the plot of the movie.

“like us.” you repeated softly.

“so, what do they do in the park?” ollie asked another question, earning himself a small hum from you as you shifted closer, his thumb absentmindedly drawing shapes on your shoulder. your stomach was filled to the brim with butterflies as he asked all the right questions, made all the right moves, giving you all the right smiles.

“they kiss.” a whisper left your lips, tilting your head to get a better view of his face.

“they kiss.” it was the prema’s driver’s time to repeat the short sentence as you just nodded, noticing the way his eyes flickered to your mouth.

sweet silence embraced the two of you as bearman took his chance and leaned forward an inch or two, cautiously testing the waters. when you didn’t pull back, a smile tugged onto his face, before cupping your cheek with his free hand.

however, ollie didn’t kiss you for a moment that felt like eternity. his mouth just hoovered over yours, giving you a chance to back up, to show him that he read the signs wrong, but you didn’t. your eyes locked with his, before his lips were moving against yours in a sweet, gentle and almost tantalising manner. you couldn’t tell how long were you kissing for, but when the two of you finally pulled away, his mouth was tinted with the red shade of your lipstick, both with messed up hair and slightly swollen lips.

it was almost seven in the morning, while you were sitting at the train station with your hand clasped in ollie’s. the silence between you was truly the most comfortable thing in the world at the moment. budapest was slowly waking up in the background as you enjoyed his presence beside you.

“what do they do in the movie before they part ways?” he interrupted the silence.

“they promise to see each other in a six months time in the same place. they don’t exchange numbers or anything, though.” you recalled, wondering where was he going with this.

“and do they? meet, i mean.” he asked, already expecting the answer as you’d told him it was a trilogy.

“not in the set time. she can’t make it to vienna again, because her grandmother dies, but he does.” you nodded. “but they do meet each other again, eight years later, this time in paris.”

“good thing we’re not jesse and celine.” ollie joked, a grin tugging on your lips as you nod in agreement. “i do have your number, and we can see each other in spa on thursday, if you want to.”

“i do.” this time, you were the one to press a gentle kiss on his lips for a brief second as your train arrived. bearman just grinned back at you, leaving a kiss on your forehead. “i’ll see you on facetime then, and in belgium.”

ollie stayed for another five minutes after your train departed. his gaze dropping to the phone in his hand before he quickly sent you a message.

ollie: thank you for making this night amazing for me x

[almostfoxglove]

THE PRETTIEST

written for @quinnnfabrgay-writes & @hauntedhowlett-writes' #MONSTERSMASH2024 challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Max Phillips x f!Reader CREATURE: GHOST + MAX PHILLIPS WORD COUNT: 4.3k CW: Smut (piv), voyeurism/non-consensual voyeurism (he's invisible and reader doesn't know he's watching), Max is a bit of a creep okay he's doing his best here, protective!max, jealous!max, enough manager speak that I got tech startup flashbacks.

SUMMARY: After a restructuring at the company, Max finds himself dead—this time for good—and haunting his old duplex. Lucky for him, you move in.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

Of all the hell holes where one might waste eternity, Max is pretty sure his vacant duplex is the worst of them. Six rooms, two floors spined by a spiral staircase—all boring and hollow and dusty. Disgusting. How difficult would it have been to let him haunt the office? He could’ve leered over all those pathetic little office drones, driven them crazy forever. Fucked with their desk chairs, their hard drives, mixed up all their coffee mugs. Not that Max has mastered the art of affecting the material world yet, but he will.

Petty? Sure. But you can’t blame a guy for feeling a little owed after all management’s little reorganization. His relocation to the goddamn fucking afterlife—and to this prison of an apartment where there’s no one to subjugate or fuck, no less. 

What a waste of his potential. His talents.

Who knows how long he spends stuck alone in this place until someone shows up, but eventually people do. The real estate agent—Doreen and her little beehive hairdo, her eyebrows always penciled on too thin—and, over what Max estimates to be about three weeks, a parade of nobodies she tours around, preaching godless, truthless sermons of the duplex’s good bones and the good life they could have in these dreary fucking rooms. He’d be proud of her sales pitch if he weren’t so goddamn pissed.

He tries, he really does. Yells often, I’m right here, Dor-een, honey, right fucking here! And waves his arms in front of her face, but he can scream as loud as he likes; nobody hears a thing. 

For the first time in his many lives, people walk straight through him. 

There might be, possibly, some karma in that. 

Max doesn’t care for it.

It’s misery until the day Doreen brings him you.

Come on, Max whines, slouching lazily on your couch. Curled up with your bedsheets cloaked over your head, you rot on the cushions beside him, four hours deep in a Desperate Housewives marathon, oblivious to his company: your usual Sunday routine.

As usual you don’t hear him, don’t see him either. Sitting right beside you, making no dents in the pillows, his glossy dress shoes kicked up on the coffee table. Still he finds himself complaining, one hand gesticulating wildly at the screen, You’re killing me, baby. It’s obviously the fucking neighbor! Guy’s got a box of death under his pool!

Meanwhile you just sit there, enthralled as Eva Longoria struts about in her tiny skirts and tiny shoes. Max tells himself the only reason he stays in the room when you watch this garbage is for her and all the other pretty housewives or to leer at what bits of you peek out from your duvet each time you reach for your tea on the coffee table—a wrist, your elbow, and when you knock over the popcorn bowl and slip the sheets from your head, the lovely hollow of your perfect neck. Truth is, if you were to quiz him, he’d be able to cite the plot of the whole season beat for beat.

Not that he’s enjoying this, this—this garbage. Never.

No fucking way. He’s just perceptive. Has an excellent memory.

Plus this is the one way he gets to be close to you. Such a pretty little thing, taunting him without ever knowing it. That sweet mouth, those clever eyes. Showering with the bathroom door sometimes cracked like you know he’s here and dying to peek through the veil of your jasmine-laced steam. Chewing the ends of your pencils while you sketch out some masterpiece on looseleaf that you never get around to painting.

Sitting on your couch, at your dining table, at the foot of your bed while you brush out your hair after a long day—it’s the closest Max gets to feeling like being stuck here might not be hell, just purgatory: always a breath away from the thing he’d like to touch, but at least he’s not simmering in battery acid or being flogged. He’s had his share of blood-bag roommates—brief fascinations that drained so quickly—but you? You’ve lived in Max’s apartment for three months and he’s no less drunk on you than he was the day Doreen toured you around. Can’t quite put his finger on why. Maybe it’s the longing, the forest fire that sears through his ice-box chest every time your eyes skim his face by accident, never lingering. 

What can he say? Max is a man, after all. Under all the blood and monster.

And you’re the prettiest creature he’s ever seen.

When the show cuts to commercial you mute the TV, immune to the serpent-tongued promises of liars like him. Lured by nothing, by nobody. Already slinking from your bedsheet cave, all bare legs and cute little ankles striding out of the room, leaving him with the ghost of you, the smell of your perfume kissed into the duvet.

What he wouldn’t give for the chance to sell himself to you. He’d charm you all the way to your perfect knees.

In a way, you and Max are the perfect couple. You’re free to do as you wish, and he’s free to watch you every second that you spend at home, miserable the moment you leave for work in those tight fucking pencil skirts. No better than a dog, he spends his vagrant hours of isolation alternating between puppy-eyed pouting and anxious pacing, tortured until your evening return. 

How did he ever live here alone? Alive or otherwise. He can’t remember now. There are too many rooms, too few sounds, too few breaths, too few footsteps. He misses you. Your bedhead and pajamas, your blanket nest in front of the TV, the cute way you answer the phone. 

Today, you don’t come home till eight fifteen—and Max has spent thirteen hours losing what’s left of his mind.

Baby, he sighs, rushing for the front room at the first turn of the lock, a grin stretched to dimples in his cheeks. Seems even if you can’t hear him, Max can’t help talking to you, perhaps childlike in his belief that someday you will. Where the hell have you—

His sentence hacks itself in half, drops to silence, because you’re blushing when you come in, eyes shyly downcast, one hand shaking the rain loose from your hair, tendrils clinging to your cheeks. “Here,” you say, and for a beat Max thinks you’re speaking to him. His mouth drops, stunned. 

Is this it? Can you finally see him?

“Come in, come in,” you say.

Then a man steps in behind you, shuts the door behind his hulking form, and if there were any blood to speak of in his veins, Max is certain it’d boil at the sight of him. Tall and empty-headed, dopey as a dog, stomping his blocky, muddy shoes all over your hallway. Yours and Max’s. Getting goddamn filth on your hall carpet. Given just a few material cells, Max’d have this guy dead before he makes it to the living room, wouldn’t even bother drinking him. This breed of dumbass isn’t worth the mess.

But he’s useless. Less than a gnat. Sentenced to watch you trail this motherfucker who wouldn’t know Tom Ford from his Brioni into your kitchen, jackets shedding and small talk traded—boring, boring, boring, but you laugh when the guy makes a shitty joke about the weather. 

This guy, this nobody, gets to make you laugh while Max never even gets a chance to try.

On second thought, maybe this is hell after all.

“S’a nice place,” the dumbass says, laying his knockoff blazer over the back of a barstool. Cheap stitching. Terrible, too-thin lapels.

You look about the room as if standing in it for the first time and for a moment your eyes pass right over Max, whose long-dead heart winces. Yelps. If you could see him, there’s no way you’d entertain this guy. This nameless little worker bee. Max would make you laugh properly, how you laugh when something funny happens on TV or when you get a letter in the mail from your brother. Sudden and twinkling, often ending in a snort. Adorable.

Shrugging, you turn into your fridge and say, “Yeah, I like it,” and exhume two slim cans of vodka seltzer to set on the kitchen island.

Thank you, Max says, his arms crossed over his chest.

The dumbass’ brows flicker up as he regards your offering. Idiot. What was he expecting from a girl like you, a PBR? These are delicious. Elegant. Calorie wise. Max understands. Max would drink that with a smile and a thank you. 

Or maybe he’d skip right to drinking you.

Sensing his hesitation, you crack your can and take a sip. “They’re not as bad as they look,” you say, a nervous chuckle bittering your lips as you watch your date open his can and bring it to his nose to sniff. “Sorry. I don’t have anything else.”

You can do so much better, baby, Max sighs. You’ve got better right here.

Against his will, the hours pass. The evening goes on. You and the dumbass only drink half a can each—him with a half-snarled lip and you with a self-conscious twinge—but somehow by nightfall he’s got you scooching your barstool closer to him, allowing his slimy hand to rest on your thigh. 

Max bristles. Seethes. Don’t do it, he pleads to you, unheard. He’s not gonna fuck you right, just look at him. Send this idiot home and watch TV with me. Do anything but this guy, baby, anything but him.

You bend in slow motion and it’s agonizing, the tilt of your head as you press your lips to his. The wet slurp of his mouth taking the second you meet. A terrible kiss, though you’re polite enough not to flinch. Breaking from the prod of his pink-slug tongue to offer your neck, his mouth immediately moving, and fuck baby, it’s like you’re trying to kill him all over again. Drive a stake straight through Max’s blackened heart by giving up what he longs to claim.

In an instant, anger births itself from the hollow of his chest. His hand shoots out in useless violence, swinging as if to strike a seltzer can from the countertop and knowing it won’t do a lick of good as ire devours him, igneous and fervid, searing hot as life in his icy hands.

The can jumps from the counter and clunks to the floor, its contents gluggluglug-ing across the tiles.

“The fuck?” Max hears the dumbass gasp as he leaps from his barstool, eyes bugged wide and child-like and weak. You freeze, lips pink and swollen, staring down at the emptying can. 

It’s a shame neither of you can see the way Max smiles. 

Now that’s what I’m talking about, he crows. Finally a little substance around here! 

This is good. No, it’s better than good. This is the rush after a promotion, after the deal that closes out the quarter over target. The look on every sad sack’s face knowing they lost and he won.

This is the bite that finally breaks skin.

Maddening, burgeoning, addictive.

He’s real again. A goddamn Beetlejuice for you, baby. He’s gonna scare this fucknut out of here and have you to himself. First was the can, next is you, and he’s gonna kiss you so much better than that. In celebration, Max kicks one foot to send the can soaring across the kitchen floor and watches his shoe pass right through it, aluminum undisturbed on the floor. No, he mutters, kicking again. No, fucking—come on, you worthless piece of shit—

Your nervous laugh is too far away to comfort him. Distant too is your voice saying, “My room’s this way,” and the shuffling of your footsteps as Max loses his shit on the seltzer can that now refuses to budge no matter the swell of his outrage. By the time he snaps from his incensed trance, your barstools are empty. He blinks, breathless with muscle memory—his lungs wheezing because they remember wheezing, not out of need.

Baby? he calls out.

But you reply. A murmur too lusty to be a giggle—Max’s body coils up at the sound, taut and needy, and carries him toward the sound. He forgets, briefly, who you’re with. Believes he’ll find you in your bedroom alone beneath the covers, hands fluttering as you bring yourself to the edge of release. How beautiful you’d be, gasping in pleasure. He might close his eyes and pretend it’s him drawing out your every breathy, needy sound.

You’ve left the bedroom door cracked, and though in death he’s no longer bound by silly things like permission, Max has since you moved in found himself in the habit of respecting closed doors. Walls are chalk outlines over which he’s free to step, but he doesn’t, not if you’ve closed the gate. He’s not a monster. Or not a total monster—whatever, semantics. Point is that he only spies on your showers if you’ve cracked the door. Indulges in the soft moments of you sleeping only when you’ve left him that sliver of room.

Like the room you’ve left him now: slender and tempting, this stripe of your bedroom wall. A Degas print in a copper frame, the wooden post at the foot of your bed. 

Your sweet voice cooing here, like this, and the creak of your mattress.

Something black and silty sinks in Max’s stomach when he steps inside. Not the rage from moments ago. Something darker, heavier. Jealousy. Half-sheeted by your duvet, the dumbass you’ve brought home rocks above you, his shirt gone, his beefcake arm blocking the view of your chest, and though you’re making all the right sounds it’s obvious this isn’t any good.

He’s not fucking you right.

Your hands clawing at his back are too stiff. Your yeses a beat too slow. As the idiot pants—thrusts choppy and graceless—Max watches your hand tap his shoulder blade as you breathe, “Flip over.”

“What?” bumbles the guy, his hips stalling. “Oh shit—fuck yeah. Okay.”

Another grunt, then he rolls off and Max gets a glimpse of you—your red bra lacy and see through, your nipples so pretty underneath. It just isn’t right, the awkwardness of this colossal douchebag as he settles on his back and you ruck back the covers to straddle him, not at all breathless, hardly even flushed, your hair all messy at the back from disappointing friction.

“Shit,” the guy gasps as you sink down on him, clamping those boorish hands onto your waist.

You don’t even whine, not even as you start to rock, though his breathing gallops beneath you. Guy looks two seconds from nutting while you look years away from anything even loosely resembling an orgasm—your rhythm changing often as you try and fail to find a pace that suits you. “Christ—oh my god, ” the guy groans.

Max sucks his front teeth, tongue soiled with venom.

“Touch me,” you sigh, bouncing now. The curtain of your hair shivering down your back. 

This guy fucks like he’s never touched a woman before. At your request his knuckles only pale, fingers pinching you tighter. That’s not what she means, Max growls. Touch her fucking clit, you pin-dicked imbecile. Can’t fucking please a woman, should be fucking ashamed—

His pointless ranting is cut short by a sudden moan as the guy lifts you off him in time to come all over his stomach, chest rapid in its heaving, upper lip snarled in pleasure he doesn’t have the goddamn decency to return to you. For a long moment you hover above him, waiting, but his head just slumps back against the pillow, satisfied. 

Done.

He’s actually done. Motherfucker.

When you crawl off him to sit back against your headboard—arms crossing over your stomach self-consciously—Max sees red. Sees fire. Sees the roiling magma at the center of the earth where someone oughta make this fucker take a nice hot bath. 

He’d do this right. He’d fuck you properly, have you coming apart at the seams, go down on you until you beg for his cock and edge himself for as long as it takes to have you screaming his name. Can’t you see that? Can’t you feel him here, right now? Can’t you feel how bad he wants you? Can’t you imagine how much better he’d be? How good he’d make you feel?

Letting out an airy chuckle, the brute wipes the back of his hand across his sweaty brow and pushes himself to his feet. Redresses with a goddamn smirk on his face—not one of cruelty, but it might as well be. He thinks this is a job well done. Time to go home. 

A peck to your lips, then he’s rattling on about calling you, seeing you again, maybe Thursday? Friday? While you just sit there, blinking up at him in disbelief. “Sure,” you say, dazed and not quite thinking. “I’ll call you.”

Yeah, she’s not calling you, Max snarls, following the guy out of the room. Watching as the jackass plucks his jacket from the back of your barstool, steps over the mess of seltzer without a thought to clean it up for you, and waltzes right out the door. Not a care in the goddamn world. 

Though he hears you get up shortly after to use the bathroom, you don’t emerge from your bedroom and Max doesn’t disturb you. He spends that time in the kitchen, grabbing and grabbing and grabbing at the dish towel hung over the handle on the oven door, trying to pull it off. 

For at least an hour, his hand glides through the towel as if it’s water, not a flutter or sway in the fabric. Not even a brush, a compromise. It just hangs there, indignant. Mocking him. Deaddeaddeaddeaddead. Maybe it’s the Senior Sales Manager in him, the apex predator at the top of the food chain—but Max can do this all night. He’s not backing down, not letting a stupid fucking towel get the better of him. That lazy curtain of terrycloth will disintegrate before he waves the white flag. 

Beyond the picture frame windows that stare out into the barren, colorless street, the sun has shied to navy blue, letting out the round-mouthed moon, and you have not emerged from your bedroom for hours. He wants to check on you, ask if you’re okay. Frankly, baby, he’s getting a little worried. On the next sweep of his hand, the towel gives up the ghost; Max pulls it from the oven handle, marveling at the toothy fabric. He’s holding it, really holding it, all on his own. 

Thank fuck he’s not haunting the office. If any of those bull-brained fucks saw him now, as he kneels on your kitchen floor, he’d have to die all over again. Somehow. The technicals aren’t important—what’s important is that no one’s here to see him on his fucking knees, mopping up the spilled drink. Something like joy burbles in his chest when he reaches for the can and seizes it, placing it safely on your counter. The floor dry and shining again, clean. 

Max folds the towel carefully and returns it to the rack. 

As if on cue, the bedroom door croaks down the hall and you emerge. A huge t-shirt slumps from your frame; you’ve tied your hair up, put your glasses back on. Dressed down for the last dregs of night, rubbing the back of your hand in one eye, tired. 

You look so, so tired.

I’d rub your shoulders, baby, Max sighs quietly and though you won’t hear him, it still—after three whole months—doesn’t feel any less right to hope.

He steps out of your way as you round the corner into the kitchen with a yawn, hands clasped behind his back, cheek dimpled and eyes alight. Just like he wanted, just like he hoped, your eyes fall immediately to the floor where the can is missing, the spill wiped. Lashes flickering—the towel dark at the hem on its handle, the empty can on the counter. Your brows pinch low over your nose, curious. 

Pretty good for a dead guy, Max grins.

How sweet, that lifting flinch at your mouth’s sharp, pink corner. The soft hm you make in reply. It’s not much, but this strange, fluttery feeling in the dark cavity one might wrongly call his heart? It doesn’t feel half bad. 

Not bad at all.

He’s getting better at it. Not great, but the projections look good. Give him a little time, he’ll have this whole place dancing. Put on a big show, announce himself properly. 

In the meantime he practices when you’re not looking. Small stuff—he opens cupboards. Shuts them. Hits start on the dryer when you forget to press it yourself. Some days he wastes reaching for things and coming up empty, but now again his luck sparkles. Things move. Bend to his will. Isn’t long until he can hold it for a while—gathering the matter to run the vacuum around, or reorganize your pantry. A tidy house makes a tidy mind, baby. No good living in a dump. You’re so busy, always cracking around like a ping pong ball, and hell, it’s not like Max can leave this place, get a little air in his idle lungs.

He likes being useful to you. Likes that tiny smirk on your lips when you find something fixed or organized for you, even though you likely chalk it up to having forgotten that you did it yourself. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need the credit. Isn’t that strange? How often he smiles at you? How perfect he finds the taste of your name.

Winter has arrived like a secret—whispered about for weeks and then suddenly let loose on the world. You come home from work in the evenings with icing sugar hair. Usually unbothered, far as Max can tell, but today you stagger in flushed from the cold and dark in the eyes.

Shit, baby, Max says when he sees you. Bad day?

Sniffling, you drop your coat right there in the hall, let it puddle over your shoes, and stalk off on a mission, barreling into the kitchen. The fridge door rips open, casting blue-white light over your face, and you must feel a hell of a lot worse than you feel because you don’t even blink at the contents inside. All the shelves wiped clean, the bottles arranged with the labels facing out, those wilted, bad greens deposited in the compost. You just reach in for the half-drunk bottle of Riesling that to Max smelled mostly like juice and swipe off the lid.

You chug on your way to the couch, leaving the fridge door open behind you.

Max closes it when you’ve gone, the TV already switched on in the living room, the lilting strings of the Desperate Housewives theme song swimming through the air. When he turns the corner he finds you wrapped in the throw blanket he now knows the texture of—supple and velvet, weighted and warm—with the wine bottle nestled in your lap. 

A silver tear hangs on your cheek. 

Really bad day, whatever it was. 

He wants to ask. Wants to pull you into his arms and pet back your hair. Wants to lick that sadness from your skin. 

Maybe this isn’t the show he’s imagined. Not much of a reveal—but you look so small right now, alone on your couch. Wine splashing in its bottle as you bring it to your lips, not bothering to wipe that tear away. If Max had a heart that beat, it’d stutter as he watches you. Helpless isn’t something he cares to feel.

No time like the present. Max sighs, scrubs a hand down his face as he ticks his jaw to one side, and nods. Alright, baby, he relents. Hang on.

On his way to the bathroom he cracks all the knuckles on his left hand, rolls his neck, swings his shoulders. Stretches himself long and limber like he’s about to run—but this is it. Curtain’s coming up. Time to find out if one glimpse of him sends you sprinting for the hills. Though he casts no reflection, Max stands before the mirror hanging over the sink and straightens his tie, corrects his lapels. Old habits, but it never hurts to look good.

Hand waggling, then, over the tissue box on the counter. He slaps himself hard, sending a delicious ripple of pain across his cheek. Come on, he begs. Don’t play hard to get.

The box lifts.

Here he comes: tissue box in hand, stalking tall and proud down your hallway with his chin up, shoulders back. Gets the momentum rolling, doesn’t hesitate, just waltzes in.

Your head snaps in his direction, eyes round and brows rising. To you it must look like the tissues float through the air to your side. Max steps back with butterflies jittering in his bones. 

Don’t be scared, he pleads. It’s just me.

With your head cocked to one side you consider this, though you’ve not heard his voice. Probably for the best. Came out a little softer than he meant it to, a little needy, and that’s just not becoming of a man like him. He has a reputation to uphold, even now. 

After a long, bludgeoning pause you click your tongue, swiping one white tissue from the box to turn over in your hand. Deliberating. Then your face cracks, possessed by a slithering smirk. Your gaze flickering so close to him it’s almost as if you’ve looked him in the eye. 

Deep in his chest, Max feels a strange throb—his stirring heart—as you say out loud, 

“I knew someone was there.”

dividers by @saradika-graphics - tag list & some mutuals!

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[paarksunghoon]

Hi I love your content so much I was wondering if you would to this that Jake mistakenly ordered few or one s.x toy that he would use on my later

ugh I’m so mad because I wrote this request, dropped my phone, then it disappeared. anyway hope you don’t mind I switched up the request juuuust a little.

***

Should he put it back where he found it?

Jake holds a baby blue bullet vibrator and inspects it in his hands. The whole reason why he’s in your room is because you asked him to grab a few pens from your desk before you started a study session. But now he’s discovered one of your toys and feels like he could be holding a bomb. He’d have to be a fool to pretend it isn’t a sex toy.

He gulps. Jake isn’t a stranger to this. He’s seen far too many Twitter porn videos to ignore the nature of the device and feels himself growing hotter with every passing second that ticks by. So begs the question: should he put it back where he found it?”

“Whatcha looking at?”

Jake turns around to see you standing in the doorway.

“N-Nothing!”

He panics when you step closer towards him and grab the vibrator from his hands. He watches you hold it up as if to inspect the toy, bringing it eye level until you finally look at him. Jake feels his cheeks warm up and looks down at the floor.

“Now, what are you doing with this?”

“I was just looking.”

“I asked you to grab some pens, not my vibrator.”

He wants to sink into the floor.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have your sex toys lying around!”

The man before you swallows when you chuckle. “It’s my room, Jakey.”

He tries to picture you as you are, in your pajama bottoms and tank top with fuzzy pink slippers on your feet. You look respectable like this. You look like his friend who invited him over for yet another study session that will likely go late into the night.

Instead, all he can picture is you sitting naked on the middle of your bed with this toy pressed right up against you. Jake thinks about what you might look like when your face is contorted in pleasure and what you sound like when you come. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about that before now.

“What about all the guys you’ve been sleeping with?”

You shrug. “Some were good and others were mediocre. I need something to tie me over in between hooking up with people.”

His silence makes you laugh.

“Wanna see me use it?”

Jake finds himself rock hard and hovering over your body. He doesn’t have to wonder what you look like underneath your clothes anymore. They’re discarded somewhere on your bedroom floor and you’ve got the toy pressed right against your exposed slit.

He watches in wonder and amazement when you drag the toy over yourself and studies the way your eyes close shut and how your mouth parts open to emit soft pants. Jake doesn’t know if he should look at your face or pussy. He tries to do both.

Amidst his own inner turmoil, Jake feels you pull his hand to cover your own until he’s holding the device. It feels so foreign in his hands when you push it against your pussy but he loves the way you sound when it happens. Jake loves watching the wetness ooze out of you. He can feel the vibrations against his fingertips. It’s so hot.

He fidgets with the toy, dragging it all over your pussy like he’s trying to find the spots that make you tick. He memorizes all of them and indulges your pleasure every time you moan from beneath him.

Jake wonders how you’d react if he turned the volume up a notch. He presses the button again and it roars like a small lion.

“Ah!”

The gasp alone pulls a deep moan from the back of Jake’s throat. He pushes the toy against your clit until your legs shake and hips buck against his hand. Jake uses his free one to hold your legs open and coaxes you into your orgasm, and he swears he’s never seen anything so angelic before.

Slowly, he turns the vibrations down as not to abruptly end your orgasm. He turns the device off when he sees your legs begin to still and allows you to catch your breath.

Although, it seems like the fun isn’t over. You smile at him like you know something he doesn’t.

“We should try it on you next.”

“Me?!”

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

[renthony]

I spend a massive amount of time reading about AIDS, because when you study queer history you're gonna spend a lot of time studying AIDS, and when I spend a lot of time reading about AIDS, it inevitably leads to me getting stuck in a "I am furious at every single person who acts like covid is over, but I'm extra livid with the queer people who don't care anymore" mood.

Mad about government negligence and public apathy, time to post the Larry Kramer Plague Speech again.

And for Mr. Kramer's thoughts on COVID-19, before yet another person crawls into my notes to accuse me of being "insensitive" by comparing AIDS and COVID-19 (as happens every single time I dare to compare them):

"The current plague, he said, calls for its own Larry Kramer to bring the rage — against disease, against governmental failure, against the unfairness of death. It just will not be him. 'I wish I could be,' he said. “I don’t know how. I would like to have a big movement,' he added. 'But I’m not quite sure how to do that.'" - Taken from "Larry Kramer, AIDS Warrior, Takes on Another Plague"

Larry Kramer died in 2020 due to complications from pneumonia. I never want to put specific individual queer people up on pedestals, because everyone has their flaws, but I do still think about Larry Kramer's AIDS activism a lot. Some days it feels like I'm the only one who decided to scoop up his rage and keep it burning. I know I'm not, but fuck, man, "still has to be worried about covid" is a lonely demographic to belong to.

[apollogeticx]

✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL ♡·˚

— [♡] ; love it's in the moments you don’t speak—the glances, the touches, the unspoken promises. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: mutual pining, afab!reader, fluff, intimacy, comfort, slow build, flirty gojo, first kiss, soft moments, special grade sorcerer reader, gojo is very much clearly simping

wc. 11K *phew!*

It had been a few years since you last stepped foot in Jujutsu High. The familiar grounds looked the same, though they seemed quieter without the chaos of students running around. The memories of training, missions, and countless teasing remarks from your former teacher all came flooding back as you walked up the path toward the main building.

You had been away, working tirelessly in the field, honing your cursed techniques, taking on increasingly difficult missions. It had all led to this moment. Today, you were returning to be officially promoted to a Special Grade Sorcerer.

As you approached the entrance, you felt a mixture of pride and nerves. After all, you hadn’t seen Gojo Satoru since graduation. It wasn’t like you hadn’t kept in touch with your friends, but Gojo… he was different. You knew he’d be at the promotion ceremony, and somehow, that thought made your heart race.

Stepping inside, you looked around, the echo of your footsteps filling the hallway. A part of you hoped you might run into Gojo before the ceremony, but knowing him, he’d probably make a grand entrance—like always.

"Well, well. Look who’s back."

The voice came from behind you, teasing and all too familiar. You turned quickly, and there he was—Gojo, standing casually with that same cocky smile, hands in his pockets, and his blindfold once again wrapped around his head.

"You still like sneaking up on people, I see," you said, trying to sound calm, though your pulse quickened at the sight of him.

He grinned. "And you still get flustered just as easily. Some things never change, huh?"

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, but you weren’t the same shy student you had been before. You had grown, faced some of the worst curses in existence, and yet Gojo still had this effect on you.

"I didn’t expect you to greet me so soon," you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I thought you'd be too busy for that."

"Busy?" Gojo’s grin widened as he sauntered closer. "I made time just for you. After all, a former student coming back to get promoted to Special Grade? That’s a big deal."

You felt a swell of pride at his words, but also a little self-conscious. "It feels surreal. I mean, being here again… and, well, being promoted."

"Surreal, huh?" He tilted his head, eyeing you with amusement. "Kid, you’re more than ready. I saw that years ago."

His words caught you off guard. Despite everything you had accomplished, hearing Gojo acknowledge your strength like this—it felt like something had come full circle. He had always pushed you, teased you, but he also believed in you more than anyone else.

"I wasn’t so sure back then," you admitted softly, "but I guess I’ve learned a lot since."

Gojo nodded slowly, a rare look of seriousness flickering across his face. "I knew you would. You’ve got the strength, and more importantly, the heart for this kind of work."

You blinked, surprised by his sincerity. He wasn’t just teasing you now—this was Gojo at his most genuine, and it made your chest tighten.

"Thanks, Gojo-sensei," you murmured, your voice soft. "That means a lot, coming from you."

He shrugged, the playful smile returning. "Don’t get all emotional on me now, kid. We’ve got a whole ceremony to get through. You’ve earned this, and then some."

The two of you fell into step as you walked toward the meeting hall. Gojo’s presence next to you was both comforting and slightly overwhelming, like it always had been.

As you reached the doors, Gojo stopped, turning to you with a mischievous look in his eye. "You know, I’m technically supposed to give a speech during your promotion. Maybe I’ll tell everyone about how you used to hide behind Megumi when I’d mess with you."

You groaned, shaking your head with a small laugh. "Please don’t."

He chuckled. "Don’t worry, I’ll be nice. Maybe."

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. Despite the teasing, it felt good to be back in this familiar dynamic. The butterflies in your stomach hadn’t fully settled, though. Something about standing next to Gojo again stirred up old feelings—feelings you thought you had long buried.

As the doors opened and you stepped inside the hall, the attention of the other sorcerers turned to you. Gojo followed closely behind, his presence commanding the room as always. But this time, the spotlight wasn’t on him—it was on you.

The ceremony was a blur, words of congratulations and praise drifting in and out of focus. You stood tall, trying to keep your composure, but your mind kept drifting to Gojo, who leaned casually against the wall, watching the proceedings with an unreadable expression behind his blindfold.

When it was over, and the room began to empty, you finally let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You were officially a Special Grade Sorcerer now. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted, but at the same time, a new pressure settled in its place.

Before you could get lost in thought, Gojo appeared at your side again, his hand coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. "See? Told you it wasn’t that bad."

You smiled, looking up at him. "Yeah… I guess you were right."

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between you two. Then Gojo’s hand slid off your shoulder, and he gave you a lazy grin. "So, what’s next for the newly promoted Special Grade?"

"I’m not sure yet," you replied honestly. "But… I’m excited to find out."

Gojo studied you for a second, his grin softening. "Good. You’ve come a long way, kiddo. I’m proud of you."

Your breath hitched slightly at his words, but before you could respond, Gojo leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping just for you to hear.

"By the way, if you ever need a reminder of how far you’ve come," he murmured, his warm breath brushing against your ear, "you can always come back. I’ll be here."

You swallowed hard, feeling your face heat up all over again. He pulled back, that teasing smile still on his lips, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"Thanks," you managed to say, trying to keep your voice steady. "I’ll keep that in mind."

Gojo chuckled and stepped back, giving you a small wave as he turned to leave. "See you around, kid."

Some things really didn’t change. But this time, you didn’t mind.

It felt like home.

As you walk down the steps of Jujutsu High, you can still feel Gojo’s presence outside, his energy as unmistakable as always. The sun is setting, casting long shadows across the grounds, and there’s something surreal about being here again—not as a student, but as an equal. Or as close to an equal as anyone can get with someone like Gojo.

Your eyes land on him, leaning casually against a tree near the gates, the evening light catching in his silver hair. He’s not even trying to be inconspicuous. things never change.

"I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost," he calls out as you approach, his tone as playful as ever. "Or did you just need a moment to compose yourself after all those heartfelt congratulations?"

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. "You weren’t even waiting here for that long. I thought you’d be off somewhere causing trouble."

"Waiting? Nah, I was just enjoying the peace and quiet before you showed up," he quips, though the smile on his face suggests otherwise.

You walk up to him, arms crossed over your chest, but there’s a flicker of boldness in your step. You’ve changed since the last time you were here, and you can feel it in the way you hold yourself. And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to push back a little this time.

"Still wearing that blindfold, I see," you remark casually, your eyes flicking up to the familiar fabric covering his eyes. "You know, I thought someone as unpredictable as you might’ve switched it up by now."

Gojo’s grin widens, clearly enjoying where this is going. "Oh? And what do you suggest I wear? Something more 'grown up' like you? You do seem different, but I didn’t think you’d start giving me fashion advice."

You shrug with a smirk. "I don’t know, maybe something a little less… lazy. Or are you afraid of people seeing those famous eyes of yours too often? I hear it’s bad for their health."

Gojo chuckles, the sound deep and warm. "You really have gotten bolder. I like it."

You tilt your head, feeling the dynamic between you shift ever so slightly. There’s a tension now, a playful kind that wasn’t there before. When you were a student, he always had the upper hand, teasing you endlessly, knowing you’d blush and fumble your words. But now… now you’re not quite as easy to fluster.

"Well," you say, stepping a little closer, "I had to get better at keeping up with you eventually. I’ve had plenty of practice dodging your teasing over the years."

Gojo’s grin falters for the briefest moment, replaced with something more thoughtful as he watches you. He shifts his weight, pushing off the tree and straightening up, towering over you as he often does. "Oh, I don’t know. I think you secretly enjoyed all that teasing."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you blush. Not this time. "Maybe," you say with a smirk of your own, "but I think you enjoyed it more."

That catches him off guard. His eyebrows raise slightly, and for a split second, you see something flicker across his face—surprise, amusement, and something else you can’t quite place. He recovers quickly, though, leaning in just a bit closer, his voice lowering as if you’re sharing a secret.

"Well, aren’t you full of surprises today," he murmurs, his tone teasing but laced with something more, something that makes your pulse quicken. "You really have grown up."

You meet his gaze—or, you would if his eyes weren’t covered by that damn blindfold. But you feel the weight of his presence all the same, and it’s clear that this conversation is walking a fine line between old dynamics and something entirely new.

"I had to," you reply, your voice steady despite the way your heart is racing. "Couldn’t stay the same shy kid forever, right?"

Gojo hums, taking a step back but keeping his gaze locked on you. "True. Though, I have to admit, the shy part was kind of cute."

You scoff, trying not to let the compliment—or whatever that was—get to you. "Cute? Really? You’ve got a strange way of showing affection, Gojo-sensei."

His grin turns playful again, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s enjoying this new dynamic as much as you are. "I thought that was obvious by now. I’ve been nothing but affectionate with my favorite students."

"Affectionate? Is that what you call it?" You raise an eyebrow, stepping closer again, refusing to let him have the upper hand. "Because if that’s your idea of affection, you might need to work on your delivery."

Gojo laughs, a full, genuine laugh that lights up his entire face. "And here I thought I was being subtle."

"Subtle? You?" You shake your head, the smile on your face growing. "You’re about as subtle as a curse rampaging through Tokyo."

Gojo clutches his chest dramatically. "Ouch, kid. I’m starting to think you’ve really grown out of my charming personality."

You take another step, closing the distance between you two even more. "Maybe I’ve just grown into someone who can handle it better."

He’s close now, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, and for a moment, the playful teasing gives way to something else. It’s like the air between you shifts—still light, but charged with an energy that wasn’t there before. You both know you’re walking into new territory, uncharted but not unwelcome.

Gojo studies you for a moment longer, and you can tell that he’s enjoying this new version of you, the way you push back, the way you don’t shy away from him anymore. "You know," he says, his voice a little softer now, "I might have to start taking you seriously if you keep this up."

You smirk, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe you should’ve been doing that all along."

He grins, but there’s something genuine behind it. "Touché."

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the teasing falling into a comfortable silence. There’s no need to fill the space with words; you both know what’s unspoken between you. It’s a shift, a recognition that the dynamic between you is different now, more equal, more balanced.

Finally, you break the silence, feeling just bold enough to push a little further. "By the way," you say, your voice casual but laced with meaning, "I’m staying at a hotel nearby for a month. You know, in case you feel like catching up… or if you want to see how much I’ve ‘grown up.’"

Gojo’s grin falters for just a second, and you catch a flicker of something in his expression—surprise, intrigue, and maybe even a bit of challenge. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it’s replaced with his usual smirk.

"Oh?" he drawls, his voice low and teasing. "Well, don’t be too disappointed if I show up unannounced. I do have a habit of keeping people on their toes."

You chuckle, feeling the weight of his words, the unspoken promise hanging between you. "I’ll keep that in mind."

As you turn to leave, you notice Gojo falling into step beside you. His long strides easily match your pace, and though you’re both heading toward the parking lot where your car is waiting, it feels like neither of you is quite ready to say goodbye just yet.

"Walking me to my car, Gojo-sensei?" you tease, glancing up at him with a playful smile. "I didn’t think you were the gentleman type."

He shrugs with a grin, hands in his pockets as he walks casually next to you. "Well, I’ve got to make sure my freshly promoted Special Grade sorcerer doesn’t get lost on her way out. Besides, who knows what kind of trouble you’ll attract in the dark?"

You roll your eyes at his exaggerated tone, though the teasing warmth in his voice makes it hard not to smile. "I think I can handle myself. I’ve been doing just fine all these years."

"True, but you know me. I like to make an impression," he says, the corner of his mouth tugging upward into a smirk. "Especially on people I care about."

You glance at him, catching the way his words linger in the air, heavier than usual. There's a subtle shift in the mood between you—something teetering on the edge of playful and something deeper, and you're both fully aware of it. You’re tethering new territory, and the dynamic between you two feels different now. Mature. Equal. Exciting.

"So, it’s about making impressions now?" you tease, feeling the butterflies fluttering in your chest. "And here I thought you just liked showing off."

"Who says it can’t be both?" he replies smoothly, Gojo looked at you with a mischievous smile, his pace slowing just a bit as if savoring the moment. "You’ve grown a lot, you know. Not just in skill, but…" He tilted his head, eyeing you with a playful glint. "You’ve got a bit more bite now. You’re not the same shy little student who used to hide behind Megumi."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "I *did not* hide behind Megumi."

"Oh, come on, kiddo." He nudged you gently with his elbow. "You used to blush every time I so much as looked your way. Admit it."

You tried to suppress the smile creeping onto your face but failed. "Okay, *maybe* I was a little flustered. But in my defense, you never made it easy."

He grinned, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just a little. "I didn’t think I’d have to make it easy for you."

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you were both quiet, walking side by side, the teasing tension between you now more palpable. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks again, but this time, it wasn’t out of embarrassment. There was something bold bubbling up inside you.

As you approached the parking area where your car was waiting, Gojo stopped, turning to face you. His grin softened, but the playful spark remained in his eyes. "Well, here we are. You sure you don’t want me to teleport you wherever you’re staying? Could save you some time."

You smiled, feeling the boldness surge within you. "As tempting as that sounds, I think I’ll be fine driving on my own. But thanks for the offer, Gojo-sensei."

He arched an eyebrow at the way you said his name, his smirk widening. "You keep calling me ‘sensei’ like I’m still your teacher. But we both know that’s not exactly true anymore, right?"

You felt your heart race at his words. He was right—this wasn’t the same dynamic as before. Not anymore. You both knew it, and the air between you felt thick with unspoken possibilities.

You took a deep breath, stepping a little closer to him, daring yourself to take this a step further. "I guess you’re right. Maybe I should start calling you something else. After all, we’re both adults now."

Gojo’s grin faltered for just a second, a flash of surprise crossing his features before it was quickly replaced with amusement. "Oh? And what would you call me then?"

You tilted your head slightly, enjoying the rare sight of him being caught off guard. "I’ll have to think about that."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You really have grown. Look at you, teasing me back. I’m proud."

His words made your heart flutter in a way that felt different from before. But you weren’t done yet. Taking a bold step forward, you closed the remaining distance between you and Gojo. Before he could react, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

No Infinity.

The moment seemed to stretch, the warmth of your lips lingering against his skin, and for the first time in your relationship with Gojo, it felt like the roles had reversed. His smirk faltered, his body going still as if processing what had just happened.

When you pulled back, his usual cocky demeanor seemed to slip for just a moment, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

"That’s for all the times you teased me mercilessly," you said softly, your voice playful but steady. "And maybe for the times I didn’t tease you back when I should have."

Gojo blinked, and then, slowly, a grin spread across his face—wider than before, more genuine. "Well, well. You’re full of surprises tonight."

You shrugged, feeling a rush of satisfaction at the shift in dynamic. "I told you. I’ve grown up."

He let out a low laugh, his eyes never leaving yours. "Yeah, you certainly have." He seemed to shake off whatever shock had held him back, his playful confidence returning in full force. "But don’t think I’m letting you get away with that so easily, kiddo."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What are you going to do about it?"

His grin was almost dangerous now, that familiar spark of mischief flashing in his eyes. "You’ll just have to wait and see."

The teasing tension between you felt like it was on the edge of something more, but before either of you could push it further, you decided to pull back, letting the moment simmer rather than boil over.

As you climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, Gojo stepped back, still watching you with that same teasing, unreadable look.

"Drive safe, kid," he called out, raising a hand in farewell.

You smiled, pulling away, but as you glanced in the rearview mirror, you couldn’t help but notice that he was still standing there, watching you drive off into the night.

It felt like the beginning of something new—something neither of you had quite figured out yet. But you were both adults now, and whatever came next, you knew it would be an interesting ride.

--

After a few days of settling into your routine post-promotion, things had started to feel more normal. Well, as normal as life could be for a Special Grade sorcerer. You’d spent most of your time either training or catching up on much-needed rest, all while reflecting on how surreal it was to be back at Jujutsu High—especially with the way things had shifted between you and Gojo.

The memory of the moment outside the school gates played on a loop in your mind. The teasing, the playful tension, the kiss you’d dared to press on his cheek. You couldn’t stop replaying the look of surprise on his face, the way his cocky grin had faltered, just for a moment. He was always so composed, so in control, but for a split second, you’d managed to throw him off. And you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

Now, it was late in the evening, and you found yourself sitting alone in your hotel room, the soft hum of city life outside your window. You had just finished a light training session earlier and returned to your room to freshen up. The thought of ordering room service for dinner crossed your mind as you flipped through the menu, your stomach growling in protest at the lack of food in it.

You settled on something simple and pressed the button to call down for service when your phone buzzed on the nightstand. Absentmindedly, you reached for it, half-expecting a message from one of your friends or perhaps a notification about your latest mission.

Instead, you saw a message from the hotel’s front desk.

"Gojo Satoru is here to see you."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you blinked at the screen, rereading the message just to make sure you weren’t seeing things. Gojo? Here? Now?

You hadn’t actually expected him to take up your offer. When you’d playfully mentioned your hotel stay, it had been more of a tease—an open-ended invitation, sure, but you didn’t think he’d actually show up. Not after how things had ended at the school. The kiss. The tension. The unspoken things that lingered between you both.

But apparently, Gojo had decided to take you up on your offer for dinner. The butterflies in your stomach returned full force as you tried to calm yourself. You knew him well enough to know he didn’t do anything without a reason—especially when it came to situations like this. And yet, here he was.

You glanced around your room, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you were still in casual clothes—nothing fancy, just a pair of comfortable shorts and a t-shirt. Hardly the outfit for hosting someone like Gojo, but you had no time to change.

A knock sounded at your door, and you took a deep breath, walking toward it with a mix of excitement and nerves.

When you opened the door, Gojo stood there, looking as infuriatingly laid-back and stylish as ever. He wasn’t in his usual sorcerer uniform tonight. Instead, he wore a dark, tailored jacket over a simple shirt and slacks, his blindfold notably absent, replaced by a pair of sleek sunglasses. His silver hair was slightly tousled, as though he hadn’t bothered much with it, but of course, he still managed to look effortlessly put together.

"Surprise," he said, flashing that signature grin of his, as though showing up at your hotel room unannounced was the most natural thing in the world.

You leaned against the doorframe, trying to play it cool even though your heart was racing. "Gojo-sensei. I didn’t think you’d actually take me up on that offer."

He stepped inside, brushing past you as if it were his place. "Well, you told me you’d be here for a month. Hope I’m not interrupting anything." He glanced around the room with a playful smile. "No secret sorcery rituals? No dangerous curses lurking around?"

You laughed, closing the door behind him. "No, no rituals. Just room service and me trying to figure out what to order for dinner."

"Room service?" Gojo raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Come on, you’re in the city. You can do better than hotel food."

You crossed your arms, trying to keep your voice steady despite his teasing. "Well, unless you’ve got a better suggestion, this is the easiest option."

Gojo grinned, pulling out his phone. "Lucky for you, I’m a man of many talents. How about I order us something decent?"

"Decent, huh? You sure about that?"

He waved off your skepticism, already tapping away at his phone as he sauntered over to the small table near the window and took a seat. "Trust me, I know the best spots. You’ll thank me later."

You watched him, half-amused and half-flustered by how comfortable he was making himself in your space. It felt strange—having him here, in your hotel room, of all places. And yet, it didn’t. Gojo always had a way of making any situation feel simultaneously normal and completely unexpected.

After a few minutes, he put his phone down, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied look. "Food’s on the way. Hope you’re hungry."

You walked over and sat across from him, the hotel menu now forgotten. "I guess I’ll have to trust you on this."

Gojo leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, and for a moment, his expression softened. "So, how’s it been? Adjusting to the whole Special Grade thing. It’s a big step up."

You shrugged, grateful for the shift in conversation. "It’s been… weird, honestly. I’m still getting used to it. It’s not just the title—it’s everything that comes with it. Expectations, responsibilities. It feels like I’ve suddenly got all these eyes on me."

Gojo nodded, his tone a little more serious than usual. "That’s because you do. Being Special Grade means more than just power—it’s the influence, the way people look at you. But don’t worry. You’ll get used to it."

His words were meant to reassure, but something about the way he said it made you think he understood better than most. You realized that despite all the bravado, Gojo had been carrying that weight for a long time. The weight of expectations, of being the strongest, of always having people watching, waiting for him to fail—or worse, succeed too easily.

"Thanks," you said, your voice softening. "Coming from you, that actually helps."

He gave you a small smile, but then, in typical Gojo fashion, the serious moment passed as quickly as it had arrived. "But don’t let it get to your head. I’m still stronger than you."

You snorted, shaking your head. "Always so humble, huh?"

"Someone has to keep you in check," he said with a wink.

A knock on the door interrupted your banter, and you stood to get the food, returning with two takeout bags that smelled divine. Gojo grinned as you set them on the table, already reaching for one of the containers.

"I told you it’d be good," he said, handing you your portion.

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. "Alright, I’ll give you that. Smells pretty good."

The two of you dug into the meal, the atmosphere relaxing as you ate, sharing stories and catching up on what you’d missed in each other’s lives over the past few years. Gojo regaled you with his usual exaggerated tales of missions and his ‘legendary’ exploits, making you laugh despite yourself. And for once, you found it easy to tease him back, knowing that you weren’t the timid student you used to be.

At one point, Gojo leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head with a satisfied sigh. "See? Told you I knew the best spots."

You smirked, leaning forward. "Alright, alright. I’ll admit it. You were right about the food."

"That’s what I like to hear," he said, flashing you a grin.

As the conversation naturally slowed down, a comfortable silence settled between you both, and for a moment, you found yourself simply watching him. It was strange—having him here, sharing a meal in your hotel room, in such an ordinary, human moment. Gojo, despite everything, was still a bit of an enigma. He was larger than life, someone who seemed untouchable in so many ways. And yet here he was, in your space, being just… Gojo.

And then, as if sensing the shift in your thoughts, Gojo leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, his eyes locking with yours.

"You know," he said quietly, his voice softer now, "I wasn’t just here for the food."

Your heart skipped a beat, the playful atmosphere suddenly replaced with something more serious, more intimate. You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words, but not entirely sure where he was going with this.

"Gojo—" you started, but he interrupted you, his smile soft but knowing.

"Satoru," he corrected, his voice low. "You don’t have to keep calling me ‘sensei’ anymore. We’re not at Jujutsu High."

The air between you felt thick, the casual banter from earlier now giving way to something deeper. You swallowed, feeling the tension rise, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was something else. Something electric.

"Satoru," you said again, his name feeling intimate, like something shared in confidence. The moment stretched between you, and the air in the room felt thicker, almost charged. You hadn’t meant for it to get this way, not when you invited him to catch up. Yet here you were, the easy banter slipping into something else, something unfamiliar but undeniably tempting.

He didn't reply right away. Instead, he watched you, his gaze steady and intense, no teasing grin, no playful smirk—just focus. His eyes, no longer hidden behind a blindfold, had that same vibrant blue intensity, and they seemed to soften the longer he looked at you. He leaned back in his chair slightly, one hand lazily resting on the table as if he had all the time in the world, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

You felt your pulse quicken, but the warmth that settled over you wasn’t just nerves—it was anticipation. The distance between you both felt almost too large now, despite being seated so close. A quiet hum of energy flowed between you, drawing you in, but neither of you was rushing to fill the silence.

Satoru’s voice broke through the quiet, low and unhurried. "You know… it’s been a while since I’ve had a dinner like this. Just us. No missions. No students. No chaos." His tone was lazy, like the way he stretched his words was deliberate, savoring each one.

You felt your body relax into the atmosphere, your earlier tension dissolving as the two of you settled into this slower, lazier rhythm. You leaned back in your chair, mimicking his posture, allowing your foot to nudge against his under the table, just lightly. You weren’t sure what possessed you to do it, but the casual touch felt like a gentle acknowledgment of the shift between you. Something more intimate, something more *present* was settling in.

Satoru glanced down at the small contact, the corners of his mouth twitching into a soft smile—different from his usual grin. It felt… private. "Careful," he said, his voice dropping a little lower, "or I’ll start thinking you’re trying to make a move on me."

You smiled back, feeling bolder in this new atmosphere. "And what if I am?"

There it was—a daring line neither of you had crossed before. The teasing had always been a part of your dynamic, but this? This was uncharted territory, and it sent a rush of excitement through you. You weren’t the same student he used to tease and fluster. You could hold your own now.

Satoru’s gaze flicked back to yours, his expression unreadable for a moment before he leaned forward slightly, his arms resting on the table again, closer now. The distance between you narrowed, and your foot was still resting lightly against his, the touch warm through the fabric of your soft socks.

His voice was quiet, but there was a deliberate slowness to his words. "Then maybe I should see where this goes."

The way he said it, lazy and inviting, made your heart race. You knew Satoru wasn’t one to shy away from anything, especially not when it came to these kinds of games. But this didn’t feel like a game anymore. The lazy, sexy atmosphere had shifted into something heavier, something more intimate and real.

Your breath hitched slightly as you watched him lean just a little closer. He wasn’t in any hurry. The tension simmered between you both, and it felt like he was savoring every second of it. His eyes never left yours, and the weight of his presence made the room feel warmer, smaller.

"I wasn’t expecting you to actually come," you admitted, your voice quieter now, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the delicate balance between you.

Satoru smiled, slow and lazy. "What can I say? I like to keep you on your toes."

You smirked, shaking your head slightly. "I’m starting to think you enjoy seeing me flustered."

He chuckled softly, the sound low and smooth, the kind that made the air feel heavier. "Maybe a little. But you’re not the same shy student anymore, are you? I have a feeling you can handle yourself now."

There was a deeper meaning to his words, and you felt it resonate through you. He was testing the waters, waiting to see how far you were willing to go.

Your heart raced, but this time, it wasn’t just nerves. It was a slow, delicious anticipation, like you were both slowly, lazily circling something inevitable. You leaned forward, closing the gap between you, your arms resting on the table now, much like his. The space between your faces felt almost too intimate, but neither of you pulled away.

"Maybe I can," you murmured, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.

Satoru’s gaze softened as his eyes traveled over your face, lingering on your lips for just a second before meeting your eyes again. There was no rush, no urgency, but the tension between you hummed quietly, like something waiting to break free.

"You’ve got more confidence now," he said, his voice low and almost intimate. "I like it."

You smiled softly, your heart pounding in your chest. "Guess I had a good teacher."

He laughed quietly, the sound warm and teasing. "You might regret saying that."

For a moment, neither of you moved. The atmosphere between you was thick with anticipation, but it wasn’t the kind of tension that demanded immediate action. It was slow, deliberate, like you both wanted to savor the moment, to see where it would take you.

Then, without a word, Satoru reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours, his fingers warm and slightly rough. The touch was subtle but intimate, his thumb tracing a slow, lazy pattern across the back of your hand.

Your breath caught in your throat as you glanced down at the contact, your heart racing. It was such a simple gesture, but it sent a ripple of heat through you, settling low in your stomach. You didn’t pull away, and neither did he. Instead, you let the moment stretch between you, the lazy, sexy atmosphere deepening with each passing second.

Satoru’s thumb continued its slow, deliberate movements, and when you looked up at him again, his expression had softened. There was no teasing grin now, no cocky smirk. Just him, watching you with an intensity that made your pulse race.

"You’re not running away," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I’m not the same person I was, Satoru."

His gaze held yours, and for a moment, the playful banter disappeared completely, replaced by something far more intimate, far more real.

"No," he agreed, his voice quiet and serious. "You’re not."

And then, he stood up, moving around the table with a slow, deliberate grace that made your heart race. He stopped just in front of you, his tall frame towering over you as he leaned down, one hand resting on the back of your chair.

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your breath catching as his face hovered just inches from yours. The tension between you was almost unbearable now, the lazy, slow atmosphere pulling you both into its gravity. You could feel the warmth of his body so close to yours, the space between you almost nonexistent.

Satoru’s hand moved from the chair to your chin, his touch gentle but firm as he tilted your face up to meet his. His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, and your pulse quickened, your breath shallow as you waited, the air between you electric.

"You sure you can handle this?" he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though there was a seriousness behind his words, a quiet question.

You smiled softly, leaning into his touch, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart. "I think I can."

Satoru’s lips curled into a slow, lazy smile, his eyes never leaving yours as he leaned in, the space between you disappearing entirely.

Satoru's thumb lingered on your lips for just a second longer, tracing the outline of your bottom lip with a feather-light touch. The gesture was slow, deliberate, and unhurried, as if he was savoring the moment just as much as you were. His face was close—so close you could feel the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin. The lazy, electric atmosphere between you seemed to buzz, both of you aware of the unspoken tension but not rushing to cross any lines too quickly.

You could feel the weight of his hand on your chin, firm yet gentle, like he was giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t. The space between you both was charged, like a silent dare to see who would push things further first.

"You’re not scared, are you?" Satoru asked, his voice low and teasing, yet there was a softness there, like he was genuinely curious about how far you were willing to go.

You met his eyes, those blue depths that held a thousand secrets, and felt a shiver run down your spine. Despite the playful nature of his words, there was something real simmering beneath them, something that felt new and exciting.

"Not scared," you replied softly, feeling a boldness rising inside you, your own voice taking on that same slow, lazy quality as the room around you. "Just… curious."

Satoru’s grin widened, just slightly, his gaze flickering between your eyes and lips. "Curious, huh?" His voice was almost a whisper now, and you could feel the weight of each word settle in the air between you, as if testing how far you were willing to explore this new territory.

"Mm-hmm," you murmured, leaning into the moment, into the tension that felt more like a game between the two of you. Your heart was racing, but the pace was slow, controlled, as though you were both allowing yourselves the space to figure out exactly where this was going. "Aren’t you?"

Satoru’s eyes gleamed with that familiar mischief, but this time, it was different—laced with something deeper, more curious. His hand shifted from your chin to cup the side of your face, his touch soft yet confident, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a way that made your skin tingle.

"Maybe," he said, his tone casual but heavy with meaning. "I’m always curious about what happens next."

You felt your breath catch as his thumb continued its slow, lazy path over your skin, drawing a line down to your jaw. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t a heated, desperate moment. Instead, it felt like the two of you were experimenting, testing the waters with each small touch, each slow breath.

The intimacy of it all settled over you like a warm blanket—soft, enveloping, but not overwhelming. You were both here, in this quiet, lazy bubble, just the two of you figuring things out one heartbeat at a time. His hand lingered, his fingers sliding back behind your ear, his touch sending a light thrill down your spine, making the room feel smaller, quieter, more intense.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You were aware of the way your breath had quickened slightly, the way your heart pounded beneath your skin, but it wasn’t overwhelming. It felt natural, like this slow dance of curiosity was meant to be drawn out.

Satoru leaned in just a little more, his lips now just a breath away from yours. His eyes never left yours, like he was gauging your reaction, giving you the space to decide what came next. You could feel the tension between you, lazy but buzzing, both of you savoring the slow build-up.

"You want to test the waters a bit more?" His words were playful, but his voice had dropped lower, his tone laced with something heavier, like he was offering you a choice.

You tilted your head just slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you whispered back, "Maybe."

His grin softened, and in that moment, he seemed to relax into the atmosphere fully, leaning in until his forehead gently brushed against yours. The simple contact sent a wave of warmth through you, and you found yourself leaning into him, letting the tension build lazily, neither of you in a rush to dive in too deep just yet.

Satoru’s hand slid down to your neck, his fingers trailing lightly across your skin, leaving a warm, tingling sensation in their wake. His touch was gentle, almost experimental, like he was testing your reactions with each small movement.

"Still curious?" he murmured, the soft, teasing words sending a shiver down your spine. His voice was low, intimate, and it felt like a quiet invitation to keep exploring this moment, this new space you were both creating together.

You smiled, leaning into the feeling of his hand on your skin, the slow, lazy heat between you building with every passing second. "More curious than ever."

His laugh was soft, rumbling against your skin, and you could feel the warmth of it, the way it settled into the air around you. The closeness between you was intoxicating, but neither of you felt the need to rush things.

His fingers continued their slow exploration, tracing the line of your collarbone, sending light shivers through your body. You let your eyes close for a moment, focusing on the feeling of his touch, the warmth of his presence so close to yours.

Then, you felt him shift slightly, and when you opened your eyes again, his lips were hovering just a breath away from yours. He didn’t move any closer, though—just stayed there, waiting, watching you with that same lazy, teasing grin that always seemed to make your heart race.

"You sure about this?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm against your lips.

You nodded, your own smile soft as you met his gaze. "Yeah, I’m sure."

And then, slowly, deliberately, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips softly against his.

The kiss was gentle, tentative at first, like the two of you were still testing the waters, still figuring out how to navigate this new territory. But it wasn’t hesitant—it was curious, exploratory, as though you were both enjoying the slow, lazy build-up just as much as the kiss itself.

Satoru’s hand slid up to the back of your neck, pulling you just a little closer, but still keeping the pace slow, deliberate. His lips moved against yours in a way that made your skin tingle, every small movement sending ripples of warmth through you.

You could feel him smile against your lips, and you couldn’t help but smile back, the intimacy of the moment deepening as you both relaxed into the kiss, letting the curiosity between you take the lead.

Neither of you was in a hurry. The kiss stayed soft, exploratory, as though you were both savoring each second, each small movement, letting the lazy, intimate atmosphere guide you.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested against each other, both of you breathing a little heavier, but still wrapped in that quiet, comfortable space you’d created together.

"Well," Satoru said, his voice still low and teasing, "I think I like this kind of curiosity."

You laughed softly, feeling the warmth of the moment settle over you, content in the knowledge that you had all the time in the world to keep exploring where this would take you. "Me too."

You push back your chair and stand slowly, the wooden legs scraping softly against the floor. Satoru steps back to give you space, his expression shifting from that lazy smirk to something more thoughtful, more curious, as he watches your movements closely. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, but there’s no rush in the air between you—just that same slow, deliberate energy humming beneath the surface.

With a subtle flick of your wrist, your cursed energy ripples through the room, and the overhead lights dim, casting a soft, intimate glow around you both. The warm light now barely illuminates the space, creating shadows that stretch lazily across the room, giving everything a deeper, more intimate feel.

Satoru watches with an amused but impressed look, his eyes tracking the subtle shift in the atmosphere. His smile returns, a little softer now, more curious than before. "Setting the mood, huh?" he teases, but there’s no bite in his words, just a low, lazy murmur.

You turn to face him, your heart still beating steadily, though now there’s an air of playfulness in the way you move, more sure of yourself than before. "Well," you say with a small smile, "I figured we might as well make it comfortable, right?"

Satoru chuckles under his breath, stepping closer, the soft shadows playing over his features as he tilts his head slightly. "Comfortable, huh? Is that what you’re going for?" His tone is light, teasing, but there’s a softness to it, like he’s intrigued by this new side of you. He lets his gaze drift around the room, as if taking in the subtle change in atmosphere, before his eyes find yours again.

You feel the air between you shift even more as you close the small distance, the glow of the dimmed lights making everything feel warmer, more intimate. The shadows accentuate the way Satoru’s silver hair catches the light, the lines of his features more pronounced in the low light.

Satoru’s hands rest loosely at his sides, his posture relaxed but alert, as if waiting for your next move. He doesn’t rush in, doesn’t make a move to close the gap this time. Instead, he watches you, those bright blue eyes peering at you with a kind of lazy curiosity, letting you take control of the moment.

You take a step closer, standing just a breath away now, the soft hum of tension between you growing in the dimmed light. Your hands hover just in front of him, fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of his jacket, testing the waters, watching for his reaction.

He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans in just a fraction, his body language open, relaxed, and welcoming. His gaze remains fixed on yours, and though his smirk is still there, it’s tempered by something more sincere, something more curious.

"Is this part of your technique?" he asks softly, his voice low and smooth, teasing but with a hint of genuine interest. "Or are you just trying to distract me?"

You laugh quietly, your fingers trailing lightly up the lapel of his jacket before resting on his chest. "Maybe a bit of both," you reply, your voice soft but confident.

Satoru chuckles again, his breath warm against your skin as he leans in slightly, his hands finally coming up to rest gently on your waist, the touch lazy and casual but firm enough to let you know he’s fully present in this moment. His thumbs brush idly over your sides, and the simple contact sends a ripple of warmth through you, making the room feel even smaller, even more intimate.

"Seems like I’m not the only one who likes to play games," he murmurs, his voice dropping even lower, his lips just a breath away from your temple.

You feel a smile tug at your lips as you lean into the warmth of his touch, your hands resting lightly against his chest. "Maybe I’ve learned a thing or two from the best," you say, your tone equally playful but laced with something deeper, something genuine.

The quiet between you thickens as you stand there, the soft light casting shadows across your bodies, the energy between you lazy but charged with a sense of anticipation. Satoru’s grip on your waist tightens just slightly, his fingers pressing into your sides as he pulls you closer, the space between you all but disappearing.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your temple in a feather-light touch before trailing down toward your ear, his voice a low, lazy murmur. "You really have grown up, haven’t you?" There’s a playful edge to his words, but it’s softened by the intimacy of the moment, by the way his hands move gently over your body, exploring without rushing, without demanding.

Your hands slide up to his shoulders, fingers curling lightly around the fabric of his jacket, holding him close but not pulling him in too tight.

"You don’t seem too surprised," you whisper, your voice barely above a murmur as you rest your forehead lightly against his, the proximity making every small movement feel amplified.

Satoru’s lips curve into a lazy smile, his fingers brushing gently up and down your sides. "I think I’ve always known there was more to you than you let on."

His words are soft but laced with meaning, and they hang in the air between you, thickening the atmosphere even more. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, the curiosity in his eyes as he watches your reactions, as if savoring each small shift in the energy between you.

You smile softly, your fingers playing with the fabric of his jacket as you let the moment stretch, the slow, intimate dance between you building with each passing second. "Maybe I was just waiting for the right moment."

Satoru hums softly, his hands sliding up your back now, his touch slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the feel of you beneath his fingertips. "Seems like now’s as good a time as any."

You can’t help but smile at the way his words settle over you, at the lazy, curious pace you’ve both set, like there’s no rush to figure everything out right away. The air between you is thick with anticipation, but it’s the slow kind, the kind that simmers and builds, neither of you in any hurry to rush the moment.

You lean in just a little closer, your lips brushing against the corner of his mouth as you whisper, "Maybe it is."

The soft brush of your lips against the corner of his mouth lingers in the air, and you can feel the slight tension in Satoru’s body as he absorbs the moment. His hands on your waist tighten, just barely, as if anchoring you both in the lazy intimacy of the dimmed room. His breath catches for a second, and you sense the shift as curiosity gives way to something deeper, something far more intentional.

Satoru leans in, his lips barely grazing yours again, but this time, the hesitation dissolves. There’s no more teasing, no more waiting. The playful back and forth that had lingered between you shifts into a new rhythm, one filled with heat and slow, deliberate intent. His lips press fully against yours now, soft but firm, and you feel the warmth of him, the depth of the moment drawing you in.

The kiss is slow at first, lazy like everything else about this evening. Neither of you rushes it. You savor the feel of his lips moving against yours, the softness of his touch at your waist pulling you just a little closer until your bodies are fully pressed together. It’s like you’re both tasting the moment, letting it unfold naturally, as if the kiss has been building for longer than either of you realized.

Satoru’s hands slide up your back, the warmth of his palms seeping through the fabric of your shirt as he deepens the kiss, tilting his head just slightly to the side to get closer, to feel more of you. His mouth moves against yours in a slow, languid dance, as though he’s content to take his time, exploring each second, each shift in the way your lips meet. His fingers curl into the material of your shirt, gripping just enough to hold you in place, but not with any force—just enough to keep you tethered to him.

You respond in kind, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer still, your lips parting slightly to allow him deeper access. The kiss remains slow, unhurried, but with each passing second, the intensity builds. His tongue traces the edge of your lips before slipping between them, the warmth of him flooding your senses as you lose yourself in the sensation. The room around you seems to disappear, the dim lights and soft shadows fading into the background as the kiss becomes the center of everything.

Your fingers thread into the soft strands of his hair, pulling gently, and you feel a low hum rumble in his chest in response. It sends a shiver down your spine, the sound of his contentment deepening the connection between you both. There’s a sense of playfulness still, but it’s mingled with something deeper, more real. The curiosity you both had about what might happen has been replaced with a quiet certainty—this is happening, and neither of you wants it to stop.

The kiss grows deeper, more insistent, but it never loses that lazy, slow rhythm you’ve both settled into. It’s as if you’re both savoring every second, every brush of lips and hands, letting the moment stretch as long as possible without rushing into anything too fast.

You tilt your head, responding to the way his mouth moves against yours, your body molding against his as you press closer, feeling the heat radiate from him. His scent, his presence, his touch—all of it overwhelms your senses, drowning out everything else but the two of you standing here, exploring this new territory with slow, deliberate care.

His hands tighten on your hips as the kiss deepens further, his tongue brushing against yours in a lazy, teasing way that makes your knees weaken just slightly. It’s like he’s tasting you, savoring the way your bodies move together, your breath mingling with his in the soft quiet of the room.

Finally, when the need for air becomes undeniable, you pull back just slightly, your lips still grazing his as you both catch your breath. The air between you feels charged, the soft hum of tension still simmering but not quite boiling over. You can feel the heat between your bodies, the way your breaths are still shallow, mingling in the small space between you.

Satoru’s forehead rests gently against yours, his breath warm against your lips, and you can feel the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. His hands remain at your hips, keeping you close, and though the kiss has ended for now, the connection between you hasn’t weakened.

His voice is low, almost a murmur, as he speaks against your lips. "That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I came here tonight," he says, his tone teasing but soft, like he’s letting you in on a secret.

You smile, your fingers still tangled in his hair as you gently pull back just enough to look into his eyes. "What did you have in mind then?" you ask, your voice equally soft, your breath still shaky from the kiss.

Satoru chuckles, his thumb brushing lightly against your side. "Honestly? I don’t know anymore." There’s a softness in his gaze now, something far more genuine than the playful smirk he usually wears. "But I think I like where this is going."

You smile, feeling the warmth of his hands still resting on your hips, the way his body remains so close to yours. The lazy, intimate energy that had been simmering between you all night has deepened, but there’s no rush to push things further just yet. You both seem content to let this moment stretch, to keep testing the waters and seeing where it leads.

You pull back just slightly, your hands still resting on his shoulders as you tilt your head, giving him a teasing look. "So, you’re not regretting showing up unannounced?"

Satoru grins, his eyes glinting in the dim light as he shakes his head. "Regret? Nah, not my style."

You laugh softly, leaning into the warmth of his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. "Good," you murmur, your voice soft but playful. "Because I wasn’t exactly planning on this either… but I’m not complaining."

"I like this side of you," he says quietly, his voice low, the teasing edge tempered by something softer, more sincere. "The confidence, the way you take control. It's different."

You meet his gaze, your own smile growing as you feel the weight of his words settle between you. "Maybe you bring it out of me," you reply, your tone matching his, slow and curious.

Satoru’s grin softens into something warmer, more intimate. "Maybe I do." His hand moves to cup your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin in a tender, lingering caress. "And maybe… we should see where this goes."

The question hangs in the air between you, but there’s no pressure, no rush. It’s an invitation, a gentle promise that you both have all the time in the world to explore whatever this is, at your own pace.

You smile, leaning into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hand on your skin, and you nod, your voice barely above a whisper as you say, "Yeah. Let’s see where this goes."

The night had stretched on, a slow, lazy rhythm that matched the soft hum of energy between you and Satoru. What began with teasing touches and lingering kisses had transitioned into something deeper, more intimate. The dim light, the quiet, the way the air seemed to hold only the two of you—it all added to the steady, unhurried exploration of each other. You could still feel the warmth of his hands on your skin, the soft brush of his lips on yours, the quiet laughter shared between more tender moments.

The details of the night blurred together, wrapped in the haze of half-whispered words and languid touches. The way he had pulled you closer, bodies fitting perfectly against one another as though you'd known each other in this way far longer than just one night. The warmth of his breath at your ear as he murmured something teasing, something that made your heart flutter and your skin tingle with anticipation. You had let yourself sink into the moment, the feeling of being wrapped up in him, of giving and receiving in a slow, steady rhythm.

And then the stillness afterward—the quiet between you as you lay together, breath steady, heartbeats calming. His arm had draped lazily over your waist, and your head had found a place on his chest, rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing. There were no words, no need for explanations. The night had unfolded in a way that felt natural, as though it was meant to be.

Now, the morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. The air was still quiet, the city sounds outside muted and distant. You stirred slightly, feeling the sheets cool against your skin as you shifted. A soft hum escaped your lips as you blinked your eyes open, the remnants of sleep clinging to you.

Satoru was still beside you, lying on his back, one arm loosely thrown over his head, the other resting gently at his side. His silver hair caught the morning light, messy from sleep but somehow still perfect in that infuriatingly effortless way of his. His sunglasses were nowhere to be seen, and his eyes—those brilliant blue eyes—were closed, his expression soft and peaceful in the early light.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him like this, the usual confidence and cocky demeanor replaced with something more relaxed, more real. For a moment, you just watched him, the memory of the night before still fresh in your mind, the warmth of it settling over you like a blanket. It felt like a secret shared between the two of you, something just for you to hold onto.

Carefully, you shifted, slipping out of bed as quietly as you could, not wanting to disturb him just yet. The cool floor against your feet grounded you, bringing you fully into the present as you padded softly across the room. You found one of his shirts—something he must’ve discarded at some point in the night—and pulled it over your head, the fabric soft and warm, carrying the faint scent of him.

The room felt different in the morning light, the soft shadows from last night replaced with a golden glow. Everything felt quieter now, the intimacy of the night lingering in the air. You moved to the window, pulling the curtains back just slightly to let more light in, the city below beginning to wake up, though the world inside your room still felt like it was suspended in its own private moment.

Behind you, you heard the soft rustle of sheets, and when you turned back, Satoru had stirred. His eyes fluttered open, blinking against the light, and he stretched lazily, a small grin spreading across his face when he saw you standing there.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep but laced with that familiar teasing tone.

"Morning," you replied softly, leaning against the window frame, your smile mirroring his.

Satoru propped himself up on one elbow, the sheets pooling around his waist as he gave you a once-over, his grin widening when he noticed you wearing his shirt. "Looks good on you," he said, his voice still carrying that lazy, slow rhythm from the night before.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. "Thought I’d steal it," you teased.

"By all means," he replied with a chuckle, stretching his arms above his head in a slow, languid motion, the muscles in his chest and shoulders shifting under the morning light. "It’s a good look."

There was something so easy about this moment—no awkwardness, no rush to define anything. Just the two of you, the intimacy of the night still hanging between you, soft and unspoken. Satoru leaned back against the headboard, his eyes lazily tracing your movements as you crossed the room, coming back toward the bed.

"You sleep okay?" you asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed, feeling the warmth of his body next to you even through the thin layer of sheets.

"Like a baby," he murmured, his grin softening as he reached out, his hand finding your knee and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You?"

You nodded, your smile growing as you thought back to the comfort of falling asleep next to him, the quiet after the slow, intimate dance you'd shared. "Better than I have in a while."

Satoru’s fingers trailed lazily up your thigh, his touch warm and unhurried, just like everything else about this morning. He seemed content to take his time, to let the quiet intimacy between you both linger in the air. His eyes held yours, a slow, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Good," he murmured, his voice low and smooth, still carrying that lazy, teasing quality from the night before. "Though I wouldn’t mind a repeat performance if you’re up for it."

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you nudged him playfully. "You never change, do you?"

His grin widened, and he gave a small shrug, his hand sliding down your leg before coming to rest on the bed beside him. "What can I say? I’m consistent."

The lightness in his voice made you smile, and you leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against his lips before pulling back and standing again. "Let’s start with coffee first, shall we?"

Satoru let out a dramatic sigh, flopping back onto the bed with an exaggerated groan. "Fine. But only because you make it sound tempting."

As you moved toward the small kitchenette, you could still feel the warmth of his gaze on you, his presence filling the room even in the quiet of the morning. The night before had been unexpected, yes—but somehow, it felt like the natural progression of whatever had been brewing between you for so long. And as the morning stretched on, with the scent of coffee beginning to fill the air, you couldn’t help but feel like this was only the beginning of something even more exciting.

Something worth exploring.

notes: i'm so sorry this is this long - but i had to keep writing uahdsuhudsh

©apollogeticx ⋆ all rights reserved.

[fiamat12]

Ring Anon here to try to answer this question:

“Do we think it's a promise ring or engagement ring? And who bought it: Nic or Luke?”

The short answer is, I don’t think we have enough info to know this for sure but I am going to take a guess:

First of all, I think there is a small chance that it doesn’t represent a traditional romantic relationship. I think it could possibly be a momento to represent their unique friendship/relationship as well as Nic’s experience and accomplishment filming season 3, which Luke is an integral part of. In this case I think she would have bought it herself to commemorate the experience and her success. Nic is nostalgic and enjoys symbolism and likes to have physical reminders of important experiences and people in her life (photos, for example.) The Claddagh ring represents “Love, loyalty and friendship” and it I think it does represent all of those things between the two of them, but we don’t know for sure what type of love that is. I don’t think it’s familial (the have NEVER referred to themselves as having a bro/sis type of relationship), and it’s hard to say its platonic because I think there are clear signs of romantic and sexual attraction in their body language, but I don’t know if they define it as romantic or have made the choice to move forward with an irl relationship outside of their professional romance and personal friendship. If they haven’t decided to move forward in that way, I think it’s for one of these reasons:

A) They’ve decided not to pursue a personal romantic relationship while they are working together/playing opposite each other

B) They don’t feel that they are compatible outside of the context of Bton/set/work

C) One or both of them, most likely Nic, doesn’t want to have a traditional dating relationship because she doesn’t trust it due to past experiences, or she has a different paradigm on romantic relationships. She has said herself she is cynical about love and also she seems to prioritize all of her friendships and relationships as opposed to centering her life around one romantic partner. If this is the case it could create a conflict with L’s approach to relationships as he seems to be someone who likes being in a monogamous partnership.

Okay, with that disclaimer out of the way, I think there are signs that they could presently be moving forward in a romantic partnership, and the presence of the ring, the timing of when it was ordered and when she got it, how/when she wears it, and it’s orientation is one of the biggest ones. The Claddagh ring IS a relationship ring. That’s its whole purpose. Claddagh rings are also an old school way to broadcast your availability/relationship status, even before the advent of social media. She’s wearing it in the “in a relationship/not available” position, and she has been since she got it in Galway. She wears it out publicly, it’s front and center on that new Polaroid, she wore it in the festival pics with JD, and she wears it straight out of the shower when she’s doing her skincare. It’s the first thing back on after a photo shoot. She wears it like it has personal significance to her, like one would wear a wedding or engagement ring. She wears it in sponsored posts and makes sure we see it. She knows the fandom speculates about it and STILL makes sure we see it. In my opinion the ring, and who/what it represents, is very significant to her and close to her heart.

I’ve seen the speculation that the rings on the hands are like L’s, and I think that’s very interesting. He doesn’t wear those rings consistently anymore, but if they are supposed to be his hands and he’s LITERALLY HOLDING HER HEART I’m melting into a puddle on the spot.

If I had to guess, I don’t think they were engaged when she got the ring. I think Nic needed more time to feel ready for that step, and I think Luke needed some time to handle business/wrap up loose ends. I feel like it would be weird for them to be engaged but separated much of the summer and him off with A on vacation, etc. I also feel like if they were engaged she would be wearing it on her left ring finger, unless they are secretly engaged and want to keep it under wraps. But it is an engagement ring, according to how it was marketed. And the nature of the type of ring it is offers some fluidity in that it can change what it represents as the relationship grows and changes, which I think is actually very beautiful and appropriate for a friends-to-lovers story. And I think if they are in a romantic relationship, I do think it is serious and headed towards engagement if not already there. I think they mean too much to each other to date causally or risk their friendship for anything but endgame.

So, I think it could be a promise ring, and a symbol that they are going to explore and pursue the feelings between them. If it is, he may have bought it for her. He does have a history of being a gift-giver of nostalgic/symbolic gifts (camera). The timing of him meeting her family at the same time she got it is also interesting (was someone asked for permission/blessings?)

The “waiting for you” lyrics and the fact that she kept flashing it on SM when he was going through what may have been a disentangling this summer I think might have been some reassurance for him that she is waiting for him and not going anywhere. I feel like they may have taken a break before after filming season 3 and it went wrong: maybe she got spooked and ran away or something like that, leading to him to go off the rails/HBS/date A. And then maybe they talked it out and made a plan while on tour, but he’s nervous that she’s going to do that again. So maybe he put a ring on it to show he’s serious and she’s sending him (and us) little messages that she’s still on board by wearing it and showing it off.

Okay, a couple more things… in the comments or my last anon post there was a link to a post speculating that N may have bought L the bracelet he mentioned in the interview that said something about friendship being the best foundation for love. I think that would be very interesting because it would be a bold statement from her suggesting that their friendship had turned into irl love, or that she was open to trying again, earlier on in the tour than most of our timelines suggest. It’s possible it was from a fan because I think that line was in the trailer, right? But it would be a very thoughtful and personal and generous gift if it was from a fan. And if it was from her, and she gave him personal jewelry that represented love and friendship, I think it could make sense that he reciprocated with a ring that holds a similar meaning. A very significant, gorgeous, expensive, but no-pressure-we’ll-go-there-when-you’re-ready ring.

Thank you for your thoughts! I appreciate you looking at all sides - because we truly never know ;-) I do, however, think that the couple - yes, I said it, the *couple* - are speaking rather loudly at this point. Imo, Nic has left us w/ little doubt in her recent posts and Luke, in his Spain post (he tried! Lol) that they are together 👫

Quite simply, and w/out rehashing their entire timeline, their relationship was not a thunderbolt from sky (to take a line from Colin). Once S3 filming started, I believe art imitated life; if you want to take a hint from Luke, maybe even as far back as the pic to which he took "the great unliking"... S2 pic of June 2021.

But this is about THE RING, and I do believe it signifies something serious between them. There are the Italy engagement truthers I can get on board with (or at least consider) because I do believe they're deeply in love and realized it as soon as they reunited for the WT. I also think that they've hidden it for privacy (not unlike most celebs) & to protect their reputations (also not unlike most celebs. I've discussed the HBS/ homewrecker issues in other posts)

As for A, I think that was done long ago (Feb/March) and was never serious to begin with... and that the only disentangling that Nic was waiting for was on a public perception level; Luke needed to clear things up image wise to where he & Nic could launch on a positive note. I think Nic was telling us that, like Charli XCX and her fiancé (drummer of Luke's fave band), they've been secretly together for a minute...

I can't wait to see if that ring goes on another finger soon, or if it will be announced that it already signifies a certain commitment? Since again, I believe what has been portrayed publicly is very different than what's being going on bts.

Only time will tell, but I'm confident good things are ahead for Lukola fans! 🙏

[dimplyowl]

Okay has anyone written any meta about the differences between our two first mates, Auntie and Izzy? Because I just finished rewatching s2 and was struck by how similar their situations are, and their temperaments, and yet how very completely opposite they behave in nearly identical situations.

Cause like. Both their captains are insanely infamous, badass pirates who have an image to uphold, Ed as Blackbeard obviously, and Zheng as the pirate queen who conquered China. They both become romantically interested in someone who honestly has no business being a pirate: oluwande and Stede, both described as soft, not masculine, yes in the end willing to do violence if necessary, but it’s not their preferred way of handling conflict. People who, maybe rightly, the respective first mates consider potential threats to their captain and crew.

But just the way that auntie handles the situation compared to Izzy. Auntie doesn’t meddle. She is vocal about what she thinks of Oluwande, about her concerns about Zheng being distracted, “compromised”, not focused on the mission. But she’s ultimately acting as an advisor for Zheng, which is exactly what her role is. She doesn’t try to control Zheng, she doesn’t remove Zheng’s agency, she doesn’t threaten Zheng or tell her that she’s pathetic for mooning over Oluwande (I know we never get to see any mooning onscreen but cmon, there has to have been some). When the Revenge crew escapes her ship, and she knows she fucked up, Auntie doesn’t run salt in the wound the way that Izzy would take pleasure in doing. She starts to say “I told you so,” and Zheng very firmly tells her “Don’t”, establishes a boundary that Auntie respects, because ultimately Zheng knows she fucked up and she’s not a child who needs to be taught a lesson or managed. Auntie respects her and her personhood.

And compare that to Izzy, who consistently manipulated Ed to get in between him and Stede, threatened Stede’s life on multiple occasions, essentially mutinied against him, sent the cops after them, and then berated and threatened Ed over being heartbroken.

Like, even down to nearly dying. Auntie has a severe gunshot wound in her shoulder that she will clearly die from if she doesn’t accept help. She’s spent the entire season being tough, unwilling to show weakness, equating softness to weakness, but in the end she decides to accept help, to accept a little bit of softness, to change and accept that softness can be good. Izzy in contrast, declines help, knowing that he’s done. He knows he can’t fit in to this new world, this new piracy, where people can be soft and vulnerable and still fucking kick ass. He’s been resistant and outwardly aggressive to this idea, and he chooses to die rather than accept that softness. Ofmd is ushering in a new era of pirating, and Izzy doesn’t fit in it, and doesn’t want to fit in it, and ultimately, narratively, that’s why Auntie survives and Izzy doesn’t.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, violence, abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: I am tireddddd.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Professor Smith dresses you in a set of pajamas; white with blue stripes. They’re not your size, you assume they might be his. You’re not sure. You’re too woozy to think about much more than your throbbing hand. 

He lays you in the hotel bed as you shake uncontrollably. You’re freezing cold but he keeps touching your forehead and saying you’re burning up. How can that be when you can’t get warm? 

Your lashes flutter between glimpses of him pacing and sitting on the edge of the bed. When all is dark, you see his shadow beside you. His breathing suggests he’s asleep but you can’t tell. He’s up again as a halo of light shines around you. The lamp limns his figure as he pets your cheek. 

“Sweetheart, shh, you’re alright,” he coos, “no need to cry.” 

You’re crying? Why? You can’t remember. Your mind is a bubble of fractured thoughts and vague scenes. You can’t make scene of much between the visions of this man. 

“Fever’s broke,” he lays a wet cloth over your brow. “Very good. We’ll be off in the morning, won’t we?” 

“Mom?” You murmur in confusion. 

“Mm, let’s take one step at a time before all that, yes?” He caresses your cheek with his thumb. “Back to sleep.” 

He shuts off the light and you’re cast into grim blackness. His weight jostles the bed and you feel him spread out next to you. The bed is more than large enough for you both. 

“Professor,” you croak weakly. “What’s...” 

“In the morning,” he girds. 

You accept it, “sorry.” 

“Never be sorry,” he reaches over to squeeze your arm lightly.  

You lay in silence. Your eyes close on their own. You are completely drained. You sink down into a solid void that suffocates away all light and life. When you awake again, you’re alone. You might think it was all a dream if it wasn’t for the bright hotel walls. 

You remain as you are. You don’t have the energy to get up. You lift your hand and look at the bandage wrapped around it. It feels better and your fingers aren’t swollen. You bend them. It still hurts. 

The door opens and you drop your arm. You squeak at the pain. 

“Sweetheart, is all well?” Raymond rushes over, a tray in his hand. “I was only meaning to fetch some of the complimentary breakfast before we depart.” 

You blink and shake your head, “fine. I’m... fine.” 

“I hope you like coffee--” 

“Coffee?” You whimper and close your eyes. “Coffee...” you mutter. “I went to get coffee and...” 

“Yes, that fiend meant to attack you. You see, I did not come without purpose. How could I sit back and see you neglected?” 

“You don’t... I don’t know... you.” 

“Hush, hush, you must be hungry,” he insists. “It is good to eat. You are weak from the infection still. You must take care--” 

“My mom--” you look at him. 

He sucks in air and his jaw tenses. He steels himself and his fingers twitch. “Yes, a woman who allows her own daughter be abused.” 

“She... she couldn’t stop him--” 

“She should not bring the beast home with her,” he snips. “Please, you would not survive in such an environment.” 

“Why... would you come here?” 

He exhales and his eye bats, as if he can’t control it. “Why wouldn’t I after what I witnessed? Then you would not answer. I had half a suspicion you were dead.” 

“I’m sorry, I... didn’t mean to worry you but... it’s not your problem.” 

He hums and set the tray on the night stand. He offers a cup of coffee, “are you so used to being forgotten that you cannot accept kindness?” 

“No, it isn’t... I’m sorry.” 

“And the apologies. No need for it. I am not admonishing you. I am merely offering advice.” He takes your good hand and makes you take the cup. “There is much more you need to learn than accounting, I gather.” 

You frown and look at the dark coffee. 

“If you prefer milk or sugar, I grabbed some of each,” he explains and gestures to the tray. “Of course, you shouldn’t drink that in bed else you might stain the sheets.” 

“Oh, yeah,” you push the blankets back and move carefully. 

The pajamas brush against your stomach and you look down. You’re reminded of the day before. Naked in the tub. In front of him. You’ve never been so exposed before. You slump your shoulders and go to the table and sit. 

You look down at your burnt hand and bring up to examine the bandage again, “thank you...” you raise it higher. 

“Certainly. And who wouldn’t see to the festering infection? Are you not concerned that not even your own mother cared for that matter?” 

“Can we not talk about her?” You sniffle and rest your hand in your lap. “You should take me home.” 

“Home? That is no home. Now, you should eat. Keep your strength up so you can heal properly.” He girds. 

You nod and take a cautious sip of coffee. You’re still reeling, maybe even slightly delirious. You set the cup down again and lift your chin. You look at his neck, not his face. 

“Why?” You ask. 

“Why...” He echoes as he sits across from you. 

“Why help me?” 

He takes a packet of sanitizing wipes and uses them to clean the cutlery. You watch his diligent work. Everything he does is precise and purposeful. And cleanly. He seems to detest the thought of dirtiness and yet you can only feel like filth next to him. 

“Well, it should be a question, should it? It is humane. Decent. So, I shouldn’t need to name the reason for it.” He lays down each piece before he sets to claiming a muffin, then a scoop of the scrambled eggs, and strips of bacon with sausage too. “Though if you insist, I will give one. Firstly, let us underline that point. What you need, what you want, I would be more than willing to supply, but then, circle around to your query; why should I help you?” 

He takes the rest of the cutlery and wipes it then hands it to you. He makes you up a plate as he continues, “you, sweetheart, have great potential. I’ve seen it. And that would be spoiled all for a poor foundation. Now that is not your own doing, mind you, you cannot help where you come from, and more admirably,” he sets the plate before you, “you were fighting against it and so I only thought to lower the ladder for you.” 

You blink and focus on the food. You’re not very hungry. You feel slightly queasy but you would hate to be ungrateful. All these questions already make you feel so.  

“Thank you,” you croak and make yourself look at him. “Really...” 

You don’t know how to say it. You already feel pathetic and you don’t need to sink further. No one’s ever been that concerned about you. No one ever tried to help you. Most people just laughed, called you names, or pushed you down themselves. 

“Please, don’t trouble yourself very much, eh? I have the means to help. It would be selfish not to. A sort of passing the torch. I wasn’t born to wealth myself, or peace. Life can be a war on its own,” he gives a gentle smile beneath his thick beard. “Oh, and I did take some clothing from your home before our flight. I was able to use the hotel laundry. It should suffice, though I hardly trust their cleaning staff.” 

“Yes, sir,” you answer. 

“Raymond, please,” he corrects you. 

📓

Professor Smith, or Raymond as he insists, drives you across the city. He turns in the car at the rental place then leads you into the train station a block away. He’s patient, not hurrying you, and he pays for your ticket and his. You feel guilty for the expense. 

As you sit and wait on the platform, you fidget. You chew your lip and curl your fingers, the burn stinging beneath the bandages. 

“Are you well?” He checks in. He does every now and then. 

“Um, yes...” you look at the tracks, “I’ve never been on a train.” 

“A first, very exciting,” he muses. 

You nod and let your eyes wander. You’re nervous but too much to ask what makes you so. He moves so his leg is against yours. 

“Your hand?” He prompts. 

“It’s feeling better,” you assure.” 

“Very well.” He sits back and puffs out through his nose, “we will go to my home. You can recover there and when you feel up to it, we will go over your last assignment and see you through the course--” 

“Professor-- Raymond,” you sputter as you face him. “You don’t have to do all this.” 

“I am not a man who does things he doesn’t wish to,” he replies. “I’ve explained myself enough. It is unacceptable to me to let you return to where I found you. I couldn’t allow you in such an unsafe circumstance. Especially after what I witnessed.” 

“It-- he just yelled, that’s all.” You murmur. 

“Is that all? He had nothing to do with this?” He points to your hand. 

You shrink and shake your head. He clucks. 

“You are honest and so you are a poor liar. What I saw was more than yelling, sweetheart. You will not convince me otherwise. I know, this is a peculiar situation, but it is your way out,” he says, “tell me, you never thought of it.” 

Your lack of response is enough of one. Your eyes are hot, and your mouth is dry. Your leg jiggles restlessly. 

A lull rises as the chatter of others rolls through the platform. Soon, you hear the whine of metal on metal, and a bright beam shines from the tunnel. The train speeds through and grinds to a stop.  

You follow Raymond’s every move. When he stands, you stand. As he grabs his bag, you go to do the same but he has it in hand first. He gestures you ahead of him. You reluctantly approach the train. 

“The second from the front,” he instructs from behind. “I’ve our tickets.” 

You follow his direction. You’re good at that. As a professor, he’s just as good at giving orders. As you approach the waiting attendant, he reaches around to hand over the tickets. The woman in her uniform tears of the ends and hands them back. 

You step onto the small metal footstool and then climb the stairs of the train car. You pause as he puts your bags into the netted caddy near the front. He urges you on with another point and recites the seat numbers. You find them and stare at the row. 

“Would you like window or aisle?” He tucks away the tickets. 

“Mm, what do you like?” You ask. 

“Please, have the window. You did say it’s your first,” he insists. 

You duck your head and sit. He lowers himself next to you and slips a bottle from inside his jacket. He pops the cap open and offers it quietly. You glance over at the sanitizer. You don’t want to be rude so you put your unbandaged hand out. He dollops it into your palm, then his own, and puts it away. 

He rubs his palms together and you sanitize around your bandage and your uninjured hand. You sit back and look out at the platform. He’s a very stringent man but you might only think so because you’re used to no rules at all. He’s thorough too. He seems to think of everything.  

You look at him but think better of asking what you want to. He catches your glance before you can turn back. He shifts toward you, leaning on the outer armrest. 

“Go on,” he urges, “you can say whatever you need.” 

“Sorry, it’s nothing.” 

“Please,” he opens his hand encouragingly. 

You drop your eyes and wet your lips. You’re going to sound so dumb. “Do you really think I could... I could do something? Like you? Like... like... accounting?” 

He chuckles softly. It’s not mocking or mean. It’s soothing. 

“I do believe so,” he says. “You needn’t fret. Let yourself time to heal, then all that will come after.” 

You sniff and sit back. You don’t know if you agree with him, but you’ll try. That’s all you can do. It’s what you should do after he’s gone to all this effort. 

[foolishxprincipalitee]

What is hyperfixation like?

So, I didn’t care about Sherlock Holmes at all until about six weeks ago.

I watched BBC Sherlock as my gateway drug, then read a bunch of fic, started listening to the podcast Sherlock & Co, bought a copy of the new queer anthology When the Rose Speaks Its Name, started watching the Jeremy Brett series, and now I’m reading Bending the Willow: Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes while simultaneously cycling through BBC Sherlock - AO3 - Sherlock & Co - When the Rose Speaks Its Name - Jeremy Brett - misc. Sherlockian googlings on a daily basis.

I can feel dopamine coursing through my veins every second that I get to interact with Sherlock Holmes related media, which is a considerable amount of time. I draw fanart at work and scribble gay little thoughts in my journal. There is not an atom within me that isn’t vibrating for Sherlock Holmes and Sherlock Holmes byproducts.

And yet nobody in my real life wants to talk about it with me, no matter how hard I try. I tried reaching out to my brother who has always been an ACD Holmes fan and he literally hasn’t replied to me in a month. He’s got kids. All I’ve got is a new Sherlock Holmes hyperfixation.

I posted some of my new art on Instagram and received a very weak response even though I was really excited about it and still think it’s some of my better work. I deactivated my account because I was so sad.

The isolation impacts me negatively. It pushes me further and further away from “real life” and into escapismland, because that’s where all the dopamine lives. I find myself on Tumblr or making edits on TikTok where no one really knows me or cares about me but people who care about the same media I do might respond.

It would mean everything to me for someone to care both about me as a human and about my interests, especially in the first few months of a hyperfixation when I literally cannot shut the fuck up about it.

But instead I am doomed to this lonely life of soaring highs, swinging from media fixation to media fixation, telling strangers on the internet that I am desperately in love with fictional characters, and crash-and-burn lows that most people don’t even understand.

I am a 30-year-old woman technically diagnosed with both bipolar and autism spectrum disorder. I am a weird gay aunt who will never have a longterm partner or children or possibly even close friends. I am actually a really nice and cool and hot person.

And I am only in love with Sherlock Holmes.

For now.

[ninjatrashpanda]

The Other Shoe (Waiting for it to drop)

Written for @bucktommypositivityweek Round 2! Today's prompt is "Coming Out Scenes!"

Read it on AO3 here.

“I, uh, I think it’s time to face the music,” Buck whispered, tugging on Tommy’s sleeve. His eyes wandered over to his parents, who had watched him and Tommy like hawks throughout the entire reception, though Buck had a hard time predicting what they were thinking. On one hand, therapy had been going well, and while The Buckleys would probably never be the big happy family Buck had wished for as a kid, Mom and Dad were trying. They had been nothing but supportive about him being Connor and Kameron’s sperm donor last year, and Buck would be lying if he said he hadn’t felt a pang of appreciation when they had stood up for him against Chimney’s father and stepmother.

On the other hand, well, these were his parents, and old fears die hard. While they had apologized for how they had treated him and Maddie and become better, there was a little voice at the back of his head that told him they’d just be disappointed again. The fact that his mother hadn’t managed to get rid of the bewildered look on her face since he had dragged Tommy into Chimney’s hospital room didn’t help.

“Should I be scared?” Tommy asked, raising an eyebrow.

Buck chuckled, though it sounded more like a nervous exhale. He stole another glance at his parents, then shifted his gaze to the floor, kicking at an imaginary speck of dust. “Nah,” he said, though he admittedly wasn’t even able to convince himself of that. “Not scared. Just... prepared.”

Tommy followed Buck’s gaze across the room, where Buck’s parents stood stiffly by a wall, half-empty champagne flutes clutched tightly in their hands. Buck knew they had been mingling just a few minutes ago, but he still couldn’t help but feel that they looked, well, out of place. While they were nothing but polite, they didn’t really mesh with anyone else, and always seemed a little awkward.

“They don’t seem like they bite,” Tommy observed, in that casual, dry tone Buck had grown to appreciate over the past few weeks. In an instant, a part of his anxiety evaporated and bubbled to the surface in a barely held back snort.

“Not literally, no.” Buck ran a hand through his hair with a shake of his head, the slight smile Tommy had brought to his face staying on his face. “It’s just... history, you know? They’re trying, and I get that, I do. But sometimes it’s like...” He trailed off with a shrug, struggling to find the right words. “It’s like I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Tommy nodded, his hand reaching out to squeeze Buck’s. Buck had told him the basics, how Maddie had practically raised him, how their parents had been neglectful and controlling. He vaguely knew about Daniel, too, though Buck hadn’t delved into the whole Savior Baby thing yet. The subject was…touchy, to say the least, and while he knew he had to breach it at some point, he wanted Tommy to have as neutral an opinion on his parents as possible. They were putting in the effort, so Buck figured they deserved that much.

“Well,” Tommy said, squeezing Buck’s hand again, a bit firmer this time, “if things get weird, you’ve got me for backup. Just say the word, and I’ll distract them with my fake mouth static.”

Buck couldn’t help but let out a genuine laugh at that, which surprised even himself. Tommy had a knack for diffusing tension, and Buck was grateful for it. It was one of the reasons he had gravitated toward him in the first place. He tightened his grip on Tommy’s hand, drawing strength from the contact, before letting go and straightening up.

“Good idea. You’re renowned for your fake mouth static after all.”

“Damn right I am.”

They stood there for a moment, neither quite willing to take the first step towards the inevitable conversation. The reception was starting to wind down, (because the nurses were kicking people out now) so at least if this developed into a scene, not too many people would end up seeing. Chimney, now recovering well after the whole viral encephalitis debacle, was in high spirits, chatting animatedly with Hen and Karen. Maddie was close by his side, smiling brighter than he had ever seen, seemingly refusing to let go of her new husband’s arm.

The love between them gave Buck a tiny surge of courage. If Maddie and Chimney could find happiness after everything they had been through, then maybe things could work out with his and Maddie’s parents too.

“Alright,” Buck said, straightening his posture, bracing himself for impact. “Let’s do this.”

They crossed the room together, Tommy a step behind Buck, offering silent support. Buck’s parents straightened as he approached, their faces neutral masks. They clearly didn’t know how to react, and Buck could hardly blame them for that.

“Hi,” Buck said, forcing a smile. “You probably have a few questions.”

His mother’s eyes softened, but there was still a glimmer of uncertainty in them. His father cleared his throat, his grip on the champagne flute tightening just slightly. The atmosphere was stiff, and the air felt thick enough to cut it with a knife.

“Hi, Buck,” his mother replied, her voice wavering just a bit. Buck was actually (positively) surprised that she used his nickname, though he had to admit it sounded almost foreign in her voice. “Yes, we, uh…” She glanced at his father, who nodded, urging her to continue. “We do have some questions, but—”

“We don’t want to push,” his father interjected, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “We’re just… trying to understand.”

Buck nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. They weren’t throwing accusations and bad faith arguments around, so that was a good start. Still, Buck knew that they weren’t out of the woods yet. He hadn’t spoken about the big B yet, after all.

“Yeah,” Buck said, rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous habit he hadn’t quite outgrown. “I figured. And, uh, it’s okay to ask. I know this is… a lot.”

He could see the moment his mother tried to put on a brave face, her lips curving into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We were surprised, that’s all,” she said. “When you came into the room with…”

She trailed off, her eyes moving over Buck’s shoulder to where he knew Tommy stood just a foot or two behind him. He took a deep breath. This was it. No going back. He had thought about it for weeks at this point, had said it out loud to himself in the mirror, but not to anybody else, not even Maddie or Tommy.

“Tommy.” He turned slightly, reaching out his hand out to Tommy, who took it into his own with a smile as he stepped up. “Mom, Dad, this is Tommy Kinard. He’s my date. He, uh… he’s the reason I figured out that I’m bisexual.”

The words hung in the air for what felt like an eternity. Buck could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the sound of his blood rushing through his ears almost deafening. He knew this moment was pivotal (one of the most important in his life, probably) and the weight of it pressed down on him like the world on Atlas’ shoulders.

His parents exchanged glances, and Buck could see an onslaught of emotions flitting across their faces: surprise, confusion, and perhaps a flicker of something that could be hope. His mother’s fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute, and his father took a small step closer to her.

Tommy, for his part, stayed by Buck’s side, his presence a quiet but powerful anchor. He gave Buck’s hand a reassuring squeeze, a silent promise that he was here, and that he wouldn’t leave. Buck was grateful for that; it reminded him that no matter what was going to happen, he wasn’t alone.

His mother was the first to speak. “Bisexual,” she repeated, as if testing the word on her tongue. Her brow furrowed slightly, but there was no trace of anger or disappointment in her tone. Instead, she seemed...curious. “I…well, I didn’t expect that.”

Buck could see his father’s jaw tighten momentarily before he let out a slow breath. “Buck,” he began, his voice careful, deliberate. “This is…this is a lot to take in. But I want you to know that we’re listening. We’re trying to understand.”

Buck nodded. This wasn’t a rejection, not outright. But it wasn’t exactly acceptance either, not yet, at least. Still, it was something, and in this moment, something was better than nothing.

“I know it’s a lot,” Buck said, his voice quieter now. “And I don’t expect you to get it all at once. I only figured it out a few weeks ago, too. I just wanted you to know, because…because it’s who I am. And Tommy… he’s important to me.”

His mother’s eyes softened at that, and Buck could see her shifting, recalibrating her thoughts, trying to process this new piece of information about her son. “Tommy,” she said, as if tasting the name for the first time. She looked at him then, really looked at him, and there was something in her gaze that was almost…gentle. “It’s nice to meet you, Tommy.”

Tommy smiled, his usual confidence replaced by an almost shy nervousness. “Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Buckley. And Mr. Buckley,” he added, nodding respectfully toward Buck’s father.

Buck’s father gave a small nod in return, though his expression remained unreadable. “Tommy,” he repeated, his voice a bit more measured. “You’re… Buck’s boyfriend?”

Buck sucked in a sharp breath. Obviously that question would come up. He should’ve been prepared for it, but he wasn’t. He and Tommy hadn’t even really had that conversation. He’d certainly like for Tommy to be his boyfriend, he just wasn’t sure if Tommy was at that point yet. It had only been a few weeks after all. They had been on four dates, one of which was a complete disaster, and another that hadn’t even been a date at first, but an apology for the date that had been a complete disaster.

“Yeah,” Tommy said, his tone steady. “I’m his boyfriend. And I know this might be surprising, but Evan…he means a lot to me. I care about him.”

Buck’s breath hitched in his throat. He hadn’t expected Tommy to say it outright. He had expected a lighthearted “Not yet” or “We’re seeing each other.” That he’d gone right ahead… Buck’s heart swelled just a little bit. He squeezed Tommy’s hand a little tighter, grateful beyond words. Tommy’s answer made Buck just a little braver.

Finally, his mother spoke again. “I…I see,” she said, her voice softer now, almost hesitant. She looked at Buck, her eyes searching his, as if trying to reconcile the son she knew with these new things she was learning about him. “And you… you’re happy?”

Buck felt a lump rise in his throat. It was such a simple question, but it carried so much baggage. She wasn’t asking if he was happy with Tommy. She was asking if he was happy with himself, something that would’ve been absolutely unthinkable just three years ago.

“I am,” Buck replied, his voice growing more assured. “I’m happy, Mom. I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

His mother’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and she nodded slowly, as if coming to a decision within herself. She reached out then, tentatively, her hand hovering in the air for a moment before she placed it on Buck’s arm. “That’s all we want, Buck,” she whispered, her voice wavering a little. “We just want you to be happy.”

His father, who had been silent for most of the exchange, cleared his throat again. “It’s…a lot to adjust to,” he admitted, his voice gruff but not unkind. “But if this is who you are, and if this man makes you happy, then…well, we’ll do our best to understand.”

Buck felt a surge of relief wash over him, so powerful that it nearly knocked him off his feet. It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but it was something. Something good. It was yet another step toward healing their relationship, and for that, he was grateful.

“Thank you,” Buck said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you for not, like, freaking out.”

His father gave a small nod, and his mother’s hand tightened on his arm, a silent reassurance that they were, in fact, trying. Tommy smiled and wrapped his arm around Buck’s shoulders, Buck leaning into his side almost automatically, enjoying the warmth of their connection.

His mother glanced over at Tommy, her expression softening further. “You’re welcome to join us for dinner before we fly back to Hershey, Tommy,” she said, a small, tentative smile tugging at her lips. “We’d like to get to know you better.”

Tommy’s eyes widened at the invitation, and Buck didn’t blame him. It was already unusual that Tommy had met his parents this early, but getting invited to family dinner? That was big. “I’d love to, Mrs. Buckley. Thank you.”

Buck’s father gave a curt nod, not quite ready to add anything further, but his stance had relaxed just a little. There was still a long way to go, a lot of conversations to be had, but in that moment, Buck knew they were moving in the right direction.

As the reception continued to wind down, Buck stood there with Tommy by his side, his parents before him, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a cautious sense of optimism. The journey ahead would be challenging, there was no doubt about that, but they were all still here, still trying, and that was more than Buck could have hoped for when he first approached them.

As they exchanged a few more words, lighter now, less fraught with tension, Buck realized that this was what he had been waiting for all along. Not just acceptance, but the willingness to grow, to move forward together. And maybe that was enough to help the wounds of the past heal.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

By Kelly Betts

People can’t see my disability from the outside. I worry that in this current political climate and with the new law, it may not end at the comments and harassment I already face.

On Thursday, officials in Nassau County, New York, where I live, signed a mask ban into law, one of the first of its kind in the country. And while to most healthy adults it doesn’t mean much, to those with serious health conditions, like me, it makes getting out into the world a lot harder.

The ban was touted by lawmakers as a public safety measure after reported antisemitic incidents and protests at various New York universities, many involving people wearing masks. Those who violate the new law face a misdemeanor charge punishable by up to a year in jail and a $1,000 fine. And while there are exemptions for people with religious and medical reasons, it’s not dealing with the law that I’m afraid of. It’s dealing with the “citizen cops” of the world who will be using their discretion to enforce it.

I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia in February 2023. It’s a fast-growing type of blood cancer. I underwent more than five rounds of chemotherapy, and the following July, thanks to an amazingly generous donor, I had a stem cell transplant, something I knew nothing about until I got sick. I was given some of the most powerful chemotherapies to kill my old immune system and any remaining cancer cells. Then I was given my donor’s stem cells to help build a brand-new immune system.

There are a lot of risks that come along with the transplant, especially in the early stages as the stem cells are engrafting and you have no immune system. The first 100 days are the riskiest, and you must watch everything from what you eat to how it’s prepared, and most of all the people around you. Your body is starting from scratch, so you have almost no immunities. Any vaccinations you’ve had over your lifetime have been wiped out. For the last year since my transplant, my immune system has slowly been getting stronger. But building a new immune system takes years, and I have a long way to go. So, wearing my face mask whenever I go out is essential.

That brings me back to the new law. I wear a medic alert bracelet and would hope that showing it to the police, should it ever become an issue, would be enough. But that’s not guaranteed, because anyone can just order one. Would I be forced to show up in court to prove my medical condition to a judge? And what cost and time could that take, all to protect my health? And what about my family or people who act as caregivers, who don’t technically have medical conditions of their own, but still wear masks to protect me? Would there be an exemption for them?

Most of all, I worry about those who have strong feelings against masks. As we know, many people read headlines and not always the full story. And just reading most of the headlines, all someone will know is that there’s a mask ban in Nassau County. Even at the height of my illness, with no hair and really looking like I had cancer, I still got comments like “Covid is over” or “that’s not protecting you.” And while the few comments hurt, especially while I was battling for my life, I could shake them off. I had a bigger fight ahead of me.

Now, healthier with hair again and 43 years old, the comments continue. But I worry that in this current political climate and with the new law, it may not end at that. People can’t see my disability from the outside. It’s been hard to get back out in the world, as many can relate to after going through a global pandemic. Even being as careful as I am and just starting to let my guard down a little in outdoor settings, I caught Covid. And it took my body and immune system down hard. Luckily, I’m recovering and back to wearing my mask diligently, even outdoors.

I want to be able to return to my normal life. And go out with friends, see a Broadway show, and one day get back to my office in the city. But now with New York City considering passing its own mask ban, I don’t know when I would feel safe enough to do that. Is this law really protecting the masses?

[cloudysarts]

Hi there!!

I want to say that your “Mabel’s muse” Au concept has absolutely called my attention, Bill mentions multiple times (Dipper and Mabel’s guide to mystery and fun and TBOB) how he likes Mabel’s personality and wanted her to be his ally…sooo the idea of an alternative time where he decided to approach her and where she trusts him and considers him as her friend is absolutely full of potential

I just think about how many stuff would change and how bill would be a little more genuine with her as he for once isn’t pretending to be an all-wise being and having to constantly rise the ego of Genius minds…instead he just has to party with a teenager whose idea of fun is quite similar to his…he doesn’t have to be the “supreme being” for once just a silly fella in order to earn Mabel’s trust

Also about how some episodes would have to take a completely different route:

maybe “Mindscapers” wouldn’t even take place…because I doubt that Mabel would trust a Bill if he went inside Stan’s head

Bill possessing her during the “sock opera”episode instead of dipper

Also don’t get me started on “the last Mabelcorn” episode. All the angst and horror that Ford would feel when he finds out about the whole friendship with bill situation reflecting himself on Mabel and probably Dipper being the one who search for the unicorn hair while ford tries to convince her that Bill isn’t trustworthy

I apologize for my rant but I seriously love your idea and sorry if it’s a bit confusing English isn’t my first language

I hope you have a nice day and thank you for reading this silly thing!!

first of all, your english is great!! second of all, i am SO sorry it took me so long to respond to this ask, it just made me so happy that i wanted to take my time to craft a response!!!!!! :DDDD (context: for people who don't know what my 'mabels muse' au is, you can check it out over here!)

you are practically SPOT ON with my ideas for this au!!!!!! but i'm gonna briefly run through all the things you brought up!!

first of all, yes, absolutely!!!! for bill, partner-ing up with mabel was a very nice change of pace. he likes stroking the ego's of genius', just for his own amusement, but he doesnt get the THRILL of just getting to PLAY very often!! he's a very childish being, at the end of the day. he enables mabel's selfishness, while getting to indulge his own, silly passions right alongside her!! and obviously, mabel LOVES being enabled <3 i imagine most of the dreams he gives her would make any normal persons eyes bleed

as for your episode ideas, you're mostly right!!! :) mindscaperers does, in fact, NOT happen in this au. in my head, i imagine gideon trying to summon him, only for an 'I.O.U' to appear where bill should be. he's busy hanging out with his favorite pre-teen!!! so gideon skips straight to his backup plan, aka, gideon rises ^^

for sock opera, i'm still on the fence a little bit. one of the reasons bill is hanging out with her at all in this au is because, unlike in the regular timeline, this bill actively wants stanford to be brought home. the reason mabel is important to him, is because he can see timelines where she presses the button in not what he seems, and keeps him from returning. in his mind, he has the greatest shot of success if mabel doesn't press it. in this au, she doesnt even hesitate to trust stan, because she has another, trustworthy voice in her head, yelling DON'T PRESS THE BUTTON. its 2v1! ANYWAY, the reason any of that matters for sock opera, is because he wouldnt have any need to possess anyone, because he has no interest in smashing the laptop! BUT.....i can see him doing it anyway. i figure, most likely, he gets mabel to (willingly) let him use her body, so that she can work on her sock opera while her body sleeps. i just imagine a bill-possessed mabel up at 3 am, covered in hot glue and googly eyes as he tries to work it out shjdkfhjsdkf. but......honestly, he probably destroys the laptop in the process :) just to fuck with dipper <3 not that dipper ever finds out its her. he has no idea that mabel was ever possessed/has no reason to suspect her, because at this point, he still doesnt think bill is real. that is....until the last mabelcorn.

IN the last mabelcorn, mabel reveals to ford that she does recognize bill, and that he lives in her brain! she says it really excitedly, at the table, while dipper kind of just rolls his eyes about it. to her, its vindicating, because it's the first time anyone has ever acknowledged bills existence. but to ford, its HORRIFYING, because he knows it isn't just a coincidence. he knows he has to do something, but he doesn't know what, right away. this is where our ideas differ a little bit, because i think that mabel still WOULD be the one retrieving the unicorn hair! ford just didnt tell her what the hair was for. ford sends her off, because he wants to brainstorm a way to get him out of her head, preferably without hurting her/her memories. he also plans to bill-proof dippers mind in the process, just in case mabel is too far gone already. the events here happen basically the same (with minor tweaks), but instead of dipper suspecting that ford is evil/bill-possessed, this is where he finally learns that bill is real at all. ford tells him about his backstory, and explains the REAL reason he sent mabel out to get the unicorn hair, etc etc. he loves mabel a lot, but hes not sure how to go about dealing with this situation yet. its not HER fault she trusted bill, but he knew that if he just tries to tell her hes evil, she wont believe him. shes known 'her muse' longer, and as of right now, he's never lead her wrong. just like what happened to him in the past...

i wonder how mabel would feel if she only heard the end of that conversation...

[lieslab]

Are you with me?

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: After struggling with being underweight, you binge out of desperation to gain weight and that's when your boyfriend finds you.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 1.6K

Trigger warning: Insecurities, implied underweight reader, mentions of weight, weight loss, binging, calorie counting, and a mention of nausea.

A/N: I believe that this is the final request I had. I'm so sorry for making you wait forever, life has been hard and this topic is a bit too real and relatable. Please know that your weight doesn't define you. Whether you are thirty pounds, three hundred, or three-thousand, you still deserve love and respect. You are allowed to love yourself no matter what you look like.

Society can be really fucking shitty and harsh. Don't let it tear you down. This is your life and maybe we do only get one. Eat the slice of cake on your birthday. Indulge in your favorite coffee. Weight can fluctuate and be lost or gained, but good memories last a life time. Don't let yourself miss out on experiencing them because you think your weight and the way you look is holding you back. It's easier said than done, but it's entirely possible <3

_ _ _

The brain is a chamber and each thought is a bullet. A complex system full of neural pathways that define who you are. The brain controls your entire being. Your personality, your motor skills, the cognitive ability to retain information, and pull it out later. 

Beneath the skin, we’re all just bones. Chipped and withered skeletons that will one day disintegrate into nothingness. They say life is a blessing. We should cherish it to the best of our ability. We only get one life, supposedly. If that’s true, then why is it so hard? 

Bodies. Bodies. Bodies. Bodies. Thick and thin. Taut skin stretched over hollowed cheekbones. Round cheeks full of facial fat. Sharpened and softened jawlines. No matter what yours looks like, you only get one. 

A random genetic lottery thanks to your parents. You might hate yourself or you might love yourself. No matter which one wins, there always seems to be hiccups. Those times of turmoil where you just can’t seem to go on another day because you are trapped inside your body. The machine that causes you to breathe, it feels like a burden to some. 

You cannot control how the outside world perceives you. You cannot make everyone like yourself. Chasing idolization and devotion is a great bomb of self-destruction. Feelings can be fatal and if you’re not careful, they will be. Drowning in insecurities and letting them weigh you down while the days pass you by isn’t a good way to live. 

Yet…you just couldn’t help it. The way you looked was just overwhelming. You were a mess. Physically, nobody could see it. Mentally, you were overwhelmed and falling apart. Unraveling at the seams and spiraling out of control. 

The whispers of your insecurities had turned into a sympathy of screams. Scorching hot tears streamed down your cheeks in the kitchen. Your weight has always been an issue. People don’t second guess the things they say at times. 

“Gosh, you’re so skinny, you need to put some meat on your bones.” 

“Is that really all you’re going to eat?” 

“One blow from the wind and you’re going to fall over at this rate.” 

Some people are blessed with rapid metabolisms and some are cursed. No matter how much you consume, your body works it off. Over and over and over and over and over. Just when you think you’ve gained a pound, the scale says you’re down another half of a pound. 

What does your boyfriend think about it? He always says you look wonderful, but does he really mean it? What if he’s lying? Members of your family have stated that you look like you’re on your deathbed. 

What if you’re not good enough? What if this body isn’t great? What if nothing changes? What if you’re cursed to be this weight forever? What if? What if? What if? 

It was a spur of the moment decision. Ever since you lost another two pounds within the last week, something inside of you seemed to snap. That’s when you found yourself tearing through kitchen cabinets. 

Thoughts were swirling as you ripped open the package of oreo cookies you bought. It was one and then it was two and you blinked and half the row was gone. Crumbs caked your lips and all you could do was wipe them along your sweater sleeve. 

As much as you were spiraling, you were desperate to gain control. Surely, if you ate enough, you could put on a pound or two, right? Right? You had to. 

Crinkling filled the air as you opened a bag of brand new chips. The kind that were too salty and you knew they weren’t healthy, but you did it anyway. Life felt better with the occasional unhealthy snack. People weren’t perfect and neither were you. 

Staring at the back of the calorie contents, you lost track of how many chips you placed in your mouth. People didn’t seem to binge on the fruits and vegetables. 

It was the sugary sweetened foods that stuck to your sides. The salty chips and pretzels. The kind of food that was full of empty calories, but you didn’t care. You were desperate to gain a pound. 

People don’t understand what it’s like until they’re there. You will never understand what it’s like to be skin and bones until it’s all that you are. You will never understand what it’s like to carry around a pudgy stomach that bounces with every step until you are there. 

Weight fluctuates and bodies are different. We only get one, but it’s so easy to abuse it. To never eat enough. To over consume and eat too much. You didn’t think you were doing anything wrong with your body. 

You ate your food and that was that. It wasn’t a ton of food, but it wasn’t like you were starving yourself either. Yet, at the exact same time, your body seemed to stay thin. 

The more you spiraled, the more you lost track. You didn’t remember what you put in your mouth. Everything tasted like defeat, even the oreos. 

It kept going and going. Your stomach began to ache with the amount of food you consumed, but you couldn’t stop. It was overwhelming and all too much. Everything hurt and you just wanted to break down and sob. 

When you caught the reflection of yourself in the microwave, that’s exactly what you did. The lump in your throat pulsed and the tears welled up again. The box of crackers in your hand dropped to the floor and you grabbed the counter top for support. 

Your body caved and slumped over the cold marble top. With a forehead pressed into the marble, you cried. You cried because it wasn’t fair. You cried because you hated what you were doing to your body. You cried because you were worried about how you were perceived. You cried because everything was overwhelming and too much. You hated yourself and it hurt like hell. 

Piercing sobs racked the empty kitchen and bounced off the walls. They reverberated back to you and you were left alone with the heart-shattering reality of what you were doing. You ate so much, you were nauseous. 

Your stomach twisted and churned. A fresh layer of saliva coated your tongue. The queasy feeling caused you to squeeze your eyes shut. All you could do was just cry harder. 

Your sobs were the first thing that Chan heard when he unlocked and pushed the door open. Fear struck his heart and he ripped off his bag. Not caring that his laptop was in it, it dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. 

He rushed into the kitchen and found you slung over the counter. “Baby? Baby?” His hand went to your back and he tugged you into his arms. 

The warmth of his chest made you cry harder. You hated that this was who you were. Why couldn’t you have another body? Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t it just be different? 

“What’s wrong?” His eyes scanned your face. “Why are you crying? What’s going on? Are you hurt?” His hands gently cupped your cheeks. He positioned your face up towards him. “Please talk to me.” 

“I-I hate myself,” you uttered hoarsely with a hiccup. “I’m not good enough. I can’t gain weight and I’m a walking skeleton and I-” 

His eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about?”  A reassuring thumb ran over your cheek. 

“My body isn’t good enough. Not for you. Not for me. Not for anyone.” 

Knowing that you thought so negatively of yourself, it stung. It shoved an arrow through his heart and he shook his head. “Listen to me, you’re perfect the way you are. Just because y-” 

“You don’t get it!” You snapped angrily. Your hands shoved at his shoulders and he stumbled back in shock. “You don’t get it because you’re perfect! You can gain weight and you can lose weight. You can do whatever you want and I-” Your voice cracked and cut off. 

He didn’t utter a word. He knew you were struggling, so he just opened his arms. With a quivering bottom lip, you let yourself fall forward. Sturdy arms grabbed you and he pressed your head against his chest. 

The steady lull of his heart made you burst into tears. A weak and hoarse apology fell from your lips. All he could do was quietly shush you as he rubbed your back. 

“I know that it’s hard. I know what it’s like to struggle with your self image. Maybe I don’t know exactly what it is, but I’m right here and I love you. Please don’t push me away just because you’re struggling. I might not understand, but we can figure it out together. I’m not going anywhere and you know that.” 

That last reassurance was the final straw. Your knees buckled and your fingers dug into his cotton shirt. Down the both of you went and you landed on his lap. 

He pressed you against him as tight as he dared. With your eyes shut and your forehead pressed into the nape of his neck. He soothed you softly while rubbing your back. 

Even if he didn’t understand exactly, he’d wait here for as long as he had to. He’d be here until the kitchen was pulled into darkness and the sun went down outside. He didn’t care if he had to be here all night. 

He’d do whatever it took to remind you that no matter how you saw yourself, you weren’t entirely alone.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45

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